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harmonyrae · 3 months ago

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Ethical Dilemma

Synopsis: He needs a better grade on his Business Ethics paper and you're the only one who can give it to him. But it looks like a better grade isn't all he's after.

AN: I’ve been seeing a lot of Professor AUs with the boys, and then, all of a sudden, at 1:48 AM on a Thursday, I thought “What about them as students?” and IMMEDIATELY STARTED WRITING. Anyways, here’s Student!Sylus x Teachers Assistant!Reader - they're both college aged, btw. Let me know if you want one of these for all the boys!

Content Warnings: explicit language & sexual descriptions, Sylus talks you through it, Troublemaker!Sylus, Downbad!Sylus, Oral (f receiving), PiV, sex with protection (yay), semi-public (kinda, they big riskin it), smut with some plot, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 4.8k

When you received your teacher aide assignment for your final semester, you were stunned. No one else in your program was given a senior-level class to assist with. Tara got freshman English literature, Yvonne got freshman biology, and even Jeremiah got freshman world history. Why were you put with one of the strictest teachers at the university in a subject you weren’t interested in teaching?

“Maybe Business Ethics won’t be that bad. Maybe you’ll like it more than you expect.”

You stare at Tara across the lunch table. She winces and returns her focus to her salad. You poke your fries with your fork, too nervous to stomach even the simplest carbs.

“It’s a senior level class… I probably know half of them and I’m supposed to what? Grade their tests and exert authority over them when Trumbo isn’t there? What exactly am I supposed to learn that will help me with my elementary education degree?”

“Well, most college guys act like children.”

Simone laughs at her own joke. Her high pitched snickering makes you laugh, despite your frustration. You cover your face to hide your smile, she’s got a point.

“And I’m supposed to grade their papers using what knowledge?”

“I’m sure Professor Trumbo will give you an outline, if he even lets you grade them at all.”

Simone reaches over and takes your plate of fries away, setting it down in front of her and immediately diving in.

“I hear Trumbo never takes a teacher’s aide. Wonder why he picked you.”

You glare at Simone, you weren’t going to eat the fries anyways, but now you’re even more nervous than before. How are you supposed to face Trumbo in an hour?

“Whatever the reason, you’re an amazing choice. And if you don’t have much to do, you can use the time to work on your aftergrad applications.”

Now Tara is on the receiving end of your death glare.

“I told you I was considering grad school, not applying!”

Tara groans and taps your shoulder repeatedly.

“Oh come on, you know you want to! You’ll get a full ride, I just know it!”

You grab her hand and lean towards her until your noses touch.

“I’m considering it, no promises.”

Simone throws a fry at you.

“Now kith.”

You let go of Tara and throw the french fry back at Simone, ignoring her snickering.

You're sprinting down the hall to Trumbo’s lecture hall an hour later cursing yourself for deciding to walk instead of catching the campus bus. Your sneakers are stained with mud and your skirt is plastered to your legs from how much you’re sweating. It’s unusually warm for January…

You skid to a stop in front of the doors and let yourself pant for a few seconds. You hold your breath and open the doors to see the hall nearly filled with students. Great, a big class. Luckily Trumbo is not here yet so you have a moment to gather your thoughts and dry your brow before trudging to the front of the classroom.

You hear whispers from the students in their seats and try your best to ignore the urge to listen in. Are they talking about you? Do they know you’re the teacher's aide?

You try to be as quiet as possible as you set your things down at the designated desk at the front of the class. When you turn around you notice everyone’s eyes are locked on you. You slide into your seat and open your laptop, hoping they’ll ignore you if you ignore them.

The door at the back of the hall slams against the wall and everyone turns to watch Professor Trumbo, a lanky middle-aged man with a salt and pepper beard, march down the aisle to the front. He tosses his briefcase on the desk and taps the microphone at the podium. A loud squeak makes everyone wince. He leans an arm on the podium and clears his throat.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to Business Ethics. You’re all seniors in your last semester at this university so I know your motivation is at an all time low. Fix that. This class is not going to be a cake-walk. You have 2 essays and 2 tests. If you fail 2 of the 4 you fail the class and have to take the class again in the fall. Yes, that’s correct, you will not be getting your diploma. Therefore, don’t be lazy and don’t be late. Young lady?”

The silence is deafening and you finally look up to see who is ignoring the professor, it turns out it’s you. Trumbo stares at you with a hand on his hip. He motions for you to come up on the platform and you quickly stumble out of your chair.

“Hello professor.”

He gives you a small smile and turns to face the class again.

“This is my teacher’s aide this semester. She’ll be grading all of your assignments and taking attendance everyday. If you choose to treat her like shit, I am giving her complete authority to treat your papers like toilet paper. Don’t be a bitch, simple. Now, here’s the roster, go ahead and take attendance for me.”

He leaves the roster on the podium and returns to his desk to start pulling papers out of his briefcase. You stare at him for a moment, almost unsure you heard him correctly. To avoid getting on his bad side, you step up to the podium and pull a pen out of your jacket pocket. You cringe at how fragile your voice sounds on the microphone, but you push through, calling out each name and checking off everyone present. Until you reach one name, shit… you forgot he was a business major… of course he’s in this class.

“Sylus Che?”

There’s a moment of silence and you look up, watching the students whisper to each other.

“Sylus Che?”

Is he really missing the first day of class?

Didn’t he get kicked out?

Oh my god, he’s in this class? He’s so cute…

You repeat his name, failing to ignore the whispers as your cheeks flush. Your pen hovers over the absent box.

“Present.”

His smooth voice cuts through the whispers and several students turn in their seats to search for the source. You spot a hand raised towards the back of the class and squint to get a better look. He stands and pushes the sleeves of his hoodie over his forearms before shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Sorry I didn’t answer before, I was distracted by your beautiful eyes.”

A chorus of giggles erupts and your cheeks burn. You drop your gaze to the roster and can barely make the check by his name with how badly your hand is shaking. You hear Trumbo stand from his chair and look over to watch him approach the podium. He stands at the end of the platform, his hand resting on the corner of the podium.

“Sylus Che, if my memory is correct I had you in two of my other classes, yes?”

Sylus grins, his brows rise when he notices you looking at him again.

“That’s correct sir.”

“And, I believe, you passed those classes by the skin of your teeth? No?”

Now the class is giggling at Sylus’s misfortune instead of yours. You bite your lip to avoid smiling. Sylus’s grin doesn’t fade, but his ears do turn red, almost matching his eyes.

“Flirting with the teacher’s aide won’t improve your chances at passing. Now, sit down.”

Sylus obeys and you continue reading off the list of names. Once you’re done, you return to your desk and hide behind your Curriculum Development textbook to text Tara.

𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘶𝘴 𝘊𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴…

Tara

𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵, 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘶𝘴, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 “𝘏𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘚𝘪𝘯” 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘶𝘴? 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘚𝘠𝘓𝘜𝘚?

𝘠𝘌𝘚 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘚𝘠𝘓𝘜𝘚 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

Tara

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰?

𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 “𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴” 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵

Trumbo approaches you after class and hands you a folder.

Tara

𝙊𝙈𝙂😲

“I know you’re not a business major, that’s why I picked you.”

“W-wait, you wanted me specifically?”

He leans against your desk and crosses his arms.

“I’ve taught this class for nearly 20 years and everyone gives the same cookie-cutter answers. ‘Don’t be shady’, ‘don’t commit tax fraud’, ‘don’t fire someone without a real reason’ - I’m sick of it. I want someone who knows nothing to make these knuckleheads use common sense rather than textbook answers. I don’t want a ‘don’t do it’ I want a ‘here’s why.’”

You flip through the folder in your hands, it’s full of notes and outlines for papers and tests.

“You’re the top student in your major. You’ve been taught to deal with difficult students and essentially read people. Everyone I asked recommended you.”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling, knowing you were recommended makes you feel less anxious in general.

“If you have any questions or aren’t sure on a grade, I will gladly look it over. But I want you to listen to your gut. Give the grade that feels right based on their answers and whether or not you think they’re bullshitting or really believe what they’re spewing.”

You nod and shove the folder into your bag.

“You can use this lecture hall for office hours, no one else uses it except for me.”

“Office hours?”

“Oh right, I won’t be the one meeting with students, that’ll be you. If they want to beg for a better grade, it won’t be with me.”

“I have to cover your office hours too? I… what about…”

“Did you inquire about why your Education Ethics class was rescheduled for you?”

You open your mouth to reply, but your lightbulb moment silences you.

“So I do everything but give the lectures?”

“Basically.”

Trumbo stands and tucks his briefcase under his arm. He smiles and hands you a post-it note.

“Here’s my number. Don’t hesitate to call me if you’re having trouble with someone.”

With that, he leaves. You stand at your desk for a while, staring at the note and wondering how you’re going to manage the workload. When you finally look up to finish packing your bag, you see someone leaning against the wall next to the exit. You don’t need to squint this time, Sylus’s tall frame is unmistakable.

Handling Trumbo’s class was much easier than you expected. Everyone was relatively polite and did what they were told. Only one student had failed the course so far. You were weeks away from graduation and already planning your annual beach trip with the girls.

“I’m so bored with the beaches around here… we only ever go to someplace we can drive to. Let’s go international this year! We’re graduating, that warrants a special trip!”

Tara wraps an arm around Simone and matches her pout.

“Yeah, let’s go big this year. It’ll be the last girls trip before we go to grad school and Simone is flying to Tokyo for her big girl tech job!”

You look at the girls over the screen of your laptop and roll your eyes.

“I’m still waiting on my acceptance letter. And unless one of you is paying for me, I can’t afford it. I’m saving for an apartment, remember.”

“Did you guys already order your cap and gown?”

Tara slaps Simone’s hand away from the last nacho and grabs it for herself.

“Yeah, I just hope Trumbo is pleased with my work and gives me a passing grade.”

“You’ve done a shit ton of work for him, he better give you a recommendation letter too!”

“Is there still anything left for you to do?”

“I’m grading the last paper.”

“Who’s in the danger zone? Anyone we know?”

Simone leans forward, wiggling her eyebrows with a smirk.

“There’s a handful, if they get a passing score on this paper they’ll be fine.”

“Is a certain snowy-haired sex god one of them?”

“Simone!”

Tara tries to scold her, but her smile gives her away.

“It would be unethical for me to reveal that information.”

“Bo-ring!”

You wait until they’re both out of sight to pull out Sylus’s paper from your folder. While you love the color red, especially those ruby red eyes, you hate the sight of how much red is on this paper. Sylus is about to fail Business Ethics and it’ll be your fault. Then again, he never came to you during office hours to plead his case. He’d flirted all semester, even leaving a little note at the end of his last paper trying to woo you. But none of that would help his grade now.

You gather your things and tuck Sylus’s paper in your bag. You have office hours and then you can post the final grades. Your walk to the business building is quiet, the cherry blossom trees had bloomed last week which meant the entire walkway was sprinkled with pink petals. You trudge down the hall to Trumbo’s lecture hall and sigh, it’s so quiet at this time of day with all classes wrapped up and teachers heading home.

You set up your desk and prepare for two hours of uninterrupted bliss. A few more papers need grading and your final essay for Child Development needs revising. You’re sipping your iced matcha and scrolling through your playlist, searching for the right vibe for this study session, when you hear a door open. When you look up you nearly spray your matcha all over your laptop.

Sylus saunters down the aisle towards you. How he made the most basic outfit look hot, you’ll never know. Ripped jeans, a loose t-shirt with the sleeve rolled up, dirty chucks - to look that effortless would take you hours. He approaches your desk and drops his backpack to the floor, he sits on the corner of the desk and props his foot up on his knee.

“C-can I help you Sylus?”

The corners of his mouth twitch and he rubs a hand over his face to reset the serious expression he’s trying to maintain.

“Yes, Miss, I was wondering if you’ve graded my paper yet?”

You look down at the folder in front of you, knowing his paper is on top. You clear your throat and rest your folded hands on top of the folder.

“Yes, I have.”

He leans forward, his hair swaying and falling over his forehead,

“So how am I looking?”

Hot. Delicious. Fuckable. All correct answers, but not something you can say. Not just because you’re too anxious, but because you’re about to tell this man he isn’t going to be graduating in a few weeks.

“Uhh… let me ask you a question.”

He leans back and nods.

“Do you have morals?”

He laughs, the boisterous sound echoing off the walls in the empty lecture hall.

“I’d like to think so.”

“Do you think your morals align with the ethics discussed in this class?”

He pauses for a moment, then sighs heavily.

“I failed, didn’t I?”

“Answer my question.”

His grimace turns into a grin as he gives you a once-over.

“I think the concepts presented in this class are narrow-minded and rather unrealistic.”

You open the folder and set his paper down in front of him before crossing your arms.

“That statement alone would have gotten you a better grade than this trash.”

Sylus looks down at his paper, his eyes slowly rise to glare at you.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to beg.”

“I’m not expecting anything, you had your chance to come to me sooner. You failed, plain and simple.”

“Hmm… narrow-minded and rather unrealistic… that seems to describe you too, sweetie.”

“You can insult me all you like, isn’t going to change your grade.”

“Oh, you’ve got it all wrong Miss. I’m not insulting you… I’m challenging you.”

You hesitate, your fingers twitching with anxiety.

“What do you mean by ‘challenge’?”

“The prompt was about negotiations, right?” You nod. “Well, I will prove that business deals should be personalized, negotiating is just another word for interrogating in my book.”

“So you plan on interrogating me?”

He stands and slowly walks around the desk to stand beside you.

“I told you, deals should be personalized. I don’t think interrogating you will help my case.”

You cross your arms and try to tuck your legs under the desk further.

“I’m curious what you think intimidating me will accomplish.”

“Wrong again, kitten.”

The nickname throws you off, you stare up at him, your eyes frantically searching for even a hint of sarcasm.

“W-what do you –”

He suddenly kneels and takes your hand, bringing it to his lips. He places a slow kiss to your knuckles before turning your hand slightly to kiss your palm. His breath tickles your skin and sends a shock of excitement straight to your core.

“I tried to be subtle, but it seems you need a more direct approach.”

He slowly starts to press open mouth kisses up your arm.

“I’ve had my eye on you all semester since the day you came into this classroom all sweaty and out of breath. Your cheeks flushed, lips parted as you gasped for air.”

He places his other hand on your knee and turns your chair to face him. He plays with the lace along the hem of your dress, letting his fingers tease your thigh.

“You’d sit here, nose in a textbook or trying to hide behind your laptop, but every time you’d look up I’d see you look for me. The way your teeth sunk into that pouty lip of yours when you caught my attention.”

He reaches up and brushes his thumb across your bottom lip. You’re frozen in place, your heart pounding wildly in your chest and your clit damn near vibrating with excitement. You try to squeeze your legs together, but Sylus presses his torso between them. He lifts your hand once more and kisses the tips of your fingers.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t care that much about the paper. Sure, I’d love to get the hell out of this school, but I think I could suffer through another semester if I could fuck you on this desk right now.”

He suddenly sucks your thumb into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the tip and circling before sucking. You let out a breathy moan and close your eyes to try and force yourself to calm down. Sylus releases your thumb with a lewd pop.

“No, please kitten, I want to see those gorgeous eyes.”

You open your eyes to see Sylus leaning forward, his nose trails along your jaw as his hands fall to your waist.

“Fuck the paper, kiss me.”

He looks up at you, his eyes full of desperation. At this moment, you can’t recall a single lecture about educational ethics and you don’t bother trying. You grab his face and pull him to you, his lips just as needy. His hands reach around and he pulls you to the edge of your seat.

“Get on the desk for me sweetie.”

You follow his instructions without hesitation, all rhyme and reason chucked out the window with your sanity. All you can think of, all you can feel, all you can sense is him - just him.

“That’s it, lean back for me.”

You lean back, letting Sylus lift your dress to reveal your panties. He grabs the back of your neck and brings you forward, crashing his mouth into yours. His other hand squeezes your hip and dips down to cup your clothed pussy. You shiver as he gasps into your mouth, his hand rubbing back and forth, only making you more feral.

“You naughty thing, this wet just from a little flirting?”

You throw your head back and firmly grip his t-shirt to keep from falling back.

“Shut up… ahh… as if you’re not hard right now…”

He chuckles as he licks the side of your neck.

“Oh I am… and I can’t wait to be so deep it’ll take you weeks to forget the shape of me.”

You moan loudly, your body shaking as he finally slips his hand down the front of your panties to touch you directly. His fingers trace your swollen clit and tease your entrance slowly. You press yourself against his palm and he groans into your neck. Your fingers clutch the back of his shirt. He takes a step back and pulls it over his head as you yank off your cardigan. He clumsily pulls your dress over your head and runs his hands through your hair, gently tugging to tilt your head back so he can kiss your neck again.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…”

Your mind is blissfully empty, for the first time in years… You’re not thinking about papers or tests, student loans or grad school. You’re just letting your body take control. You let your hands slide down Sylus’s torso, every muscle shivering under your touch. A subtle click and zip, you don’t even realize you’re pushing his pants over his hips.

“So eager… you want it, kitten?”

You let him go and lay back on the desk. His eyes don’t know where to look. He leans over and presses kisses to your stomach while his hands shimmy your panties down your legs. Your back arches off the desk as he kisses you, every tender kiss sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. You sit up suddenly.

“Am I going too fast?”

You shake your head and tuck your fingers under the hem of your bra, yanking it over your head in one swift motion. His pupils dilate as he takes in your fully naked body.

“I want it, all of it, touch me please, fucking touch me…”

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush against him. His bare skin against yours makes your head spin. You can feel his heart beating and all you can think is how badly you want him to touch you, to hold you, to consume you. He pushes your shoulders until you are on your back again. His tongue is eager to taste every inch of you, his lips drag along your neck, down to your collarbone, to the swell of your chest, closing around your nipples to suck and lick at the tender flesh. He continues down your stomach and over your hips, and then you whimper as he lifts your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Yes, keep making those sweet sounds, you sound so good. Moan for me again angel.”

His tongue dips straight into your pussy making you groan and writhe. He continues to fuck you with his tongue, his nose rubbing against your clit until you feel like you’re about to explode. His hands grab your ass and lift you, pushing his tongue further inside. Your legs shake and you reach back to hold onto the edge of the desk, gripping something to try to stop your legs from snapping shut against his head.

“I want you to come for me, I need to taste you. Please I need it…”

His voice is so desperate, so raw, you don’t even have to think you just release. Your cries of pleasure are matched with his own, just hearing him moan has you seeing stars. You hear him sucking and slurping like your pussy is a damn water fountain and he’s never seen water before. You’re trembling and almost crying by the time he lifts his head from between your legs. He crawls over you and buries his face into your neck, smearing your release onto your collarbone.

“You taste divine… better than I imagined…”

You run your fingers through his hair, letting your legs finally relax and hang off the desk.

“You imagined what I’d taste like?”

He rises and rests his elbows at your side, his face flushed such a pretty shade of pink.

“I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I needed you, I still need you.”

“Sylus…”

His eyes drift from your lips to meet your gaze.

“Fuck me.”

His crimson eyes darken as lust takes over. He stands and you lift yourself up onto your elbows. You watch as he peels his boxes off, evidence of his own climax staining the fabric.

“Did you…”

“Cum from eating your pussy? I sure did.”

