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jawabear · 3 years

Note

A request for Shang-Chi in a Soulmate AU, where soulmates are born with the same tattoo and he and reader are soulmates of course and meet because someone attacked reader and saves her and maybe she has a panic attack or something and then it’s all fluffy. I really hope you write it but if you don’t it’s completely fine :))

The girl with the dragon tattoo (Shang-Chi x reader)

Not my GIF

A/N: hey! I’m really sorry this took so long! And I’m sorry it is quite long. I’ve never written a soulmate AU before so I hope it’s good? I wasn’t too sure on what I was writing to be honest but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: Angst, fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, panic attacks, creepy people, drinking, I don’t know what else

Summary: soulmates? Not in this narrative…

They say that all soulmates are born with the same tattoo across their wrist. For some, their soulmate ends up being someone right under their nose. For other it take a long time for them to be united. But for few, the believe they will never find their soulmate.

Because let’s face it, it’s a load of rubbish.

That’s what (Y/N) believed anyway. She had been looking her whole life for her soulmate but no luck. And the five years of being indisposed in some far off place after the blip didn’t really aid her in her quest for love. But even now, back in what was now the norm of the world, she was still hunting.

It wasn’t very often that she would go to a bar to search but that’s where her feet ended up taking her but she really wished they hadn’t. It was karaoke night. Which could only mean one thing. Drunk singing. It was entertaining but not exactly (Y/N)’s cup of tea.

The only reason she hadn’t left was because, despite the serious lack of talent from some people, they were choosing good songs to butcher. She was quite enjoying singing the songs to herself. She wasn’t much of a singer but she liked to sing.

The bar sounded in awkward applause as the woman finished her rather odd rendition of Wonderwall. “Thank you Susan for that...performance” the host of the event and the owner of the bar jumped onto the stage politely shooing Susan off. It was easy to tell that she had had a bit too much to drink. “Alright, time for our next singers” Pete, the owner, said as he looked at the folded list in his hand “Shaun and Katy!”

The bar once again sounded in applause but there were a few cheers as well, (Y/N) assumed that this wasn’t Shaun and Katy’s first time at karaoke.

She recognised the song when it started. It was one of her favourites. This interested her so she looked up from her drink over to the stage to see who she guessed was Shaun and Katy stood up there singing their hearts out. She couldn’t help but notice just how attractive the guy was.

In an awkward, but foretold, turn of events, his deep brown eyes met hers. He had caught her staring at him. Her head immediately turned back, her cheeks burning from embarrassment. But Shaun didn’t seem phased and kept on singing.

(Y/N)’s attention was now solely focused on her drink that was nearing its end. It was things like this that really made her regret coming outside. Especially to a bar. It made her want to sink into a dark hole and reside there forever.

The song had now finished and the bar erupted into applause and cheers. “Alright! Thank you Shaun and Katy!” Pete spoke as he jumped up on stage. He sounded much more impressed than he didn’t with Susan “we’re going to take a little break but we’ll came back with the next lot shortly”

(Y/N) let out a sigh as she finished the rest of her drink, preparing herself to leave when someone appeared beside her.

“Two more shots please” Shaun asked as he leant on the bar. The bartender smiled and nodded. She turned to grab the bottle but saw it was empty. So she told him she would go look out the back for some more to which he thanked her.

Usually (Y/N) would pay more notice to anyone who came near her who she didn’t know. But there was something about him that gave her a sudden spike of courage to initiate conversation with this very attractive stranger.

“Karaoke is meant to be for beginners, but you made it seem like a concert with your voice” she spoke quietly and didn’t think he would hear her over the clatter in the bar. Fortunately though, they were the only two at the bar and practically right next to each other.

“I can’t tell if you mean that in a good way...” he laughed nervously and he turned to face her flashing her a beautiful and sincere smile.

“I do. Mean it in a good way that is. That is one of my favourite songs and you really nailed it”

“It’s one of my favourites too. I’m glad I could do it justice. But it really puts strain on the vocal chords” he said rubbing his throat.

“I know. I’ve belted it out enough times in the car to know the pain” she laughed. Shaun let out a light chuckle.

“I’m Shaun by the way” he said but spoke again before she could introduce herself “but I mean you already knew that because I was introduced...she that was kind of dumb of me” he raised his hand to scratch his next nervously, now wishing that the bartender would hurry up so he could divert himself away from the awkward situation he had created for himself.

“No no, it’s fine” she chuckled as she waved off his nervousness “I’m (Y/N), it’s nice to meet you”

“And you” he looked down nervously and caught sight of her wrist. He was little stunned to see the dragon tattoo there but didn’t say anything about it, the lighting in the bar was dim so he couldn’t be sure that his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “H-Hey, your drink is empty. Can I buy you another one?” He asked her. Perhaps it as a bit too sudden and he wasn’t exactly trying to hit on her or anything. He just needed an out before he made the situation ever more awkward.

(Y/N) was caught in a loop. She had had this talk so many times with her friend.

“If a hot guy, who isn’t sketchy, offers to buy you a drink you say yes!”

(Y/N) could hear her friends voice as clear as day in her head but the anxiety of the possibility of Shaun liking her got the better of her.

“O-Oh Uh...no...thank you though. I’m leaving in a bit anyway” she said quietly.

Shaun looked a little bit disappointed, this made her feel bad “Are you not going to sing?”

“No, definitely not” she shook her head “I’m not really the singing type. Stage fright and all. I just came here to clear my head”

“Do you know a great way to clear your head? Singing” Shaun nodded his head. It was at this point the bar tended came back and poured out his two shots.

“No, I don’t want to stop you from spending time with your girlfriend”

“Girlfriend? Katy isn’t my girlfriend!” He laughed “no! She’s just my friend, she won’t mind” he grabbed his two shots and nodded his head for her to follow him “Come on, just one song and then you can go. It will make you feel better”

(Y/N) thought for a moment. That feeling again from before, the feeling that pushed her to start the conversation, pushed her now to agree and follow after him. Her feet seemed to move on their own as she followed behind him and sat awkwardly opposite Katy and Shaun.

“About time!” Katy cheered as she took the shot from Shaun and downed it quickly. It was when she slammed her glass back down that she noticed (Y/N) sat there nervously. “Oh? And who is this?” She asked.

“(Y/N)” Shaun introduced “I’m helping her clear her head by singing with her”

“Well,” Katy began drunkly as she leaned over the table “I hope you can sing a whole lot better that Susan” the three of them turned to see said woman sprawled out in a booth fast asleep and snoring quiet loudly making them laugh.

“I think anyone can sing better than Susan” Shaun said.

It wasn’t much longer before Pete hopped back up on stage. The same list in his hand. He settled everyone down and introduced the next singer.

As the night grew on, the singers got drunker and worse. But it was all good fun and (Y/N) had never laughed so much before. Hearing stories from Shaun and Katy made her forget about everything and she was just living in the moment.

Her eyes kept wandering to Shaun where they would meet for a second of awkward eye contact before looking away from each other. This happened over and over again but she couldn’t stop herself. She was drawn to him.

It seemed that they had laughed their way through all the remaining acts and Pete stepped up on stage again tanking the pervious couple and advising them to head home after drinking far too much.

“Any final takers?” Pete asked scanning over the room to see if anyone else wanted to have a go. Of course, two people did.

“We’ll do it!” Shaun called out grabbing (Y/N)’s hand and lifting it up. (Y/N) felt incredibly embarrassed as he pulled her to her feet and dragged her up on the stage. The sound of cheers and applause didn’t do much to help her uneasiness. It just reminded her that there were people there.

“Great!” Pete smiled “Shaun and...” (Y/N) froze as she looked over at the sea of people in front of her.

“(Y/N)” Shaun finished for her.

“Give it up for Shaun and (Y/N) everyone!” The cheering erupted again. A new wave of nervousness hit her, they hadn’t chosen a song. What if she didn’t know it? This was the worst way of clearing her head. Why did she decided to go along with this?

Luckily though, as soon as the first note sounded she knew it. But her nervousness hadn’t fully disappeared yet, but thankfully in the duet, he was the one who had to go first.

“Listen, baby, ain't no mountain high. Ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough, baby” he sang beautifully and seemed to really get into it, using his hands and everything.

“If you need me, call me, no matter where you are. No matter how far” her voice was a quiet despite singing into a microphone. She was staring into the crowd which was staring back at her.

He tapped her shoulder while she sang and she looked at it “don't worry, baby” he sang, it felt to her as if he were saying it to her not just because they were the next lyrics but because he really did mean it. She focused on him as he swayed to the music making her sway as well and calming her down a little.

“Just call my name, I'll be there in a hurry, You don't have to worry” she continued singing getting more confident with every word and loosing herself in the music. She turned her full body to face him and he smiled brightly at her before they both began to sing again.

“'Cause baby, there ain't no mountain high enough, Ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough, To keep me from getting to you, baby”

As they sang the crowd began cheering and clapping along to the tune making (Y/N) feel as though it were a concert. Well, she did suggest that to him earlier. But the more she sang the more comfortable she got.

She was having fun.

Which is something she didn’t have very often. But he had been right. Singing was a good way of clearing the mind.

But all good things have to come to an end and gradually the song came to a close and the bar erupted into cheers, the loudest and last cheers of the night.

(Y/N) couldn’t take her eyes off him as the song finished. He gave her a gentle smile and a nod before stepping closer to speak into her ear so she could hear him above the crowd “you’re really talented” he told her.

Her cheeks burned but she smiled nonetheless “thank you. You’re really talented too” she said back.

He moved away from her and nodded again. Pete hopped back up on stage for the final time and the other two took that as their cue to leave the stage.

The night came to an end and everyone had left, including (Y/N), Shaun and Katy. Katy was super drunk which didn’t make Shaun very happy because they had work in the morning and he knew what she was like when she was hung over.

She was saying this and that but nothing was of any use to anyone. “I uh…I would offer to walk you back but uh…I’ve kinda got my hands full” he laughed nervously.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t live too far away” she assured him “I um…I had a lot of fun tonight. Thank you”

“You don’t need to thank me” he waved off the thanks “I had a lot of fun too. Maybe we could do it again sometime?” He offered shyly.

(Y/N) froze and panic set in. Was he asking her out on a date? Is that what was happening? She couldn’t remember the last time she went on a date. She was too out of practice. She couldn’t go out with him!

“I uh…I don’t come here very often. I don’t like people” she said quickly and bluntly “but I like you! I mean…you’re nice I guess. I just…I don’t do places like this often. I…sorry” it was a mess but she couldn’t do much about it now.

Even in the darkness she could see how deflated he looked at the rejection. It wasn’t shock at being rejected, it was genuine disappointment. “That’s understandable” he nodded “I get it. I’m the same most of the time. But um…if you ever are here again, feel free to come join us”

Katy then began babbling again about something (Y/N) didn’t understand. Shaun sighed “I better get her home. But it was nice meeting you (Y/N). And I hope I see you around”

“Me too. To you I mean. It was nice to meet you and I hope to see you around” she clarified. He laughed a little and said goodbye before turning and guiding a very wobbly Katy down the road.

That had been about three nights ago now.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Shaun. But she hadn’t attempted to go back to the bar in hopes of seeing him again. She had partied enough for the rest of her life in that one night. She believed that. (Y/N) hadn’t the energy to go back and party again. It wasn’t in her nature.

But it was a nice day so she thought it be good to go for a walk. Get some fresh air and maybe it be best to try and forget about him. But there was just something about him that stayed with her. Whether it be his kindness towards her or his undeniable good looks, she didn’t know. All she did know is that he would be hard to forget about.

And she also knew that taking an unknown path back to her place was a mistake and dangerous, but that didn’t stop her from going a different way and ending up lost in the back alleys of the city. This was the reason she didn’t go out. Most times that she did, something bad always happened, this was one of those times.

(Y/N) kept her head down as she walked quickly but calmly though the alley ways. She ignored the voices of the people there calling her “sweetheart” or asking if she was lost. Which she was but no one needed to know that.

She kept on going gripping the strap of her shoulder bag tightly in her hands. Her head was still down so she didn’t see that there was a rather large man in front of her that she needed up walking into. This did not make him very happy. The good news was, just beyond him she could see the street she should’ve turned onto. All she needed to do was politely ask the man to move so she could be on her way. She desperately hoped he wasn’t a bad man despite his rough looks, but luck wasn’t on her side.

“Uh I’m sorry” she mumbled nervously “I just need to get round to there” she said pointing towards the opening. She moved to go round him but the man stepped in front of her.

“I don’t think so” the man laughed. It was a deep and chesty laugh followed by a cough. She could clearly smell cigarette smoke on him so she put two and two together. “You need to apologise to me first, little lady”

She already had apologised but she knew it was best not to argue. “I-I’m sorry” she said quietly.

The man took a step forwards towering over her. She couldn’t look up at him, she kept her head down but kept glancing over to the end of the alleyway hoping someone would see and come save her. She could feel her anxiety bubbling violently up inside her, she knew that if she looked up at him she would go into a full blown panic attack and be completely vulnerable.

The man kept walking towards her so she walked backwards but she couldn’t get much further until her back hit against something. It felt like a wall but a little softer and uneven.

“Found a new friend?” Came a deep gruff voice from behind her. The first man laughed again and nodded.

“Yeah, she’s not very polite though” he said.

“Huh” the second man huffed before bending down and resting his chin on her shoulder breathing heavily and disgustingly in her ear. She could feel his large hands slip into her waist and she froze in place, her legs shaking like jelly in fear. “We can fix that attitude of yours”

She could hear them both laughing and she squeezed her eyes shut. The panic now setting in. Her breath becoming shallow and quick and her eyes flooding with tears.

The laughter took a sudden turn to grunts of pain and yells of anger. Her eyes opened but her vision was blurry.

She felt a more gently hand on her shoulder and it pushed her up against a wall. She could hear the grunts and groans of pain and the sound of punches and kicks.

Her breathing still uneven, she lifted her shaky hands to wipe her eyes in hopes of getting a clearer view of what was happening.

A guy in a grey jacket with red sleeves was beating up the two other guys who were double his size. He happened to turn for a split second and she saw who it was.

It was Shaun.

A million questions raced through her mind in that moment. She wondered why he was here. And how was he doing what he was doing. She could see his was physically very fit but she didn’t think he’d be capable of fighting like he was.

The fight seemed to be over in a matter of moments. Shaun emerging victorious and sending the other two running with their tails between their legs.

Her body had sensed she was safer now so she sunk down onto the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and still in the middle of a panic attack.

Shaun raced towards her and knelt on the floor in front of her. She could hear him calling her name softly but she couldn’t answer him with anything other that shaky breaths. Shaun lifted his arms to hers and placed them there almost lovingly. Instantly a warm sensation filled her body and was beginning to calm her down.

“Hey, hey. Look at me” he said softly squeezing her arms gently to reassure her he was there and that she was safe “you’re okay. You’re okay”

Her breathing slowly came down as she finally looked at him. His eyes were soft and kind and he held a sympathetic look on his very handsome face. Shaun lifted a hand to wipe away her tears. “You’re okay. It’s all over”

“Sh-Shaun?” She said shakily. She knew it was him but she just wanted to be extra sure.

“Yeah (Y/N)” he said with a gentle smile.

“What are…how did you..” she had so many questions to asked but couldn’t quite land on the perfect one to ask. “I-I’m sorry” she managed to say between shaky breaths.

“What are you sorry for?” He spoke in a humorous tone at her apology.

“For you having t-to come and s-save me. And for having a panic attack…it embarrassing..”

“It’s a natural thing. Anyone would feel panicked after getting attacked the way you did. Don’t ever be sorry for that. And it wasn’t your fault that they came at you. And you don’t need to be sorry for me helping you out. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to help you”

“Why did you want to help me?” She asked quietly.

Shaun paused for a moment as he dropped his hands from her and stood up straight, and a little awkwardly. “Well um…the other night in the bar…I um...I noticed the tattoo on your wrist. I wondered how you got it”

He didn’t really answer her question but he was coming to it. He just needed to know if his suspicion was true before he told her the truth.

“This?” She asked rolling up her sleeve to reveal the dragon tattoo on her left wrist. “It’s uh…it’s weird. You know the whole thing about soulmates and tattoos…Well this is mine. But as you can guess I haven’t found my match yet. But to be honest, I think it’s just all rubbish”

“Yeah…me neither. But the thing is…” he reached for his right sleeve and rolled it up. He held his wrist next to hers to show her an identical dragon on his wrist. Same size, same place, same intricate details that she had convinced herself could never be done again. It was the same. “I kind of believe it now”

She couldn’t take her eye of them. Flicking between each one to look for ever the slightest difference. But she couldn’t see one. They were exactly the same. The only difference was that they were facing different ways, but they were facing each other.

“I Uh...I wasn’t exactly looking for you” he muttered “I mean...you might think that it’s weird me showing up in perfect time especially in a place like this. I wasn’t following you or anything! It really was just coincidence but maybe this is reason for it...”

(Y/N) couldn’t take her eyes off the matching tattoos. She was in complete disbelief that this was real. All those years of thinking she would be alone forever to come to an end so quickly. It was almost disheartening that her adventure had ended.

“Because I kept being drawn to you. I mean…I felt weird around you. But a good weird. It was like something was pulling me to you” he continued. His voice dipping up and down in volume and speed as he went.

“I…I felt the same. Like I never ever go to bars and I definitely wouldn’t ever talk to someone. But something made me do it…”

He looked at her nervously and thought over his next words “we don’t have to act on this…but I mean it is kind of fate…but if you already have someone in your life…”

“I don’t” she shook her head and smiled “I’ve been looking for so long which is why I never believed it was real. But now I do…” he smiled brightly and let out a breath of relief “I think we can make this work”

“Yes” he said quickly and nodded just as fast. “If you want to” he added.

“I think I want to” she said “but only if you promise to teach me those awesome fighting skills”

Shaun laughed and nodded as he rolled his sleeve back down. (Y/N) did the same. “Of course. But I don’t think I’m a very good teacher”

“I’m so glad you guys find each other. Aside from the whole soulmate thing, you two are perfect for each other” Katy beamed before taking another shot of whatever drink she had ordered. It had been just over a week since the whole ordeal. But despite it being such a short time, it felt as if they had known each other their whole lives. They got on like a house on fire and were enjoying every second of each other’s company.

“Thanks Katy” Shaun smiled as he squeezed (Y/N) in a hug. “Now we just have to find yours”

“I’m never going to find mine” she laughed.

“That’s what we always said. But look at us now” (Y/N) smiled “can I have a look at yours?”

Katy nodded and laid her wrist on the table. (Y/N) and Shaun studied it.

“You know, it looks very similar to the one my sister has” Shaun said, more to himself really.

“Wait!” Katy announced “you have a sister?!”

2/10/21

#shang chi #shang chi x reader #shang chi fanfic #Shang-Chi #simu liu #marvel #angst #fluff #fanfic #Shang-chi x reader

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yuzukult · 4 years

Text

from home 01 || jjk & reader

title: from home pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in future chapters word count: 7.1k+ prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class?

a/n: i hate cliches but i also love them so i’m gonna write them lol also i know ‘from home’ is an nct song, don’t come @ me. in addition to that, i’m hoping i can expand my writing and be able to lengthen it as much as possible! (well... this chapter only has 7.1k but baby steps...)

next chapter →

Jeon Jungkook is a disappointment.

Well, kind of. His four older brothers think so, especially when he comes stumbling at noon on a Thursday, hair disheveled, shirt buttoned all wrong, half tucked into his pants with the zipper down. “He’s already fucking drunk.” His second eldest brother, Jonghyun, hisses, standing up from the dining table of his parents’ home. They’re supposed to have a scheduled lunch together, and although Jungkook is surprisingly on time, he’s still intoxicated. Jungsik and Jongseok, his other big bros respectively, only shake their heads in their seats, finding this situation all too familiar. The baby does it again.

The oldest of them all, Junghwan, does nothing. His eyes say it all—the glimmer that once was evident in them was drowned, full of nothingness when he looks at his youngest sibling.

But their mom didn’t think of it that way. She spoiled Jungkook like crazy, to the point that he’s the way he is today. Mrs. Jeon saw potential in him the moment she birthed him in 1997; full of love, life, and glory, Jeon Jungkook was going to be off doing great things.

Yet, ever since Jungkook ripped into the age of 16, everything changed. He started smoking, cigarettes, weed, name it and Jungkook has done it. By the time he turned 17, he was experimenting with different types of alcohol, far and wide, and eventually moved up into sleeping with multiple women consecutively. Coincidentally, they’re rich from wealthy families with nothing but dollar signs in their eyes when they see Jungkook, his beauty just being a perk of the package. In spite of his women endeavors, he had enough respect for his mother not to bring them home.

“Mother,” Junghwan finally speaks up, voice stern and face hard. She comes peering out from the back, the house servants trailing behind her before they all realize the sight of Jungkook, clumsily tripping on his own feet, quickly running to his aid while his mother only gasps in horror. “Jeon Jungkook does it again. He can’t just come to a family lunch, no, that would be too easy. He has to do it while reeking of alcohol, on a weekday, all in broad daylight. This is what happens when you let your child run wild and do whatever they please with all the money in the world. They turn out like him.”

His words are harsh, but they don’t impact Jungkook like they used to. No, not after he discovered his love for vodka, whiskey... all of the above. He learned that before seeing any of his family members require at least a couple servings. Stepping into the Jeon’s residence means being criticized, words that come shooting at him like bullets and in the beginning, they pierced through his thin skin with ease, heart clenching in pain at the men he idolized and admired. His skin hasn’t thickened since then, but alcohol does a great job of numbing it all.

Mrs. Jeon glares at her eldest son, the next in line to take over the Jeon Corporation when their father retires. She loves all her kids equally, yet gifted Jungkook more attention than the rest. To be fair, she couldn’t help herself when she saw those pools of sweet chocolate called orbs, begging for her love and affection. “Jungkook, why are you drunk already, love? It’s only 12:30. You probably haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

“But I’ve already had breakfast,” He slurs, the housemaids attempting to have him seated at one of the chairs at the dining table that extends from one end to the room to the next. Seat big enough for two people, he slides down in it, head falling to the side in drowsiness. “Mimosas. My favorite breakfast drink.”

“What’d you do? Champagne with a sprinkle of orange juice?”

“Mmm, didn’t have champagne. Worked with vodka instead.” The four men grimaced.

Their mother’s face softened at his response. “Jungkookie, baby. You can’t just come marching in here like this. We’re having a lunch, together, as a family. You’re lucky your father is coming here late, or else you would’ve been kicked out in seconds.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out in seconds,” Junghwan chimes in, expression unwavering. “This is ridiculous, Jungkook. You need to stop acting like some bachelor. What are you? Twenty-three? Kim Taehyung was that age when he proposed to his now wife. Yet you’re still fucking around with mom’s friends daughters who innocently are just looking for love. How reckless is that?”

“Junghwan.” Mrs. Jeon says through her gritted teeth, eyes shooting daggers at her son. “Stop it.”

“Hyung has a point, mom,” Jonghyun interjects, making his way toward Jungkook before sitting on the armrest of the chair beside the youngest one. “What has Jungkook even done other than come to every event drunk, spend all our family’s money, and fuck around with women he has no intention of marrying?”

Mrs. Jeon raises a brow at Jonghyun, sucking in her cheeks in disbelief. “You boys are acting like you guys have never been through this phase.”

“Mom,” Jungsik, the middle child and the most empathetic of all, attempts to console his mother’s anger toward his older siblings, humming soothingly. “We all got over that by the age of 21. Jungkook is twenty-three.”

Despite being completely under the influence, the pain is evidently still there. He regrets not drinking an extra glass or two of that make-shift mimosa. They speak of him as if he’s not even in the room, and it makes him feel sick. He knows this feeling well—and his stomach stirring isn’t from the alcohol. Jungkook can’t even look at his mom at the moment, a bit embarrassed by how all his brothers seemingly gang up on their mom just because she was defending him. He really felt like a baby.

“Well, what do you suggest I do? Tell him to get married? You wouldn’t want that, right, Jungkook?” He gazes at the table. Mostly because he doesn’t know what to say, especially if she’s suddenly taking suggestions. “I take that as a no. So it’s settled, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Why don’t you just like... cut him off?” Jongseok proposes, shrugging at his own idea. “I mean, just until he gets his act together. He’s not getting any younger, and if he actually put his brain to use, he could be part of the company, leading in a division. Jungkook isn’t stupid, he’s just acting it.”

At this point, Jungkook’s consciousness begins to fade, slumber creeping up and drowning him like quicksand. For the first time, he regrets consuming so much alcohol because when he’s awake, he’s sleeping on the couch of one of their family rooms with his mother sitting in an armchair, worry washed over her face.

“Mom?” He jerks up, pushing off the blanket that someone had laid on him while he was asleep. “Everything alright?”

“Jungkook,” She begins, and he can already tell it’s going to be bad news. “I think I’ve spoiled you too much. When I first saw you as a baby, I thought that you needed everything, and I wanted to give you everything. Your brothers just grew up so much more differently than you did, your dad wasn’t so swamped with the company and had an abundance of time with them before you came along.”

His mom doesn’t look over at him. She looks uneasy, something eating her insides, and he feels nothing but remorse for her. Jungkook wants to move closer in attempts to comfort her, but it seems that she purposely sat at that distance. “I thought that giving you everything you needed and more meant that I was giving you the things that your father couldn’t give you and look where you are now... wasted every single time you come home. You haven’t had any real jobs, and when I supported you during your modeling endeavors, you threw all of that away! And for what, Jungkook? I gave you everything... and now I feel like a horrible mother.”

“Mom,” He reiterates, his voice soft and apologetic. “You’re not horrible. You took care of me, defended me against all of my hyungs, and guided me through the hardest times of my life. But maybe you’re right, I can’t do it anymore. I’ll do better, mom—”

She finally turns to see him. Her eyes are bloodshot red from the tears, bags underneath them from years of taking care of her five sons that have increased over time from Jungkook’s shenanigans. “No. Jungkook, I’m cutting you off.”

He nearly chokes on his spit. “What?”

“I’ll give you an allowance every month. It’s not a lot, but it’ll be enough to get you by. You can stay in my studio apartment downtown; I haven’t been there in a while so it’ll require some sprucing up.” She places a manila envelope on the table with Jungkook’s name written across it, wiping the tear that streams down her cheek. “You need to learn to fend for yourself, Kook.”

The next morning, Jungkook finds himself lying flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his legs tangled in his satin sheets. Just like that, in an instant, he lost everything. He should’ve stayed sober before coming, or at the very least, took one shot of vodka rather than... well, a couple cups worth. Sleep didn’t come easy that night but the guilt crept in like a tsunami. All that went through his mind was how he let his mom down, her favorite son, and that she had to come to terms with this new arrangement. Disappointing his brothers was something he’d done continuously over the years anyway, so the chance of finally making them proud has gone out the window but with his mom, there was a little bit of opportunity left to show her that he wasn’t completely a fuck up.

“Thanks, Hyungjin.” Jungkook is grateful that his mom let Hyungjin drive him downtown, and to come up to help drop off his belongings. The older male nods, tipping his hat at him. Hyungjin had been Jungkook’s driver for as long as he could remember; from piano lessons, early and late school drives, to even his one-night stands, where Jungkook would panic call Hyungjin and he’d come almost immediately after. Although he’d hope to see him again, he knows that this may be the last time Hyungjin drives him. “I hope I get to see you again.”

“Of course you will, Mr. Jeon. If you prove yourself to your brothers, I’m sure that they’ll be more than willing to accept you back into the family with open arms.”

Jungkook scoffs, shoving the key to the apartment into the slot of the knob. “I wish. I’m sure they’ll find a way to still keep me out. They hate me, Hyungjin, and I don’t know what else I’m going to do.”

“No, no, Jungkook. They’re your brothers. They have nothing but love for you. Tough love, maybe, but love nonetheless.” Hyungjin carries a portion of the suitcases and bags when Jungkook opens the door to the apartment; the both of them sneezing and coughing abruptly once they step inside. The entire apartment was dusty, dark, and gloomy. The windows had these black long and heavy curtains that blocked any sunlight from seeping through, and the remains of his mother’s paintings and canvases sprawled all across the floor with splatters that coat the wooden floors and brick walls that all were collecting dust.

“Uh... I guess Mrs. Jeon isn’t tidy when her artistic side comes out.” Hyungjin jokes, eyes skimming around the apartment. He walks over to sink, turning the knob of the faucet on, and Jungkook doesn’t even notice that he’s holding his breath until he releases it when the water flows out of the spout. “Least there’s still water? I think your parents are still paying for this place.”

After shoving as much of Jungkook’s personal items into the apartment, Hyungjin brushes his hands off on his slacks, straightening his back afterwards. “Well, Mr. Jeon, congrats on the start of your new future. I know that technically I’m not supposed to drive you anymore, but... if you are in dire need of help, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Placing a hand on Hyungjin’s shoulder, Jungkook sighs. “Thanks, Hyungjin, really. It means a lot.”

After sending Hyungjin off, Jungkook does some scavenging. For one, there’s some plates in the cabinets that he could use for the time being. No shampoo, no loofah and... when he opens the fridge in the kitchen, his face scrunches up from a whiff of the odor. Milk. Of course, his mother left half a carton of milk in there and hasn’t been back for months. “Guess... I already need to go shopping.”

“Your total is going to be ₩62,636.00.” Packing the groceries that had been scanned into the brown paper bags that were stuffed into another plastic one, you push it down the line for the customer as she’s shuffling through her purse for her wallet.

“You know, I am the bag boy, right? I can do it.” Hoseok, a fellow co-worker of yours, comments at your actions, hooded eyes darting in your direction in annoyance. “I know you’re trying to be nice to me because Hyeri broke up with me last night, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of working.”

“Hush,” You demand, yet face blooming with smiles for the customer who replicates the expression, sliding the credit card into the payment terminal. “Have a good day!” You’d cry out with every receipt you handed to a customer as they’d walk out the store, slouching immediately afterwards from the exhaustion that washes over you. “I’m just trying to make today a bit easier for you, Hobi. I know how much she means to you.”

“You’re kidding right? I’m rich, I’m only working here because I’m trying to save some money up to leave that household but I haven’t left yet. I’m thinking of doing some type of yacht party tonight; drinks, girls, all my homies getting drunk, it’s a great way to truly mend my heart.”

You roll your eyes at the male, leaning back against the register. “If you keep spending your parents’ money like that, you don’t have to leave. They’ll just kick you out.”

He gasps. “I sure as hell hope not, not ‘til I’m ready.” Shaking his head at the thought, he freezes as his mouth gapes open. “Ah, speaking of. Mrs. Jeon actually cut off one of her children. Mostly because he’s a brat and needs to be taught how to be humble... and grateful... and maybe not to be such a dick.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow questioningly. “Which one? Is it the one you’re friends with?”

Hoseok wags his finger in disagreement. “Not friend, acquaintance. We’re party buddies, but he and I don’t talk deep things like you and me. But yes, it’s the baby of them, Jeon Jungkook.”

The name is familiar. His face is plastered on almost all of the billboards that you’d pass by on your route to work. Jeon Jungkook was one of the heirs of the Jeon Corporation, and his mother being the CEO of the supermarket and café chain you had been employed at. Despite all of that, he chose to go the path of modeling (from what you know, it’s just for fun and games), and did nothing to help his family out in their business. Although you never found yourself involved with the media, Jungkook was an image hard to get rid of. His news was everywhere, especially since you had no idea how to remove the Apple News notifications from your phone. Tech wasn’t exactly your strongest suit.

“Interesting. Well, that sucks for him. Can’t have it all.”

“You say that because you’re not rich,” He frowns, crossing his arms. “You’d be living a different life if you had some more money.”

Leaning over the counter, you tap Hoseok’s nose with your pointer finger. “And I’m okay with where I am. Working two jobs, saving up money for my dreams while paying off my student loans... I’m okay with that. Yes, I’m tired, and who wouldn’t kill to be rich, but let’s be honest here. Coming from money, and money that’s not yours, sound horrible.”

