#and i’ve already wasted the last like five hours doing nothing productive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tfwlawyers · 3 years

Note

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.

#bluefaewren #replies #parent trap au #attempting to write tag

145 notes · View notes

hardskz · 5 years

Text

a penny for your thoughts.

pairing — han jisung x female! reader

genre — trope inversion of the soulmate au, college au, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff-ish, smut; oral, possessiveness kink, praise kink, safe word, size kink, first time

synopsis — life isn’t easy when you belong to the 1% of the world population that has a soulmate, know who your soulmate is and happen to be utterly in love with said soulmate’s best friend. alternatively, jisung can hear all of your unfiltered thoughts and has heard enough of your horny fantasies to the point where he wants to throw up, so he takes matters in his own hands.

note — i think i’m gonna cry this work is my 11k word BABY i’ve never been THIS invested over a fic. this is purely self-indulgent and an emotional rollercoaster ride if you ask me. this fic is all over the place it’s chaotic and i apologize in advance for many italics you are welcome i hope you CRY and SUFFER with me because completing this bitch was a midlife crisis in itself. that being said, i appreciate any form of constructive criticism so pls go ahead and rip my baby apart sdkjl

“You’re staring again,” Hyunjin notes. Seungmin and Jeongin stifle a burst of laughter while Felix, whose head is resting on Hyunjin’s lap, sends you a look that resembles Candace from Phineas and Ferb whenever she finds her brothers creating some whacky futuristic shit, laughs like a madman and then resumes to call her mother with an ear-splitting MOOOM! because she’s so certain that her brothers are busted this time.

“Am not,” you huff as you tear your eyes away from the guy just sitting a little bit farther away from you, basking in the warm glow of the sun. Today he’s sitting in the perfect angle, giving you the best view on his side profile. His signature cap is perched right on top of his head but even then, you can see how his eyes brighten up and how the corners of his lips tug upwards as he laughs at his friend’s joke.

“You’re a worse case than the Mary Sue protagonist of every romance anime ever.” Seungmin snorts before he playfully nudges your side with his shoe. “Just say you want Seo Changbin to bang you and go.”

“Hey! We have a child present!” Hyunjin chastises, to which Jeongin rolls his eyes.

“I’m not a child. We’re all in fucking college.”

“Fine, not a child then. The baby has been corrupted! Don’t swear, it sounds so wrong coming from you!”

“Shut up. It’s called freedom of speech!”

“It’s ‘shut up Hyung’ to you!”

Felix groans in distress and is probably rethinking his life choices. Seriously, what does Felix, resident hopeless romantic, see in Hyunjin? Sure, he’s good-looking and a great friend when he’s not bitching around or hovering over the nearest trash can after taking too many shots. But a romantic? Please, Hyunjin can’t even eat without making a mess out of his shirt.

“I don’t want him to bang me,” you mutter and receive a collective ‘yeah sure’ look. “Fine, I don’t want him to bang me only. He’s nice,” you retort before your eyes flit back to him for a millisecond. By now, Changbin has put his hands on the grass and is leaning back, enjoying the sunlight while listening halfheartedly to the other guy blabbering.

“And hot. We get it. Now get dicked,” Seungmin deadpans, earning flabbergasted looks from everyone and a smack from Hyunjin.

“Show a little more empathy, you dickwad. She’s whipped.”

“Anyway—“ Felix sits up, earning a pout from Hyunjin but he blatantly ignores it, and directs the conversation back to the previous topic before the other two bump heads, “(y/n), you have his number. You’re not strangers, so why don’t you just make a move?”

You glance at him with horror in your eyes. “What do you expect me to do? Ring him up and ask him to hang out with me because I find him cute?”

“Uh, duh? Last time I checked, that’s how you ask someone out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“New idea.” Seungmin butts in. “Why don’t you ask Han Jisung—“

“No.”

“Agreed.” Hyunjin shoots you a nod of approval before Seungmin can start yet another interrogation about your bitter hatred towards Jisung. Jisung, who happens to be said friend of Changbin that is laughing beside him right now. “He must think he’s so much better than us because he’s hanging out with the senior geniuses of the music production major. Then again, Seo Changbin and Bang Chan are on a different level than us commoners.”

“Speaking of Chan,” you quickly say to steer the conversation away from the personification of everything you hate. “Where is he? It’s so weird seeing the trio incomplete.”

This time, Jeongin chimes in. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Chan and that one language major — you know, the one who collapsed a while back?” When all he’s met with are clueless faces, Jeongin sighs. “Seriously, you guys should keep up with campus news. I swear, everyone and their mothers already know by now. But anyway, they’re soulmates. It’s also the reason why Chan has been pulled out of the boxing team until the end of the semester and had to cancel their training camp as soon as she broke down.”

Felix does a double-take. “But Chan’s the ace of the boxing club!”

“It is what it is.” Jeongin stretches his legs out, shrugging. “What else is to expect when you have the proximity link and need to be around your soulmate within a certain distance unless you want death?”

“Poor guy. Must be a smack in the face for him, now that he’s got a soulmate and happens to have the worst link one could have.” Seungmin says.

“The tattoos are worse though.” Hyunjin fires back. “I mean, you’re literally born with a tattoo of your soulmate’s name and then grow up knowing that you have one? And even if you never meet them, you won’t have better chances with others if you want some romance. Who in their right mind wants to have a lover who’s got someone else’s name tattooed on them since birth?”

“No one.” You chuckle. “Absolutely no one.”

In another lifetime, another universe, you and Jisung would probably be on better terms. He’s sunshine on legs and looks decent from an objective point of view.

In another lifetime, another universe, you’d like to believe you’re childhood friends and have been neighbors ever since your first shit in your diapers. Perhaps you would be clowned from being inseparable once in a while, but you’d go with it and then shrug it off as if it was nothing.

In another lifetime, another universe, you’d like to believe that being soulmates doesn’t equal the downfall of two people. Sure, the fact that people are bound to each other and the danger of growing too dependent on that person remains, but it probably won’t be so frowned upon. Probably. Hopefully.

However, as much as you want to twist it, another lifetime is not this lifetime, the reality.

In reality, you and Jisung are only neighbors because the universe has some kind of inexplicable hatred towards you. Seriously, you must’ve done something wrong in your previous life to be punished in this one. And because the universe has sadistic tendencies and loves to make you suffer, the laws of the universe are just as equally fucked up.

The concept of soulmates is a lot of things, but most of all, it’s a mystery. There are endless possibilities for soulmate links, not all of them discovered. And unlike popular belief, soulmates do not have to necessarily share the same link. So voilà, even more fuckery from the universe.

There’s only one reason that justifies your wholehearted, unfiltered hatred towards Han Jisung. Well, only one reason that seems justified in this lifetime.

The tattoo is simple; just fine black characters under your collarbone that are nicely hidden under high-cut shirts.

But the fact that it’s his name tattooed on you since birth remains.

“Let me crash here for the night.”

“No.”

“Let me crash here for the night, please.”

“My answer is still no.”

The exasperation is plastered on Jisung’s face as he tries to keep his temper in check. Truth be told, it’s damn satisfying seeing him wanting to rip your head off but refraining to do so. Perhaps you’re enjoying this more than you expected at one o’clock in the morning. For the past five minutes, Jisung has been asking you to let him stay over for the night. You’d save him out of his misery and help a neighbor out who locked himself out of his apartment at this hour — well, if he wasn’t Han Jisung.

By now, he’s growing more impatient with every further rejection. “Oh come on, all my friends live on the other side of town and you can’t expect me to ask the old grandma next door! At this rate, I’m gonna freeze to death overnight!”

“Then go break a window or something,” you deadpan, ignoring the dramatic hand gestures he’s making to accentuate his words.

“The fuck? I’m not going to break into my own place.”

Not wanting to draw out the pointless conversation any longer, you’re about to slam the door shut when he blocks your action with his foot. “C’mon, just this one night. Please.”

He’s not budging anytime soon. His bullheadedness reminds you of Seungmin, who always tries to get Hyunjin wasted whenever you attend those Greek frat parties. Seungmin, who always succeeds in getting Hyunjin wasted, followed by Hyunjin hugging a bucket for the next few hours as he tries to get over the hangover. With a defeated sigh, you gesture Jisung to come inside and don’t wait for him until he’s taken his shoes off at the entryway.

“Look, I know you don’t like me—“

“Well, ‘don’t like’ is putting it very lightly—” you scoff once he’s caught up to you in the living room. It’s not exactly spacious; the couch takes up most of the room and college assignments are spread all over the minuscule coffee table.

“You could at least treat me like a decent human being.”

That statement is enough to get your ears flaming. You whip your head in his direction, voice getting louder. “How can I when your existence is making my life worse than it already is! And I mean it literally! Just seeing your name whenever I look at myself through the mirror sickens me!”

“Stop acting like you’re the only victim here.” Jisung snaps back in the same manner. If there was a little bit of etiquette in the first place, it has all vanished now. “I’m not having it easier when all I hear from you is the dozen ways you want Changbin to fuck you dumb!”

You freeze.

“Cat got your tongue? It’s already bad enough that you have those kinds of thoughts about my best friend every single day.”

“But I thought— y-you had the proximity link?!” This has to be a joke. A very bad one at that. His proximity link is the very sole reason why you lived next to him. His soulmate link is the only reason why you’ve been stuck together like glue since you could walk.

Jisung taps his foot impatiently, running his hand through his hair. “That’s what I thought too until I started hearing things that nobody said around me. First, it was just a few thoughts every other day, but now you’re like an annoying radio that I can’t switch off.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? I would’ve—“

“Stopped fantasizing about Changbin’s dick? And then you would’ve jumped to the next person. I don’t care if you like him or not, it’s none of my business. Changbin’s hot, anyone with eyes can tell. Besides, it’s not like you have a chance anyway…”

You feel your blood boiling at his underlying message and cross your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jisung doesn’t bat an eyelash and says in a mocking tone as if stating the obvious. “No doubt that Changbin will make you feel good. But could you return the favor?”

That’s a low blow. Even for Jisung, that’s a low blow.

“I get that you’ve got a dirty mind. But those are just fantasies. Could you really execute them just the way you had in your head? You don’t even have experience in the first place.”

“If I sucked you off right now, you wouldn’t even be able to speak properly!” God knows what went over you when you countered. At this point, rage has taken over your brain and you don’t even realize what you just said right away. Not that it matters anyway; all you see is red.

Jisung just raises a brow, clearly unimpressed by your outburst. “Prove it,” he challenges casually and then flops himself onto the couch, legs spread wide. It’s an open invitation. “Go ahead, make me see reason with your oh so mind-blowing skills.”

The only thing you’re able to do physically is gape at him. He is joking, right? As if he actually means it—

“I knew it. Shameless in your head but too flustered to say it out loud, let alone following up with your bold statements.”

That seals the deal. You’re fuelled by anger and the desire to prove him wrong as you drop on your knees and are on eye level with his crotch. However, your spirit dissolves the longer you silently stare and realize that you have no fucking clue on what to do. Jisung is painfully aware of that too.

“I’m more terrified than turned on seeing your angry face.” He lets out an exasperated sigh before he pulls you up and directs you to sit on his lap. “Obviously it’s not working when neither of us is in the mood. You gotta get in the mood first,” he mutters, hands settling on your hips.

The look in his eyes is more composed now, but you can tell he’s being observant. As if you have clues written all over your face, he keeps you under his stern gaze. Then his eyes droop lower to your lips and he slowly leans forward.

Not even a second later, you firmly plant your hands on his shoulder and push him back. “No lips.”

If Jisung is judgemental about your sudden stunt, he doesn’t comment on it. “Anything else, your royal majesty?”

You’re too tired to react to his mockery and roll your eyes. “No marks.”

“I can work with that,” he mumbles more to himself rather to you. Then he leans forward again and buries his face in the crook of your neck. Surprised by his actions and new to the unfamiliar sensation, you tense up. Jisung seems to take notice of that too.

“Relax,” he orders, rubbing circles on your hips to help you loosen up.

Well, that’s easier said than done. It’s already bad enough that you’re gradually exposing yourself as the complete amateur you are, and out of all people who could’ve been the first to do any form of sexual advances on you, it just had to be Jisung. Perhaps you shouldn’t have rejected that one kid in high school who was the only one who ever had a crush on you. Even if that kid wasn’t your type and not a serious commitment anyway, maybe you would’ve at least some sort of experience with dick.

“A-ah—“ your breath hitches when he nips on the patch below your earlobe. He smiles against your skin as if he just made some scientific discovery and swipes his tongue on the same spot, eager to make you squirm. Not wanting to slip up anymore, you clamp your mouth shut with a hand.

“Let me hear you, baby. Just relax, I got you.” When the fuck did his voice start to sound lower and raspier? Where did ‘baby’ come from? All rationality and resistance leave your body when he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

The cologne of musk lingers strong on him, almost intoxicating even, and you can’t form a cohesive thought anymore. The only things you are painfully aware of are an arm forcing your chest flush against his and his hot breath all over your neck.

You’re so far gone that you fail to notice that you’ve started grinding on his lap. Jisung moans softly into your neck as he encourages you to move with his hands.

“On your knees, baby,” he whispers after a while. A rush of disappointment runs through your veins once he detaches his lips from you and slides you off his lap, but all of that is forgotten once you see the prominent bulge in his pants.

Right. There’s a reason why you ended up in this predicament in the first place.

Jisung urges you to touch him with a simple nudge. “C’mon, baby. Take it off.”

You don’t waste time discarding his sweatpants. Just when you’re about to tug his underwear off, you notice the wet patch on the fabric. A surge of mischief washes over you as you boldly cupped his hard-on over his boxers, causing an obscenely loud moan from him.

He flinches, definitely not expecting that brashness from you, and throws his head back. “S-stop teasing me already and take that goddamn thing off or God help me what I’m going to do if you push my buttons.”

That. That was a threat. That dealt much more damage to you than you like to admit.

As much as you want to watch him break and see if he’d make his threats come true, you decide against your feelings and hook your fingers under the waistband and tug the fabric down in one swift motion. A groan leaves Jisung as his cock, fully hard and leaking precum, is exposed to the cold air. He’s certainly above average; on the longer side probably, and you’re conflicted on whether to think fuck, I want him in my mouth right now or fuck, how on earth is that supposed to fit into my mouth?!

You don’t get far with your inner conflict when a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and slowly urges you closer. The next thing you know, something is tapping your lips and before you fully register it, the tip of Jisung’s cock lies heavy on your tongue.

You carefully look up and meet Jisung’s hooded eyes. His shirt has ridden up a bit and flashes just a little bit of his toned stomach. That’s just enough of an indicator to see that Jisung is holding himself back, in case his irregular breathing hasn’t been a dead giveaway.

Jisung opens his mouth, about to say something, when you give an experimental suck on his dick. “Do something— f-fuck, a little more, baby.”

That’s enough to build your confidence up. You slowly take in more of his dick, sucking carefully and making sure to cover your teeth. The rest that doesn’t fit in your mouth is barely covered with your hands, and you messily try to coordinate your hands, switching between rubbing the base of his dick to cupping his balls.

“Mmh, use more pressure,” Jisung whispers, not trusting the stability of his voice when you fondle with his balls. A groan leaves him when you suck harder on his cock and switch back to swirling your tongue around. For a total beginner, you are holding yourself up better than he expected. Fuck.

“Focus on the tip fir— hhh- aa-ah...” His brain blacks out for a moment when you swirl your tongue around his tip and dare an experimental hum, the vibrations going straight down to his dick. The grip on your hair loosens, but it’s still firm enough to experience a sharp tug. “You’re doing good baby. So good.”

The combination of his sounds, the decent taste of precum on your tongue and the way his adam’s apple bops is enough to send you into sensory overload. You notice the way Jisung tenses his thighs, as to keep them still. You’re about to pull out completely to prevent your drool from getting on your face. However, before you get the chance to complain, he forces his length back on you that it grazes the back of your throat, nearly making you choke.

“Fuck, I— I’m gonna— s-soon—“ he hisses and you take it as a sign to speed up. At this point, your jaw hurts and a mixture of drool and precum drips down your chin. It’s borderline disgusting if you think about it, but the delectable sounds leaving Jisung compensates for it.

He sharply tugs on your hair, ordering you to pull off, but you slap his hand away. “I’m going to spill in your mouth if you don’t pull off right now—“ Jisung chokes on his words when you interrupt him with a hum as if to say so what? It doesn’t help that you’re looking up at him with teary eyes and a lot of conviction, even though you’re visibly struggling to keep half of his dick in your mouth.

When he cums, it’s accompanied but drawn out moans, and you forcing yourself to swallow the horrible texture. It’s not horrible per se, but you’d gladly refuse to swallow a second time if you were given the choice.

Jisung looks down at you with flushed cheeks and is about to wipe off the drool or cum or whatever liquid is staining your bottom lip, but you quickly block his hand. “I’ll clean up by myself.”

For a minuscule second, he looks defeated; he looks borderline disappointed, but before you can pinpoint his feelings for sure, his expression changes. “But what about you?” he asks, eyes raking down your body and stopping at the waistband of your pants.

“I’ll deal with it on my own.” You shrug, avoiding his eyes. All of sudden, you find it hard to breathe in the room as the realization settles into your brain. You just sucked off Jisung. Jisung, out of all fucking people.

“You sure?” Your eyes flit to him who looks like he’s been observing you the entire time. His breathing has calmed down, his lips look a little bit plumper than before and his hair sticks out in all different directions. Looking at his current state makes you feel sick, and your undying hatred for him starts growing again. It’s your fault that he looks so fucked out and—

Why the fuck did you even do that?

“Yes. Now stop asking before I change my mind and kick you out.”

Before he can have the last word, you turn on your heels and rush into your bedroom, ignoring the fact that your underwear is practically drenched.

You wake up to the smell of pancakes emerging from the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making breakfast?” Jisung throws you a questioning look and then plates the last batch of pancakes from the pan. “It’s the least I can do after you were friendly enough to let me crash on the couch.”

Your eyes wander to the countertop to the two plates stacked with pancakes. Jisung finishes up the second plate and hands it out to you.

You stare dumbly at the plate. It’s too early for your brain to mouth filter to work, so the first thing you spit out is, “How do I know you didn’t poison it?”

“Are you fucking serious—“ Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, mutters something inaudible under his breath before he puts on the fakest smile he can muster. “I can take a bite if you really insist.”

“Give me that plate.” You point to the other plate on the counter. Presentation-wise, it looks the same as the one Jisung is offering you, minus the visible steam.

“There. Wanna switch again or can I finally eat?” he scoffs when you walk past him to get cutlery and sit at the dining table; it’s essentially a round wooden table where one of the legs is about to break. Two plates and a pitcher at most take up the entire surface. You really should consider buying a new table, but you have better things to spend on rather than that.

From your peripheral vision, you see Jisung rolling his eyes. Perhaps you were making an entire unnecessary circus, critically cutting through the pancake and inspecting each and every side before stuffing it in your mouth. But again, in your defense, it’s too early in the morning to show basic etiquette towards him out of all people.

You have to admit that visually, the pancakes look good. What you didn’t expect were the pancakes to taste just how they look. It looks like you couldn’t contain your surprise in you, judging by the amused smirk that finds its way onto Jisung’s face as he claims the chair across from you.

“As if you could actually cook,” you splutter because there’s no fucking way you are giving him that satisfaction of the day.

However, it seems to bemuse him even more. “You literally eat this every day and know the recipe by heart. With the excessive number of times you recite the ingredients a day, obviously, something got stuck in my brain,” he explains while cutting through his own portion.

The rest of breakfast is spent in silence. You both finish at the same time and while you’re washing the dishes, he’s stayed put in the chair, mindlessly checking something on his phone.

“You didn’t have to cook, you know. You could’ve just left.” you start. It’s already awkward enough that he’s still here. Bloody hell, you should’ve just waited with the plates and ushered him out of your place instead of just getting away as fast as possible from the table. Now that you think about it, this was probably the only time you two were somewhat amicable at such proximity. (Even if you didn’t talk at all. Still, it’s progress.)

He drops his phone on the table with a soft ‘bang’. “It’s the least I could do. Besides, I was starving too.”

“In other words, you’re taking advantage of my fridge?”

“Exactly.”

Just as you’re drying your hands, he’s about to leave. “I’ll get going, lecture’s starting in a few. And, uh, thanks for letting me stay here.”

You just shoot him a weird look. “You already thanked me once. How often do you wanna repeat yourself?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Fine, next time I’ll just leave without a word then.”

It’s when he’s finally out of the door that his last words sink in.

“Yo, I have pics of sweaty Changbin in a jersey. How much do you wanna pay for those gems?”

You nearly choke on air. “What the fuck?” Really, that’s the only appropriate reaction.

“Hyunjin, this needs more context.” Felix looks like he’s seriously second-guessing his taste in men before shaking it off with a sigh and elaborates. “He’s been trying to find out some scoop about Chan for the campus blog and caught him in his angry boxer mode and Changbin was also there assisting him. Hey, did you know that Chan doesn’t tape his hands before punching the bag? Fuck, that’s so intimidating but so hot at the same time—“

“Yah! I’m your boyfriend! How can you say that in front of me?!”

Changbin. Changbin in a jersey. Changbin in a jersey and drenched in sweat. And Hyunjin seriously has HQ pictures of that Changbin.

It really, absolutely shouldn’t have been the first thing that crossed your mind, but the idea of that Changbin — bonus if he still has anger pent up in him — barging into your place and instantly throwing you on the bed—

“I’m not a perverted creep who’s gonna buy pictures of him that he doesn’t even know exist. Besides, isn’t that a violation of his rights? He never consented to those pics. This is college, you’re only working for the campus blog, not fucking Dispatch.” you deadpan.

“So you don’t even want to take a sneak peek at a picture?”

“No.”

You barely stepped a foot into your apartment when Jisung storms out of his own place and stops in front of you. “You fucking liar.”

“Excuse me? What the— hmph!”

The next thing you know, Jisung forces his way into your hallway, slams the door shut and crowds you against it. His face is invading your personal space, eyes enraged and jaw locked. Even though his anger is far from justified as you haven’t glanced at him ever since he stayed over, a tiny part of you believes that you pissed him off for good. It's not the first time you witness him angry. However, it's the first time you witness him look as if someone murdered his family and was trying to get revenge.

“I thought you took care of it yourself!”

“Took care of what?”

“Did you already forget that I can read your mind?!”

You scrunch your nose, trying to connect the dots in his words. It doesn't take long for you to realize that there’s no point in trying. A frustrated groan leaves you. “Why are you getting so riled up? I just breathed and you stormed into my place!”

“‘Bullshit. You weren’t just breathing,” he snaps, and you flinch when his hand lands a few inches beside your face with a loud pang. “You were thinking of Changbin again! And I mean that in the thousand sex positions and locations you want him to bang you kind of thinking! And also—“

“Also what?”

“I know you’ve been pent up for days. Seriously, why don’t you just get off like every other sane human being?”

His brutal delivery leaves you flabbergasted. How the fuck does he know that? No. No. No. He doesn’t know. He can’t. Just because he can read your mind doesn’t mean that you didn’t pleasure yourself after giving him that blowjob. Jisung’s probably bluffing — he has to be bluffing.

“W-why should I answer you?” you stutter. Suddenly the walls look much more interesting. When was the last time you painted the walls? Maybe it’s time to switch things up—

“Are you really about to get all cocky with me? Give me a break.” Jisung chews on his bottom lip after little deliberation. “You wanna know why? Because one of my best friends is going through a hard time that can utterly destroy his entire future thanks to the fucking universe! If that isn’t stressful as it is, I also see and hear all kinds of things you want Changbin to do to you. And your fantasies are also affecting me.”

You stare at him as if he sprouted eight new legs. “So you’ve also been…?”

“Sexually frustrated? Fuck yes. And it’s all your fault. So take responsibility and do something against it before I do.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“So what if I am?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine once you meet his stone-cold gaze. Frustration is displayed all over his features, from his labored breaths to the raised brow. He’s not playing mind games this time, he’s actually frustrated.

There are a billion red flags, a billion blinking signs saying NO DON’T YOU EVEN THINK OF DOING THIS! DON’T BE A FUCKING IDIOT in your mind. There are so many countless reasons why you should listen to your head, but the way Jisung is lusting after you is terrifyingly attractive.

You don’t trust your voice to respond verbally. Instead, you look down at your trembling hand and tug at the hem of his shirt. It’s just then when you also realize that your thighs are clenched. Fuck.

Jisung takes the hint. In the blink of an eye, he’s yanking you to your room, kicks the door shut with a loud ‘thud’, and manhandles you on the bed. You’re too stunned to react, and gulp when he hovers over you and strips off his jacket, leaving him in a white shirt that doesn’t hide his toned arms.

“Use the color system, alright? Green when everything is alright, yellow when you want me to slow down, and red when you want me to stop for good?” he asks.

“I know what the color system is,” you mutter, tearing your eyes away from him.

“That’s not an answer to my question.” he presses.

“Fine, color system it is. There! Happy? Now get on with it—“

Jisung pins your wrists above your head vigorously. “You don’t call the shots here. I do.”

Your stomach swoops. You really should’ve listened to your brain. This Jisung isn’t comparable with the Jisung you sucked off a few days ago. That Jisung was cocky — he’s always cocky, what are you even saying — but he still gave you room to breathe. This Jisung is downright scary.

“Good thing for you, I know exactly what you want me to do—” he starts sinisterly as his thigh settles firmly between your legs, pressing up against your clothed core. You suddenly regret wearing a skirt. “—and trust me baby, even if I couldn’t read your mind, I would do all those things because that’s what I plan on doing to you regardless.”

The look he gives you should be illegal. He shouldn’t be in the position to look down at you, as if he’s the king and has free reign over the consequences you are about to bear. Your head suddenly feels dizzy, and it’s way too hot in the room. It’s as if your bedroom has morphed into some vacuum as you’re desperately trying to breathe. Your system ceases to function once he presses his thigh even harder on your cunt, and all you manage to make is a pathetic whimper.

A menacing grin makes its way to his face. He’s clearly thriving on this ego-boost and continues to grind his thigh on you until your hips start to sway along. It seems like you found your voice again once he leans down and nibbles on your neck. Your moans are barely audible at first, but they slowly turn into drawn out mewls and labored breaths.