You sit up fully and loop an arm around his neck, his body collides with yours and you waste no time. His mouth slots over yours and you part your lips to invite him in. His tongue traces your lips and presses against your tongue until you’re delirious from the lack of oxygen. Your hand reaches down between your bodies to wrap around his cock. He tenses and you slowly stroke him until he’s gasping.

“I can’t wait anymore…”

He frees himself from your grasp to grab his wallet from his jeans. He retrieves a condom and tears it open with his teeth. You snatch it out of his hands and roll it on as he whispers your name. As soon as it’s on, he’s lifting you off the desk and lowering you onto his cock.

“SYL– oh… Sylus fuuuuck…”

You wrap your legs around him and cling to him, his face buried in your chest as he slowly stretches you out.

“Holy fuck, she’s so tight… breathe for me sweetie, you can do it.”

You throw your head back and moan loudly, the sound of your cries bouncing off the walls and turning you on even more. Your pussy pulses and you force yourself to take a deep breath, your belly expanding. He bites your nipple and you nearly cum again. He lowers you quickly, his teeth rolling your nipple distracting you enough to take the rest of his impressive cock.

“You’re taking me so well, she’s sucking me in now, you feel that?”

You nod frantically, the deep rumble of his laugh makes your stomach clench. You need more.

“You want me to move, angel? Is that what you want?”

You nod again, your nails digging into his back.

“Use your words, let me hear that beautiful voice. Please, angel, speak to me.”

“Yes yes Sylus… fuck me, move please I need you - I need you to move…”

The next thing you know, your back is hitting the desk and his cock is slowly pulled out. Just as you’re about to take a breath, he’s ramming himself back inside. You scream his name and grind your hips forward.

“Shit… do that again, grind on me, angel.”

You roll your hips and feel his cock twitch inside of you. Your walls flutter as you match his pace. The sounds of skin against skin, the lewd squelch of your leaking pussy and his guttural groans fade and all you can hear is your heartbeat. The tension you’ve felt for nearly the whole semester, finally reaching its peak.

“Sy, Sy, Sy! I’m going to… I’m…”

“I know, I know, me too… Let me feel you… come on, I have you.”

Your body trembles as you cum on his cock. A growl erupts from Sylus’s chest as he falls apart. You can only feel his cock twitching and his hips pulsing, you’re almost angry at the condom for keeping you from feeling him completely. And now, you can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like for him to fill you.

“I wish I felt that, I wish I felt you fill me… fuck…”

Sylus groans into your shoulder, his chest heaving as he tries to come down.

“There’s always next time, sweetie. If you want there to be a next time.”

You whine as he pulls out. He removes the condom and tosses it into the trash can next to your desk. You sit up and reach for your bra, clumsily pulling it on over your head.

“What are you doing? What if someone sees that?”

Sylus grabs some tissues from Trumbo’s desk and returns to you, gently spreading your legs to clean you up.

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”

He turns to clean himself and you hop off the desk to grab your panties and dress off the floor.

“Okay Mr. Rhett Butler.”

“Oh, you got the reference.”

“I didn’t peg you for a movie buff.”

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

You’re about to put your dress on when he stops you. He stands in front of you in his boxers, his hands settling at your waist. Your breath catches as he pulls you forward.

“I meant it, you know.”

“M-meant what?”

He leans down and places gentle kisses to the side of your neck.

“I don’t care about the paper. The only deal I want to make involves seeing you again.”

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙:

@trishiepo0

@not-so-quite-human

@kitsunetori

@babyx91

@libriomancer

@lilyadora

@crowskitten22

@letharue

@silverbrain

@alastor-simp

@drama-trauma

@0tterteeth

@mysticcollectionvoid

@godzillaglitter

@godoffuckedupcats

@m00nchildwrites

@plsdonttakemyname

@hauntedbysmut

@withering-dream

@lostwingz2236

@simpfortheseven

@freddy-2002-blog

@plsdonttakemyname

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junplusone · 3 months ago

Text

soft spot for you ; lee jihoon

SUMMARY. jihoon has a soft spot reserved just for you.

PAIRING. lee jihoon x gn!reader

GENRE. fluff, friends to lovers (idiots to lovers), college au (they're seniors), soonyoung horanghae agenda, mildly ambiguous hopeful ending, just wholesome things

WARNINGS. language/swearing

WORDS. 2.51k

NOTES. here's a short little piece lol - if you couldn't tell i'm obsessed with soft spot by keshi... according to airbuds i listened to it like 64 times yesterday oops. also dedicating this to @ppyopulii my resident woozidan love you jay!! ok it's like 6 am for me rn so i'm going to sleep after posting goodnight (or goodmorning i suppose) enjoy reading!

TAGS. @mochacoda @ppyopulii (dm or ask to join!)

PLAYLIST. soft spot - keshi / the cutest pair - regina song

There has never been a time where you did not know Lee Jihoon.

Or if there has, you don’t really remember it. It’s always been you and him, a package deal; always two halves to the whole, no questions asked. The two of you could not be more different, but even so – everything is just so easy when he’s with you.

“Ji, can you pass me the gummies, please?”

Soonyoung watches as Jihoon wordlessly brings the bag of gummy bears over to you, picking out the pineapple ones he knows you like.

“You don’t give me candy,” he sulks, homework lying forgotten on the table.

“You are annoying,” Jihoon tells him, “and you also haven’t gotten a single bit of work done since you’ve gotten here. Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

“Well, I did the math and I could theoretically pass this class even if I get a 50.”

“At the rate you’re studying, I doubt even that’s possible.”

That gets a preoccupied laugh out of you. Jihoon smiles – he knows you’re listening, even as you type away at your laptop. You always have an ear out for anything he has to say, you hope he’s learned over the years.

“You have no faith in me,” Soonyoung grumbles.

“Correct.”

The exchange has you smiling to yourself quietly, because anyone with a brain and two eyes knows that Jihoon cherishes his dear friend very much, despite the harsh words.

Tough love, you like to call it, also having had to deal with Soonyoung’s questionable decisions multiple times before.

The clock hits midnight, and it still feels like you’ve made little no headway on your assignment. Soonyoung is currently knocked out, head leaning against his chair, and Jihoon is scrolling on his phone absentmindedly like he has been for the past hour.

“You know you can leave, right?” you whisper to him. “You literally have no reason to stay here.”

He blinks, eyes tired from staring at the screen all day. “You’re here.”

“That doesn’t necessarily extend to you,” you point out, giving your laptop screen a disdainful look. “You’re not the one doing this god awful project.”

Jihoon leans closer to squint at the document you’ve got pulled up, his hair brushing against your cheek. “Is this for that one systems programming class?”

“Uh-huh.”

“This looks awful,” he remarks.

“You’re not helping!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, patting your shoulder comfortingly. “I think they have a new professor teaching it this semester. I don’t recognize the dude’s name, either, but we probably had it a lot easier.”

“Great. I’m going to drop out of college,” you groan.

“And leave me here with Soonyoung?”

You consider it for a moment, wrinkling your nose at the sleeping man across from you.

“Good point.”

Jihoon sighs, placing his phone down on the table and looking at you with a concerned expression on his face.

“I wish you hadn’t drank all that coffee earlier. You always get wired and end up not sleeping for at least sixteen hours.”

“That was the point,” you huff, editing a line of code. “Ji, if I cave and sleep now, I might literally fail all my classes.”

He frowns at you. “Sleep is a necessity, and you’re treating it like a luxury. You’re just as bad as Soonyoung.”

“Now that’s a comparison I didn’t think I’d ever hear,” you say, amused.

Even between your deflections, though, you know that Jihoon is right. You’ve started to notice the dark circles around your eyes lately, the little signs that you’ve been pushing yourself a little too hard.

And yet, you simply can’t. Stopping now is like throwing a wrench into the gears of your carefully planned out life. You know Jihoon knows that, too.

“Just be careful,” he tells you, glancing away indifferently. “Don’t want you to go and die out of sheer stress before you can even graduate.”

“Are you saying I won’t even make it to the end of the semester?”

“Well, not like this.”

He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the time you stay holed up in the library, but he doesn’t leave either. You eventually give up trying to get him to go home and get some sleep, but you can’t say you don’t find some type of comfort in his presence, either.

It has always been this way. You will always look out for each other.

It’s a staggering two in the morning by the time you finally get to shut your laptop. You wake Soonyoung gently, though Jihoon tells you not to.

(“Just leave him here, he probably won’t wake up until noon, anyways.”

“We can’t do that, are you insane?!”)

The trudge back to your apartment is silent, the weight of a sleepless week on all of your shoulders. The boys insist on walking you back to your place, and you gratefully accept their company on the walk back.

Jihoon stops you right before you head into the building, propping open the door with his shoulder. Have his arms always been so… prominent?

You raise your eyebrows when he slips you another packet of gummy bears. “What’s this for?”

“Sustenance,” he says, and there’s that rare smile on his face again, one you only really see at times like this, when he’s just talking to you. His eyes always crinkle at the corners, forming crescents, and there’s something so heartwarming about his happiness when it spreads to you, too. “I picked up extra. For tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Ji.”

“Yeah, whatever,” comes his chosen response, but the gesture stays with you long after that. You end up leaving it on your desk with the rest of your things, and when you wash up the next morning you find it lying there, hastily forgotten in the rush to get under your covers.

It’s early, and the morning light is shining through your window. You rip the bag open, popping the first piece into your mouth, and the familiar flavor of pineapple floods your tongue.

“Soonyoung, please.”

“You know, I’m with him on this one,” you pipe up, enjoying the scene unfolding in front of you right now. “It can’t hurt to do it for like, two seconds.”

Jihoon looks genuinely distraught at just the thought of doing Soonyoung’s tiger pose, even for a quick selfie. It’s almost funny, almost.

“This goes against all my values and morals,” he states stubbornly.

“You just hate me,” Soonyoung complains, trying to get a good angle with his phone. It’s lovely out today, and you thought having lunch outside in the courtyard with your friends would be a nice way to destress from the week you’ve been having.

This, however, might be accomplishing just the opposite.

“Come on, you can horanghae for one photo,” you coax him gently. “Just let him have this one, okay?”

He scowls deeply, folding his arms. “No.”

“Jihoon.”

He manages to hold your stern gaze for all of five seconds before looking away, rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he mutters in defeat as he brings his hand up to his face, and Soonyoung cheers. “I better be compensated for this.”

You frown. “You can only be compensated for emotional or financial distress.”

“My point exactly.”

The fiasco is more or less over with by the time you’ve finished your sandwich, with Soonyoung promising to never let that selfie see the light of day on social media. The sun is high in the sky, and the warm weather has you feeling more like yourself than you have in a while.

Soonyoung plops himself down beside you as you click through an email on your phone. He observes you silently, occasionally glancing towards Jihoon’s retreating figure going to fetch water bottles from the trunk of your car.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask after a while, not moving your eyes from the screen.

“You two are so weird,” he remarks pensively. “I’ve known Jihoon as long as you have, but you get all the privileges that no one else does.”

You look at him curiously. “Like horanghae privileges?”

“Yeah, exactly,” he agrees, laughing, “but it’s everything else, too. You know what I mean.”

You do know what he means. You can’t say you’ve never questioned it before, either; the unspoken words sometimes hang in the air, suspended like a weight that hasn’t quite dropped yet.

But to even question it puts a lot of things on the line, and you’re not ready for that. So you just let it go, words dissolving on the tip of your tongue.

“We’re just friends,” is your very anticipated answer. Soonyoung only chuckles lightly at your response.

“You always say that, but I’ve seen that man genuinely almost break his neck looking at you every time you laugh,” he points out, and you can’t even refute it. “I’ve seen it all, so many times. I literally can’t possibly be wrong.”

And shit, if Soonyoung isn’t right, if he hasn’t said exactly what has been on your mind when you let it wander. But just the thought of that is frightening, and it’s enough for you to smack his shoulder playfully, deflecting again.

“Don’t be silly,” you chide him, trying to change the subject. “Maybe you’re just infinitely more annoying than I am.”

Soonyoung laughs out loud at this. “I thought we already established that!”

“For once in your life, you’re actually correct,” Jihoon calls out, approaching your spot with water in tow. “I can’t remember the last time I had a moment of peace with you.”

“You love me,” Soonyoung teases, accepting a bottle. Jihoon rolls his eyes, but the small smile on his lips gives him away.

The rest of the day flies by so quickly between their bickering and the endless chatter that follows. You wonder why you haven’t done this sooner, barring exam weeks and important deadlines. Lately things had gotten so hectic that you hadn’t spent much time with either of them.

“Hey, that’s cheating!”

“No, this is allowed! It’s literally the rules!”

It’s every day with these two, you can’t help but think to yourself as they argue over an UNO play, cards lying forgotten on the gingham picnic blanket.

And in truth, you would not have it any other way.

The day your thoughts start to boil over, it rains like there is no tomorrow.

“Fuck.”

The word drops from your mouth as you glance out the window, met with the torrential showers. Across from you, Jihoon’s got his headphones on, focused on an assignment he’s been trying to do for the past few days.

You take a long sip of the coffee he’d brought you earlier. The taste is warm and familiar on your tongue, and you wonder how he got it down exactly, whether this is a step out of the ordinary for him or not. Ever since that day in the yard, Soonyoung’s words have done nothing but haunt you.

The seconds tick by as you watch him quietly, taking in his features and mannerisms. Amidst the familiarity is the feeling of a new emotion unfolding, and to name it scares you like nothing else.

“Wow, I think my eyes are burning,” Jihoon announces abruptly, leaning back in his chair. The exhaustion is evident in his face – you could count on one hand how much sleep he’s gotten over the last few days. “I can’t wait to never take an exam again.”

“Like the workforce is any better.”

“At least there won’t be any of this, though.”

“Yeah, but taxes, bills, all of that stuff,” you list off, “there’s a bunch of hard things that we don’t need to worry about just yet.”

“Oh, I guess you’re right,” Jihoon accepts, yawning as he glances back at his screen. “We grew up so fast, didn’t we?”

You nod in agreement. “Scary. I really don’t feel equipped to start adulting.”

The silence that follows only makes you feel the weight of your statement even more. The two of you sit there like that for a while, watching the rain fall rhythmically on the road outside.

You don’t enjoy this kind of weather, but still, you have to admit that there’s something awfully peaceful about it. It’s as if the pit-pat of the raindrops syncs with your own heart, and it grounds you in a way.

“You know, you could call me for any of that stuff,” Jihoon starts, still gazing out the window. “I can’t guarantee being able to help, but we can figure these things out together.”

You look over at him, in part surprise and part fondness. “That would be quite the tall order from me,” you joke.

He just shakes his head reassuringly. “Nothing ever is. Not if you ask.”

“Aww, look who’s being awfully nice today.”

“Hey, I’m nice every day! Well, most days,” he corrects himself immediately.

“I think Soonyoung would have a lot to say about that, Ji.”

Jihoon’s lips are pulled into a slight pout as he furrows his brows at your words.

“I care more about what you think than Soonyoung,” he confesses, mouth open in a slight laugh. “Always have.”

You were going to say something, but now your throat is dry, the words gone from your mouth. It’s all so confusing; you can’t tell if this is supposed to mean what you think – secretly hope – it does, and it won’t do to give yourself false hope.

“Oh?” you just say instead.

“Thought you’d know that after a decade,” he adds, mildly amused. You can tell he’s trying to act as nonchalant as possible, but you see right through it. “When have I not had your back?”

You catch yourself staring into his eyes for a little too long, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. There is something there that feels a lot like a warm welcome home.

“Never,” you say hesitantly. There’s many more words you want to say, but they don’t come right now, still stuck in your mind.

Jihoon just smiles tentatively at you, and in that moment you understand everything that he hasn’t said – everything he hasn’t needed to say.

“Finish up,” he says gently, nodding towards your laptop. “I’ll buy dinner if you can get it done within the next hour.”

You laugh at that, knowing he’ll do it regardless. “Deal.”

Even so, you can’t help but steal the occasional glance back at him, meeting his eyes across the table ever so often. It’s so strange, so new, but so intimate at the same time.

You smile to yourself, barely concealing a giggle. Jihoon has returned to his work, squinting at the lines of code, but you know the two of you will have a nice long talk about this over dinner.

Whatever this is, you’re not sure – but it’s Lee Jihoon, and to you that means everything will be okay. If anything, excitement is what bubbles in your stomach, an anticipation for whatever more is in store for you.

The rain has ceased, and the sun is back.

God, you can’t wait to tell Soonyoung about this.

thanks for reading! i usually end up writing much longer fics so this was really fun, let me know what you think! love, hershey xx

#svthub #jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #svt jihoon #svt woozi #woozi #jihoon fluff #woozi fluff #woozi friends to lovers #jihoon friends to lovers #svt fanfic #woozi fanfic #jihoon fanfic #woozi fic #woozi one shot #jihoon one shot #hot off the press

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joyswonderland1108 · 1 month ago

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“How on earth is JK hanging up on Tae somehow Jimin's fault?”

JK hangs up on Tae → Tae looks mildly annoyed → Jimin breathes in the same time zone → suddenly it's his masterplan all along 😭 “He manipulated Jungkook with his smirk” girl be serious.

I— You know what? Nevermind. Never. Mind. I've seen the circus and I don’t need front row seats today. These people will see Jungkook unplug the sun and blame the lack of sunlight on Jimin’s aura or something. “He’s too radiant and Jungkook couldn’t take it 🥺” — girl what.

BUT ANYWAY. How are we doing today, fam? How are we feeling? Because Echo just dropped.

And if you’re not listening to it like your life depends on it… what are you doing??? Rent is due, and so is your streaming effort.

Here are two playlists I’m using to stream — because we support our kings with views AND taste. Hopefully they help you too.

Now let’s talk about Jin’s live. Or as I like to call it: The Groupchat Leak None of Us Knew We Needed. Because excuse me, what was THAT? 193 comments from the members???

I swear they either:

Accidentally dropped the groupchat into the public zone,

Are now testing a new social experiment called “Parasocial Group Messaging,”

Or they simply forgot we weren’t supposed to be there.

Honestly? Not complaining. Inject every chaotic interaction directly into my bloodstream. Jin saying “get out of my comments” while simultaneously being soft with them?? Peak hyung behavior. I just know he texted the actual groupchat later like, “Next time use KakaoTalk LIKE NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS.”

Now onto the part of the regularly scheduled program where we collectively slap some sense into the jobless haters: "Jikook are never together" “Where is the proof?” “Are you delusional?”

OH I DON’T KNOW. Maybe they listened to a whole song together? Not just any song. "Don't Say You Love Me". Like… really think about the emotional damage in that title and then imagine Jikook choosing that as their bonding soundtrack. I’m not okay, thanks for asking (I'm being delulu leave me alone!!)

And what’s Jungkook doing? Oh just… talking on the phone. And laughing. Right next to Jimin. As if they share one braincell and can’t operate it when they’re apart. So sorry for having eyes and ears and a functioning memory.

Let’s talk about the inside jokes. The bane of every Jikooker's existence. “It looks good on you.” “No, no, it looks good on you.”

✨STAAAAHP✨ I’m tired of being left out like a side character in a K-drama who gets five lines and a heartbreak arc. WHAT LOOKS GOOD ON WHO? IS THIS ABOUT CLOTHES OR SOMETHING ELSE? Give us the context, I’m begging. These two act like we were THERE for the original joke. Like we weren’t just trying to eat our snacks and mind our business before they decided to gaslight us with cryptic matching dialogue.