“And it is,” Someone sighs, dropping their groceries onto the conveyor belt. “Money that’s actually yours being spent doesn’t feel as fulfilling as when you’re spending someone else’s, but having them control how you spend it... well, it’s not the best.”

“I mean, I feel great knowing that I earned my own money and—“ As you turn to meet with this customer, you’re speaking to the devil himself. Jeon Jungkook. “—oh, uh, Hello.” Magazines, pictures on the internet, billboards... all of them do not do Jungkook any justice because he’s not just gorgeous in person, but he looks like perfection on legs. The way he pushes his long locks back when they begin to irritate his eyes, his skin is milky smooth, supple and soft, and when he shoves his hands into his pockets afterwards, all you can think about is how his arms flex in the sleeves of his T-shirt.

“Kook,” Hoseok greets, forehead crinkled in confusion as he extends his hand for a shake. “What... why are you here? I’ve never seen you at a supermarket before. Doesn’t your personal chef take care of those things for you?” He’s feigning ignorance, afraid that his assumptions of Jungkook’s withdrawal from wealth is only gossip spread by the middle aged women. Jungkook lets out another heavy sigh, shoulders dipping in disappointment. “Well, you probably heard from your mom... who heard from my mom. She kicked me out. Cut me off. So... I’m trying to fend for myself now and get some groceries for dinner tonight.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Uh, my mom used to have an art studio downtown. She’s too busy to go there anymore, so she paints at home now. So the studio is pretty much abandoned... therefore I’m residing there now. I’m also getting an allowance every month to live off of.”

You snort. It was truly an accident, but the words coming out of Jungkook’s mouth were unbelievable. His mom made him leave the house yet gifted him an apartment and an allowance? Does anyone even consider this as being kicked out? “I’m sorry,” He turns to look at you. “Is something funny?”

“I... thought you said she cut you off?”

Without saying it, his face contorts to a visual version of an, And?

“Well, if your mother really cut you off, you wouldn’t even have an apartment. You’d be living on the streets or sleeping on your friends’ couches in rotation. Trust me, I know, I’ve been there. And you’re still receiving an allowance from them?”

Jungkook thinks he doesn’t realize that you’re from a wealthy family as well. “You... have been cut off of your family money and kicked out?”

Hoseok bursts in a laugh, hand in front of him in an attempt to stop himself before apologizing. “Ehem, sorry. She’s never been cut out, her family isn’t well-off in the first place. She’s trying to say she did the latter, sleeping on her friends’ couches on rotation. Me being one of them.” As you’re scanning his groceries one by one, sliding them down to Hoseok, he bags them quickly and efficiently as Jungkook’s eyes dazes off in amazement at his skill. “You... said you’re still getting an allowance from her?”

Jungkook nods but he’s completely immersed by yours and Hoseok’s quick movements, shuffling through the bags and scanning the items. When his toothpaste doesn’t beep, he watches as you start typing in some group of numbers into the register. The system recognizes it immediately before you turn back, resuming into your previous actions. He admits that this isn’t the first time he’s been in a supermarket, but the last time he remembered stepping foot in any of his mom’s businesses was probably before he hit puberty.

“So that’s going to be... ₩113,552.00.” Hoseok looks up when he realizes that Jungkook hasn’t moved from his position. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook shakes his head from his daze, quickly rummaging through his pockets for his wallet. “Sorry, I was just... you guys are really good at that.”

“At what?” You ask, confused with your brows furrowed.

He gestures the register and bags with his chin as he pulls out his wallet. “The whole... register thing. You guys move fast and... expertly. Where’d you learn to do that?”

You and Hoseok freeze. It’s weird to hear, exclusively forthcoming from someone who’s known to be arrogant, and yet the expression on his face is genuinely impressed by the show the two of you had just put on for him. “Uh... basic training? They just give you some tips and you just do it.”

“That’s it? It’s that easy?” He says, eyes bulging from his head at the simple response.

“Well, I wouldn’t say easy,” Hoseok rephrases as Jungkook inserts his credit card into the system. “It gets tiring when your shift gets long. But the task itself isn’t difficult, just becomes brutal.” You shake your head in affirmation, wiping the counter down with a rag. “Don’t look down on your local grocery store employees! Where else would you get your groceries without them to help you?”

He laughs, and he’s so pretty when he laughs, but what subsequents after his laugh isn’t so... pretty. “I won’t, but I don’t think I’d ever work in a supermarket either. Not really for me. I think I have more potential than... everyone here.”

Hoseok eyes his friend quizzically. “Uh... I didn’t think I would be either. I didn’t choose to work here, you know. I want to move out eventually, so I’m saving money. Do you think she chooses to work here too? No. This is temporary for us, Kook. But even so, there’s people who have to work here because it’s how they put food on the table.”

He only shrugs. “I guess. I just think I can do better than this. Thanks for the family discount though! Even though the allowance my mom gave me paid for it.”

And with that, he leaves.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” You jeer, completely appalled by Jungkook’s comment. “Is it because he’s the boss’ son? Is that why? That’s so ridiculous, why didn’t I say something—“ Hoseok interrupts your rant with the sound of your name soothingly coming out of mouth. “Let him be. I believe in karma and it’s going to bite him in the ass later.” You let out a dejected sigh, caving into his words. “On another note... you’re coming to my yacht party right?”

You hate Hoseok for luring you here.

He’s got chicks in bikinis, dancing away with their drinks swaying in their glasses, waists so thin you could wrap your hands around them. Guys are lounging, admiring the view of both the sea and the women, alcohol also accompanying their hands, whispering things here and there when they catch a sight of you— jeans and a crop top. You were not going to let Hoseok see you in a bikini, no matter how nice he is to you. He’s still a slob at heart.

When Hoseok spots you through the crowd, he hollers your name. “Oh my gosh! You actually came! I’m so stoked! Which text convinced you to come? I did all those things, just in case any of them are actually the reason why you came.”

hoseokie [1:03PM]: pls come to my party hoseokie [1:03PM]: we’ve got tacos hoseokie [1:04PM]: we’ve got white claw hoseokie [1:05PM]: we’ve got pigs in a blanket hoseokie [1:05PM]: we’ve got some weird hors d'oeuvres hoseokie [1:06PM]: we’ve got fresh fish hoseokie [1:07PM]: we’ve got... mini sandwiches?? idk i’m running out of nice things to mention hoseokie [1:09PM]: what about.... chick-fil-a? i know chicks dig that hoseokie [1:09PM]: i take that back, i know you’re into the feminist thing and don’t like it when i say collectively chicks like something

You frown. He’s so annoying.

hoseokie [1:12PM]: attachment 1 image

Ah. There it was. The true reason why you’ve decided to come.

The picture mostly shows the food that sits at the table, but the angle that Hoseok takes it from gives you a glimpse of the kitchen, a delicious glance because right there is a take for inspiration for your own that you’d like to see for yourself. With that, you figure you’d hit two birds with one stone; getting to steal an idea for a small kitchen and celebrate Hoseok’s... breakup? You’re not even sure what this is for.

“Uh, where’s the kitchen? I want to wash my hands.”

He’s kind of drunk, so you’re thankful he doesn’t probe for more information, like why the kitchen and not the bathroom. “Downstairs. Do you need me to take you?”

“Nah, I’m good.” You grin, walking in the direction he points afterwards. On route to the kitchen, you spot the catering of Chick-Fil-A. Guess he kept to his word after all.

That’s when you spot him.

Jungkook is sitting on one of the white leather couches that Hoseok’s yacht is built with, arms resting on the top of the seat while surrounded by women who giggle with their hands on his chest with hearts coming from their eyes in admiration. “Kook-ie, you’re so funny! Who knew someone like you would have such a beautiful personality!”

You have to swallow the vomit that’s begging to leave your body.

Finally downstairs, you get to see it yourself with your own eyes. It’s beautiful. So beautiful that you can’t believe that a room can look this beautiful, and on top of that, it looks untouched. Reaching the stove, you almost hold in your breath from all the excitement forming in you, pulling the handle out to peek inside. “Jesus, stainless steel, great for cleaning, so much space, enough for inventory, and so much wattage—”

“Are you getting turned on by a stove?”

Fuck. Slamming it the oven shut, you abruptly straighten yourself. “Uh, no.” Turning to see the owner of the voice, you frown at the sight. Of course, with your luck, it’s Jungkook. “I’m just really curious on how people do their kitchens. I wanna open a bakery and want some ideas on how to work with a limited amount of space.”

Your breath hitches at the view; the shirt he has on is barely even buttoned, exposing his toned chest, and his hair is slicked back with a comma curl that hangs over his forehead. His lips are pink and plump, arms are tight in their sleeves, and when he leans over on the counter across from where you stand, the smile that tugs on the edges of his mouth is so pretty. “Hire an interior designer. Why do you need to do it yourself?” His breath already reeks of alcohol, and the drink in his hand almost screams that it’s not going to be his last either. “I don’t have the money for it.”

“Sure you do, you have two jobs. Why do things yourself when other people can do it for you?” You roll your eyes at him. “Because, unlike you, I have student debt. I need to pay for that and start a business. It’s not easy. I need to make a profit somewhere.”

He shrugs before saying nonchalantly, “I’ll pay for you.”

“With what money?” It comes out faster than you expected, but it’s too late to back down now. “With the money my mom gave me,” He responds calmly, tapping his fingers against the counter. “It’s more than enough to start a business.”

You nearly piss your pants. His mother’s allowance was enough to fucking start a business. Jungkook was indeed not in lack of resources and with the way his mom was taking care of this meant he will never truly learn responsibility.

“Are you kidding me?” You’re almost gasping for air. “Your mom gives you that much money for an allowance? What are you? I thought she was cutting you off. At this rate, you’re never going to actually be an adult. How are you even going to prove to her that you’re capable?”

He gets up from the counter, startled by your sudden outburst. “What makes you think I’m incapable?”

“You were just about to give me money to start a business. This is the second time you’ve met me, Jungkook. You don’t even know me. You don’t even know what the business is for, what my plans are, and where it’s going to be. You were just going to throw away good money without even having any knowledge of what it’s going to be used for!”

Unsure what to say, he speaks the only thing that comes to mind. “I trust you because you’re friends with Hoseok, and well, I trust Hoseok.” How could a guy with five older siblings who all went to prestigious ivy league universities, including attending one of them himself, be so gullible and naïve?

“That means nothing, Jungkook. All it means is that we have a mutual friend. I can’t stand kids like you, strutting around with all the money in the world without knowing what to do with it. You have no real responsibilities, no real life plan, no dreams— nothing! All you do is fuck around and get drunk. What a fucking waste of space.” You shake your head before climbing up the stairs out of the lower level of the yacht, heated from Jungkook. He hasn’t actually said or done anything actually wrong yet you can’t help but hate him. Jungkook was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and all you can think about is how you were born with a plastic one instead.

You’re not actually anyone to Jungkook. No, not really, especially since yes, like you mentioned before, it’s only the second time he has met you. Whether or not if the proposal for paying for those things were serious, he wasn’t sure why he made you upset so easily.

But it hurt. Those things you said really hurt— more than when he speaks to his brothers.

So he drinks. He drinks the pain away or just enough that it fades to the point he doesn’t notice it as much anymore.

When you catch him slouched on the couch alone, cheeks flush pink from what you assume is from the beer sitting in his hands loosely, guilt washes over you. Without much thought, you’re already making your way to the innocent looking boy, buttoning his shirt up and tearing the can from his grip. You figured you’d take him home, it’s the least you can do after flipping him off earlier.

With Jungkook’s arm draping over your shoulder, you wince when the button on his sleeve tugs on your necklace. “Jungkook, could you at least try lifting yourself up so I’m not doing all the heavy lifting here?” He doesn’t say much but mumbles with drool coming out from the side of his mouth, emitting a whine from you.

“Oh my god, is that Jungkook?” Mrs. Jeon drops the book she reads in what seems like a living room, rushing toward your side before Jungkook vomits again on the marble floor. “Hana! Nayeon! Please come clean this up— quickly, quickly, please.” She pulls his other arm over her shoulder, tugging him along with you before reaching the couch, letting him settle down easy. If she wasn’t here, you would’ve thrown him on it. “Sorry CEO Jeon, I wanted to take him back to his place but... I didn’t know where he lived and I didn’t really feel comfortable leaving him by himself like this. So... I googled your estate and here we are.”

She gives you a pained smile, clenching your heart at the same time before she’s draping a blanket onto Jungkook’s sleeping body. “Would you like some tea?”

It feels weird sitting on a tall stool chair at a marble countertop island in such a huge kitchen. There was more than enough space to hire a staff sized for a large wedding venue, and truth to be told, you were jealous of the appliances that were stocked. If only you could touch the deck oven, just one touch...

Mrs. Jeon says your name for the first time since you’ve introduced yourself, interrupting your thoughts. “Ah, yes, CEO Jeon?”

“You keep calling me that. Do you perhaps work at one of my franchises?”

Rubbing the sides of the mug full of tea anxiously, you nod. “Two, actually. I work at one of the supermarkets down in Seoul, and a café at the University. I admire your plans and how you treat your employees, so I based my search on that.”

There’s a smile that jumps upon her lips, and it’s genuinely full of joy in comparison to the one she shares when you dragged Jungkook in. “A hard-working class citizen. I love that.” She brings the mug to her lips, taking a sip of her tea before sitting it down gently. “You brought Jungkook here. Are you two... an item, maybe? I’ve never seen him bring anyone home.”

Hastily, you wave your hands in front of you in denial. “Oh, no, no, CEO Jeon, we are not. If anything, I brought him home.” You pause for a moment as she eyes you carefully. “Oh, wait, no, not like that, I meant brought him to his home, here. Not to my house. Gosh, no, that’s weird.” Mrs. Jeon laughs, leaning back, almost stumbling off her seat and you were already set on your toes in preparation to catch her. “Geez, my son displeases you that much? Honestly, I wouldn’t be so opposed if you told me that you both were in a relationship.”

You blink. “Really? Why’s that? I kind of expected you to hope for him to go for someone who’s a bit more... accustomed to this lifestyle? Not that there’s anything wrong with it... I just... this is a bit different.”

Although you had been preoccupied with dragging Jungkook into the house, there was no missing in the way their home looked. Chandelier hanging in the hall off the ceiling with crystal-like features that you were sure were actually authentic diamonds, walls and floors were marble and granite, portraits and paintings that hung on the walls were originals, and the size of the home itself was... breathtakingly prodigious. The kitchen alone was a prime example— from your own personal research and knowledge, the appliances were top tier products of the industry, only the best of the best were able to afford it. Not to mention that the dimensions of the kitchen was about four times the surface area of your apartment.

Mrs. Jeon shakes her head in lack of approval, tapping her fingers against the ceramic cup. “No, I want my sons to go for love that they feel is real. But for Jungkook, I always hope for more than just that, someone who can teach him that this life of luxury isn’t necessarily everything. He hasn’t found anyone yet, or at least, I still hope it’s you, but I figured cutting him off the money would be the next best option.”

You tilt your head to the side, mouth open in hesitation. “But... you didn’t cut him off. Jungkook still gets an allowance.”

“Yes, but—“

“Sorry to interrupt, but isn’t that defeating the purpose? Like... you want Jungkook to go off and learn responsibility and what it means to be a functioning adult yet you’re still giving him money. I don’t want to criticize but...” You’re expecting her to jump at the chance to interject, mention something about how you’re overstepping, but she does nothing. Instead, her shoulders slouch and she frowns. “Am I doing this wrong? Should I take his allowance away?”

Honesty seems like an iffy noun to act on at the moment, but you speak words with it, nonetheless. “CEO Jeon, don’t get me wrong, you are a great person. But if you’re trying to teach your egotistical and spoiled-rotten son some life lessons, putting a step stool down for him isn’t going to make it any better.”

“It was you, wasn’t it!” Jungkook exclaims, stomping into the supermarket with his face flushed red with anger, hair pushed back with a vein popping out on his forehead. He has his pointer finger directed at you, startling Hoseok as he shoves Jungkook’s finger down. “Ok, I get you’re mad, but no pointing please. You may proceed.”

He scoffs. “She did this, you know. My mom cut me off. Completely! Done, I’m so done for. How the hell am I supposed to pay for anything? All she gave me was the money I earned from those modeling gigs in the past. What the hell is that going to do for me two months from now?”

“Uh... I don’t know, get a job?” You say sarcastically, unfazed by his fit of temper. If childish is how he’s going to act, he might as well embarrass himself while he’s at it. “It’s not my fault that she decided to actually cut you off.” Jungkook doesn’t get the right to come in here, full of flames just because of something you suggested to his mother the night he blacked out. He doesn’t, especially not after you learn from Mrs. Jeon why she wants to do this in the first place.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to get a job?”

Hoseok stares at Jungkook blankly for a moment before pointing to a sign behind him, taped to the wall with big letters printed.

CASHIER FOR HIRE @ THE JEON MARKET! PLEASE SEE AN ASSOCIATE FOR DETAILS ON HOW TO APPLY!

Jungkook lets out a heavy breath of defeat, falling back against the counter, fingers raking his strands of hair back stressfully. “Fuck, fuck...” He closes his eyes, head falling back. “... Fuck.”

It’s barely even the start of his first day and he’s presently on the verge of throwing another hissy fit when the apron doesn’t tie around his body like it does for the other workers. “Are you fucking—”

Snatching the fabric from his hands, you can see through Jungkook’s orbs that he’s ready to pounce at you for doing that, but you’re already standing on the tip of your toes as he dips down unconsciously for you while pulling the loop over his head. “This is so much easier when you’re calm, cool, and collected enough to think like a sane person.” He mutters a quick thanks, jutting out a puff of air from his lips. “Also, tie your hair up, will you? It doesn’t look professional.”

“Professional?” He scoffs, shaking his head as you’re slipping off the hair band that’s on your wrist, handing it over to him that he grabs unwillingly. “This place is far from professional. It’s a freaking goddamn supermarket.”

“It’s just... in your face and we have an employee handbook that wants your hair out of your face so the customers can see your lovely smile.”

“You think my smile is lovely?” His heart is warm at the compliment but it quickly fades when you respond, “No, it’s how it’s worded in the handbook. I’m only quoting what I read.”

“Why are you helping me anyway? I thought you didn’t like me.” This was true, notably since you’ve last spoken to him was with fury and fire in your eyes. But you merely just roll your eyes this time, turning away to turn the dial on your locker, pulling a slip of paper out to hand to him. “I was assigned to train you. Here’s your locker combo. Don’t think I’m doing this to be nice to you.”

“I’m still trying to understand what I did wrong that made you hate me.”

Tying your own hair back in the magnetic mirror that hangs on your locker door, there’s clips in your mouth to push your bangs back and Jungkook can’t help but find the action so... attractive. After taking the bobby pins from your mouth and slipping them into your hair, you straighten your shirt before turning to face him. “Because I can’t stand entitled people. And you are one of them.”

His mouth drops and closes several times before he finally gets the guts to speak up. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Tugging the apron over your head and knotting the strings behind you, you inhale sharply afterwards. “I know that you’re the CEO’s youngest son, the bachelor, who basically doesn’t really do anything but freeload off his parents and spend their money. You’ve never had a real job before today and if I’m being totally honest, I kind of expect you to fail.”

“To fail?” He exasperates, his posture stiffens, in disbelief of your perspective. “I haven’t even started the job yet and you had this image of me build up before I even get the chance to clock in.”

“Speaking of, come here, I’ll show you how to clock in.”

Trailing behind you to a mysterious machine that hangs on the wall, he can’t help but attempt to sink everything in around him. He’s in the back of a supermarket, his mother’s supermarket, one of many, dressed in their uniform with his luxurious hair tied back, hidden away from all the people to admire. The locker room has flickering melancholic lights that he realized are unflattering when he looks at himself in the mirror earlier, and the people here drag their legs when leaving through the double doors to start the shift, all the way to the end.

“Hello, Earth to Jungkook?” You wave your hands in front of his drifted gaze, frowning at his sudden daydream.

“I can’t believe that it’s gotten this bad. I have to work... like a real job. I’ve never had a job in my entire life.”

“Well, yeah. I mentioned that just moments ago.”

His stare shifts to you, worry written all over his face. “I’m above all of this, above all of the people working here. I know what it’s like to be happy—I have money for god’s sake, I don’t need any of this. I could be working some corporate job right now that requires less effort.”

“Jungkook, I haven’t even started the training yet.”

He still hasn’t learned how to clock in before a shift yet and he’s already prepping to quit this job.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #gyukultfics

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Note

Prompt: fake realtionahip/marriage, whoever you like!

Ooohoho! This has been chilling as a draft for ages, now I have completed it. *mildly evil laughter*

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The funny thing about Geralt, Jaskier thought as he did up the buttons on his best doublet, was that he really didn’t lie. He said things that weren’t true, but they were usually things he believed, or thought he believed because he was tired or grumpy. Sometimes he told half truths. He didn’t lie though.

It wasn’t even as if he didn’t have a poker face, Geralt’s face was all poker face, he just hated lying. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but tonight, Jaskier reflected, it wouldn’t be ideal.

Jaskier had heard through some whispered words at a pub that a bunch of Nilfgaardian nobles were having a gala, and the temptation of finding out what political secrets they could was two strong for their odd little family. So Geralt and Jaskier were going undercover.

There had been quite a bit of debate about that. Jaskier was obviously going. He’d grown his hair longer and had a bit of scruff going, and to be frank, all a bard really needed to disguise themselves was a new name, people saw the clothing and heard the music, but rarely remembered the face. Yennefer would have been the ideal partner in crime except for a crucial thing.

When Yennefer had been changed by magic, her eyes had been left the same. Somehow, the transformation had solidified them, and no spell would change them. Her eyes were too distinctive, and so she would stay behind with Ciri. That left Geralt, and since the ball was only for the nobility, he would be the fiance of Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

Damn.

See, Geralt didn’t lie, and that was bad enough. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to rely on Yennefer’s in-depth knowledge of the nobility and that was worse. Worst of all though, was the fact that Jaskier would have to spend a night full of wine and dancing pretending to be in love with, and engaged to, Geralt. Who he loved.

And who had, not three months ago, blamed Jaskier for every bad thing in life.

Since then Geralt had caught up with him half-way down the mountain and there had been some grumbled words about how Jaskier ‘wasn’t actually, exactly, a total curse’. Not a glowing review, but then Cintra had fallen, and they had Cirilla and they’d found a wounded Yennefer and it had all gotten so very busy.

Jaskier cast a last look in the mirror as the door to his room creaked open. He turned, expecting Geralt, but it was Yennefer.

“I suppose,” she said, eyeing him. “That this is as good as you get.” It could have been said cruelly. A year ago it would have been. Now, though, the words were fond.

“I like the kohl, it goes well with the wrinkles at your eyes,” she winked. He smiled. There were no more wrinkles now than had been twenty years ago, and they both knew it.

“I wasn’t sure about the eyeliner,” Jaskier said, trying to sound haughty. “Overdramatic eye looks are your thing.”

Yennefer chuckled and sat on the end of the bed. “A tiny smudge of eyeliner is hardly overdramatic.” She studied him approvingly, then looked at him. Her expression was frighteningly soft.

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“Never,” Jaskier said, fiving his cravat in the mirror.

“Why ever not?”

“It would only be the mountain all over again,” Jaskier sighed. “I tried, you know. I spent years trying, and then on the mountain, I thought I was being clear...”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him to leave it all, just for a little while, with me. I thought we could go to the coast.”

“The coast,” Yennefer said from her spot on the bed. “As in Lettenhove? You wanted to show him where you grew up?”

“Partially. I could explain the immortality business easier if he met my sister, but mostly I just thought it would be peaceful.”

Yennefer snorted. “With Geralt? Peaceful? He’d spend the whole time fighting drowners and telling you not to write about mermaids because they’re vicious.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “That’s pretty peaceful for him.”

“But he said no?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Jaskier said. “Then he, well, you know, he spent the night in your tent.”

“Ah,” Yennefer said. “For what it’s worth, I hate that it happened too.”

“He doesn’t though!” Jaskier cried, whirling around to face her. “He wants it to happen again! And you! You don’t want him but he wants you while I want him!” The frustration of the whole situation and nerves for what was to come were overwhelming. “And you’re here, trying to help me,” he said more quietly. “Why?”

“Because I like you,” Yennefer said, simply, standing from the bed. “And I like him. I also never, ever want to kiss him again. The djinn is sitting, somewhere in my chest, telling me I love him, but the feeling is...sick. It feels like love, as well as I can remember, but it’s poisoned and twisted and I want no part in it.”

Her purple eyes pinned Jaskier to the floor.

“And that poison pales in comparison to how much you love him. He deserves that.”

She swept out the door, tossing a “Sort it out,” over her shoulder.

Well.

The next knock at the door was Geralt, Ciri in tow. Jaskier hoped the witcher hadn’t heard any part of his and Yennefer’s conversation, but he suspected that no one overheard conversations that Yen didn’t want them too.

“Dandelion!” Ciri said, leaping at him and using the name she’d first met him under. “You look nice! Like a prince in one of your stories!”

Jaskier blushed and thanked her quietly as he scooped her up and tossed her, laughing, onto the bed.

He looked at Geralt for his opinion.

Oh he looked so good too. Yennefer had charmed him so that anyone else would see a different man in Geralt’s place, but to Jaskier he looked just the same. But he was wearing white.

A white chemise, the collar and cuffs with fine red embroidery, with a cream colored cape, half length so it fell just to Geralt’s hips. It was embroidered too, green and pink and so many other colors, despite being overall still mostly cream. The pants were the same creamy fabric with a stripe down each side. Dark boots and a wide, decorative, dark belt completed the look.

“Wow,” Jaskier said.

“Rivian traditional clothing,” Geralt muttered.

“I thought you’d hardly actually been to Rivia,” Jaskier said,.It was a better choice than the other thoughts in his head, which were half-formed screams about how absolutely skin tight those pants were.

“I haven’t been, but my...character is.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, dragging his eyes above Geralt’s shoulders. “My fiance, Ludomir of Rivia.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier kicked himself for mentioning the fiance thing.

“We should go,” he said.

And they went.

The lord’s castle was small, as castles go, and the guards at the gate didn’t even bother to check their invitations. With all the other lords and ladies streaming past, no one would guess that the pair were out of place. Jaskier and Geralt enterred the ballroom and Jaskier felt his stomach drop straight through to his shoes.

The walls were positively lined with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt’s shoulders stiffened too, but they steered themselves to a feast table as if nothing was wrong.

It took them almost a full circle of the tables to find the two little cards for ‘Viscount de Lettenhove’ and ‘Guest’. Getting onto the guest list had been laughably easy, and Jaskier just sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the stupid title was finally useful for something.

They sat in their places and guests populated the seats around them. There was a lady next to Jaskier who already smelled of the strongly alcoholic sherry that was being served. Her hair, probably a wig towered, and was strung all over with so many pearls and little tiny golden ornaments that when she stepped outside she must surely be attacked by magpies.

“My lady,” Jaskier said, as chivalrous as he could around a mouthful of her rose perfume. “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.”

“Oooh,” she giggled, “You’re sweet, I’m Dame Au’Vigne, and I can see by your card that you are the Viscount de Lettenhove, I knew your father.”

Yes, Jaskier thought. I remember, he turned down your proposal. Jaskier had been a lad then, barely eight years old, but he remembered through a child’s eyes a mountain of lace and perfume who had offered to marry his father while actually at his mother’s funeral.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Heinous bitch, he thought. He remembered rumors too, which are always a bard’s stock and trade, that Dame Au’Vigne’s husbands were always wealthy, usually handsome, and all of them had shockingly short lifespans.

Rumor also had it that she was backing Nilfgaard financially and had been playing the shipping stock with insider knowledge of their movements. A very good person to be seated next to tonight.

“May I introduce my fiance, Ludomir of Rivia,” Jaskier said, gesturing to Geralt. Geralt nodded and hummed, somewhat politely.

“How handsome,” Dame Au’Vigne stage whispered. “Where ever did you find him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaskier said.

The lord of the castle stood up and gave a droning speech. It was full of euphemisms about ‘upholding standards’ and ‘fostering strong relations’ that boiled down to ‘I’m an untrustworthy bastard who believes that allowing the deaths of my people en masse is fine so long as I make money.’ It was depressing, too, as Jaskier looked around the ballroom to see so many people nodding in agreement.

Traitors and bastards, the lot of them.

Geralt’s face hadn’t changed even an inch.

“So,” Dame Au’Vigne said as the appetizer course was served. “You two aren’t exactly in a honeymoon phase, are you?”

And she was right, for a couple, newly engaged, Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t acted the part yet at all.

“I’m afraid,” Jaskier said, inventing wildly. “That we’re both just a touch nervous, the engagement is so new, you see, and this is our first event,” he took Geralt’s hand, above the table, so Dame Au’Vigne could see. “As a couple.”

“Oh how sweet,” she said airily. “You know, they’ll have dancing between the courses, it’ll be a great way for you to wet your social feet. Sir Erdin and the lady in the lavender dress,” she pointed across the ballroom. “They’re newly engaged as well.” She lowered her voice.

“Sir Erdin is very supportive of the cause, word has it he’s in with the very inner circle,” Dame Au’Vigne giggled, as if being in the inner circle of a murderous group of intruders was as delightful as a recent engagement.

“How interesting!” Jaskier said, affecting a jealous and impressed tone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geralt’s eyebrow twitch, the way it did when he was listening hard.

“Oh yes,” Dame Au’Vigne said. “And Lord Snapcase, in the corner, he...” and she went on, was the marvelous thing, she couldn’t seem to help herself but gossip about everyone. And she had all these details about how they were helping ‘the cause’. Destiny must have finally decided to throw Jaskier and Geralt a bone.

Then the appetizer course was finished and Jaskier felt much less lucky. Dame Au’Vigne was ushering him and Geralt out of their seats to dance. It wasn’t one of the quick, hopping around, switching partners dances either. No, the band seemed insistent on only slow, romantic music.

Awkwardly, Geralt slid one large hand around Jaskier’s waist and they turned in slow circles on the dance floor. The witcher’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“Try and look like you’re having fun, darling,” Jaskier said. Please don’t look at me as though holding me is torture, his inner self begged.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier leaned in.

“Really dear heart,” he leaned in even closer, lips almost touching Geralt’s ear. “People are going to suspect something,” he said in the barest of whispers.

“Let them,” Geralt hissed back in the same fashion. “We’ve got the information, we can leave.”

Jaskier, keeping up appearances, tossed his head back and let out a delighted shriek of laughter, as if Geralt had just told him a joke or, perhaps, made a wonderfully indecent proposal.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, stage-whispering for the sake of those around them. Leaning in again he whispered for real, “We can’t leave until the party’s over, no one else will, they’d send some of those soldiers after us for sure.”

The music changed, and Geralt and Jaskier’s slow circles changed speed with it.

Geralt hissed in his ear again, “I don’t see why I had to be your,” this close Jaskier could see Geralt’s jaw working with distaste. “Lover.”

“Fiance,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his heart sink. It couldn’t possibly go any lower. “There’s a difference.”

They said no more to each other, and after the second dance, declined the third to sit back at their seats and await the arrival of the soup course.

The man sat beside Geralt was some old military man, mostly mustache and the rest of him was a rather musty and very old fashioned uniform. It had gold braid and a colonel’s insignia. The hat that sat next to his chair had a plume.

He leaned over to Geralt and said, rather loudly, in a voice that implied tone deafness, to both volume and social situations, “Just marrying him for the money, eh?”

People to both sides of Jaskier and Geralt looked around. Dame Au’Vigne looked at them askance.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. It was a negative answer to the colonel’s question, but the man didn’t take it as such.

“Often is the way,” the man nearly bellowed. “My missus hated me right up to the day she died.”

Jaskier curled in on himself. The role of Viscount wasn’t a big one, mostly administrative and, these days, completed by his sister Rowena, who was better at sitting behind a desk. Still, argued a battered part of his long ago but still proper upbringing. The name of Pankratz was being dragged through the mud. Lots of these people would know the name too, these sour, vindictive, unpleasant, murderous people. And they’d know the gossip, would have taken part in the gossip about ‘Young Julian running off to be a bard,’ (this generally said with the same tone as is usually leant to slave trader) and how ‘he’ll never find a good marriage now,’ how he was ‘a disgrace to the name.’