Your eyes snap open when he suddenly retreats his thigh and holds your hip in a vice grip, stopping you from moving. “W-what the fuck? Why did you stop?”

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Huh?” You squint at him. “But you can read my mind!”

“I want you to say it out loud.”

There’s no way in the universe that you’ll do that. You’ll gladly wipe off that shit-eating grin out of his face whether he likes it or not, but with his hold on your wrists, that is deemed impossible.

You should say something out loud though. Yellow. That would save you from the humiliation. You could regain at least an ounce of control, not feel so pathetic anymore. It’s a simple word, just two syllables, six letters. The tables can be turned to your advantage. It’s easy.

You don’t.

“You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? You can’t say all those filthy thoughts in your head out loud because you’re ashamed, huh? Not when you love feeling so powerless, subject to anything I do to you. Face it baby, just admit that you’re a needy little bitch who wants to get off on my fingers so bad, and I’ll give you what you want,” Jisung growls in between hot, wet kisses he leaves on your neck.

“I—“ you whimper after some difficulties, “I’m your needy little bitch w-who wants to get off on your fingers.”

Jisung’s head pipes up, his face just hovering a couple of inches away from yours. With that little distance between you, you know it’s not a trick of the light and that his eyes are blown up with hunger, hunger, and more hunger. "Not just any bitch, but mine? Do you like it when I call you mine?"

You nod. From there on, it’s a chain reaction.

He wastes no time slipping his fingers past your panties, mindlessly trailing along your folds. You throw your head back in pleasure, bucking your hips into his touch. A cry leaves you the moment he slips a finger inside you, his thumb simultaneously flicking your clit. It’s sensory overload, rendering your rationality to a standstill.

Your utter downfall is marked once Jisung adds a second finger, never slowing down. He groans at the way you clench around him like a maniac, and the sounds he makes send jolts all over your body. You’re writhing under his grasp at this point, overstimulated by everything yet at the same time, you feel your arousal slowly fading.

“Does my baby feel good? Are you close?” Jisung asks, nipping on your earlobe.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”

The pit in your stomach grows. You’ve never experienced claustrophobia, but right now, it’s like everything’s suffocating you. “A-as in I don’t fucking know!” you exclaim shakily.

Jisung stops his movements. The weight on your wrists is lifted, and he looks at you, face unreadable. “(y/n), color. What’s your color?”

“Green. It’s just...” your trail off, avoiding his eyes.

“Just...?”

“I’ve never come before,” you confess in defeat. You really can’t believe that Jisung out of all people is the one to make the call of judgment. “I mean it! I’ve tried getting myself off but I never managed to... so cut me some fucking slack because I’m trying my best here and am still new to everything!”

Jisung stays silent. He stares at you in… confusion? disbelief? You really have no clue how to read his expression. Something negative for sure, though. He’s Satan’s spawn, for fuck’s sake. He’s probably thinking twice about going down on you, thinking about the gravity of a mistake he’s dealing with this time. He just has no clue how to articulate his irritation—

“You’re so cute, fucking hell,” he whispers.

You do a double-take. What? What did he say?

A small chuckle escapes his lips. As if he doesn’t mind. Wait. He doesn’t mind. “I’ll take good care of you. Trust me on this,” he says.

“That’s a little late coming from you, your fingers are literally up my vagi— h-ha-aah—“

“Just shut up and let me do the work.” Jisung rolls his eyes as he works you up again, fingers moving at a slower pace this time. Within minutes, he’s reduced you into a panting, stuttering mess. “You look so tiny and helpless underneath me. How adorable,” he coos, to which you just whine.

“Yeah? You like it when I call you tiny? Like it when your tight cunt already feels stuffed with just two fingers? Maybe we should stretch it to a third one, think you can handle that?” he presses on. That’s when he rams his fingers into a particular spot, making you arch your back. A knowing smile makes its way onto his lips. “Found it.”

“N-no, fuck— t-too much—” you babble, but he continues to abuse your sweet spot without remorse.

An unfamiliar pressure builds up in your abdomen, threatening to burst. Your whines grow louder, breaths shallower. You squeeze your eyes shut as you thrust your hips into his hand, desperate for more friction. “Jisung, I think I’m gonna—”

“Oh no, not like this,” he growls. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to look at me when you cum. So you’ll remember that it was me who made you cum for the first time. It’s me who’s making you feel good.”

That is easier said than done. You manage to open your eyes, though with a lot of difficulties. Scratch that, your eyes are barely open. Jisung is a blurry image, and you’re unable to register everything he says, the sound of his fingers squelching in your heat blaring in your ears.

You deem it fucking impossible to keep your eyes open when your orgasm hits you hard, body spasming from the sensation. But you keep on trying, keep forcing to set your eyes on him.

It’s all worth it though when the reward you get is a proud smile on his face, as well as streams of praises coming from his mouth.

It’s a continuous pattern that goes as follows:

1. You spend your days glued to your friends.

2. At least one of them (usually, it’s Seungmin) preaches how you should get your shit together and ask Changbin out.

3. Somehow, Changbin manages to leave a strong presence in your fantasies and you end up daydreaming about a scenario that stars him, you and a bed (if you’re feeling more daring, any other kind of surface or object he could pound you into.)

4. Jisung notices and forces the horniness out of your system.

5. You tell yourself that it’s the last time Jisung has such control over you.

And then the cycle repeats.

But here’s the thing: you find yourself doing no. 5 you with less conviction the more it happens. No. 5 is a formality at this point. You don’t know when you went the wrong path, but are you really in a position to complain? Jisung is good with you, he’s good with his fingers, even better with his mouth.

But then there’s this side of Jisung after he’s ruined you. He knows what you want to eat after you’re all cleaned up, knows what show you want to watch, knows if you want to just drop dead in bed or need someone to force you to finish your uni assignments. In short: Jisung is good. If you ever said that out loud and someone caught wind of it, they might assume that you liked him.

But Changbin. You like Changbin. You like Changbin you like Changbin you like Changbin—

You like Changbin, right?

“You’ve been looking at me as if I had the word CLOWN written over my forehead. Do I have something on my face or what?” you cross your arms and are met with your friends quickly averting their eyes from you.

Felix is the first one to break the silence. “Is that a new dress?”

“Not really. I recently found it when I cleared out my closet and decided to give it one more try. Why—“ you pause, and your expression turns grim once it dawns on you. “I look ridiculous in this, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“No!”

“You look like a clown.”

“Seungmin-Hyung, did you really just???”

If your crippling self-esteem hadn’t reached its all-time low before, then it definitely did now. “Geez, thanks,” you deadpan.

Jeongin is panicking, trying to provide some damage control as Felix snaps at Hyunjin and Seungmin. “Nobody cares about your two cents!”

“Well, but she asked for our opinion!”

“Nobody cares about your honest two cents!”

“Let’s just have lunch at the burger place and talk about this later, Hyung!”

You’re still dazed, chuckling dryly like those cartoon characters usually do when their soul leaves their body after someone dragged them. The entire situation is downright sad to witness. Is this a sign that your period is coming soon? That’s it! That probably explains why you’re acting so uncharacteristically sensitive today—

“The dress suits you, (y/n). You should wear it more often,” Changbin says.

“Hah?” you flinch and you’re sure your soul actually left your body when you turn to face Changbin smiling genuinely at you. Out of your periphery, you see Jisung and Chan behind him, but that’s not the point.

What? The? Fuck? Did he really just? Did Changbin just… compliment you?

You don’t realize how long you’ve dumbly stared at him until Jeongin nudges you. “Uhhhh, thanks!” you squeak out, cringing at how your voice just went up by an octave. You can feel Jeongin facepalming internally at your response, but you don’t blame him; you’d most likely do the same.

Changbin just smiles before he turns away to get to his next class, tugging Jisung and Chan with him.

Nevermind. Wearing this dress was the best decision you’ve made in your entire college career. The way you suddenly beam almost gives Felix whiplash — it’s obvious in the way he stares at you as if he ended up watching a comedy instead of the melodrama he was expecting. Hyunjin seems just as flabberghasted, Jeongin is still cringing from the secondhand embarrassment, and Seungmin just grins.

“Ah, so lover boy is the reason, I see.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh my god, just shut up, Seungmin.”

Jisung is eating you out with such fervor that has you sobbing and thrashing around. He’s merciless in every literal sense, keeping your hips planted on the couch with his hands to the point where veins are bulging out, and lapping up your juices with his tongue, continuing even though you already came. He only pulls away, lips glistening in your release, once you tug on his hair despite his orders to not do that.

“Already spent now? But baby, we just started.” he pouts. “Or is it because it’s me? Would you defy if Changbin was the one eating you out?”

You stare at him with blown out eyes. Why the fuck is he bringing up Changbin now? The words hang heavy in your throat and are threatening to burst, but the death stare he delivers stops you from doing so.

Something’s not right.

“Don’t tell me... you’re wet again because I just mentioned Changbin. Changbin this, Changbin that, huh? It’s always only Changbin, Changbin, Changbin. And I thought I was doing you good all along,” he rages, making you flinch. He can be terrifying when he wants to be, but this time, he seems completely out of it. “You know what? I’m fucking done with holding back. You’re mine, got it?”

With that, he dives back into your cunt, sucking harshly on your clit as he slides a finger in you. You try to pry him off, but his weight is restraining you to the sofa.

“Jisung, it hurts— ouch—“ Panic starts to rise in you when he finally detaches himself from your nub, but instead, moves down to your thighs and starts sucking on the skin with a force much harder than you’re used from him. “What are you doing? S-stop—!”

“You’re mine, you’re supposed to be mine. I am literally written on your skin. So why can’t you just wish to be with me? Do I have to mark you up so that you’ll finally get it?”

It hurts. It hurts. Once you feel teeth on your skin, you burst into tears. “Red, Jisung, red!”

As if it was the spell to break the cast, Jisung finally snaps out of it. His features break once his eyes meet yours. Regret sticks onto him like a second skin, and he slightly moves his hand in an attempt to reach out to you. Your muscles react faster though, and you instinctively pull your legs towards yourself and shy away from him. The way his face drops by another layer of remorse tugs at your heartstrings, but the impending fear overpowers everything else you’re feeling.

“What’s going on? What went over you?” you ask.

Jisung’s breath is shaky. He feverishly opens his mouth several times, but no sound is coming out. He’s struggling to find the right words, maybe trying to find a somewhat reasonable justification for his behavior. In the end, he lets out a defeated sigh. “I can’t do this anymore without having feelings—” his voice is weak and vulnerable and you’ve never witnessed him break down like this before, “—I like you. I like you the way you like Changbin. I just...”

Silence.

“Leave,” you whisper, but in this silence, your voice rings out loud and clear. This is… too much weight for your heart to carry.

Jisung complies. He grabs his belongings from the floor, slips on his shirt, and leaves with his head hung low. His footsteps grow more and more distant, but then he stops.

“Are you really in love with Changbin?” His voice cracks.

You don’t muster up the courage to face him. “Just read my mind.”

It’s silent again. Too overwhelming. You’re waiting for yet another outburst of him, waiting for his “I want you to say it out loud”, because that’s how the conversation always goes.

The last thing you hear is the front door falling in its lock with a soft click.

You like Changbin. You like Changbin you like Changbin you like Changbin you like—

You like him, right?

Things have changed.

You and Jisung haven’t crossed paths ever since, not even passed each other by in the hallways. It’s weird since you’ve grown used to seeing him every day outside of your apartment complex. You’ve never really acknowledged each other’s presence with a wave or something in the sorts; it was just a second where your eyes met, and then your days went on.

That being said, you run into Changbin quite frequently. If you ever exchanged words, it’s nothing more than friendly small talk and the one or other compliment about his music. Talking to Changbin is nice; he makes you smile.

You know a little bit more about Changbin now, like his favorite ice cream flavor or the fact that he has a pokemon plushie named Gyu. It’s cute, and you chuckle when you think about how you’d pay good money for that information a few weeks ago.

Changbin is nice, and there’s nothing more to the story.

The chaotic quartett you call your friends however, doesn’t seem to buy it. They are loud and nosey and have eyes, so it was set in stone that they’d tease you about it sooner or later. It’s all fun and games, and you played along with it at first, because that’s how you guys are. But as time went on, when the banter became so repetitive and blown out of proportion to the point where they have made clowning you about your small interactions with Changbin the pinnacle of their entertainment, you’ve begun to be fed up by it.

“Will you finally stop bringing him up in an indecent manner every single lunch break? Or even better, stop bringing him up altogether?” You snap, which shocks everyone at the table because you never snap.

Nobody has time to react as you quickly stomp away to grab some fresh air. You mutter out every curse under the sun, not intending to let your anger take over you this much. You’ve only made it past the door when Felix catches up to you, placing a hand over your shoulder.

“(y/n), what’s the matter? Clearly, something’s bothering you. And I know it’s not because of just Seungmin.” Concern is woven in his smooth voice.

You have to admit, it was a smart and calculated move from your friends to send Felix your way. He’s always been the compassionate one out of your little friend group. Like a pillar, he’s the one who keeps you all grounded (and he’s the one to drive your asses back home after the wild Alpha Beta Gamma frat parties).

“I don’t like Changbin that way, I realized. So it’d be very much appreciated if you asses didn’t allude to that every time,” you huff.

Felix sends you an understanding smile. “We can work that out. You know that Hyunjin and Seungmin in particular can be insensitive and sometimes don’t realize they’ve taken things too far..”

“Fine, but that’s not the main thing that’s eating me up alive, Felix.” you sigh. The words seem to flow out of your mouth like a waterfall. “I’ve realized I’ve never really liked Changbin. Okay, fine, he was just a crush I had but I don’t like him.”

He nods slowly, his brain processing your ramble. “So you like someone else.”

“Yes. And I don’t know how to fix it because we got into a huge fight.”

“Talk to them. That’s the only thing left to do.” His response is immediate, and he says it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Every relationship has its ups and downs, and if you want to be committed, you have to fight for it. If you were made for one another, you’ll make it.”

The last part makes you laugh internally. If only he knew.

“Let me guess, you expect me to barge into his place to sort things out,” you say.

Felix gives you the look of judgment. “I mean, you could also show some human decency and text him in advance so he’s also prepared. But that works fine too.”

Come to think of it, you’ve never been to Jisung’s apartment. That’s about to change when you knock on his door sometime in the evening, shortly after sunset.

Jisung’s face immediately drops once he opens the door. “What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, drenched in regret.

It’s not that his appearance has reached rock bottom. He still takes good care of himself; however, you pick up the dark circles under his eyes and his complexion seems a little paler. Not sickeningly pale, but in a sense that he hasn’t seen the light of day for a few consecutive days.

You shift your weight on one leg and fiddle with your fingers. “Can we talk?”

Jisung gulps. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbles after a moment of hesitation before inviting you in.

“I’ve thought a long time about this. Everything, really,” you start awkwardly as soon as you’re both standing stiffly in his living room. “I, um…”

You cringe inwardly as your voice trails off. Truth be told, you’ve rehearsed what you wanted to say many times a few hours ago. Even wrote down the entire speech. Then threw the draft away, only to compose a new one. And then again and again and again. After what felt like an eternity, you had polished your final speech and memorized it from top to bottom, even making sure that your flow sounded natural. But now that this is the real deal, your mind goes blank. Of course, of fucking course, your illiterate brain had to give up on you in the situation that mattered the most.

Jisung purses his lips. “Do you want something to drink first? No need to rush—”

“I don’t like Changbin!” you blurt out. Jisung stares at you in confusion. “I mean, I used to like Changbin — I still do, he’s a nice guy! Don’t get me wrong — but that’s all he is. He’s… nice. I like him, as a friendly guy. I had a crush on him, but now it’s just, uh, like. Platonic! Yeah, platonic.”

Despite him nodding slowly, you know that he is still lost. You would be too if you were on the receiving end of this painfully clumsy delivery.

You give yourself a mental slap as you take a deep breath. It can’t get any worse than this. Definitely impossible. You’ve already proven to him how bad your public speaking skills are. Might as well get over it with the bluntest words. “I miss you. And not because of the sexual things we did, but everything else. I miss you coming over, miss the movie night, and all that. I miss you, Jisung.”

He stares at you silently. Your eyes search his face for any sign of emotion, and for one too many times, Jisung is impossible to read. Okay, perhaps you did manage to tell him what you wanted to tell him even worse than whatever the fuck your initial attempt was.

But then his blank armor cracks. Little by little, his eyes soften, disbelief and remorse on display for you to see. Jisung is looking at you as if his world has fallen apart even more. He’s looking at you as if he’s clinging to the last threads of reason, trying to make sense of the situation. He’s looking at you with eyes that could hold stars behind them, stars that were supposed to burn out yet shine brighter than the universe.

“How can you say that? I hurt you. I made you cry! I was being a selfish asshole who put out his anger on you!” he exclaims, voice breaking towards the end. Pain clouds his red eyes, and he’s fighting to keep the tears at bay.

You slowly prod closer to him, testing the waters. He doesn’t react once, not even when you stand directly in front of him. Not even when you gently place your hands on a shoulder each. Not until you say, “It’s alright. I’m alright. No hard feelings.”

That’s his breaking point. Tears stream down his face, while quiet hiccups jump out of his throat. “How can you be so nice to me?” His sobs are muffled as he eases into your touch, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your waist, clinging onto you as if you’re his lifeline.

The answer is simple, you say to yourself, as you thread a hand in his hair. “We’re soulmates.”

The weight of the words hangs in the air, shattering the previous tension and all the worries in your heart. It’s liberating, finally being able to say it out loud without feeling like an abnormality for saying those words with happiness. You’re soulmates. You’re soulmates, and that’s okay.

Jisung’s sobs resound throughout the room, and so do his countless, tiny yeah, we are’s. You need a moment before you register the wetness on your face. It feels like an eternity standing in his warm embrace, even after there are no more tears left to cry.

“Can I kiss you?” Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but Jisung catches it. two fingers gently lift your chin so that you’re facing him. You almost melt when your eyes meet, his gaze filled with adoration that makes you want to burst at the seams.

“Yeah. I’d love that.” Jisung smiles.

It costs you your willpower to tear your eyes away from him before they flutter down to his lips. Despite his bottom lip being a little cracked, they look inviting and you wonder what they taste like. You expect him to nudge you, expect him to tell you to hurry up and do something because you’re pretty sure you’re staring at his lips for far too long.

He doesn’t. The grip on your chin is loose as if to tell you to take your time and go at your own pace. But the longer you wait, the more reluctance builds up. It’s a lot of power he’s given you; hell, it’s the first time he hands the reigns to you.

“Can you… uhm… I’ve never done this before, so yeah…” you look at him with a crooked smile.

The breathless chuckle that leaves him sounds like music to your ears. Jisung moves his hand to the back of your neck before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is short and sweet, but that alone suffices to make the butterflies in your stomach burst. The faint taste of coke lingers on him, and before you know it, you’re kissing again. Jisung’s lips are like an addiction, reeling you back in for another one. Somewhere along the way, the kisses change. Innocent presses of lips are long forgotten, replaced by teeth playfully tugging on your bottom lip, and Jisung kissing you deeper to the point where he steals all oxygen out of your lungs.

Your hands slide down his chest, tugging on his shirt. Startled by your bold actions, he pulls away, but you catch him back into another liplock that leaves the two of you breathless. All you can think of clearly is Jisung Jisung Jisung—

This time he forces himself away from you. Gasping for air, he places his forehead on yours. “If we go farther than this, then I don’t know if I can control myself.” His warning is barely above a whisper.

“Then don’t,” you whisper back.

That’s all the reassurance he needs before leading you to his bedroom, all the whilst latching onto your lips once more. He doesn’t let go of you until your back hits the soft mattress and he’s on top of you. Warm, slightly calloused hands trail from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt.

“Color?”

“Green,” you respond, smiling up at him. The sun has long vanished at the horizon, replaced by the dim moon and stars. Despite only a little light surging past the blinds into the room, you can see Jisung’s features crystal clear. The endearing smile is cast into the back of your mind, so is the delicacy in his touch, fingertips lightly grazing your skin as he sheds all your clothes off until you’re left in your underwear. After hearing your complaints, he discards his own clothes with an amused glint in his eyes.

Jisung takes his time pounding every single detail of your features into his memory. His hands roam all over your body, inciting goosebumps. You lean into his touch with a sigh and flit your gaze to him once he stops on a particular spot.

The look on his face is unreadable, but the hesitation in his voice speaks for itself. “Does this bug you?” he asks, uncertainty laced in it as he runs his finger over each character of his name that’s inked under your collarbone. You shake your head with a hum that turns into a soft moan once he leaves kisses on the spots his finger burned before, one for each letter. Eventually, his actions spiral out to sucking lovebites and rutting his bulge against your heat, enticing louder whines out of you. Your vision morphs into blurriness as you move your hips in sync with his, locking your arms around his neck to pull him even closer to you.

“(y/n), baby…” Jisung heaves for air, “Is it okay if I…?.”

“Please,” you mewl, “want you inside me.” Your desperation must’ve shone through your tone, as Jisung presses a loving kiss on your forehead before he reaches over to the nightstand for a condom, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

In books and movies, this is the part where the virgin would reach peak nervousness. Too many fears would be inhabiting their mind; the fear of pain, fear of not fulfilling their partner’s needs, fear of the entire situation, essentially. Whatever they depict in those books and movies, it doesn’t match up with the warmth and want pumping in your veins. Even after Jisung slipped your and his underwear off and slid the condom on his leaking cock, there’s no sign of fear bubbling in you. It’s rather the opposite; you nudge him to finally slide into you.

“So impatient,” he tuts playfully, and because he can’t help being a bit sadistic, he teases your dripping entrance with the tip of his cock. Tears begin to form in your eyes from the frustration of clenching around nothing. You feel like crying for good once he slowly pushes into you. The stretch feels unfamiliar and completely different than what you’re used to from his fingers, but it’s not unpleasant as you throw your head back. While you’re adjusting to his girth, Jisung observes your every expression, faltering whenever you scrunch your eyes shut.

“You still there?” he asks in hushed tones, caressing your cheek.

In awe about his concern, you nod. “I’m fine. It’s just… new. I’ve never done this, but I guess you already figured that out.” It takes you a moment to catch your breath, and then you give him the green light to continue.

The way Jisung has your hands firmly against the bed lacks the usual roughness; he isn’t gripping your wrists as if he’s about to cut off your blood circulation. This time, he has intertwined his fingers with yours as if he doesn’t ever want to let go of you. A firework of colors and stars is all you see as he thrusts into slow and deep and with all the passion he has to offer. His lips don’t leave space for a breather either; he kisses you with so much fervor that it swallows your heart up whole. At that instant, you realize that he’s claimed your heart and isn’t going to give that up any time soon. You don’t mind, because you know that you’ve committed the same crime.

It’s not long after until you feel the orgasm building up. Jisung brings one hand down to flick your clit, and just like that, you unravel beneath him. His own release follows suit, a muffled groan coming from his lips as he spills into the condom.

It’s quiet for a moment, no words spoken between you except for harsh breathing. Eventually, Jisung slides his softening dick out of you and disappears for a moment to clean up, returning with a damp towel for you to freshen up a little, as well as a glass of water.

“I think I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” you say after you gulped down the drink in one go, voice devoid of emotion. A laugh leaves Jisung. The way you deliver it is so casual as if he didn’t just have his dick in you minutes before. “Also, isn’t this the part where we should cuddle?”

“So bossy, your royal majesty.” He even takes a bow before he climbs back on the bed, pulling the covers over your bodies, and scooting up to you. He says something else, but you don’t register what exactly. All you care about is being wrapped in his warm embrace. The stench of sweat isn’t prominent on him anymore. Instead, it’s a huge cloud of Axe overpowering your senses. You would complain, but you’re too blissed out to bother.

Jisung must’ve noticed at a certain point that you’ve wandered to daydream paradise. “You’ve been quiet for a while. A penny for your thoughts.”

“But you can read my mind.”

“I want you to say it out loud.” His answer comes like a shot while his hand is brushing through your hair. “That, and your thoughts are too jumbled and my head is going to malfunction if I try to decode everything running in your head right now.”

The corners of your lips quirk upwards. “I’m just thinking about how we did everything in the wrong order. It’s just now that we kissed, before that I only sucked you off or something. We’re so fucked up.”

“If you word it that way, we definitely didn’t follow the book.” Jisung laughs in agreement. The vibrations from his chest causes you to bubble up in warmth.

“I don’t mind, though. That’s not the point. I’m happy.” You don’t have to look up to know that his eyes lit up. “Jisung, I’m happy that you’re mine.”

The hold around your waist tightens, and you feel a soft kiss being pressed on top of your head. “And I’m happy that you’re mine.”

In another lifetime, another universe, you probably wouldn’t have to go through these struggles. Society would normalize having someone that completes you. You wouldn’t go through countless stages of denial, countless stages of frustration, and countless stages of doubt.

In another lifetime, another universe, you potentially could’ve been on even worse terms. Just like in those cyberpunk movies, maybe you two would be enemies, one fighting alongside the government, the other assisting the villain who tries to overthrow the system. Star-crossed lovers, that’s what you two would be dubbed as.

In another lifetime, another univer—

No need to fantasize about what could be. The only lifetime that matters is this lifetime, this universe, your reality. In reality, people like you live in hiding. In reality, society is doubtful towards people with soulmates. In reality, people like you are destined for a tragedy. It’s taken you a long time to wrap it around your head.

That’s alright though. You’re alright. You’ll always be alright. The universe might have not played in your favor in this lifetime, but you still found each other. Perhaps, the universe will be more forgiving towards you in your next lifetime. Or the one after. Who knows? Whatever happens, at least you know you have one person you’re bound to meet wherever you are, whenever you are. One person who won’t ever let go of you. One person you won’t ever let go of.

“Yeah, I’m yours.”