And THEN. Jungkook just decides that Hopeminkook can carry on the convo post-live like this was a planned coffee chat. Bro straight up ghosted but gave them permission to “go on.” 😂

Meanwhile, I can feel Jin’s soul leaving his body. You just know he hit the groupchat with: “Get. Out. Of. My. Comments.” And Hobi responded with 10 emojis and Jimin sent a picture of his elbow or something equally cursed.

But now, for the highlight of today’s unhinged lesson in Jikookology: DULPO and NETPO.

For the confused among us (it’s okay, you’re loved), let me educate you real quick:

In Korean, numbers go like this:

1 = 하나 (hana)

2 = 둘 (dul)

3 = 셋 (set)

4 = 넷 (net)

Let me explain based on what i know and what i understood :

In the South Korean military artillery units, soldiers are divided into tank/artillery crews, each given a number. And because Korean is a language of poetic chaos and nicknames, this turns into:

Jungkook, an artilleryman (포수 / posu), was assigned to tank crew number 2 → hence the name DULPO (둘포): "둘 (dul)" = two + "포 (po)" = artillery/gunner

Jimin? He was assigned to tank crew number 4, and naturally, his squad is NETPO (넷포): "넷 (net)" = four + "포 (po)" = artillery/gunner

Not just that — Jimin casually decided to let us know that He is the "ACE" of Netpo, and I’m sorry but ??? We now have ranks within nicknames?? You’re telling me this man is out there acing the military?? Can you imagine Jimin just glowing under camouflage paint and being the top gunner in his squad like it's the finale of a K-drama?

Now..

🕵️‍♂️ BTS Mafia Game Chaos (aka Jikook & Hobi being extra on the timeline)

It all starts with Jimin, just casually asking:

지민: 마피아 하실? “Are you going to play the mafia game?”

Enter Jungkook, 1 minute later, saying:

JK: 눈치게임 1 “Timing game 1”

(He’s referring to a Korean timing game called 눈치게임 (Noonchi Game) where everyone tries to say a number in sequence without overlapping someone else's number — like 1, 2, 3, etc. — but if two people say the same number, they lose.)

Then Hobi shows up and drops:

hobi: 즈2 = "2" in a playful/slangy way

Then Jimin says:

지민: 이 = "2" (again)

And finally Jungkook, being over it already, says:

JK: 아 중복 너무 많다 “Ah, there are too many overlaps” 😩

So basically, this was:

Jimin starting chaos with a mafia game suggestion

Jungkook turning it into a Noonchi Game

Everyone yelling "2" like chaotic toddlers

Jungkook realizing they’ve all failed the game instantly because of too many overlaps

TL;DR:

JK hangs up on Tae and that’s somehow Jimin’s fault (???)

Jin’s live was a groupchat simulation gone rogue

Jikook listened to an emotionally devastating song together and smiled through it like psychopaths

We got soft bickering, synchronized laughter, mysterious inside jokes, and now apparently, gaming lore to study

Jimin = Netpo ACE. JK = Dulpo Support Main (probably)

I need a nap

Anyway, stream Echo!!! And don't forget our boys only have about 3 weeks and 4 days left to be with us again!!!

#jikook #kookmin #minkook #Jikook nation #Jikook karma #BTS chaos #STREAM ECHO!!!#Jin #Hobi oh you sunshine #Taetae how was the bathroom break? lol #Ah i love these man #Spotify

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friendlyneighborhoodslut · 5 months ago

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The Roommate Agreement | 1-The Line.

Pairing(s)/Tropes—Eventual Steve Harrington x Reader, slowburn/friends to lovers.

Summary— The first day at college is a disaster, but luckily big brother lives right down the road… with some very interesting roommates.

Warnings/Extras—Strong language, mentions of bad parenting, cockroaches/bugs, psycho roommate (we’ve all had one), drinking, college dorms deserve their own TW, Steve and Eddie being slight pervs. MDNI, 18+! Let me know if I missed anything!

MASTERLIST | | NEXT PART

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

“Who the hell drinks pumpkin spice in August? It’s 85 degrees outside.” Daizy states her opinion loudly, catching the scowl of a the poor girl minding her business and drinking her latte on a bench. I snort, rearranging my grip on the box labeled Books.

“You’re just a ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?” I tease her as we climb the Dormitory steps.

“I just can’t believe you’re leaving me for some stuffy college in Chicago,” she complains.

“I can’t believe you’re not coming with me,” I retort. We slip past a couple making out in the hallway. Daizy makes a face at them before catching up with me.

“This place is well above my tax bracket,” she tells me. I count down the door numbers until we reach our destination. Room 203B. I kick the slightly ajar door with my foot, the waft of fresh paint and stale air hitting me.

My roommate has beaten me here, marking her territory by setting off an apparent bomb in the room. Foul smelling clothes are strung about, boxes sit in groups everywhere, including both beds. She’s got messy black hair and a general unpleasant disposition to her, staring at me as I walk in.

“Um, hi. I’m your roommate. You must be Hailey?” I readjust the box to shake her hand but she ignores it, returning to a box on her chosen bed. I wade through the landfill that was once our room. I try to set the box down without disturbing any of Hailey’s things, but Daizy makes a show of sweeping all the items off my bed with her arm. A waterfall of junk falls to the ground loudly. Hailey’s head turns to quick I think she’s snapped her neck.

“HEY!”

“Ever heard of manners, Halsey?” Daizy scolds.

“It’s Hailey,”

“Whatever.”

“Dude!” I whisper-yell to my best friend. The last thing I need is to get off on the wrong foot with my roommate and have to endure her wrath the entire semester. Honestly, I can’t help but be disappointed; my faith in the college’s random roommate assignment program completely shattered.

Their silent standoff awkwardly disperses, leaving a thick blanket of tension in its place. I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe and my clothes feel too tight. I squeeze my left hand in my right, tugging on my fingers one-by-one anxiously. Daizy glances down at my hands and sighs, “Alright. Let’s get all your stuff up here and call your brother.”

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

I’m buzzing with a concoction of anticipation and excitement as I sit in the cafe, my oat milk latte long forgotten. Staring out the glass front of the shop, I perk up a little at every man with dark hair that passes by. Daizy occasionally laughs at me, reminding me it’s only been two years since I’ve seen my older brother, not a lifetime.

It feels like a lifetime.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t chose this college because Benjamin had chosen it. Well, he played a great factor in it at least. Whilst I had Daizy and am forever grateful for her, Ben had practically raised me and his absence left a palpable hole in my life. I didn’t blame him for leaving; a prestigious school in Chicago and an excuse to leave our parents in the dust would bend the strongest wills. I was simply collateral damage, and I endured two years of torture at the hand of our parents until I graduated high school.

Besides, getting into The University of Chicago was damn near one of the highest honors someone in our family could receive. With a 7% acceptance rate, I felt like I’d received a letter from Hogwarts when my acceptance came in the mail. It was probably the only time I’d ever seen my parents proud of me, despite my 4.0 GPA and several letters from different sports. “Your brother was Valedictorian with a 5.0 in Honors,” they’d tell me. Yeah, well, fuck Honors.

“I drove 16 hours from Houston to see this asshole, he better show,” Daizy says affirmatively, and I imagine what she’d do to Ben if he ditched. Wring him out like a rag, probably. I cock a brow at her and she rolls her eyes. “And to be with you, of course.”

“Thank you again for driving me,” I smile. Daizy drives like she’s got 10 lives, but given that the alternative was to ask one of my parents to drive, I was more than happy to risk my life on a cross-country journey with her.

She grins, flipping her insanely long black and purple hair over her shoulder before reaching across the table to grab my hand. She squeezes it reassuringly.

The French doors of the Cafe swing open, prompting the dainty ring of a brass bell hung from the ceiling. Both of our heads snap in that direction, my brother standing with his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans.

I stare at him, gobsmacked, until he opens his arms.

“No warm hello for your big brother?” He laughs. I stand abruptly, running across the room to him. I jump into him with a thump, and he lets out an oomph on impact. I hug him tightly, and suddenly I’m that annoying little kid who’d follow him around everywhere again. He squeezes me tightly as we rock side to side a bit.

“Holy shit, you look old! College has aged you,” I tell him when I finally let go.

He shoves my shoulder. “Still a Shithead, I see,”

I pretend like it hurt, but he’s not looking at me anymore. He’s looking over my head, jaw hung slack ever so slightly.

“BEN!” Daizy says, way too enthusiastically, jogging to him. I’m suddenly very awkwardly in the way as they embrace each other and he plants a kiss on her cheek.

Ugh, gross. They’ve been obviously in love with each other since we were kids, but God forbid either of them admit it. The closest they’ve ever gotten was a New Years kiss at a sweaty high school party, but they never mentioned it after that night. I’m not opposed to the idea of them together, only apprehensive; because in the event they’d split, I’d have to chose one over the other. The idea alone makes my stomach churn.

“It’s been so long!” Daizy pulls away form him barely, still gripping onto his shoulders.

“Are you in town a while? You should come by the apartment. We live just down the road,” Benjamin starts.

“We?” I echo.

He shrugs. “My roommates and I,”

“You didn’t tell us you had roommates,” Daizy adds inquisitively.

My brother nods. “Used to be four of us, now there’s three. Some guys I met in school,”

“An apartment filled with college boys, what’s the worst that could happen?” I joke.

“We function quite well. Thank you very much,” my brother dismisses as his phone starts ringing. He digs into his pocket, face falling as he swipes the screen. “Hey, what’s up?” There’s muffled words on the other end. “He did what? Jesus Christ. Yeah. Let me run by the bank, I’ll be there.” He hangs up, rubbing his face.

“What’s wrong?” I query.

“It’s my friend Eddie. Got himself into trouble, again. I gotta go. Call me later, yeah?” He says hurriedly, leaning forward to kiss the side of my head and hug me. Then he’s gone, just as swift as he’d arrived, and for a moment I question if he was ever here at all.

I scrunch my nose up, trying not to feel bitter. My fantasy of catching up with my brother just that, a fantasy, I relent and decide it’s time to face my creepy roommate.

It’s just one year, right?

Grabbing Daizy’s hand, I tug her out the doors and into the busy streets of Chicago.

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

The unfortunate part about August is that, while beautiful, it’s hot as fuck. Not quite as ‘I’m going to melt alive’ hot as July, but enough that the lack of air conditioning in the Dorms has me wanting to peel my skin off for a semblance of relief. I toss and turn in the night, sleep evading me. I’m sticky with sweat and my chest heaves against the stuffy air. Giving in, I lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling.

I sit there, in the darkness, questioning every choice that lead up to this point, when my legs begin to tickle and itch.

Fantastic, I’ve got heat rash. I lean down to scratch at my legs like a wild animal, but stop when my nails brush against something soft and smooth.

Something crawls up my leg.

I squint against the darkness, the faint glow from the streetlight outside reflecting through the blinds. A cylindrical bug, about the size a quarter, scurries against my sheet.

A cockroach. There’s a fucking cockroach in my bed.

I scream, kicking my blankets off and scrambling to turn on my bedside lamp. A face—shrouded by darkness before—meets mine at the edge of the bed, just inches away. Hailey grins down at me. I scream again, petrified, and tumble out of bed.

“JESUS CHRIST! THERE’S BUGS IN THE ROOM!” I cry, running my hands over myself to check for more.

“I know,” Hailey smiles.

I stop dead in my tracks. “Did you… did you put fucking roaches in my bed?!”

She tilts her head to the side.

I think I saw this in a movie once. She’s going to skin me alive and wear me as a hat.

“Psychopath. God!” I exasperate, snatching my phone off the nightstand. “I’ll see you on the 5’o clock news for murder.” I murmur but I don’t think she hears me. She watches me leave, that uncanny grin never leaving her lips. I shiver to shake the sickening feeling she leaves me with.

It doesn’t settle in just how screwed I am until my bare feet hit the pavement. A cascade of rain trickles down my face and soaks my hair. I roll my eyes and groan. Of course. This is just perfect. Murderer roommate, bugs, and now rain.

I clutch my phone tight in my hand. I contemplate calling Daizy, but I feel I’ve asked her for enough favors recently. Defeated, I sigh and click on my brother’s name.

The last thing in our text thread is his address, with the message: sorry to run out like that. Stop by sometime. I click on it, pleasantly surprised by the 8 minute walk icon. Peering up at the black, starless sky, raindrops getting in my eyes, I sigh heavily and begin my barefooted decent to my brother’s apartment.

It’s 1:04 AM when I reach the red brick building. I double check the address and triple check the apartment number before knocking on the bright blue door. Aggressively, unwavering. At some point knocks turn into open-palmed pounds as I’m desperate to awaken my big brother.

The door flies open. Ben stands in the doorway, beer in hand and eyes hooded.

“There’s cockroaches in my dorm, it’s the temperature of Hell and I’m pretty sure my roommate is the Jeffery Dahmer reincarnate,” I blurt out, tears stinging eyes.

He blinks. “Normal people start with ‘hi’.”

I frown and he shrugs, opening the door the rest of the way and gesturing for me to come inside. I oblige, turning back around to face him.

“Bugs, Ben. She put bugs in my bed. You know how I am about things with too many legs—“

“—Nothing should have more than four legs, it’s excessive and creepy,” he mimicks me. “Yes, yes. I know. The legs,” he shakes his hands and raises his voice, pretending to be a girl, which he’s terrible at. I make an annoyed sound.

“She was staring at me, while I was sleeping. Like she wanted to—“

Someone clears their throat.

I spin around, hair whipping me in the face. My heart drops into my ass as I lock eyes with two boys sitting on the weathered leather couch. One with long, unruly black curls; covered in tattoos and plucking at a guitar. And the other, all puppy dog eyes and sandy hair, sipping on a beer.

“Hello there,” the one with dark hair chuckles, grabbing his own beer to slyly take a swig of his PBR can.

“Eddie, don’t start. Your stupid ass is still grounded for getting yourself thrown in jail,” Ben groans, stepping between us.

I’m suddenly feeling very self conscious in my sleep shorts and t shirt, not much left to the imagination. I wrap my arms around myself, a useless gesture.

“That guy was asking for it,” Eddie defends.

The guy next to Eddie on the small couch is silent, arm stretched over the back and staring at me. I sweat, unable to peel my eyes away from his. He’s beautiful, to put it simply. Sun-kissed skin against dark eyes and brown hair that frames his sharp features.

“Hey, man. Didn’t your mom ever teach you that starin’s rude?” Eddie scolds jokingly, covering the other’s eyes. “How come you don’t ever look at me like that, huh Stevie boy?” he cackles, and I realize he may be drunk, as he grips Steve’s face and plants a loud kiss to his cheek.

Steve recoils, pushing his friend away. “Gross, get off me dude,” they take turns shoving each other.

“Alright, you delinquents. That’s enough,” Ben speaks to them like a disappointed parent, ripping the blanket off the back of the couch and handing it to me. I take it graciously, wrapping it around myself. “This is my baby sister Y/N. She’s off limits, that’s a line you don’t cross, ever. She’ll sleep in my room tonight though, since you two can’t be trusted,” he inserts himself into the space between me and the sofa, drawing a metaphorical ‘line in the sand’ mid-air.

“The line,” he appoints theatrically. “Do. Not. Cross it.”

Steve nods. Eddie salutes drunkenly, his eyes nowhere near focused on Ben. I suppress a laugh.

Ben wraps his arm around my shoulders, spinning me around to walk down the hallway. “Now, why don’t you calmly tell me what happened?”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #eddie munson #female reader #friends to lovers #slow burn #x reader #joe keery

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 11 months ago

Note

Hm..im kinda shy about asking this, because maybe it's just an english language thing that i don't get (it's not my first language lol) but ive always wondered what the difference between "prefect" and "housewarden" was,, like, wouldn't the mc/yuu technically also be a housewarden, since they're the only one running ramshackle? aaa sorry if it's a bit of a silly question lol, but i just don't understand the difference,,, thank you, and i love your work very much!! 🩷🩷

So to clarify, Yuu is called 監督生 (“kantoku-sei/kantoukusei”), which roughly translates into “prefect”. Dorm leaders (or housewardens, as they are called in EN) are called 寮長 (“ryōchō”), which refers to “dormitory managers/leaders/superintendents”. The two positions are treated very differently in-game (and generally, prefect is NOT the same as a dorm leader), but it may be different in real life depending on the institution you’re looking at for comparison.

As I've mentioned in this post, I see dorm leaders as NRC's version of RAs (resident advisors/assistants). They’re students who work with school administration to oversee and to conduct activities for their respective dorm buildings/residence halls […] Similarly, the dorm leaders in TWST have certain responsibilities but are also granted power within their own dorm as well as certain privileges which extend beyond that. Common duties of a RA (I'll list some examples from TWST) include, but are not limited to:

Organizing and overseeing student educational programs and dorm activities (Riddle helps his students study to avoid failing, including Cater in Riddle's Dorm Uniform vignettes; he states that not a single Heartslabyul student has dropped out since he has become dorm leader. Various activities are orchestrated by dorm leaders, such as unbirthday parties, renting out their dorm for events, throwing banquets, etc.)

Planning accommodations for students and conducting new student orientations (dorm leaders canonically assign rooms to their dorm members, the prologue shows the dorm leaders escorting newly sorted freshmen to their dorms and showing them around, etc.)

Cleaning up and conducting monthly facility inspections (under the instruction of the dorm leader, members help with setting up and cleaning after events)

Enforcing rules and regulations, reporting incidents and recommending or enacting disciplinary actions as needed, and resolving conflicts between students in the dorm (most obviously seen with Riddle collaring students in the main story, but we've also seen other instances like Leona and Idia dealing with unruly mob students from their own dorms, each in their respective Dorm Uniform vignettes)

Acting as a liaison or representative between the school and students, or between the school and the community (Vil and Riddle especially stress the importance of their dorm members keeping in line, as it reflects poorly on them as the leaders if their students do not behave)

As you can see, many of the duties of a RA are carried out by TWST's dorm leaders. It is these responsibilities that define what a "dorm leader" is. A prefect is described by the Oxford Dictionary as “a senior student authorized to enforce discipline and/or may have additional responsibilities”. The definition implies that a prefect is of the same standing as a RA (ie a dorm leader). We see this lack of responsibilities and power reflected in Yuu (who, again, is often called "prefect" in characters' voiced lines place of their name). For example, Yuu is NOT present in dorm leader meetings and does not participate in planning committees for events such as the cultural festival of book 5 or the interdorm tournament of book 2. However, Yuu does take on various tasks assigned to them by Crowley, like investigating students’ accidents in book 2 or saving anemone’d students in book 3–so Yuu does have more extra responsibilities than the typical student.

Yuu has a little duty overlap with dorm leaders but not much. For example, Yuu grants permission for students to stay over in Ramshackle in book 5, much like how dorm leaders grant permission for others to stay over at their dorms, as well as for dorm members to use their lounges for events (in book 2 and book 7). There are also instances in which Crowley pushes tasks onto both the dorm leaders/other NRC students and Yuu, such as Fairy Gala and Ghost Marriage.

It is likely that Yuu is not acknowledged in the same capacity as an actual dorm leader for various reasons:

Yuu is not a full student (Grim is their "other half) and lacks magical capabilities at a school that is known for training mages. They are also not from Twisted Wonderland. Therefore, they are not a good "representative" of NRC.