And here was their long awaited confirmation. Jaskier-Julian, couldn’t find a good marriage, was being wed only for his money. Of course, more than half the pairings here were only in it for the money, but to have it said, so loudly too, and before the wedding had even happened, it was social condemnation.

Jaskier looked down at the table cloth, his face hot. He’d faced social condemnation before, of course, he’d survive. What hurt was that Geralt wasn’t really protesting, Geralt couldn’t even pretend to like Jaskier, not for a single evening. Twenty years he’d done a good enough job of acting to convince even Jaskier, mostly, apart from the punches and the insults and...maybe Jaskier had been a little blind to the truth but still.

It was ruining their cover though, so he protested quietly. “Not just for the money,” he said, patting Geralt’s hand where one fist wrapped around his goblet. “My fiance is just shy, that’s all.”

The damage was already done, but the old colonel hiccupped. “Well lad,” he said, giving Geralt a slap on the back. “This ale’s pretty good so drink up. Got me through three years of happy marriage, strong ale did.” The man took a slug of his own drink. “And fourty seven more unhappy years.” He guffawed hugely and unpleasantly, little drops of ale flinging from his mustache.

Wherever the soul of the unpleasant man’s dead wife was, Jaskier felt sure she was happy to be away from this miserable old drunk.

Geralt, however, was looking at Jaskier. Their eyes met. Jaskier knew he probably looked as hunted as he felt, and his cheeks were probably still burning from the embarassment. Still, it seemed as though Geralt was about to say something. His golden eyes were full of emotion, but Jaskier couldn’t parse out what kind.

Whatever kind it was, it caused Geralt to take the colonel’s advice and drink like there was no tomorrow.

Great. Jaskier had driven his companion to drinking.

He felt a little like doing so himself.

The soup course was good, hot and savory, but underspiced. Geralt slurped it up gratefully. Jaskier knew that rich food was usually too much for his senses if it was spiced to Jaskier’s taste.

More dancing. Jaskier didn’t stand, at first, assuming that Geralt would rather sit and drink more. There were some snickers as people judged him. Geralt stood though, and he offered a hand and led Jaskier to the dance floor.

“You need to act drunk,” Jaskier whispered in his ear. “If you were a normal man you would be.”

“I am acting,” Geralt rumbled.

“You’re very steady for a drunk,” Jaskier sniffed.

“You said I was shy, now I’m less shy,” Geralt whispered. “And I’ve been drinking. So...drunk.” It was torture, being held like this, having that voice in Jaskier’s ear. That hand, so warm cupping his own. He wanted to cry.

A couple whirled past them. It was the Dame Au’Vigne, gossiping to some new dance partner. A snippet of her words caught them.

“-de Lettenhove. Entirely loveless of course. Unlovable, his father said once, of course as a bard-” then the tide of conversation and other dancers stole the rest of the words.

Jaskier sagged. His father hadn’t been a nice man, and unlovable wasn’t the worst of what he’d been called in his life, but now, with Geralt so close and so disgusted by the prospect...well, it hit a little close to home.

“Laugh,” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“What?” Jaskier hissed.

“Like before, laugh like before, but...more so. Pretend I said a dirty joke.”

Jaskier did, heads turned as he pretended to laugh, half scandalized and half delighted at something Geralt said.

Geralt even chuckled along with him. Then his hand crept down Jaskier’s back to his hip. It wasn’t dirty. It was just so,so spine tinglingly close to dirty.

It was almost worse. If Geralt had gripped his ass that would have been bad, but this, Jaskier was left to speculate. He had a very active imagination. The couples next to them were giggling and tittering, scandalized, but not too much, at the pair.

They danced all three dances. During the second dance Geralt spun Jaskier out and then back in flashily, dipping him over one arm like a dainty maiden. Jaskier, who was no dainty maiden, knew the strength that elaborate dip must have taken and his head spun. The third dance was slow, and once again they simply held one another and turned in slow circles. Except Geralt pressed their cheeks together in a way that was so intimate that Jaskier finally gave in. Just tonight he had Geralt, all of him, his attention, his warmth.

There was only so much a bard could take, and Jaskier gave in to the fantasy.

“I wonder how Yennefer is,” Geralt whispered. “And Ciri.”

It was like having cold water poured all over him. Jaskier’s fantasy shattered as soon as it had formed. Of course Geralt wasn’t enjoying this, of course his mind was elsewhere. He had a beautiful sorceress to think of, even if they weren’t sleeping together. Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri made the perfect, happy family. Where did Jaskier fit in to that?

He pulled back a little, already missing the warmth of Geralt’s cheek against his own. They finished the dance stiffly.

Back at the table, squished between Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, the main course was awful. Jaskier couldn’t judge it on the food, which he barely tasted. Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, however, had apparently come to the conclusion that Geralt or, Ludomir, rather, was marrying Jaskier for the money and the sex. They tittered, loudly and drunkely, to those around, and Geralt leaned in.

“Surely we can leave after this course,” he whispered.

Desperate to be rid of the charade, Jaskier thought. To not have to be engaged to me. “Can’t,” he whispered. “Have to stay for dessert and more dancing, else it looks suspect.”

“Hmmm.” It was a displeased hum.

“And, there will be small talk, with dessert. You need to say something, people will think you’re mute.”

“You two twitter into one another’s ears all the time,” Dame Au’Vigne said loudly. She was fully drunk off the sherry and very loud. “But not one kiss,” she lowered her voice, as if trying to be discreet. It didn’t work. “Is it truly as loveless as they say? I know you aren’t waiting until marriage.”

As who say? Jaskier thought. The only person quite that invested seems to be you.

“Not loveless,” Jaskier said. It seemed weak even to his ears.

“Surely you’ll join the dancing again, then,” Dame Au’Vigne said.

“No,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his napkin. “I’m feeling quite too full to dance, ate too fast, I’m afraid.” He hoped she was too drunk to notice he’d picked at his plate. It seemed she was.

“Lovely little veranda, get some air there,” said a man who, according to Dame Au’Vigne, was shipping weapons to Nilfgaard behind the backs of multiple heads of state.

Jaskier nodded,stood, bowed, and made his escape. He sighed, but wasn’t surprised to find that Geralt had followed along behind. Of course he wanted to escape the party too, but Jaskier wanted to escape...him.

To his shame and surprise, he found tears in his eyes. The pressure of sitting in a room chock full of people who wanted to kill him, combined with the fact that every last one of them reminded him of being bullied in school, and add to that that he was supposed to be fake engaged to Geralt...it was too much. Fake engaged and even in their fake engagement Geralt didn’t like Jaskier.

Jaskier’s rational brain knew that Geralt did like him, mostly. He just didn’t love him.

Jaskier leaned his elbows on the railing, overlooking some moonlit gardens, and felt the tears roll down his face.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He knew Geralt could smell the salt of his tears or whatever, but still turned his face away so the witcher couldn’t see.

“I danced with you though.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “Nobles dance with people they hate all the time.”

Geralt was quiet for a minute then, very gently, he took one of Jaskier’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

It was too much, Jaskier started crying in earnest, sobbing.

“C’mon, Jaskier, I like you. A lot.” Geralt was, for him, panicking clearly. Jaskier almost smiled. He was so bad at dealing with other people’s emotion. And his own.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said, a little stuntedly. “You know I’m not a good liar.”

Too much. Twenty-two years and he finally said the word ‘friends’ and Jaskier wanted more. He whipped around to face Geralt.

“Tell me the truth, then, Geralt. Tell me you love me, it doesn’t have to be the truth for forever, but can you love me just for a night? Can you make it the truth for tonight?” Jaskier’s tears were ugly and blobby and drying up fast but he continued.

“Because I’ve loved you so long I don’t know any other truth,” He leaned forward and planted his forhead on Geralt’s collarbone and sniffled through the last of his tears, curling one, shaking fist into Geralt’s lovely pale cape as he cried. “Just this one night, Geralt, love me back.”

He hadn’t meant to say any of it, was half expecting Geralt to toss him off the low balcony into the bushes below.

Instead Jaskier was lifted by two strong arms and sat down on the railing. Warm, delightful lips pressed against his and suddenly he was being kissed within an inch of his life.

“The truth, you want,” Geralt said, pulling back and panting. “Is the only one I can give. I can’t pretend to love you.” Here Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes, like being struck by lightning. “I only love you, no pretending, I swear it.”

“But-” Jaskier was cut off.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said, furiously. “I think you think I don’t like you, Jaskier I like you, I love you so much I don’t know what to do and I’m...I’m not good with words. Or emotions.” Geralt’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just am, and the way I am is... The way I am is better with you.”

Geralt’s face screwed up with anguish. “And I’m the reason you think I don’t like you, it’s my fault and that feels so...so bad. Yennefer’s been working with me on the feelings thing and always says ‘bad isn’t a feeling’ but I can’t tell you what all the feeling is.”

Jaskier was staring, mouth open, as frustrated, stilted, fumbling words left Geralt’s mouth. They sounded angry, but only at himself. Geralt was looking up at him as if seeking benediction.

“Tell me you love me again,” Jaskier said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Jaskier giggled as Geralt lifted him and spun him around before tucking him in close and kissing his forehead.

“I,” he said.

A kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Love.”

A deep, breathtaking kiss to his lips. “You.”

There was nothing left for Jaskier to say except, “wow.”

Geralt smiled, that lovely warm little smile he saved for special times and offered his arm to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

They paraded back into the ballroom and danced the final dance of the set. Geralt whispered a suggestion of what he’d really like for dessert and this time Jaskier didn’t have to fake the scandalized giggle. “Back home, perhaps,” he said.

Dessert meant more conversation with Dame Au’Vigne, which was of course unbearable. There was plenty of Champagne though, which was pretty good, and the bubbles seemed to fill Jaskier all the way up. He took pleasure in picturing the downfall of all these horrible people when Nilfgaard was finally defeated for good.

He especially enjoyed sticking it to her gossip when he fed Geralt a strawberry with cream from his fingertips and recieved a kiss in thanks. Geralt was clearly enjoying himself too. He had a sweet tooth, and that certainly helped, but his hand that never left Jaskier’s under the table was a much better clue.

They walked back to the inn, flushed and warm in the cool night air, bidding farewell to the other drunken lords and ladies all filtering to finer inns or grand coaches.

Then they were alone on their path back, Geralt’s witcher senses confirming their isolation. Then, Geralt, who never told lies, whispered sweet nothings into Jaskier’s ear the entire way home. Jaskier believed every single one.

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It’s done, this one’s quite long and I loved writing it. Geralt is useless at playing pretend, but very good at loving Jaskier in his own way. I imagine his emotion lessons with Yennefer must have been rather intense.

#the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fake dating #getting together #fluff #fluff and angst #tiny amount of horniness #read with caution

891 notes · View notes

infernal-fire · 3 years

Text

five types of love.

what to expect: smut, swearing, friends w/ benefits arrangement, mention of Imposter syndrome, fluff, angst, heartbreak, overstimulation, implied creampie, rough sex

a/n: a little warning; you will be choosing your ending - there is a happy one and a sad one. a huge shoutout to @mollygetssherlockcoffee and @angrybirdcr for talking to me about the fic and offering such amazing advice! and @tuiccim was so damn lovely, even offered to beta this (though all mistakes are my own).

summary: you once heard that there were eight types of love. you only knew of five; the five that caused you to fall for one, blue-eyed menace.

Ludus: uncommitted, casual love that can attribute to a flirtatious and fun conquest. Not to be mistaken for Eros.

“I think we’re forgetting the reason why the mission failed in the first place. If the older fellow took a suggestion once in a-”

“-Tony, you know damn well that there were civilians in there.”

Steve and Tony glared at each other from across the briefing room. The tension in the room was exorbitant, but then again, it had been that way since Bucky joined the team.

“This is exactly why we need the new girl. You super-soldiers and billionaires are getting tangled up in each others’ asses and forgetting about what it’s like for the normal people,” Rhodey sighed.

“The last thing we need is another trainee fucking up orders,” Tony snorted and began messing with his tech. The projector flipped through random screens, FRIDAY most likely filtering out the irrelevant news.

“If you have a problem, maybe you should say it to his face,” Steve seethed, now standing up to match Tony’s stance. Usually, this type of jab at Bucky wouldn’t rile him up, but the super-soldier was at his wit’s end following the events of the latest mission.

Beside him, Bucky lightly tugged on his friend’s hand, signalling him to disengage.

“You’re with them?” Tony incredulously questioned Rhodey.

“I’m with the idea of calming this room down.”

“Besides, she’s already been prepped for her first mission,” Natasha piped up. “We’re supposed to have a sit-down in 5 minutes... that is, if you boys can get your shit together.”

The room broke out into a chorus of muttering and everyone settled in their seats again. Captain strode to the front of the room and pulled up his game plan, fiddling with the map FRIDAY was projecting.

You, on the other hand, could not decide how to act in front of the Avengers: Laidback? They wouldn’t take you seriously. Know-it-all? No, that was Stark’s play. Timid Tiffany? If you wanted to seem secretly conceited? Sure. That would work for now.

When Vision floated out to bring you in, you didn’t even flinch at the unforeseen phasing. Impressed at your lack of a reaction, Vision faltered before ever-so-courteously introducing himself.

Could this sentient being laugh of his own volition? You gave him your name and dramatically curtsied to test your theory; he could laugh, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it was not at all robotic.

You felt the room intently eye you as you ambled to your seat beside one, blue-eyed menace. You half-expected the team to introduce themselves, but who were you kidding - anyone could hear the argument from three corridors away. There was no point in pretending like they wanted you here, but that wouldn’t deter you.

You glanced at your neighbour, met with the pleasant face of the one and only. James Buchanan Barnes was known to be a handsome devil, but the reputation of the Winter Soldier often precedes him; that, unfortunately, does not stop you from eyeing him.

When he caught your stare, you scolded yourself. You’re such a creep.

When he smirked at your ogling, you praised yourself. Oh, hello there.

This is gonna be fun.

Eros: sexual, passionate love that is fueled by lust.

It didn’t happen after the first mission; he had the decency to wait until the fourth mission to knock on your door.

You had been putting away the last of your belongings, finally adjusting to the grandiose living conditions the Avengers Tower provided.

As soon as you unlocked your knob, the door flung open; Bucky's stare was partially inhibited by his hooded eyes. He hadn’t always looked at you like that.

Like what?

With unadulterated craving.

That day, he strode in like he owned the place. You didn’t expect the shove that caused you to land on your bed with an oomph. Bucky wasted no time, climbing onto your form, straddling you. By the time you understood what was happening, a single finger was pressed into your lips.

“Either tell me you don’t want this right fucking now,” he leaned in, close to your face, “or shut the fuck up and let me use you.”

You whimpered in response.

“Not good enough.”

“Use me.”

That’s all the affirmation he needed.

You pushed off the bed to try and meet his lips but he firmly pinned you down by your shoulders. Bucky reached into your panties and circled your clit without hesitation. It only took some swivelling, his intense gaze and the unexpected plunge of his fingers in your channel to make you see stars. Bucky had made you come before kissing you.

When he finally slotted his lips against yours, it was nothing short of all-consuming; you hadn’t even realized the absence of clothes on your body. Had it been ten minutes? Or thirty? It was hard to tell when you were being ravaged by another.

He made you come twice more: once with his fingers’ repeated dipping and pressing into the soft, spongy part of your cunt. The second time was with the talented sucking and flicking of his tongue. Technically, it was the third time.

None of your past partners had been this steadfast in their duty to pleasure you. You were already putty in his hands, ready to be moulded according to his needs. Part of you was ready to tap out, unable to fathom the likelihood of coming over his cock again, but the better half of you needed it.

In your orgasmic haze, you failed to notice that his clothes were being discarded - if you did, it would have given you the opportunity to gawk at the body that you so desperately wanted to see shirtless. When you finally registered his naked person, your hand involuntarily traced the connection between the metal arm and flesh. He threw his head back and groaned before kissing you again.

He pulled off, just enough to get a good look.

“Look at you, all fucked out. I didn’t even put my cock in.”

He pumped his shaft with fervour before pushing the blunt head against your slit. You winced at his attempt to put it in.

“Made you cum three times and you’re still too fucking tight,” he muttered and ran his length up and down your folds. Once he had accumulated enough slick he tried again, this time, successful.

You moaned as he slowly sunk in and buried his cock to its absolute limit. If the walls of your pussy had a voice, it would be absolutely hoarse. You also realized that he only bestowed the three orgasms in hopes of reprieving the pain of the stretch. Without the preparation, he might have torn you in half.

When he began moving, the only thing that was slow or soft about him was his lips against your skin. The thrusts were punishing; if it wasn’t obvious that he was angry before, this made it clear as day.

You screamed and moaned, alternating between keening and arching your back; the pleas did nothing to falter his furious pace. The smacking of your skin was only heightened by the slick that your cunt produced in attempts to accommodate his length. Every time he pulled out, his balls were connected to your sex with a string of come.

If someone told you that you could come five times within forty minutes, you would have face painted and dressed them up like a clown.

Now you laid in bed, being used like a rag doll, begging Bucky to stop you from coming a sixth time that session. It was usually the dirty talk that got you off, but he hadn’t said anything aside from the occasional ‘shut up’ or ‘shhh’. His movements alone had you convulsing around his length.

His thrusts didn’t get sloppy. Rather, they increased in force, as his cock sought space beyond your cervix. You tried to scream, but all that came out was more broken tears and cries. At last, he let out a pornographic moan as his load flooded your insides. Sure, you had let past boyfriends come in you, but you never actually felt the liquid shoot up inside you, until today.

Following the pop sound that his cock made as it pulled out, you whined again. You could feel your heartbeat throb down there.

He flipped you onto your stomach and smacked your ass, laughing at the way you sobbed in pain before disappearing from your room altogether.

He was gone as fast as he showed up.

And he ruined everyone else for you.

In all fairness... you asked for it.

Philia: the deep, virtuous love that is formed in a good friendship. Lovers share a strong bond when Eros and Philia feed into each other.

What started as a release from the frustrations that accrue on the battlefield turned into a deep connection that neither of you had anticipated. Sex had only been used as a tool in the act of psychological detachment until that day.

It was a failed date of some sort: either you had been stood up or the guy was a total moron. You could wrack your brain for the memory, but in any matter, it was all irrelevant now.

You were upset, not just at your lack of a love life, but at the imposter syndrome that had weaselled its way into your liveliness. Feeling like you weren’t enough was catching up to your daily life and even Bucky had noticed the hesitation during your post-mission escapades.

Before you knew it, your hand was knocking on Bucky’s door at the ripe hour of 1 AM.

You heard the muffled thumps of his footsteps and considered booking it out of there, but before you made up your mind, the door opened. As you had predicted, Bucky was wide-awake.

“What?”

You had wanted to sass him for his tone but decided against it since you were the one who interrupted his 1 AM activities. You shook your head from the clouds and mumbled incoherently, starting to walk away. The coldness of his metal arm abruptly gripped your wrist.

“Are you okay?”

You hated that question. You could be doing so good, holding in the burden of a horrible week, but the moment someone asks you that question, the dam would disintegrate into dust, only to be washed away by the inevitable waterworks.

The sob you let out didn’t loosen his hold. He let you cry and watched as you tried to wipe away the unrelenting tears, still refusing to close the gap between your bodies. Finally, you shuffled into his arms where he bear-hugged you, cupping the back of your neck and holding it to the junction of his neck.

"You smell nice,” you sniffled.

He lightly chuckled before dragging you into his room and seating you on the bed. He ordered you to stay there and rummaged around his cupboard before pulling out a bottle with red liquid sloshing around.

“You keep that in your room?” you snickered, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, before blanching at your state. Hell, he had seen you naked, how you look right now is the least of your concerns.

“In case of emergencies,” he winked. “This seems like a real emergency.”

A fresh wave of tears pooled in your waterline as you peered at your hands that were picking at each other.

“I don’t have wine glasses, so we can just chug.”

Bucky stuck out the bottle and you grasped it firmly before gulping one-fourth of it. That’s all the coaxing it took to get you to spill.

You don’t even remember what you talked about, but before either of you realized, 3 AM blinked on the digital clock that hung above the bed frame. You were almost asleep, now resting on Bucky’s lap while he occasionally hummed or offered his two cents. Right before you drifted off, the super-soldier lifted you, placing you under a cover. He climbed in from the other side, one hand cupping your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re okay,” he whispered.

Your eyes drooped but swiftly opened as Bucky leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. His lips barely touched yours, grazing their presence, but you moved, tenderly catching them. He returned the movement, the delicacy of his actions reflected in the softness of his eyes.

You pulled away and the two of you wordlessly bore into each other’s eyes. At last, you succumbed to the fatigue, as did he; both of you resting in the others’ possession.

Mania: an unhealthy, obsessive love that plagues the mind.

It was the third time Bucky didn’t show up at your door after a mission. Three missions, each of them ending in something that would have indubitably pissed him off - after all, they were HYDRA bases. That’s when you first suspected it.

The second was when you noted his intentional avoidance of your presence. Whether it be the kitchen, the gym or the hallways, the stealthy ex-assassin didn’t have trouble actively dodging you. Initially, you chalked it up to wanting space or simply taking a break.

Then you heard it.

Why was it that your gut told you to go right then? All this time you had been biding, yet it was at this precise moment that your hunch asked you to speak to him. It could’ve been the duration of the month that it took you to prepare yourself, but it had to be now. You raised your hand, prepping to knock on the door, but stopped.

Your hand froze mid-air. The elegant laugh of another girl sounded behind the door. It was faint, the noise slightly suppressed by the wall between you.

It could be anyone.

But it wasn’t. Your intuition, the one that told you to come here right now, was wise enough to know that this wasn’t just anyone. It was her.

You cupped your mouth to stop the sob that threatened to liberate itself from the confines of your constricted airway. You fell forward, onto your knees, as if to pray to the gods to not let it happen. But it already did. You let go of your mouth, gasping for air from holding your breath all this time.

Shoulders sagged and spine bent, you stalked back to your room like a zombie. Face devoid of all emotion, you fell onto the corner of your bed and crumpled into a ball. For twelve hours, you laid there. Sometimes sleeping, other times letting the tears leak out of the corners of your eyes. Memories of his fingers weaving through your own, the pleasures that chilled you to the bone. Most of all, the way you held his head to your chest as he whimpered about the nightmares that invaded his nights. It felt like those things happened to someone else. Nothing more than a distant memory.

Your heart clenched, tugging on the heartstring that you once thought was connected to him.

It was as if he knew you stood outside his door that day. There was an unspoken agreement to never speak of it. Yes, yes, don’t ever speak of it. The dam that you built so carefully will come crashing down. He stopped avoiding you, but you wished he didn’t; it was crueller to be reminded, easier to pretend he didn’t exist.

Be honest with yourself.

You didn’t pretend like he didn’t exist.

In fact, the first thought after waking up? Bucky. Last thought before going to sleep? My Buck. Every time he wasn’t around? James Buchanan Barnes.

Please, don’t act like every waking moment isn’t spent loving him. Because deep down, you know what’s true.

He never did introduce the mystery girl to anyone at the Tower, but you knew his disappearance after missions could be credited to her. Did he take out his anger on her as he did to you? Or were you nothing more than a toy?

Guilt was one of the few emotions you could make out from the rare occasions you caught his stare. Longing was there too, but you couldn’t be sure that you weren’t projecting. Months went by, waiting for thoughts of him to abandon your disturbed mind. The time never came.

As promised, he ruined anyone else for you.

Pragma: the type of love that endures all shortcomings. Committed relationships that stay in love have an element of significant Pragma to them.

a happy ending.

That relationship may have ended but it didn’t mean he would come back to you.

He did come back. But he wasn’t yours. Bucky made that clear when two more relationships ensued the last. Each time, the buffer period between them was filled by you.

His back-up plan. That’s what you had been reduced to.

After the third time he brought a new girl, you’d think you would be used to it, maybe even uncaring. Unfortunately, the opposite would always prevail.

Steve caught your fist and tutted, commenting on the bad form. You stopped, shook your shoulders and began hopping on the balls of your feet again. Jab, jab. Swing. At first, you’d imagine the faces of those girls. Nowadays, it was easier to envision the pads Steve held as his best friend’s face.

“Bucky’s girl broke up with him.”

“Oh,” you made out, focus slightly wavering.

“You know what happened?”

“Are you asking me ‘cause you wanna know or because you already know?”

“I already know,” he sighed, lowering the hand pads.

He exhaled your name, shaking his and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “When are you two gonna stop playing around?”

“I really don’t understand, Steve.”

“You know why she broke up with him?” You blinked, tongue poking the inside of your cheek in anticipation of an answer.

“He moaned your name during sex.”

“God, that’s so corny,” you huffed, now beginning to make your way out of the boxing ring.

“So what, you’re gonna do nothing? Keep letting him use you?” Steve jogged to catch up to you.

“No,” you faced him, “I’m not letting him use me as a fallback anymore. I’m putting an end to it.”

Steve pursed his lips and shot you and exasperated look before shaking his head. “Don’t let something good go to waste.”

It used to be something good.

You wondered if you could hold up the promise you had just declared to Steve; in the past, you failed every time he showed up at your door. Bucky knew exactly how to play into your emotions, how to say the right things every time. And just like that, the next morning you’d end up in his arms. That stops today.

Determined, you practically punched the button to go up on the elevator and impatiently tapped your foot. As the doors slid closed, you took one look at yourself and turned away, fighting the urge to fix your appearance for him. The doors opened again and you check the floor number, ready to step out, but stopped at the sound of your name. His ex. You almost ran off, unwilling to put up with an angry ex, but she called on you again. You sheepishly stood there, as if you were the one who did something wrong, until she stepped in and pressed the button to go to the lobby.

The silence stretched on, much like your patience. Does she even know who you are?

“We were both fooling ourselves.”

You turn to check if she was speaking to you. Her stare was unwavering and she maintained eye contact that almost made you squirm.

“We both love different people.” She smiled, an obvious melancholy tainting her face. You stood there, absolutely clueless as to how you should respond.

“It’s too late for me, but it’s not for the two of you. Just... don’t let him go. He’s one of the good ones.”

You turned again, now looking down at the ground. Even if she expected you to say something back, it was impossible, at this point. Your mind was in shambles, everything she said contradicting the choice you made five minutes ago.

After what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened and she stepped out. She turned one last time and nodded as if you knew what to do now.

Bucky’s door was unlocked. You called out his name, barely above a whisper and sauntered with hesitation lining your every step. Nothing. Empty. He wasn’t there.

It was a sign. You almost ignored the advice his ex gave, ready to walk into his room and end things. Your shoulder slumped as if your bore the weight of the world on them as you slunk back to your room. Now it would take another outburst or another month to prepare yourself to talk to him again.

As the days went by, you barely saw him around. It reminded you of the times he intentionally ignored you, except this time, you weren’t sure it was intentional. When you did see him, it was clear that he wasn’t doing good; his beard was unkept and scraggly, the bags under his eyes heavier than any trauma he carried. You pretended as though you didn’t notice and went about your routine.

1 AM

A knock sounded at your door. You knew who it was, how could you not, but hoped it wasn’t him anyway. The encounter would most likely end with tears or sex and you didn’t favour either outcome.

You waited a minute. Maybe he would leave if he assumed you were asleep. The knock sounded again.

You cracked the door open. Whatever you were expecting, surely, it wasn’t this. Eyes red and puffy, it was clear he had been crying and most definitely not sleeping.

He held up a wine bottle, and chuckled pathetically at himself.

“Maybe this is bad idea,” he sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his left arm.

It didn’t feel right to say anything. Rather, you opened the door wider and beckoned for him to step in.

“Emergency?” you asked with a little smile. God, you were so close to crying and he hasn’t even said anything.

“Oh yeah. Big emergency.”

He sat on your bed and felt the sheets, trying to remember the feeling of it on his knees. The days he would buck into you while you clutched them like a vice. The soldier pursed his lips and watched as you settled beside him.

“You don’t have to talk... if you don’t want to,” you said. Your voice cracked and you almost smacked yourself for being so weak around him.

“But I do. I should talk. I have so much to say... Can I explain?” He turned to face you, reaching out for your hands, holding them in his own. You didn’t say anything, opting to return his request with a pleading look in your eyes. He knew what the look meant: just don’t break my heart. Again. He took a deep breath in acknowledgement, trying to form the words that would help you understand.

“I can’t believe I hurt you. I swear, I didn’t know I was doing it, at first.” You mustered your best unbelieving look, almost scoffing for good measure. “No, really,” he hastily added.

A few tears streamed down your face and you frantically tried to wipe them. Bucky took one look at you before he began breaking down, tears slipping down his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry... I just- I don’t understand? I thought things were good?” you questioned. You had given up on trying to wipe your tears, as did he.

“I wasn’t supposed to fall for you. And by the time I realized, we were so far in. Then I found a distraction... and I really thought I was over you,” he paused, wondering if he should continue or not. You showed no sign of speaking up, so he went on.

“I didn’t think you cared. I didn’t think you felt the same way. I was so convinced that you wouldn’t blink twice but then... but, I-... I heard you at the door that day. I wanted to kick her out and hold you, but I-...”

“But you what? You what, Bucky?”

“I thought it was too late for us. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Then why are you here now?”

“Don’t be mad,” he murmured, retracting his hands and fiddling with his fingers.

“I don’t think anyone can ever replace what we had. Maybe... still have? Because you’re it for me. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize that. I was on the brink of losing myself.” He looked up at you, eyes brimming with a new wave of tears. He mumbled your name weakly, croaking out a please at the end.

You curled in on yourself and fell into his arms, hoping that was enough of a answer.

“I can’t promise you that everything will be back to normal by tomorrow morning... but with some time, I can learn to trust you again.”

Above you, Bucky hurriedly nodded. At the state he’s in right now, you suspected that you could ask him to sell his soul and he would agree.

“And if you ever break my heart again-,”

“-I would die before that happens,” he finished for you, kissing the top of your head for good measure.

“I love you,” you whimpered, “so fucking much.”

“I love you too. I really love you too,” he affirmed and encased you with his arms again.

Though there had been some rough patches on the road to happiness, with Bucky by your side, you felt as though you could make it through anything; for that, is the power of pragmatic love.

an unfortunate ending.

The tears that would’ve been shed during the ceremony have dried on your pillowcase about five hours ago. Now, you sat beside the team, waiting for her to walk down the aisle.

Bucky looked nervous, as if he were reconsidering his life decisions. The little devil on your shoulder was holding onto every little thing he did: the wrinkle of his forehead, his repeated tugging on the suit and his flustered glancing around. Oh lord, and when he accidentally locked eyes with you? You may have bitten your lip and looked away in contempt but the shoulder-devil was as persistent as ever.

He secretly still wants you.

Shut up.

He wants to call it off.

Get a life.

At last, the lucky girl stood at the end of the winding path and you couldn’t help but sneak a look at the groom. His tension and nervousness crumbled at the sight of her; it was difficult not to feel happy that he had found the one that made him feel this way.

It may have been him for you, but that notion was long forgotten, a nuisance of memory at most. Your love for him, regardless of the storms it has endured, is no longer respected or wanted by either party.

If he loves her, why does he come to you when things get bad?

You shook your head at that, having no answer for the nature of his secret infidelity. It was nothing more than taking out his frustrations on you - much like the old days.

Your reminiscing was cut short when a voice asked everyone to rise for the bride. You stood and straightened out your outfit, flicking off the little white petal that clung to your maroon dress. A hand grasped your own, and you turned to see Steve smile reassuringly. You squeeze his hand in appreciation and turned your attention to the white-clad figure walking down the aisle.

And that’s all you remember. You wish you could recall the rest of the wedding. You really do. Too preoccupied with what was going to happen after the event, you disassociated from the ordeal altogether. No matter how hard you grilled yourself, nothing would come to mind - dissociative amnesia only occurs as a protective coping mechanism during traumatic events; was that what Bucky’s wedding was to you?

What type of question is that?