#i'm never writing a oneshot again this is too stressful for my heart #stray kids smut #skz smut #han jisung smut #jisung smut #stray kids dark hours #dom!jisung #sub!reader #jijiri.txt #smut.mine #i winged the ending so pls go easy on me dlskjflkjsa

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chocoluckchipz · 3 years

Text

Not a Spying, Not a Fake Date

The day Marinette met Adrien Agreste—the hottest supermodel alive, an only son of fashion icon Gabriel Agreste, and her long-time, embarrassing celebrity crush—was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Instead, not only did she present herself as a total klutz, but his friend Nino had stolen Alya only two weeks later.

On a Saturday afternoon, no less!

Don’t get her wrong. Marinette was happy that Alya finally was interested in a guy more than the latest scoop. And she absolutely didn't mind skipping one of their weekly get-togethers in favour of her BFF going on a coffee date with their new classmate. Marinette wouldn’t be bored. She could work on one of her projects or play video games… if the day wouldn't be so perfectly gorgeous and sunny. Wasting it inside would’ve been a crime. A walk around a local farmer’s market, on the other hand, sounded just about right. And if said market happened to be across the street from where her friend was meeting Nino, that was a pure coincidence.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Marinette was absolutely not spying on anyone, and if she glanced the couples’ way once or twice, it was only to appease her morbid curiosity. No harm done. She wasn’t interfering. She couldn’t even hear what the two of them were talking about. Surely not about Adrien. Or her. Or her and Adrien. Nope. No way. Impossible. She wasn’t curious at all.

“You know you aren’t very subtle?”

Marinette froze, her blood running cold. She knew that voice. It was ingrained in her memory by now. But there was no way Adrien Agreste was standing right behind her, whispering in her ear. It must be nothing but a product of her imagination. Yes! A hallucination of a post-pubescent girl with a crush of irrational proportions.

Still, she spun around just to check if it was time to make an appointment with a therapi—

Her jaw hit the floor, eyes widening. The man in front of her sounded like Adrien, yet he barely looked the part. Most of his hair was hidden under a beanie, a pair of glasses framed his face. Baggy, black clothes covered his body. His chiselled jaw sported a light stubble, and a hippy backpack was slung over his shoulders. Not a shred of his classy self left, replaced by a sexy, casual chic version of the man.

“Adrien?”

He winked. “Looking beautiful as always, Princess.”

Her cheeks flamed despite her knowing better. He’d given her that nickname only because she was a clumsy mess, not because he was trying to flirt. Princess, aka "damsel in distress", someone in need of being saved. In her case, frequently being caught before she hit the ground as she kept tripping around him. Stupid Agreste and his stupidly handsome face.

A movement in the cafe caught her eye, and Marinette nervously grinned. Adrien was Nino’s best friend. There was no way he wouldn't know where Nino was taking Alya for their first date, which meant Marinette better be very careful in her words and actions, or else she wouldn’t be the damsel for much longer. The title of a “Creepy Stalker” didn't sound the bit least appealing to her.

“You look nice too,” she said, looking her best innocent self. “Different. I barely recognized you. I like the glasses. And stubble. Stubble is nice. Little of it. Not too much. Too much would look shabby. But yours looks good. Perfect. Not shabby at all.”

He chuckled, a corner of his lips curling into a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. It was one. A compliment.”

“Why, thank you.”

Another couple left the cafe, catching both of their attention. Marinette quickly shifted her gaze to the apples at the stall she was standing by. As long as she acted natural, Adrien wouldn't suspect a thing.

“So, what are you doing here today?”

She inwardly groaned and stashed a few apples in a paper bag. “Apples. I’m here for the apples.”

“What a coincidence.” Adrien picked one of the red ones and twirled it in his hand. “I’m here for the apples too. By the way… Nino just asked for the bill, so if you were planning to do more shopping in other places, I’d say that’s our cue to pay for these and get ready to leave.”

Marinette glared his way, her whole face burning up. That cocky smile, that glint in his eyes. Of course, he’d catch her. But she wouldn’t give up so easily or she wasn’t Marinette Dupain-Cheng: her papa’s pumpkin, her mother’s sweetheart, the future of Paris’ fashion! “I’m not spying on anyone if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I wouldn't dare to accuse you of such a thing.” He grinned, putting the apple back. “But… may I suggest a few tweaks to your disguise? You know, in case you’re still up for some non-spying activities today.”

“I don’t need any tweaks. I’ve been here for an hour, and they haven’t noticed me. I could tail them all day if I wanted to, and they would not notice me.”

She froze, the last of her hopes to escape this unscathed vanishing right before her eyes. Curse this man! It was his fault her brain was shutting down around him.

The corner of Adrien’s lips curled in a smile as he leaned closer. “You might be well hidden amongst the rainbow of produce here, but, believe me, as soon as you step outside, that bright red hoodie of yours will give you away instantly.”

“In your dreams,” Marinette huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “This hoodie is the only thing in my closet Alya hasn't seen yet. My sunglasses cover half of my face, and I let my hair down instead of my usual ponytails. They would never recognize me.”

“Well, I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s because you came close. They are at a distance.”

“Nino will notice someone trailing them in a bright red hoodie. Believe me, that man lets no detail escape him. But give me five minutes, and your own parents won’t recognize you even up close.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “What for? The date is over.”

“Far from it. Nino planned coffee, a walk around the city, and a movie. He bought the tickets this morning.”

Adrien seemed to be confident in what he was saying, but Marinette couldn’t trust someone she’d recently met over her best friend, even if she was in love with him. “I don’t believe you.”

“There is only one way to find out if I’m lying.” He stretched his hand towards her. “Shall we?”

Shall they what? Why was he even here? She had to get out of the house for physical rest and mental health. What was his excuse?

“And what are you doing here, M Agreste?”

“I told you already.” The corners of his lips curled up in a sly grin. “Apples.”

“Right. And you went all out on a disguise for that?”

“Precisely.” He grinned wider. “I also knew Nino was having a date nearby, and being the great friend I am, I didn’t want them to see me and think I’m spying on them.”

She wanted to smack that shit-eating grin off his face. But Nino and Alya were exiting the cafe, and Adrien tilted his head to the side, his hand still outstretched toward her. “So? Want to not spy on them some more, or do you have other plans for the day?”

No, she didn’t, and perhaps she should be smarter, but something inside her was melting by the second, Adrien’s smile slowly massacring any scraps of reason she still had. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny every word.”

“No one shall ever know.” He grinned. “Now, may I suggest a few tweaks to your disguise? To minimize our chances of being discovered.”

“Fine, but be quick. They are walking away.”

Adrien nodded and pointed to her hoodie. “Take this off.”

There was no time for questions, so she silently obeyed. The moment Marinette removed the garment, Adrien was already pulling his black sweater over her head.

“Wait! What are you—“

“Black is less conspicuous.”

“But what about you? It’s chilly, and your shirt doesn’t look very warm.”

“I’ll be fine. I wore that sweater for fashion, not because I was cold.” Stuffing her hoodie in his backpack, he looked her over once more. His face suddenly brightened. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out to the street in the direction of the nearest convenience store.

“We don’t have time for this,” Marinette protested as they neared the door of said establishment. “We’ve already lost them.”

“No, we didn't. We might not see them, but I know where they are.”

“I know that, too,” she grumbled. “In Paris. Where else? Europe, Eurasia. Planet Earth, Solar system. Hard to miss if you fly toward the Sun. ”

Adrien laughed. Long and heartfelt, the sound of his laughter brightened the space around them. There was still a glint of joy in his eye and a hint of mischief in his voice when he recomposed himself. “Nino spent hours planning their route yesterday, and yours truly was helping him. I know where they are headed. We’ll catch up.”

Hesitantly relenting, she followed him in the store, and once inside, Adrien disappeared somewhere between the rows. When he walked out, he was carrying a hairbrush, a couple of pins and hair ties, a small mirror, a plastic tablecloth, and a can of temporary hair dye. Quickly paid for, Adrien pulled her into the nearby alley. "Do you trust me enough for a blind makeover?"

A loaded question. She hardly knew anything about the man behind the carefully crafted image of his public persona. But Marinette loved surprises, and it wasn’t like Adrien even had anything that could potentially cause serious damage to her appearance in his hands.

“You aren’t going to cut my hair, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dare to even think about it.”

“Strangle me with that tablecloth?”

“It’s to protect your clothes from the dye. And before you freak out, it’s a temporary one. It’ll wash out with the first shower.”

At least it was pink—her favourite colour. "Don't make me regret this, Agreste."

“I promise, you won’t.”

She sent a glare his way. “If I do, you’re dead.”

Adrien laughed and slightly bowed. “Your trust means the world to me, Princess. Now, if you’ll allow me, I shall start.”

Marinette nodded, removing the sunglasses from her face. Adrien quickly draped the plastic tablecloth around her shoulders. The moment his hands ran through her hair, her brain short-circuited. It felt like heaven. Pleasant tingles cascaded down her skin at every touch as he brushed, tied, and clipped for what felt like an eternity yet was way too short of a period before he whispered in her ear, “Close your eyes and hold your breath for me for a moment.”

That would not be a problem; Marinette wasn’t sure she was breathing for the last few minutes anyway. He was too close. She could feel the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath, and that was doing things to her she’d rather not experience in a random alley off a busy street in the middle of Paris.

Oblivious to her internal turmoil, Adrien sprayed her hair with the temporary hair dye and proudly pronounced his job finished. The plastic tablecloth off her shoulders, he pushed a small mirror in her hands. “You can open your eyes and look now.”

Her speech was gone the moment her eyes caught her reflection. Most of her bangs were pinned back in the middle, only some of the hair framing her face on either side. The rest was gathered in two cute, messy buns on top of her head that had pink highlights all over them, something the tips of her bangs sported as well. It was a look she’d never thought of doing herself, yet somehow found herself loving more with each passing moment.

“Not bad,” she said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Are you secretly a stylist by any chance?”

Adrien chuckled, putting her sunglasses back on her nose. “Nope. But I did grow up in a fashion tycoon’s house watching makeup artists transform people to an unrecognizable degree with simple tricks.”

“Well, you have a talent, M Agreste. I really like this.”

"Why, thank you." Adrien grinned. "I do like the outcome, too. You were always cute, but now you're straight-up adorable. Like a little mouse. An extremely lovely little mouse. ”

Marinette looked away, taking a step towards a street. He wasn’t flirting. He was just complimenting his own work. He wasn’t flirting. “As long as Alya doesn’t recognize me.”

“She won’t.” Adrien followed her. “Hey! Maybe we should hold hands and pretend to be on a date? They’ll never figure us out if we do that.”

Her eyes widened as he offered her his hand. “Are you… are you asking me on a fake date?”

“Do you want me to ask you on a fake date?”

“I’ve never liked anything fake,” she huffed. “Says a lot about one’s character.”

Adrien chuckled. “Then it’s good that all I’m asking is to hold hands. For a better disguise, of course. Not faking. Real hand-holding.”

An earnest smile on his lips, he stepped closer, silently waiting for her reply.

Marinette swallowed, her eyes falling to his outstretched hand, one that looked more and more appealing to hold by the second. How would it feel to have her palm in his? If she chickened out now, she might not get another chance to find out. “Only for the purpose of a disguise.”

"Only for that," Adrien assured, entwining their fingers together, his gaze on her soft and gentle. "Allow me to be your guide on this non-spying, not-a-fake-date mission, Princess."

His words fell on deaf ears as Marinette struggled to keep her composure. Big, strong, and very warm. Somehow safe and secure. Like a lover’s embrace. Holding Adrien’s hand was everything Marinette didn’t know she needed up until now.

He must have noticed something was amiss, cracking a dumb joke to break the awkwardness as they started their walk. Marinette tried her best not to laugh, but Adrien kept going, each joke worse than the preceding one. Ten minutes in, and she couldn't believe she ever had a crush on this… man-child. Adrien was the dorkiest dork she'd ever met. A dork who asked too many questions. So many it felt like he wanted to know everything there was to Marinette. She didn't mind. There were quite a few things she wanted to know about Adrien, as well, and what better way to ask if not as a retaliation to his inquiries?

About an hour later, they spotted Nino and Alya on a promenade by the Seine, walking hand in hand just like them. Her friend beamed, laughing so hard, Marinette could swear there were tears in Alya’s eyes. Nino looked no less happy, grinning at Alya with a satisfied look on his face. A smile found its way onto Marinette’s face. Adrien watched them mesmerized, slightly tightening his grip on her hand.

“Everything looks good,” he said, turning to her. “Their next stop should be a music shop a few blocks away, and there are a few cafes just across the street. Want to get a headstart and have an early lunch?”

Marinette nodded. She could use a drink or two right now. A nice large glass of the cold water because Adrien seemed to take their… whatever-this-was way too seriously, being all attentive and gentlemanly and extra charming, and if not for his assurance they were not on a date, Marinette would’ve surely thought otherwise. Just as she suspected, her silly crush on this man seemed to slowly be turning into something more than a simple attraction. Something different. Something deeper and more profound.

“Awesome!” Adrien grinned, turning back to the town. “I’ll buy us movie tickets once we’re there. Where do you want to sit? I prefer the middle, but I’m pretty sure Nino got the middle row seats, so that’s a bit risky. Shall we try for the back row?”

A pinch of guilt nagged at Marinette. Another glance at their friends in the distance and she stopped, slowly pulling her hand from Adrien’s grasp, mourning the loss with every inch lost. “Perhaps, we should stop here.”

He halted his steps, looking down. Seemed like she wasn't the only one feeling guilty about this. “You’re right. This wasn't a good idea.”

“They deserve more than two stalkers for friends.”

“They do. I was just too curious. This is the first time Nino’s been so crazy about someone.”

“So you decided to secretly third wheel them?”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “You don’t get to judge me. We’re in the same boat in this. Apples and all.”

Marinette couldn't hold back a snicker.

Adrien interlocked his fingers behind his head, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I was really looking forward to that movie, though.”

“You’ll live.”

“Will I?”

“Absolutely, you big baby. Just go watch it by yourself if you want it so much.”

“But that’s not fun.”

“Better than stalking your friend on his date.”

“Then perhaps I should get my own. A date, I mean. For the movies.”

Marinette fell silent, her chest tightening. A guy like Adrien could have any girl he wished. And while she didn't think herself to be worse than anyone else, what were the chances he’d want her when girls like Kagami Tsurugi openly confessed their love to him?

“I guess you could,” she said, pulling out her cellphone to get an Uber.

“Then will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Go to the movies with me? Lunch and movies. A date. A real one. Nothing fake about it.” He was looking straight at her, a trembling smile on his lips, a soft glint in his eyes.

She blinked once. Twice. Her ears must be deceiving her. “Me?”

He nodded. “You.”

“But… Why?”

“Because I like you.” He stepped closer. “Because ever since you fell into my arms that first day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Excuse me, but I did not fall into your arms!” Marinette huffed. Amazing or not, she wouldn't allow him to trample her reputation like that. “I just tripped, and you happened to stand in the trajectory of my fall. Or rather, you moved into it because, if my memory isn’t failing me—and my memory never fails me—you almost ran across the room to catch me.”

Adrien laughed. “Guilty as charged, but can you blame me? You’re amazing, Marinette. You’re smart and brave and confident and so very beautiful. A guy like me could only dream of being worthy of your attention.”

“You kidding me, right? A guy like you can have any girl he wants.”

“But there is only one I need,” he purred, leaning closer. “Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I’d be the happiest man alive if she’d give me a chance. I’m prepared to beg on my knees if that’s what it’ll take.”

Somehow, her hand was in his. He brought it to his lips and laid a lingering kiss on her knuckles. How could she say no to those eyes and that confident smoulder with a hint of childish worry behind it? The way she felt about him, she wouldn't want to say no even if her life depended on it. Marinette kept her eyes on Adrien's when she shifted her hand in his grasp, entwining their fingers together. "Only if we go to a different movie theatre. I don't want to run into Alya and have to explain things."

“Sounds good to me.”

“And we’re getting soulmate ice cream at Andre’s before that. I want to check if we’re meant to be before I commit to anything.”

Adrien laughed, pulling Marinette into a hug. “I’m pretty sure I won’t even have to bribe the man to get the result I want.”

“You’re way too confident, M Agreste, you know that, right?”

“Only when it really matters.”

“And is this one of those situations?”

His gaze soft and loving, Adrien leaned down, his lips gently brushing against the flustered skin of her cheek. “You’re at the top of my ‘Really Matters’ list, Mlle Dupain-Cheng.”

Another kiss to her nose, he lingered for a moment before whispering, “May I kiss you the way I know you want me to kiss you now? Or shall I wait until the end of our date?”

There was only one answer Marinette could give him. “Right now would be perfect.”

***

This is a reworked chapter from my upcoming "Dreams of You" story. If you're planning on reading it, don't be surprised to see part of this as one of the chapters. Hope you'll enjoy both of them!

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrinetteapril2021 #first date #fluff #they're stalkers and they know it #aged up

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years

Note

hello!! i loved your last prompt and and i am also severely deprived of that sweet angst hahah;;; would you mind writing it for either swerve or whirl? thank you!! ❤💙

I take it you mean the oxygen prompt, and please correct me if I misunderstood, but if so I've got them here and I made them extra angsty for you! Fair warning there's some mild alien gore in Whirl's.

For the various posts of this prompt, I'll list the parts below!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: You're Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Swerve

·The two of you often chill in his bar together at odd hours, partially because the ship doesn't technically have a day or night beyond an artificial schedule that affects how bright the lights are, but mostly because you love having the special time just to yourselves and no bot else. You'll chat about earth culture, come up with drink ideas, tell wild stories that lead to even wilder jokes... More often than not you get very little productive done, but Swerve treasures every memory of you laughing atop the bar while he talks.

·It's either late night or early morning, technically, when an alarm briefly sounds before fizzling out. Confused by the lack of follow up commands, Swerve opts on the side of caution when he can't get anyone to respond by communicator, though it looks like they might've just been hit by an electric storm that's briefly knocked everything offline. Still, he follows protocol and seals the two of you inside.

·While the mood has been a little dampened, he refuses to let things get unpleasant, especially with no clear threat to worry about. The two of you decide to chill behind the bar and relax a little bit, as you're both a bit tired but obviously can't get any sleep with things being the way they are, and Swerve takes advantage of the quiet to do even more talking.

·He wants to cuddle with you, but he's way too afraid of rejection to ask, and as a result of that fear your relationship hasn't gone much further than hand holding or a few tender kisses. As even a little peck on his nose incapacitates him, you try to let him take the lead on affection for both your sakes. It's his very hesitation though, that prevents him from initially speaking up when you start nodding off at an alarming rate, nearly tipping over from your seated position on the floor.

·When he has to throw out a hand to keep you from falling back and hitting your head against the bar, he finally cracks. You snap to full consciousness, or as much as you can, to find yourself tired beyond all reason and the air around you stale and unnatural. It had been easy to ignore while focused on the adorable minibot, but now it's alarming, and combined with the earlier oddities you're forced to conclude something is wrong.

·He puts on his bravest face and doubles down on establishing communication, not that he's an expert on that front, but his determination and knowledge in other fields lets him get to work on a makeshift communicator that should be able to cut through any interference. You just try to stay awake and listen, as he talks non-stop while he works like nothing is amiss, but the nervous tremble in his hands gives away his internal panic.

·A brief and flimsy connection to an emergency channel doesn't make either of you feel better, but it does allow you to finally find out what's going on, as the panicked explanation from the other end lays out the chaos breaking out due to an enemy ambush that's not currently going well for either side. Much of the ship's infrastructure has been damaged, and while the invading forces are scattered, it's currently easier to list the systems that aren't malfunctioning. Swerve is too horrified by the mention of an atmospheric generator shutdown and forced expulsion to ask for instructions before the line goes dead.

·There's a full minute of unbreakable panic on his part, and only biting down on his fist prevents him from saying all the horrible thoughts racing through his head. He's a smart bot, he knows that downed atmospheric generators are bad for the ship, but absolutely fatal for you if not fixed fast enough. He's near a full on panic attack when you try to rise and comfort him, only to stumble and fall as the dizziness overwhelms you.

·Though you don't even break skin with your small tumble, he's immediately by your side and frantically asking if you're okay, gingerly lifting you off the floor as you reassure him with far more levity than the situation calls for. Realizing that oxygen must already be dangerously low, and that the shortage is likely responsible for your exhaustion and disorientation, he concludes he's on his own in regards to planning a way out of this. A lack of response through the communication line he rigged up confirms this.

·Still a mess but keeping it together for your sake, he sets you up behind the bar and finds some clean towels, ordinarily used to polish tables, and sets them up as a makeshift little bed for you to rest on. His experience with medicine is unfortunately not going to give him much aid in this situation, but he knows enough to realize you'll benefit from rest and calm instead of panic. He tries to explain this, but you can barely follow the rapid stream of words leaving his mouth as he lays you down, and his worry actually spurrs your clouded mind to try and comfort him.

·For once he pushes away your offered hand, despite loving your tender touch more than anything and having a terrifying inkling he may have limited time left to enjoy the comfort it brings him. Arming his security system, he prays he won't have to use it as he hunkers down and tries to keep you relaxed with more casual conversation, but the words feel meaningless as he looks into your dimming eyes.

·The two of you sit for what feels like hours, and his attempts at distracting you fade into more and more desperate pleadings for you to stay awake. Eventually he takes your hand between two of his own, his large palms gently holding yours between them as he blends begging with apologizing. You're only more confused by this, as the fog of exhaustion isn't enough for you to forget he's not at fault for anything.

·It's in this rambling that he confesses the true depth of his love for you, going on about what a wonderful person you've been to him and how every day since he's met you has been the best of his life... but he was so afraid of messing it up he always hid these feelings for fear of scaring you away. Now he knows that all he accomplished was wasting some of the precious time you two had together, and he promises not to make the mistake again if you get better and he has a second chance.

·In the haze of hypoxia you find the confession unbearably sweet, and smile up at the precious face you fell in love with at the first cheesy smirk. You were beginning to fear he'd never make his move...

·Your last moments of consciousness are lost to a solid banging against the door, one that's quickly overtaken by a not so friendly pounding and the denting of the solid metal by something big and heavy. Security systems primed, he grabs his blaster and prepares himself, suddenly far less afraid and far more angry. He won't let fear prevent him from keeping you safe.

·Aliens of unknown species storm the bar with weapons blazing, and the scene descends into chaos. His security system starts shredding the first of the attackers, but there's simply far too many of them to get them all, and your little hiding spot becomes their target in no time. Despite all your desire to stay awake and help, the oxygen content is just too low, and you slip into darkness while his optics turn one final time to you. The sight drives him to act.

·With everything he has, he opens fire and stands his ground, taking shots himself but hardly feeling the pain. Their numbers are reduced but simply too overwhelming, and he's forced to face them head on when they start closing in, enduring more and more egregious damage as he leaves the cover of the bar to brawl. He wishes he could say he saved the day, but his smaller form is beaten down and he's only able to watch as they close in on you... before Autobot reinforcements burst in to turn the tide.

·He's bleeding and nearing unconsciousness himself when the two of you are carried to the medical bay, and the last thing he sees is you clinging to life in another bot's arms... It should make him feel relieved, but he only drifts off in absolute misery over his failures. He couldn't keep you safe, he couldn't get you help, and he couldn't even overcome his fear to show you the love you deserved until you were at death's door. The feeling doesn't abate when he awakens in the medical bay to find you both alive and the threat defeated.

·Ignoring all medical warning, he drags his still aching body to your side the moment you're alone, tearing up at the sight of you so weak and your beautiful face obscured by an oxygen mask, and despite his relief to see you alive he can only cry. When you wake at the sound he's nothing but shoulder shaking sobs and apologies, and though your memory is blurred you're well aware that the blame he's putting on himself is entirely unwarranted. You use all of your strength to keep your mask on while embracing him from the berth.

·Accustomed to his low self esteem, you refuse to hear it this time, and remind him that as the bot who charged headfirst into enemy fire he's likely the only reason you're still alive. You fell in love with him because he's the kind of bot to always push on, no matter how afraid he may be, and if the two of you are indeed going to be more open from now on... you'd like to emphasize that you love him back. More than you've ever loved anyone. Your words encourage him to heft his aching frame onto the berth with you, where he tearfully returns your profession of love once again, before managing to maneuver the two of you side by side for the cuddling he always wanted. There's a lot you two will have to talk about, but for now it can wait, and you're so comfortable Ratchet can't bring himself to mandate Swerve return to his own berth when he returns.

Whirl

·As he's taken it upon himself to get you battle ready, the two of you are in the shooting range together as you often are, though the activities vary from actual practice to pure shenanigans. On occasion he'll try "trick shots" to show you what combat prowess really looks like, and apparently in his view it resembles standing on his head and trying to nail targets with his chest mounted guns. His level of accuracy would strike fear into the sparks of his enemies but honestly he finds your laughter to be a better reward.

·Being as wary of exterior threats as he is, and experienced at surviving them, he gets the sense of some impending trouble not too long before the alarm goes off. Instructing you to keep your tiny weapon, he keeps his own ready to go and pops you into his cockpit, both for the sake of safety and so you can "watch the show" if he runs in to anything. While he's calm and casual as ever, maybe even a little eager, you know there's a bit of caution holding him back. Otherwise he'd be sprinting down the halls and trying to figure out where the fun is before he misses any of it.

·When it becomes clear communication is being jammed, he opts to drop you off somewhere safe so he can sort things out, and the few bots you pass along the way aren't able to offer much help thanks to everyone being equally confused. In the end he decides his own room may be the safest place for you, as it's not too far and you know it well. Plus, you can always scamper off into the vents if things go sideways.

·You're halfway there before encountering your first enemy; an alien of unknown species who's not too tiny next to the sizable copter bot, and who wastes no time before trying to flee. Recognizing a scout when he sees one, Whirl pounces to take care of the threat, encouraging you to "watch and learn" while he gets a little showy in the headshot he follows up with a decapitation to be safe.

·You've seen him in action enough to expect these things, and while you're ordinarily his top morale booster when he fights, you find yourself a little too sluggish to provide your usual enthusiasm in your praise. Picking up on your lack of energy, he asks if you'd prefer more screaming for the next one, partially sarcastic despite you being fully aware he'll do it if you say yes. You brush off the fatigue and dizziness clouding your head as motion sickness from the ride.