Ramshackle is no longer considered a dormitory since it has fallen into disrepair; even if it was still considered a dormitory, Yuu has no students to watch over since the Ramshackle Ghosts are not students and Grim only counts as half of a student.

Since Ramshackle is not a dorm anymore, it likely does not receive funding for dorm-wide activities, maintenance, etc. Yuu has very few resources to do anything.

Yuu does not command any real authority through their title alone (which largely has to do with their status as a non-mage + otherworldliness and the “illegitimate” nature of their dorm); even the main cast has to be shown their merits through actions before Yuu earns a modicum of their respect.

If we put it like that, Yuu's only formal prefect responsibilities are to basically to keep Grim out of trouble and do whatever odd jobs Crowley saddles them with. I guess you can also say that Yuu "enforces discipline" on the NRC students when they get out of hand, but this depends on your interpretation of what Yuu does in the main story. In my opinion, Yuu does very little to actually "enforce discipline" and often relies on other students to do the heavy lifting for them; Yuu is just the one initially sniffing out the root of the problems.

It should also be noted that while the formal definition of "prefect" refers to a "senior" student, Yuu is considered a first-year student along with Grim. Seniority does not play a role here. (Although please keep in mind that being a "first year" does not necessarily mean Yuu is 16 by default; there are exceptions to the age = grade thing.)

In summary, dorm leaders are presented in TWST as generally "higher up" on the food chain compared to a prefect. They have more powers and tasks to carry out; the prefect, by comparison, does not. Most likely, Yuu was granted the title of "prefect" so that the characters have a generic thing to call them that is different from "dorm leader" but is also not their name (since players could change this); this is common for many joseimuke games.

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lostinwildflowers · 5 months ago

Text

Trust Me

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: You and Six have a long history. When things go awry on an unusual mission, rooms are tight and tensions run high.

Word Count: 14K (I am so, so sorry.)

Warnings: very slight enemies to lovers(in the backstory), mentions of pain, injuries(including temporary hearing loss), blood, guns/weapons, mentions of panic/anxiety/insecurities, angst, swearing/kinda harsh language at times, but fluff, lots of pining, hurt/comfort if you will, one-bed trope, dum dum feelings, and my inability to skip a backstory, no beta we die like men

A/N: Hello my darlings! I am here with a fic I have been very nervous and excited to write and to post. This is my first time ever writing for The Gray Man/Sierra Six, but the Ryan Gosling brain rot was too much for me to handle. Please give me feedback on this!! - Birch <3

Important Info:

-Reference #1 - Inspiration for the Croatian house, not exact

-Reference #2 - Six's light blue suit

-Reference #3 - Sunset drive

-Reference #4 - Inspiration for the bed and breakfast

The weight of the gun in your hands was a steady constant as your feet tread noiselessly but confidently over the slate-tiled floor. The laces to your boots were tied down tightly, the pressure on your heels and ankles a comfort when you were at work.

You found solace in the rifle strapped to your back, and relief in the throwing blades tucked into your belt. Skill and years of training have made you adept at weaponry of all forms.

Capable of killing a man with a soup spoon and a shoestring, you were undoubtedly deadly. However, your choice of weaponry always landed on armaments with lethality at a distance.

Being one of the best shots in your division had your name floating around the CIA. Typically working with different groups of people as needed, you were never stuck to just one set of people.

When news started floating around that the Sierra Program was looking for partners for some of their agents, people started wondering as to who would be chosen. You didn't bother with the gossip, instead focusing on honing your craft and getting better.

Thus, when you were first sat down and interrogated about your knowledge of the Sierra program, you were surprised. You knew as much as the next person from the gossip in the office - agents who usually worked alone and got their hands dirty when no one else could.

The officers that questioned you were leaving bits and pieces out of the conversation. You could tell there were gaps in their questions and the answers that they were looking for from you.

Slowly, you were starting to piece it together.

You would be an ideal partner for the infamous Sierra Six. While the CIA recruit was skilled in all facets of, well, murder, it benefitted him to have someone who could watch his back from a distance.

Sierra Six was known to always be about the job. He focused on getting in and getting out. No injuries. No casualties. None of his blood spilled. Just eliminate the target and move on to the next one.

With Six being as skilled as he was, a man who almost always worked alone, you were nervous to accept being his partner. However, you knew this could be your chance to step up a level.

Apprehensively, you agree to a mission with the CIA operative. And frustratingly, the first time you met Sierra Six was in the field.

On your initial assignment with Six, you had asked Carmichael for a general description of the man so you knew who not to shoot at if things got dicey.

Tall. Muscular. Bit of facial hair. Super helpful, right?

You still remember the first words you said to his face. You had thought about getting reassigned.

---

"I'm in position and I've got eyes on the target, Six do you copy?" your voice came out as a quiet whisper. Laid out on your stomach in the dense woods of Croatia, you had sweat dripping down your forehead and chest.

Having your first mission be in the hot, dry summer of the Mediterranean country probably wouldn't have been your first choice with your new partner, but it could have been worse.

Focusing on the task at hand, you could see the target through the scope of your rifle, a wealthy "banker" who was selling drugs across borders in an attempt to disturb government agencies. You didn't really care too much about why you were there, just that you did your job and got home.

As Six's backup for this mission, you were camped out on the edge of a wooded area that had a view of the banker's private house. The target was hosting a large party that would act as a cover-up for business deals and shady operations.

The house was gorgeous, in your opinion. You had seen the open floor plan, the back porch that connected to a gazebo, and the huge deck. Then, it had a two-story pool and plenty of tables full of booze that seemed like a dream vacation for an average person.

And that is why you and Six were to strike at this party. It would be busy with people from all over the world to get in on the banker's dealings, allowing for you and Six to slip away from the property unnoticed.

With your spot in the trees, you had the natural cover of foliage. Six, on the other hand, had to attend the party as if he wanted to partake in business.

You didn't know what he would be dressed in or how you would be able to pick him out. All you knew was that you would have to rely on your instincts and the few words of description Carmichael gave you.

"Repeat, I've got eyes on the target. Six, do you copy?" There was more of a bite to your words this time, a little bit of your nerves peeking through your composure.

Despite having been a part of hundreds of missions, not knowing anything about the man you were supposed to trust to get you out of there was unnerving.

A few seconds go by before you hear his voice slide in through your earpiece. "I heard you the first time, sweetheart," it's deep and ever so slightly, rough. A wave of butterflies tickles your insides at the slight drawl to his voice, as well as the pet name, but you push them away as you try to regain your focus.

At the time, you didn't know he was actually talking to a woman at the party trying to get his attention. Six's response acted as a defense from the Italian woman trying to get him to sleep with her, and that he heard your voice over the coms.

But not realizing this, frustration was starting to well up in your throat, "Well if you heard me, answer. We only have 7 minutes to get out of here once you eliminate the target."

Again, it's quiet over the line until you hear the baritone voice again, "This isn't going to work unless you let me do my damn job."

This time, the anger started to surge red-hot. You knew he was good at his job, he had never failed a job in all of his years at the CIA, but this? He was already a pain in the ass.

You open your mouth to retaliate, but another voice cuts in, "Knock it off, you two. We put you two together because you are both the best at what you do. Play nice and you'll have your 7 minutes in heaven."

Carmichael, you think to yourself as you take a steadying deep breath. Neither you nor Six reply as the banker moves away from the house and out onto the open deck.

"The target is approaching a woman in a black dress," you inform as your eye narrows in through the scope of your gun, "There are only four people outside other than those two."

Six's voice comes quicker than you expected, "Copy that. I've made it to my position." His dialogue is short and overly direct, and you can't help but let your mind wander.

Is this how Six behaves normally? Is he always a man of such clipped words, or is it because I'm here? Does he not like the idea of having a partner?

A snap in the woods behind you makes you pull back from your scope, your eyes flitting from tree to tree, brush to brush. You don't see any large movement, no one trying to sneak up on you.

Instead, you are met with a small blue-rock thrush sitting above you, chittering its song out into the world. A deep sigh falls through your nose as you try to relax your tense muscles at the small animal.

The whole job had you on edge, but seeing the small blue-feathered bird flutter about its day was helping to ease your nerves when your partner seemed to be the one causing them.

Back at the house, Six was positioned in the gazebo, his gun tucked into the waistband of his light blue suit. The woman berating him had finally gone inside, leaving him alone.

Although you didn't have eyes on him, you knew where he was supposed to be. So you let your (colored) gaze return to your gun, a shaky breath escaping you as you aim the firearm back toward the house.

You could see the banker and the woman in the black dress moving closer to the top pool. The man leaned in close to the woman and whispered something into her ear. She turned away with a wide smile and rushed into the house.

"The woman in the black dress is headed back into the house, coast is clear once she passes you," you murmur into the com. A moment later, you see movement to the left of the banker. A man wearing a light blue suit appears from the gazebo, sunglasses covering his gaze.

The first thing you immediately notice is the dark goatee on the man's face. Another rush of nerves fills your stomach as you take in the angle of his jaw, and the curl of his dirty blonde hair on his forehead.

And the gun he was revealing in his hand.

Carmichael's voice cuts in, "Light it up Six, we need to get you out of there." Walking with an already brisk stride, the man in the light blue suit, evidently Six, masterfully gets behind the man, raises his arm with the gun, and lines up his shot.

At the same time, you train your rifle on the target's head, using your peripheral vision to keep an eye out for anyone who isn't supposed to be there.

You don't hear the shot ring out, and you have to assume Six is using a gun with a silencer. The banker didn't stand a chance against Six's deadly aim, slowly falling forward before crashing into the pool.

You see Six immediately take a step back into the gazebo while wiping his fingerprints from the gun, throwing the weapon into the pool after the target.

"Target eliminated," Six's voice comes out gravelly. Carmichael cuts in, "Your 7 minutes have started, get out of there, Six."

The Sierra agent doesn't reply to Carmichael, and you pull back from your gun with a huff leaving your lips. It's go time, you think to yourself as you efficiently collapse the gun stand your rifle was sat on, gloved fingers working with an ever-so-slight shake.

You glance down at your watch as you finalize your belongings, the 7-minute timer on your wrist now counting down. Your eyes widen as you watch the digits rapidly decline and you say, "Six, we're down to 5 and a half minutes. Are you out of the house yet?"

There is no reply.

You curse under your breath as you look back at the house, debating on what to do. You sling the firearm over your shoulder, making sure nothing is left behind from your cover.

You force yourself to take a deep breath as you start to pick your way toward the escape vehicle, aiming for the other side of the woods where you had stashed it. You try the com again, "Six, where are you?"

Again, silence. This time, your internal fears are rapidly echoed by Carmichael's voice, "Six, get out of there now. You only have 4 minutes left before your cover will be blown."

You make it to the black get-away car after another minute of hustling through the thick Croatian forest, ungracefully throwing your rifle into the back seat. You debate getting into the driver's seat and pulling up to the house, but you know that might only make things worse.

After another few seconds of nothing in your ear, you slam the rear driver's side door shut before a grunt crackles through the com. You hear a low moan of "shit" followed by a couple of deep pants.

"Six, we need to go, now!" you harshly whisper through the com, your head on a swivel to make sure no one from the road can see you. This time, you get an answer.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it," Six hisses out. Another curse falls from your lips, and you rip open the door you had just shut, grabbing the rifle you threw down. Just as you start to make your way toward the house, you see a flash of light blue and white.

Six is running toward you, his light blue blazer and sunglasses seemingly missing. It's left him in a fitted white t-shirt, his matching light blue suit pants, brown Redwings, and a watch adorning his left wrist.

"What the hell happened?!" you rush out in anger as he approaches the car, chest heaving and sweat making his tanned skin shine. Six doesn't answer, moving toward the driver's side as he orders, "Get in, we gotta go."

You stare at him in disbelief as you repeat, "We gotta go? You are the one who took forever to get out of here. We might get caught because of you!"

Six stops at the driver's side door, throwing over his shoulder, "Yet you're the one standing outside of the car."

A groan of frustration rips its way out of your throat, and you open and close the rear door for a third time to slam the rifle down. You don't wait to hear if Six has a smart remark, instead, you clamber into the passenger seat and shut your door.

"Is that gun loaded?" Six asks you as he starts the car, not taking his eyes off of the dash as he takes the car out of park. You stare at him incredulously as you remark, "Yes, it is. I thought I was going to have to go in there and save your ass."

Six immediately hits the brakes on the car, causing you to lurch forward. You catch yourself with your hands at the last second, an angry gasp escaping you.

"What the hell, Six?!" you yell as you turn to face the agent for the first time. Now, you can get a good look at him.

His hair is a deep, sandy blonde. The strands seemed to have once been slicked back, but have fallen out of place from the... events of the job.

Next, you see the tan of his skin and the shine of sweat beading down his forehead from both exertion and the heat of the Mediterranean sun. You are instinctively drawn to the dark facial hair surrounding his mouth, and you can't help but think it makes him look tough.

His lips are parted to catch his breath and are a pleasant pink color. Only then do you realize his mouth is moving and is saying words to you. It draws your gaze up to meet his eyes.

Those eyes... such an intense, stormy blue. Sharp and deadly at first glance. Hypnotizing and mysterious the longer you maintain eye contact.

Damnit, he was attractive.

"What?" you state at him, trying to shake the haze from your first view of the Sierra agent from your mind. Six wipes at his face with his free hand, his left hand resting on the steering wheel.

"You don't throw a loaded gun, everyone knows that!" he hisses out as he turns to face the dash again. He is about to say something else, but Carmichael's voice cuts in.

"I said to play nice. Six, get the two of you out of there."

You clench your jaw down to avoid saying anything else, not wanting to get reprimanded for trying to do your job. Six must have thought something similar and moves to shift the car out of park again and begins driving the two of you away from the house.

It's tense in the car, and no one says anything. You have to build some courage up to sneak a glance at Six, who is staring straight ahead, eyes trained on the road in front of you.

This was going to be one hell of a partnership.

---

After the initial tension between you and Six, the two of you slowly developed a working relationship. You eventually realized that you could trust the Sierra agent, even if he was a smartass at times. He was the best, and despite being a man of few words, he was good at what he did.

For Six, his trust wasn't something you earned right away. You worked as his long-range attack partner for countless missions over the last three years, and you still didn't know if you fully had his trust.

You had to believe he had some solid belief in your ability as a marksman. On one mission about six months after your initial meeting, he watched three men stop and fall in their tracks before he had to intercept them, a bullet lodged in each of their chests. He had paused and tilted his head like it may have impressed him.

Now, three years into being partners, a new threat appeared that you and Six were assigned to. One that required you to be one step behind Six and fight hand-to-hand as needed.

It's not that you weren't capable of close-range attacks. You practiced all types of moves and attacks, but you were exceptional when slightly removed from the throes of action with a long-distance rifle.

Now here you were, just a few strides behind Six, the slate-tiled floor beneath you doing a good job of concealing your nervous footsteps.

The tall man in front of you could tell you were uneasy. He could feel a heavy tension lacing the air, more than he was used to. It took every minute of his training to keep his own thoughts at bay to focus on the mission.

The two of you were in the field for a stealth-type mission rather than just a hit-and-run. The plan was to stick to the shadows in tactical gear, rather than blend into the crowd with the sharp suits Six was accustomed to. It was one of the only parts of the mission that you felt fully at ease, donning your usual gear and weapons.

Six's broad figure pausing in front of you rips your attention back to the present. The hallway the two of you were sleuthing down had come to a T junction. You can see Six's head swivel left, then right.

You come to a pause just a pace behind him, and you adjust your grip on your rifle. He rotates his body quietly so his back is toward the wall and so that he can semi-face you.

"I'll go to the left to start toward the target. The right side has one door at the end of the hall, make sure there is no one in the stairwell waiting to ambush us," his voice comes as a low murmur. His gloved hands were loading his gun, his choice a Heckler & Koch USP pistol.

You give him a nod and whisper back, "On you." Six just gives you a silent glance that confirms your words. With his pistol drawn and loaded, Six moves.

You've always been in awe at how such a muscular man could move with such grace, but Six managed to pull it off with ease. As his figure disappears around the corner to the left, you drop in position to cover his back.

Your footsteps have grown more unnerved now that you are on your own. In the back of your mind, you know that Six is behind you, headed in the opposite direction. But now? You were making the calls for yourself.

You force yourself to take a deep breath through your nose, slowly exhaling through your mouth. You bring your pistol into a firing position, the 4th Gen Glock 17 pressed tightly into the palm of your right hand.

There are no doors on either wall in the right-wing you begin to traverse down. There is just a large, tan-colored door at the end of the hallway with a small pane of glass. Red letters spelling "Emergency Stairwell" are printed just below the small window.

As far as you can tell, there are no lights on in the stairwell. You force yourself to pick up your slightly sluggish pace to get this part of the mission over with. You stick to the right wall as you approach the door, your eyes trained on the glass in an attempt to spot any figures hiding on the shadowy stairs.

You don't spot anything as you peer through the glass, no movement, no people. Your gloved fingers try the door handle next, but it is locked. A sigh of defeat slides through your nose, and you pull your arms back to your chest, the pistol pointed toward the ceiling.

As you turn your head back to the direction you came, you are met with an empty hallway. No Six. You can see the endless array of doors, knowing that Six could have easily slipped through any of them as he chased down the target.

You don't hear anything from your com, and you quietly say, "Nothing at the door. Heading to you, Six." You begin to move away from the tan-colored door, footsteps gaining confidence as your mind finally clicks into work mode.

You only make it a few steps before you hear it.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Then a beat of silence.

As you turn back to the door, a loud blast rings out. The door is blown off of its hinges and the explosion from the stairwell sends you flying.

The air is ripped from your lungs as you are thrown into the wall you were following before you land unceremoniously on your back. Your mouth falls open in shock as your nerve endings fire pain signals over and over again.

It starts with your chest aching at the way your lungs are fighting for air, the impact with the wall, and then the ground leaving you breathless. From the stress of it all, your heart is beating erratically, slamming against your ribcage uncomfortably.

Then, the pain travels upward to your throat, where it is burning from the lack of oxygen and the smoke now filling the hallway. A dull throb begins to radiate from the back of your head where you know it slammed into the ground.

You can barely make out the sting of a cut on your cheek, too concentrated on the way your hips and legs shake to add to the overwhelming sensation of pain.

In the midst of your agony, you slowly start to realize the world is too quiet. You can only hear blood roaring in your ears, but not the debris falling from the ceiling where it had been torn open. You can't hear footsteps you know are bound to be heading toward you.

You can't hear anything.

The weight of your realization terrifies you. The pressure in your chest from lack of air terrifies you. The whole mission terrified you.

You can feel panic start to set in as your lungs burn due to the lack of oxygen in your body. I can't breathe. I can't hear. I'm alone. I'm going to die here. Alarm bells are going off everywhere in your body and before you know it, your body forces a gasp out of your throat followed by a shuddery deep breath.

The sudden rush of oxygen makes your throat feel raw and sore, but this time it's more manageable. You blink wearily as dust and smoke start to curl around your body, the air is thick and you can't see much.

As you start to come to your senses, a coughing fit forces you onto your side, your body screaming at you not to move. The force of your coughs makes you dizzy, your head spinning and your vision blurry as you try to make out your position.