For once, you agreed with the little red beast that sat on your shoulder. Long ago, the first time you saw someone else Bucky’s arms, the devil pierced the pitchfork right through the angel’s heart. These days, it was all you could think of.

After the bride and groom exchanged ‘I do’s’, you willed yourself to stay a while longer. Your only companion, Steve, slow danced with you in silence, knowing that whatever he says would be of no consolation. Bucky did have half a mind to ask you for a dance, but he saw you leave. You didn’t think anyone did. He waited for you to turn and look at him one last time, but you never did. It’s okay, he thought. I didn’t deserve her anyway.

No one saw you after that.

On your bed, Steve found a single note that didn’t explain anything more than what he already knew. If anything, it simply affirmed that you were gone for good. Your things packed up, no trace of a person ever having lived there. Even if he pulled some strings, it would take years to find you again.

After all, you had already been lost for quite some time.

hey folks. i know this seems a little desperate-sounding but i would really appreciate reblogs and would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on the story. what was you favourite part? which part made you feel some way? i really love knowing these things. love each and every single one of you.

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fiveisnumber1 · 3 years

Text

Timeless - Five Hargreeves x Reader

Main story parts:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31

_________________________

Pt 31 - Commission Issues

As you zoned out looking at the sky and wondering about the possibilities of what would come next you hear Luther call out behind you,

"Five!"

Coming back to reality you turn towards the sound and watch as Luther follows Five back into the apartment building. You decide to follow them as well but not before looking at Klaus and Ben on the ground and say,

"Whatever that was, I'm going to ignore it but you two need to figure out where the others went while I help Five with whatever idea he has next, okay?"

"Uhh...sure" Klaus groans as he stands up

"Fine, we will," Ben adds

You nod your head and turn around rushing to follow the two boys who were heading inside the building. As you followed them up the staircase you could hear Luther exclaim,

"Hey! Five, doomsday is still coming. We gotta think of a new plan."

"Don't you get it, Luther? It's over, all right? We're already dead." Five complains

"Then where are you going?" Luther questions

"I'm going to do the unthinkable." Five replies frustratedly "The hell is that supposed to mean?" Luther follows up

As the three of you enter the apartment you hear Five mumble to himself, "I was really hoping it wouldn't come to this."

With that, he enters what used to be Elliott's bedroom and shuts and locks the door behind him. Luther leans up against it knocking and yelling, "Come to what, Five? Five! Come to what? Five!"

Luther bangs on the door calling out Five's name over and over again to no response. You step next to Luther and when he looks down at you, you say,

"Let me talk to him."

Luther nods at you knowing that you were probably the best option to talk to him. If anybody was going to calm down and reason with him, it was going to be you. As Luther walks away to the living room portion of the apartment, you phase through the bedroom door. Once you enter, you watch as Five paces back and forth complaining to himself,

"All we had to do was get together on time. That was it! those idiots screw everything up."

"Five..." You say

"I do everything to try and save us from impending doom and I can't even rely on them for the simplest of tasks!" He continues to complain

"Five." You try again

"I bet they'll blame it all on me again too!"

"Five!" You call out grabbing his hand

Five stops pacing and his head snaps towards you.

"What?!" He snapped

You were taken aback by his outburst, your eyes going wide at the harsh tone of his voice. You could see the frustration on his face and the anger in his eyes. You knew deep down that he was just worried, but sometimes his emotions didn't come easy and it hurt you to see him so upset.

Five was done with the constant threat of the apocalypse. With not being listened to and with plan after plan to get everyone home failing. He wanted to run away from it all but then he saw the shocked look on your face, and his mind flashed back to all those years ago when you both were children. He recalled the anger and frustration he felt at his father not listening to him and not believing in his ability to time travel. The rage that burned inside him because things had not gone the way he wanted. And he remembered the way you held onto him and the shocked look on your face as he took his anger out on you. Those moments, that day, burned themselves into his mind and plagued him through his whole life. He had always regretted that day, and probably always would but there was no way he was going to make the same mistake twice. Five's head looked down shamefully as he quietly apologized,

"I'm sorry..."

Letting go of his hand you take a step forward and gently cradle his face in your hands, tilting his head up slightly so he can look at you. You look into his eyes and the anger you saw before was replaced with pain. Softly you cooed,

"It's okay darling."

"No. It's not. I shouldn't have done it." Five replied hurt "We both remember the last time I took my anger out on you and look how great that turned out."

Five turned his head slightly to look away from you. He couldn't believe himself for directing his anger towards you when you didn't do anything wrong. When you've never done anything wrong. If anything he had done wrong towards you. You knew Five regretted the day you both traveled through time. He had mentioned it to you a few times but sometimes he'd have a far-off look and you could just tell that his thoughts of that day were consuming him again. He lived with so much pain due to his actions and their consequences and you wished you could just take it all away. You tilted his face back towards you and tried to comfort him,

"Five, I don't blame you for what happened that day, it was the result of years of cruelty from your father, and no offense to them, but your siblings have let you down consistently over what has only been two weeks for you. You had and have every right to be upset."

"You're correct but that didn't and doesn't make it right for me to take it out on you." Five calmly explained "It was wrong then and it's wrong now. I'm sorry."

"It's okay my love." you forgive

"How can you be so forgiving of me? After everything I've done?" Five questions

"Five I knew who you were before that day, and I know you now. People make mistakes, and you're no exception, but it's the actions you took after them that prove you're a good person and worthy of forgiveness." You inform

Five just looks at you for a second before stepping forward and wrapping you tightly in his arms. You remove your hands from his face and wrap your arms around his neck hugging him back. He loved you so much and god knows what he would do if he lost you again. He didn't want to lose his family either. He'd never say it especially because he's tried to show it to no avail, but he cared about his siblings. They were his family and he wanted them to live just as much as he wanted you to. The apocalypse was coming and time was running out for you and his family. And that worried him. As you hug him, you can feel his face bury into the crook of your neck. Gently, you stroke his hair as he quietly says,

"They make it so hard. I just want you all to live."

"I know, but you have a brilliant mind and I know you'll figure out how to get us out of here." You whisper back to him

Five shakes his head on your shoulder before he lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours.

"I don't deserve you." He remarks

"Say that again and I'll kill you." you threaten

Five lets out a light chuckle and a smirk comes to his face. He could not tell how serious your statement was but he found your threat of violence to be cute anyway. You and Five pull your faces back from each other and Five just looks at you for a second. He truly did not know how he could live without you. Nodding his head, Five straightened up and said,

"Alright, I have a hail mary plan in mind but I have to figure out some details first."

"Okay. While you do that I think I'm going to go check to see if Charlie is around. No guarantees he's come this way yet but just in case he has I want to let him know I'm okay." You reply

You nod your head at him and start to walk away but when you get to the door you turn back to look at him again and add,

"If you figure out your plan and I'm not back, just go without me I'll wait here."

"Okay." Five replies "I love you."

"I love you too."

You then exit the room and let your boyfriend be. He was going to need the time and space to figure out what to do. As you walk out you see that Luther had passed out on the couch in the living room. Stopping the apocalypse was a pretty tiring affair. You walked out of the apartment and looked around the street. It was pretty barren and a lot of shops were closed given that JFK was in town. Most people had probably headed downtown to see the motorcade later today. it sure would be eventful. You couldn't really see Charlie's car anywhere and you were about to turn around when you hear what sounded like a woman yell out,

"HELP!"

Immediately, your instincts kicked in and you ran towards the voice screaming out. Following it down an alley you stopped and looked around for who was in danger. Before you could turn around though something jabbed into your back and you started to feel dizzy. You tried to fight off whatever was happening but it was too late and you collapsed to the group. As your consciousness started to fade in and out, the last thing you heard was someone saying,

"I'm sure your brother will be happy to see you."

Back at the apartment, Five had finally come to terms with his plan. He needed to intercept the last person he'd want to see in this timeline. Himself. An older-looking version of him had arrived in Dallas no more than 10 minutes ago to kill President Kennedy and although it was risky, if they could get the briefcase from him, Five knew he could get his family home. He needed to prepare though. Rushing out of the bedroom, Five heads towards the kitchen and loudly opens the refrigerator door. The sound of the fridge causes Luther to wake. And as he gets up from the couch he calls out,

"Five? Five?"

Five ignored the calls as he grabbed a container of water and started to chug it down. When Luther entered the kitchen he looked upon the sight before him of Five intensely drinking water. Furrowing his eyebrows, Luther asks confused,

"Five, you okay?"

Five gasps heavily as he finishes the water and puts the container back in the fridge. "I'm gonna need to be hydrated." Five states

"Hydrated?" Luther questions

Luther watches as Five frantically looks around the kitchen for something before having his eyes lock on the kitchen table. Five walks over to it and quickly grabs a bottle of baby powder off of it before sprinkling some down each sleeve of his shirt and then some down his pants. Luther grew concerned about what was going on as he inquires,

"What's with the baby powder?" "It'll help with the itching." Five responds "What itching? There's itching? What the hell is going on here?" Luther asks before realizing "You do have a plan." Five does a few jumps and shakes to even out the baby powder he had practically doused himself in. Grabbing his jacket from the chair he walks past Luther into the living room of Elliott's apartment and explains, "Well, it's a desperation move, but since our brain-dead siblings are incapable of meeting a simple deadline, I got no choice."

Luther turns to look at his sibling and asks, "No choice about what?"

"I have to find myself." Five states looking at his watch "I just arrived in Dallas 15 minutes ago." "Should I be worried about you?"

Five puts his academy jacket back on before bending over and starting to stretch. If he was going to do this he needed to know he was dexterous enough to fight or run after himself. With his younger body and surplus of energy, it probably wouldn't be that hard. Then again it was only two weeks ago when he was still working for the commission as well, and even in his old age, he was taking people out left and right. As he stretches Five explains,

"Luther, if you recall, I was sent to 1963 on a job by the Commission to make sure the president was assassinated." "Oh! So, wait, your old self is out there." Luther says

Five stood up and looked at his brother. Finally, the wheels in Luther's big monkey brain were starting to turn and he was starting to grasp the plan Five had come up with. "Precisely." Five states "What, just walking around Dallas?" Luther asks confused

Nevermind. The monkey brain was still a monkey brain. Realizing his nitwit brother would not understand unless he described it in the same way he'd talk to a six-year-old, Five emphasized, "Walking around Dallas with a briefcase that can get us home."

Luther's eyes go wide and a surprised expression appears on his face as Five watches the lightbulb finally goes off in Luther's head. It was honestly disappointing how long it took for that to happen. "Oh, my God. Five, you're a genius!" Luther exclaims

He may be a genius but the plan wasn't perfect though. There were significant flaws in it but it was a hail-mary for a reason. Turning to Luther, Five elaborates, "However, there are two significant problems with this plan. Problem number one: I am a trained assassin, arguably the most dangerous assassin in the space-time continuum. If I know me, I'm not going to react kindly to bumping into myself. Problem number two, and this is the real fly in the ointment here: you're not supposed to exist in close proximity to yourself in the same timeline. The side effects can be disastrous." "Side effects? What sort of side effects?" Luther inquires

"Well, according to Commission Handbook Chapter 27, subsection 3b, the seven stages in paradox psychosis are stage one: denial, two: itching, three: extreme thirst and urination, four: excessive gas, five: acute paranoia, six: uncontrolled perspiration, and seven: homicidal rage." Five explains "Homicidal rage?" Luther questions

"Yeah." Five states "Jeez, I don't know. This maybe isn't such a good idea." "It's a Hail Mary. But what choice do we got, Luther?" Five exclaims "I don't know, you already seem a bit squirrelly if I'm being honest." "Look, Luther, I'm gonna need you to help me get through this one, all right? I...I need a spotter." "A spotter?"

"Yeah."

"What is that? Like, a wingman?" Luther questions

"In case the paradox psychosis gets too severe, I need you to help me stay on task, all right? So, whatever happens, whatever I say, we need to get that briefcase. Okay?" Five explains

"Okay, but where's (Y/N)?" Luther questions looking around

"I don't know. She said she was going on a walk to find Charlie but I guess hasn't come back yet." Five states "Maybe it's better that way though."

"You don't want your girlfriend coming? Don't you think she could rationalize with you more than I can if things get bad with this paradox psychosis?" Luther states concerned

"Most likely, and honestly I wouldn't mind some more steadiness from her" Five says

He then stops for a moment to think about the events at the Lonely Lodger Inn from earlier. He wouldn't mind that at all.

"Five?" Luther calls

Pulled from his thoughts he looks back to Luther and continues to explain,

"BUT if she's not there I can use my knowledge of her as leverage against myself. 45 years ago was the last time he saw her alive. He's sad, desperate, and blames himself for her death. We can use his emotional turmoil to get the briefcase if necessary."

Luther looked at his brother shocked. He knew where Five was coming from but it was almost vile considering using you against the other version of himself. Like he had said that version of him is sad, desperate, and blames himself for your death. Withholding knowledge about you just to get the briefcase would probably be on torture levels for him. Luther knew how strongly Five felt about you and the two of you were together now, so he could only imagine what could happen with the version that hasn't seen you in years.

"You're going to use your girlfriend like blackmail against yourself?"

"As I said, if necessary I will." Five comments as he starts to walk away "Now, come on Luther."

"Right..." Luther says to himself

Leaving out of the apartment the two of them head out in search of Five's Commission self. Although both still wondered where you were.

____________________________

As you started to regain your consciousness the world around you began to flood your senses. Your mind felt fogged as your head rested heavily on a cold surface. Your eyelids drooped but you tried to open them to see where you were. Through blurred vision, you were able to make out an empty grey room. It reminded you of the interrogation room at the police station Eudora worked at. This definitely wasn't the alley you were in. You moved your body around and with enough force, you manage to get yourself upright but your heavy head still hung low. As you became upright you could feel your backside hit the backing of the chair you were in. You moved your arms trying to readjust yourself but as you did so you hear the sounds of clanking and realized there was something around your wrists. You were handcuffed.

"Maybe Charlie was right about not running towards danger." You groan

It felt like your physical being and consciousness were both moving through sludge. Whatever that person injected into you to knock you out was sure as hell powerful. You tried to think of a plan to get out but all of them involved your powers and you could just feel the fatigue run through your veins from the sedative. Taking some breaths you tried to figure out where you were and where to go from here. Listening carefully you could hear the buzzing of the light above you but also the sounds of people walking and chattering outside the room you were in. Gathering energy, you threw your head back so that it was facing up towards the ceiling. You moved your eyes around and spotted a door to the left of you. There were no real defining characteristics to let you know where you were. Maybe Reggie had informed the government about you and now the FBI or CIA was going to use you as a weapon of mass destruction. Maybe the Soviets had kidnapped you and were going to use you as ransom to the US government because apparently, the world saw you as the adoptive daughter of an eccentric billionaire. Either way, you didn't know where you were and you didn't know how to get out. Overall, this was a very bad situation. Without any other real options, you sat there and waited for something to happen. As you did so you could hear the door open and the sound of someone walking into the room before closing the door behind them.

"Good, you're awake." The voice commented

You knew that voice. It was the same one as the person who had knocked you out. Although you were still too sluggish to do anything about your situation you could feel a fire start to build. Rolling your head to the side you looked towards the figure. Across the other side of a table stood a woman in all black clothes with a late 90s grunge cut with a fake smile on her face. Narrowing your eyes at them you demanded,

"Where am I?"

"You're at the Temps Commission." They responded

"Fuck." You said under your breath

This was worse than you thought, and now you were wishing you were captured by the KGB or US government. You had no clue what they knew nor what they wanted from you and since you couldn't fight back, the best course of action was to stay quiet. No matter what, you would not reveal any information about the Hargreeves but especially Five. They had been on his ass ever since he returned to 2019 and you were not going to let them get to him. The woman before you looked over as you sat in silence.

"What, no more questions?" They inquire "I feel like you'd have a lot more given who I am."

"I have no clue who you are." You remark

"Lila?"

Oh. Her. Great. Letting out an annoyed huff you stare at her with an unimpressed expression.

"Ah yes, now I recall," You comment, sarcasm laced in your voice "You're my emotionally damaged, older brother's sloppy seconds hookup, who in reality is a vomit bag of lies and manipulation."

"Listen here you little prick, I'm his girlfriend." She snaps

"You ain't shit. His girlfriend is a corpse, six feet under and somehow she's still better than you." You scoff

As your confidence grew, you started to realize that the sedative was wearing off more. You started to feel less sluggish and although physically you couldn't do much your mind became clearer. You didn't want to tip Lila off that you were regaining your strength though so you stayed in your slumped position but kept a cocky look on your face. Lila slams her hands down on the table and stares at you intensely.

"I should kill you." She threatens

"Do it. I'm sure that'll go over real well with my brother." You remark sarcastically

"You a bigger pain in the ass than Five." She remarks annoyed

"Good." You reply curtly

The two of you stare each other down intensely, neither of you saying anything. After a few moments, Lila remarks,

"You're an asshole."

"And you're the walking embodiment of sad British cooking. Fucking basic beans and toast looking ass bitch." You retort

You watch and Lila's face contorted with a flurry of emotions. Shock, confusion, anger. They were all present. Lila then stands up straight once more and in a monotone voice states,

"I have a meeting to go to."

Turning away from you she heads to the door. As she does so you shout behind her,

"Ha! That's right, leave! And just know if I could flip you off right now I would!"

As Lila steps out of the room you can hear her say to someone,

"You watch over her for now and bring her to my mother's office in 15 minutes. Understood?"

And as Lila fully leaves the room another woman steps in. Closing the door behind her, she looks through the glass window of the door as if trying to check for something before pulling the curtain down. Locking the door she walks over to the table and pulls up a chair across from you. With her hands clasped nicely on the table, she gives you a genuine wide smile and says,

"Hiya! I'm Dot!"

You looked at the woman before you. She seemed kind but this was also the Temps Commission so you had your reservations about trusting her.

"(Y/N)..."

"Oh, I know!" She replies in an upbeat tone "And let me tell you, a lot of us down at case management are so happy for you and Five. A lot of us wish the process was sped up but we have no real say in any decisions here but gosh we're just so happy for you two."

You stared at her blankly. She seemed sincere in her congrats, but part of you worried this was just some ploy to get you to let your guard down. You shifted uncomfortably in your chair and quietly commented back,

"Uh...thanks."

Dot let out a small sigh as her smile faltered a bit. Giving you a soft expression she lowers her voice and states,

"Listen, I know you're probably hesitant to trust me but if I'm going to get you out of here you're going to need to."

"I'm not going to trust anybody here. Five has told me all about you all." You state

"I understand. Let me just do something to prove you can trust me. Please just don't run after I do it. It'll cause a whole lotta trouble for the both of us." Dot says

You watch as she gets up from her seat and walks behind you. You try to turn your head as best as you can to see what she's doing but between the sedative still working its way out of your system and the fact you could not turn your head like an owl it was difficult. You watch as she crouches down for a second and then you hear the sound of something clattering to the ground. Dot walks back to her chair and sits down. As she does that you realize the clattering sound was that of your handcuffs falling to the floor. She had let you go knowing there was a chance you would run away. If you were able to move better maybe you would but that wasn't a possibility yet and you were a little curious as to what was up with her now. Shaking your wrists out a bit, Dot comments to you,

"You're free now, but please don't run. Let me get you out of here the right way."

"Get me out of here? What do you mean?" You questioned as you rested your arms on the table

Dot looked around the room once more checking to make sure nothing was there to see and hear her. Looking back towards you she explains,

"The Handler is trying to take over the commission. I and a few other folks are part of an underground resistance effort to try and stop her, because if she takes the reigns of this whole place we have no clue what will happen, but we know it won't be good."

"What do you know then?" You question, leaning forward in your seat

"From what we can infer, she wants the apocalypse to happen and she wants it to wipe out Five and the rest of the Hargreeves. But Lila obviously has a soft spot for your brother and brought him here."

"My brother Diego." You state

You knew that it was Diego who she brought. Of course, it was. Logically, it was the only answer that made sense. Hell, she thought she was his girlfriend. And yet, there was a part of you that thought about your other brother, Dean. You knew it was unlikely that he was here. It was virtually impossible, but maybe if he was all of your friends were here too. The look on your face must've said what you were thinking because Dot reached across the table and took your hands in her own.

"I'm sorry about your other brother." She consoled

Your heart clenched at those words. Taking a deep breath you attempted to ask,

"I'm guessing he..."

"Yes." Dot answered, "Along with the rest of your friends."

You looked down and nodded your head lightly. You knew how the world ended. You knew that the reality you had known, did end. And yet, somehow up until now, you had been able to block out the true gravity of the situation. You remembered how you joked with Charlie that he was the only friend you had left and to stay away from fireplaces or else you would have no one. You truly had not grieved their loss for years and instead had evaded it with humor or distractions. But now you were faced with the truth that you had always known. Your friends were dead. The apocalypse killed them. You held Dot's hands a little tighter as you squeezed your eyes shut trying to keep the tears that were forming back. With eyes still closed, you took a few small breaths before quietly asking,

"How did it happen?"

There was a silence in the room as the air loomed heavy over the two of you. Dot then took a breath before answering,

"In their last moments, they were all together singing happy birthday to your friend Kenny."

You lifted your head towards Dot and opened your eyes. You nodded your head as you managed to fight back your grief and replied softly.

"...at least Dean kept his promise."

"I know this is difficult for you to deal with especially since things are already so stressful but we can get them back." Dot states calmly

"How?" You inquired

If you had a chance to save the Hargreeves, and get your friends back, you would take it, no matter what. You loved them all and nothing was going to stop you from keeping them alive.

"In the simplest of terms, stop The Handler, Stop the 1963 apocalypse, and return the original timeline."

"I'm in." You reply without hesitation "What do I need to do?"

"Lila knows that you matter more to Diego than she does, so she brought you here to use you to keep Diego in line. We're going to head to the Handler's office soon so Lila can use you as said bait. What you need to do is still pretend that you are too sedated to actually fight or anything." Dot starts to explain

"Pretend? I am still too sedated to fight." You state confused

"Not for long though." She replies "I went to our Metaphysics Division laboratory-"

She had to be joking right? The whole concept of the Temps Commission was crazy enough but a Metaphysics Division was honestly ridiculous to you. Cutting her off you sarcastically questioned,

"Metaphysics Division? What do they do? Turn decades into candy? Synthesize a person's memories from their DNA into an injectable? Create bodies for consciousness to be transferred into?"

"They already did the first one, I'm sure they could do the second if they tried, and they accomplished the last one until Five blew up the briefcase room which unfortunately shared a wall with the lab. They moved the lab location to a safer spot after that." Dot explained, "Point being, I stole a vile of adrenaline for you."

"Because adrenaline helps bring back my powers. That's genius." You compliment

"Yes. So during the meeting, you're just going to pretend that you're still very sedated but after that, we move into phase 2."

"And what's that?" You ask

"We're getting you out of here and back to Five."

With that, Dot pulls the vial of adrenaline and a packaged medical needle out of her pocket and slides them across the table to you.

"I'm not sure what your limit is so I don't want to be the one to inject it. Also, as a fair warning, we don't have much time until I need to take you to the Handler's office." Dot explains

You nodded your head at her and grab the vial and needle. You had watched Kenny do this enough times for you that you felt you could figure it out on your own with minimal problems. Opening the packaged needle you go through the steps to fill it with the adrenaline from the vile before injecting it into your arm. You weren't sure how much you were supposed to give yourself but you felt much more energized even in the few minutes after doing so. Dot turned to you and you knew from the look on her face that it was time to go. Grabbing the handcuffs from the floor you handed them to Dot before putting your hands behind your back. Once they were on you got yourself in the headspace of pretending to be somewhat sedated and started acting less alert and coordinated.

"Are you ready?" Dot questioned

"Yup. Let's set this plan in motion." You reply

Dot then unlocks the door and the two of you walk out of the room down the halls of the commission towards the Handler's office. In the office though, the Handler looked in disbelief at Lila and her pick for new commission security detail.

"Are you kidding me?" The Handler exclaims

"You said I could hire my own team." Lila states "Yes, but I didn't mean him, for God's sake. If you don't see the problem with hiring you-know-who's brother, then you're not ready for that badge." The Handler complains

Diego looks at the scene before him of the back and forth between mother and daughter. This was going nowhere and he was not meant to be here. Trying to get up and leave he says, "I'm sorry, but I really need to get going." "Shut up!" They both yell at him

Diego slowly sits back down in his seat as the two of them go back and forth with each other. "I can't do this job if you don't trust my instincts," Lila complains "Sweetheart, your vagina needs glasses. He is not worth it." The Handler criticizes "Mum! Oh, my God."Lila exclaims embarrassed before changing her tune "This may shock you, but not everyone here likes you."

The Handler looks at Lila confused as she states, "Sounds ridiculous, but go on." "You need fresh blood loyal to us and not the old regime. I've seen Diego in the field. He is so much better trained than most of the assholes here. Why waste that when we can use it? He'll be my personal responsibility." Lila explains to her mother

The Handler turns her attention from Lila to Diego.

"You know, your brother Five and I have quite a colorful history." The handler playfully comments with a wink

Diego looks at her confused and disgusted. He hoped to god that she wasn't insinuating what he thought she was because if so he was going to kick Five's ass. Trying to both change the topic, and gage what she meant Diego replies, "My brother has beef with all except one person, and that person is not me." Diego retorts "Let me ask you something. When you're looking down the barrel of a gun, where do your loyalties lie, with your family or your principles?" The Handler asks "With me. I don't belong to anybody. Especially Lila." Diego retorts

The handler stares Diego down for a bit and there is a silence in the air. Turning back to Lila she states, "That I can work with. Run him through orientation and fill out his paperwork."

A wide smile comes to Lila's face as she happily exclaims, "Aw, thanks, Mum! I'm glad you're on board, but just to be sure he behaves I do have an insurance policy in place."

"A what?" Diego questioned

The door then opened from behind him. You had been waiting on the other side of the wall with Dot for a few minutes for some kind of signal to enter the room. You guessed Lila wanted dramatic effect, which was very villain-esque and very cliche. Walking into the room you made sure that you looked physically weak so that they wouldn't feel like you had the full ability to fight them again. Dot sat you down in a chair in between Diego and Lila before walking back outside of the room. Turning to your brother you smile at him and comment,

"Hey Eggo, how's it going? Did you get drugged and kidnapped as well?"

Diego's pulse begins to quicken as he looks between you and Lila. Anger started to build inside of him as his eyes locked on Lila. She looked at him from her seat with confusion.

"Diego, what's wrong?" She questioned

Diego couldn't believe that it was even a question of what could be wrong. How could she not see the awful nature of what she had done? Shooting up from his chair, Diego moves to place himself between you and Lila. He wasn't going to let her get any closer to you. She had already hurt you once and there was no way he was going to let it happen again. Not on his watch.

"What's wrong?" He questioned rhetorically before yelling "YOU DRUGGED AND KIDNAPPED MY SISTER!"

Lila did not fully think this plan through. She knew that Diego had a soft spot for you so she knew she could use you to help get him to stay and work as security. What she had not anticipated was his anger. She thought he would be a little upset but still happy to have you with him. That was not looking like the case though. Standing up as well, Lila tries to downplay the severity of what she had done.

"Diego, calm down, she's fine. A little sedated but fine." Lila explains with some nervous laughter

"Fine would be her not being here at all Lila!" Diego rebuked

The Handler looked at the lover's quarrel going on between the two of them. It was unexpected but it revealed a side of Diego that was unknown before. It was impressive that Lila had thought ahead to bring in the one loyalty that Diego had so that he would be less likely to act out.

"I see you do have some loyalties..." The Handler comments "Good thinking on the blackmail sweetheart."

As you quietly sat handcuffed, trying to pretend that you had no ability to use your powers, you couldn't help but get irritated at Lila and Diego. Feeling the need to add your input, you cut in commenting,

"Y'know...I'm just putting it out there, but Eudora never would've drugged and kidnapped me to use me as blackmail because she was actually a good person."

"Shut up." Lila scolds, glaring at you

"Don't talk to my sister like that!" Diego reprimands

"Yeah! Fuck you, beans and toast." You add

"What?" Diego asks looking down at you confused

"Just roll with it." You whisper back to him

"Diego," Lila calls bringing his attention back to her "Look at it this way. At least she's with you her brother and not her awful boyfriend, Five."

"He's a pain in my ass, and I don't like sharing her but he's not an awful boyfriend. Everything he has done is for her." Diego replies

"I'm telling him you said that." You mention

Diego once again turns to look at you and in the sternest of tones he states,

"No."

He then turns back to Lila and continues to explain,

"And second of all, I'd rather her be with him than here because then at least I know she's protected."

The Handler was becoming less and less amused by this argument the more it went on. Deciding she was done with their petty bickering she stood up from her desk and commanded,

"Enough. Lila, take your little puppy to orientation."

Lila tried grabbing Diego's arm to take him away but he held his ground. No matter what he was not going to leave you behind, especially not alone with the Handler. Lila looked between her mother and Diego, growing increasingly worried about what would happen if Diego didn't leave with her soon. Lila tried pulling him along once more but he pulled his arm from her grasp. Placing a hand on your shoulder he turned to face the handler. Standing his ground, Diego demanded,

"I'm not going anywhere without my sister."

"Alright." The handler replies monotonously "Kill him, Lila."

"No!" You and Lila shout in unison

The two of you glare at each other before you look towards your brother. He was not dying just because he felt this need to stick around and protect you. You knew he was always going to put you first in a way he barely did with anyone else, but you were not going to risk losing your other brother because of his need to protect you.

"Diego please go." You asked calmly

Diego looked towards you before crouching down in front of you. Looking you in the eyes, he gently holds onto each of your arms. He said no words but you could feel his hands shake.

"I'm not leaving you." He stated, trying to keep his voice calm

There was a certain deja vu to the conversation you were having with Diego. Your brain traveling back to that day in 2019. You tried not to think too much about it but knowing what had happened after made this conversation even harder. You didn't want to make your brother leave, but you knew you needed to so he could be safe. You just hoped that this time things would turn out better.

"Diego. Go." You forced out

He looked at you sadly but knew you wouldn't budge on the issue. Wrapping his arms around you he pulls you into a tight hug, not wanting to let you go. If your hands weren't cuffed behind your back you would've held him as well but all you could do was rest your head on his shoulder.

"I'll be okay," you whispered, trying to reassure Diego of the decision

"I'm gonna come back for you." He whispered back

He let out a sigh before standing up and reluctantly nodding towards Lila to show him the way. You turned your head to watch him leave. Diego looked back at you one more time, hoping that he would see your face again soon. And with that, he left and you were now left alone with the Handler herself. You watched as she made her way around her desk and leaned back on it so she was now in front of you. She gave you a smile that was nowhere near as friendly as Dot's was. It unsettled you greatly. Instinctively, you leaned back in your seat as you stared quietly back at her.

"So you must be Five's little plaything," The handler comments "I'm so glad I finally get to meet you. I was hoping it would be on better circumstances but for some reason, Five never wanted to bring you around."

You could see why he didn't want you two to meet. Although she tried to portray herself as kind it was very evident that she was psychotic.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" She questions "Maybe a candy would help? Would you like one?"

She gestures to a bowl of candy on her desk. Honestly, you wouldn't mind one and you were so done with the day at this point that you were willing to accept the risk it might be poisoned.

"Sure, but uh...I can't really grab it." You reply shaking your arms to gesture to the handcuffs

The handler moves from leaning on her desk to behind you and undoes one handcuff before re-cuffing it on the armrest of the chair you were in. Still not great, but at least you were able to have some movement of your hands and arms. The handler grabs a piece of candy from the bowl and hands it to you. A smirk resided on her face as she watches you take the candy from her hand.

"Here have this one," she says before walking back behind her desk

As she walks back to her chair, you unwrap the candy and pop it in your mouth. It didn't taste too great. It tasted like stress and tears and sadness, but then again it was not as bad as the weird food concoctions you and your friends had made before. You crunched on it a little bit before swallowing it all. As the handler sits back down in her seat she starts to say,

"We've synthesized specific years into- wait did you just eat that whole thing?"