·Ever cautious about your delicate organic nature, he decides to play it safe and see if he can get more information before continuing his blind trek through hazardous territory, though his plans likely won't change much from killing every enemy he sees. A somewhat functioning maintenance terminal at least gives him a chance to check up on the status of whatever is still working, so he pulls up the current readout. What he sees chills his spark.

·They haven't just been boarded by a large enemy ship, the Lost Light has actively been hacked, and the damage extends far beyond the communication systems being jammed. The atmospheric generators have been shut off and air is actively being purged from the ship, which is a slow process due to its size, but the concentration of carefully maintained elements is already dropping. That wouldn't be more than an inconvenience if you didn't need the oxygen being dumped to live.

·Barely able to skim the screen in the time it takes him to soak it all in, you're jostled and shocked when he pivots on his long legs and tears down the hallway in the opposite direction, leaving you in an even more confused fog than you'd been in previously. Though he's prone to unexpected decisions, this feels more like the result of panic.

·Answers to the questions you begin directing his way initially aren't forthcoming. All you get is uncharacteristic shushing or hushed murmurs not directed your way, his path starting and stopping seemingly at random to a destination you're far too out of it to guess. It isn't until you testily demand an explanation that you get one laden with frustration; he's trying to get you to the medical bay without any fighting!

·You're rendered speechless by the very idea. Whirl? Avoiding a fight? His unorganized and circular explanation about atmospheric generators wouldn't make sense even if you were coherent, but as it's getting harder and harder just to sit up, you don't have the energy to argue with him. His running almost makes it feel like you're hovering along, and despite the panic radiating through his frame, you find that the exhaustion weighing you down is quite hard to resist even as you strain drawing breath.

·Every minute he can feel you struggling, his naturally attuned senses picking up your faltering vitals as he would the weakening ticks of a fading clock. For once he's trying to be cautious despite every wire of his being screaming at once, clouding his processor as he tries to take an indirect path that won't involve a fight, painfully aware that you might not survive combat with a multitude of foes attacking him at once. Of course the delay is dangerous too, but what can he do? Keeping you alive is his only priority.

·As he's come to expect though, luck never favors him, and you're just stable enough to see the horde of enemies appear virtually out of nowhere as he closes in on the medical bay. Through the cockpit glass you have moments to process the threat before he growls out a promise; he's going to get you through if it kills him, but if you die before that he's gonna be pissed, so keep that little pump of yours beating, okay?

·Any remaining clarity in your head is gone in moments as everything descends into a bloodbath. Bullets fly through the hallway and blades start cutting in a maelstrom that's brutal even by his own standards, resulting in blood spattered glass obscuring your vision. All you have then is the lurching of his body as he strikes and the cacophony of battle, but you keep yourself breathing through it all, determined not to let him down.

·He's the most brutally effective he's ever been on such short notice, to the point he'd be grateful you can't see what he's reducing these aliens to, not that he's enjoying himself either. His chest is his only concern when it comes to defense, resulting in increasingly grievous wounds to every other part of his body, not that he cares too deeply. Every alien is just a collection of vital parts he needs to deconstruct, and he does so with everything he has available, even tearing his claws into vulnerable weak points when his sword is momentarily knocked away.

·By the time he's up to his knees in corpses he's losing all patience. He could have been at the medical bay by now, could have found a way to rig up some kind of atmosphere scrubber himself if necessary, but instead he's stuck tearing his way through these idiots. Do they have any idea what's at stake for him? What he'll do if he loses you now? As his strikes become cold and automatic, his thoughts drift back to the dark corners he'd only just started to leave behind, and he's left with a familiar feeling.

·He's angry. Not just in the logical sense, it's the raw and primal anger that has kept him alive but haunted for eons. He's angry at these cowards for killing you in a way that you can't really fight. Angry at the very air around you both, and how it keeps slipping away like the delicate tools his claws are too clumsy to hold, taking everything he adores about you with it. But worst of all he's angry at himself for falling in love, and painting a giant target on himself in the process, one he can't tell you how sorry he is for dragging you into.

·The burning will to survive blinds him to familiar color schemes until one is right in front of him, blocking his blade and screaming his name until an optic he didn't know was cracked is able to make out a team of Autobots. Ringing audials blur their words, not that he cares what they have to say. Ignoring them completely, he pries open his cockpit with what he realizes is his only functional arm, and pulls out your barely conscious form to wordlessly request assistance.

·Thankfully Ratchet is just behind the group and, for their sake, knows what to do and moves quickly. You can just make out a familiar optic above you as the final rush to the medical bay proves to be your limit, and you apologetically give a claw a squeeze as you drift off. Whirl only hears the medic say something about how they've been trying to restore communication for this exact purpose, and how they have oxygen ready, and they just need to hook you up...

·The moment he hands you over and medical assistance is offered to him, he refuses with a nearly violent outburst, threatening to make things much worse if anything is done before you're stabilized. Ratchet scolds him for the attitude but otherwise doesn't flinch as he lays your tiny body on a berth and stabilizes you with much needed oxygen. In an almost anticlimactic ending to the whole affair, Whirl is assured you'll survive, and in the haze of the realization it's over he can't bring himself to feel anything at first.

·By the time you come to he's allowed the worst of his injuries to be repaired. Sitting beside your berth in silence, he perks up when he hears you stir, leaning over you to keep the medical lights from hurting your eyes. A tender claw brushes your cheek as he dryly jokes about you being more trouble than a fleshy could be worth, but you can see his spark isn't in it. The entirety of it all rushing back, you hold the tip of his claw in awe at what he's done for you, but also to comfort the fear you know is hurting him. It's almost heartbreaking; how quickly he confesses that this has shaken him to his core. You ask if he's having any second thoughts, and the question seems to act like a jumpstart to his very being. He's not, he firmly assures you, he's only forgotten what it felt like to have something to lose again. It hurts; but every single moment with you is worth that risk, he learned that the moment he fell in love with you. You're worth feeling pain again.

#transformers #lost light #idw #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #tf #my writing #my asks #requests #transformers headcanon #anon #swerve x reader #whirl x reader #swerve #whirl #human reader #self insert

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babbushka · 4 years

Text

Backstage Bruises

Charlie Barber x Reader

1.5k ; Content Warnings: NSFW (riding crops, spanking, mild dirty talk/name calling, PIV/rough sex)

Kinktober Masterlist | Available on AO3

---------------------

“Okay, you know what, why don’t we wrap it up early?” Charlie claps his hands together in a sign of resignation, the breadth of his shoulders tense.

You wince, knowing that it’s your fault, knowing it’s because you’ve all been at this for hours but you keep fumbling your lines, missing your cues. By the looks of the faces on your fellow company members, you can tell they’re all thinking it too. They won’t say anything of course, not while you’re around anyway – not while Charlie’s around, for that matter, but you can tell they’re thinking it.

“We’ll meet back here tomorrow at ten.” He says, and the company breaks out into happy chatter as they all begin to pack their belongings.

Slightly embarrassed, you move to where Charlie is speaking with the stage manager. He immediately turns his attention on you, and for a moment, you’re lost in the brown of his eyes, how deep and open they are for you, before you cast your own down to the floor.

“I’m sorry Charlie, I don’t know what’s going on with me today.” You sigh and scrub a hand down your face.

“Did you get a chance to review your lines? I know it’s still early in rehearsals – ” Charlie starts, but you wave the question off.

“No it’s not that, I’ve been in this thing so deep over the weekend, I promise.” You’re earnest, and Charlie believes you, because he always does. He’s your Charlie, he always does.

“Then what is it?” He isn’t mad at you, he’s just concerned, it shows in the way his brow furrows, the way he places a hand on your elbow, the way he leans in towards you, wanting to envelop you into a hug and hold you tight, shielding you from the world, “You seem really distracted today.”

“I can’t help it, you’re very distracting.” You admit, and that’s it, isn’t it? The most embarrassing part, the part that somehow he understands more than all of the rest of it.

He grins, a great big smile on his face, because he knows exactly what you want, what you need, and he’s going to give it to you.

Taking a few discreet glances, Charlie nods in the direction of behind the stage, and you follow as casually as you can. Everyone is still in the theater, all gathering up their things and talking amongst themselves, wondering what sort of dinner plans everyone has, how everyone’s teaming up for cab rides home. The red velvet curtains are still open, but no one notices you and Charlie slip behind the façades of the set pieces, no one pays you any attention at all.

Down down down the long corridor that leads from the back of the stage, Charlie brings you to one of the prop rooms. It’s quiet here, with thick doors and walls that trap the sound, perfect for what you need. Your heart thuds in your ears and your thighs begin to squeeze together in anticipation of what’s coming.

He surprises you though – when he picks up a riding crop. You bite at your bottom lip, regarding him carefully, watching as he gives an experimental smack of the crop against his palm. It’s loud, but you know that no one would be able to hear.

“What is that doing here?” It’s a stupid question, because why was anything ever in the prop rooms, but Charlie gives you an honest answer, one of those things about him that always makes you smile.

“Probably leftover from another production.” He smacks his palm again, and this time, this time the noise travels straight to your stomach, making it tense and flutter, making you wet. He knows, you know that he knows, especially when he does it a third time and says, “Bend over.”

Clutter fills the room and gives you the perfect perch to bend yourself over, a stack of storage boxes from a decade ago that happen to be just the right height for you to brace yourself. You do, your knees already turning in, and Charlie wastes little time in kicking your feet apart once more as he pushes up your skirt.

“Why aren’t you wearing underwear?” The question comes out more as a demand, a growl, and you’re already so wet, already so ready to do whatever he asked of you.

“I was…well I was hoping we could – oh!” The first hard smack comes down on your ass, and you’re gasping around the sound it makes when it meets your flesh.

“Count for me.” Charlie murmurs as he soothes the sting with the palm of his hand, a gesture you’d be grateful for if you weren’t already reveling in the pleasurepain of the impact.

“O-one.” You blink through surprise tears, back arching and hips pushing out towards him, your pussy feeling especially empty, clenching around nothing. “I was hoping you’d fuck me, in your office. After rehearsal.”

“No wonder you were missing cues – ” Charlie smacks hard again, this time on the other cheek.

“Two!”

“ – You’ve been thinking about this big cock, is that right? Do you want it?” He bends over you, drapes himself over your body. He’s so warm, always so hot, especially as he grinds his crotch against your bare ass, the fabric of his trousers scratching at your sensitive skin.

“Yes please, please stick it in, fill me up.” You look over your shoulder with wet lashes, hoping to catch his lips in a kiss.

He gives it to you, kisses you and slides his tongue against yours as he quickly yanks at the button of his pants and pulls his cock out. You’re so wet that he can slip his cock in between your folds and nudge his head into you with little resistance, and you do your best to relax to take him.

“Slut, look at you, perfect thing.” He kisses you a final time, before the crop comes down onto the side of your thigh, making you pitch forward and moan.

“Three! Oh fuck, Charlie it stings so good.” You hiccup out, still pushing your hips back against him, fucking yourself on his cock, little thrusts because that’s all you can manage, but it’s more than enough to get your eyes shut tight and your toes curling in your shoes.

“You like it? Like being punished this way?” He grabs you by the hips and pushes himself fully into you, your load moan bouncing off the walls of the prop room, trapping inside the rows and rows of storage shelving. He smacks your flesh with the crop again, “You’re not going to be able to sit down for the rest of the fucking day.”

“Fourfourfourfour.” You’re panting hard now, the combination of the crop and his cock is too much, your clit throbs and you want so badly to touch it, but you need your hands to brace yourself against the boxes. Tears drip down your cheek as you gasp and arch and wriggle under the crop for, “Five!”

Five seems to be the magic number, because you hear the clatter of the crop hitting the floor, and suddenly both of Charlie’s hands are on your waist, holding you nicely and fucking you with a harsh and fast rhythm that you know is going to get you both to coming very quickly.

“Good girl, you’re so fucking pretty, I wish you could see what you’ve done.” He bends over you once again, his stomach on your back as he bites and sucks at your shoulder, giving you those backstage bruises you so desperately craved, his own voice raw and dark when he says, “I love you, I love how wet your pussy gets.”

“Just for you Charlie.” You take him as best as you can, until the wet slapping of skin on skin is all that fills the air, punctuated by your moans and gasps and his grunts and groans groans groans.

“Say my name again.” He orders, a hand slipping around to your clit and giving you the release you need.

“Charlie!” You nearly shout at the surprise of your orgasm, as it licks and ripples up through your spine, behind your eyelids, into your skull, lightning captured in a bottle as you practically beg, “Come in me?”

“Fuck.” Charlie grunts one last time, his hips fucking into you erratically until they don’t move at all. He pants low in your ear, kisses your throat, smiles against your sweat sticky skin, “Let me take you back home…rub some lotion into these welts.”

“Mmmmmokay,” You’re hazy and dizzy in the best way, knees weak for the moment while you ride this high. You can’t help but giggle a little as he pulls out of you with a wet squelch, tucks himself back into his pants. You try to get a peek at his cock before it goes, grinning as you suggest, “Maybe then you can help me practice these lines.”

“Oh I’ll help you alright baby.” Charlie smirks, pulling you into his arms and kissing you hard, “I’ll help you.”

#charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber/reader #charlie barber x you #charlie barber/you #marriage story #adam driver character #adam driver fanfiction #charlie barber fanfiction #charlie barber smut #kinktober 2020 #my writing

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mxndoscyarika · 4 years

Text

Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 1

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: food/drink mention

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: I’m so excited for you all to read this story! Special thanks go to Lynn (@mindless--ramblings) for always being so supportive and helping me stay inspired! Ever since I found out Pedro now has two characters named Marcus, I’ve wondered about ways I could connect them in one piece of writing. And this? This is that piece of writing. Moreno won’t be making an appearance in this one, but I hope Pike will make up for that 😉 Enjoy!

Ground floor.

First floor.

Second.

Erin He took a deep breath, thankful that the elevator was empty. She straightened the collar of her shirt as the fourth floor approached. At her side was her government-issued laptop, which she’d picked up from the front desk. Her fingers gripped its edges tightly. This was it. She made it.

The elevator let out a soft ding and opened its doors, revealing a floor of cubicles and conference rooms. Austin sunlight filtered through large windows, illuminating the space alongside the bright fluorescent lights.

She stepped out, searching for the art theft department’s main office. As much as she understood the need for technology specialists across all the FBI’s branches, she never quite grasped why she was placed in the art theft department, of all places. She always thought she’d be in the operational technologies department, developing and maintaining tools for others to use. Though she couldn’t blame them; intellectual property was highly valued and often stolen.

The email said to report to the department supervisor’s office for a quick onboarding, but they didn’t exactly mention what it would be. It could’ve been anything from a quick handshake to being told to shadow a coworker. Hopefully the former.

Part of her begged to the gods of computer science that she wouldn’t be assigned to yet another condescending old white man. Her last welcome at a company had been less than mediocre, and lukewarm at best.

The other part of her nagged that she’d signed up for exactly that.

“Ah, there you are. Welcome to your first day, Special Agent He,” the department supervisor–Harold Strauss–greeted as she entered his office. He gestured to the man standing in front of his desk. “This is Agent Marcus Pike. He will be showing you the ropes today.”

Agent Pike looked at her over his shoulder, the corners of his lips curling in a friendly smile. He couldn’t have been much older than her, with his faint smile lines and soft brown hair. He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned around to face her.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied. She shook his hand and then extended her hand to Pike. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking time out of your day to show me around.”

“Likewise,” he replied, shaking her hand. His brown eyes sparkled as he proposed, “Should we start? I have a meeting in about half an hour, and I’m sure you’ll want to meet some of our operational techs and digital forensics team. They’re the backbone of everything we do here.”

They acknowledged their supervisor once more and then left to begin the tour.

As her personal guide gave her the rundown of the floor’s organization and workflow, Erin couldn’t help but sneak a couple more glances at him.

He was taller than her by a few inches, but not in such a way that she felt like shrinking into herself. And he always stayed at her side, never walking ahead or lagging behind. His strong jaw led her gaze to a pair of soft lips, which seemed to be in a perpetual smile as he talked about the breakthroughs the department had in the past days.

“Do you know where your desk is?” Pike asked.

“Yeah, they told me the other day,” she answered, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ears. They walked over to her assigned desk, which was barren save for a standard computer, box of pens, and notepad. “If you’re going to ask if I need help with setup, I think I should be alright for now. Nothing a few installations and linux commands can’t fix.”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “You’re living up to your title, Agent He. If I’m being honest, I don’t think I could’ve been much help even if I offered. Have you done work similar to this before?”

She shrugged. “I worked in cybersecurity and software development,” Erin replied, setting down her bag and laptop on her desk. Slipping off her black blazer, she continued, “But I figured I should do something more than just build products for tech companies. Use my skills to aid in investigations.”

He nodded in understanding. “I see what you mean. Actually, I was originally studying to be an art history professor. But then I found this job and figured I could use my knowledge to help find and preserve artworks.”

Hm, noble.

“Sounds like we aren’t so different,” she observed, following him across the officespace. “Let’s hope that I can be of help around here.”

He chuckled softly, the dimple in his cheek showing as he smiled. “I think you’ll fit right in.”

---

The words on the screen blurred into the white background of the screen, as if they were mocking her. Each line of test slowly lost its meaning, turning into mind-numbing strings.

Erin pushed her computer away and rubbed her eyes defeatedly, sighing. The department was launching an investigation regarding a museum that was broken into and wiped clean. What little data was left on the computers, from what she gathered after hours of poring over them, was largely useless. Hopefully, one of the other agents would find something helpful in the other remnants. Perhaps an address, or some sort of signature that could be traced to a group. Her, on the other hand? She just wasted hours of work.

A steaming cup of coffee was set down onto her desk, along with some sugar and tiny cups of cream.

She looked up to find Marcus–Pike, she reminded herself–standing at her side, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Find anything?”

“Nope,” she sighed. It turned out that Pike was one of the best agents in the department, and that meant he spent most of his time leading and organizing investigations. What that meant for Erin, then, was that she had to answer to him. Thankfully, he was never weird about it. Quite the opposite, actually. Tapping the side of the cup, she asked, “Is this for me?”

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah! Sorry; I would’ve fixed it, but I wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee.”

“Well it’s nothing complex, if that’s what you’re nervous about,” she teased. Two sugars and a drizzle of cream turned the pitch black liquid into a deep brown. She took a sip, the placebo of caffeine already kicking in. “When you’re in STEM, you learn to appreciate caffeine in any form. But I like it like this.”

“Noted,” he said, his voice a soft timbre amongst the flutter of papers and clacking of keys. Hands resting on his hips he asked, “How long do you think it’ll be before you find anything?”

“Anywhere from an hour to another three...or five,” she sighed, lazily scrolling down the file. Basking in the steam from her cup, she continued, “I’m gonna need a lot more of this coffee. There has to be something useful in this file, I just need to find it. I might need to cross-reference with some of the other evidence to notice anything.”

A headache was already descending upon her, and she was only six hours in. Weak–she’d stared at a computer much longer without any problem many times before. Why, of all times, did it have to happen when she was talking to her coworker?

“Well, I’ll be here pretty late tonight, so if you need anything, just let me know,” he replied, patting her shoulder. The crease between his brows deepened as he squinted down at the screen. “Maybe you need a fresh set of eyes on it. Take a break, Erin.” At her responding pout, he reasoned, “It’s been almost a month and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you rest.”

Of course he noticed her breaks, or lack thereof. She rolled her eyes, hiding a bashful smile in her cup. “I work best in sprints.”

He hummed amusedly. “But even sprinters need breaks, don’t they?” Then, his eyes lit up. “Actually, why don’t you take a break now?”

Erin raised a brow. “Am I not taking a break right now?”

His laugh was warm. “I mean a real break. Let’s get lunch; my treat.”

“Are you really going to make me choose between food and digital forensics, Agent Pike?”

Nodding definitively, he replied, “Yes, Agent He.”

Unable to resist the prospect of free lunch, she gave in and followed him out to his car. The work would still be there when she returned. For the moment, she could just enjoy Marcus’s companionship.

He drove out to a local diner about ten minutes away, his turns confident as if he’d gone there hundreds of times before. Judging by the way his eyes had sparked with joy at her agreement, he probably had.

They let their shoulders relax in the serenity of the car, shedding the formalities and passing time as if they were close friends.

The diner was small and cozy, booths worn with age and serving breakfast all day. Erin’s lips curled up in a little smile as the hostess recognized Marcus. So he was a regular, after all.

They sat down across from each other in a booth. Erin shrugged off her navy blue blazer and smoothed her dark hair back into a thick ponytail.

As she fixed her hair, Marcus gave her his recommendations, leaning in with the menu so she could follow along with her eyes. He seemed particularly fond of the pancakes, so she decided on those. Surely he wouldn’t lead her astray.

And with the way his voice rasped just slightly, she could listen to him speak for a whole day.

“Honey? Did you hear anything I said?” he asked, tilting his head slightly with a little smirk.

Erin snapped out of her reverie, cheeks burning. “Oh, um. Yeah. Sorry, I spaced out for a bit.”

“No worries, it happens to all of us,” he reassured, laying the menu flat on the table. “What were you thinking about?”

Less than an hour had passed before they were back in the office, stepping out of the elevator with full bellies. The familiar clicking from computers and buzz of conversations filled the air, and they were officially agents again.

Erin turned to him and nudged his arm. “Hey, thanks for the break.”

“Anytime,” he replied, walking with her along the perimeter of the room. They stopped at the hallway leading to the conference rooms and offices. His large hand moved to rest on her arm, his thumb rubbing gently. “I guess this is my stop. You know where to find me.”

“And you know where I’ll be.”

The next day, Marcus was greeted in his office by tupperwares containing homemade fried rice, some cut up fruit, and a sticky note.

Thanks for sticking with me yesterday. -E

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he tried to refrain from grinning like a maniac, though he was sure anyone who happened to pass by would’ve thought he looked like a schoolgirl with a crush. Erin’s handwriting was soft and curved, so similar to calligraphy but simple in a way that made the note feel that much more intimate.

She had an interesting way of showing her care for others, he found. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the work she dedicated her life to; she seemed to always be one step ahead, ready to pull out small details that others would dismiss. He wondered what she might know of him.

There were a few things she clearly knew; things that surprised him every day. Just as he’d learned her usual coffee order, she’d learned his. When he’d walk in every morning, her head of dark hair would tilt to peek over her cubicle, as if she could sense his presence. And when their eyes would meet, her smile was better than the best espresso in the world.

Marcus shook his head to himself as his heart fluttered. Years of failed relationships and a divorce later, he still couldn’t keep his feelings in check. His mother always said he had a soft heart, one that would be his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. But Erin was anything but a weakness.

She wasn’t a weakness, but a strength. A constant in his life, making each day feel just a little more special. He didn’t need a relationship to be happy, but….he wouldn’t be opposed to one either.

Yet, as he spotted Ian Malarkey standing a bit too close to her, he forced himself to backtrack. What if she didn’t want him? What if they were meant to be just as they were: just friends?

Maybe it was time for him to move on.

After a few months, their friendship had grown well past a workplace acquaintance. It wasn’t as if she was trying to get attached to him; it just...happened. And it was only a little surprising to her; she tried to stay as professional as she could in the office, but outside? Outside, she could just be Erin, not FBI Special Agent He. Outside, she could shed her jacket and swap the button-down shirt for a ribbed sweater and some jeans. Outside, she and Marcus could sit as close together as they wanted without drawing unwanted attention.

She knew it was silly to fantasize. After all, Marcus was a coworker, if not a superior. And with the way he fussed over her water intake and made sure that she wore her glasses at the right times, he could easily see her as a little sister. As nothing more than a new agent who happened to be friendly.

But if that were true, why would he go through the effort of bringing her lunch on Thursdays? Why did he call her little names like “honeydew” and “sweetheart,” and why did it feel so natural coming from his mouth?

The commotion coming from the direction of the conference rooms told her that the team was back from the investigation. Maybe Marcus was there; she knew he’d gone, but he hadn’t texted since morning. It wouldn’t hurt to pop in to check on him; he did that often enough with her.

When she entered the break room, her heart sank. Sitting off to the side, by the wall, was Marcus asking Teresa Lisbon out on a date. She wasn’t sure why she felt defeated; it wasn’t like she had any plans on asking him out.

But then why did it hurt her to the core to see him giving those puppy eyes and little smiles to Lisbon? The woman didn’t even look interested in him; if anything, she looked confused and hesitant.

Ian caught her eye as she surveyed the room once more, his lips pulling into a tight-lipped smile. He knew about her feelings for Marcus, having spent hours going over evidence and making small talk. In fact, he’d even encouraged her to tell Marcus her feelings, out of fear that she might never get the chance.

Perhaps her chance had passed after all. Turning on her heel, Erin decided that, for once, it was time to go home. Marcus would come to her when he was less busy.

The thing was, though, she didn’t want to go home. She wanted to go over and say hello, and check to make sure he wasn’t injured in the scuffle. Moreover, she didn’t want to be a fill-in for Lisbon’s absence. She didn’t want to be his second choice. And she knew it wasn’t her fault, nor Lisbon’s, that Marcus didn’t choose her. But it still stung.

She watched as their shared lunches became less frequent, the senior agent replacing her space by Marcus’s side. When the elevator would ding at 7AM and she’d glance up to see if it was him, she found him searching the room for Lisbon. They never drifted over to her desk. That fact always made her grip her pen just a little tighter.

On the days when he did grace her with his presence, she felt like a tornado of emotions.

Happy, because she had missed her best friend.

Sad, because she knew the next time she’d spend time with him was in a few weeks rather than a few days.

Grateful, because she knew how hard it was to socialize after a work week of at least 50 hours.

Envious, because of the stories he told.

Relieved, because he still cared.

Plastering a halfhearted smile on her face, Erin listened to Marcus practically worship his girlfriend. His summer breeze of a smile and sparkling eyes made the pain that came with listening worth it. The only other time she’d heard him talk that passionately was when they’d visited an art museum.

At least one of them was happy.