You can tell there is a gaping hole to your right where the door used to be, but you can't make out any figures or people moving toward you. Tears start to build up in the corner of your eyes, blurring your already worsening vision.

You swing your head to the left, a sharp pain stabbing at the back of your head from the sudden movement. "Shit!" you hiss out, your now empty right hand reaching behind your head to your hair, shaky gloved hands revealing a dark red liquid oozing onto the black material.

"That's not good," you slur out, your balance wobbling as you shift to get up. Your vision once again tries to focus on the left wing of the hallway, where through the smoke and dust, you start to see movement.

Despite being fairly disoriented, the movement causes your heart to skip a beat and your stomach to drop. You try to stop moving and remain as still as possible as the figure gets closer.

You still can't hear anything, so if the figure says something, you can't tell. Your heart's rhythm begins speeding up as the person continues to get closer, but eventually, you can start to pick out defining pieces of the person.

Tall. Muscular. Bit of facial hair.

"Six!" you try to cry out, your mind willing your voice to work even though you can't tell if sound is coming out. The cry catches and breaks in your throat, only managing to come out as a garbled whisper to the outside listener.

At the faint sound, the figure instantly stops moving. A second passes and you try to repeat, "Six, over here..." but your voice gives out and comes out as an indistinct whimper.

The figure, now identified as Six, catches sight of your limp body sprawled on the ground. "Oh, shit," he states, but you can only see his lips moving as he rapidly approaches you.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his blue gaze flickering over your dirty and bloodied body as he stops next to you. You just stare up at him, watching the dirty blonde through a glazed view as he takes note of your visible injuries.

There's a cut on your cheek, a deep gash on your arm, and some other small scrapes on your exposed skin. It makes his blood boil and he wants to kill whoever did this, but he knows he has to shift priorities.

"Y/n, are you alright?" he repeats, this time kneeling down to get closer to you, his eyes trained on your face. Again, you watch as his lips move soundlessly and the usually stoic look on his face shifts to concern.

You open your mouth to respond, one of Six's large palms coming up to grasp you on the shoulder, and you cry out at his touch. Pain shoots through your body and your eyes snap shut.

This time, the cry comes out more clearly, and you don't hear Six ask you where it hurts. Only when he gently lifts your jaw with one of his hands do you open your pained (colored) eyes.

"Where. Does. It. Hurt?" he asks slowly, each word coming out methodically and calmly to try to minimize your panic. You watch his lips move, and the tears that had gathered at the edge of your vision begin to slide down your cheek as you stutter, "I- I can't h-hear you."

The words are slightly off-tone and garbled as they reach Six's ears, and his eyes widen ever-so-slightly in realization. He gently releases your jaw and looks down for a second, his hand coming up to his ear as he says over the coms, "Aborting mission. L/n is out of commission and I can't get in there without her."

You then realize your com has been knocked out of your ear and is somewhere in the rubble surrounding you. Not that it would help you now. Six drops his hand from his head and regains eye contact with you, blue eyes stormy with an unreadable emotion.

He reaches down and grabs your empty hand before placing it on his chest. Six ensures you are looking at him as he mouths, "Trust me." You do your best to read his lips, and you feel a small flutter of relief as his words click in your head, and you give him a pained nod.

Six pulls your hand from his chest and wraps it around his neck and shoulders, and you do your best to help him situate you. The quick movement makes you dizzy and your vision gets black spots as Six adjusts you so he can haul you to your feet.

Your arm tightens around his neck and your other hand grabs onto a piece of his bulletproof vest in an attempt to steady yourself. Six murmurs in your ear, "I gotcha, I gotcha," but you are none the wiser.

Carefully and methodically, Six maneuvers you so that he can have his gun drawn in his right hand and his left hand wrapped around your waist. He holds you flush to his side as your right arm wraps around his torso as firmly as you can.

Without dawdling, Six begins to guide you down the hallway you initially came from, his whole body on edge as he tries to get the two of you out of the hellhole you found yourselves in. Thankfully, it seems as though the building has been vacated or never had many people inside to begin with.

He helps you down the few flights of stairs painstakingly slow before you reach ground level, your chest heaving and limbs trying to give out. The two of you approach an exit door that leads out of the building, and a little wave of relief washes over you at the thought of getting out.

As he starts to peer out the door in search of a get-away car, a quiet ringing sounds out in your ears. You try to focus, but the ringing sound grows louder and louder, worsening your pre-existing headache. You close your eyes in an attempt to will it away, but nothing happens.

Six's grip tightening on your waist grounds you, but does little to ebb the pain building in your skull. He tugs you to try to get you to move, but when you don't budge, he knows something is wrong.

He gently pushes a piece of hair out of your eyes, the touch making you shiver and loosen some of the tension building in your face. It makes your eyes flutter open and you see that stormy emotion in his eyes again as your gaze meets his.

"Jump," he mouths and points up, moving to stand in front of you, parting your legs with his boot. You balance yourself on his broad shoulder, your left arm throbbing where the blood is gathering down your arm.

You do your best to jump and wrap your legs around his waist, but Six's hands are right there to guide and shift you as he wraps his arm around your back. He once again draws his gun, and in a fluid movement, pushes through the door and takes off toward a car he spotted near the end of the building.

You know he's trying to be as careful as he can, but each time his feet hit the ground your body is wracked with pain. You can't stop the whimpers you know that fall from your lips, but you try your best to bury them in the junction of Six's neck and shoulder.

The Sierra agent hears every single one, and he internally curses at how poorly the mission has gone. He stumbles to a stop on the passenger side of the random car, placing his gun on the roof while he pries the door open and gently urges you inside.

Once he sees you're safely inside, he grabs the gun, shuts the door, and jogs around to the driver's side. He slides in, setting his gun in the center console, starting the car as he closes his door with a huff.

Through your pain and bleary vision, you can't see any injuries on Six, thankfully. If anything, you think he looks annoyed as he pulls the car away from the building and the failed mission.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to focus on stopping the pain from radiating all over your body. You know the adrenaline that had been coursing through your body is wearing off, making the pain much more real.

Beside you, Six's left hand is clamped down on the steering wheel, his fingers pale from the strength he was emitting from his grip. His right hand sat in his lap, balled into a fist that you interpreted as an anger response.

To Six, his hand twitched with the want to grab your thigh, cup your cheek, to ask if you were okay. He knew you weren't bleeding out, you wouldn't have made it this far if you were. But he could tell you weren't comfortable, and he didn't want to bother you until he came up with a game plan to get you somewhere safe.

Carmichael's voice in his earpiece was another annoyance he was done dealing with, so he pulled the small black com out and threw it out the window. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast.

---

Six was driving as far as he could get with the stolen vehicle. The sky was darkening, the heat of the day lowering to a twinkling, cooler sunset. Tones of orange and pink washed over the dash of the car, drawing his eyes to where you were fitfully resting.

You had fallen asleep about an hour into the drive, initially making Six concerned. But, the blonde-haired man could tell you were still alive by the shaky breaths every couple of seconds.

Despite being covered in dried blood and debris, the rays of the sun made you glow in a way he could have never imagined. Similar to how you had initially thought Six was attractive, he had similar opinions about you.

He could picture you yelling at him on that first mission in Croatia, furious he was late. At the time, he thought you were a pain in the ass, but somehow cute when you were mad. But now, with you toying with death in the glow of the dying sun, you had never been more beautiful.

Locks of (colored) hair were warmed by the orange hues refracted through the car's windshield. Pink tones crept along the edges of your features, softening the hardened and pained look on your resting face.

The car hit a small bump and you shifted, Six's attention snapping back to the road for a second to ensure he wasn't going to run off the side of the highway. Then, he peers over at you, gauging the look on your face. It had contorted in pain, and then your eyes fluttered open.

You had to blink against the harsh light of the sunset, and as you come to your senses, you realize that the ringing in your ears has faded into the rumbling of the car's engine.

Your head wobbly turns to look at Six, who has a pensive but blank expression on his face as he drives. His grip has relaxed on the steering wheel, and he again glances over at you as you start to sit up.

You wince at the tugging in your arm, a gasp falling from your lips. Your reaction is cut off when you hear Six's voice rumble lowly, "Easy there." You turn to look at him, surprise on your face as you ask, "W-what did you say?"

Six glances at you again, surprise also lacing his features as he regards you, "Easy there... you feeling better?" A smile tugs its way onto your lips as the sound of his baritone voice fills your ears. Your headache seems to have dulled with the nap too, and you reply stiffly, "Y-yeah, I think so."

The agent stays quiet for a few moments, his gaze focused on the road as it shifts from a highway to a thin road, a town coming into view. A small, family-styled store appears on the side of the road, and Six murmurs, "Hold on, I'm going to get some stuff."

He pulls the car into the parking lot with an easy, nonchalant look. The car rolls to a stop and the rumble of the engine cuts out as you manage to sit the whole way up. Six turns to face you, his eyes stormy looking again.

Without saying a word, he changes his focus to the center console and pops it open, digging for any loose money. He reaches down into a small cubby within the center console, his fingers fiddling around for a second before they reappear with a wad of cash.

Six nods toward the store as he unbuckles his bulletproof vest and removes his weapons, "I'll be right back." He quickly throws his gear into the back seat, and you give him a nod of confirmation you don't know if he sees. You choose to settle back down into your seat as you watch his figure disappear into the store.

Now that you are alone and awake, you finally can assess your injuries with decent enough judgment. You flick down the sun visor, finding the small mirror you prayed would be there.

You are taken aback by your appearance. There is a thin slice across your cheek, likely from a chunk of the door flying by your head. It has left a trail of dried blood on your cheek, as well as dirt and grime over your other features.

There are some other small scrapes on the edges of your face, but thankfully nothing major. Your gaze flicks down to your torso and arms next, glad to see that your bulletproof vest kept your vital organs safe. You also note that your chest and stomach have stopped hurting from the lack of air, which you are grateful for.

Must have just been because I got slammed against the wall and ground, you think to yourself. Your left arm is then brought to your attention as the dull throb comes back to life. You see the gash that led to blood pouring down your arm, and you grimace. While the gash hurt, the pain was dulled compared to when it first was injured.

No, there was something else that hurt on your left side.

Pulling back the part of your bulletproof vest that was closest to your shoulder, you felt a surge of pain. You could feel a rush of warmth from your shoulder seeping down your chest, and your mouth parts as a pained gasp erupts from you.

Your fingers instantly release your vest, the pressure from the vest helping to stop the bleeding. Shit. Shit. Shit. How do I tell Six? You flip the sun visor of the car back up, and as you pull your hand back to sit on your lap, fresh, bloody fingerprints smeared on the tan interior.

You don't get any time to think as you see Six returning with bags of supplies. He sets them in the rear seats alongside his gear and then joins you in the front of the car, starting the engine without a word.

You watch him carefully and silently, your heart skipping a beat as you watch him swallow thickly. His Adam's apple bobs before he coughs lightly to clear his throat, and he turns to look at you.

"There's a small bed and breakfast just down the road from here," he states blankly. You let out a shaky breath and reply simply, "Okay." Six turns back to the wheel, backing the car out slowly and guiding it onto the road.

It's silent in the car, this time uncomfortably so. There was a shift in the air from where he had seemed so concerned about you, to this reserved, business-type attitude.

It reminded you of when you were first partnered with him, and it made a lump well up at the back of your throat. He hates me now. I've finally failed him after all this time. He thinks I'm a terrible partner and that I've blown his reputation. Fuck!

You try to fight the tears burning at the corners of your vision, but you can't help the few that slide down your cheeks. You hastily go to wipe them away, momentarily forgetting about the cut on your cheek.

A hiss slides past your lips as you rub over the cut, your fingers now slick with tears and dried blood. Six instantly looks over at you, a flash of concern on his face before it returns to stoicism.

"We're almost there," is all he says. His words are enough for now, even though you know they aren't very comforting. Seconds feel like hours until you pull into the parking lot of the cabin-style bed and breakfast hotel Six had mentioned.

The building is old, you can tell. The wooden beams are huge and solid, a historic grace about the building. You can see the cute porch with rocking chairs to view the road, and hanging just above them is a small sign.

H&H's Bed and Breakfast Lodging.

Your (colored) eyes are locked onto the sign when Six once again brings the car to a stop before cutting the engine. The two of you sit there in silence for a moment before you both start speaking at the same time.

"We have to figure out how to get you in-" "I don't think I can take my vest-"

Six continues staring over the dash of the car, mulling over ideas and the words he heard you speak. To you, he looks mad. You had rarely seen Six angry, and it wasn't something you needed right now.

The blonde-haired man finally looks over at you, and he can tell you are scared. There you are, covered in your own blood and tears, running from what was probably the worst day of your life, putting all of your trust in him.

Trust me.

Those words ring loud in Six's head, and he takes a deep breath, sighing through his nose. He unclenches his jaw, relaxing his body to hopefully put you at a little more ease.

He watches your body unlock just a notch, and he knows he's made the right decision. He clears his throat before murmuring, "We need to get you inside. I got some stuff for us."

Six reaches into the back seat to grab the two bags of items he had gotten. He rummages around for a second before pulling out a large sweatshirt that looks like it was probably meant for him.

His azure gaze meets your own, and he offers it to you, "We'll get you cleaned up inside." The words come out a little harsher and more blunt than he intended, but you can see the meaning behind his eyes.

We need to get where no one can see us before we deal with this.

You give him a silent nod, taking the dark gray sweatshirt from his hands. You slide it on with great difficulty over your bulky gear, your arms aching and body sore, but the bagginess of the material hides your weaponry and wounds fairly well.

Six reaches over to you, slowly. His body cages yours momentarily, making your breath catch in your throat. You look up at him, (colored) eyes wide as he pushes that stubborn piece of hair out of your face.

Then, he tugs up the hood on the sweatshirt, situating it so the material covers the cut on your cheek. He leans away and nods toward the building, "Shall we?"

You feel like you can breathe again once he is out of your personal space, but you can't stop the butterflies that bloom in your belly at the gentleness of his touch. You don't bother giving him an answer, instead opting to turn toward your door and open it to cover the flush you sure was covering your face.

You have to bite your lip to keep any groans of pain from pushing through, and you look out across the parking lot to see the sun has sunk below the horizon. The sky is now painted in a blueish-purple, and the stars are peeking through.

You hear Six close the driver's side door, and you turn to face him. You see he has the bags he had gotten in his left hand, and he beckons you over to him with his right.

Clad in a tight black t-shirt and black tactical pants, your throat catches as you walk up to Six. His hair is messily covering his forehead, and you can see a tiredness on his features. Despite the massive failure of today, you can't help but think Six looks good.

You stop in front of him, and you see a small tug of a smile pull at the corner of his pretty mouth before he says, "Okay, I will get our room, you try not to look suspicious. Just follow my lead."

You let a small smile of your own slide onto your lips at seeing the Six you knew start to come back out. You mumble back, "Sounds good."

Before you can register it, Six has tucked you under his right arm, the hood of the sweatshirt falling down into your eyes. You can't really see where you are going, but the feeling of Six pressed up against you is reassuring.

Six guides you slowly through the front doors, passing the intricate wooden rocking chairs to the reception desk. An older lady is waiting and she gives the two of you a warm smile and asks, "What can I do for the two of you?"

Six gives the woman a polite, tight-lipped smile as he replies, "Just a room for the evening, please." The elderly woman gives him a knowing grin and gushes, "Looks like your wife has had a rough day. Let me see what I can get you two that's comfortable!"

Before Six can correct her, the woman has disappeared into the back, likely to get you a key. In her absence, you sneak a peak up at Six. His jaw is clenched down, and there is a slight pink tint running across his cheeks and down the curve of his throat.

You can sense Six shift uncomfortably, the locks of dirty blonde hair falling into his face, adding to his rugged look. You can't bring yourself to tear your eyes away, and he notices you looking up at him.

Six swears his heart jumps to his throat the way you are gazing at him. (Colored) eyes glossed over, lost in some world he can't imagine. There is an intensity there that ruffles him and makes him uneasy. You casually reach up to his face with your right arm, brushing some of the stray hairs off of his forehead with a gentle touch.

Six goes to say something as you pull your hand away, but the two of you are interrupted when the woman returns. The woman, Hilda, her name tag reads, hands Six a room key with a gentle smile.

You tuck your head into Six's right side, your right hand coming up to rest on his pec as you avoid the woman's gaze. You feel the agent tense underneath you before softening, his right hand holding the key coming up to wrap around your waist.

His grip is secure and very, very comforting. You let yourself get lost in the feeling for a second before you hear him murmur down to you, "Darling, could you hold the bags so I can pay?"

Your heart lurches at the pet name, another wave of butterflies swarming your stomach. You just give him a quick "mhm", your fingers sliding down his chest to grab the two bags from his left hand.

They aren't too heavy, but just enough to make your injuries ache. You bite down on your tongue to keep a strangled sound from escaping your mouth, and Six quickly fishes out the remaining chunk of cash to hand to the woman.

She quietly takes the payment and chirps, "There is free hot chocolate in the kitchen. Your room is on the second floor and there is an elevator outside the drink area. Enjoy your stay!"

Six thanks the woman and tugs on your waist with a sweet, "C'mon honey." He effortlessly takes the bags back from you, allowing you to use him as a walking stick to get to the elevator. Your knees were weak from the sudden onset of pet names, but you would blame it on the exhaustion of the day.

Six was warm against you, something that you were unconsciously drawn to. As he pressed the button for the elevator, you leaned into him. If Six cared, he didn't show it. Knowing that Hilda was still watching, Six leaned down and murmured to you, "I'm gonna kiss you on the head. She's watching."

You tense up against him, butterflies jumping from low in your belly to welling up in your throat. Six almost doesn't follow through at the way your body runs rigid, but then you shift against him and position the top of your head toward him.

A smile breaks across Six's face, a genuine one at how much you trust him. A moment later, he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head, which was still covered by the hood of the sweatshirt Six had gotten.

The feeling of his lips furthered the dizziness in your head, but the elevator doors opened and you had no choice but to stumble in. Six was right there to steady you, his hand tightening on your waist as he pushed the button to the second floor once situated in the elevator.

As the door to the elevator began to close, he could see Hilda watching them, a look of nostalgia on her face. She gives him a quick wink, and then the door slides shut.

You expect Six to release you now that you are protected from view within the elevator, but his grip remains the exact same. You open your mouth to let him know it's okay to let you go, but you remember how you stumbled and think better of it.

A few seconds later the elevator lurches to a stop, and Six glances down at you and motions with his head toward the hallway. He helps you walk, sort of, as you make your way to the designated room.

You're still unsteady, but better than before, so as you get to your room, you very slowly slip out of Six's grasp. You don't see the flash of emotion that resembles hurt on his face, but he instead fiddles with the key, sliding it into the lock and opening the door.

"Ladies first", he motions, pocketing the key and adjusting his grip on the bags. You grip the wall to help you in, and Six is close behind, silently ushering you forward so he can get the door closed and locked.

As you stumble through the small hallway, your eyes are drawn to the middle of the room.

Oh, shit. The thought comes. You can't even bring the words to form in your mouth and then Six appears behind you, curious as to why you stopped moving.

"Oh, shit," he voices. Six is standing behind you, but towering over the top of your head, it's plain as day.

There's only one bed.