"Yeah." You reply bluntly

"That was The Great Depression candy." She states shocked

"Ah, that makes more sense. I thought it just tasted like finals week. Not bad though." You respond

The handler looks at you baffled. She purposely gave you the Great Depression as a way to knock you down and show her superiority but you ate the whole thing like it was nothing.

"Not bad? It was made to taste like blood, sweat, tears, and depression."

You shrug your shoulders and nonchalantly reply,

"It could be worse."

"It could be worse? What is wrong with you?" She questions before saying "Nevermind."

The handler took a moment to try and regain herself. Not even she was able to eat the Great Depression candy without gagging. This was a situation she had not anticipated but she wasn't going to be confused or intimidated by some child. You on the other hand felt a pride rise inside you. You tried to hold your laughter back as you thought to yourself, Now I've thrown her off her rhythm. This situation was bad but at least you were able to make it entertaining. The handler after reestablishing her "polite" composure brought a faux smile back to her face as she turned her attention towards you again.

"You are quite the individual. Just like Five, we've had our eyes on you for a long time."

"That's kinda creepy but alright." You comment back

"Well, we do monitor all of time to make sure that what's supposed to happen, happens. Of course, we were going to notice children with unexplained immense powers, such as yourself. Molecular manipulation is quite the gift."

"Yeah, you could say I'm the main character of this story." You mention with a wink "No one can do what I do."

"I'm sure someone could mimic your powers."

"Ha! I sure would like to see that bitch try." you scoffed "The dipshit would be writhing on the ground in pain for their hubris. I can only imagine what type of dumbass would willingly take on feeling the extent of everything that makes up this world without years of tolerance training. Idiot."

You couldn't believe the stupidity of her statement. You'd think if she had been monitoring you throughout your life that she would know it took you forever to build up a tolerance to feeling the molecules in the world. Before you started learning to control your abilities you blew stuff up as a child because you were in pain. Imagine having such a large ego that you think you could copy that without putting in any training for it. What a "yeah let me just try to surpass god" type of mentality you were getting from this woman.

The handler couldn't believe you either. She was growing more frustrated with you having some kind of counterpoint to everything she did or said. It was like you were prepared to be here even though it was clearly established that you weren't. She was just glad that the only power you had right now was the ability to run your mouth. The handler knew she was going to get under your skin though. She had her ways.

"You know, it's just so sweet the history that you and Five have. Always believing the two of you would find each other again one day." She states, traces of malice in her tone "It's something I thought about during Five and I's involved, and colorful history."

You furrowed your eyebrows. Did- did she think you were stupid? You knew she was trying to suggest that she and Five were a thing but they obviously weren't. Anyone with half a brain cell could see that. Your boyfriend hated this woman and hated his time at the commission. He said it himself, it was nothing more than a job. He absolutely despised these people, especially her, and currently was working directly against this organization as he always had been. And on top of it, everything he's done was motivated by his love for you. Even Diego who was not happy that you had a boyfriend knew that was Five's motivation. This woman was certifiably insane.

"Ma'am if you're trying to insinuate you fucked my boyfriend, I know you're lying. Intimacy of any kind, but especially physical intimacy catches him off guard." You elaborate unamused "Also if you two have such an involved history then why is that he spent his whole life trying to get back to me, despises you and the rest of the commission, and is actively trying to thwart you in every way possible."

The handler glared at you. She thought she was going to get under your skin with that comment and yet here you sat throwing it back in her face and getting under hers. Scornfully she rebuked,

"You know I never quite understood why Five chose you. I can't seem to find one reason to like you."

"Well, I can seem to find a lot of reasons actually. I'm pretty, I'm smart, I'm powerful, I cared for him when no one else would, I didn't knowingly leave him alone in an apocalyptic wasteland for 45 years." You retort sarcastically "And those are just a few of the many reasons."

"You know pride is one of the seven deadly sins," The handler comments leaning forward in her seat

"So is envy." you retort

The handler gets back up from her seat and walks over to you once more. Looking down at you with contempt she asks,

"You know what I see?"

"What?" you reply

"I see a weak, pathetic child who thinks that she's the center of attention in this giant book of life. A child who is so scared of confronting her past she hides behind a harsh exterior with only her words to defend her." She attempts to insult

It didn't work though because you knew she was wrong. She had no clue who you were or what you were like. You had her stumped and you knew she was grasping at straws to try and put you down. To try and make you feel belittled so that she could exert power over you. She had no power over you because the fact of the matter was, you were the one in power here, and you were going to assert it.

"Well, you know what I see?" You ask with a smug smile

"No. Tell me, what do you see?"

Still handcuffed you lean forward in your chair looking up at where she stood right in front of you. Lowering your voice you go on to say,

"I see a woman, past her prime, deluded by a fantasy of some kind of romantic tryst with a man who never wanted her to begin with. You have led yourself so far down a path of irrationality that you have convinced yourself there was some kind of connection that was never there. He was your subordinate, nothing more. And now here you stand, grasping at straws for some sense of control and power, in the middle of a failing coup d'état of your own making, because you feel like you are losing your grip on the reality you created for yourself. A reality wrecked by the very man that you convinced yourself wanted you back."

Immediately after you finished your statement, the handler's hand snapped towards you and grabbed your face. She forced your head up to look at her and you could see the rage in her eyes. You were winning this battle. Angrily the handler replied,

"You better show me some respect. I have the power to ruin your life, take everything you love away, I could even kill you for that matter."

"I don't need to show you shit. My life has already been ruined, practically all that I love has disappeared in one way or another," You retort "and just so you know, the only way I'll ever die is if I choose to let it happen."

The handler leaned in towards you and her grip on your face tightened. You could feel her nails sink into your skin a little more. You weren't intimidated by her though. She was pathetic and wasn't worth your time. When she got close enough to you a sadistic smirk came to your face for a moment before you spit in hers. The handler whipped your head to the side as she pulled back in disgust. Wiping her face off she looks towards you in anger but you sit there with a proud smile.

"You're lucky you make good blackmail or else you'd be dead right now." she comments furiously before shouting "DOT!"

Dot quickly enters the room and the handler whips her gaze towards her.

"Take this disgusting child back to her holding cell." She commands

Dot nods her head and quietly makes her way over to you. Unlocking the one handcuff from the armrest she redoes the cuffs behind your back before helping you to stand. The two of you walk towards the door to leave the handler's office but before you do so you stop in your place. Turning to face the handler you firmly state,

"Les chaînes des oppresseurs ne durent que tant que les opprimés les laissent rester. La liberté est inévitable."

And without another word you and Dot left.

____________________________

"Well, there I am." Five stated

He and Luther had made their way over to the pub that Five knew he would be at. From behind a pillar the two of them spied on older looking but younger self. Five remembered this day perfectly. He had sat over at the bar trying to perfect the equation to jump forward to 2019. He thought about you a lot, wondering how you would feel about him coming back, if you would be upset with him...if he'd get the opportunity to confess his feelings even though it probably would go nowhere.

What a sad mess of a man.

"Hey Five, why don't we just grab the briefcase and run?" Luther questioned "Luther, I would never let that happen. We're trained to guard these briefcases with our lives." Five explained "Plus, it's the inherent paradox where this gets tricky. I'm endangering my existence just being in the room with myself."

"Huh...What do you mean?" Luther asked confused

God, how dense was he? Did Five really have to spell it out for his brother? Letting out an exasperated sigh, Five elaborated,

"Luther, try to keep up. If old me doesn't travel back to 2019 like he's supposed to, the whole thing unravels itself. I cease to exist. You got me?" "I get you," Luther responds

Five was not confident though that Luther actually got him. "So our best chance is to talk with him, to reason with him." Five continues "He'll understand. Trust me. I know myself better than, uh...better than I know myself."

Unconsciously, Five reaches back and scratches the back of his neck causing Luther to quietly exclaim, "You just itched your neck. That's stage two of paradox psychosis."

"No, I didn't. I didn't itch my neck." Five denies "Denial is stage one." Luther reminds

Five was not going to deal with this back and forth. He was fine. Completely and utterly fine. Nothing was wrong at all and no paradox psychosis was setting in. He was good. Snapping at his brother he states, "I am fine, okay? Let's stay on task, shall we?"

Five attempts to start walking over to his commission self but Luther puts an arm out to stop him. "Wait!" Luther says "What?" Five questions

"Maybe I should go first." "Why?"

"Well, you'll freak him out. Bumping into your own tiny doppelganger? He will lose his shit. Just let me break the ice." Luther suggests

Five thought about it for a second and realized Luther was right. It might be better to send him in, although now he was wishing he had you here because you would probably be the best option to reason with him. But then again, he could see himself freaking out even more because your presence in 1963 meant something very wrong happened. Well, at least he still had the blackmail option. Five nods to his brother and Luther slowly makes his way over to commission Five. Luther awkward leans on the bar next to him and calls,

"Five."

Commission Five registered the word the person had just said to him but wasn't sure if he was hearing him correctly. Looking up at the person he sees a giant man standing there. Looking him up and down he asks, "What'd you call me, big man?" "It's me. Number One?" Luther replies "Luther. How did you...?" Commission Five questions as he starts to reach down towards the briefcase at his feet

"It's okay. Everything is fine. I can explain. But first, I need to introduce you to somebody. Just promise me you won't freak out." Luther tries to calm "What the hell are you talking about?" Five replies with wide eyes

"Uh! Don't freak out. No freak-outs. All right?" "Hey there, stranger." Academy Five greeted

The two of them stare quietly at each other. This was the worst of situations and both of them knew it but what was more important was making sure they were the one to possess the briefcase.

"How about we all sit down together?" Luther suggests

Commission Five leans down and grabs the briefcase as Academy Five continues to stare at him. Cautiously the two of them walk over to a nearby table that Luther has found available. Slowly the Five's sit down across from each other, their staring contest continuing on.

"I'll get us some drinks!" Luther exclaims walking over to the bar

Neither of them said a word to their other and tension loomed in the air. Neither knew if it was due to the paradox psychosis or just the fact that they both had to look at a reflection of their and future failures. Either way, it was an undesirable experience. After a minute, Luther comes back with three pints of beer in hand. Placing one in front of each person at the table he takes a seat and comments,

"Well...this is nice, isn't it? The three of us, together like this." "No." Both Fives say in unison "Somebody explain to me how it is I'm having a pint of Guinness with my younger self." Commission Five inquired

"Older, actually. I'm you, just 14 days older." Academy Five states

Commission Five leans in more as he remarks, "I have pubic hair smarter than you. How's that possible?"

"I can explain. You see, one hour from now, on the grassy knoll, before the president is killed, you break your contract with the Commission. I already know you're thinking about it. All those years in the apocalypse, we never stopped worrying about our family" Five explains taking a pause before continuing "About (Y/N)."

Luther looks between the two Fives confused. They worried about the family? It was understandable that they worried about you but the family too? Surprising. Commission Five's eyes glaze over for a second and he looks off in the distance as his teen counterpart's words resonate in his mind. He did worry about his family but mainly he worried for you. The image of that first day in the apocalypse never left him no matter how many years had passed. It was seared into his memory and haunted his nightmares. Coming back into focus, Five leans in and replies in a low voice,

"Of course. Why wouldn't I worry about her? You know what happened." "I do know what happened and preventing that outcome is the most important thing. So today, you are going to do something about it. Today, you are going to attempt to time travel forward to 2019. However, you are going to mess up the calculations, screw up the jump, and end up in this younger body." Academy Five explains

"Okay. So what am I supposed to do about it, not jump?" Commission Five asks

"No, no. I need you to jump. If you don't jump, I cease to exist and there is someone in this timeline who would not be happy about that." Academy Five states firmly

Commission Five's eyes go wide. Instinctively, his hand and covers the part where his locket rested. Were you here in 1963 as well? His heart raced a little and he excitedly questioned,

"You mean-"

"Yes." Academy Five answered

"...What's she like?" Commission Five asked in awe at the thought of you being around

"Ethereal." "I'm listening. Go on." Commission Five pressed

This is exactly why Five was fine with you not being here. Now he had bargaining power against his former self. The pathetic man was desperate for any crumb of knowledge about you. An unfriendly smile came to Academy Five's face as he explained his offer,

"I'll be glad to tell you more in exchange for that briefcase you're holding under the table. And I'll even give you the right equation for this time if you want it."

Commission Five looked back at his teen-looking self without saying any words. Taking the opportunity to speak Luther re-explained, "Yeah, yeah, so you go back to 2019, as planned, see (Y/N) and this time with the right math, so you can remain a full-grown man. In exchange, we get that briefcase that you no longer need. Timeline restored, paradox resolved. Everyone goes on existing happily ever after." "That's quite a bit to take in." Commission Five commented

"What do you think?" Academy Five asked "I think...I need to piss." Commission Five responded

He then got up from the table, grabbing the briefcase from the floor below him, and made his way to the bathroom. Academy Five watched with wide eyes as he walked away from the table. Grabbing a napkin, Luther began to dab the sweat off of Five's face commenting, "Well, besides the flop sweat, I think that went pretty well." "No, there's something- something doesn't feel right about this." Five remarked

"What do you mean?" Luther questioned "I don't trust him." Five stated "But he's you," Luther replied confused "Exactly."

Luther slowly nodded his head. The psychosis looked like it was really starting to pick up in Five. Luther hoped they would be able to get the briefcase soon so that Five didn't get worse. Downing the rest of his pint, Luther turns to Five and explains,

"Well, I need to go take a piss as well, and maybe as your spotter, I can reason with him a bit, alright? Just wait here."

Five watches as Luther gets up and walks away. He could only hope that things would all work out the way they should.

____________________________

As you and Dot quietly walked down the hallway you whispered to her,

"What's this phase two that you have in mind?"

You watch as Dot looks around for a second to make sure no one in the hallway was paying attention before pulling you into a side corridor. She takes one more glance around the surroundings before whispering to you,

"The resistance is going to get a briefcase so you can escape back to 1963, but to get to the briefcase room unnoticed, we'll need a distraction."

"Ah, I see where is going. You want me to cause the distraction."

"Yes." Dot replies "If you can draw enough security away from the briefcase room we can slip in and get one so that you can get out of here."

You nod your head as you phase your wrists through the handcuffs so you can have your arms free again. Looking back to her you state,

"I'm not leaving without Diego."

"Don't worry, I talked to Herb, another member of the resistance in the hall, and he said he was going to retrieve him." She reassures

"Good." You respond before asking "Where should I meet you?"

"Storage closet 2. It's on the east side of the building across from the period clothing department."

You peer around the corner of the corridor and look out into the hallway to see who was there. It was relatively empty with only a few people passing by. As you keep watch you ask Dot,

"Is the briefcase room to the left or right?"

"The right. Why?" She questions

"No time for questions. Just trust me. I'll see you soon." You respond

And before she can say anything else, you turn yourself invisible and sprint off to the left down the hall. Dodging the people who were walking by, you looked for some room that seemed important. As you searched, you passed the handler's office doors. Stopping in your tracks and backing up you look at the double doors for a second. A mischievous smile comes to your face as you take each hand and place them on the door handles. You heat the molecules of the handles and the lock inside of the door so that they all start to melt before quickly cooling it all down. With the handles and lock all now one solid amalgamation you knew that she would be locked in there for a bit. Turning back around you continue running off down the hall searching for a room that seemed important until you found one. Looking at the sign that said Tube Room you decided to investigate more. Phasing through the wall you entered the room and saw a line of different tubes spread down the length of a hall. Taking a look around to see that no one was there, you drop your invisibility and prepare for the mother of all distractions. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and focused on the molecules around you in this room. Specifically, that of the tubes that lined the walls Shooting your eyes back open you took off running down the hall of tubes, blowing each one behind you up as you passed them by. You could feel the pulsing of the explosions and the heat from the leftover flames as you continued to move forward down the hall. As you reached the end of the hall, you ran through the wall to the other side hearing the sound of the last explosion resonate behind you. You stopped for a moment to brush yourself off when you heard over the PA system,

"Security to the tube room. Security to the tube room."

"I better get out of here." You say to yourself

You look around for any sign that would point you in the direction of the east side of the building. You should've asked for more directions from Dot, but you were all too excited to start bringing this organization to its knees. Down the hall, you see a sign with an arrow on it pointing towards the period clothing department.

"Bingo," you exclaim

You start to quickly make your way towards the sign when you hear someone from behind you yell,

"Stop right there!"

Looking back you saw a significant amount of people in blue suits pointing guns at you. You were about to run away when you looked forward and saw another similar-looking group on the other side of the hall.

"Shit."

You were trapped. Granted, you weren't really trapped, you could just use your powers to sneak out of this situation but you had no clue if Dot was able to get a briefcase yet. Was this all the security they had or was there more scattered around? Dot had mentioned that Five blew up the briefcase room the last time he was here, so they had to have had more security for it. Security that you needed to draw to here.

"If you wanna stop me you're gonna have to kill me!" You announced

Guns drawn, the guards started to come towards you. You kept calm though and waited patiently for the first line of security to get close enough. If you were going to cause a distraction then hell you were going to make it unforgettable. Slowly, the 12 guards inched closer and closer until they were just where you wanted them. As this first line flanked you on all sides you gave them a wicked smile and within a second a boom rang throughout the hallway. It was all calm for a moment and then...chunks of flesh and blood rained down over the hall. There was nothing left where those 12 guards had stood, and at that moment it became clear that you were not trapped with these guards. They were trapped with you. You were Persephone, the bringer of destruction, and the chaos had only just begun.

Pulling out two of your knives you watched as more guards started showing up to try and stop you. You could feel the adrenaline you had injected coursing through your veins. This is where the fun begins. Realizing what you had just done the guards start to rush in. One by one you started to take them down. It was like you were moving in slow motion as you fought the crowd around you. Your movements becoming less so fighting maneuvers and more of a rhythmic dance. In a focused daze, you made your way around slashing throats and melting brains of all those who charged at you. With their guns drawn, they sent shots your way but it did not matter because all the bullets did was go through you and hit other guards. You watched the blood and the shit spray as swathes of agents dropped to the floor dead. The lucky ones were shot or blown to bits while the less fortunate dealt with the pain of slowly burning to death or being tossed back and forth between the walls like useless playthings. You bathed in the sounds of their agony. They all were going to suffer the way they made your darling Five do for years. And like the Roman empire, they fell to their demise.

When the combat had stopped you came out of your trance. Catching your breath you looked around at the bloodbath you created. The once white marble floors were now stained with rivers of red. You were victorious in your battle, and like the Queen of Hell, your destruction reigned over this place. You turned to walk away and head towards the storage closet when the sound of a gun rang out and pain came to your arm. You looked down and saw that a bullet had grazed your forearm leaving behind a wound. Your head shot back in anger to see where the shot hand came from. One guard was still alive, paralyzed from the waist down but still alive. You made your way towards them and they tried to shoot again but they were all out of bullets. Slowly, you crouched down to them on the floor, your eyes ignited with flames and you said in a low tone,

"You missed."

Reaching into their chest you ripped out their heart and crushed it in front of them. You watched as the light quickly slipped from your eyes. Letting out a huff you placed two fingers over your wound and used your powers to cauterize it. You were done here and made your way towards the rendezvous point. As you walked that way the adrenaline started to wear off and you started to fully realize what had gone down. Urgency set in as you saw the blood you were covered in and realized you need to get out of here. Finally seeing the clothing department you ran into it real quick and changed clothes, using some scrap cloths and a water bottle you found to wipe the blood off of you. You then raced across the hall to storage closet 2 where Dot, Diego and a group of other people were all standing around.

"Hey everyone," You say frantically "We need to get out of here fast because I'm pretty sure I just committed a war crime."

"Oh, uh okay. Well, unfortunately, we couldn't grab a fully functioning briefcase in time because people came back to protect the briefcase room," Herb explains

"But, we still got one!" Dot explains positively "It just happens to be a one-way case. They become useless after one time jump."

"We've already set it up with the correct time and location. Halfway between FBI headquarters and the pub where Five is located." Herb adds "Here are some maps to show you how to get to those places."

You and Diego both reach out and grab a map.

"Thank you." You reply quickly

Diego turns to look at you,

"Ready to go, kiddo?"

You nodded your head quickly at him. Diego took the briefcase in one hand and wrapped his other arm around you tightly. Herb stepped forward and pushed a few buttons before stepping back you could feel the energy from the case start to grow as you tried to manage your breathing. Giving the group of people before you one last look, you say,

"Vive la résistance."

Almost immediately after there was a flash and now you stood with your brother in the middle of Dallas, back in 1963. You watched as the briefcase started smoking and making unpleasant clanking sounds. Finding a nearby dumpster, Diego threw the defunct briefcase away before coming back over to you and pulling out his map trying to figure out the path to the FBI building. It wasn't far from where you stood but every second spent standing around was another second closer to Vanya ending the world...again. Looking up from his map he looked towards you. You silently looked back at him and waited for him to say something. You could tell something was on his mind. Diego was torn. He wanted to bring you with him to the FBI headquarters so he knew where you were and didn't have to worry that you had been taken by Lila again but he didn't want to put in danger of what Vanya was doing. The last time Vanya strongly used her powers you were seriously injured and putting you right in harm's way of that was something he would never choose. Diego came to a decision in his head. It was going to take a lot to say this but Diego knew it was the best option.

"Go find Five. He'll keep you safe."

You were surprised by his statement. Diego had been very back and forth on you being with Five since every before Five came back, although he would never admit it. But this plus the comment from earlier were the strongest confirmations that maybe just maybe, Diego was coming around. Although his comments gave you reason to celebrate, this was not really the time and you were also very worried about him. You didn't want to be separated from your brother especially if he was headed to stop Vanya.

"Will you be okay?" You questioned

"I'll be fine." Diego responds "Now go get to Five. He can protect you from the commission more than I can."

Instead of saying any words you just took a step forward and hugged your brother. It was brief because time was of the essence but it was enough to reassure both him and yourself that things would be alright. You pulled away from Diego and the two of you gave each other knowing nods before turning in opposite directions and running towards your respective destinations. Using your powers you made yourself lighter so that you could move faster. You had no clue if the commission was after you. You wouldn't be surprised given you had pissed off both Lila and her mom, the handler. It didn't take you long to see the pub marked on your map up ahead. You slowed your pace as you made your way to the door and calmly entered the establishment. You looked around for a second before spotting a familiar uniformed boy, sitting alone at a table. You walked over to the table he was at and called,

"Five."

His head snaps over to you. His eyes were wide and his face was covered in sweat. You were taken aback by how frantic and unwell he looked. You cupped his face in your hands and felt the warmth radiating off of his skin. As you tried to cool down the water molecules in the sweat on his face you said,

"Oh my god, are you feeling okay darling? You look awful."

Five quietly stood up as you still held his face in your hands. He appreciated you using your powers to try and cool him down but he was confused as to what you were doing here.

"How did you find me?" He asked

"I'm fine." you instinctively responded

"That's not the question I asked." Five states "Also are these new clothes?"

"Listen, the specifics of the situation don't matter too much right now but I promise I will tell you later. What's the plan?" You inquired

"I- I don't know." Five states scratching the back of his neck "I'm still working on it."

"Don't worry, it's going to be okay." you comforted as you brought him into a hug "We'll figure this out together."

Five wrapped his arms back around you and held you tightly. IF he was experiencing any paradox psychosis, at that moment it melted away for a bit. Just you being with him gave him a sense of calm even though the world around him was anything but that. He just hoped that this calm would last even after Luther had returned.

As Luther had walked into the bathroom a few moments earlier, he sees Commission Five standing in front of the sink looking at the glass eye that would belong to the future, Harold Jenkins. Walking over to the urinals he comments to Five,

"Yeah, that's a waste of time. Trust me."

A waste of time? It was one of the only clues he had. How could it be a waste of time? "Then why were you holding it when I found you dead in the apocalypse?" Five questioned

"No idea. But the guy it belonged to didn't end the world. Vanya did." Luther stated "Timid little Vanya?" Five asked confused

"Yep. Is more powerful than all of us put together. Turns out, she was pissed about the way we treated her when we were kids, so she destroyed the moon and ended the world."

"Fair enough." Five said nodding his head "This is perfect. We now know exactly what's gonna happen."

"Yeah, except it, uh, already did," Luther replies approaching Five

Five turns to him with plenty of new ideas rushing through his mind. Not only how to stop the apocalypse and get this version of Five to disappear. He was unnecessary. "Don't think, just listen. Forget about the little jerk-off's plan. It's way too complicated. A much better plan is for us to travel to 2019. All we have to do is make nice with Vanya, stop her from destroying the world. Easy-peasy." Five explains "Hmm. Well, that's actually...that's not bad." Luther responds "But what about Five? I mean, you? I mean, the, uh, young you."

"That's not me. That's a teenaged hormonal photocopy that got botched in the time jump. Besides, it's too late for him anyway." Five states

"Too late? Paradox psychosis?" Luther inquires

Five nods his head, answering, "Best thing we can do is put him out of his misery." "You're saying to kill him?"

"You're thinking about this all wrong. We're not killing anybody." Five elaborates "Look at me. I'm Five, and I will still be alive. All we are doing is getting rid of a mutant doppelganger."

"Are you sure you don't have paradox psychosis?" Luther questions concerned "I've never felt better in my life." Five states

I just don't know Five..." Luther responds warily "(Y/N) wouldn't be very happy to know her boyfriend is gone from existence."

Commission Five stopped in his place. His head slowly turned back to look at Luther who had an innocent yet conflicted look on his face.

"Boyfriend?" He questioned surprised

"Yeah. Boyfriend." Luther responds "But like I was saying, I don't know about getting rid of him, this would be like the third time she's lost him- you...y'all? And she's really powerful and she almost killed me once for insulting Diego, and you remember the bank she blew that guy's head clean off. I just don't feel like it's the best idea to rip that Five away from her..."

Commission Five hadn't listened to a word Luther had said though because once the word boyfriend had slipped from Luther's mouth his heart began to race. If that version was her boyfriend that meant she loved him too. No. That would be insane. Maybe Luther said the words too fast and so he said boyfriend when he meant boy friend. There was no way that she felt the same way he did. Could she? Did she love him this whole time? Did she die loving him the same way he loved her? No, they were just friends. Just...friends. Five wanted to believe that what Luther was saying was true and that she did love him enough to have him be her boyfriend but it just didn't add up in his mind. How could she love someone who abandoned her in a different time, who took everything she knew away from her and left her wondering till the day she died if her best friend was mad at her. It was impossible though. Five looks up towards Luther who still towered over him like he did when they were kids.

"The little prick out there won't tell me jack about her." Five complains before asking quietly "What's she like Luther?"

"Well...I haven't been around her much but uh she's very powerful, more so than when we were kids. Uh, I mean she definitely cares about the people she loves, and um apparently she was dad's favorite both in 2019 and this timeline."

"That makes sense. When I read her diary she wrote about a lot of the things he did for her. Was too much to be coincidental."

"Wait what? He did stuff for her?" Luther questions

"Doesn't matter. So she's here? In this timeline?" Five inquires

"Uh- I don't know where but yeah," Luther responds

Five nods his head.

"Alright well, let's head out then." Five comments

As the two of them open the men's bathroom door and exit both of them see a sight they didn't know would be there. Five froze in place and his jaw dropped as he looked ahead of him.

"Oh look, there she is!" Luther commented

He was right. There you stood. Alive. Five could feel his heart stop and he didn't know if he was breathing anymore as he stared off at you. The world faded away as his focus became you and only you. Five could feel his heart clench as he remembered the last time he saw you alive. It was 45 years ago, right before you died. He remembered cradling you in his arms, blood getting on his academy uniform as he cried over your dead body. Tears pricked his eyes as he took all of you in. You were smiling, moving, breathing and to him, that was a miracle. He could only see the side of your face but the little shit was right, you were ethereal. As the world came back into focus he noticed you wrapped in the arms of his teenage counterpart. He saw the gentle look in his counterpart's eyes as your hands wrapped around his neck bringing him into a hug. Five wanted a hug from you, it had been so long since he had gotten one. As Five stood there, he felt Luther nudge his arm. Turning his attention to him, Luther says,

"Alright lover boy, time to get your head out of the clouds and go interact with the love of your life for the first time in years."

"Ah well, no...we're just- I mean..." Five stutters

"Oh, we're just best friends. Don't give me that shit you openly yelled about how you loved her when we were 12." Luther ridicules "Now c'mon let's go."

Luther starts to push Commission Five forwards back towards the table and Commission Five's heart begins to race with every step closer. As Academy Five noticed Commission Five head back towards the table he held you tighter to him. His face contorted into a scowl as he looked at this version of his approach towards you. He could see the look on his face, one of nervousness and awe. Academy Five didn't like it one bit and if it wasn't for you hugging him he felt like he would've punched the old man right where he stood. You felt as Five tensed up in the hug and pulled back to look at him. looking up at his face you saw it was filled with anger but couldn't begin to decipher why. You followed his gaze to see what had angered him so and when you looked behind you, you saw Luther standing there with an older gentleman. You looked back towards your boyfriend whose face was still filled with rage and asked,

"Five, who is this?"

Five stared the man down and let out a huff before replying,

"He's me."

________________________________

Taglist: @xplrreylo @joebob15274 @insatiable-ivy @fruitsaladtree @angelpeachamber @academy-umbrella @lizziel1410 @ir3neeee @faith-quake @aliens-with-colas @sunsetcurve-1995 @lady-celeste25 @im-dead-and-hurting @nerdypinupcrystal @cherry-ki-d @anapocalypseinmymind @vicassa @2cuteforyourlies @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @shadowycreationcupcake @emily-hargreeves @metor-showers1994 @fivehargreevesforthewin @rinko-san @supernovavision @cicilisthebest @flickbix @hi-v-juice @magykal-777 @zosiaduda @thethirdwheelfriend @mysticracoon @isnt-it-loverly @officiallydarkgeek @lady1505 @always-the-very-worst @tinypandagirl @libidinexx @lemongrabbuns @itwasallred @deadandoverit @shlokage @keksi249 @theoriginalkat @we-stan-fiction @bi-idiot-fanfics @annnagennnie @izzyjojo4 @megasimpleplan4ever @flowertoty @grabthemoneyandletsgo @itsametaphorbriansblog @vanillacaramelhoney @satvaldiva @disaster-magician @margotsfandoms @emily-b-m @bluechildrenlickmytoes @soft-slytherin-sweetie @oceanspray5 @im-here-for-fanfics @thebloodrobin @freestarlight @starcurrent @lilacs-lavender @moatsnow @give-the-boy-a-hug @narikyuwu @whenyouregrungeaff @gabriella-aesthetic

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suddenlysackler · 3 years

Text

Limelight

Adam Sackler x Reader

TW: N/A (maybe a lil smidge of angst but nothing major)

A/N: This has been on the back burner for quite a bit and it’s a tad messy but I wanted to put it out for you all because I miss you and I miss my goblin bf and, ya know, Cannes 2021. Thank you for reading, I’m hopeful that I’ll be back more frequently in the coming weeks!

...

Adam Sackler had ascertained very quickly that he did not care for red carpets in the slightest.

Given what he had found himself struggling through his late teens and seemingly all of his twenties, the relief of finally, finally, finally achieving some sort of steady stream of work and establishing himself as a serious actor provided relief that he could not be more grateful for.

He liked being able to turn down the $800 a month from his grandmother and moving out of his apartment for good this time, trading up for some swanky new town house in upper Manhattan. He liked being able to afford to be choosy about what jobs he took and he liked that he was able to split his time between stage and screen. Hell, he’d even tried his hand at directing some dumb indie film that landed him right smack dab in the middle of Sundance.

Which is when he found out he hated red carpets.

He absolutely hated the insincerity of all of it — the rushed interviews, the posing for what seemed like hours on end for photographs that he’d probably never even see and he wasn’t allowed to smile for exactly like he’d want to. He hated answering the same questions over and over again and rubbing elbows with reporters from tabloids asking about off screen romances and making it blatantly clear to him that they weren’t interested in the art he had just helped create.

Along the way, maybe five red carpet events into his career, he met you. To his surprise, he didn’t meet you through a mutual friend or at a party or by yelling at you to stop taking food from open containers in the store he was working in. He met you because he accidentally took your coffee on a Wednesday morning before you could grab it and you promptly chased him down 45th street and cussed him out by using every single insult you could manage.