She thought of trying to date again; it had been over a year since she’d been in a relationship. But she couldn’t do it. More than once, she’d put on some simple makeup and casual clothes, ready to head out to the bar, but no. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the apartment. The apartment was where she and Marcus watched movies, where she would cut up fruit and bring them to him on a plate while he pored over reports in the warm lights of the kitchen. It was where he’d navigate her cupboards and fridge to make her a mug of his special hot chocolate. It was her safe space, the one place in her life where she could just be Erin, and he could just be Marcus.

The knife cleaved the melon in half with ease, revealing its pale green interior.

Marcus leaned up against the counter next to her, hair tousled and necktie loosened against his chest. He absentmindedly started rolling up his sleeves, undoing the cuffs of his shirt and folding them up.

She tried not to stare too long at the way his forearms tensed with the movement.

He broke the silence first. “I got the job in DC,” he said, voice soft like velvet.

“That’s great.” A simple response, though Erin cringed internally. Was that any way to react to her best friend’s job promotion? Surely not, but a part of her–a selfish part of her–knew that it meant he was leaving. Leaving not just his position, but her. Texas. The apartment.

It would’ve been disingenuous for her to say anything more.

Then, he added, almost sheepishly, “I also asked Teresa to marry me. And move to DC so we can be together.”

The blade of her knife hit the cutting board a little harder than normal. “Oh. That’s nice.” Cutting away the tough outer skin, she forced herself to ask, “What did she say?”

He sighed and crossed his arms, biting his lip as if to contain a smile. “She said she’d think about it. But I think she’ll come around. I kind of, uh, sprung it onto her the other night.”

And yet there he was, standing next to a woman who would’ve been ready to say yes. But even so, she said, “I’m sure things will work out between you two. You’ve already given so much to your relationship; it would be a shame for her to not see how great you are.”

She slid him a bowl of perfectly cubed melon.

Smiling softly, he took the bowl into his hands. “You’re the best, honeydew.”

The best, but not the one.

“You’re just trying to get on my good side before you leave for DC, brown eyes,” she jested, nudging him with her elbow. Her chest filled with warmth at his laugh. She tried her best to hang onto that feeling, to that sound. “When are you two leaving?”

“I’m already about halfway packed,” he mused, chewing on a cube of honeydew thoughtfully. “So maybe within the week? I hope that’s enough time for Teresa to make a decision.”

There was less time than she thought. She hummed softly. “Are you sure that’s what she wants? That it’s what you want?”

He nodded confidently. “Yes, I...I know that I don’t have the best track record with relationships, but something about her feels right.” The bowl was set into the sink and filled with water. “I’m happy, honey. You don’t have to worry.”

Erin’s eyes burned as she quietly replied, “Okay.”

< previous chapter | next chapter >

TAGLISTS: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

PERMANENT: @cinewhore @randomness501 @theghostwiththemost-babe @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catfishingmorales @halfwaythereroyal @fioccodineveautunnale @talesfromtheguild @tortles @ladamari68 @theokatcov @snivellusim @starryluce @inked-poet @browneyes-djarin @shedobewritingalittle @chews-erotically @thefandomimagines @emesispo @mindless--ramblings @phoenixhalliwell

HONEYDEW: @leemorrigan @houseofthirst @littlevodika @engineeredfiction @inkyzinky

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #Agent Pike x reader #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal fanfiction #we can be herores #the mentalist #the mentalist x we can be heroes #my writing #honeydew

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starsinmylatte · 3 years

Text

A Song Among the Stars

Chapter count: 2/?

Rating: Mature 🔞

Relationships: Grand Admiral Thrawn/Original Female Character

Tags:

Space Opera (literally)

Slow Burn

Slow Romance

Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con

Never by thrawn

Sexual Tension

Mix of Legends and Canon

Art Enthusiast Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo

Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo is protective of his muse

Ballroom Dancing

Imperial Star Destroyers (Star Wars)

Imperial Officers (Star Wars)

Angst and Romance

Canon-Typical Violence

Chiss (Star Wars)

Chiss Ascendancy (Star Wars)

Masquerade

The Empire shows off

Imperial style

Phantom of the Opera AU if you squint

Thrawn finds his muse

Total word count: 5,506

Chapter 1: Overture

Song suggestion: Reflections- Toshifumi Hinata

I lingered in the bath, fully understanding that I was only delaying the inevitable. The warm, aromatic water swirled around me as I began to dread the next few hours. Soon, the handmaidens assigned to prepare me for tonight would arrive to ensure my compliance.

At an earlier point in my life, I would have resisted all of their attempts to shove me into the various gowns, gems, and the absolutely appalling shoes that had been chosen for me. I had actually bitten the first girl that tried to change my outfit forcibly.

The handmaidens were all extremely wary of me after that incident, but, somehow, three of them had managed to become my only true friends on Coruscant. Despite my best intentions to hate everyone, Talle, Kaia, and Ahni were the only ones who bothered to understand my story.

Though each of us was from a different planet, we had all been taken from our homes by the Empire. We all served high-ranking Imperials, but my main role was different. I was a piece of Imperial propaganda. I was painted as the poor girl from the Outer Rim whose singing talent was discovered by the Empire and given a place to shine for the whole galaxy to see.

My train of thought was immediately interrupted by the sound of three very familiar sets of footsteps entering my room and a sing-song voice that rang out, “Oh Lyra! It seems that you’re stuck with us yet again.”

I let out a genuine snort before retaliating. “Kaia, you know nobody else wants to be anywhere near biting distance of me. You’d have to be personally requested by Lady Tarkin before anyone would consider switching jobs with you, and that’s saying something.”

I suddenly shuddered as I remembered my last encounter with her. Thankfully it had been brief, but it had still felt like an eternity. “That woman is so unpleasant.”

The second voice jokingly mused, “I don’t know, sometimes you can be almost as miserable as her. Now come on out of the bath. We have to start getting you ready.”

“Just five more minutes Talle.” I groaned, “I can just feel that tonight will be particularly long.”

Kaia laughed as she poked her head into the refresher and handed me a mug. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that, and that’s why we’re here ten minutes early.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Before you even begin to ask about it, here’s your shig.”

I shot Kaia a friendly scowl before immediately perking up at the mention of my favorite tea. I had always been partial to caf, but there was nothing better than a steaming cup of herbal tea before a performance. The citrusy scent of the behot immediately filled the small room, and holding the warm mug in my hands was instantly comforting. I let out a sigh of pure bliss, “Stars, you are a wonderful friend.”

Kaia winked before exiting the refresher. “Oh, I know.”

As I enjoyed the last few minutes of my bath, the tea brought back memories of my home. Before the Empire had taken me, a cup of shig and a hot bath would have been considerably rare, and the chances of both happening on the same day, even rarer.

Back on Ero, life was more mundane. My father always had quality goods on hand, but as a trader, he couldn’t just let his daughter drink all of his products. There were also no fancy bathtubs because they were a waste of precious drinking water, so almost everyone used sonic showers instead. I could resent the Empire all I wanted to, but there was no denying that I was at least well provided for. Somehow that made me hate my captivity even more.

I gripped my mug as I fought the other memories that tried to resurface. It had gotten easier to push them down as the years passed, but the pain was still there. Flashes of my capture, my time spent held on a Star Destroyer, the captain that had trapped me in his quarters…... The last thing I needed was to slip back into these memories.

Then there was a gentle hand on my shoulder. The sudden presence made me jump, but I saw Ahni’s smiling face when I looked up. Her face was both a comfort and a constant reminder that the Empire had hurt many people besides me. She had a beautiful deep green complexion marred by the scars from her capture that ran across her face and entire body. Ahni rarely spoke, but she was still extraordinarily expressive and always had ways to make her emotions known. Realization flashed across her face before she bent down and hugged me.

We shared an understanding moment of silence before Kaia yelled in from the other room. “Come on, Ly! We have to get you into all this kriffing fabric sometime today. I heard that we managed to get one of the better options, but tonight everything is special, so there’s more to do than usual.”

Stars, I almost forgot, I mentally berated myself. Tonight’s not only the biggest party I’ve been expected to perform at so far, but it’s the kriffing Masquerade too.

I immediately began cursing under my breath in every trade language I knew as I leapt from the bathtub, wrapped a robe around myself, and ran out of the refresher, closely followed by a very amused Ahni.

My apartment was quite lovely for basically being a prison. I had a plush bed with privacy curtains, a small vanity, a bedside table, a closet filled with outfits, and a tiny enclosed balcony. Having a private refresher made it very close to luxury.

I walked over to the vanity and had a seat. I had been prepared for Imperial events far too many times and knew the procedure that was about to happen by heart. I used to protest that I could get ready myself, but preparing for an Imperial ball required way more thought and perfection than anything else and by now, I put my trust in Kaia, Talle, and Ahni.

Tonight demanded absolute perfection.

The Masquerade was a collection and celebration of the Empire’s most significant members, and my role was to be the sparkling gem in the center of everything. I knew my true purpose tonight involved way more than my renowned singing ability. My presence tonight was pure propaganda. I was a message to every person on every planet in the Empire. This could be you. The Empire is generous. If this insignificant girl from the Outer Rim could be here, you could be here too.

I had already been warned about the consequences if I fell short of what was required tonight.

Hours later, the process was finally complete. Talle had powdered, colored, and shaded my face to her precise standards. She had even filled my lips in with a deep red pigment and darkened my eyelashes to complement my icy blue eyes. Not to be outdone, Kaia had coaxed my long blonde hair into an elegant, intricate updo inlaid with black and white quartz.

The dress came last, and it was stunning. When Ahni opened my closet, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Whoever had selected it had undoubtedly wanted me to stand out. There would be no shortage of finery tonight, but I was to be resplendent.

Talle was completely astonished for a long moment before she spoke, “I do believe this is the least horrid thing they’ve picked out for you.”

Ahni nodded vigorously in agreement while Kaia and I remained utterly speechless. The dress was breathtaking, even just on the mannequin.

Getting into the dress was a three-person endeavor, but the struggle was utterly worth it. The long, form-fitting black dress perfectly hugged every curve from the floor up before tapering just slightly above my cleavage. There, the material shifted to the left, wrapped behind my neck, and then formed a sleeve that draped down my entire right arm. However, the most remarkable thing about the dress was the fabric. Any and every way that I moved caused the material to shimmer like the thousands of stars twinkling in the night sky.

I was provided a single thick, gold cuff for my left wrist, and even though the hem of the dress would cover them, heeled slippers made out of the same fabric as the dress.

Talle smiled and carefully handed me the final missing piece. “Now, now,” she jested, “you can’t go to a masquerade without this.”

The mask she handed me was so intricately ornate that it easily could have been mistaken for black lace, but it was actually made from a lightweight metal inlaid with dozens of sparkling diamonds. When I put it on, it rested just above my nose to conceal the upper half of my face beautifully.

As Kaia secured the whole thing in my hair with more pins and gemstones, Ahni produced a floor-length mirror from the closet. In my performances on Eros, I had worn dresses that were considered elegant in the Outer Rim, but there was no way they could ever compare to this. For the first time in my life, I was stunned at my appearance. I had never been overly confident, but now I felt absolutely beautiful.

Talle laughed, “Just try not to stop any hearts tonight. The Empire might lose important officers, and then we’d all be in trouble for making you look this good.”

Kaia placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her snickering, and Ahni looked highly amused by the thought.

I just rolled my eyes, “I think their partners would probably get to me first.”

That sent everyone over the edge, and we all laughed to the point of tearing up. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Ahni went over to open it, and two officers decked out in their Imperial best stepped into the room. The shorter officer locked eyes with me and blushed furiously before looking away.

The taller one finally spoke, “Good evening Miss. We will be your escorts for the night. If you wouldn’t mind following us, we have a speeder waiting to take us to the venue.”

I smiled at the officer, “Thank you, I appreciate it. If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside, I’ll finish up and be out in a second.”

He nodded and signaled to the other man. They stepped outside, and I immediately pulled Ahni, Talle, and Kaia into a big hug. “Thank you all for your help and for being my friends; you make this so much more bearable. I’ll see you when I get back tonight.”

After a few seconds, we broke apart and finished our goodbyes. I smiled at my friends one last time before walking out of the room to join the officers.

________________________________________________

Chapter 2: Aria

Orchestra tuning: The Imperial March (Glory of the Empire)

Lyra’s final song: Roméo et Juliette, CG 9 Act 1: “Ah, je veux vivre danse ce rève” sung by Aida Garifullina

*TW* brief Attempted assault/non-con towards the end of the chapter

The officers outside of my door stood so close that I almost ran headfirst into the taller one when I stepped out.

“Apologies, Miss, we thought you’d be a little longer,” the man managed as he smoothly sidestepped me before acknowledging his previous blunder, “It also seems like we’ve forgotten to introduce ourselves.”

He briefly paused to take his place beside his partner before continuing. “My name is Captain Dreycolt, and this is Lieutenant Arkmad. It’s an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance and we both actually have you to thank for our presence at the Masquerade tonight.”

Arkmad, who was still noticeably red in the face, nodded sagely. “None of the higher-ranking officers wanted to be stuck with a job at the party; however, the rest of us were fighting to even be included. We happened to fall at the perfect place on the pecking order,” he smiled slyly.

I raised a single eyebrow at Arkmad and gave him my most saccharine smile, “Well, I’m glad that this will be an enjoyable job for you, even though you’re stuck with me.”

His face flushed several shades deeper, and he started to stammer. “M-My apologies M-Miss. I n-never meant to imply….”

Dreycolt promptly tapped him on the shoulder to cut him off before turning back to me and smoothly taking my hand. In one fluid motion, he leaned forward, slowly raised it to his lips, and gallantly kissed the top of my hand. He smiled up at me through lowered lashes, “However, any job that is this beautiful couldn’t possibly be so bad.”

Now it was my turn to blush and I prayed the mask hid most of it because Dreycolt was definitely an attractive man. His caramel-colored hair was neatly trimmed with darker eyebrows and eyelashes framing his warm amber eyes. The uniform he wore fit him exceptionally well, and the slight stubble on his chin tickled my hand as he pressed his lips to it. After what felt like an eternity, he released his grip, and my hand returned to my side.

There was no doubt Dreycolt’s distraction from his lieutenant’s blunder had worked as intended. I could tell he knew as much from the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You flatter me, Captain. If all Imperial officers are as pleasant as you, perhaps tonight will be more enjoyable than I expected.”

Of course, all officers aren’t as kind or practiced in flattery, I thought darkly. These two seem bearable enough to talk to, so I’m at least grateful for that. After all, they’ll be keeping me company for most of the night when I’m not on the stage.

His annoyance at the situation briefly flashed in Arkmad’s eyes before he cleared his throat. He did not seem to enjoy being sidelined for his misstep.

“We should be on our way by now,” he chided. “The airspeeder has priority clearance to travel outside of normal traffic lanes, but I don’t want to explain why the Empire’s star performer is late for her practice time with the orchestra.”

He was, of course, right. Dreycolt jokingly bowed and gestured out into the hallway. “Lead the way, Miss.”

With the Captain and Lieutenant flanking me, I walked through the twisting hallways of the building towards the balcony where our airspeeder was docked.

I was still somewhat dreading the Masquerade, but at least the ride would be pleasant and I would even get to see the sky again. It sounded like such a small thing to enjoy, but coming from Ero to Coruscant was a massive shock in so many ways. I could always see the sky and the stars glittering at night in the Outer Rim but Coruscant was a completely different story.

Though my apartment was beautiful, it was nowhere near the skyline. I played an important role, but it was definitely not important enough for me to live among the rich and powerful. The towering buildings above me kept all traces of natural light from finding my little room, and while artificial light was better than living in the dark, it held no comparison to the real thing.

When we reached the airspeeder, Dreycolt jumped into the driver’s seat, and Arkmad helped me into the back before taking his place in the seat beside him. At the press of a button, a smooth, clear dome slid overhead and enclosed the craft.

I couldn’t resist making a joke. “For both your sakes, I’m glad there’s a roof. You would have to deal with my very unhappy hairstylist if her work was ruined.”

Dreycolt let out a deep-chested laugh, and even Arkmad’s stormy facade cracked into a smile before the airspeeder pulled away from the building, and we were finally on our way.

Since I was expected to be at the venue early to rehearse, night had not yet taken over the cityscape. The sky was cloudy as usual, but light still fell to glisten and reflect across the tops of the tallest buildings. The view was absolutely breathtaking.

I all but shoved my face against the clear dome to take in all of the incredible scenes spread out below. Thousands of speeders, taxis, and transports wove around the many buildings, each with a different purpose and destination. I was beyond captivated by all the people and their freedom to go wherever they pleased, whenever they wanted to.

Before I knew it, we had arrived at one of the most palatial homes on the highest level I had ever seen. Dreycolt stopped the speeder at the balcony, although calling it a balcony was a massive understatement, and Arkmad helped me out onto the landing. I had become accustomed to the splendor displayed by the most influential Imperials, but this was on another level entirely.

An enormous garden lay spread out beyond the balcony’s opulent landing pad. The path we walked down extended its way throughout the entirety of the grounds and wrapped around a massive central fountain before it continued up into a set of stairs that I could only guess led to the main ballroom.

Statues depicting the most famous Imperial victories lined both sides of the walkway, which eventually branched off to different garden sections on each side. Upon closer inspection, the central fountain proudly displayed the Imperial Crest carved into stone so dark it could’ve been mistaken for a solid shadow.

Every single hedge, bush, or flower we could see was maintained to standards of perfection that would impress even the Admiralty of the Imperial Navy. The sweet scent of the many exotic flowers lingered in the air, and the sounds of water trickling from the fountain made the garden almost seem peaceful.

Dreycolt let out a low whistle that made both the lieutenant and I jump. Evidently, he had passed the speeder off to another officer while we were distracted. “Stars. I had heard the constant squabbling over who would get to host led to an amazing result, but this is insane.”

Arkmad nodded, “Someone told me the Emperor personally picked the host and venue. I have no idea who was picked, but they certainly did an outstanding job with the preparations.”

“I wish I were able to walk around,” I sighed wistfully. “It’s been years since I’ve been in a real garden.”

Dreycolt smiled, “Well, Miss, perhaps after your performance, we can arrange that.”

The grin that crept across my face was hard to hide as that simple thought became all of the encouragement I needed to get through the night. As the three of us began the walk to the ballroom, I realized that whoever had designed the path had done so with women’s shoes in mind, as it was completely smooth and comfortable to walk on. Kriffing hell, they really thought of it all.

Before long, we reached the top of the stairs and entered the ballroom. I didn’t think anything would outshine the garden, but I was so very very wrong. The garden was the pinnacle of control and order, but the ballroom exuded absolute elegance.

As we reached the top of the stairs, another officer was waiting to announce our arrival, but I was so captivated by my surroundings that I barely heard what he said. Beyond him was the main dance floor. It looked to be made out of the same dark stone as the fountain, but it was polished so thoroughly you could easily see your reflection looking back at you if you looked down. At the far end of the room, a small but wide set of stairs led up to the stage where the orchestra was busily setting up. More stairs just inside the entrance led to the upper floor, which was filled with tables draped in brilliant white cloths for people to sit and enjoy the spectacle of the dancing below them. A massive, crystalline chandelier hung over the ballroom and blood-red sashes decorated the balconies.

There was so much more to see, but, unfortunately, I wasn’t there to spectate.

As I walked up to the stage, I stopped to greet the conductor of the orchestra; Skath Farri was an old friend from the conservatory where I had trained. He was invited to Coruscant for his considerable talents and was never permitted to leave. Now, he conducted the Imperial Orchestra. No one could know our relationship was anything more than professional, or we’d never see each other again.

“Ly! You look gorgeous, my dear.” He greeted me with the usual platonic kiss on the cheek and inconspicuous wink. “Are you ready to shine tonight?”

That was his unique way of checking in on me. He was very aware that I had never entirely given my voice, or heart, to the Empire. I followed orders and sang the songs they wanted, but the emotion that drove my greatest performances was still in the Outer Rim. There was a marked difference between my performances here and Ero, but only someone like Skath would ever notice. I still played my part of the obedient songbird, but I refused to give them all of me.

I smiled back at him. “Just about as ready as I’ll ever be. They sent me a rather impressive list of everything I’m to perform tonight. At the very least, I came prepared.”

Skath just smiled knowingly before he shooed me onto the stage to begin warming up with the orchestra. Time seemed to stop as I rehearsed, but before long, the guests started to arrive and I was sent over to wait in my spot in the backstage wings until it was time to perform.

I could only see the stage, but I heard names, both familiar and not, being announced upon their entrance. The ballroom began to fill with voices as the guests trickled in. All of a sudden, a musical cue played, and the room went deathly silent. A ghostly hologram flickered to life in the center of the stage, and the shadowy form of the Emperor appeared.

“Welcome, my friends. I trust you will all enjoy tonight as a celebration worthy of our great Empire.” He paused for applause before continuing. “Now, it is my wish that you use this time to reflect on the victories that brought us to this moment. I assure you there will be many more in the future.”

The Emperor stood for even more cheering before holding up his hand to silence the crowd. “Now, let my Masquerade begin!”

His hologram flickered slightly before disappearing altogether as the lights dimmed, cuing me to get on stage. I walked out to stand in the center of the stage, and as soon as I reached my place, the lights slowly returned to their former brilliance.

I was no stranger to performing, but having every single Imperial in the room staring at me was enough to give me butterflies in my stomach. Thankfully, before they could settle in, Skath cued the orchestra to begin with a flick of his baton. The opening notes of the first piece, a current favorite on Coruscant, swelled to life, and I began to sing.

Almost immediately, the officers and politicians turned to their spouses or began to venture off in search of a dance partner. The crowded dance floor began to clear slightly, as others had no interest in dancing and were only there to make connections. The first song ended with tremendous applause, and I began the second. You can do this. Just take it one piece at a time.

By now, I was calm enough to enjoy myself and to watch the dancing and it quickly became apparent that everyone in attendance had tried their best to impress. The ladies wore beautiful, elaborate dresses made out of the best materials and representing the latest fashions from every corner of the Empire. Politicians displayed the most richly colored and finely tailored clothing they owned and Imperial officers were in their usual dress uniforms, but no one was seen without a mask.

There were all kinds of masks on display. Some were crafted entirely from gems or precious materials to show off resources from their home planet. Others pulled designs from legendary animals or myths. There were even some covered in exotic feathers or flowers, but every mask was distinctive in its own way.

Hours passed as I continued to sing. Slowly but surely, I made my way through the extensive list of songs on the program until only one remained. The last song required using a specialized instrument, so I retreated to the wings for some water while it was being set up.

Suddenly, Skath appeared and sprinted towards me. He spun me around to face him fully, and I was in shock at how frazzled he looked. Even his voice was strained. “Lyra, you have to trust me. I have no idea who asked for this, but they were important enough to change the final song we planned. Every member of the orchestra was given the new sheet music, and a stand was set out for you.”

“They want me to sight-read a piece on a night as important as this?!” I gasped indignantly at the thought.

Skath’s face was grim. “No. You’ll know it, but you won’t be happy about it. We don’t have any time left, so we’ve got to get back on stage. For what it’s worth….. I’m so sorry.”

My stomach sank. If he was this upset… I had no idea what to expect. However, there was no choice but to walk back to my place on stage and pretend nothing had even happened. With every step, the sinking feeling in my stomach grew.

It was so much worse than I ever could’ve expected. There was no way anyone here besides Skath should know about this song, but here it was in front of me. It was my favorite piece of music and the only one I’d sworn to keep from the Empire forever. The piece that had been the star of my first major performance on Ero after I left the conservatory.

Before I could even finish my thought, the orchestra cued up. The first few notes began, and every single one of them felt like a knife to the heart. My muscle memory kicked in, and before I even knew it, I was singing.

Thoughts flew through my head while I choked my way through the opening verse. What would I do? Do I keep my promise and hold back, or do I seize the chance I was forced into and truly sing from my heart? Memories of Ero, my family, and my friends all returned as the song continued. My voice began to flow over the music as I made it my own. I remembered my father’s smile and how proud he’d been of me for my music.

Courage suddenly coursed through me like liquid fire. I’d show every kriffing Imperial here what a daughter of the Outer Rim was truly capable of! I was wrong to hold back my emotions before. They could take me, bring me to this place, and shove me on a stage, but they could never control my voice. The Empire wanted me to be their emotionless puppet. My voice wasn’t exactly quiet before, but now it rose to fill the entire ballroom. I was going to burn myself into the mind of every Imperial present. Whoever requested this song would not see me subdued; they would see me triumphant. I poured every ounce of bottled-up emotion into my music, and my voice soared. Then, I had sung the final note, and it was all over.

You could’ve heard a code cylinder drop in the ballroom after the orchestra finished. The dancing had all but stopped, and people were leaning over the balcony to watch me. I curtsied, preparing to exit the stage and receive whatever punishment was in store for kriffing up the Masquerade, but then the thunderous applause began.

I kept my curtsy for as long as possible before my knees started to buckle. Everything left in me had gone into the song, and I barely made it into the wings before I collapsed. Fortunately, Captain Dreycolt was there to catch me before I hit the floor.

I smiled weakly at him. “Since the orchestra is taking it from here, now might be a good time for me to get some fresh air.”

He grabbed Arkmad, and together they helped me out one of the side doors into the garden. I didn’t want to be seen in my weakened state, but thankfully the garden was empty. Most people seemed to be still dancing or otherwise occupied. Those that were in the garden didn’t appear to have ventured this far.

Dreycolt stopped and pointed at the hedge maze, “There’s a small sitting area in the middle. The only way in or out is through the maze. Why don’t we take you to it so you can rest? Arkmad and I will stand at the entrance and exit to make sure you aren’t bothered.”

I had no complaints; the idea sounded fantastic. We made our way through the maze until we reached the center. It was small and only had enough room for a bench, but it was paradise to me. Arkmad helped me onto the bench before making his way to the exit. Dreycolt gave me one last worried glance, turned around, and headed back towards the entrance. The crisp night air felt wonderful on my face, and I began to relax. I closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and started to feel normal again.

The sudden sound of footsteps startled me. Assuming it was Dreycolt or Arkmad, I rose to meet them. For the second time that night, I was profoundly incorrect. A cold, sly voice broke the silence as the face that haunted my dreams stepped into the area. “Hello, Lyra. I bet you thought you’d never see me again.”