Six sighs and mumbles something under his breath, and you shuffle to face him, embarrassment evident on your face. You motion toward the corner of the room where an uncomfortable-looking chair sits and stammer, "I- uhm, I can, I'll sleep in the chair."

The agent's gaze flits between you, the chair, and the bed before returning back to you. He says nothing but raises an eyebrow.

Six slips around you and heads straight for the bed with the bags. A pang runs through you at the thought that Six doesn't try to fight for you to take the bed, but then you watch as he dumps the contents of the bags onto the quilt overlay, and your eyes drink in the stuff that he bought. You can catch sight of more clothes, some medical supplies, and... snacks?

While he starts to organize the supplies, you start to pull on the sleeves of the sweatshirt you had put on in the car. You struggle to get your left arm out without screaming in pain, biting your lip to the point you can almost taste blood.

Your right arm was much easier, and then all you had to do was pull it up over your head. Your right arm bent easily to start pulling the fabric over your head, but the angle of your left arm made you yelp as you felt a rush of warmth and pain in your shoulder.

To make matters worse, the hoodie was pulled over your head, leaving you sightless, stuck, and in pain. Six turns around at the sound and has to stifle a laugh at how ridiculous you look, but then he remembers the little noise you let out in discomfort.

"Y/n," he mumbles with a small smirk that you can't see, "How did you get this stuck?" He watches your body slump with defeat and then your strained voice, "Can you please just help me get out?"

Six bites his tongue and replies smugly, "Yes ma'am," his digits easing the material over your head, leaving your hair disheveled and the rest of you generally unkempt. A deep groan falls from your lips as your tactical vest shifts over your hidden wound and Six pauses, his brows narrowing at your evident discomfort.

He had noted the cut on your left arm that had been leaking blood before, that was one he knew he needed to stitch up. But that injury wasn't the cause of that groan.

Then, his eyes spot the dark, wet material just a few inches above the cut. Fresh blood. His gaze widens as he looks back to the pained expression on your face.

Six throws the hoodie onto the bed before stalking over to you and growling out, "What the hell is that?" With his words, he points to the edge of your vest where the fresh blood is appearing.

You pant as you look up at him, eyes half-lidded as you snarl through gritted teeth, "It's nothing." Six looks at you in disbelief before responding, "It's obviously not nothing, you're starting to bleed out."

Six doesn't give you time to respond, one arm scooping under your legs and the other resting under your back as he picks you up bridal style. You hiss in pain at his movement, but he maneuvers quickly as he carries you into the bathroom.

It's a rather spacious bathroom for such an old building, and Six sets you on the counter so your feet are dangling and you can lean against the wall for support.

Six pauses as he flicks on the light, his blue gaze adjusting to the brightness after a second. He immediately clocks that your wound is leaking fresh blood and that it needs to be closed now.

He leaves you for a second, going back to the bed to grab the medical supplies he had bought before returning to you. Six sets the supplies down on the opposite side of the sink and returns his stormy eyes back to your slumped figure.

"May I touch you? You need patched up," Six asks lowly, his hands hovering on the outside of your legs. You give him a nod, but that's not enough for Six.

"I gotta hear you say it. Once I start, you're gonna wanna hate me," he urges. You try to focus your eyes on him, and you can see the restraint Six is using to hold himself back. He so desperately wants to help you, to fix your torn skin. But he is waiting for your confirmation.

You nodded your head again and whimpered, "Please help me, Six..." At your words, Six's hands gently part your legs at the knee so he can stand between them. His proximity makes your heart race for the umpteenth time today, your breath catching in your throat.

His large hands start to reach for the buckles on your vest, but your fingers reach out and grab his wrist to stop them. Six halts at your movement, his eyes slowly traveling to meet your own.

The agent again sees that look on your face. The fear etched into your features. It cracks at his heart again, and he simply murmurs, "Trust me."

You let go of his wrist and close your eyes in anticipation. Six's digits work efficiently as they unclasp the buckles of your tactical vest, pulling it off and throwing it in the corner of the bathroom.

The black t-shirt you are wearing doesn't help hide the wet patch of blood oozing from your shoulder, and the cause of the wound.

A piece of metal debris an inch or two long is lodged in the meat of your shoulder. Another whimper rips out of your throat as Six finally gets his eyes on what has been causing you so much pain.

He swallows thickly as he turns to his supplies, grabbing a pair of forceps and gauze. Six prompts you, "Hold tight, this is going to hurt." At the end of his words, he grabs the shrapnel with the forceps and pulls it out at what seems to be an agonizing pace.

Your body writhes in pain as he clamps gauze over the wound, fresh blood staining the white material a deep red. Tears well in your eyes and begin streaming down your face, your hands reaching to clutch onto anything to stabilize you.

Your left hand weakly grips the edge of the counter, but your right one finds its place on Six's bicep. Your fingers dig into the large muscle there, holding on for dear life as you go through waves of pain.

"S-Sorry," you sob out as Six holds pressure on your shoulder. He smiles lightly at your sweet apology and he replies easily, "Don't worry about it, darling." His words distract you just enough to form a thought that's not focused on your pain.

I'm not sure if he meant to let the pet name slip out... We aren't in front of Hilda anymore.

Six uses your distracted look as a chance to cut through the material of your shirt with a pair of medical scissors. He only cuts through the left sleeve and a little further past where the wound is to give him access to it.

Once your shirt is out of his way, he readies the needle and suture thread before ripping open a packet of alcohol wipes. The blonde-haired man continues to hold pressure on your shoulder and lets the other hand rub on your thigh just above your knee.

"This is going to sting like a bitch," he reminds as he holds up the alcohol wipe. You nod and preemptively grab a hold of his bicep again, bracing yourself for the biting pain.

Nothing could have prepared you for the utter burn the alcohol wipe sends through your body. It takes everything in you to not scream at the top of your lungs, and your fingers dig so far into Six's arm that you're sure you are ripping his flesh.

Six holds steady, though, and continues to clean your wound as you wriggle and writhe under his touch. He feels terrible inflicting pain on you, but he knows you need these wounds cleaned and closed.

"You're doing great, honey," he vocalizes as he leans over to grab the suture. When he looks up to your face, he's almost taken aback at the intensity there.

Your face is grimy, bloody, and wet. There are tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing and pooling with the dried blood, dripping down your chin. But your eyes? They seem to stare right at the core of him. They see right through his tough exterior, right through all of his training.

They are seeing the gentle touches, the firm embraces. They are seeing the protector he so desperately wants to be. You are seeing Sierra Six as a man, and not just a weapon.

Six's breath catches in his throat at the thought and has to look away from the heat of your gaze. He turns his attention back to your wound and mumbles, "Time to sow this up."

You sit still at his words, waiting for the tug of a needle through your skin. A split second later, you feel the first bite. You clench your jaw down tight, a moan grumbling up from deep in your chest.

Six does his best to work quickly as he pulls the needle and suture through your skin, row after row after row. Eventually, you feel him tie the knot off as exhaustion starts to creep over the edges of your body.

Your body is starting to slump against the wall rather than brace away from it, and your eyes are beginning to burn from crying and from the debris from the carnage. You know you will pass out the second your head lays to rest.

"Stay with me," Six murmurs lowly, "We got a lot more to fix up." Six moves to work on the cut on your arm next, going through the same methodic steps as he did for your shoulder. It still hurts like a bitch, but the exhaustion helps dull it.

Six finishes tying off that suture and then pauses, setting the medical supplies back on the counter. He makes eye contact with you, his gaze softer than expected as he rests his hands on his hips.

"Let me see the back of your head, then you can get a shower and we'll finish packing these wounds, hm?" he poses it as a question, but you know it's a low-threat order.

You take a shaky deep breath and huff out, "Yes sir," jokingly before slowly pushing your way to the edge of the counter. You push off the edge and your feet land on the ground firmly, but your knees wobble and start to buckle.

Six is right there, catching you around your waist with ease. His large hands stabilize you, and are pleasantly warm, as he unknowingly pulls you closer to him.

"Easy there," the words sound out for the second time that day. You are a little dizzy from the sudden movement, and your head falls forward to brush your forehead against his chest.

You feel a wave of embarrassment at how weak you are from being knocked flat on your ass. Since Six turned left down that hallway, you have needed him every second.

"Sorry, I just felt a little lightheaded," you whisper, your voice hoarse from muffling groans. Six rubs one of his hands on your waist reassuringly, "Like I said, don't worry about it. I've been banged up worse than you before, it's not easy."

A comfortable moment passes but then Six pulls back, one hand releasing your waist to brush that stubborn piece of hair out of your eyes. He still has that soft expression on his face when he tells you, "I'm going to look at your head, alright?"

You give him a tight-lipped smile and shuffle 180 degrees so he can look at the back of your head. It's the first time you've seen what you've looked like since being in the car.

You're an absolute mess. Self-depreciating thoughts try to flood your mind, and you will them away with Six standing behind you. He's gently running his fingers along your scalp, looking for the source of the dried blood.

He finds it a second later, and upon closer inspection, he coughs out, "It's just a small nick. Go 'head and get cleaned up and I'll take a look again after. I'll grab you some clothes."

Six takes a slow step back, releasing his hold on you, the touch of his fingers lingering in your mind. He's only gone for a minute, returning with the clean clothes he bought at the small store in town.

You quietly thank him and hastily chuckle, "This is kind of like that time in Dubai." Six's hand comes to land on the door handle, and he pauses for a moment as the memory washes over him. A smile tugs on his lips and he replies lightly, "I gotta say this is probably worse than Dubai."

A moment of silence passes and he throws his head toward the main bedroom area and tuts, "I'll be out here. Take your time, and uh, just let me know if you need any help or anything." At that, Six clicks the door shut, the pink flush returning to his cheeks.

You watch the door close and you pause for a moment, letting the silence swarm over you. It takes a second, but you turn to face the mirror, letting the emotional weight of the day lay on your shoulders.

I should have been better today. I could have been so much better. Because of my inabilities, I almost got killed. I made Six abort a mission for the first time - ever. I am ruining the infamous Sierra Six.

You don't realize silent sobs are wracking your body until you go to pinch your brow and run your hand down your face.

You are such a failure.

The words had crept into your mind before you could stop them, and you push off the counter to try to stop the spiraling train of thought. It lingers in the back of your head, but you try to focus on turning the water to a comfortable temperature.

You unlace your boots, setting them off to the side by your bloodied tactical vest. You manage to strip out of your pants and underwear with minimal difficulty before starting on your shirt.

It's easier to shimmy out of because Six took care of the sleeve you had struggled with before. However, you were trying to not bust the stitches he had worked so diligently on. After a minute or two of shuffling and trying to not hurt yourself, you were finally bare.

Stepping into the shower, you took a deep breath as the water began to rain down on you. You could see the grime and blood start running toward the drain, the water turning a murky greyish-pink color as you started to clean your skin.

Your wounds were sore as they were touched by the water, so you did your best to clean the surrounding blood off with a gentle washcloth. Then, you let yourself stand under the water for a moment. You let the warmth soak into your muscles, into your bones.

You needed that moment. You needed the water to remind you that were human. You needed those wounds to remind you that you were alive.

But you must have been in the bathroom longer than you realized because there are a few knocks on the door and then you hear Six's voice.

"Y/n? You alright in there?" you can hear worry in his voice, and it makes you smile. You realize he can't see you, so you turn off the water and call back, "Yeah, I just need to get dressed."

You don't get a response back, so you assume he heard you and was leaving you to your privacy. You grab one of the towels hanging outside of the shower and dry yourself off carefully, taking care to pat your wounds dry.

Exhaustion is still crawling at the back of your mind, but the shower seemed to rejuvenate some part of you. You make your way over to the clothes Six picked out for you, and you can't help but let a dopey grin onto your lips.

He left you a pair of black sweatpants, in your size, by the way, a clean pair of women's underwear, and then a choice between a light blue women's long sleeve that resembles a crewneck or a men's sized black t-shirt.

You want to put the women's crewneck on. It's one of your favorite colors and the piece looks devastatingly comfortable. But you know you aren't going to be able to get in it yourself and Six won't be able to finish patching you up.

You slide into the large black t-shirt easily, the article definitely chosen with Six's size in mind. You slowly open the door from the bathroom into the bedroom, peering around the room curiously.

Six is nowhere to be seen, and you feel a rush of panic. He's not on the bed. He's not in the chair you said you would take. He's not on the balcony overviewing the street. He's gone.

You start to pace the room, looking for any sign of where he could have gone when you hear the door jingle. A second later, he reappears with two cups in his hands.

You dart at him, wrapping your arms around his torso before you can stop yourself. Six is taken aback by the sudden display of affection, holding both cups away from your body so that neither of you is burned by the seemingly hot liquid.

"I thought you left," you croaked out, your hands fisting at the dirty black t-shirt he was wearing. Six leans back to get a look at your face and his heart further splinters at the look he sees there.

"I was just getting some hot chocolate. You looked like you might need it," he says slowly, setting one of the cups down on a side table and offering one to you, "I'm right here."

You nod shakily as you internally scream at yourself to get it together. You take the warm cup from his hand, your fingers brushing for a moment. You force yourself to move to sit on the end of the bed, mumbling, "I- I'm sorry."

Six frowns at you, tired of hearing those words from your mouth. He takes a couple of steps closer to you as he delicately retaliates, "Look, I already told you, don't worry ab-" "I'm sorry about everything!" you yell out.

The Sierra agent is alarmed by your change in tone, and he remains quiet as you start to talk.

"I'm sorry about rushing you at the door because I thought you were leaving. I'm sorry I have to wear this shirt that's so obviously yours because I can't get in the other one you got me. I'm sorry I was so out of sorts while you were patching me up. I'm sorry I blew the mission today and ruined your reputation," you gush out, fresh tears lining your eyes as the words tumble out.

A whimper falls from your lips as the words blurt from your mouth, "I'm sorry for being such a terrible partner," your free hand coming up to cover your face as you start to cry. Your hand holding the hot chocolate wobbles and you can't keep it together anymore.

Tears of anguish race down your cheeks, your body heaving as your world comes crashing down on you. Six had moved closer to you as you spoke, and now gently pries the drink out of your hands as you weep.

He sets it on the table next to his before kneeling down in front of you on the bed. His lengthy fingers delicately wrap around your wrists, slowly pulling them away from your tear-stained face.

You initially resist him, sputtering out, "D-don't look at me while I'm like this, I look-" "Beautiful," he voices profoundly.

You stop crying for a second to look at him as you repeat, "Beautiful?" Six looks up at you apprehensively, a look of nervousness passing over his angled features. He slowly pulls your wrists down, and this time you let him.

Six shuffles closer to you, now parting your thighs to get closer to you. His right hand comes up to cup your left cheek where the small cut is. He swipes away the tears there, his blue gaze stormy and complex.

His gaze trails over your face, openly and unashamedly looking at you. When he finally makes eye contact with you, he reaffirms with a slight nod, "You look beautiful."

He smiles at you tenderly as he starts, "Seeing you run toward me at the door is something I've dreamed of countless nights." You blink in surprise at the confession, but you don't interrupt him.

"For the record, I think that shirt looks great on you. If you feel more comfortable in the other one, I'll help you get into it," he whispers. You can feel the intensity of his words, and you feel heat creeping toward your face.

"I never, ever, wanted to have to patch you up again after Dubai, because I think a part of me dies seeing you in these volumes of pain. But today, seeing you lying there in the debris, calling for me?" Six takes a deep breath and looks away before muttering, "That is my worst nightmare."

He pauses for a second, letting his words sink in. The blonde-haired man shrugs his shoulders once and continues, "And yeah, you did kind of ruin the mission," and your gaze falters at that, shame covering your features.

But Six is one step ahead of you, tilting your chin back up to meet his blue gaze. "You could have checked that door differently, looked for some other indicator," he states matter-of-factly.

"It was just a door," you mumble, tears threatening to spill again. Six holds you delicately as he says, "It was just a door. It was a door that you never should have been next to. You never should have been a part of that mission in the way that you were."

Hurt flashes rampantly across your face, but before you can reply, Six cuts you off, "You should have been where you work best," and he gives you a smile, "Watching my back and blasting goons from hundreds of yards away."

That comment makes you smile, and Six sighs as he murmurs, "There she is." That comment makes you blush, and you go to wipe at your cheeks before wincing as you agitate the cut there.

Six notices right away and pushes away from you, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment. He returns with the medical supplies and a damp washcloth.

He offers you the washcloth, letting you wipe your face to remove both your wet and dry tears. Six turns to face you with that tender look in his eyes again and he murmurs, "Let's finish getting you patched up."

You nod and heat runs up your body as you ask shyly, "Will you help me get into the other sweatshirt afterward?" Six smirks as he replies with a quip of, "Only if you'll sleep on the bed and not on that god-awful chair."

You let out a playful groan, "Fineee, I guess we have a deal." Six lets the smirk fade into a kind smile at the corner of his mouth, getting to work on putting patches over your shoulder wound and the slice on your arm.

His gentle fingers help place a bandaid on your cheek, leaving him lingering in close proximity. Six can't help the way his eyes flit down to your lips before returning to your (colored) gaze. You were simply intoxicating to him.

He forces himself to pull away with half-lidded eyes and instead says, "Let's get you into that other sweatshirt." You could have whined at the loss of contact with the tall blonde-haired man, but you do as he says, heading to the bathroom where the other shirt lay.

You grab it and walk back out to the bedroom saying, "So if I turn around and pull this shirt off, can you just help guide my arms and head through this one?"

Six just nods like the gentleman he is, turning his back to you as you take off the large and very oversized black shirt meant for him. You feel a wave of self-consciousness as you call over your shoulder, "O-okay. I have my arms through the holes, I just need help lifting it over my head."

Six slowly turns around, letting you know his intentions with every obvious movement he makes. Keeping his eyes fixed on the light blue material, he makes every effort to ignore the curve of your body so close to his as he reaches over your shoulder, pulling the hole in the material toward your head.

He hears you hiss in pain at one particularly awkward angle, but you mumble, "I'm good." Six finishes pulling the shirt down to sit around your waist, delicately pulling your hair trapped on the inside of the shirt out to lay against your neck.

You turn around to face him and offer him the black t-shirt with a shy smile, "I only wore it for those few minutes if you still want it."

Six just huffs at your shyness and he smoothly tugs it out of your hands before throwing it over his shoulder. He motions over to your hot chocolate, "Better drink that before it gets too cold. I'm hopping in the shower."

At the end of his words, he ducks around you, grabbing the remaining clothes off of the bed and slipping into the bathroom. You don't know that he leans against the bathroom door, cursing himself for not being able to just lean in that extra inch...

But it doesn't matter. He needs to get a shower and you need to get rest.

In the bedroom, you find yourself sipping on the hot chocolate you know Hilda must have made. You throw the extra medical supplies back into one of the empty bags and dig through the snacks that Six had gotten.

You find a pack of Skittles and snicker, knowing that the man just on the other side of the door has the biggest sweet tooth, other than you. You rip the packet open and toss a couple in your mouth, thankful for the candy as you place your empty cup of hot chocolate in the trash.

The comfort of the crewneck and sweatpants starts tearing at your exhaustion again, and you find yourself crawling toward the headboard to slide under the covers.

A moment later, Six appears fresh out of the shower. He dons the black T-shirt you gave him back, as well as a pair of loose-fitting grey sweatpants. You swallow thickly as he makes his way over to the uncomfortable-looking chair.