And that’s when things just clicked for him.

Everything fell into place after you came into his life and suddenly he felt even more fulfilled than he originally figured was even possible. He liked coming home to you after long days on set or at the theater. He liked bringing you to see different projects he was working on during production or bringing you to advanced screenings or dress rehearsals. Whenever he got a script, you were the first one he talked to about whether or not to even try for the role. He never wanted to object you to the horror that was a red carpet.

Not until now, anyway.

It was the first time that you had happened to be available for one and, yeah, he had invited you to all of the ones he had been to since you had been together but he didn’t necessarily want to take you. Of all of the things in his world that he wanted to show you, premiere events were the one thing he wanted to shelter you from. You knew about the drinking, the philandering of his early to mid twenties, the string of psycho ex girlfriends who he swore might show up at your shared doorstep at any given time to rip him a new one. Despite all of that shit, you’d some how managed to still like him, love him even. He didn’t want to chase you away with the bullshit that came with his career.

Maybe this would be the straw that broke the camel’s back?

You’d said yes without hesitation and his stomach dropped. He knew you never turned down an excuse to dress up, to impress him and make him feel proud of the fact that you were his girl, just his. So, on the night of the Tony Awards, he sat in the hotel room his manager had reserved for the two of you to get ready with the help of a team of aestheticians and hair dressers and tailors watching you twirl in what was probably the most expensive ball gown you would ever wear in childlike delight. Music of your choice played softly on someone’s phone and you could hardly stay still enough for the finishing touches that were being pushed into your face. You looked and felt like a million bucks and Adam knew that, but how was he supposed to enjoy it? He was too preoccupied with figuring out what he would do if you freaked out on him, threatened to leave him or some shit, after the circus act you were about to parade through in order to get to your final destination of the night.

“You look handsome.” You called from the chair you had been forced into, eyes opened wide for quick swipes of mascara.

Adam was so far gone, lost in his thoughts and strapped with worry. He didn’t hear you compliment him. He didn’t see you get up and he felt as though the force of you slotting yourself between his slightly parted legs was a ghost of a touch. “Hey, doll.” He mumbled when he finally did notice you.

One of your eyebrows quirked up. “You good, Adam?”

He sensed some wavering in your voices, maybe some concern. Maybe some doubt? “I’m okay, just hate this shit.”

The other eyebrow followed the first. “What do you mean you hate this shit?” You ask as his publicist swept into the room and began to shoo the two of you out the door and down to stand for pictures and questions.

He held your hand tightly as you weaved down the hall and into the elevator. “I just don’t like this part.” He shrugged and you squeeze his hand as you listen. “Worried it’ll bug you as much as it bugs me.”

“I mean, I’d walk over hot coals to see you in a tux.” You teased, eyes bright. When he doesn’t shoot back with a response characteristic of his normally playful bravado, some of that brightness leaves your expression. “You know I’m just happy to be with you, right? I’m proud of you.”

Adam hummed in response and squeezed your hand back. “I know.”

You weren’t having his clipped answers. “I don’t care that there are going to be pictures or tons of people watching. You know that shit won’t make me think differently of you.”

He remained quiet after giving you another shrug, still completely scared out of his mind that your words were just that, words. That you’d hit the ground running and never look back as soon as you realized just what supporting him at these things entailed.

The silence lasted for the rest of the elevator ride, through the lobby, and in the limousine and in the little holding room they put you in that is riddled with all of the snacks he would tease you for indulging in had the circumstances been different. He was tense, his muscles tight, tight, tight from his jaw to his calves, knee bouncing and free hand clenching and unclenching right until the moment his name was called.

The moment wasn’t awful to begin with. It’s mostly pausing and stopping a lot of times for Adam to take pictures while you watch from the sidelines and, every so often, he pulls you in for a few. He doesn’t tell you that, in the moments he doesn’t have his arm around you, that isn’t kissing your cheek chastely and holding your hand, that he feels like he’s drowning.

It didn’t phase you as you listened to reporters hound him about his female costar and whether or not they were seeing each other. It really didn’t even phase you when one man asked you to “step aside” and referred to you as Adam’s friend, despite his tight grip on your waist and the tender glances his stole every twenty seconds or so. And honestly, you didn’t really care that you might have gotten jostled up a little bit by photographers and other reporters as you stepped aside, more than happy to speed up the process for Adam.

But Adam would not have that, not at all.

“We’re fuckin’ done.” Adam growled, his eyes locking on your face as soon as he noticed you stumble a bit. He left without another word to any of the reporters and looked for his publicist, who was beyond livid at the fact that Adam was blowing off his responsibilities without much of an explanation. Before he went up to him, he grabbed your hand and dragged you along with him, not saying another word.

After a hushed but tense back and forth between the two men, the three of you stepped out of the view of the public and quickly found one of the many green rooms for invited guests to cool down and touch up hair and make up before heading into the venue.

He paced and paced and paced for a long moment, leaving you to sit on the couch and watch with bated breath, praying that his older destructive tendencies didn’t suddenly find their way back to the surface of his psyche.

After a long while, you finally spoke. “Can you come here?” You whispered, eyes round and, to be frank, a bit desperate.

Adam came to you without a moment’s hesitation and knelt in front of you, placing his head in your lap and putting your hands in his hair. “Are you going to leave me tonight?” He mumbled into the tulle of your dress.

A soft smile crossed your lips and you shook your head, then moved to cup his cheeks and lift his face up to look at your own. “Now why would I even consider doing that?” You hummed.

“After that shit show? Any sane person would leave.”

“Whoever said I was sane? Isn’t that why you like me?”

He chuckled at that and nodded, biting back a comment about how anyone would have to be insane to want to stay with him for as long as you had. “That was just some totally bullshit and you know it, doll.”

You shrugged and shook your head once more. “Nothing I can’t handle, I’ve had my fair share of total bullshit with old haunts showing up on our doorstep, huh?” You made sure to keep your tone teasing, not wanting him to feel as though he needed to shoulder any of the blame for the situation.

Adam laughed again and relaxed visibly for the first time all night. “Do you want to even stay?” He asked, his own voice a bit more reassured.

“Of course I want to stay, you’re up for an award, dummy.” You giggle, letting your head fall back as he moved up to pepper your exposed neck with kisses and playful bites. “And there’s the after party — I heard there’s going to be some damn good desserts and music.”

He flashed you a smirk when he pulled back and stood, then offered his hand to you. “What is it you always say when I ask to eat out on the way home from shit?” He proposed.

You stood and took his hand, intertwining your fingers and squeezing before walking toward the door. “What do you mean?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Adam’s smirk only widened as he held the door open for you and smacked your ass before letting you go. “We have dessert at home.”

#Adam Sackler #Sackler #adam x reader #adam sackler x reader #sackler x reader #reader self insert #adam sackler fic #sackler fic #adcu #adcu reader insert #adcu fic

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suchalonelysunflower · 3 years

Text

The Next Chapter (c.h)

Pairing: Calum Hood X Reader

Requested: yes!

Summary: A family gathering has you and Calum thinking about the future

Warnings: Fluff. I used the word vagina once. Maybe some grammatical errors (English is not my first language, sorry)

Word Count: 1.7K

Author’s Note: Loving these request 🥺❤️ a little fluffy piece for my favorite boy ✨ Remember that Reblogs, comments, feedback and likes are very important and appreciated ❤️ I love to hear from you guys and you don’t know how much that helps me and motivates me! Hope you like it and Happy Reading🦋✨🌻

My materialist // wanna be part of my tag list?

Anon: omg can you do one ab asking if cal wants to start a family

“Babe! Hurry we are going to be late!”

You were standing at the front door, looking inside of your bag in case you have forgotten anything.

“Y/N, you do know I went to the bathroom five minutes before you were done getting ready, right?” Your husband, Calum, said as he walked up to you.

You had to admit, you married the hottest guy on the planet. How can someone make a pair of jeans with a simple white shirt look so good?!

“But I still beat you at the door, didn’t I?” You asked with a grin that Calum easily reciprocated.

“That you did” He smiled, placing one hand at your side, kissing your template, and whispering in your ear “But that doesn’t mean you can beat me at the car” And with that, he started sprinting towards the driver’s seat.

It amazes you how after almost 7 years of relationship you never got over the honeymoon phase. You have met Calum when both of you were young, reckless, and stupid; and not looking for a relationship. But it only took one look at those brown eyes and you were hooked.

You still remember how he came to you with a lame excuse to talk to you at one of the many parties you used to crash with your best friends.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” He said, and you almost thought he discovered you and was going to call security “I’m pretty sure god will wonder where all of their angels went”

He quickly apologized once he realized the words that fell out of his mouth, but you just stood there giggling at this cute attempt of flirting. And, as they say, the rest was history.

The next couple of years came and went and it almost seemed like you were in some kind of an alternate reality where everything played out as it was supposed to. Yes, of course, there were rocky times, especially when distance came to play, but all those times just made your relationship stronger.

Neither of you knew why, but being together just felt right. Which ultimately came to him proposing one eventful night in August after visiting his parents in Australia. And that then leads to your wedding just a few months later, you still recall that as one of the happiest moments of your life.

That was 3 years ago, and you were proud to say that you got to marry your best friend. Every day felt like a never-ending slumber party with new adventures and dreams to fulfill. And you wouldn’t change it for the world.

You were thinking about it as of now, looking at Calum with a smile as he drove to your cousin’s place to celebrate the birthday of the newest addition to the family: your baby niece.

Going to these kinds of parties became pretty regular for you, given that you came from a really big family and all your cousins were almost the same age as you, so they started popping babies out like it was nothing! And you were so thankful Calum was always happy to come along “I love your family, Angel!” He said “And you have to give it to them, they know how to throw a party”

It was true. If there is something your family doesn’t take lightly is parties. You still get a headache every time you remember the stress of convincing them to do something lowkey for your wedding. And as you parked outside your cousin’s house you wonder how you actually did it.

“Wow,” Said Calum as he looked at all the balloons decorating the front door “They really went all out on this one” He laughed.

“Sabrina is one year old!” You laughed, unbuckling your seatbelt as Calum opened the door for you “She won’t even remember this!”

“Yeah.. but at least Aunt Bridget will get to brag about having real mariachis playing at the party”

“Real maria-?” You asked, but Calum was already trying to hold his laughter as he pointed to a mariachi band getting out of their van “Okay, that is new… We are not even from Mexico!”

“No… but mom went to the wedding of Mr. Gómez’s son and she insisted we hired the same band for little Sab’s birthday” Your cousin answered as she opened the door.

You and Calum hugged your cousin before making your way inside the house. You stood in awe as you walked up the backyard and everything was decorated in different shades of pink and purple. Even the family dog had some sort of ribbon around his collar.

“This looks…” You began

“Like if a vagina exploded?” Calum finished for you. You slapped him in the arm playfully, trying so hard not to laugh along with him and be serious.

Your cousin came back a few moments later to hand each of you a drink and inviting you outside to join the party.

The mariachis were actually really good, especially when they made Calum have a dance-off with one of your uncles to the chicken dance song. And the rest of the party was also really fun for kids and adults alike.

Now the sun was starting to set and most of your family members decided it was time to call it a day after so many games and dancing. You and Calum, however, decided to stay a little longer since most of your cousins unofficially agreed to have a ‘family-friendly after-party’

You were sitting next to your cousin as you held her baby in your lap, making her dance along with the music.

“You are good at this,” Your cousin said, looking at you and baby Sabrina.

You laughed “It’s not too hard of a job to entertain a baby” And to prove your point, you started making faces at your niece, who started laughing right away.

“It’s not that! You, my dear, have the touch”

“The touch?” She nodded.

“You have that motherly essence, it’s easy for you to engage with the children - they all love you by the way, which is a fact I’m extremely jealous of - And you just have that capacity of love only a parent can understand. C’mon, don’t tell me you and Calum haven’t thought about having a family?”

You drifted your eyes to find Calum amongst the crowd of adults and children.

He was playing soccer with your older nieces and nephews, laughing as he threw himself to the ground on exaggerated acting as the kids scored goal after goal, laughing at your husband’s antics.

And just like that, it was like an image of your future passing by You and Calum sitting in the backyard with Duke running around with your child, playing all sorts of games with you, swimming in the pool, and eating ice cream. Reading bedtime stories as Calum sang them to sleep, him teaching them how to play different instruments and sports, always encouraging them to follow their dreams and passions… Yes, you could get used to that.

“I- I haven’t thought about it” You finally said with a light blush on your cheeks. You didn’t know if it was because of the question, your daydream, or the way Calum was looking and smiling at you.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what your cousin said even when you were already in the car and on your way home with Calum humming along with the songs on the radio.

Once you reached your home you started looking around, thinking of all the places you could share with your potential future family; cooking dinner together at night or watching frozen one thousand times on movie night or creating a playroom just for them so they could have their own space to create whatever comes into their minds and-

“You are really quiet, Angel,” Your husband said, interrupting your train of thought “Is everything alright?”

You pressed your lips together in a tight smile and nodded as he came to hug you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder “Did you have fun with the kids today?” You asked cautiously.

Calum chuckled “Yeah… Matthew almost threw me off at one point, he’s getting good at soccer”

“I hope so! His dad told me he started going to practice cause he wants to be a soccer player and a musician like his uncle Cal” You said, pecking your lips in Calum’s red cheek. You could see that he was slightly embarrassed but in a good way. You wonder if your future children will be like that as well.

Maybe they’ll have his cheeks, or your eyes… oh, please let them have Calum’s curly hair.

You smiled to yourself at the thought of little chubby-cheeked curly-haired heads running around your house. They will be perfect and they will be so loved…

Calum hummed next to your ear, placing a little kiss to the shell of it “I know what’s got you all wrapped up in daydream land” He said, hugging you tighter.

You turned your face to look at him “You do?” He nodded and placed his head on your shoulder again.

“Knew it since I saw you looking at me when I was playing with the kids” He placed a kiss on your cheek and made you turn around completely while still holding you by your waist. You swore you could hear the beating of your heart thundering louder and louder.

“And to be honest, I’ve been thinking about it since the first time I saw you hold a baby”

You blinked at him, confusion written all over your face “What?”

“Well… I knew from the moment I saw you that I wanted to start a family with you. I just confirmed it the day you took me to Matthew’s birthday party to meet your family” He said as a matter-of-factly.

“Yo-you want to start a family with me?” You asked with a flash of hope in your eyes.

Calum smiled at you, his eyes filled with pure adoration “I want to start everything with you, Angel. As long as you let me”

“Do you think we’re ready?”

“I love you, you love me” He said and you nodded with a smile “We’ve been together for 7 years, married for 3; we both have steady jobs, I’m not leaving for tour anytime soon so I’ll be home through every step of the way, we live in a nice house and Duke is more than ready to have a new partner in crime, so… what do you say, love?” Calum said with a cheeky smile.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer into a kiss.

“Let’s do it”

Tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @theshyspy @talksoprettyjjx @sarcasticallywitty15 @hoodhoran @flaneurcth @Yeah-and69 @mystic-232

*if Your @ is crossed it means I can’t tag you for some reason, please send me a message so we can fix this ✨

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lizlet · 2 years

Text

Well, it’s been a while...

For a lot of things. Since I actively updated this Tumblr, for one thing — I think I’ve changed jobs twice in that time! (Now, post-freelancing, happily serving as senior entertainment editor at Consequence!)

But I wanted to reopen this dusty ol' place and clear out the cobwebs because, well, several years ago I started writing a novel about two young women building a robot boyfriend. A lot of stuff has happened since Tuesday, Dec 24, 2013 (the date I officially created the Evernote file where this story started) but relevant to this post are the following events:

Through a friend, I ended up connecting with an agent who got excited about the concept and the writing.

Said agent read a completed manuscript in... well, let's not get into the dates at this time (it was a while ago, though) and gave me a few big notes to address along with a lot of encouragement.

For a variety of personal reasons, those big notes took me... well, let's not get into the dates at this time, but let's just say a while to complete.

Okay, in the name of complete transparency, I was completely stalled out on it for a good five years or so, until I finally dug back into it in March 2021.

I highly recommend Scrivener, by the way!

And, well, The Artist's Way. (Yes, one might say that I joined a cult. It's a nice one, though, very lowkey and no wardrobe or orgy requirements. Still do my morning pages every day!)

Sent a new draft to the agent the day before my late April birthday (the deadline I set for myself with little hope of making it — still thrilled that I pulled it off).

The agent liked it!

He had notes.

But they were all good notes! And in the ensuing year I have gone from Draft 4 to Draft 5 to Draft 6 to Draft 6C to Draft 7 to Draft 7B!

And right now, Draft 7B is in the inboxes of several editors, thanks to my wonderful wonderful agent (I have recently signed an actual document which declares him to be not just an agent but my agent, so I don't feel as weird about saying it as I used to!).

And... we're waiting to hear what happens next.

The answer may be nothing, which is fine. I mean, rejection isn't fun, but this was never a project I pursued for the fame and glamour of it. Really, I just wanted to see if I could finish a novel, and I not only did it (arguably seven times over!) but I've once again come to really enjoy the process of putting down 500 words a day, every day I can, and seeing what happens as a result.

In fact, when I finished Draft 5B in August, I actually started writing a new novel, and as of today I'm about 56,000 words into the first draft and aside from the times when I feel like I'm running full speed into a wall without a helmet on, it's been a lot of fun.

That said, I won't be mad if eight years (okay, off and on) of hard work result in someone writing a check. So, as we embark upon this new phase in the life cycle of How to Build a Robot (Boyfriend), I figured I'd reawaken this humblr Tumblr to, at the very least, note the occasion. And watch this space for further updates (as well as, now that I'm going to attempt to be back on Tumblr, probably a lot of reblogged cat videos and yelling about TV).

And if you're reading this and if you've ever offered encouragement, support, a wry comment, notes, or even just a vague bit of interest in regards to Robot (Boyfriend) (or any of my other writing), please just know... thank you. No matter what happens next, literally could not have done it without you.

#robot boyfriend #life stories #in which our heroine

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rrasado · 3 years

Text

No Spider Lilies : I

|| Act 2 of The Snapping ||

A/N: Ara? What’s this? I never thought I’d find myself wanting to actually re-end this accidental series dksjsn but...I wasn’t satisfied and frankly I’m craving an even more sorrowful route. Who knows? After all...this all deviates from the main story line in game. As usual I shall provide any necessary trigger warnings to ensure a safe reading for you all 💙🌒💙. Pleas tell if you want to be part of a tag list for the next parts. I’ll be using my past tag list as basis but if you don’t wanna be tagged next time don’t hesitate to tell me ^ ^.

Tagging: @starshiningsirius @dittoqueeno @thatweirdomidas @bnhastakenover

__________________________________________

And when death do them part…

...would it really fulfill that cruelty?

Storm clouds formed high above, raindrop cascading down on everything on the face of the earth indiscriminately. The residents of that lamenting house deep in the Devildom never really cared for such details lest it concerned them and their doings directly. At least...that was when they didn’t know how to care, so what happened?

__________________________________________

The records...the way the aged parchment felt in the exchange student’s hand just signified the reality of the parchment’s contents. No excuse can dismiss such news, especially one of this degree… They could barely speak in the moment, a few deafeningly silent minutes passed before they peered up at the Devildom prince’s own butler.

“I...thank you Barbatos…”

Their gratitude was much more meaningful than at face value, the scale of the revelation they had just received isn’t something to be taken lightly and since it especially concerns them, well…

“I trust that you’re taking all of it in?... I can only imagine how you feel right after...certain prior events.”

They both knew what the time bonded demon was referring to, after all it was him who escorted them to their new place of residence for the rest of their stay here at the Devildom. Hah..that was already two months ago. Now that they thought of it...Barbatos have always been there for them huh? The reveal...the dorm transfer requesting...and now this. Whether it was due to his time related prowess or sheer coincidence which- they honestly dismissed after everything that has come to play- the human was grateful.

“Yeah...I think...I’m actually thankful for this”

Barbatos blinked for a good few good seconds before arching a brow at their proclamation. Thankful? Does the human not know what the contents make of them? His confusion was brought to a close when MC casually waved the parchment, it’s sounds accompanied by the night wind that whizzed past the two in front of Purgatory Hall.

“I feared the worst, humans tend to...be easily toppled by the unexpected per se...Then again you are the great exception”

“Eheh I’m honored you hold me in high regard. Because it’ll make my next proposal a bit easier”

And yet again, the butler’s confusion returned, proposal? Well after everything that has spiraled leading up to where they stand it honestly wasn’t that far fetched to him, so with an affirmative nod he gestured for them to continue.

“Hearing of it won’t hurt, what is it you wish then?”

He didn’t miss the way MC’s lips tugged upward in subtle relief. The human’s gaze quickly flickered back to the contents of the parchment and without looking up they spoke.

“Can I count on you if I need to make a wretched departure?”

De...parture? He had a hunch but he needs more context…

“In what sense does this departure fall on for you to need my assistance?”

“Hm...a departure that looks grimmer to those you choose to be grim to.”

The two turned their heads to thewhite haired sorcerer. An ever knowing smirk on his expression as he stood there arms crossed. How long has he been eavesdropping? Not that MC minded...after all they’ve grown to actually trust the shady sorcerer along with the other two angelic residents of Purgatory Hall.

“Truth be told, I've been conducting research of my own… and to a pleasant surprise it seems my lead was not entirely off!”

Childish tone aside, his gaze showed no sign of jest nor kid. In one flick of his finger the old parchment apparated within Solomon’s grasp. And if possible the smug aura on his features grew twofold along with an amused chuckled escaping his parted lips. My oh my did he always manage to come so close yet far..

“Would you believe me if I said I was prepared to act on my pact in the making of this negotiation?”

“Fufufu I do believe that we’re still in the phase of hearing this proposal... I have yet to bestow a verdict so you shouldn’t speak so mightily Solomon.”

“And if I may continue..”

…

…..

“...I see…”

The sheer collateral damage at stake is something of its own degree when not tended to with precise caution. He's only delivered the news tonight and yet it was as if they’ve been concucting such a proposition for a considerable amount of time. Then again...the sorcerer did mention doing his own antics regarding the subject.

“With all that said...Barbatos, will you lend us a hand or a place at blade point?”

His shoulders rose and fell with the seconds that passed before he gave a slow curt nod at the two humans.

“Hm… if it means something, the young Lord did vow behind closed doors that he shall keep all the exchange students safe no matter what it may cost...and seeing as it will technically align with my duties..”

A chorus of amused laughter spilled from the magicless human, lips curled into a grin whilst the sorcerer could only let out a chuckle or two.

“Barbatos, I thank you. I know you won’t state it as is but, your help is very much appreciated”

“It really is, and it puts me at ease knowing I have you on our side in this whole issue…”

“If I may...I’d like to evaluate this more into much prefaced details. Would it be alright if we were to properly prepare this? After all...this especially concerns you, MC”

Said human gave an affirmative nod as their hands clasped behind their back, fiddling with their own exposed fingers as the late night breeze passed the three of them yet again.

“It’s best we all retire...who knows what’ll happen if we idle out here any longer, an interesting sight to see this particular roster of residents out of premises at this hour noh?”

“Point taken...well we’ll see you next time Barb”

“Yes...I bid you two a good evening and a hopefully peaceful night.”

A wish so innocent yet truthfully hard to attain...especially with the cruel revelation that brought the three of them together in the first place. They should learn to tread carefully from here on out. At least...that’s what Solomon thought. That same night breeze had passed the gardens, among which were multiple blossoms yet to bloom, all but one crimson lily...

__________________________________________

And from a starry night it all flickers to that unforgiving herd of rain clouds, their own right of sorrow spiraling along with those that received their cold moist. If followed...those raindrops fall onto someone crouched form, in front of a chipped tombstone amidst any ordinary cemetery that lays barren with the weather.

A lone umbrella covered the crouched form, rendering any other incoming rain from soaking the tuft of white hair any further. Mammon didn’t need to look up and see who it was offering cover. Levi didn’t care whether he himself got wet and frankly not even the rain water on his skin put him at any ease whatsoever. No one could be comforted at this point… And whatever it was to put the usually bickering brothers in such hushed silence…

“We gotta get going y’know…”

“...five more mins…”

“Lucifer is getting restless the more you push your luck-“

“Then let him dammit”

Levi didn’t even bother questioning his brother's lack of fear for the first born. Normally he would’ve made fun of it but… when his orange hued gaze fell on to what was even engraved on the chipped tombstone. It didn’t sit right with him, heck it didn’t sit right with any of them. And who could blame them...the guilt crawling on their backs never left when they saw them leave the House of Lamentation. At some point they thought of...eventually getting closure, some of them even had plans.

But now they won’t be able to attain such desirable closure, not when...they aren’t there to listen to their pathetic pleas.

A good few distance away from them was the Avatar of Wrath, observing all of his brothers from the side as he always had. His eyes flickered to each of their situations, emerald orbs not letting a single twitch of an eye nor brow going unnoticed. If allowed to be honest, he found them all utterly pathetic… and he’s already filtered out most dark thoughts that have plagued his mind. Besides, they deserved this, this torment didn’t compare to what those on the opposite end of their mistakes felt. He had every right to speak of so. Thankful for the cover the rain provided he took a sharp step to the side, turning his whole body to the other direction that had garnered a scoff of attention from the the laxer twin.

“..where are you going?”

Hearing Belphie’s question had Satan stop monetarily in his tracks, and without looking back at him he muttered a quick ‘somewhere’ before resuming his strides towards the direction of the cemetery gates.

Belphegor watched the blonde's figure go farther from where he stood, turning his attention back to his twin with a numb look on his features.

“It’s odd…”

A brow was raised at the sudden statement, but at the same time he completely understood what the glutton meant.

Their eyes setting sight on the tombstone mammon and Levi were idling in front of… ‘ A beloved friend and family’ written on the very same tombstone. MC’s full name carved elegantly on its face that used to seem so unreal when they first arrived but, the longer the twins looked the more it actually sank into them.

The human is dead.

Lilith’s descendant is dead.

Beel couldn’t even manage to stomach his food, he knew there was something off when he felt a sudden snuff of energy in the atmosphere that day. Not only him but all of them did...and to think it was actually this.

The guilt kept stacking.

But hidden in their walls of guilt the fourth brother allowed himself to be led towards the cemetery gates, left to his own grim thoughts he couldn’t help but to wonder if..all this will be for the better or for the worse… and in a fraction of a second he was snapped out of his thoughts. The flicker of a shadow barely registering in his peripheral vision..

.hah...

...He wished them all goodluck

__________________________________________

Me, a few months ago:

I’m a clown I know-

As always y’all know the drill, just say if any of you wanna be tagged in the next part ^ ^.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me fic #obey me barbatos #obey me angst #rras writes #TS! Act 2 #writings from the eclipse #obey me solomon #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me satan

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army-author · 3 years

Text

sour rose | jhs

❝ jung hoseok is the only guitarist whom you consider to be a threat. no one else is good enough to rival you. yet, when honest feelings slip to the surface before a competition, you realise there’s more to hoseok than you realised... ❞

➝ pairing: hoseok x reader

➝ prompt: character a and character b have been rivals for as long as their friends can remember. one day, someone catches them holding hands.

➝ genre: fluff; very mild angst; rivals to lovers; punk band au

➝ word count: 1.5k

➝ warnings: profanity; mentions of illness

➝ playlist: ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn’t’ve?) - buzzcocks ; know your enemy - green day ; basement noise - all time low ; fall - neck deep ; criminal - state champs (yes, i know, i never moved past my emo phase)

You only know one thing this evening, as you stand in the humid street, waiting for your concert venue to open: Jung Hoseok is the enemy.

He’s the only one standing between you and victory.

In an hour, you’ll be up on stage, riffing on your surf green Stratocaster and screaming your heart out, all for the glory of a cash prize, proffered to the best punk band. All the other groups have no chance against you, and your bandmates from Sour Rose. All other groups, apart from Jung Hoseok and his band, Just Dessert.

No one else matches your skills. No one else matches your charisma. No one else matches your attention to detail. Apart from Hoseok. That’s why he’s your enemy. Because you need that cash prize. More than anything else.

“Hey,” you turn hearing a familiar voice, to see Jungkook, Sour Rose’s drummer approaching.

“Hey yourself,” you grin, “How’re ya feeling?”

“Nauseous,” Jungkook admits

You clap a hand on his shoulder, “You’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. I’ve seen you at practice. You’re an absolute beast.”

Jungkook smiles at your compliment. It often surprises you how shy he is. Place him behind a drum set, with some sticks in his hands, and he transforms, thrashing confidently through complex rhythms.

As you chat, other bands begin to gather outside the music club, all waiting to get their equipment ready before the competition commences.

Your expression sours as you spot the familiar faces of the Just Dessert members. Your gaze automatically snaps to Hoseok – the man who stands between you and your winnings. His black hair is styled, spiked off his forehead, and he sports a colourful t-shirt with his band’s corny logo in gaudy shades of pink. At least he had the decency to pull a black leather jacket over his shirt to spare your eyes, complete with pins and patches.

As he walks up to the door, his eyes catch yours, and he gives you a nod of acknowledgement. He knows – just like you – that you’re the only competition he has. Despite your resolve, you feel a thrill spread through your stomach.

Before you can exchange any words, the bouncer opens the door to the musicians, and you flood into the venue, loosing Hoseok in the throng.

- ✽ ✽ ✽ -

The following minutes are a blur as you catch up with the rest of your band while you check sound levels, ensuring that your amp is setup correctly, and blasting through a few scales to warm up.

Before you know it, the first band is getting on stage, and starting to thump through their song. The drum beat is simplistic; their guitar tone is too generic. You know their performance will not stand a chance beside the song Sour Rose has prepared. It’s only Just Dessert that you are worried about. Another thrill runs through you.

Needing a glass of water to wet your dry throat and steady your nerves, you tell your bandmates that you need to go, before scurrying to the back room where the music club has prepared drinks and snacks for the musicians.

Picking up a plastic cup of water, you take a sip. The liquid has already heated up from the warmth of hundreds of bodies packed into a small venue. It has the metallic taste of tap water.

“Oh, hey.” Hearing a voice behind you, you spin around to find Jung Hoseok sauntering into the back room.

You immediately clam up, fingers tightening on the flimsy clear plastic of your cup. “Hi, Hoseok,” you reply tersely.

“You seem on edge tonight,” he notices as he reaches around you to grab a drink, “Is everything okay?”

“Yep,” you snap, “I’m peachy.” Good job convincing him. Now he knows something is up for sure. You and Hoseok have been performing at the same venues for years – from school productions to charity events at local bars. He knows what your normal is, and this is not it. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Actually, yeah, no, I’m not so good. I need this win tonight. More than I’ve ever needed a win before.”

Hoseok’s brows pull down into a frown. “Why’s that?”

You hesitate, unsure of admitting weakness to your rival. Yet, as his eyes observe you – eyes so familiar because they’ve been watching you for so long, set on a familiar face in the crowd when you perform on every stage – you find the words spilling easily from your mouth. “My mum fell sick earlier this month, and I really need the cash prize to pay for her medical bills.”

Hoseok considers your words, unusually quiet, then offers you a bright grin. “Well then, you’re lucky that the money’s guaranteed to end up in your hands.”

“What? How can you know that?” you ask.

Hoseok takes a sip from his cup, before setting it down on the table, “Well, from what I can see, our bands are the only ones capable of winning. So if you win, you get the money. And if I win, I’ll give you the money.”

Your mouth falls open at this, and embarrassed, you quickly clamp it shut again. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Sounds like you need the money more than I do,” he nods, “I mean, Just Dessert is planning to spend it on new equipment, which we can always buy at a later point.” He reaches across, and his hand brushes against your fingers, warm against your cool skin. “Your mum’s health comes first.”

Suddenly, you find tears welling in your eyes. You barely cry in front of anyone, and yet, here you are, breaking down in front of the one man you had seen as an enemy. “Thank you, Hoseok,” you wobble out, past your tears.