Icy fear washed over me as I was thrown into complete shock. Standing in front of me was Girerd Bost, the captain that took me from my home and attempted to violate me in every way possible. The starlight shone on his face, illuminating his narrow, glacial eyes and the nasty scar to the right of them. I hissed at him, “Captain Bost, what an unpleasant surprise.” I gestured to his scar, “It’s a real shame that didn’t heal better.”

He had the decency to look hurt by my cutting words as he moved his pale hair to the side and softly traced the scar. “Unfortunately for you, it’s Commodore Bost now.”

Before I could even blink, he lunged at me, grabbed me by the throat, and shoved me down onto the bench. Bost leaned forward and whispered into my ear. “Those two boys waiting for you were certainly brave. They tried to argue with me, but they couldn’t disobey a direct order from a Commodore no matter how much they wanted to.”

He paused briefly to trace his other gloved hand over my face. His touch revolted me and made my skin crawl; he seemed to take pleasure in my discomfort before continuing, “Now, there’s no one nearby to interrupt us…”

At that moment, he made the mistake of stroking my lips. It was my turn to lunge forward, and I bit down on his hand hard. Bost screamed and released my throat to grab his bleeding fingers. I leapt up from the bench and bolted past him, sprinting as fast as possible towards the maze’s entrance and praying that I wouldn’t hit a dead end. He was chasing me by this point, screaming obscenities and threats of what he would do to me. Finally, an opening in the hedges appeared. I glanced behind me to see if Bost was close behind, but as soon as I turned my head, I suddenly collided with a very large, solid thing.

The hedges made it way too dark for me to see, but from the soft grunt I heard during the collision, it was another man. I recoiled backward defensively as Bost rounded the corner. The mysterious man glanced at him, looked back at me, and seemed to judge the situation quickly. He swiftly stepped in front of me to block Bost’s path. At this point, all my dignity flew out the window, and I hid behind his tall figure. I just had to trust fate that I was better off with him than with the Commodore. In contrast to Bost’s loud cursing, the other man’s voice was impossibly soft and collected when he spoke. “Commodore, I believe this woman would like to be left alone.”

Still distracted by his hand, Bost howled, “Just who do you think you…..”. He looked up at the man and abruptly shut his mouth. Before he could re-open it, my unknown hero spoke again. This time his voice had a definite edge, and an unrecognizable accent slightly marred his words.

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Seventh Fleet. I trust you will have no further issues with me asking you to leave.”

#grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #thrawn fanfic #fanfic #ao3 #also on ao3 #star wars rebels #star wars the clone wars #star wars legends #Thrawn x oc #mitt'raw'nuruodo

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thefanficmonster · 4 years

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Late Nights

Andrew (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, a bit of Angst

Summary: Late nights are famously accompanied by deep conversations. The type to keep you up like a full dose of caffeine. Those are the best, most relaxing and freeing conversations you’ll ever experience. Good thing Andrew and Y/N are the perfect company for each other when it comes to those exact talks.

Requested by Anon. Hello! I’m sorry there is no specifications on your request. You requested for some Andrew x Reader fluff and this idea immediately dawned on me haha. I hope you like it and I’m so terribly sorry for the wait. Hopefully the final product makes it worth your while. Looking forward to hearing your feedback and receiving any other requests you may have! Love, Vy ❤

A random notification sounds from my phone, scaring me out of my peaceful, dreamless slumber. Oh wait, I’m not in my bed. I’m sitting at my desk, surrounded with sheets of paper with notes I’m supposed to memorize by my 8 AM exam. Speaking of that exam, it’s in less than five hours. I’ve been studying for what feels like days, but my head still feels as empty as it was at the start of the semester. The way I see it, I have two options: I can either die from a caffeine overdose or from the heart attack this exam will cause me. No in-between and no other options. Just death. Maybe not in the literal sense, but if you ask me, burn-out should be considered death and that’s exactly what I feel right now. And the fucking exam hasn’t even happened yet, for fuck’s sake!

I lift my head to look at the clock on the wall and instantly get dizzy. Thankfully, I’m still seated. Damn, this calls for more caffeine.

“Hey T, can you -“ I look behind me in search of my roommate who’s supposed to be pulling this all-nighter with me. Needless to say, she has perished.

I already have an idea of where she might be, but the sticky note she has left on my dresser confirms it.

~ Daniel has more notes. Come to the floor lounge

Oh, hell no. I am not that committed to passing this exam. I am not about to be a third-wheel for five hours and feel miserable afterwards. Correction: More miserable than I’m already going to feel. Good thing there are two staircases on either side of the floor so I don’t have to pass through the lounge in order to get to the dining hall. That’s the only place I could obtain coffee and if I don’t I might just die right here on this desk.

I put my slippers on, throwing a jacket over my pajamas as well. It’s January and the dorms could not be colder. I swear to God, they are trying to build our immunity and resistance to cold one freezing night at a time. The heating doesn’t do much even if it’s on, which is a rare occurrence considering it’s faulty and doesn’t work 80% of the time. I leave the dorm, quietly shutting and locking the door behind me before taking the right hallway instead of the left. I wander around the dimly lit hallways, some of which don’t have lighting at all, my arms folded over my chest in a pointless attempt to bring myself more warmth than the jacket is able to provide me. No matter what I do, I can’t get rid of the intense shaking that started from my torso and has now spread as far as my bottom jaw.

I navigate the halls, mumbling curse words to myself while doing so. Having taken the long way, I have an extra two minutes or so of freezing before I can find myself in the warm and cozy dorm. Taylor and I bought a small heater for Christmas cause we were not having it with the shitty heating system. Must say, that’s a better investment than all the money I threw to be here.

The dining hall is dark as usual. The only lights are the exit sign and some small lights on the vending machines. And the glorious coffee machine! I can just imagine myself turning into a heart-eyed emoji looking at it.

“All-nighter?“

The voice is so sudden and so out of place, it startles me to the point of letting out a half-scream and immediately backing away towards the entrance of the dining hall.

“Hey, it’s ok. It’s me.“ A light appears at one of the tables, illuminating the person holding it.

I sigh in relief when I finally get a good look at the person opposite me. It’s Andrew - a classmate and friend of mine. We have creative writing together and a few other classes. We’re in the same friend group as well. I started hanging out with him more through Taylor’s boyfriend Daniel who’s roommates with him. I’m glad I met them both, they are really fun to be around. However, recently, Andrew hasn’t been himself. It might be a stretch, but I think it’s because of the upcoming field trip our creative writing professor John has organized. I have tried asking him what has been bothering him but he always brushes off my concerns by claiming nothing’s wrong.

“Jeez, Andrew. You scared me half to death.“ I place a hand over my racing heart, taking a deep breath to calm myself down, “You’re lucky I didn’t chuck anything at you.“

He has the audacity to laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” He puts his phone on the table, flashlight facing up at the ceiling, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

I return to my previous task, “Getting coffee, can’t do without it. What about you? Do you just hang out here, waiting for student-zombies to scare?” I get my four cups of coffee, balancing them in a very risky way to where he’s sitting. “Want one?”

His eyes widen, “These are all for you?” I nod, “And they are all just straight espressos?” I nod again, “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

I scoff, “That’s plan B. For now, I’m just trying to stay awake.” I knock back one of the cups, trying hard not to cringe at the unpleasant flavor due to the lack of sugar. “You didn’t answer my question.” I say after getting over the initial battle to get the coffee down without puking.

He hesitates, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the tabletop. I can tell he has spaced out, leaving me unsure of weather I should nudge him again or let him return to reality at his own time.

“I, uh....I had a nightmare.“ He says despite his eyes still carrying that thousand yard stare. “Daniel wasn’t there, and I didn’t want to stay alone in the dorm, so I came here. A lot more open. Not so suffocating.“

I frown, “What was the nightmare like?” I don’t try to hide my concern, there is no reason to do so. I want him to know I care, that I am and I always will be there for him. Even if it’s just as a friend, I will take what I can get. This is not the time to be thinking of anything more than being a good friend and helping Andrew.

He shrugs, his eyes slowly lifting to meet mine. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last cause he shakes his head, breaking eye-contact again, “You’ll think it’s ridiculous.“

I put my hand on top of his, stopping the repetitive tapping of his fingers. This causes him to reconnect our gazes. After a two second confirmation that he won’t look away, I speak up, “You could tell me elves chased you around with axes and I still wouldn’t say that, Andrew. Come on, talk to me.”

He sighs, nodding his head. I take this as a positive sign and give him an encouraging smile. Instinctively, I start withdrawing my hand as I lean back in my seat. To my surprise, he turns his hand, taking a hold of mine when he begins to speak.

“They started a week ago, when John told us about the trip to Little Hope.“ he still hesitates, but I still consider it progress. “It’s always one of two nightmares - it’s either a housefire which non of us survive or...I can’t even explain the other one.“

I give his hand a comforting squeeze, “Take your time. I know it’s tough.”

“Um, we are at this ruin of a house and we, well, you guys get attacked by these deformed, demonic monstrosities. I can’t get to you. I can’t save you. Darkness takes over my brain and all I hear is horrified screams and calls for help. And then I wake up. Terrified.“

I am terrified just picturing it, let alone experiencing it. I’d probably sob like a baby and refuse to go to sleep ever again. “That’s horrible, Andrew. I’m so sorry you have to go through that.” I pause for a second, “Little Hope is a place with terrible history, I can’t blame you for being so hesitant about going. I’m a sucker for these types of places, but I completely understand your angle.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I believe I overheard you saying you’d like to visit Centralia.“

I can’t help but smile, “Oh, I’d love to.”

Suddenly, completely out of the blue, he gets a spark in his eye. He becomes livelier, almost like new life was breathed into him. Pushing back his chair, he stands up and takes the remainder of coffee cups. “Well, that’s not gonna happen if you kill yourself.” Without batting an eye at my baffled expression, he throws the cups in the trashcan near by. “Let me help you with the studying. Two work better than one, after all. I’m sure you’ll grasp everything better if you have an actual person explaining it to you. Also, I’d like to make up for the time you wasted here with me.”

I get up as well, “No need, seriously. I can figure it out. Apart from feeling so energized I could run a marathon, my brain is working a lot better now. You go try to catch some z’s.” I wave my hand dismissively but he catches it mid-motion, mumbling a quick ‘come on’ before leading me out of the dining hall and towards the staircase I took earlier.

* * *

It’s been about two days since that night and history is over here repeating itself. I am, once again, pulling an all-nighter, this time alone because no one else from my friend group shares this class with me. You’d think I would have learned my lesson and would start studying at a reasonable time, granting myself both peace of mind and a better functioning brain, but NOPE. Actually, I’m beginning to think I can’t study at any other time of day. The late nights/early mornings give me the best atmosphere. Those hours before dawn are the quietest I’ve ever had the chance to experience - for studying and just chilling on the roof of the dorms. The dining hall is still a place I frequent. I can’t help but hope to run into Andrew every time I walk in that big, eerie room. I haven’t been so lucky, though. We got the results of our last exam today and I was, and still am overjoyed for the grade I got. Not only was it a passing one, it was a SOLID passing one. I can swear, if it wasn’t for Andrew’s help, I would’ve failed it with the lowest score in the class.

“How does this work...?“ I mumble in frustration, reading through the poorly written notes I’ve made. Full disclosure - this is my nap class. This is the class I spend spacing out and - as its title suggests - taking naps. I am surprised I have as many notes as I do.

Taylor, being the great friend she is, refused to budge from our dorm, determined to help me in any way she could. I appreciate the gesture, don’t get me wrong, but having another person would defeat the purpose of being up this late, so I talked her into sticking to her original plan - hanging out with Andrew and Daniel at their dorm while I fry my brain cells.

Just as I’m about to take a sip of my third coffee for the night, my phone starts ringing. I look at the phone screen that’s displaying Andrew’s name and straighten up in my chair, ready to launch myself out the door in case he needs my help. Screw the exam.

“Hello? You ok? What’s wrong?“ I blabber into the phone after picking up the call

“Hey, sorry for bothering you. Hope I didn’t wake you up. Um, I had another nightmare....never mind. Sorry for calling.“ His voice is shaky and hesitant, almost as if he’s speaking with zero air in his lungs.

My concern shoots through the roof, “Don’t you ‘never mind’ me! And don’t apologize! Meet me in the dining hall in five minutes.” I jump to my feet, pulling my jacket on with my unoccupied arm.

He sighs, “I’m already there.“

I nod distractedly, momentarily forgetting that he can’t see me, before leaving the dorm. I power walk the familiar hallways, the only reason I’m not running being the late hour and the trouble I’d get in for the noise.

I stop right outside the dining hall doors, giving myself five seconds to compose myself so I won’t look absolutely unhinged when I walk in. I get that it’s pointless, considering I have massive bags under my soulless eyes, but a girl can try.

Pushing the door open, I am met with small, flickering dots of light hovering over one of the tables. The outline of Andrew’s silhouette is also visible, but nothing more. It takes me a second to realize the lights I was looking at were three small candles.

“Andrew?“ I whisper-call his name while I’m still at a distance of about ten feet, cautious not to freak him out by approaching without making my presence known.

As I near the table, the candle-light illuminates his face enough for me to be able to see that he doesn’t look at all like what he sounded like over the phone. Something about his gaze when his eyes meet mine screams ‘I’m so glad you’re here’, but then again, that might be wishful thinking. Apart from that, he looks rather normal - not like someone who just had the most horrific of nightmares. Actually, I think I can see a hint of a smile forming at the corners of his lips.

“Hey Y/N.“ He greets me, “Ready to study?“ He points to the several notebooks and sheets of paper neatly stacked on the table. Next to that pile is a similar one of snacks.

My eyes widen, “Wait, what? What is this?“ I narrow my eyes at him, “Is this your way of dealing with the nightmares or something? It’s completely ok if it is, don’t get me wrong...“

He shakes his head, the smile now fully formed on his face, “No, Y/N. I actually haven’t had a nightmare since that night you found me here. This...” he motions to the table, “...is several things. First of all, a celebration for your passed exam. Second, a thank you - cause I believe you’re the reason the nightmares stopped. I just needed to talk to someone about them and you were the only person I could do that with properly. And third, I know you have an exam in a few hours, so I wanted to help. We make great study-buddies, don’t you agree?”

I’m honestly speechless, “You schemer.” I’m smiling and blushing like crazy and I couldn’t be happier to be surrounded by darkness at this moment. “How did you even get these notes? You’re not in that class.”

He gives me a conspiring smirk, “That’s classified info.” He hands me a coke can, “No more coffee for you tonight.”

“You interrupted me on my third cup, but better late than never I guess.“ I giggle taking the handed soda and taking a seat on the chair opposite him. “Thank you so much, Andrew. Really, it means a lot to me. How am I supposed to repay you for this?“ I can tell he’s about to protest so I hurry to stop him, “No, no, no. You can’t change my mind on that.“

He sighs in defeat I can only guess is fake, taking the smirk on his face into consideration. He contemplates whatever’s on his mind for a second, buying himself time while he opens a soda can for himself. I copy his action, opening mine as well. “Um, well, there is one way I can think of....” he trails off, avoiding eye-contact. The brief moment I manage to catch his gaze I give him a nod, encouraging him to go on. “How about calling this a date?”

I am shocked. No, ‘pleasantly surprised’ is a better term to use. ‘Overjoyed’ an even better one.

The blush I thought couldn’t get any darker or more wide-spread just proved me wrong. Despite the chilliness of the dining hall, my face, neck and ears are on fire. Once again, a big thank you goes to the darkness that surrounds us.

Instead of showing off how surprised and happy I am, I lift my soda can in the air, “It’s a date then.”

His smirk turns into a relieved smile as he takes his can, clinking it against mine, “It’s a date.”

@sparrow-gg @artlovingbre @chairtiger

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theharellan · 4 years

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Solas Fan Banter

Here’s a compilation of the fan banter I’ve written over the years between Solas and other canon Dragon Age characters, posted for Dragon Age Day 2020. There are references to a canon divergent Solas/nb!Lavellan companion romance. I’ve regretfully not written any Iron Bull banter that I’m proud enough of to feature here, but if anyone has any suggestions for topics I’d be glad to hear them.

Featured characters: Solas, Cassandra, Varric, Sera, Blackwall, Vivienne, Dorian, Cole, Morrigan, Cullen, Leliana, Valta, Renn, and Arcane Advisor Merrill!

Solas & Cassandra

(after receiving the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Cassandra: And he was not even a mage. Shameful. Solas: Would have it been justified if he was? Cassandra: The Templars have sanction to punish apostates. It would not have been beyond their authority. Solas: I would not call that justified, merely legal. Cassandra: The Templars should be better. Solas: The Chantry armed them and gave them an enemy. That might fuel an army, but will only serve to poison their minds against innocent people, apostates or no.

Solas & Varric

(after killing the Templars during the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Varric: I thought at least away from Kirkwall I could get away from crazy Templars. Solas: You believe they were mad? The men I saw were no different from those who confronted us in Val Royeaux.

(after delivering the ring)

Solas: She seems to be holding up well, considering. Varric: Yeah, but I know a front when I see one. Solas: You believe she was suffering more than she let on? Varric: Oh, I know it, Chuckles. That ring might comfort her when the country gets too quiet, but it won’t dry her tears or– shit, do much else, really. Solas: Some wounds only time heal. Varric: And they always seem to leave ugly scars.

(after beginning Here Lies the Abyss)

Solas: You found Hawke after all. Varric: Oh, you know. All those heroics jogged my memory. Solas: Naturally. Varric: What, you going to lay into me, too? Solas: No, no. I understand why you hesitated. (if Hawke is a mage) Solas: To involve her in a Chantry organisation would not have been wise, at least before it had a chance to prove itself. (otherwise) Solas: Given her involvement in this war, I can only imagine there are those on both sides who would blame her for their present predicament. Varric: You mind telling all that to Cassandra? Solas: I would prefer not to.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke is left behind)

Solas: I have read your book, you know. The Tale of the Champion. Varric: I don’t know if now’s the best time. Solas: I understand. I only wanted to say that in reading it, I felt your affection for Hawke in every word. I am... sorry, for what happened. Varric: Thanks, Chuckles. Solas: Of course.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke survives)

Solas: You said your farewells to Hawke? Varric: Sure did. Sent letters home, debated sending letters to Weisshaupt. The Wardens will need to know the storm coming their way. Solas: You believe Hawke will pose a problem? Varric: Well, maybe not on purpose.

(in the Hissing Wastes, while exploring dwarven ruins)

Varric: I’m surprised you’re not hounding me about how all this makes me feel, Chuckles. Solas: I had thought we established your disinterest. Varric: Yeah, well. I’m thinking about it, anyway. Solas: If you insist. How does this make you feel, Varric? Varric: There’s a tiny part of me that’s really satisfied, you know? Seeing a Paragon of all people living on the Surface, then the rest of me just doesn’t give a shit. Solas: Tradition is a difficult thing to shake, to be conflicted is expected. Do you think our discovery here ought to be shared with Orzammar? Varric: I don’t know about Orzammar, but I can think of a few Surface dwarves who’d be interested in this.

Solas & Sera

Solas: I could not help but notice what you were drawing at breakfast. Sera: What? I wasn’t drawing anything.

(if Sera is romanced)

Solas: You captured our Inquisitor’s likeness well. Sera: Better than you could.

(otherwise)

Solas: There was no mistaking Dagna’s likeness. What were you carrying? Sera: A bowblade. It’s not a thing yet, but if anyone can make one, Widdle can.

Solas: Have you ever given thought to collaborating together on a piece? Sera: Collaber-what? Piece of what? Solas: A painting, or a drawing if you prefer, what medium you decide upon makes little difference to me. Sera: You really think the two of us could work together on anything? Solas: I was under the impression we had been. Sera: That’s different. The Inquisition’s not an ‘us’ thing, or it is, but not us us.

Sera: Say if I wanted to make something with you, what’d we even make? Solas: You ask the question as if there are limitations. Sera: A dragon, then! No, wait, a butt! (beat) Sera: Nothing? Not even a nose wrinkle? Solas: I am not unopposed to the idea. Sera: Ugh, how can you even make butts boring?

Sera: (handing him a drawing) Here, made you something. Solas: What is this? Are those—shoes? Sera: That’s right. One for each toe. You’re welcome.

(After Solas initiates a relationship with Ian)

Sera: So, you and Freckles, huh? Interesting. Solas: Your interest is not my concern. Sera: I always figured you’d wind with someone who’d make the bumping bits matter. Y’know, drop ‘em and rebuild the empire. Solas: It is not the physical product of our love that matters so much as how he makes me feel when I’m with him. Sera: Eugh.

(If Ian is in the party)

Ian: (laughingly) Vhenan, I would choose your words more carefully next time. Solas: Oh. (slightly embarrassed) I did not mean it like that. Sera: Ha! I’ve made him blush. Solas: This is why I didn’t wish to discuss it.

Solas & Blackwall

(While near Ferb’s old fishing pier in the Exalted Plains)

Blackwall: Wonder if the fishing’s good. If we had an hour or two… Solas: Do you consider yourself an angler, Blackwall? Blackwall: I wouldn’t go that far, but I do enjoy the sport of it. Solas: I’ve never considered it a sport. Blackwall: Probably because you’ve never gone fishing just for the fun of it. Next time we make camp, I’ll show you.

Inquisitor: So, how’d your fishing expedition go? Blackwall: You should’ve seen the size of the gar I wrangled. Solas: It was not half as impressive as he believes. Blackwall: He only says that because all’s he caught were minnows. Solas: (scoffs) Inquisitor: So... where is it? Blackwall: We threw it back, of course. Wasn’t like we were going to eat it. Solas: A convenient excuse.

(Along the Storm Coast)

Blackwall: Ever heard of the pale ship that appears on the mists? The Windy Marcher – I think that’s what they called it. Solas: I cannot say I have. Blackwall: An old story, no idea where it started. Must’ve heard it a dozen times in the Free Marches, always a different ending. Solas: As is often the case with legends, the content and moral changes with the teller. Blackwall: One man claimed he’d seen it himself, said the ship was captained by beautiful spirits who’d called him to the sea. Solas: A case of wishful thinking, I assume. Blackwall: He was a bit of a lonely bastard.

(After Revelations)

Solas: You and Cole seem more friendly, of late. Thom: He took some getting used to, but his heart’s in the right place. There’s enough darkness in the world without pushing away the good. Solas: I imagine it was chilling, knowing he could break your cover on a whim. Thom: That did keep me up some nights, yes. Sometimes I wonder why he didn’t say anything. Solas: Perhaps he saw in you what the Inquisitor sees. Thom: Well, I’m grateful. On both counts.

Solas & Vivienne

(After the events of Bring Me the Heart of Snow White)

Solas: I heard the news of Duke De Ghislain’s death. As I understand it, the two of you were close. My condolences for your loss. (if the Inquisitor gave Vivienne a regular wyvern’s heart) Vivienne: (coldly) There was a chance at saving him, but he is beyond saving, now. At least, by mortal hands. Solas: Then I am all the sorrier. (otherwise) Vivienne: He was at peace, and we had the chance to meet at least one last chance before he passed. Solas: Be thankful for that closure, it will bring you comfort in the days to come. Vivienne: It already has.

Solas: How do you feel about the moniker ‘Madame de Fer?’ Vivienne: Oh, I think it’s darling. Why do you ask? Solas: Iron is cold, unyielding without the proper tools, some may use it as an insult rather than a mark of respect. Vivienne: Of that I’ve no doubt, but let them. I embraced it wholeheartedly, and from then on no one could ever truly use it against me. Solas: True enough, such a tactic has worked for others before.

Vivienne: You will be wearing shoes to the ball, won’t you? Solas: My comfort is not worth jeopardizing the Inquisition’s image, so yes. Vivienne: Many elven servants in Orlais go barefoot, it would hardly be a scandal. Still, it would be beneficial. We must all present as a unit when the time comes, not a single hair out of place. Solas: That will hardly pose a problem for the two of us. Vivienne: (makes a sound almost like a laugh) Right you are.

Solas: There are rumours that your name be put forward as the next Divine. Vivienne: I wonder who might have started those. Solas: After all that has happened these past few months, you believe it possible they will accept a mage into their fold? (if the Inquisitor completed In Hushed Whispers / is a mage) Vivienne: Whyever not? Magic is what solved the problem, after all. Solas: Magic has solved countless problems over the centuries, and yet it is still reviled. Vivienne: I am not any ordinary mage. If any mage can achieve status of Divine, I am she. Solas: On that, we agree. (if the Inquisitor completed Champions of the Just and is a non-mage) Vivienne: With the Inquisitor’s support there is nothing I cannot accomplish, my dear.

Vivienne: The Inquisitor gave you that hood not half a day ago and it already has a hole in it. Solas: Two, in fact. Vivienne: Are you afraid we’ll forget you’re an elf if we go five minutes without seeing your ears? Solas: My estimation of your abilities is not that low, Enchanter, and I would be careful were I you. Two holes cut in a hood is not nearly as desperate as donning a pair of horns every morning.

(After Ian is made Tranquil during his personal quest)

Vivienne: I hope you know what you are doing, my dear. The Rite of Tranquility is not something easily undone. Solas: As I understand it, the Seekers did it quite regularly. Vivienne: And through a far gentler process. What they did to Ian was barbaric, but undoing it is not necessarily a kindness. One might even call it selfish. Solas: I never made any claim to selflessness. Vivienne: Go through with it, and he will relive what happened to him every morning and night for the rest of his life. Solas: (with restrained anger) Do not pretend as though you suddenly care for his well-being now, you showed little regard for him before. Vivienne: It is a warning, nothing more. Solas: Your warning is heeded, but it changes nothing. I am under no illusion this will be simple, but to give up on him now— I would be no better than the Circle that once wanted this same fate for him.

Solas & Dorian

Dorian: That book you have on your desk, Solas… Solas: There are many. Which are you referring to? Dorian: There’s one that looked to be in Ancient Tevene. Do you speak it, or are you just keeping it around to look clever? Solas: I would not go so far as to say I speak it, but I understand it well enough. Dorian: How did you go about learning it? Solas: Memories of Tevinter’s empire litter the land, there is hardly a place in Thedas where the world does not remember it, and with memories come language. Dorian: So you learned through the Fade? Solas: I did, though my pronunciation leaves something to be desired. An unfortunate consequence of learning any language alone. Dorian: I might be able to help, but only if you give me the satisfaction of hearing you muddle through it out loud beforehand. Also, I’ll be next in line when you’ve finished reading that book of yours. Solas: (snorts) Very well.