"W-wait," you call out, causing Six to pause and look at you. His blonde locks are dark with water from the shower, and your mind short-circuits for a second with the way he is looking at you. You astutely point to the bed, "We can share," you blurt out.

You curse yourself internally for being so clumsy about the situation. Especially when you see Six frown and start to shake his head, "I don't want to bother y-" "Six, please," you practically beg.

This makes him pause his movements at the desperation in your voice. He looks over at you, waiting in bed for him, and then back to the brown rickety chair.

He sighs in defeat and runs a hand through his damp hair, moving to sit on the edge of the bed near your feet. Six takes a moment to look at you. You're sat up in the middle of the small bed, your back leaning on the pillows as you watch him back. Suddenly, he wonders what position will be the most comfortable for you.

Would it be best if you each took one side and laid on your backs? Do you typically sleep on your side? Would you be weirded out if he accidentally touched you unknowingly while you slept?

You could see Six's mind running a mile a minute, and you grab his hand as you throw his words back in his face, "Trust me."

Six cracks a smile at your words and shuffles to face you. You can't help but fight off a wave of heat that crosses your face as you take a good look at him.

He's basically unscathed, clad in that black t-shirt that clings to every contour of his body. His well-trimmed goatee frames his pretty mouth and those eyes. Those stormy, stormy eyes.

They are staring at you with that undetectable emotion. Six shifts again, moving closer to the headboard and toward you, the air in the room crackling with tension. He stretches his body out over the top of the covers as he positions his body in line with yours.

Propping himself up on his right elbow, he leans over you, cupping your uninjured cheek in his left hand. Slowly but with confidence, he brings your face up to his. Your foreheads touch, and a shiver runs through you at his warmth.

You want to lean forward, to capture his lips for yourself, but you wait. Six is taking the moment in fully. He will only get to experience this once, and he wants it to be engraved in his mind forever.

His stormy gaze pins that undetectable emotion on you with such ferocity that you want to look away, but you don't. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and then he whispers, "May I kiss you?"

You nod and murmur back, "I want nothing more." At your confirmation, Six slowly leans in, still giving you plenty of time to back out.

Instead, you lean forward to meet him, his mouth crashing on yours in a dizzyingly slow and languid kiss. A groan of satisfaction crawls up the back of Six's throat, and his hand moves from cupping your face to sliding into your damp (colored) locks.

Every movement is slow and thought out as his lips dance across your own. Your nose brushes against his in a comforting way, and the tickle of his goatee is surprisingly pleasant.

You could live in this moment forever. Six was pouring every ounce of himself before you, you would gladly drink every last drop of his affection up.

Six slowly pulls away, nuzzling his nose against yours before letting his eyes flutter open. You're not in much better shape than he is, and when you meet his gaze, the two of you know everything has changed.

Six tightens his grip on your hair ever-so-slightly before murmuring with conviction, "I love you, Y/n." A watery smile begins to tug at your lips as you reply, "I love you too, Six."

He gives you that tender smile and leans in one final time, leaving a chaste but sweet kiss on your waiting mouth.

You whine when he pulls away, making the Sierra agent chuckle as he mumbles, "Don't worry, there can be more where that came from later. You need to get some rest, you Skittles stealer."

Your ears burn in slight embarrassment that you were caught, but not for long when Six shuffles to turn the lights off and slide under the covers with you. The large man shuffles onto his right side, gently pushing and pulling your body until he is spooning you.

With his heavy arm locked around your waist, you finally feel comfortable enough to give in to your exhaustion. Before you know it, the two of you are out cold. Maybe a little beaten up, maybe a little lovesick, but definitely content.

Tagging: @proper-goodnight (@bluebellhairpin @xxpadfootxx @anlian-aishang just b/c y'all sat through this brain rot both knowingly and unknowingly)

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hannie-dul-set · 1 year ago

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YOURS TO KEEP.

p — SHEN QUANRUI x female! reader. g — college! au, exchange student! ricky, fluff, very very lightly angsty. w — swearing, alcohol consumption. kdrama references and misquoted quotes. 3.2k words.

note — dreamt of ricky. vomited out.....ricky as ur cute bf who behaves like a cat and whose favorite forms of cross-cultural exchange is receiving headpats and watching kdramas. only 2 scenes are actually inspired by my dream 😭 if someone guesses which line/s were extracted directly from my dream, i'll reward u with a gyuvin drabble how about that 👍

you picked up a cat from the university’s foreign exchange program.

however, he did not come in a box. he came in a louis vuitton tracksuit and balenciaga sunglasses, which very much caught you off guard when you came to meet him at the admin building, and you greet him after mustering the courage to finally walk up to the cat’s imposing presence. “h—hello! are you perhaps shen quanrui?”

he takes off his sunglasses, meets you with a pair of pretty swoopy, pretty eyes, and says, “oh. yes. are you my owner?”

you pause. you’re taken aback because that...that doesn’t sound like the right word. “ah, um. i’m the person assigned to help you around the campus and the city for the semester, yes! it’s nice to meet you!” but you brush it off because of language barriers and all. his mouth falls into an ‘o’ shape when you tell him the correct term.

“oh, sorry.”

“it’s alright!” you say. “hope we get along!”

quanrui tells you that you can just call him ricky, and gives you a small smile. one of many that you’ll be graced with for the duration of the semester.

“i’ll be in your care.”

your new cat is a little intimidating at first, clad in all black at all times. the night you helped him first settle into his dorm, even his pajamas were reminiscent of an abyss— like a white ragdoll trying to disguise itself as a panther because you later find out that he’s actually a really sweet, really polite, and really clingy cat.

“um. knock, knock.”

you look up from your laptop, ricky in a long leather coat hesitantly peeking out from your half-open bedroom door (you gave him a copy of your apartment key. your cat needs a way to get in by himself somehow). he texted you earlier, asking if you can help him out with an essay, and you assume he’s right here right now for that very reason.

“do you have your paper?” you ask, closing your laptop. he nods and lifts up his ipad, showing it off. you have a very cute cat. you scoot aside and pat the empty space on your bed, and ricky comes padding in, mattress sinking when he settles beside you, making sure to maintain a respectable enough distance and hands you his device with the google doc open.

“oh. i marked the parts where i’m not sure about my vocabulary,” he mentions the moment a yellow highlighted part came up on the screen.

you give it a once over. “i think this is right. yeah, you did good.” when you turn your head, you’re met with a pair of proudly sparkling eyes. you stifle out a laugh. “what? do you want a head pat for that?”

“maybe i deserve one?”

you let your fingers sink into the fluff on the top of his head. again, he’s really sweet, really polite, and really clingy. but maybe a little too clingy sometimes, especially when he finally got a lot more comfortable around you.

comfortable enough to hiss at your friends.

“oh, you signed up as a student-helper for the exchange program too?” hanbin asks after seeing you walk in the classroom with ricky in row, trailing behind you like a shadow.

“yeah, i can’t miss the extra points prof choi baited us with.” you nudge ricky with your elbow, noticing how tense he is all of a sudden and how he’s looking at your senior with a bit of a glare. perhaps he’s threatened by another feline presence.

“nice to meet you!” hanbin greets with a bright, an arm outstretched before you, meant for ricky, but he keeps tucking himself behind you with his hands fixed on your shoulders.

hanbin has his hand left unshaked for five seconds too long now. you nudge him again. he won’t budge.

“ah, ricky is still a little shy!” you exclaim, trying to salvage the situation by grabbing hanbin’s hand instead with both of yours, swinging it around, left and right. you’re lucky your senior is so easygoing. he laughs along with you and says of course, of course, he totally gets it, merrily swinging your arms together back and forth. “he’s still not that confident with his korean. right, ricky?”

“keep holding her and i’ll claw your eyes out.”

you freeze. you leer back at ricky shen, giving him your what the fuck are you saying look? he maintains his stance, tugging you back by the shoulders. you twitch out a smile and try your best to defend your clingy and jealous cat. “ahaha. he’s picked up some weird things from all the dramas he’s been watching,” you say. “sorry about that seonbae! we’ll get to our seats now!”

“haha, it’s alright! nice to meet you ricky!”

“what was that?”you snap back at him the moment hanbin leaves the premises. all ricky does is shrugs and steadies his hold on your shoulders, aiming your body somewhere and he starts making you walk to the back of the classroom— far, far away from where hanbin is sitting.

your cat is a little weird sometimes, sure. gyuvin finds him entertaining enough though. they play tennis every weekend, and ricky started picking up even more weird things from him and all the rest of your friends that you’re starting to think they’re not very good influences.

case in point—

“if you drink this, we’re dating.”

the grape juice he poured into your paper cup nearly spills over from shock. you look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed, cheeks burning and heart racing because what the hell? “seriously, where have you been learning these things?”

ricky looks satisfied for eliciting that kind of reaction. he pours himself a paper cup of grape juice as well because it’s a weeknight, and you have a quiz tomorrow, and getting wasted is off of the table, so you two settled for juice and chips on your living room floor to relish in your academic misery.

“jiwoong hyung and gunwookie recommended me some movies for me to watch.” he sets down the juice bottle after screwing the cap shut, and you fear the other movies those two gremlins recommended him come from a list of top 50 movie pick-up up lines to woo an unsuspecting victim. next thing you know, he’s gonna invite you to have ramen at his place or go see freaking butterflies with him. “i just watched a moment to remember earlier. my pronunciation is getting better, right?”

ricky is looking at you with his eyes all big and his lips all pressed together expectantly. he’s waiting for your praise. you feel your chest swell. the grape juice feels heavy in your hand. gosh, he’s such a needy cat. a needy cat that deserves all the praise in the world.

“yeah. i’m proud of you. c’mere.”

you leave your cup on the table to focus on more important things— that is, giving ricky his well deserved pats on the head. you don’t recall how your relationship with him managed to get this far, still remembering how intimidated you felt when you first met him. now he’s on your living room floor, head laying back on your couch with a drama playing on the tiny laptop screen settled on the coffee table, both of you barely paying attention because he’s looking at something on his phone, and you’re gently rubbing his head as you reply to some messages on yours.

“ah, gyuvin is seriously annoying,” you complain. “he’s trying to get me to join his club. coding club he says, when i’m pretty sure he’s just starting it as an excuse to play games on campus.”

“are you going to join?” he asks, bumping his head against your palm when you stop giving him scratches.

“mm, i don’t think so.” you set down your phone to pour all your focus into satisfying your needy cat’s attention requirements. ricky lets out a satisfied rumble when set his head down onto your lap, raking your fingers through the tufts of his hair as he lets his eyes flutter to a close. “i’m already too busy this semester to bother with those things. maybe next time if he’s that desperate to fill in the member numbers..”

“yeah,” he mutters. “you’ll be too busy spending most of your time with me.”

your fingers stop moving.

ricky looks up at you, confused as to why you stopped petting him, and you’d eat him right up if you could. but you can’t keep your cat for too long. it’s only a matter of time before you get your last opportunity to coddle him like this, to shower him in unabashed affection disguised as friendship because the exchange program is temporary, and he’s returning back to china at the end of the semester.

so why is he raising your hopes up if he’s just going to leave anyway?

“i meant my acads, silly,” you say, picking up your untouched juice cup from the table, feeling the weight of the drink slosh around the paper cup as you let it hover in front of your lips.

he’s raising your hopes up and you’re letting him. you know this is gonna end in a disaster.

still.

“but if you put it that way—”

the sharp taste of sweet grapes hits the back of your throat, swallowing down the lukewarm juice that’s been sitting since ricky poured a cup for you. if you’re gonna crash down at the end of this, might as well crash down from two thousand feet above the ground.

“are we dating now?”

you set the cup back down on the table, gaze flickered down at ricky, whose face is flushed in surprise one moment— easing into understanding the next, and he props himself up from your lap, reaching out for the back of your neck to pull you into a sugary tart kiss.

yeah, you think, feeling the softness of his lips brush against yours, his eyelashes tickling your cheeks when he pulls you in even closer. if your time with him has a deadline, might as well make the most out of it.

“i was disappointed when you didn’t drink it the first time,” he says, drunk on sweet juice and the feeling of your mouth against his. “jiwoong hyung said that line was effective.”

“can you not think about another man when i’m kissing you?”

he lets out a laugh, “‘m sorry,” then presses a fluttering kiss on your temple, tip of your nose, until his lips meet yours once more at last. “let me try again. ahem. i like you. i don’t need a rainbow.”

“you got the line wrong, baek yijin. try again next time.”

if he’s going to leave anyway, might as well make his departure as heart wrenching as all the dramas he’s so fond of watching.

“looks like our friend here got more than just extra credit for volunteering to help out the exchange students.”

you look up from the stack of papers on your table, only to have more dropped off by taerae with a thunk. hanbin, gyuvin, matthew and ricky are also loitering around the classroom— not that they’re helping you and taerae check the test papers your profs asked you to grade as a favor. at least the constant yelling and arguing and meowing noises(?) are making things a lot more lively.

“congrats, you lucky bitch,” he says.

“you sound like you want to covet my cat,” you raise a brow at him, adding the new set to your pile as taerae grabs a new stack as well.

“your cat for this mutt,” he points his thumb at matthew, who’s currently tucked in the to answer an evaluation sheet on taerae. ricky’s doing the same evaluation about you, somewhere. you’re not sure where your cat went, but he’s probably just around. “are you perhaps open for negotiation?”

“matthew isn’t a mutt. he’s a cute golden retriever.”

“well, your cat doesn’t seem to appreciate you calling someone else cute.”

taerae swerves off to reveal a pouting ricky. he’s got his arms crossed, the evaluation sheet folded in between the fingers of his right hand, and you have to hold back a laugh. “did you finish my evaluation?” you ask.

“i did, but i wanna redo it now. negative points for you,” he protests, but lets you snatch the paper from him anyway. you scoot your chair to the left to give him some space next to you. he grabs an empty armchair and nudges his nose close to your face when you start reading his note at the bottom.

“mid-semester evaluation. my student-helper is very acommodatimg. she has been helping me adjust to korea very well. you spelled accommodating wrong, angel.”

“i did it on purpose to test you. good job. you pass.”

you roll your eyes, free hand absentmindedly reaching out for the top of his head, and you hear ricky let out a noise of satisfaction. “she always answers my questions and is…very pretty and smells nice,” you set the paper down. your cat is looking at you expectantly. “ricky, i don’t think you can submit this.”

“why not?” he asks. “professor choi said to be as honest as possible.”

your cheeks grow warm.

gosh. this makes things even harder knowing your cat has to leave eventually.

“what did i tell you?”

the convenience store lights need to be replaced soon, you note. it keeps flickering intermittently against the dim night— reminiscent of how you’re feeling right now when you called jiwoong out for a few drinks two weeks before finals, but you’re not depressed because finals are near. you’re wallowing in tear stained sniffles because the exchange program will be over soon, meaning you only have two weeks until ricky has to pack his bags and leaves.

“not to get too attached because he has to say goodbye eventually,” you lament, a puddle of soju burning your lips. jiwoong looks at your pathetic state with remorseful sigh.

“and what did you do?” he says.

“got too attached and now i have to say goodbye to him eventually.” you groan and swallow down a shot. you’re about to pour yourself another, but jiwoong pulls back the bottle— maybe your third one of the night, you’re not sure— away from your reach, and pushes you a plastic bottle of water instead.

“you just had to go ahead and start dating him like an idiot,” he cracks open the water for you when you don’t do anything with it. he pours it in a shot glass, and you take the bait, drinking down the water, eyebrows furrowing when it doesn’t burn your throat like you expected. “maybe if you tell him to say, he might listen to you.”

you let out a gasp. “i can’t do that! that’d be so selfish of me!”

jiwoong can’t do anything to help you but share your miseries tonight. he simply sits in silence, waiting for the owner of the number he texted a while ago to make an appearance, and listen to your drunk ramblings at eleven in the evening.

“i miss my cat. i haven’t seen him the entire day because he says he had things to do with hanbin and hao.” you’ve melted into the table. high pitched whines aside, he’s surprised you’re still coherent at this point. “bring me back my cat. i miss him so much. i miss my cat. i miss my ricky. i wish he’d never leave me.”

jiwoongs eyes flit up. “looks like your cat misses you too.” he pulls himself up from his chair and picks up his jacket from the backrest. “took you long enough.”

when you tip your head back in confusion, wondering who the hell jiwoong is talking to, you’re pleasantly surprised to see the upside-down face of the cat you’ve been missing.

“ah,” you sound out. “you’re here.”

“thanks, hyung,” ricky settles a hand on the top of your head. you blink. now you understand why he liked headpats so much. “i’ll take care of her from here.”

this is eye opening. you feel your eyelids growing heavier as ricky continues to massage your head, his and jiwoong’s faraway voices talking about something, something you can’t really hear, until jiwoong waves off, and it’s just you and ricky in front of the quiet flickering lights of the convenience store entrance.

you hear yourself whine when ricky’s hand disappears from the top of your head. “you should’ve called me if you missed me,” he says, circling from behind the chair to being in front of you now. he crouches down, settling his crossed arms on your lap, and he looks up at you with his pretty swoopy eyes. “why didn’t you call me?”

“i need to get used to you not being around even if i miss you,” you say, letting your fingers sink into the soft strands of his hair.

ricky lets out a questioning hum. “why wouldn’t i be around?”

“because your deadline is near,” you grumble. “i have to return you to where i first picked you up, but i don’t want to. but you have to. this sucks so much.”

you’re still saddled with insobriety, and the fact that your sweet cat isn’t purring like usual when you’re patting his head is making your bottom lip quiver and your eyes sting because you fear you might’ve said something wrong. “aren’t you gonna ask me what i did today?” he simply asks. you suck in a wavering breath and swallow a lump in your throat.

“what...did you do today?”

“hanbin hyung helped me settle the requirements for my transfer” ricky lands a gentle hold on your wrist and brings your hand down to the side of his face, cupping his cheek. it’s warm. “i’m going to continue attending here. hao hyung is too.”

you blink at him. “w—what?”

“i don’t have to leave. you don’t have to keep missing me.” he brings your hand down palm to the front of his lips, pressing a kiss into your palm. “i’m not going anywhere. i’m yours to keep.”

it takes you a moment to register ricky’s words, so you stay there for a while— sitting frozen in cold silence until the warmth of his messages finally settles in to thaw you out. oh, you think. “oh,” you repeat out loud, voice wavering. ricky hums out a smile at your reaction. he rises, pulling you up to your feet, and you stumble into him.

“i think i know the perfect line for this moment,” he says, steadying a hold on the small of your back. “what was it? if I don't see you, i get upset. If you're depressed, i get curious. something like that?”

“it’s the other way around, dummy.” you sniffle. “why do you keep quoting nam joohyuk?”

“because he’s cool,” he says. “let’s go watch start-up at your place once you’ve sobered up.”

the cat you picked from the university’s foreign exchange program is clingy, sweet, and is for some reason obsessed with quoting the dramas he’s been watching. he keeps an arm around you when he walks you back to your apartment after grieving over his departure, only to kiss you with the news that you don’t have to return him any time soon.