“Don’t worry about it,” he reaches over, pulling you into a hug that you had not realised that you needed until now. His arms offer craved-for comfort. Your body moulds to fit his as he pulls you closer, rubbing soothing circles on your taut back. He smells of pine and leather. Despite all your misgivings, you find yourself relaxing against him.

“It’s going to be okay,” Hoseok assures you as you pull away from his warmth, wiping your cheeks for any remaining traces of tears. You’re sure that your eyeliner must be smudged to hell by now.

“Fuck, I must look a right mess,” you grumble, trying to carefully wipe at your eyes.

Hoseok inches closer, his hand still on yours, and with his free fingers, he gently wipes at the eyeliner that had escaped your lash line. “There, all better.”

You offer him a watery smile, hoping no more tears will fall. How could you have been so stupid to think that Hoseok was your enemy, when here is is offering you the kindest smile? Another thrill runs through you. Hoseok’s fingers are comforting in your hand; his fingertips are hard and calloused, just like yours after years jammed against hard guitar strings. You squeeze his hand, and hope he understands all the gratitude you intend in the small gesture.

The door opens, ripping you from this quiet moment, and Hoseok’s bandmate Jimin stands in the hall outside. “Hoseok, we’re on in five.” Jimin’s eyes fall to your fingers threaded through Hoseok’s. You quickly drop Hoseok’s hand, as if his skin burnt you.

Jimin doesn’t comment, but you see his eyes widen. Hoseok offers you a reassuring grin, before he walks over, pushing Jimin down the hall. “Let’s go, Jiminie!” You’re left alone to ponder the warmth that Hoseok left on your hand.

- ✽ ✽ ✽ -

“Well, here’s the money as promised,” Hoseok hands you his winnings with a smile. In the end, Sour Rose had missed out on the prize, only a few metaphorical inches behind Just Dessert.

You’re in the back room once more, surrounded by musicians, relaxing after the competition. The water has been replaced by beers and spirits.

You smile, “Thank you, Hoseok. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Hoseok returns your grin, “You don’t have to repay me. I wanted to help. Although… if you’re offering, you could take me out for coffee later?”

“What, like a date?”

He winks at you, and your cheeks turn red as another thrill scurries through your body. You finally understand.

“Wouldn’t people start gossiping if two rivals started dating?” you ask.

“Kind of too late to worry about that,” Hoseok shrugs, “Jimin’s already convinced we’re a couple.”

You flush, “I suppose we’ll just have to make his hearsay a reality.”

Hoseok presses his lips together, dimples popping up on his cheeks as he suppresses a triumphant smile. “I thought you’d never agree.”

- THE END -

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Snow and Song Chapter 5

About five seconds after Danny registered the huge crowd of people gathered in the park (and why were they there? Had there been some kind of event he forgot about?), it began to snow. Danny looked around himself in alarm. He was often insensitive to temperature changes (and a few other things, according to his sister), but it wasn’t nearly cold enough snow. It was September.

He looked up. There weren’t even any clouds.

A snowflake, perfect and crystalline, stuck to his eyelash.

Alright. When something weird and unnatural started to happen in Amity Park, usually there was a ghost involved. All Danny had to do was find the ghost causing it to… snow…

Oh. Right. He was a ghost that could make snow.

He was an idiot. He hadn’t even noticed his core activating. His cheeks flushed with cold. This was so embarrassing.

Wincing, he looked back down at the crowd. Only about a tenth of the people had phones in their hands, winking camera lenses pointed up at him, but that was more than enough. He felt entirely too visible.

… Which he could fix because he was a ghost, darn it, something that he kept forgetting about tonight. Berating himself, he adjusted his visibility down to zero and flew away.

Almost at once, all the birds took off, the sound of wings obscuring whatever the humans down below were saying.

Danny didn’t stop until he got home, trailing snow all the while. He was not looking forward to tomorrow, but for tonight, maybe, he could forget what had happened.

He went human, phased off his clothes, laid down on his bed, closed his eyes, and started to-

“Maddie!” shouted Jack. “The ghost-kid is on TV again! He’s in the park!”

“Oh, good! Go start up the GAV! This time, we’ll catch him! I’ll be with you in a minute!”

Danny let out the breath he had been holding since his dad startled him from his doze in a long sigh. He resigned himself to being woken up at least once more that night.

The first rays of sunlight filtering through Danny’s window brought with them something that would have chilled Danny to the core if his core weren’t naturally frosty.

Music.

He peeled his eyes open slowly, grudgingly, because it was still September, and sunrise was still quite a bit before the time he had to get up in the morning. Hoping he was hallucinating, he trudged over to the window and pulled back the curtains.

Ah, yes. He hadn’t quite expected to find a bunch of cultists standing outside his house with a boombox, playing back a rather scratchy version of Tale as Old as Time, but, somehow, he was unsurprised to do so. What exactly were they attempting to accomplish here?

One of the younger (about six years old) cultists waved up at him. Resigned, Danny waved back, then let the curtain fall back down.

He rubbed his eyes. Normal teenagers didn’t have to deal with cults that worshiped them as a god. Even that dude from Nazareth was a full adult before he got hit with the heavy stuff.

(Yeah, because it wasn’t at all a sign of megalomania, mental instability, or good old-fashioned insanity to compare himself to that guy.)

(He didn’t want a cult, darn it.)

What did they want, anyway?

He got dressed and started downstairs. To his horror (but again, not surprise) he heard more music emanating from the kitchen.

“What are you guys doing?” Danny asked.

“Oh, morning, Danno!” boomed Jack.

“Shh, shh,” said Maddie. “We need to go over that last part again. There are pancakes on the stove, sweetie.”

“Oh,” said Danny. “Thanks. But, really, what are you doing?”

“Analyzing the sound patterns of Phantom’s voice!” said Jack. “We missed it before, but he must have a low-level mind control power! Just like that Rockstar ghost!”

“Sneaky post-human ectoplasm glob,” muttered Maddie. “That’s how he’s got so many people on his side. He’s brainwashing them. But don’t worry, sweetie. As soon as we figure out how he’s doing it, we’ll be working on a cure!”

“Well,” said Danny, trying not to sound bitter. They had made him pancakes. “That’s news to me.”

Danny stepped out of the house and sighed in the general direction of the cult.

As always, acknowledging them in any way shape or form proved to be a mistake. They rushed at him.

“Daniel Fenton,” intoned today’s leader, a man wearing robes colored in an approximation of Phantom’s suit. His beard was… interesting.

“What?” asked Danny. If only there was a way to skip through awkward conversations like this, like there was in video games. But, no, life was like one, huge, un-skippable cutscene. Tragic.

“Last night, our Lord Phantom gave us a message. A message, and a divine task.”

Danny was pretty sure he’d remember that. “What task?” he asked, resigned.

“To spread his word through song! And you, his prophet, his chosen, his blessed consort, shall reveal his intent upon the stage of the Casper High School Musical!”

“I’m begging you, call it anything but that.”

“We will do anything to make the Casper High School Musical go well! We are at your command!”

“Please stop picketing my house and harassing me on the way to school.”

“We have fine members of our choir here to audition for you! Please take word of their worthiness to our Lord Phantom.”

Several of the cultists began to sing.

“Danny!” called Jazz from the driveway. “Stop feeding the cultists, or we’re going to be late for school!”

“So,” said Sam. “The Ghost Watch feed blew up last night.”

“I know,” said Danny. “I feel so stupid.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” said Tucker. “But we really do have to put some time aside to test whether or not you really do have a pied piper ability.”

“I made it snow while I was singing,” said Danny.

“Ah. We’ll have to look into that, too,” said Tucker, making a note on his PDA. “Who wants to bet that the ‘Phan Club’ will try to incorporate last nights performance into the play somehow?”

“That’s not funny,” said Danny, closing his locker. “Guys, what if I accidently mind control the audience? Or start a snowstorm inside? The cultists are already on top of this. They were outside my house this morning.”

“Again?” said Sam, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, again.”

“What did they want?”

“They seem to think that there’s going to be some kind of revelation in the play,” said Danny. He caught the look in Sam’s eye. “Sam. No.”

“Sam, yes.”

“Cults are not a toy,” cautioned Danny.

“Not the way you’re using them, they aren’t.”

“Seriously, Sam. No matter how much you want to change the world, do not use a cult to do it. It never goes well.”

“Christianity started off as a cult.”

“And would you say that went well? I’m asking you this as a Christian.”

“Are you a Christian?” asked Tucker. “I’ve never seen you in a church. Can you go in a church? Have we tested that?”

“I—What? I’m not a demon, Tucker. I went to church, uh… Last Easter. I can totally go in a church.”

“You had to think of that for an awfully long time.”

“What about a synagogue?” asked Sam. “Or a mosque?”

“I don’t know. But you’d think that if I could go into a church, that’d mean I could go into the other ones.”

“But what if you couldn’t?” asked Sam. “Would that mean that religion is more right than the others?”

“Or more wrong,” said Tucker, “since Danny is a good guy.”

“I—” started Danny.

“PHANTOM!” screamed Wes from down the hall, interrupting whatever revelation Danny could potentially have had.

“Oh, great,” said Danny. “I’m not Phantom, Weston!”

“Kids,” said Miss Lyn, poking her head into the hallway. “Please don’t shout in the halls. Class is about to start.”

“I have proof, this time!” crowed Wes. “I have video.”

“Oh, no,” said Danny, with perfectly flat affect. “Are you here to harass me with yet another badly photoshopped, grainy, vertically filmed, twenty-second clip of me ‘transforming’ into Phantom like some kind of anime heroine?”

Wes reared back, face coloring and nostrils flaring.

Danny would feel worse about what he had said, if half the videos in Wes’s last ‘Fenton is Phantom’ presentation hadn’t been exactly that. Tucker had made several of them and stealthily dropped them in various chat rooms for Wes to find, as something halfway between a joke and an exercise in misdirection.

As soon as Wes had included one of those in his presentation, it was doomed to be a laughingstock. Again, Danny almost felt bad.

“No!” said Wes. He puffed his chest out. “From Ghost Watch!”

“Uh huh.”

“I kind of feel like we’d be hearing about it from more than just you,” said Sam.

“Yeah,” agreed Tucker. “If the news decided Danny was Phantom’s dead twin or whatever, you’d think some of his groupies would be swarming.” He pointed at a pair of Phan Club members who were having a sedate conversation near the water fountain. “Where are the groupies, Wes?”

“Did you not learn your lesson from the beauty pageant?” asked Sam. “Or Egypt?”

“I don’t know, didn’t you learn yours from Desiree?”

“Who’s learning what from Desiree? Because you should ask her for a better naming sense. I mean, you just copied. Lame.”

“You’re talking to me about copying? You vegans are the copiers! Vegetable burgers, tofurkey, where does it end?”

“With the abolition of the cruelty of MEAT!”

At this point, most people would have started edging away from Sam and Tucker’s patented and infamous meat vs. veggies argument. However, Wes had long since proven himself to be of sterner stuff, and Danny wanted to hear what he was on about.

“Guys,” he said, “guys, it’s not working. He’s still here.”

Sam and Tucker turned back towards Wes. “Bummer,” said Sam.

“Yeah, Wes, why do you have to be such a bummer?” asked Tucker.

“Let him speak,” said Danny, magnanimously, twirling his hand.

Wes glowered. “Well, now I don’t want to,” he said, mulishly.

“Come on, Wes, what’s the video, don’t leave us in suspense!”

Wes attempted to glower harder but failed. Grudgingly, he held up his phone, which did, indeed, play a video from Ghost Watch. Danny watched himself singing for several long seconds before returning his gaze to Wes.

“I’m not sure what this is supposed to prove.”

“The song, you idiot! It’s from Beauty and the Beast! And I know the drama club gave you that music.”

“A movie that thousands of thousands of people have watched and know the music for?”

“That doesn’t matter! You’re the only one who has any reason to sing it.”

“You mean, other than everyone else in the drama club?” asked Sam, bored.

“Or anyone who likes Disney?” said Tucker.

Wes opened his mouth to make some kind of riposte.

The warning bell rang.

He closed his mouth. “I’m watching you, Fenton!”

“You and everyone else,” muttered Danny as Wes retreated down the hallway, pointing at him.

Why was everyone around him so ridiculous?

“We’re doing Snow White, not Beauty and the Beast!” howled Razor, baring his teeth at the hapless Phan Club member that had suggested adding ‘Tale as Old as Time’ to the song list.

“If you guys had taken that bet, I’d have so much money right now,” said Tucker.

“Students, please,” said Mr. Lancer. “We can’t have any actual copyrighted music in our play. Not without paying for it. And I’m not negotiating with Disney.” He looked into the distance. “Not again. Never again.”

Danny did not want to know the story behind that, but nevertheless, he had to ask… “Are you okay, Mr. Lancer?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer. “Thank you for asking. In any case, my lovely drama students! Today, we are going to do our first round of auditions!”

“But, sir, we haven’t finished the script, yet!” protested Mikey.

“Right you are!” said Mr. Lancer. “But I have found that things go more smoothly when we have people already in the main roles. There’s less… outright sabotage and script jockeying.”

“What does that even mean?” whispered Samhain (aka Kevin) loudly.

“People trying to change the script to fit a certain person so that person gets the role,” said Paulina. “Or exclude a certain person. Which I would never do, Mr. Lancer.”

The covetous glare shot in Danny’s direction indicated that Paulina’s words might have been less than truthful.

Mr. Lancer chuckled. “I didn’t think you would, Miss Sanchez!” He began writing on his whiteboard. “Now, we already have our Prince Snow White, our Princess Charming, and our Evil Queen.” He nodded at Paulina as he wrote the roles on the board. “Now, we need our seven dwarves—”

“Ghosts!”

“Excuse me, yes, ghosts. Thank you, Mr. Baxter. Our Huntsman—”

“Or woman!”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Thunder,” said Mr. Lancer. “Huntsman, or Huntswoman. And… Let’s see… Snow White’s parents, for the prologue, Princess Charming’s retinue, and… I think that’s it. Alright, let’s start with the ghosts.”

“Shouldn’t they have names?” asked Mia.

“Well, sure,” said Mr. Lancer. “But we can’t use the Disney names. You’ll have to come up with your own.”

“Phantom!” screamed Paulina.

“Here we go,” said Danny, burying his head in his hands.

“You want to bet that we’re going to wind up with your whole rogue’s gallery?” asked Tucker.

“If you need money, Tucker,” said Sam, “you just have to ask. Rates on my loans are very reasonable.”

“Isn’t usury against your religion?” asked Tucker.

“Nope,” said Sam. “Not at all.”

“I am incredibly against this development,” said Danny. “The cults are going to have a field day.”

“Ember! Ember! Ember!” Chanted the punk goth crowd, which had split off from the larger goth subgroup.

“I am somehow even more against this development,” muttered Danny. “Mr. Lancer! I don’t think it’s a good idea to include a ghost who gets power from people saying her name!”

“Shut up, Fentonnage, what do you know about ghosts?”

“My parents study them. I know a lot. More than I ever even—”

Danny narrowly dodged the workbook Dash flung at him.

“Mr. Baxter!” scolded Mr. Lancer.

Sadly, when everything shook out, Danny did not get his way. One of the seven ghosts was named Ember and was going to be played by Star. Because why not?

“At least the Box Ghost and the Lunch Lady aren’t on the list,” said Sam.

“But ‘Hamlet, father of Hamlet,’ is,” said Danny. “Why does that bother me more than Ember?”

“Because you hate Shakespeare?”

“No, I don’t,” protested Danny. “Shakespeare is a perfectly nice person. I just don’t like how his writing is taught in schools.”

“You’re going to break Mr. Lancer’s heart saying stuff like that,” said Tucker.

“He wrote love poems to boys. Why do they skim over that?”

“Excellent point, Mr. Fenton!” exclaimed Mr. Lancer, who had somehow materialized behind them. “Shakespeare was definitely bisexual. I wi—” The teacher stopped. “Nope, can’t use that word. It would be nice if the state let me teach it like that. Along with the crossdressing. School board won’t let me.” He shook his head. “Dale Baxter. Someday, someday he’ll lose an election. Eventually.” He took a deep breath. “Next time we meet, we’ll be doing auditions, okay? I want you all to think about what parts you would like! And, Miss Gray, I’d like to have a word with you about your role in our production, alright?”

#Danny Phantom #snow and song #fic #my fic #phanfic

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bookofmirth · 3 years

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Hello! I’ve recently seen the argument that e/riel will happen because the acotar spinoff books are in the adult romance genre (compared to the acotar books being put in ya), and adult romance books don‘t pull a “bait and switch” with love interests the way ya/na books do. Instead, adult romance books supposedly only put effort into developing one couple and will pull through with that couple until the end.

Tbh I don’t read much adult romance - usually just ya or adult fantasy - so I’m not sure how true this is, but I thought this argument was interesting because it literally would disprove e/riel lol.

Like if you look at the entire acotar series, then Elain and Lucien were mates before there was any indication of anything between Azriel and Elain. So then it would make sense for them to be the couple that will be endgame. And Az/Elain will be resolved without a huge romantic subplot because they really don’t have serious feelings for each other, it’s just following a pattern with the way Azriel attaches to unattainable women to avoid rejection and Elain trying to avoid the problems and feelings she needs to face by latching onto the ‘safe’ option.

And even if you are only looking at acosf since it’s the only book classified as adult romance from the beginning, then Az/Gwyn have more interactions throughout the entire story than Elain/Az. Like I guarantee if someone read acosf without reading the previous books, they would think Gwynriel would happen - especially with reading how the bonus chapter ends with Az thinking of Gwyn, not Elain.

I also think it’s interesting that e/riels claim it will happen because of their development, when in fact, the reason they probably won’t is because of their complete lack of development.

Sure, Az/Elain may be a bit farther along in the sexual attraction phase, but that’s it. They’ve been stuck in this limbo for 2 or 3 books? Nothing in their dynamic has changed. At all. That’s not development. They went from being polite acquaintances to polite acquaintances with sexual attraction. There is no indication that any deeper connection between the two has formed. Maybe some romances start off that way, but that’s just not how SJM writes. Even with Nesta and Cassian, there was actual development through acomaf and acowar and acofas before they got together in acosf. Nesta and Cassian go from hating each other, to Nesta revealing one of the most traumatic events of her life to him (the attempted SA), to saving his life because she realized she didn’t want to live without him, to becoming emotionally distant again over winter solstice, etc. You can actually chart the progress of their relationship - if you did with Elain and Az, it would just be a straight horizontal line.

Elain and Lucien have actual relationship development, even if they aren’t quite as far along yet. Their dynamic has shifted - from Elain avoiding him, to seeking him out, both of them going from being wary of the other to inquiring about the other’s wellbeing, etc (I don’t remember all of the elucien moments since it’s been a while since i last read the series, but I distinctly remember noticing changes in their relationship).

Sorry this got so long! But what do you think?

Hello! Sorry this took me a few days to get to! I think I know what discussion sparked this, and I gotta say that people need to understand that genres are a suggestion, not a rule book!

First off, the adult/YA distinction is about audience, not content. There is no "YA genre" or "adult genre". There are books intended for adult readers that could be of multiple genres, and there are books intended for younger readers that could also consist of multiple genres. I read a widely across both audiences and multiple genres.

Anyone who tries to say "but in adult romance this one specific thing always happens!" Well, no. Romance is probably one of the most rule-bound genres out there right now because readers want 1) consent, and 2) a happily ever after or the implication that it is to come. However, there are people currently writing romance, and they call it romance, where even those basic conventions are played with or ignored. Sometimes reader get mad, but that doesn't mean the writer is banned from using the phrase "romance" or else they will be thrown in RWA (Romance Writers of America) jail. There are multiple tropes, character types, story lines, there could be fantasy, it could be contemporary, it could be historical. And back in the day, consent was very dubious in romance, a lot of the time. I remember sneaking my mom's books. My point is that genres change, constantly, because of the stories that writers want to tell, and the stories that readers want to read.

Now granted, I don't read much YA romance because... I'm a grown ass woman. I've outgrown it, tbh. However, I wonder if people are referring to "bait and switch" in the way that sjm changes love interests? Because I haven't seen that as a "feature" of YA romance in particular. In acotar and ToG, the love interests changed not to trick the reader or make us off balance, but to reflect how the characters were growing.

There is literally nothing about romance as a genre that says that a love interest cannot change, and even if that were one of the major tenants of the genre that people expect, writers could still say "fuck this imma do it" because... genre is a guide, not a rule.

And Az/Elain will be resolved without a huge romantic subplot because they really don’t have serious feelings for each other, it’s just following a pattern with the way Azriel attaches to unattainable women to avoid rejection and Elain trying to avoid the problems and feelings she needs to face by latching onto the ‘safe’ option.

THIS.

They went from being polite acquaintances to polite acquaintances with sexual attraction.

AND THIS OMG

You can actually chart the progress of their relationship - if you did with Elain and Az, it would just be a straight horizontal line.

lmaooooo omg I love you

I agree with all of this. I also agree that it would work against the people who originated this argument to say "this ship has existed longer and so that's why people expect it or it should happen, because X genre says so".

1) This is not strictly romance, it's fantasy romance

2) Elucien were mates and a ship in the fandom months before e*riel were so this argument does seem self-defeating

3) There are zero rules that prevent sjm from fucking around with e*riel and then finding out they are poorly suited

4) Even if this were a regular ol' romance, there is no reason why a character can't have multiple partners so long as the HEA is still there or implied, if we're all gonna get up our butts about following romance conventions

5) Adult romance standalones do typically focus on one couple. However, that is not a guarantee. See: genre as a guide. I can think of multiple off the top of my head where an MC is in a relationship with someone else at the beginning of the book, or where the ex is a very recent, not quite dealt-with factor. acotar - I can't believe I have to write this - is not a standalone. Even if this spin-off series is described as following separate couples, it is a series, and the plot and character development don't just sprout out of nowhere in book five or six.

6) Genre theory is a thing, people can look it up! I am tired of typing haha

#acotar #antielriel #elucien #nessian #ask #anon #genre

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davids-cartoon-corkboard · 3 years

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Here’s the final part of the “Raph is a system” theory compilation post! It’s the last of what I can scrape up from canon; while I still have ideas on how it might loop back into character interactions and plot and so on, they’re much more speculative in nature. (Part 1 is here) (Part 2 is here) (You’re reading Part 3)

---

"Red” is the alter with the least screen time, so it took a while for me to connect the dots on when and why he formed.

His shadowed face, the dramatic background music when he speaks, and his seriousness are reminiscent of the “brooding on rooftops in the rain while gloomily staring off into the distance” thing that Raphs throughout the franchise will do sometimes. That’s easy to poke fun at on a superficial level because most of us look back on our edgy phases with self-deprecation, but it’s a lot less funny in the context of the life he lives. Being a normal human teenager in normal human society is a fucking nightmare; being a mutant teenager who has no idea what to expect in terms of development or lifespan, only five people he can safely interact with ever, and a very limited future hiding from everyone else for as long as he lives has got to be just awful.

RR’s few lines in “Pizza Puffs” tell us a lot. “It’s the only way they’ll learn” and “this is for their own good” suggest that he formed when the turtles started exploring more of the sewers and going aboveground, and Being The Leader became more of a responsibility. A thousand new ways for them to get in trouble meant a thousand new ways Raph would have to bail them out, and that got old fast- especially since they didn’t have April’s knowledge to help them in the beginning. I doubt they met her the very first time they left the sewers. The wiki says April knew the boys for five years as of “Mystic Mayhem”, so they would have been nearly eight at the time, perhaps the mental equivalent of a ten- or eleven-year-old human.

A while back I sifted through all the eps with Raph in them in the vague hopes that “Pizza Puffs” wasn’t the only episode featuring RR... and lo and behold, I found something! The shadowed face and dramatic background music are also present in “Minotaur Maze”!

“I can’t do it. I got no mystic mojo. I’m useless.”

“Hey, that’s not true, brother. You just gotta believe in yourself, and know this: If I die in this maze, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

(I know that’s only two data points, but y’all canonically cannot scoff at me.) RR shows up when HR is no longer able to tolerate the bullshit at hand. “I’m not going to baby you Leo, get your shit together before your ego kills us all” was a reasonable response to nearly being shish-kebab’d.

“Pizza Puffs”, on the other hand... LDM pulled through in the end, but that RR got HR to stay behind added an unnecessary level of risk. Getting his brothers to learn a lesson should have waited until after the giant mutant cannibal had been dealt with and they were no longer poisoned.

This hands-off “figure it out on your own” approach probably came from Splinter. I swear to Pizza Supreme In The Sky I’m not trying to shit-talk him, but his lack of involvement with his sons was a major flaw. Before all that character development he was terrible at things like “emotional support” and “life lessons”, leaving Raph without the blueprints to deal with a lot of problems. HR would respond by rushing in and figuring things out as he went, but sometimes RR would have to say “No, we’re maxed out and can’t deal with this, we’ve gotta step back”. As we’ve seen in other iterations, when Raph is maxed out and doesn’t step back...

...he goes too far. Plenty of folks have commented on how rarely the Rise turtles smack each other around compared to other versions; it’s telling that RR spoke up just a moment after HR smacked Mikey in “Pizza Puffs”.

Raph is much bigger and stronger than his brothers this time around, meaning such an outburst would have a much higher risk of Genuine Grievous Injury. And while his size and strength also mean a measure of gentleness has been baked into him since day one, there would still be times HR would feel himself boiling over and RR would head off somewhere quiet for fear of the above situation; which was potentially alluded to in “Hot Soup: The Game”.

“You went out on your own when you were his age.”

The context of “Man vs. Sewer” suggests Raph isn’t going to go off on his own without very good reason- such as cooling down before he does something he regrets. That this detail shows up in Casey’s debut episode suggests it is how they will properly meet and bond, since befriending Casey and doing vigilante shit with him is what usually gives Raph a way to blow off steam while having someone nearby to keep him in check. But that probably won’t happen until partway through season 3, since I doubt we can cram the rest of Casey’s redemption arc into the movie alongside the invasion and time travel trauma shenanigans and leader drama. So in the meantime RR will continue to brood on rooftops in bad weather and listen to Ephemerality songs and monologue to himself because he knows nobody’s going to hear him over the incessant background noise that makes up the cities above and below.

I was a bit stumped about how that meeting would take place- the events of the finale (and possibly also the movie) would no doubt have both the human and yokai populations on high alert, making it dangerous for RR to slip away for some peace and quiet. But the events of the finale also gave us some insight on Raph’s powers; he has a way to leave without actually leaving!

Hardlight Clone Jutsu, baby!

So whenever HR finds himself in a particularly sour mood, a wisp of power winds its way up through the open-air portion of the lair and forms into a clone aboveground. HR doesn’t have to leave for a while to cool down before coming back and dealing with the situation calmly, because RR is already on a rooftop somewhere dissipating those bad feelings by listening to the rain and/or yeeting trash cans.

But mutants can’t freely walk the streets of New York, and the Hidden City Police probably still have it out for Raph. And someone, hero or villain, will eventually realize that Raph has a gloomy stray clone running around and ask questions that can’t be answered without cracking open the can of worms that is This Whole Situation. RR needs to get creative. That we’ve seen clones have both full color and the basic red/white palette suggests their color could be altered in other ways; and that the holo-form grew extra arms in the lair fight vs. the Shredder suggests their shape could also be changed further.

So what will he choose to look like, if not his body?

Obviously he’ll use a red and black color palette because it slaps, leaning more towards black since I compared him to Batman back in Part 1. A low-detail design makes it hard to identify him, giving onlookers the impression that they just couldn't see him well in the dark. Mentally filing down his spikes and decreasing the curve of his shell are easy enough, but it takes him a while to figure out five fingers instead of three, and there’s not much he can do about his voice other than lowering the pitch so he just opts to not talk much within earshot of others. A cape further disguises his silhouette and again, it slaps. The impression of a mask means he doesn’t need a face and it lets peoples’ assumptions work for him. Humans are more likely to think he’s human than a Very Human-Shaped Mutant, and yokai come in so many shapes as is that he could be anything from a witch to a dehydrated googlyschmootz.

(You know how it is with franchises. Old patterns repeating in new ways.)

New York City never sleeps, and I doubt the Hidden City does either. He’ll run into Casey eventually, but in the interim he stumbles across and intervenes in some attempted purse-snatchings and kidnappings and the like. Most of the would-be victims use his arrival as their chance to escape, but one of them is too frozen with fear to move until their attackers are chased off into the dark. He escorts them home, and it’s only once they’re at their doorstep that they work up the courage to ask him who he is.

It’s... a difficult question, in more ways than one. “Raph” is out of the question. “Red” isn’t quite right, and neither is “Angel”- they’re a tad too identifying still, and the R.A.P.H. thing was HR’s idea anyway. So he shrugs, and melts away into the shadows.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Nobody.”

#rottmnt #rottmnt raph #red raph #rottmnt nobody #the 'raph is a system' theory #this will never be canon in a million years but it's canon compliant and that's what's important to me lol #ephemerality is a synonym for evanescence #i had to use a thesaurus for that one #anyway i am have always been and will always be an 03 hoe #long post #i have an inkling about how his meeting with casey would go so i might put that here sooner or later

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himbodjarin · 3 years

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LUNAR; CH10

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 7373 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The Mandalorian’s calves have never felt so tender nor his feet so sizzling, but the Girl’s life is at stake and he can’t afford to slow down. He’s succeeding in not succumbing to his body’s desire for rest, but it won’t last long—there’s a sharp stabbing pain running along the back of his thigh and he administers his weight to the opposite leg to avoid stopping. Bookoo is faster than him with his legs at least a foot longer than his. It’s a good thing he spared his life, Mando decides, for if he hadn’t there’d be no hope in saving the Girl—he can’t carry both the Child and her back to the hangar, especially not from this distance.

He battles against the unwavering urge to sink to his knees and lay face first in the grit, let it bury his aching limbs where they’ll retire. The Child in his arms feels almost as heavy as the beskar on his shoulders but he ensures his clutch, his blood-stained leathers cupping his little body against his chest securely; both of his crewmates were in unfortunate conditions and there’s an unshakable concerned feeling creeping up on Mando. What’s he to do if he loses them?

Pushing it aside, he focuses on his footing; dodging jagged rocks and uneven surfaces of sandy terrain but it’s not enough, his muscles can’t maintain this pace and exertion. Bookoo notices his decreasing pace and slows to match it, eliciting a growl of a question Mando doesn’t understand.

The Girl is limp in the Wookiee’s paws with her head pulled to the side and her abdomen pooling with red liquid that drops to the sand before them, staining the grit in a clashing hue just like he had with the snow only a day or two ago. No more than two days had passed and there’d been another injury—only so much worse than what he’d dealt with.

“Go. Go,” Mando puffs out, gesturing towards the structure. “Hangar 3-5.”

The Wookiee growls once more and continues his approach leaving the Mandalorian to catch up on his own terms. Mando permits a steadier pace to let his muscles recuperate and to examine the Child’s wellbeing. Still asleep, still unresponsive to his touches, but breathing and squirming every few minutes. He’ll wake, eventually, it’s just a matter of how long it’ll take. He’s not injured—not physically—the only positive consequence from this whole event.

Vermillion plasma clings to him like a pest and he raises a hand to rub at the smear on his heart plate with the base of his palm, the leather harsh enough to shave the blood off in dried flakes. Some of it is still wet and it only smudges with his fury, tinting the beskar in with a relentless red. The tempo of his strokes increases rapidly, desperate to rid himself of the reminder of what’s happened to her, but it’s unproductive and a complete waste of effort.

Mando sighs and inclines his helmet so he doesn’t have to see the colour contrasting against the silver that is wholly him—he’s bland and dull, a mix of blacks, whites, and greys, while the Girl is brimming with colour; she’s as vibrant as the krill ponds on Sorgan and as eye-catching as the sunset on Nevarro, but that vermillion...it’s a colour he never wants to see on her ever again.

“Oh, Thank the Force!” Peli exclaims upon Mando’s return, her arms outstretched for the Child and he happily delivers him to her, cringing at the throbbing in his biceps. “Thought you mighta-”

He interrupts, “Where? Where is...is she...she’s not…”

“She’s stable. The droids took care of her.”