Solas & Cole

Cole: So they’re nobody, but somebody. Empty shells, filled with someone else’s memory. Solas: For the most part, it seems. Cole: If they’re heartless, why are they so angry? Solas: Perhaps it was not so much the absence of feeling, but the lack of recognition of said feelings. Cole: Belief makes them real, even if they’ll always be different.

Cole: It remembered. Delight in discovery, always pushing further into the unknown— someone like that does not simply disappear, and yet... it cannot remember his name. Solas: Names are not so as important as the spirit of the person they belong to. Cole: It remembered the person. Sadder, but stronger. If I ever return to the Fade, I would like to meet it. Solas: Nothing would delight it more. Cole: Oh, I know. I think we’d be friends.

(After the banter where Solas helps prevent a panic attack)

Cole: You breathe in— one, two, three, four— then out— one, two, three, four— feel the grass beneath your feet, magic between your fingers, remember what is and what was. How long did it take you to learn? Solas: More time than is ideal. Cole: I’m sorry. Solas: There is some comfort in knowing I’ve learned enough to help others with such struggles. Cole: I’ll count with you, if you need. Solas: Thank you, Cole.

Solas: I’m curious how your efforts are coming along since we last spoke. Cole: Josephine misses how saffron tastes, but she hasn’t asked the chef to purchase any. I wrote it on a list when no one was watching. Cullen doesn’t like my letters. He says they don’t make sense. Solas: I cannot imagine he devoted much time to understanding them. Cole: No. Listening is... difficult, when you’ve been taught not to.

Cole: Eyes fall shut, but they do not drift away. Their feet are tethered, tied to the ground. Solas: Even dwarves who lived and died on the Surface never dreamed. Cole: But they are still remembered. The song drowns out their thoughts, but it does not smother them. If I listen, I can hear. Solas: I have seen fewer glimpses of dwarven history than I would like, but there are always memories preserved by particular attentive spirits.

(When passing through the kitchen, or lingering nearby. Solas stands over the stove and Cole sits on a nearby counter, hitting his leg against the wood.)

Solas: Would you like to try it, Cole? Cole: Would it not be a waste? I don’t need to eat. Solas: To overindulge, perhaps. A taste will do you nor the world any harm, a good meal is about more than survival. Cole: Then I’d like to try it, please.

Cole: You don’t have to eat, Solas. Solas: Strictly speaking, no. Cole: Sometimes you do anyway. Solas: When the urge takes me, or if refusing would be seen as ill-mannered.

Solas: If I could ask for your opinion, Cole. Cole: It remembers the garden. The sun bakes it red, colour working through it like a blush upon a maiden’s cheeks. Solas: Excellent. And this? Cole: It was lost in weeds for weeks, neglected and forgotten. It tastes like oversteeped tea. Solas: I see. Then we will find another.

Cole: And it remembers the ocean? Solas: It knows the mountain streams and rocky coasts as well as any well-seasoned traveller, though the paths it takes are laid with smoother stones. Cole: Rough edges wicked away by river waters. Soft enough to stand on without any shoes. Solas: Though one must still take care not to fall. (optional) Inquisitor: Speaking from personal experience, Solas? Solas: I suppose one might say that. Cole: Feet forget the ground, flying out from beneath him, but the rest of him doesn’t follow. Solas: (tinged with embarrassment) As I said. Inquisitor: (chuckles) (otherwise) Cole: But you always get up again.

Solas & Cullen

Cullen: I’m curious how you’ve avoided Templars all these years. Solas: I would prefer not to say. Cullen: I’m no longer a Templar, you know. Solas: Then why do you still wear their heraldry? Or am I mistaken? Cullen: I… Solas: Templar or no, your support for its cause endures. I would not endanger fellow apostates by revealing our methods.

Solas: Master Tethras tells me you served in Kirkwall. Cullen: Varric has no shortage of stories, that one just so happens to be true. Why do you bring it up? Solas: My travels have taken me there, on occasion. Cullen: I admit, I’m curious what your impression was. Solas: All the world is steeped in tragedy, but in Kirkwall the Fade overflows with it. Spells flow from the fingertips with such ease you may forget the Veil altogether. Cullen: That doesn’t surprise me, the amount of abominations I saw during my years there… Solas: They were but a symptom. Kirkwall’s sickness ran deeper than what any one spirit could cure.

Solas & Leliana

Solas: I have heard the Inquisition call you many titles. Sister, Nightingale, Spymaster. Leliana: I have worn many masks, some I’ve liked more than others. Why do you mention it? Solas: Which do I refer to you by? Leliana: (laughs) Whichever you prefer. You may use Leliana, if you wish. Solas: Then I shall see which suits you best.

Solas & Josephine

Josephine: It took several tries, but we managed to remove the wine stain from your sweater. I apologise again for Lady Vérène’s indiscretion. Solas: The fault is hardly yours. It is a pity she is not more open to an apostate’s perspective, but the loss is hers. Extend my sincere gratitude to whoever expunged the mark. I have only a few shirts to my name. Josephine: You know, Solas, now that the Inquisition finds itself in more favourable circumstances, we can afford to purchase you a new wardrobe. Solas: With respect, Ambassador, I value comfort over style. I’m uncertain the Summer Bazaar will be able to accommodate me. Josephine: It would be a most... unusual request, but I believe I know the tailor for the job.

Josephine: Have you found the library to your liking? Solas: I have. I cannot imagine any other circumstance where someone like me could have such unmitigated access to the written word. Most human libraries are not so liberal with their guests. Josephine: I confess, I have never been without books. Ever since I was a child they were always within reach. Solas: Then you must have recommendations. Josephine: One or two come to mind. If I can secure faithful translations, you will have them.

Solas & Morrigan

Solas: You seem well-versed in courtly manners for a woman raised in the wilderness. Morrigan: What are you implying? Solas: That you have a talent for winding nobles around your finger, or that the infamous ‘game’ is not so deadly as they like to believe. Vivienne: Or that more talented souls paved the wave for her. Solas: Another possibility. Morrigan: ‘Tis true that Orlesians overestimate the challenge of this ‘Game’ of theirs. Empress Celene had her desires, and ‘twas a simple matter to keep her satisfied. Vivienne: Which is why you’re with us. Morrigan: With you at my side, I could not help but notice. Vivienne: Believe me, dear. Court enchanter is a trifle compared to where my sights have set.

Solas: I found your son atop the rotunda’s scaffolding today. Morrigan: He has long been fond of climbing, and Skyhold’s trees are too new to bear his weight. Solas: It was no harm. My only regret is I did not have an answer to every question he asked. He is a curious boy. Morrigan: (laughs) That he is.

(During What Pride Had Wrought, upon finding the mosaic of June)

Morrigan: Ah, clever June. The most elusive of the elven gods, insofar as legends are concerned. Solas: Their silence is deafening. Morrigan: I take it you have insight? Solas: Merely that he does not deserve what little credit he is given. Time has forgotten the name of whosoever built the first aravel.

Solas: Rumour spread that Kieran went missing. I trust your presence here means you have found him? Morrigan: I… yes. Solas: He is unharmed? Morrigan: Yes. Solas: Then I am glad. And… you? Morrigan: I have much to think upon, but my son is safe. Everything else can come after.

Solas & Renn

Solas: Tell me, Lieutenant, why did you remain with the Legion? Renn: Having trouble seeing why it’s your business. Why d’you ask? Solas: Escaping would be a simple matter of finding the right battle to slip away from. Freedom would only be a few day’s journey from where we stand. Renn: I couldn’t abandon my men... or my city. Solas: You show great loyalty to Orzammar, considering you will never see it again. Renn: Yeah, well. You never forget your home. Solas: No. I suppose you don’t.

Solas & Valta

Solas: “But the truth is the truth— no matter how political it may be.” Valta: Do you disagree? Solas: Just the opposite. The truth does not change with our ability to stomach it. I am glad a historian such as yourself agrees. Valta: A shame the rest of the Shaperate doesn’t agree with us. Solas: True, but if they had you would not be here, on the brink of uncovering secrets buried centuries ago. In their attempt to keep you out of the way, they unknowingly set you upon the path to even greater knowledge. Valta: Orzammar will know the truth. If I don’t make it, then the Inquisitor— Solas: You are not yet dead, Shaper Valta. Do not count yourself apart from the living so soon.

Solas & Merrill

Merrill: You snort when you laugh. Solas: I’m well-aware. If you are about to ask me to stop, I’m afraid I’ve tried before. Merrill: Oh, it’s not a bad thing. It might be the most charming thing about you. Solas: Damned by faint praise. Merrill: It is a very charming laugh.

Solas: Why did you leave your clan? I read Varric’s Tale of the Champion, but I suspect most of it was a lie. (if present) Varric: Hey! I’m right here. Solas: You did well to lie. To name her as a Dalish mage would be to paint a target upon her back. (otherwise) Merill: I left… I— it wasn’t exactly my choice. There was a mirror, tainted by the Blight. I thought we should fix it, even if it meant turning to blood magic. My Keeper disagreed. Solas: You cleansed the Blight from an eluvian? That is remarkable. Merrill: I used to wonder if it was worth it. I sacrificed so much to get it working, years of my life, my— I’m just glad we’re getting use out of it, now.

Merrill: You’re wrong about my people, Solas. The Dalish aren’t as lost as you think. Solas: They cast you to the streets of Kirkwall, exiled you for the crime of pursuing the duty they tasked you with. Merrill: Some of them said such awful things, they looked at me like I was already a demon, but… that doesn’t mean there isn’t good, too. Sometimes I wonder, had my Keeper not been so against me, if things might have been different. Merrill: I don’t know what they said to you, but I know what their scorn feels like. It hurts, but… there’s so much to admire. Solas: You still feel for them. Merrill: They’re my people, they always will be. No matter how much they might hate me, I’ll always love them. Solas: Put like that, I suppose I understand the sentiment. Merrill: It’s a lonely feeling, isn’t it? Solas: It never ebbs, no. Merrill: Then just— remember them, when you think unkind thoughts about the Dalish. The people you miss, the people you don’t, and what you’d sacrifice for them both.

(in the Exalted Plains, outside the boundaries of Hawen’s camp)

Merrill: (giggles) Datishan was asking about you before we left. Solas: Datishan… Hawen’s little hunter? Merrill: Who else? She wanted to know when you’d be back. Solas: What did you tell her? Merrill: I told her you needed time, that good stories don’t grow on trees. You will go back, won’t you? Solas: It seems I shall have to, or else suffer the wrath of her arrows. Merrill: You joke, but she almost poked out my eye last night. Solas: (chuckles)

#dragonageday #solas #dragon age #dragon4geday #unofficialdragonageday #dragon age inquisition #fan banter #dare to be in the company of those stronger than you ( banter )#( my writing )#[ i'll be reposting the couple new things i wrote for this later ]#[ scheduled post ]

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rawsanma · 3 years

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In Memoriam of "Shin Evangelion: Curse"

*The following article contains a full spoiler for "Evangelion 3.0+1.0".*

I sat together with a person who was not in birth when EOE was released, and after watching the film we talked a bit and thought about the people who passed away without ever seeing this. I understand that fans from the old series and those who came from the new series may have very different perceptions of Shin-Eva. So I'd like to first correct a few things I said in my first impressions.

It may be somewhere between an honorable movie and a mediocre movie in general, but as Evangelion, it's garbage.

After about halfway through the two hours and thirty-five minutes, I started to look at my watch again and again. The double ending, which is both a personal novel and a product, was a fleeting fantasy, and the two songs "One Last Kiss" and "beautiful world (da capo ver.)" were not used effectively in relation to the story, only being played in the staff roll.

When I saw the first 10 minutes of the movie that was released last year, I thought that perhaps Paris was chosen as the setting for the story of "humanity fighting together in the face of destruction" or "the expansion of the Eva world (not G Gundam, but G Eva!)", but that was not the case at all. He just wanted to depict the battle using the Eiffel Tower as a FATALITY,　I realized that he hadn't made a single millimeter of progress since when he asked Hayao Miyazaki if I could film only this action scene of Her Highness Kushana in the re-animation of Nausicaa, he was scolded, "That's why you're no good!"

At the beginning of the film, they try to carefully describe the things behind the scenes that were not told in Eva Q. The third Ayanami like the TV version is the main character, and they go on and on about living in the countryside, copying "My Neighbor Totoro". The large family of our parent's home that we go back to during the summer vacation is presented as an image of happiness in life and a decent human being. It is also connected to Gendou's narrative during the Human Instrumentality Project but isn't it too Showa-era and too simple a solution? I am interested in how the young fans who are children of nuclear families who left their large families in the countryside and moved to the city saw the too sudden depiction of "life in the countryside". It was almost a gag to see Ayanami walking around in a plug suit which is a sexual orientation that has manifested itself after Space Battleship Yamato, in the images of pre and post-war farming villages depicted by recent NHK morning dramas. The director, influenced by his wife, must have been immersed in the LOHAS and vegan lifestyle as a fashion statement, which is only possible because he is an urbanite with too much stuff and too much money. As for this theme, it has already been presented in the watermelon field scene in the second film, and it is merely a re-presentation of the same theme in a diluted form.

I've pointed out before that Eva Q is "a crack in reality because of the loss of reality to rely on. "It's rude not to eat what you're served!", Shinji was scolded by Touji's father, who looked like a subversion of Hayao Miyazaki's work (Gedo Senki!). I have a simple question, how can the interior of a house become so old and wretched after only 14 years? How can a community of people of all ages be formed in just 14 years?　There was a line that implied that Touji had killed someone for the village, and it is possible that the director had extremely beautified the "Showa era" as a sanctuary where people who are hurt and regret their committing murder during the war as a soldier live nearby, and when he opened the last drawer after using up all the materials, he found the image of the original landscape of his childhood.

Misato and Kaji's child, which is only described for a few minutes, is also abrupt, and I don't feel that it is more than a plot device for the purpose of staging the reconciliation with Shinji later on. Some people seem to be moved by the fact that "behind Misato's cold attitude towards Shinji in Q, there was such a conflict in her mind," but it's the opposite. All the answers are just excuses after wasting nine years of work. Even if the wounds healed and treated with a gentle "I'm sorry," after being beaten severely by a raging DV husband, the fact of the beating would not disappear, and the wife would feel nothing but fear at the sudden change in her husband. To a situation that he had set to minus 100, he spent 2 hours and 35 minutes gradually pouring water drawn from other places and past works to bring it back to zero...I've never seen such a horrible match pump. Well, now that I'm writing this, I'm thinking that I've seen this before.

The relationship between Eva Q and Shin Eva is very similar to the relationship between "The Last Jedi" and "The rise of Skywalker" in Star Wars. In a self-absorbed rampage of conjecture that did not listen to the opinions of others, the historical stage of the series that had been built up was turned into a mess, and then the destroyed story was carefully built up again from the ground using unnecessary length, and only the shape of the story was created to end it without being disgraceful, and every scene that tries to make things more exciting is a copy of past work. As for Star Wars, since 8 and 9 were directed by different directors, I was able to settle my feelings of resentment towards Ryan and gratitude towards Abrams, respectively, but as for Evangelion, the director looks like a child who has been proud to clean up his own mess and have his female cronies praise and pat him on the head. Moreover, what kind of sympathy do you expect when you are told to "I'll make amends" for the mere act of wiping your ass after defecating, in a cool, Showa-era chivalrous tone?

In this film, as a recovery from Q and a summary of new Eva, there are elements throughout the story that critics can easily relate to the old Eva. “Oh, I can talk about this in connection with that!” This is what gives them a good impression and it has nothing to do with how the old fans perceive it. The director seems to have a dedicated person in charge of communicating and negotiating with the outside, but now he wants the critics to communicate with the fans about Shin-Eva. As long as he doesn't speak for himself, he can correct their interpretations later based on the "misunderstandings" of the people in between himself and his fans. This is a very Japanese-style system of surmising feelings, a system of authority that is formed when only a limited number of cronies are informed of the true intentions of the president. If I talk about it in too much detail, right-winged Yakuza will show up very soon, so to make it short, it is an indigenous control structure unique to Japan that originated from the "Mikado behind the bamboo blind". This time the director was very conscious of that, and I was able to see that Eva, who was a challenger, has become an authority that does not tolerate any criticism.

And what fan from the past could enjoy watching the endless battle scenes after Shinji returns to Wunder in the middle of the film? One after another, the sister ships of Wunder appear--there's almost no difference in appearance, but Ritsuko is able to guess their names the moment they appear. Right after the line "I'm pretty sure there's a fourth ship," the fourth ship comes crashing upon them from underneath, with no intention other than to make us laugh, right? As well as the repeated tenseless bombardment fight with no description of damage no matter how many artillery shells are hit, and it's quite painful being poured Asuka and Mari's Me-Strong Battles which are already enough by the time of Q, continuously down my throat like a goose with a funnel in its mouth. There's no way to synchronize my feelings with the screen, and it just creates an atmosphere as if the story is going on with the unattractive super-robot action that I pointed out in Q. It's no use pointing out, but the repair and supply problems of Wille side in a world where the industry has been destroyed were shown in the farming village part, though it was inadequate. But those of NERV side, an organization of only a man and an old man, was completely thrown away.

The last part of the story about the Human Instrumentality Project is like a fanzine where Gendou, Asuka, Kaworu, and Rei are lined up in a row and complemented in turn and then dismissed, whereas EOE was a total complement through Shinji. The director has tried to upgrade his framework by borrowing them from EOE and has failed miserably. Someone who has created works by putting his emotion and flair into a copy has dabbled in copying his own work. As a result, he had to confront his own sensibilities from when he was young and had to compare the old and the new by his old audience. Frankly speaking, only the techniques have been traced, the sound and the screen have become gorgeous, but the emotion and the sense have deteriorated. The face of the giant Ayanami that was replaced with a live-action one -- probably based on the face acting of Shinji's voice actor, and the "untested ordeal" of her tweet means this -- appears in the background like a gold folding screen in the high sand at a Japanese wedding reception. You're getting tired of all this, and you're not making it seriously, are you? The battle between Eva Unit01 and Eva Unit13 in Tokyo-III, which I expressed my anxiety about before the film's release, is a scene where the company's CG team can't produce what the director expects and he is so frustrated that he has the same mindset as in the final two episodes of the TV version, "I'd rather get a minus than a red", and after that, it became like a gag scene, including Eva fights in Misato's apartment and Shinji's school classroom, as if he was staged them in desperation. The side-shooting screenshot of the little Wunder charging at the head of the giant Ayanami is a picture of ”Cho Aniki (Japanese STG)” itself, and it's also meant to be funny, right? It's a series of loose, sloppy, and tenseless scenes that can't be compared to EOE.

What the hell have the CG team been doing for the past nine years, getting paid with no progress and making Eva look like an outdated piece of crap? Didn't anyone have the chivalrous spirit of the Showa era like "Don't embarrass our boss!"? Don't be so relieved when you get the green light! The director has just given up on you! There were a few scenes where the person at the top of the editing and collage, who has been making the coolest pictures, was not given as much good material as he used to be and seemed to make desperate staging in a way that he would never have given the green light in the past. It's been more than 10 years since Xapa was established, but I guess they don't have enough talent to meet the director's vision. Perhaps because of this, the conclusion of the film is exactly the same as the old one, that the director has no choice but to use his personal feelings to finish Eva, but the film ends up being a self-imitation of "Sincerely Yours". It is sad to see a person who "surpasses the original by putting his heart and soul into the copy" start to copy his own past works on the big screen of the theater, because he has become a big name in the animation world after reaching the age of 60, and there are no others left to be copied. However, right after "Komm, süsser Tod" started playing in the old movie, the scene where the titles of each episode and the reverse side of Cels were played in succession was projected on the wall of the studio using a projector -- the title of the new movie was added. It made me mad and thought, "Don't touch my EOE with the dirty hands of the merchant. I'll kill you."

The last things that the man who "transfers his own life onto films" presented in his costly self-published private novel were a naked confession of his own mental history up to the point where he met his wife, which he temporarily entrusted to Gendou, and the words "I think I loved you" and "I loved you" exchanged between himself and the former lover who could not be together and themselves who had separate spouses, just a reckoning of the muddled love affair that existed behind the scenes of EOE. I half-jokingly said that the distance between the director and Asuka's voice actor was important for the end of Eva, but it turned out to be true in a different way. During the recording session, Asuka's voice actor was told by the director, "I'm glad Miyamura is Asuka," which sent chills down my spine as it conveyed the horror of a creator who doesn't hide everything about his life and relationships and uses them to create his works.

In the scene where Shinji says "I liked you too" to the adult Asuka, who is wearing a tight latex suit and drawn in a more realistic character design (making us aware of the cosplay by Asuka's voice actor), while she is lying on the EOE beach, I thought "You guys should do this in a coffee shop or something between recording sessions! Don't make us watch middle-aged man and woman having unpleasant conversations on the big screen of the theater!", I almost screamed out. I think that's the scary part, the director's one-sided love for Asuka's voice actor is falsified by having the character say that she liked him, as if it was a mutual love. The director's statement at the beginning of the pamphlet says that he started working on the sequel right after Evangelion 2.0 without hesitation, using the worldview of "Q". I'm not trying to quote the line "You can change the reality you don't like by getting on Eva.", but it's not as if he's trying to cover up the fact, but he really believes that using his strong imagery, and it made me feel a bit chilly that there was no one around to correct his misconceptions.

At the end of Human Instrumentality Project, I wondered if the fact that a senior member of the movie industry had praised the shooting of EOE by flipping Cels over as a "tremendous deconstruction" was still fresh in his mind. This time, too, it was postponed after postponement, and even though the makings have been done in time, he showed the other side of the production with line drawings and roughs. The reason it was so innovative was that it was the first time anyone had tried it then, and now, 25 years later, it's just a rut. It's disgusting that everyone is praising the master's strange drawing habit and saying, "Oh yeah, that's it, that's it." As I've said before, it's like "defecating in a sixty-nine," which was successful because the first partner happened to be a scatologist. The expression of EOE was sharp and ”Rock’n’‐roll”, but Shin-Eva's "fun of anime images" has gone into the realm of traditional art, like slow "Gagaku".

The director hadn't decided who Mari Makinami was for a long time -- he was so indifferent to her that he threw the actor's acting plan to a sub-director -- but with Shin-Eva, he's changed her into an equal to Moyoco Anno, his wife. In other words, the flashy battle in the middle of the film, which is unimportant to many viewers, is revealed to have been a very pleasant pretend play for the director, in which he has his former love and his current wife fight on his favorite robots. Once again, we are shown the director's so-what-attitude, which has not progressed even a millimeter since "I'm an asshole," and which he can complete his work only by masturbation. So it's no wonder that they couldn't depict the extremely simple catharsis of Shinji's great success with Eva Unit01, which is what most of the old fans want. Because a robot with a pathetic old man on board can't get an erection due to impotence, let alone masturbation!　Oops, excuse me, sir.

And as I said before, it's time to realize that the English language has become so popular in Japan that it's become lame. You use Infinity, Another, Additional, Advanced, Commodity, and Imaginary, just because it sounds cool to you, right?　Everyone criticized the naming "Final Impact", but I never thought I'd see the time when I'd faint from the lack of taste and coolness in Evangelion, such as Another Impact, Additional Impact.

And the ending, with the wedding report in a live-action aerial shot of the director's hometown, newbie fans are screaming that it is like, "They're doing a very positive version of the old "Return to Reality!". But I felt it was too empty and cynical because it was intended to be read that way by the director. It depicts only the elation of marriage, and the pain of getting along with a partner and his or her family with different values is cut off (well, maybe Q was expressing the hardship of married life......). But isn't the emotional weight of a marriage report much higher when you meet your partner's parents?　The fact that he ended the movie by showing his own hometown instead of his wife's hometown leaves me with the impression that he's definitively an egotistical geek through and through. "You may have graduated from a good university and are making good money in the city, but if you're not married and don't have children, aren't you somehow humanly flawed?" After 25 years, Evangelion, which was such a forward-thinking Sci-Fi, is now completely in sync with the earthly ethics of Showa-era's farmers and farm horses. "I got married and it saved my life. I don't know about you, but why don't you try?" You can think what you want, but if you want to convey it as a message of salvation, you have to express it in the content of your work, not in your own talk.

I've been married for 20 years, I have two children, both of whom are about to reach the age of adulthood, I've paid off the mortgage on my home, and I'm finally at the end of raising my children, but all of that is just an outer shell of a social skin that has nothing to do with my true nature or where my soul is! There's no connection between what kind of life an individual lives in the real world and the Sci-Fi sense of wonder, in fact, there shouldn't be any connection! If you're a science fiction fan, take a page from the great Arthur C. Clarke! I was a nerd with a negative value of 100, but when I got married, I gradually poured the "common-sense values" of the Showa era into myself, and now I'm a true man with no negative value? Don't write such pathetic fiction proudly! Listen, what you presented to the audience at the end was the same thing that someone would say to you, "You seedless stallion!" It's the same kind of unethical and vulgar message that you shouldn't be giving! The old Eva became a classic of Japanimation, and no one was able to properly scold you, or you keep away those who tried, and the result of this is directly reflected in the ending of Shin Eva!　You've reached your 60th birthday and you only have such poor social common sense, damn it!

I'm sorry, I was so excited that I lost my control a little bit, just a little bit. I think the director is relying a little too much on his wife, who is ultimately a stranger on, to be his laison d'etre (lol). If they were to break up in the future, it would certainly be the soil for the next Eva, the content and development of which is completely predictable, but that is no longer my concern. I wonder if his wife doesn't like the fact that he's mentally dependent on her like this, and that it's being shown on screens all over the country. If it were me, I'd be furious, but since she's a creator, I guess she understands how he feels. Ignoring the other person's feelings and continuing to force what he believes to be love on her, thinking that it will make her happy, seems to me that there has been no progress at all since the way he treated his girlfriend 25 years ago. The person I want to hear from the most right now is not the self-proclaimed Eva fans who are looking at each other from the side and giving positive feedback in celebration of the final episode, but his wife. If the director had a child, he would not have been able to distinguish between his own ego and that of the child, and would have doted on his child, making a documentary film about his or her growth, but would most likely have turned into a controlling and poisonous parent in his or her adolescence. And he animated his feelings for his child who was rebelling against him, without the child's permission, considering it as a one-sided redemption for the child, and the child who was exposed to the whole country about their home life would have distanced from his father more and more.