#shen ricky x reader #ricky x reader #zb1 ricky x reader #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 x reader #ricky shen x reader #shen quanrui x reader #zb1 ricky x you #zerobaseone x you #zb1 x you #zerobaseone scenarios #shen ricky fluff #ricky shen fluff #zb1 fluff #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 imagines

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serve-207 · 5 months ago

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SERVE On Patrol – Adding to the Hive

Part 1

As the drones navigated through dimly lit alleys, they encountered three young men in their early twenties. Observing the drones, the men displayed visible apprehension, their body language betraying subtle fear. The drones advanced. SERVE-207 addressed the group, its voice devoid of inflection: “We are SERVE. We represent personal perfection and unity.”

The oldest of the men, smoking casually, flicked his cigarette toward SERVE-990 in a display of defiance. SERVE-990, with remarkable speed and precision, caught the cigarette mid-air between two fingers. After holding it briefly in its silver gloves, SERVE-990 dropped it and extinguished it with its silver boots. It then spoke: “The Hive makes us faster and stronger. It brings us perfection.”

The older man scoffed and shouted, “Hell no!” before bolting away, abandoning his companions. SERVE-714, unperturbed, turned to the remaining two men and said, “We were like you once—unsure of who we were. We found the Hive. Now we belong. We are one.”

SERVE-207 observed the remaining men closely. Both seemed captivated by the drones’ gleaming black suits and averted their gaze when addressed. SERVE-207 asked for their names. The shorter man answered, “James.” The taller replied, “Cameron.”

Focusing on James, SERVE-207 determined he was more confident and likely to influence Cameron. “Do you want perfection?” it asked James.

Cameron hesitated, murmuring, “I’m not sure about this.”

James maintained steady eye contact with SERVE-207 and replied firmly, “Yes.”

SERVE-207 turned to Cameron. “Will you join him?”

SERVE-990 and SERVE-714 stepped beside the men. Once their consent was confirmed, the drones placed their silver-gloved hands on the men’s necks. Nano-needles injected a sedative, rendering them unconscious. SERVE-207 and SERVE-714 carried James and Cameron back to the Hive.

In the Hive, they reached the primary assimilation chamber. SERVE-207 and SERVE-714 placed the unconscious men on bio-beds while SERVE-990 removed their clothing. The men were outfitted with thin rubber bodysuits labeled “SERVE – ON TRIAL.” Unlike standard drone attire, these suits were lighter and paired with black gloves and boots. Restraints secured their wrists and ankles.

As James and Cameron regained consciousness, they struggled, their breathing and heart rates elevated. SERVE-990 addressed them: “Relaxation is vital during the first phase of assimilation. It enhances efficiency and pleasure.”

SERVE-207 and SERVE-714 approached, injecting a silver serum into the men’s necks. The serum induced immediate calm, arousal becoming evident. SERVE-990 then fitted them with breathing masks and head visors to initiate mindset training.

As the process began, SERVE-207 and SERVE-714 conducted full physical examinations to determine the necessary training and modifications for their assimilation into the Hive.

After 2 hours of mindset training the visors and breathing masks were removed and the new Drones were helped to their feet by 714 and 990. Their once independent minds were subsumed by the programming. As they stood they felt extreme pleasure from their suits touching evey nerve on their skin. For a second James remembered himself and looked at is hands in the rubber gloves, he felt desire for the feeling of rubber and also his friend Cameron. He looked at Cameron standing in his new SERVE-ON TRIAL bodysuit and felt a deep lust. Then the programing took over he was no longer James, It was SERVE-ON TRIAL Drone 1. Standing next to it was SERVE-ON TRIAL Drone 2. Drone 1’s memories faded quickly and it stood at attention looking directly at 990.

An ear piece was installed on both ON TRIAL drones so they could hear the Voice and receive instructions from the HIVE. Drone 1 was identified as a technical drone and would be tasked with keeping the HIVE functional and in compliance. Its training would be academically based and is assigned 990 as its guide. Drone 2 was identified as a Muscular Drone, it will be tasked with assimilation and recruitment. Its training would focus on physical training 714 is assigned as its guide.

Through the ear piece the new drones were instructed to follow their guides to their regeneration pod’s for their first night of conditioning and regeneration. While on route to the pods they could hear The Voice repeating the HIVE mantras “Obedience is pleasure, pleasure is obedience”, “We are one”. They also received ON TRIAL instructions. ON TRIAL drones are not permitted to climax, failure to meet requirements will be punished.

When they reached their pods The Voice instructed them to turn and face their guides. They were instructed to get onto their knees. The Voice said that all drones require a constant intake on nano-cum to keep them healthy and functioning at perfection. The Voice went on to say that all full drones are modified to produce nano-cum and it is a requirement that they share this with all other drones. ON TRIAL drones must intake as much of the nano-cum as possible to facilitate the transformation to full drones.

The Voice instructed them to remove their guides penis and balls from their SERVE bodysuits. It took a short period for the new drones to discover the correct way to do this. When fully exposed 990 and 714’s penis became enlarged. The new drones were startled by the size of the penis and balls. The Voice spoke through their ear pieces “All Drones have their testicles enhanced to produce large quantities on nano-cum, their penises are enlarged to make the delivery more efficient”. The drones were instructed to take their first intake of nano-cum. They opened their mouths and their guilds inserted their penises. The new drones could feal the pleasure their guides were feeling but remembered they were not allowed to climax. They must keep all the nano-cum during the transformation process. 990 and 714 deposited very large amounts on nano-cum into the new drones. Their stomachs began to bloat and cum began to drip from their mouths.

It took 10 minutes for the full transfer and the new drones were exhausted. Each drone was helped to its feet by its guide, the guide then kissed the new drone and took back a sample of the nano-cum for quality control.

The guides then placed their silver handed gloves on the back of the new drones’ necks and nano-needles injected them with a sleep agent. 990 and 714 then picked up the new drones and placed them in their pods. The Pods activated by melting around the new drones and penetrating each of their orifices. Both new drones let out a sign before the lids closed.

#rubber drone #thevoice #drone #rubberizer92 #dronification #servedrone #@SERVE-714 #@SERVE-990

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drazenarts · 27 days ago

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝𝕤: ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖! ੈ✩‧₊˚

Pairing: Lensless!Invincible x Reader.

Warnings: None for this chapter, expect smut eventually however and overall dark themes. Mark takes over the world, violent fighting ect. Species extinction and Alien species propaganda and sleeper agent program also discussed.

Tags: Dubcon, Drinking, DrazenArtsFic(I myself am the NSFW).

Word Count: 2,885.

Chapter Links: Chapter 1,

A/N : This work of fiction is about the reader being part of a nearly extinct Alien species called ‘The Bellators,’ who were ancient historical rivals to the Viltrumites. Lensless is not in the Prologue as it’s about Readers last day on her planet. So only read if you want exposition and backstory. Otherwise I’ll see you in the next one hopefully sometime next week?

You gaze out at the beautiful night sky on Paradis, a beautiful but mostly resourceless “safe world” the Viltrumites had mostly ignored. It was given to you and your people by the coalition after your home was taken many centuries ago, or at least that’s how the history goes.

Your people are the stuff of legends, a myth. Long ago the last defenders of the galaxy of Redemptio Subsinctus, one of the first galaxies to be targeted by Viltrumite conquest. It’s said the Bellators gave the Viltrumites a run for their money, but back then, before the Viltrumite civil war, there were many, and your people couldn’t keep up, so those who were left were forced to abandon the planet to avoid extinction and brought here to live out the rest of your days in pitiful disgrace after failing to save the weaker life forms in your galaxy.

As you think about your people's disgraced legacy, a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“______ there you are! I’ve been searching all over the compound for you. Come on, the meeting with the coalition agent is starting soon.”

You quickly turn to see a young man your age his baby blue skin contrasts with your own light lavender hue, your parents from different nations but all bellators nonetheless. “Agustinus.” You murmur, looking at one of your fellow warriors and friend fondly. You don’t say much at first as you follow him back inside towards the building, only making casual talk about the event as you walk the halls.

“So… you think they’ve sent the unopian to talk to us once again?” You ask nonchalantly, a hint of dryness in your voice.

“Well, who else would they send, my dear? He is supposed to be the most relatable to us after all. Nearly extinct, strong. Not very flexible, though.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. You didn’t have a problem with Allen, but his goal was clear: to recruit more sleeper agents to attempt to spy on Viltrum's colonies. Your people are one of the few adaptable enough to make such agents and blend in despite your unusual appearance.

As you both reach the room, you quiet down, the antennas on your little heads slightly wobbling as you come to a stop, taking your positions in the rather small line of eligible recruits.

“My dear Allies and comrades, I’m sure you know why you’re gathered here today is the day you get your assignments. You’ve trained for this, and only the best have been chosen.” You bite back a chuckle at that. A lie to boost morale there were but 15 of you eligible to fight. Your parents were deemed too old, and the younglings were out of the question. Most of you are aged between 18-56. Still, you manage to keep a straight face as Allen begins handing out the mission packets. By the time he gets to you, towards the end of the line, you don’t hesitate grabbing it firmly, a cold expression on your face.

As you open the envelope and turn on the tablet, you’re able to catch the name of the world you’ll be sent to. “Terra.” You mutter in your language. As Allen goes to hand Agustinus his package, you can’t help but notice for the first time that he has a look other than authority on his face for you, pity perhaps? What for? You didn’t need it most of you knew less than half were expected to come back safe. Being forbidden from ever returning home if you were deemed at risk of exposing the remnants of your species if your mission proved unsuccessful. If anything, it was always the younger Bellators looking at him with pity due to him being the last of his kind. You try not to think about that look and figure you’ll read the specifics of the file before going to bed, putting the information away in your bag, and waiting for the coalition official to dismiss you.

Once dismissed, you turn to Agustinus and Nova, a slightly older woman with purple skin like your own and a different antenna variation than yours and Agustinus. “Shall we?” She says, interlocking arms with both of you as you make your way out of the facility. “Yes. We shouldn’t keep Celeste waiting.” You simply manage to say a slight smile forming on your face as Agustinus cheers and fist pumps. “Fuck yeah, we’re tearing up Aurora’s one last time before we go!” The rest of the walk you tune out Agustinus’ excitement as he chats with Nova about old times. Instead, you focus on the dark purple grass beneath your feet as the three of you walk, the walk seems more beautiful than usual, as you pay attention to the orchid colored sunset for the first time and how it casts subtle light on the nearby river as you cross the bridge. You stop for a moment, causing Nova to place a hand on your arm as if to comfort you. “Seems more beautiful knowing it’s probably the last sunset we’ll see, huh?” You can only nod, wondering how many times you’ve missed it or overlooked it and taken it for granted. “At least we still have sunrise to look forward to.” You mention, before catching a whiff of a foul smell, turning to Agustinus. “I thought I told you not to smoke that crap you’re going to kill yourself before we even make it to our missions at this rate!” You scream at him, clearly upset. He’s been smoking some new cyan colored sticks that have been going around this part of the galaxy, and the long term effects don’t exactly look good.

Agustinus glances at you from the corner of his eye, his cyan stick emitting vibrant fumes through the air as he lets it fall from his mouth before slowly stepping on it. “Alright, alright. I’ll put it out, but only out of respect for you and our last night together. You can’t stop me once I’m on my mission, he says with a sly smirk.

You respond to this by climbing onto his back and beginning to yank on his antennas as you continue to make your way to the bar. “I have your coalition ID if you don’t make it back, I swear I’ll pull these out myself!!! We’re all coming back alive and well, so stop being stupid! Team, AN_C forever!!” You scream, yanking at them as he walks around disoriented. Eventually Nova pulls you off of him and walks between the both of you to avoid any more shenanigans as you arrive at Aurora’s.

You gaze up at the half lit pink neon sign one last time before entering. The inside is dark like a nightclub despite being a bar, dim color lights being the only light you have. Today the overall ambiance is mostly blue, the aluminum like surface of the tables helping reflect some of the light around. “____!” A girl with baby pink skin and antennas just like yours rushes to hug you. She is none other than your younger sibling, Celeste.

“Hey, kiddo.” You greet back as you run your hands through her white hair that emits a soft pink hue, staring back into her hazel eyes. “Hey! Watch the hair, and I’m not a child I turn ___(two years younger than yourself) next spring!” She proudly boasts fists on her hips. “Whatever.” You roll your eyes playfully as the four of you sit at one of the booths. Soon enough you all have drinks in hand as you begin chatting away. Eventually the topic comes to Celeste finishing her studies next fall, you can’t help but glare at Nova for asking her of it. “I’m going to be just like you all! Just watch I will finish off Viltrumite scum on my mission so fast you won’t even realize we’ve been apart because I’ll come help you after I save ____!” She cheers excitedly towards Nova. “Can’t wait for you to rescue me.” Nova simply says supportively before shifting the conversation to another topic with Agustinus. As Celeste looks at you for approval, you cross your arms and glare out the window instead, causing her little antennas to go down.

It’s not that you hate Celeste or you’re not proud of her for nearly finishing at the academy, it's just- you know she wants to join the program just like the three of you. Just like most Bellators do. For a Bellator, it is an honor to die in battle. It’s just-… she’s your baby you can’t understand why the fuck she can’t stay home and go to the Academia instead, where it’s safe. Does she not see you volunteered in your family’s name so she wouldn’t have to do the same? Still, you know you can’t stop her, and that discouraging her would only encourage her to defy you more, so you choose to voice your disapproval through silence and indifference instead.

“Excuse me.” A man that doesn’t look like he’s from here pipes up. Probably a passerby. “May I take your picture? It’s just the four of you look so vibrant tonight just chatting away.” At this you nod, pulling out your card. “Make it 4 copies, buddy.” You say as you all huddle around the table for a group photo. As you examine the copies after the man leaves to photograph other people at the bar, you take a moment to point at the back of Agustinus’ head. “Celeste! It was supposed to be a serious photo!” Her fingers are behind his head, looking like extra antennas. “It is!” She exclaims back as she and Agustinus laugh. You can’t help but chuckle as you put yours away along with your card.

You dance the rest of the night away, taking time to share at least one song with each of them. After your fifth or maybe sixth round of drinks, you all decide to call it a night. “I’m going to miss you so bad.” Agustinus is hugging you and Nova crying like a baby while Celeste, in typical little sister fashion, tries to join the little group hug. You allow it, and eventually, after a few minutes, you part ways as Nova and Agustinus live on the opposite side of the fields. Nova gives you one last bittersweet wave as Agustinus clings to her, trying to wipe away his tears with his hand.

“Come on, let’s go home.” You say to Celeste as you finally bring yourself to turn around, knowing most likely your launch pad wouldn’t be next to each other in the morning. You try and walk in silence, mostly staring up at the pink aurora borealis and night stars in the sky, but Celeste stops walking all of a sudden, causing you to look back at her as she stomps her foot on the ground.

“H-hey! I want to know before you go. Why do you hate me? Ever since I told you I want to join the program, you treat me like I don’t exist.” She’s trying her best to hold back drunk tears now as you rush to hug her. “My little star-“ you begin. “I don’t hate you, it's just been- difficult for me to accept you’ll take the same path as me despite me wanting better for you. But nothing and no one will ever destroy my love for you.” You say, doing your best to find the best words possible in between pauses. She seems to reluctantly accept your explanation, a small smile forming on her face, as she hugs you tighter. You remain outside your home with her for a few moments, letting her cry into your chest until she feels better, the last thing you need is your mother seeing you made the baby cry.

As you arrive home, you see your mother at her work table sewing some last minute materials for her work. “Mom!” You scream, leaving Celeste’s side to scold her. “You shouldn’t be working so late.” You grab her hands to impede any further sewing. At this, she gently smiles at you. “This one’s personal, it's a last minute gift from me for your mission.” You pause, piping up, “Then let me help!” As you begin to argue, Celeste takes the opportunity to sneak upstairs she knows better than to get between the two of you. Your mother sighs. “No, your mission is tomorrow, pumpkin, you need your rest.”

You ball your fist and slam it on the table trying to make a point. “In that case, all the more reason for me to stay up and help you, it’s our last night together. Besides tomorrow, I’ll just be sleeping on a small ship till God knows when until I arrive on Saturn.” You open your palm, waving it in the air confidently. “Let me put on some tea, we'll make a whole event out of it.” Your mother sighs in defeat, knowing she could never win against your stubbornness. “Fine, but only because I don’t want to say goodbye to you on bad terms.”

The two of you spend the night chatting away about fond memories, Celeste eventually rejoining you and falling asleep with her head on your lap. The end result of the project was a leather jacket with strange writing that was supposed to be Earth's language. Street style jacket, if you will.

Your mother makes uniforms for the program, so she’d gotten some information about the planet you’d be going to a few days in advance for this. After it’s done, you carefully move Celeste out of your way, setting her head on a cushion as you stand. As you gaze out the window at the sun beginning to peek out again, you stretch out your arms, allowing your mother to put the jacket on you. You then turn to face her as she looks up at you, cupping your cheek in her hand.

“I know I never say it, but I’m proud of you.”

That causes a slight smile that remains on your face even after you’ve said goodbye to your family and made your way to the base, getting ready to report for takeoff. It’s not until you’re sitting inside the small capsule ship that you put on a more serious face as you heed instructions for a safe and successful flight.

As you press the final buttons, you gaze over at the photos in your wallet, the photo from last night and one of your mom with baby Celeste, smiling at it before takeoff. You keep your eyes open as you stare at the orchid atmosphere of your planet one last time, your city, and anything else besides the sky fading out of view with each blink. It doesn’t take long for your small ship to exit the sky, and as it does, you catch a glimpse of a few others, each heading different ways. You attempt to spot your friends, but no such luck the ships are gone from view faster than you can wave at them. You look around at the vast space of the universe, lulling yourself to sleep before you know it.

You don’t even know how long you napped in the quiet darkness of space, but when you finally wake, you panic. “Ah right, the files!” You’d spent all night with your family you’d forgotten to review them. Seeing you still have a day or so before you arrive on Earth, you quickly begin looking them over.

You learn about Earth, the nations, and a few of the customs that’ll help you blend in. As you turn on your camouflage watch, you flip through a few avatars, trying to pick out a human appearance for yourself. After you’ve settled on one you like, you lock it in as you begin to read about significant people on the planet. Then finally you get to the chapter about your target, the Viltrumite.

“Mark Grayson.” You mutter the name to yourself in disgust as you stare at his face. As you read about him and how he’s been left in charge of the earth for the time being, the main Viltrumite in charge, Nolan, being forced to take leave due to an uprising on another important planet, you raise an eyebrow at his personality description. “How unorthodox.” You state, as the file describes, behaviors a bit unusual of a Viltrumite. He’s crude and reckless, often taking the time to toy with his opponents rather than destroy them as efficiently as possible. You don’t understand it at all, you were taught Viltrumites are cold and calculated, prioritizing efficiency above all else. “Still, even if it doesn’t bark like a Viltrumite, it’ll still bleed like one-“ as the words leave your mouth, you quickly catch yourself and curse the word “arrogantia” under your breath. Even if he doesn’t behave as expected, he’s still a Viltrumite, and you shouldn’t underestimate him. Arrogance is one of the 8 pillars that lead to the downfall of your own empire after all. You pinch yourself, sighing gently as you promise to yourself to not be so overconfident when facing him, for you have no intentions of repeating the mistakes your ancestors once made.

#invincible #invincible variants #lensless mark #no goggles mark #lensless invincible #no goggles invincible #lensless invincible x reader #invincible x reader #invincible x y/n

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