Mando pauses with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Droids? No, I said no droids. Especially not with her!”

Peli shrugs, “Easy there. They’re repair droids.”

“She isn’t a vessel!”

The mechanic places an encouraging hand on his pauldron. “I taught them basic medical skills—comes in handy when you’re working a craft all on your own. Go have a look yourself.”

With a blend of scepticism of the droid’s abilities and apprehension for the Girl’s condition, he navigates through the Hangar’s halls and into the room she occupied, tracking grit in his wake. It’s dark inside, her features lit by a single candle beside the bed she’s situated on. She’s breathing, chest rising and collapsing laboriously underneath a thin scratchy blanket draped across her body, but her brow is wrinkled and her mouth taut in an agonised frown. She looks depleted of energy—drained from the inside out—it makes his heart lurch and lungs sensitive against the crisp air.

Slashes that riddle her arms had been tended to, protected from Tatooine’s harsh desert landscape with familiar ivory-coloured bindings. She’d hardly been touched by the moon’s glow before being sealed away again, so close yet so distant from his reach—Mando wishes he’d never had grabbed her with such authority back on that ship. The Girl reshapes underneath the blanket and his eyes lift to her shoulders, bare and unbound by the sizable poncho she usually dons, and the soft of her skin travels lower until the edge of the blanket meets his eyes, covering her chest.

If this had been any other time—essentially any other circumstance—he’d be struggling to control himself right about now, the appearance of such soft skin stirring something deep in his core, but those thoughts are far from his mind. Rather, he’s preoccupying himself as to not let the image of the Girl lying unconscious get to him, by reflecting on the information he’d been given back on the craft; the forced confession of the Girl’s intentions. It angers him, and it angers him that it angers him; confusing. Mando doesn’t want to be a part of it; wishes he’d never entered that cantina then perhaps he’d remain blissfully unaware—happy.

“She’ll need some medicine when she wakes,” Peli says, startling him out of his self-loathing. “Spice could be helpful too.”

“That’s addictive.”

Peli hums. “It can be if you’re not careful. Hell of an anaesthetic though. She’ll be in pain for a while without it.”

Mando inclines his visor back to the Girl. “Where can I find it?”

“Cantina’s best bet. Smugglers pass through ‘ere all day and night.”

“There weren’t many people there earlier.”

“Doesn’t get its fill until late in the night,” she explains. “They’ll be there.”

And they were—six smugglers gathered around a single cantina table in the darkest of the corners. They’re not shy about their illegal activities, placing the narcotics onto the surface displaying for all to see. It’s their business strategy, Mando believes, rope in unsuspecting victims with the alluring spice and scam them of their credits for a small dose of pleasure.

“How much for one?”

They turn at the filtered voice, sizing up the Mandalorian and noting the remarkable steel encasing his body. One of them grasps a bag of narcotics, tauntingly fiddling with it ahead of Mando. The leader of the group—a burly older gentleman with a bush for a face—leans further into his chair and responds, “With that armour of yours why not indulge a little, aye?”

“One is plenty.”

“Come now, it’s not every day you’ll get it for these prices. Stock up while you can.”

Mando sighs to himself and places either hand on the table, tilting his helmet to match the eyes of the leader. “One.” He’s distributing his lack of patience in waves that ripple against the smugglers; they shift uncomfortably and bow their heads to sip from a glass of spotchka.

Dull and sullen eyes tip to the Mandalorian’s hands on their table, examining the dried blood coating his leathers suspiciously. They’re unaware of the fact it’s not his enemy’s and he’s grateful for that—it benefits him, gives him the upper hand in regards to coercion. “Okay, all right,” the leader sighs. “A thousand is all it’ll cost ya.”

“That’s too much,” Mando rumbles. “I’ll do two hundred.”

The crew laughs at his claim and he scowls underneath the helmet. Mando doesn’t have the privilege of time to waste it away on a bunch of no-good narcotic smugglers. He suspends a hand over the hilt of his blaster in hopes of compliance and it, at the very least, gets them to shut their mouths. “We’re out here risking our asses for this! Do you know how difficult it is to press these into pills? It’s worth more than two hundred.”

Mando sighs aggressively. “Five.”

“Five?”

“You have two options. Take the credits and leave here richer than you came, or we take this outside.” Mando glances over their panicked faces. “It seems you’re already fixed on your supply. I’m sure you’re not capable with a blaster.”

Sunken eyes leer at the Mandalorian with resentment and defeat. He slides a satchel across the table, the narcotics rustling inside, and Mando slips the bag into his belt pouch and retrieves a few dozen credits to toss at the group.

“Pleasure doing business,” Mando retorts as he steps away, listening to the lackeys scowling—we need those credits!—at their leader in frustration. It’s a small win, one not worth celebrating and he doesn’t, just continues trudging through the gathering crowd of drunk patrons to the exit.

A familiar soft-spoken voice stops him from leaving, “Excuse me, sir! Please do not eat the display!” Mando twists on his feet and watches the same waiter from earlier fight against a customer attempting to shovel a cluster of flower arrangements into his mouth. “Sir, I’ll make you something. Please just-”

Slurring his words and attempting to frighten the waiter off with flailing arms in her general direction, though his coordination is all off, the man groans something neither of them can register. She’s becoming just agitated at the man and Mando huffs a sigh through his dry lips, wanting a drink of his own, and walks up to the duo to prevent any conflicts, yet again. Mando’s becoming soft—running around and assisting any damsel in distress—he’s sensed it for a while now, and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the Girl, the kid, or his age. It doesn’t really matter, he realises, as it all seems to just blend together anyways.

Mando’s gloves come down on the patron’s shoulder and he clasps the flesh underneath, tugging backwards until he’s stumbling on his feet and disappears within the crowd. It’ll take him a while to work his way out of that mess; Mando turns to leave.

“Mandalorian! Sir, thank you.” She smiles brightly at him and he responds with a faint nod. “Please allow me to make you something on the house.”

“That’s not-”

“Please! It’s the least I can do. What about those pancakes you ordered earlier? I can make a batch up as quick as a flash.”

The pancakes.

The sweetness of the syrup, the softness of the cake, the excitement of his tongue exploring the Girl’s fingers—it’s all toying with his mind, tormenting it. It feels like a lifetime ago with the chain of events having followed after it. It was a moment of pure euphoria for the Mandalorian and he anxiously wishes to recreate it, wants to proceed with exploring the Girl’s body, but not like this.

“No,” he nods again as a substitute for a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

Mando files through the small of his pouch, recovering the tub of bacta gel and alongside the spice pellets and places them on the edge of the Girl’s cot. Peli advised him it’d be best if he were to administer it to her—she trusts you the most—he finds it ironic. If that were true, wouldn’t she have admitted the truth before all of this - would she have ever confessed if not for the abduction?

Despite that, he’s willing to do it - he wants to do it, he realises once he’d unravelled the first limb of its bindings.

It’s an excuse to touch her - an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt in his heart.

He slips his hands from their confines and retires the leather to the nightstand. Frigid air assaults his flesh immediately—the wind gusting through the ajar window sharply—and he curls his fingers into themselves, tucking the vulnerable tips into the warmth of his palms.

The Girl’s moaning ahead of him is enough to summon the primal instinct to tend to her wounds. Mando dips two fingers into the gel and gathers a load of it on the tips, the bright blue glistening from the candlelight. It’s healing properties are strong, much more so than the cheap knock-off he usually purchases and he can feel the soothing bursts in the peaks of his digits, it was fortunate timing he’d stumbled across the vendor low in stock - and it’s well worth the credits, though the funds are beginning to run dry with all the recent payments.

Peli’s droids had done a decent job on the Girl, though he wouldn’t vocalise it, and her slashes already looked to be healing from the cauterisation, but they’re still inflamed and sensitive. Regardless of the deception aching his heart and the suppressed clump of words in his throat, her actions don’t merit insufferable torment. So, Mando gets to work; slathering thick coatings of blue on each gash, using less pressure on the newest of the bunch, particularly the one that’d been in such bad shape back on the spacecraft. His forefinger streaks along with the bumpiness of the cauterisation scarring - it’s rough and so different to her. She’s so soft - pillowy, and he’s all shattered transparisteel - sharp and risky.

She stirs beneath his hands and strains to open her eyes. “Man-do?” she croaks and grabs hold of his wrist, pausing his momentum.

“Does it hurt?”

She groans a strangled reply, “No, it’s - it doesn’t mat-ter. I need… I want… I-”

Mando carefully pries his wrist from her clutch and continues lathering gel onto the irritable lines blanketing her arm. The faintest, timid touches establish goosebumps that reach up to her shoulders, and he adopts them - brands them as his; cares for them, feeds them with additional strokes from his tips as a reward.

“Just rest - heal.”

“I can’t. I-I won’t,” she chokes out and the rawness in her voice causes him to stop on his own accord, his visor finally lifting to look at her and he wishes he hadn’t - wishes he didn’t see the Girl in so much pain; physical and emotional. There’s not a single tear in sight—she wouldn’t allow herself to shed one—but her eyes are glassy and red, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth where it’s being relentlessly chewed on. “Why are you still here?”

“The Crest isn’t fixed,” he lies and it pains him to do so, not because the Crest was repaired—Peli had informed him of this earlier—but because he knows why he’s here. Mando knows exactly why he hasn’t just upped and left - why he hasn’t just continued his life on the run with the kid.

It hurts, even more, to hear the Girl utter, “Oh.”

He succumbs to his pitiful emotions, “I won’t abandon you. I can’t.”

She places a shaky hand on his vambrace and shifts to sit up some, cringing at the discomfort in her limbs and abdomen at the change of position. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I-I wanted to tell you—so many times—but then- I didn’t want to - to ruin all of...this.”

He listens intently, silent but listening.

She reaches higher, her hand looming in the intimates of his neck but she pulls away sharply, clasping her adjacent hand over a pulsing and cracked cauterised mark. It causes the gel to smear across her forearm messily, coating the palm of her hands and dropping clumps onto the cot below. Mando delicately peels her hand away and wipes the caked-on clots away with her tattered poncho which lays draped over his knee. It feels so private—personal—tending to the Girl in her times of need just like she had with him, as though he was returning a favour - only hers came with an additional payoff; his cheeks redden at the thought of reimbursing her here and now.

“Mando.” She slips her hand into his mid-scrubbing and interlocks their fingers together. Residual gel transfers to his palms, squelching between each other’s grip, but he can only focus on the pounding against his ribs and the pressure on the back of his hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh - testing the boundaries she can push. There aren’t any. The Girl could push and push until he’s stumbling over his own feet and there’d be no boundaries; there will never be enough of her - never enough.

“Please, ask me anything,” she whispers, glancing up at the visor. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I don’t - don’t know what else I have to offer. I-I don’t know how to...to show you I’m sorry. Please,” she more or less huffs out the sentence, the pain starting to catch up with her.

Mando observes the small satchel on the edge of the cot and rolls it around in his free palm, feeling the individual pellets through the thin material. “I’ll make you a deal,” he complies. “I’ll fix up your other arm and ask anything I need to, but you need to take one of these.”

The Girl’s eyes dart to the sack and Mando opens it, retrieving a tablet and holding it up to show her. It’s small, almost too small to look like it’d be a mild pain relief let alone enough for one to get high off; no bigger than a third of his fingernails and a deep maroon colour that just screams narcotics.

“Spice,” he answers her unexpressed question. “It’ll help with the pain but it could be addicting. I won’t force you to take one if that’s what you wish.”

The decision is in her hands - it’s her life, after all.

“You’ll ask me anything?” she asks and he nods. “Pass it over.”

Mando should be appreciative of her unsuspected complying—it’s not often she’s so easily won over like this—and it’s for her benefit, but he can’t help but wish she had rejected the pill. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see her in that disoriented state, plagued with feral hallucinations vandalising the inside of her head and grinding her basic cognitive functions into tiny particles. Or maybe it’s because he’s scared of what he may discover without her possessing the ability to stop herself from oversharing. Mando’s had his run-ins with spice before and while he’s not entirely fluent with the substance, he’s aware of its susceptible capabilities.

The Girl places a hand on his and he stiffens underneath it. She’s so cold, so desensitised, it’s so unlike her. She’s usually warm; intense flames constructed with passion and tenderheartedness. It’s as though it’s evaporated from her flesh entirely. She strokes his knuckles with her thumb, committing the peaks and ridges to memory and he wallows in the sensation of the pads of her fingers on his skin. It’s the most physical contact he’s been granted ever since he’d swore to the Creed. Even when he allowed himself moments of weakness with others, it's always been rushed—never about anything more than a hasty relief—and under no circumstances would he withdraw from his armour; it’s one of many unspoken promises to himself he’s broken for the Girl.

She twists his hand around and slides the pill from out between his thumb and forefinger, plopping it in her mouth and swallowing harshly. It goes down without a struggle, the pill being so minuscule it didn’t require water for a smooth entrance, and she eases back into the pillow with a weak smile in his direction.

“What do you want to know?” she asks.

Mando sighs softly - where does he begin? His tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe across his cracked lips and collects a drop of blood from the slit he’d bit earlier, leaving a stale metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.

“How much did you see back on Arvala-7?”

“Everything from when you took down the encampment with that droid. We followed you back to your ship and watched you get electrocuted by the Jawas—that didn’t look pleasant—Kur wanted to head down there after that, figured you’d be out of it from the impact. I told them to wait, let you get your supplies back for us to loot, and it convinced them.”

Mando tilts his head. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”

She nods. “They didn’t have much of a choice with me in command.”

That shocks him. “You were their leader?”

“No!” she scoffs as though he’d said the funniest joke. “No, no, but I was the only one who could use long-range rifles. I told you, I thought you were the bounty; they informed me it didn’t matter whether you were brought in dead or alive—they opted for a long-range advantage. They’d heard stories of Mandalorians and didn’t want to test their luck.”

Makes sense, he figures, that the group would prefer to deal with their targets swiftly—leaving no room for errors or loopholes, except one of their own violated their ruling, possibly the biggest error they’ve ever made - now they lay dead on their dormant spacecraft on the outskirts of the town. Nevertheless, the information surprises Mando. There was no underlying notion that somebody—no less five people—were stalking him on the ridges of Arvala-7’s desert. Perhaps he should retouch some of his stealthing capabilities.

The Girl waits for his next question, her hands fiddling among themselves in her lap uncertain if she should—could—reach out for him, and he doesn’t trust himself not to soothe her nerves; choosing to settle on the opposite side of the cot to care for her other arm. Stripping the bandages away, he asks, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I already told you that.”

Mando’s brow crinkles in thought, his hands operating on their own accord now that he’s trying to remember; it dawns on him. “Because ‘you didn’t want to’?” he mimics her words back on the ridge—so, so long ago.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m not sure what else it could be. I saw you, Mando, with the kid. He’d only known you for, what, like half a day and he was protecting you—used his abilities to prevent that mudhorn from killing you. And you...you were so gentle with him - so cautious around him. It was mesmerising watching a Mandalorian—a legend—covered in sharp edges and cold steel be so meek towards a bounty. I didn’t want to rip that away from the galaxy; it requires your compassion.”

She’d been watching him closely. Even Mando hadn’t noticed his change of demeanour at that point—it wasn’t until Nevarro that it crossed his mind that, perhaps, he’d fallen soft for that little womp rat.

Mando tips his helmet down to tear away from her eyes, feeling too seen - too examined. “What happened to you?” She gives him a confused eyebrow twitch and he elaborates by running a fingertip across a scar.

She sharply inhales and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to pity me, Mando, you’re entitled to be mad at me. You should hate me, should want me dead. You haven’t had time to reflect on everything you’ve been told back there.”

She isn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t been granted the luxury of time to consider the circumstances, but he’s not certain whether he wants to. If he takes all of this into account, there’s no telling how he’ll react—he’s never had to deal with a situation where the Girl who makes him so hot and bothered had deceived him. Mando dips his fingers back into the container of gel and collects a small load, rubbing it into the tips of his digits with his thumb. He sighs. “I’m reflecting in my own way.”

The Girl scoffs mockingly. “By tending to my wounds?”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and nibbles on her lip anxiously. “I just… It’s - it’s nice—you touching me.”

Mando freezes, his fingers suspended above a mound of scar tissue below her collarbone. What’s he supposed to make of that confession? He drags his forefinger across the scar to transfer the remaining bacta on the padding and retracts, quietly complaining when the softness of her skin is replaced with a breeze of frigid air. “Seems like the spice is working,” he deflects.

“It’s not the spice,” she claims. “I mean - it’s helping say it, but…”

She lays her hand on his vambrace and he’s thankful for the reinforced steel suppressing the tension that travels the muscles underneath, but his uncovered hand is a traitor to himself as he grabs a fistful of bedsheets to stop climbing on the bed here and now—stopping him from pursuing something he sought like a medication to a chronic illness. Her fingers run down his beskar and rest atop his tendons, calming the flex in his hand until the fingers splay out underneath hers. This confession overrules her previous one by a longshot and swallows sternly, the saliva in his mouth increasingly by the second—if the tension persists he’ll be drowning in his drool.

The Girl fiddles with his fingers by twisting and forming them around her own; she’s exploring unveiled land, he ascertains. Mando inclines his helmet to watch them at work, eyes following the slender digits as they test the indentations of lines etched into his palm. She sighs and finally answers his question, “Tika did most of it; retribution for letting their bounty escape. The group came to an agreement to banish me to Arvala-7 since it receives low traffic. They hoped I’d die there.”

Mando’s visor returns to her face and, underneath the slab of transparisteel, his eyes lessen in stiffness. He can’t envision how she must see him—a leering, emotionless vessel of beskar wholly fixated on her features whilst she recounts her trauma and he hardly returns a nod in her direction. When her eyes meet him, he can’t see his own in the reflection. It’s only what he doesn’t want to see; a perfectly sculpted Mandalorian helmet made of the finest Beskar. He hates it, despises it. He aspires to rid himself of the obstructing constraint to gaze into her eyes; search for his reflection in them.

“I’m-”

She stops him, placing a finger on his helmet where his lips should be. “Don’t. Don’t pity me.”

Pity isn’t the word he would use—it doesn’t seem genuine enough.

Perhaps there is no word to describe what he’s feeling. Magma is filling his veins yet again, thick and suffocating, but it’s not hot; rather icy cold that makes the tips of his fingers numb. The Girl’s eyes are interchangeable to the Child’s—big, soft, pure. Mando finds himself wanting to protect her from any potential threats—not that she needs his protection, she’s more than capable—to just seal her within the confines of his arms where she’ll be safe - where he won’t let anybody within a klicks distance of her.

She sinks her finger to the edge of his helm and drags him in close, disregarding the rumble his vocoder produces and snakes her other hand through the loop of his belt. “Come here,” she whispers.

Mando inches closer until her breath bounces off his steel and it’s not until he’s at such an intimate distance—where she’s warm and soft against his beskar, but also fuzzy and cloudy—that he recalls the narcotics in her system and that's plenty motivation for him to pull away. She whines and attempts to keep him steady but he’s too solid in contrast to her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Didn’t take you as one to complain,” she jests lightheartedly.

Mando’s really starting to regret buying that spice. She’s initiating something she’s probably not even aware of and, if he hadn’t supplied her with those blasted pills he’d be under those sheets alongside her right about now—or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe it’s the spice making her confused and forcing her hand on him.

Mando needs to know - needs to hear her say those words.

Nerves wrack his muscles, twitching and shaking violently that he’s forced to rest his hands on the cot to ground himself. Mouth dry like the desert outside, Mando clears his throat awkwardly and curses at himself upon hearing the tremble in his voice, “It’s not how I want it to happen.”

The Girl is rendered like a malfunctioning droid, her eyes flickering to-and-fro from his visor to his hands—hunting his stance for any implication that he’s just screwing with her and her cheeks deepen with crimson when she finds none. One wouldn’t know she was intoxicated by her swiftness as she slings her legs out from beneath the blankets, leaning over the edge of the cot to place either of her hands on the curve of his helmet. “I want you, Mando.”

There it is—what he’s been waiting for all this time and he can’t act on his desires; it’s pure fucking torture. Mando places his hands atop of hers and leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut behind the helmet. Tardily, he withdraws from her clutch. “Get some rest.”

She pouts at him. “You can’t just tell me that and not-”

“Not now, not yet.”

The Girl hums as if contemplating his words and Lord it’s a beautiful tune—her pondering about him in more than just platonic. She remains still, half-on-half-off the cot with the blanket draped across her lap, her torso bare besides the undergarment protecting the privates of her chest. Mando rakes in the scars surfacing her body, ranging from little lacerations no smaller than a third of his fingers length to corked holes of a blaster’s laser. This wasn’t her first rodeo, the fresh wound simply another trophy of survival, but can’t tear his eyes away from the blemishes; they’re nearly identical to his own, in all of the same places and sizes but different contributors - she’s all slashes and lines of bumpy tissue and he’s drillings, his body simply a burrow for his foe’s lasers to retire.

He resists to reach out and touch them - feel the scarred trauma that mirrors his own. He can’t; won’t. Mando abruptly raises to his feet and fragilely strides across the room, collects his gloves, and murmurs, “Get some rest. Sleep off the spice.”

The Girl watches as he slips on his gloves before her, her eyes catching the flaky dried blood—her blood—on the tips of the fingers. “Don’t you have more questions?”

“They can wait,” he says matter-of-factly and manoeuvres his way to the exit, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. One couldn’t; no matter how terrified he is of the answer, he needs to ask it and if it’s not now he’ll never muster up the courage to ask. “Did you feel guilty?”

“Guilty?”

“Back when I was shot—you took...care of me. Was it because you felt guilty?”

The Girl wants to say something snarky—tell him he’s an idiot for thinking that way, but his voice is quiet, soft; filled with uncertainty and anxiety. He’s concerned with the thought of that act—the one he let himself be so vulnerable during—was nothing more than a simple chip for her to cash in for self-redemption; to lift the weight on her shoulders for her intentions back on Arvala-7.

“No,” she answers, her voice tranquil to match his. “No, it wasn’t guilt.”

The Mandalorian faintly nods, glances at her one last time, and exits the room with his shoulders light but his head heavy; the dreaded question finally put to rest but when one dies another rises from its ashes. If not guilt, what was it? She had confessed that she ‘wants him’ but could that have actually been true—could she genuinely want him the way he wants her? Mando tells himself that’s absurd—it’s just the spice suffocating her thought process like a sticky pool of uj’ayl. It had to be.

Mando makes an attempt to preoccupy his mind with the Crest, testing the durability of Peli’s maintenance with pointless button pressing and readying the craft for launch the moment the Child and the Girl are back on their feet, but his mind doesn’t stay busy for long before he’s thinking unwanted thoughts; the cockpit is where it all began and he can’t deal sitting in the pilot’s chair without the cooing of a child in his lap and the snarky remarks of a girl behind him. It’s a foreign concept to him—funny how time works; it wasn’t so long ago that he did everything on his lonesome from sleeping to fighting, he was his only companion, but not anymore. He’d spent nights rocking a ball of green to sleep in his hammock and battling alongside a reliable partner.

A partner—that’s what she is to him and so much more—he’s never had a partner before. Sure, a group here and there but never an individual he’s willing to put his faith into; his trust. Trust that the Girl had severed; or had she? If she had, surely he wouldn’t think of her this way—he’d just up and ditch her without a moment’s notice. So why does his heart ache and his lungs struggle to expand?

When he’s with the Girl it’s like he completely forgets about the deceitfulness, the lies, but when he’s distanced himself from her they return—unrelenting waves of anguish and frustration that leaves his head heavy and sore—until all he can think about is the threads connecting the two of them, knotted, frayed, tearing.

Peli makes her presence known with a gentle knock on the durasteel besides the cockpit door. “I dunno what’s gotten between you two but I’m here if ya want to talk. I ain’t practised but I’ve been told I’m good for this.”

He doesn’t want to talk.

But he does, nonetheless, “She’s been lying to me.”

Peli tilts her head and examines the sulking Mandalorian with a cocked eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“She was going to kill me.” Mando swivels in his chair and crosses his arms.

Peli shrugs and gestures to him. “Obviously she didn’t, did she? Listen, I’ve seen how you act ‘round her—you’re soft for her, just like your kid. She might’ve been at ya, but she’s certainly not anymore. In your line of work, is that really a dealbreaker?”

Mando’s rendered silent, staring at empty space above Peli’s head in hopes he can wrap his own around this. It’s so fucking tiring thinking about it—it’s all that’s on his mind and he wishes for nothing more than to crush it between his hands, free him of the burden.

“Do you forgive her?”

Yes, of course, Mando will always forgive her - will always be there for her, but no; he doesn’t, can’t...can’t he?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peli clicks her tongue and shifts on her feet. “The two of you should figure that out. It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward - or something like that, I read it somewhere. I ain’t saying you gotta forget about all that, but just think about it this way: you never woulda met her if she hadn’t been there to shoot ya.”

That’s definitely a unique way to look at it. It’s true though if the Girl’s group hadn’t taken the same commission as he had and hadn’t abandoned it halfway through he never would have met her; never would have the pleasure of being around such a winsome girl.

Mando wants to forgive her and pretend this never occurred so they can continue where they left off but he’s unsure if that’s possible with the kid comatose; injured because Mando let his guard down, let them be captured by the enemy. The enemy he swore to protect him against but she’s not one of them—not a threat. The Child’s life is in his hands and it’s hot and heavy, identical to the volcanic rocks of Mustafar, but it’s tethered to his palms, scorching permanent burns as a reminder of his undertaking.

Peli notices his silence and changes the subject, “Kid really did a number on those wires, ya know, took longer to repair than expected.”

He pivots on the chair again, returning to face the viewport. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleepin’.” Mando doesn’t reply and Peli continues, “He stirred for a bit there, but ended up falling asleep again. Don’t get your gears clogged, I’m sure he’ll wake the moment he’s hungry.”

Mando scoffs. “Kid is always hungry.”

“Well, he’s up in my cabin. I can bring him down to you and the Girl if ya like.”

“No, let him rest. I’ll check in on him in the morning.”

Peli hums and nods behind him, turning her attention to the Wookiee communicating with her droids below the Crest. “What’s his deal?”

Mando sighs. “Not sure—another lifeform I’m stuck with I suppose. I’ll ask her about him and let you know.”

“If he destroys my droids, you’re paying for ‘em!” Peli grumbles as she descends the ladder, leaving him to watch the Wookiee alone. Bookoo hadn’t approached Mando since his arrival to the Hangar, which was fortunate as he’s not proficient in Shyriiwook and he didn’t want to test the waters with a being he had in a chokehold.

Mando deposits one of his spare sleeping shirts at the foot on the Girl’s cot, running a—freshly cleaned—gloved finger across her cheek and the curve of her jaw greedily. She doesn’t wake from his touches but he tears away nonetheless, allowing her space to rest, and saunters to the agape window overlooking the emptiness of the street outside and the glowing silver sphere above him—mocking him with it’s glowing. It’s so bright, so shiny, and it reflects off his beskar only amplifying it; Mando’s so dull, bleak, in contrast.

It’s a competition between him and the moon. There’s always been a rivalry—always something there to fight against, something to strive to defeat, to become bolder and brighter. It hangs above him out of his reach - always out of his reach.

Behind him, the Girl stirs and the cot squeaks beneath her movements. “What’re you doing?” she croaks, slurred with sleep.

“It’s back.”

She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder from the bed. “The moon? Yeah, it does that. Comes and goes every night actually.”

He sighs and tilts his helmet down to watch the sand blow along with the gusts of wind. “Why did you shoot at me?” he asks. “When I returned.”

The Girl groans and clasps a hand to her head, attempting to rub the brewing headache away. “I was trying to scare you off. I hoped getting shot at would keep you astray, should’ve figured a Mandalorian wouldn’t’ve taken it too kindly. I just -- didn’t want them coming back and finding you there. It was better if you were far away from that planet.”

She was looking out for him - she’s always looking out for him.

Mando’s shoulder stiffens underneath the weight of her hand on his pauldron, but he daren’t turn to look at her. Instead, he crosses his arms against his chest and inclines his helmet upwards, isolating his vision to the reflective sphere on his visor. There’s three in fact, but the largest one is the one he focuses on; eyes boring holes into the undetectable craters on the surface. It’s nonsensical how luring it is, like a magnet dragging him in from his steel platings—no, it’s stronger and straining. Almost as though he was submerged in a tidal wave, incapable of fighting against the onslaught, and all he’s to do is frantically struggle while he gradually sinks to the bottom of the riverbed. Because he would sink. There’s no denying that.

“Waxing Gibbous,” she drags him out of his grim thoughts.

“What?”

She points to the moons. “That’s the phase they’re in. Waxing Gibbous. Don’t ask me what that means, I have no idea.” He twists his helmet to her and cocks an eyebrow underneath the visor. She seems to acknowledge his confusion and explains, “You look at the moon a lot. It reminds me of you in a way, you know.”

He scoffs. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re the same colour as it for starters.” He mockingly rolls his eyes. “But… the moon is the greatest companion there is. In times of light it waits behind the clouds, but when we need it the most—in our darkest moments—it distributes its glow to keep us in the light; safe and alive. It’s loyal,” She places a hand on the curve of his helmet where his cheek belongs, “selfless.”

Mando’s breathing slows when she looks at him with those eyes—those eyes that could bend him over backwards with a simple blink. Subconsciously, he leans into the weight of her hand and relishes as best he can with a helmet. She’s wearing his shirt and it’s a few sizes too big on her but fuck if she doesn’t make it look good; the hem brushing against her thighs—where he belongs—and the sleeves rolled up to unmask her hands.

“I prefer the sun,” Mando hums.

“Sun, huh? I hate the sun. Arvala-7’s fucked up my hands.”

A hand inches underneath the material of his shirt to situate on the curve of her bare hip, harsh leather stroking circles into the smooth skin but she doesn’t stop him - doesn’t seem to care that the leather isn’t as pleasant as his hands. “It’s not all bad. Even the strongest flora cannot bloom without it.” He tugs her closer until her chest is against his, erupting her into a hazy cluster of blushes. “It keeps me warm—so fucking warm.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting burnt?”

“It’s stubborn and strong-willed but no. I’m not afraid.” Mando swipes a thumb across her lips, noting how her tongue pokes out to catch a taste of stale leather but she pulls away before he can reciprocate.

She twists the sleeves of his shirt around her wrists and sighs softly. “I’m not a good person, Mando. It’s not the lying—not that that’s not important. It is. It’s just- I’ve broken the Guild’s code multiple times and I-”

Mando shushes her once more by providing a calming hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head to look into his visor. “You’re rambling,” he informs.

“I’m sorry.” She bites her cheek and tears her eyes away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I never should have persisted about the stupid rifle—never should have stepped foot on the Crest.”

He’s doubtful on what to say but he knows he doesn’t want that; doesn’t want the Girl to wish she’d never come along with him and the kid. “Do you regret staying?”

“No. I don’t regret staying but-”

“Cin vhetin,” he whispers.

“Ci-what?”

“Cin vhetin. A fresh start.” Mando tilts his helmet in question. “Would you like that?”

The Girl stops breathing, he can feel it in her neck muscles and he strokes a finger into the base until she continues, her eyes flickering side-to-side along the top of the T-shaped visor and she sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re willing to - to - yes. Yes.”

Concealed behind the helmet and armour, Mando’s lips curl into a smile and his heart leaps over a crack in the surface. He nods in agreement and sweeps his fingers across her neck to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. This feels right—finally correcting something that’s been pressing at the back of his brain non-stop. The Child is still the priority, he knows this, but he’s allowing himself a weakness; an indulgence that’s been taunting him for far too long. “Mesh’la.”

She leans into the touch, placing one of her hands atop his. “What’s that?”

“I think I’ll hold onto that one.”

She pouts. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Mando chuckles and responds by pressing the bottom of his helmet to her forehead in a mock kiss and murmurs, “Ner mesh’la. Ner.”

_____________

“uj’ayl” - a sticky scented syrup “cin vhetin” - a fresh start or clean slate “mesh’la” - beautiful “ver” - my/mine

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk

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