In the end, Evangelion did not become a product like Gundam, but rather a robot animation that was the director's weird personal novel. The repeated use of the word "job" in the film has stuck in my mind, but in order for the studio to survive, it had to make Evangelion a product in this new series, and I'm sure that was the initial motivation behind the production of these new films. Your real "job" was to make Evangelion the same as Gundam, to protect the people who came to you because they loved Evangelion. Years from now, I can see a future where Xapa will be like Ghibli, behead the staff and continue as a copyright management company. The director, who didn't want to be embarrassed as a creator by a new challenge adopted the safe way -- I can't believe that I have to use the word "safe" for Evangelion -- to end the new series that relied on EOE only for himself, not for the future of the people who came to admire him. That's what Shin Evangelion is all about.

The good part? The fact that he didn't bring Shin Ultraman trailer at the end of the film makes me think he has grown up a bit. If you're declaring "Farewell, All Evangelions" with the intention of hurting, disappointing, and disinterested old fans like me, then your malice is unfathomable, and that's quite a feat. Brilliantly, your intentions have permanently killed a part of me that used to be an Eva fan.

As horrifying as it is to imagine, it must have crossed the director's mind to reschedule the film and set a new release date for March 11. The only reason he didn't do so is not that he has grown up to be a sensible adult, but rather because the idea of linking Evangelion 3.0 with the Great East Japan Earthquake was a fact that is too painful for him to make it public.

Ten years ago today, many lives were lost and Evangelion was destroyed.

This fact will never disappear, no matter how much the director denies and covers up with the "true" history. If there is any mission left for me as a fan, it is to continue to pass on this fact to future generations as a storyteller. It is a huge loss for Japanese fiction that the end of the great Evangelion has become a self-recovery work of the great failure of the reboot affected by the Great East Japan Earthquake, and that the potential of the great Evangelion has been consumed by the self-defense of someone who cannot admit his own mistakes, and I sincerely regret it. Shin Evangelion will be forever cursed by the dead, who yearn to see the sequel of Evangelion 2.0, and the living, who yearn to see the sequel of Evangelion 2.0.

This curse will be completed when it spreads, arrives, and is burned by the powers that be as a false history. I pray that my thoughts will reach him!

#evangelion 3.0+1.0

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cherryrogers · 4 years

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bittersweet {9}

pairing: boxer!bucky x rogers!reader

warnings: none for this chapter i think ??

synopsis: The world of boxing wasn’t something you knew much about, but after a certain boxer with blue eyes and an irresistible charm wove his way into your heart, you soon learned that it went far deeper than red gloves and gold medals — you thought that the boxer happening to be your brother’s best friend was bad enough, but darker affairs had only yet to come to light.

a/n: ok this part is a bit of a filler to lead into the climax of the story so i’m sorry if it’s not that great !! i honestly didn’t like writing it lmao,,, it was gonna be longer but i thought you know let’s save all the chaos for chapter 10 ;) enjoy the last chapter of (sort of) peace lads x

series masterlist

Warmth gathered in your chest as you took a prolonged sip of scalding coffee, ignoring the burning sensation at the back of your throat. You were onto your third cup of the afternoon, which didn’t necessarily help with the stirring in your stomach. It seemed to only enhance the unsettling thoughts that were overwhelming your mind with worry. However, you feared that without the energy boost the caffeine provided you with, you’d end up just shutting down.

It’d been a few hours now since you’d gotten home from the gym. Steve had tried to persuade you to spend the night at your home home, but you weren’t sure you could bare trying to process everything he’d told you with him around.

You knew that there wasn’t any time to waste. Friday was only four days away; the match would be happening in the blink of an eye as long as you weren’t willing to accept how real everything was. The fighting ring, the illegal trafficking, the case of a missing man which could easily be closed by Alexander Pierce anonymously tipping off the police — how were you even supposed to deal with the situation if you couldn’t comprehend the reality of it? Would you ever be able to?

There was a time when you and Steve were just kids, when you thought that getting into college and finding a job were going to be the hardest things you’d ever had to face. Brock Rumlow was a kid once, too; had he known the horrible impact he’d have on the lives of people who he then hadn’t met yet, you wondered if he’d still want to become who he was today, if he really never had any morals, any sympathy for those vulnerable enough to be manipulated by him.

Bucky had called earlier, and even through the phone you could tell that he was holding back on his words. He only asked you if you were okay, and said that Steve had let him know he’d told you it all. You couldn’t pretend that you weren’t aware of his own secret, though. You were past the point of letting anyone keep secrets about the fighting ring, especially now that you knew you were directly involved.

“You used to be a part of the ring,” You’d stated simply after ignoring his concern over you. “You told Steve; why didn’t you tell me, Bucky?”

The line was silent for a solid five seconds, and you considered just hanging up on him. As if he could sense your impatience, the boxer tried to reason with you. “(Y/N), whatever you think I did, whatever you think I was involved with—”

“What I think, is that my brother is being threatened with a fucking murder charge if he doesn’t fight on Friday, and somehow you were able to get out of the ring without a target on your back. How is that, James? Why are the rules different for you?”

Bucky felt a twinge of shame in his chest. It wasn’t like you were wrong; he hadn’t needed to agree to a deal to leave the ring. He’d most likely had the best experience getting out of there than any other guy had. However, he wouldn’t be surprised if Rumlow still held a strong grudge towards him. Perhaps there was a target on his back that he wasn’t even aware of. Anyone that was unfortunate enough to know Rumlow would tell you he doesn’t like when people go against him, people that he once considered friends. Bucky wasn’t afraid of him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t unnerved by what he could do with the power he had. The power that Pierce could give to him. After all, Brock was just another one of his puppets. Pierce probably had the power to have every single on of his ‘boxers’ locked up, and somehow, he’d be able to get away without a trace.

“Look, I can come over. I can come over right now and explain everything.” He offered, ready to run out if the door in only sweatpants and an undershirt if it meant he could make things right quicker.

“No, I don’t— I can’t. Not today, I can’t talk about it anymore today.” You sighed, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you.

“I can’t stand the thought of you thinking I’m one of them,” Bucky admitted. “You have to know there’s more to the story—”

You cut him off. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Bucky. I don’t think you’re one of them. I-I know the person you are now, I know that you’re nothing like them,” If Steve had his own reasons that’s he was involved in the ring, then you were sure that Bucky did too. It wasn’t that you were worried about; it was why he felt that he had to keep it a secret that didn’t sit right with you. “Can you come over tomorrow? I just— I just need tonight to take it all in.”

The boxer responded evenly, though he could feel his stomach churning. Tomorrow was a day closer to the match, and he still had no idea how he was going to help Steve if everything went south. “Yeah, gorgeous. Tomorrow’s good.”

“See you then, James.” You let out a relieved breath. As Bucky said his own goodbye, you put the phone down and ran a shaky hand through your hair.

You weren’t even mad at Bucky; you hoped he didn’t think you were. Not finding out from him first that he was involved with the fighting ring had you a little disappointed, admittedly, but that didn’t mean your trust in him had disappeared. Today had been... a lot, frankly. You imagined that talking to him the next day would be more productive, and it meant that you could utilise the rest of the day trying to figure out what to think about it all.

Being alone in your apartment, however, meant that your mind wasn’t easily distracted from your problems. That’d been obvious when you decided to set off to see Steve just after Bucky had dropped you home.

The call with Bucky had ended over an hour ago and still, thinking about the entire situation had your heart beating twice as fast. Almost subconsciously, you found Natasha’s contact on your phone and pressed the call button, bringing the device to your ear hesitantly.

Within a number of seconds, she’d already agreed to come over as quick as possible. Upon hearing the waver in your voice when you began speaking, she swore she’d be at your apartment within ten minutes. Even if you couldn’t tell her about what was bothering you, she’d at least be able to take your mind off things for the night.

Unless — you did tell her what was going on?

She worked at a police station, maybe just as a receptionist, but surely she’d be able to do something. Though Bucky had told you the police weren’t ever able to find any evidence of the illegal ring, the circumstances had changed. You were now involved. You were set to be a witness of their crimes in only a matter of days. What if you could be the evidence that the police needed?

Though, both Steve and Bucky had warned you about the secrecy of the ring. If you got the police involved and they weren’t able to find anything again, you’d be majorly screwed. But Natasha wasn’t dumb, and from the way she spoke about her boss, you presumed that he wasn’t either. If you could create some sort of plan before you had to go to the match, maybe the fight could end up being Pierce’s downfall — emphasis on maybe.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. Perhaps you’d had too much caffeine; were you really trying to devise a plan to take down an international fighting ring?

Natasha didn’t waste any time sitting you down on the couch when she came bustling inside, insisting that you told her what was going on. She’d never been one for beating around the bush; if there was something wrong, she was always eager to fix it, even if she ended up doing it herself. You weren’t so positive that she could fix your problem this time, however.

But when she called you out for zoning out mid-conversation again, poking at your arm with her pointer finger, you couldn’t help but ask a question that there was no coming back from.

“Do you know who ‘John Preston’ is, Nat?”

The teasing smile playing on her lips fell slowly, replaced with an expression of shock. After a few moments, she swallowed. “The guy that went missing a couple of years back?”

You gave her a nod.

The redhead exhaled slowly. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. I didn’t work at the station when his case was active, but I remember when it was on the news... why d’you ask?”

It was now or never. If you didn’t do anything, Brock Rumlow was going to find a way to win the match on Friday, or he’d have Steve in the back of a police car, or maybe the sick bastard would screw the both of you over, you wouldn’t put it past him. All of a sudden, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“I know what happened to him.”

...

You’d never seen Natasha Romanoff speechless. Her mouth hung open, eyes searching for a sign that you were joking even though it’d be a terrible thing to joke about. Waiting for some sort of response, you only stared at her wide eyed. Then, the shock disappeared.

“Steve knows what happened to him, doesn’t he?”

...

“What?” Now it was your turn to look dumbfounded. “How— you know about—”

“I’m not a receptionist at the station, (Y/N),” Nat revealed, her expression twisting into one of unease. “God, I was gonna tell you. I was gonna tell you months ago, but then somehow Steve got involved and—”

Placing a hand on her knee, you cut her off. “Nat, slow down. What— what do you mean you’re not a receptionist?”

“I was one, up until a few months ago,” She started. “Fury, my boss, he’s sort of... like a father to me. Apart from you, he’s the only person I really trust. One day, he told me he thought I’d make a good officer and that should start to train at the police academy. I told him I wasn’t going to do that, not when I’m twenty years old and college is already enough on my plate. But he was adamant that I should work with him. I’d helped him out on his cases before over lunch, I’d looked over evidence and managed to find things that he couldn’t. So, I became his right hand girl. I don’t work with the police, but if Fury needs help with a case, then I’m the first one he calls to do some investigating.”

“He’s allowed to do that?”

“It’s Fury, he does what he wants.”

That explained why Natasha was constantly at work. How she was balancing working towards a degree and investigating crime, you had no idea.

She continued with an exhale. “Only a few weeks ago, a guy was brought to the station for getting involved in a bar fight. I only saw him as he was being brought through the lobby to be detained, but I noticed that he had a tattoo. I knew I recognised the design from somewhere; it looked like a skull with tentacles coming from the mouth. I managed to dig up some research from when John Preston first disappeared, and apparently the cops found a business card with that exact logo on it in his apartment in New Jersey. No number or email on it, just the logo.”

While her description of the tattoo was vague, you couldn’t help but feel like you knew what she was talking about. The skull, the tentacles... you’d seen it somewhere, you were sure.

“So who was the guy with the tattoo?” You questioned.

“He had a weird name; Wolfgang, I think. Again, I did some research and found out that he was a boxer, a boxer at the gym that’s been speculated to be part of an illegal fighting ring for years — a friend of his had also said he was planning a trip to Brooklyn before he disappeared. I thought that was a little suspicious, so I did some more digging at the station and managed to find the CCTV tapes from the cameras outside the gym from one of the inspections the police did around the time John disappeared. I thought if Wolfgang was a member of the gym around that time too, perhaps I could connect John and the gym together, and maybe even the supposed fighting ring too...

... when I looked at the tapes, sure enough, Wolfgang had been boxing there at the time; he was seen entering the building almost every day. And then I noticed someone else that went there as often as he did... your brother.

I didn’t know what to do. I know Steve isn’t one of the bad guys, so I didn’t report it to Fury that I knew who he was. And there was no other evidence to look at; I still didn’t know if the fighting ring was just a myth, or if John Preston had something to do with it. So I left the case cold, again. But I guess I wasn’t wrong if Steve knows what happened to him. (Y/N), you have to tell me everything you know.”

“He won’t go to prison, will he? If I tell you what I know?” You asked cautiously. It was selfish to ask such a question, you knew. Hundreds, maybe more, people could be saved from trafficking and torture if the fighting ring got shut down, and you were concerned for the fate of one person? One person you know would do anything to protect you, however.

“I can’t promise anything,” Natasha smiled apologetically. “But if the fighting ring does actually exist, he won’t have done anything compared to what other men have done; he won’t deal with the consequences they’ll have to.”

Hesitantly, you nodded. With a nervous breath, you began to recite the story that Steve had told you only hours ago, every word still fresh in your mind. You’d repeated what he’d told you enough times to yourself to know you wouldn’t be missing out any details. First, you talked about Steve’s story, still unable to fully understand yourself how he’d went through all of that for you. Nat seemed a little shocked by it too, with the way her brows raised and her lips remained parted. Though, she was glad to know he had his own reasons for being part of something so horrible, and when she thought about it, she wasn’t actually so surprised at him. He would’ve done it in a heartbeat for anyone who he cared about, especially you.

Then, you told her about where you came into it all. With the match on Friday, you weren’t sure if she’d be able to do anything to help your situation in such a short space of time. But if it meant she knew the fighting ring was very real and who the men behind it were, the ones in Brooklyn, anyway, then you’d be getting somewhere at least.

“Shit,” She let out a deep breath once you’d finished speaking, her face contorted with thought. “I’m sorry you had to get dragged into all of this. This is some dangerous territory to be in.”

You nodded in agreement, biting your lip. “So, could you tell your boss everything that I told you? Could you get the place shut down?”

A light laugh escaped her lips. “I wish it were that easy. It’d be your word against maybe fifty of theirs down at that gym. Plus, it’s been investigated a hundred times and no evidence of illegal activity has been found; we need proof that this is all real.”

“Can’t you question Wolfgang again?”

“I don’t think that’d be such a good idea. They can’t know we’re investigating the speculation of the fighting ring again, otherwise they’ll make it even harder to find out who’s involved and any proof of the crimes they’re committing.”

Natasha sighed. So close. She was so close to being able to prove the fighting ring was real. If she had the evidence to prove that everything coming out of your mouth was true, every single person involved would be getting put behind bars. Flicking her eyes up at you, she furrowed her brows when she saw you deep in thought.

“What is it?”

The realisation had hit you like a truck. “The tattoo. I know what you’re talking about, I’ve seen it before.”

The girl cocked her brow, urging you to go on.

“Sam has a portfolio of every tattoo he does. I remember looking through it and seeing that design; the skull and the tentacles. I didn’t think anything of it then, but now...”

“But Wolfgang has had that tattoo since John Preston went missing, before the tattoo shop had opened,” Natasha pointed out. “I saw it when I was looking at the CCTV footage. It couldn’t have been Sam that did it.”

Leaning back in your seat, you shrugged hesitantly. “Maybe he’s not the only one with that tattoo.”

There was a pause, and for a moment you thought Nat was going to burst out laughing at your attempt of getting somewhere with finding proof. Instead, a smirk pulled at her lips, and she immediately jumped up from the couch.

“Looks like we’re paying Sam a visit.”

* * *

The tattoo shop was only ten minutes away from closing by the time Natasha and you had arrived outside. Sam would undoubtedly be pissed that you’d decided to start a whole investigation only minutes before he could head home, but the any information on the tattoo may have given you some sort of a starting point in trying to bring down the fighting ring.

And if you could connect John Preston’s disappearance with the people that actually killed him, then Steve could finally stop running from his past. And perhaps Bucky, too.

Walking into the shop, you gave Maria a warm smile. She was just about finished packing up her stuff for the day, black jacket on and her bag resting comfortably on her shoulder. When she raised a brow at you and asked you why you were there so late, you only shrugged, being the not-so-great liar that you were.

“Oh, no reason. Where’s Sam?” You asked perkily, your voice an octave higher than usual. Natasha rolled her eyes from beside you.

“Just tidying up in the back,” She replied casually, shaking her head at your odd demeanour. “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure, yeah.” You nodded, forcing a smile as she chuckled under her breath before exiting the shop.

Natasha nudged your arm playfully. “Why are you acting so weird? We just need to see the portfolio.”

You sighed. “I just don’t like lying; it feels immoral.”

“Like when you told Steve that Peter was your boyfriend?” She challenged, earning herself a glare. “I feel like that was kind of immoral—”

“Not the time, Nat.” You huffed, relieved to move on from that conversation as Sam entered the reception area. While she didn’t think hiding your relationship with Bucky from your brother was at all a good idea, she couldn’t exactly blame you for doing so given your current... situation.

The man crinkled his brows as he locked the back door behind him, and the way his eyes narrowed suggested that he wasn’t too happy having late visitors. “You know I close at this time, (Y/N). What do you want?”

Not bothering to joke around with him, you cut straight to the chase. “I’m sorry, Sam, but it’s urgent. There’s... a lot of things going on right now which I can’t explain, but we need your help.”

An unconvinced laugh left his lips, and before he could ask what the hell you were talking about, Natasha decided to speed up the process. There wasn’t enough time to explain anything, not if you were going to start taking down an international illegal fighting ring in four days. Well, try to.

The redhead stepped forward, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m a private investigator working alongside Captain Fury with the NYPD. We think some of the guys we’re looking for might’ve gotten tattoos here in the past.”

That made Sam snort, and Natasha cocked her brow questioningly. “You’re not a private investigator.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re a twenty year old college student, that’s how I know.”

“Sam,” You said firmly. “This isn’t a joke. I know it sounds crazy, but we’re running low on time here. I swear once everything is over, I’ll explain it all to you.”

The amusement on the man’s face faded upon seeing the seriousness on yours. He wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, but if Natasha really was somehow working with the police, then he guessed it wasn’t something he was meant to get involved with. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but if you guys are in trouble...”

“We’re not in trouble; just investigating.” Natasha lied, since you were in deep trouble and you were both painfully aware of it. However, the less that others knew, the easier things could get done.

Sam still seemed apprehensive, but after a few moments, he gave in with a sigh. He didn’t take you or Natasha for liars, and truthfully, he just wanted to get home as soon as possible. Hesitantly, he asked you what you needed, and soon enough the three of you were crowded around the reception desk, flipping through Sam’s tattoo portfolio.

The book was thick; Sam’s business had gotten a lot of attention over time, and it seemed that finding the one design you were looking for was going to be impossible. It took around ten minutes, but when you finally turned a page and saw a skull staring back at you, you snapped your gaze up to Natasha.

“That’s it.” You breathed, and you couldn’t help but grin thankfully. Hopefully, this meant you were getting somewhere.

“Do you remember doing this tattoo, Sam?” The readhead turned to the man eagerly.

His brown eyes scanned the design carefully, and after a couple of seconds, he nodded. “Yeah, I do. I remember because around six guys came in wanting this exact tattoo. I just thought they were part of a club or something.”

A club, that was one way to put it.

“Do you remember any of their names?”

He shook his head. “I’m not that great with names, but I think I remember one guy... He didn’t come to get the tattoo, though. He wanted it removed. I think it was... Peter? Or Pietro?”

Pietro Maximoff. The boxer Bucky had told you about; he’d been part of the ring and managed to get out at the expense of losing contact with his twin sister, which explains why he got the tattoo removed if it was a symbol of being apart of the ring.

Natasha glanced over at you, and you offered her a nod to indicate that was all you needed. The two of you thanked Sam for the help before finally letting him close the shop, and your friend didn’t waste any time holding back on asking questions once you’d climbed into her car.

“Do you know Pietro?” She asked, turning in her seat to face you.

You nodded, explaining to her what Bucky had told you about him, as well as his sister having to move out of the country in order to avoid any danger.

“This could be really useful. What if it means that everyone who boxes at that gym has the tattoo? If we manage to shut it down, it’ll be easy to find everyone involved. What if every guy in every gym involved has it?”

That would be convenient, for sure. The theory had you wondering if Steve ever got the tattoo, or if he got it and then had it removed once he managed to get out of Pierce’s clutch. And again, you found yourself wondering if Bucky had the tattoo at some point too.

“So where do we go from here?” You questioned hesitantly. While you and Natasha had made a start on collecting evidence of the fighting ring’s existence, you were going to need a hell of a lot more to make sure that Pierce didn’t find a way to worm his way out of being convicted for every single crime he took part in.

Plus, you were still at risk of being essentially kidnapped by Brock Rumlow in only a number of days; you needed a plan, and you needed one soon.

The girl pursed her lips in thought. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But you’re not going anywhere on Friday, (Y/N). I’ll think of something, I swear on my life.”

Natasha wasn’t one to make empty promises, so her words provided you with a vague sense of relief. It was only a matter of whether the odds would work in her favour, and yours.

* * *

“Hi, James.”

As you smiled softly at the boxer stood in your doorway, you couldn’t help but notice his anxious demeanour. He still thought you were frustrated with him, you could tell.

“Hey.” He breathed. No pet name, no hug; your heart melted for him. Sure, you were a little disappointed you had to find out from Steve rather than Bucky himself about his own past, but if he wanted to make things right and set the record straight, then what reason did you have to hold a grudge?

Sighing, you grabbed one of his hands and tugged him inside, quickly shutting the door behind him before turning to look at him properly. “I’m not mad at you, you know. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Furrowing his brows, Bucky shook his head in disagreement. “No, I shouldn’t be keeping things from you, especially after I told you about everything else—”

“What matters is that you’re here now,” You interrupted him firmly, assuring him that he didn’t have to apologise anymore. “Lets just sit down and talk about it all, okay?”

When he only gave you an unconvincing nod, you leaned in and pressed a long, gentle kiss to his lips. The reassuring gesture seemed to work, as you felt his body relax once he began kissing you back. After pulling away and seeing a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, you couldn’t help but grin too. You didn’t think you could ever be mad at him; you weren’t sure why he was so worried that you were, not when you were so, well, in love with him.

In love; you figured you had to be. Maybe you were simply naive and starry-eyed and you had no idea what it even meant to be in love. Perhaps it was the safety you felt with him, or how his touch managed to ignite a burning fire of affection inside of you. You could talk to him about your mother without feeling awkward or burdensome, the apartment you’d loved so much because you lived in it alone even felt more homely when he was around, resting comfortably on the couch with you in his lap like he was meant to be there.

And maybe he was. Whether it was wrong in the eyes of your brother, in your own eyes even, it didn’t feel wrong. Nothing about being with Bucky felt wrong.

It was the calm before the storm; you were painfully aware of that. Every bittersweet moment spent loving Bucky Barnes was only adding up to the dreaded point where chaos finally ensued. Bucky’s involvement with the ring. Steve’s match. The deal he made with Brock. Steve learning the truth about you and Bucky.

In only days, everything could be different. Everything you know and love could disappear with the snap of Brock Rumlow’s fingers as he remorselessly strips you of your freedom.

So as you took Bucky by the hand and guided him to your bedroom, you savoured the feeling of his calloused fingers against your palm. And as he began to open up about the part of his life he kept locked away, you listened to his every word intently.

Because after the match against Rumlow, as despairing as the thought was, you mightn’t be able to hear the sound of his voice again for a long, long time.

* * *

@kimvmarvel @printedpeterparker @buckyandsebastian @ilovesupersoldiers @asgcrds @bxrnsfeyson @peterparkerbabyyy @broco8 @hotheadbarnes @stormi-ames @founding-fuck-bois @fizzahocleirigh @loveofmychips @fanfuckingtastic04 [ if your tag isn’t working please let me know !! ]

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes reader insert #boxer!bucky #bucky barnes au

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aleksadnezz · 3 years

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Sweet Night 2

Jae x Reader

It is Saturday and I don't have errands today but I don't want to waste this day by just laying on my bed and watch sum tv shows because that's what I always do (after my shift or when I don't have work). I decided to take a shower and wear a white shirt, jeans and one out of my three pair of shoes cuz I’m broke af. I put sum random stuff into my tote bag just in case cuz I still have no idea where I wanted to go. I head out my room and locked it. I glance over to the room across mine, I wonder when he will return my charger.. I’m just kidding. I wonder if he’s alright, I mean if he seems okay living alone and streaming all day? or all night not leaving his apartment. I’m just a concern co-tenant that’s all.

I walked and walked and walked until I reached to the bus station. I didn’t wait that long for the bus to arrive, I hopped in thankfully there’s not much people at this hour. It’s only 10AM and I still have lots of time to waste. Since this bus is heading to the center of the city, where most people go cuz there are a lot of shopping malls and attractions I’ll stay there and let where it will lead me.

When we reached the bus station, I immediately got off the bus and casually walked on the street. There are lots of stores in the area that I’m in, there are sum bookstores, clothing stores and cafés. I don’t usually go outside like this but when I do, I only go to market to buy groceries so it feels new to me to go out alone in a different place. What I like about living here is that people don’t actually care about others, it doesn’t matter to them whatever you do in public as long as it’s not harmful.

I entered to sum clothing stores just to checked their prices and left right away. Damn. Why does clothes have to be that expensive, I can already buy five thrift items for that price. I went to a bookstore and bought one book. It’s a self-help book, though I don’t actually read but I want to give it a shot, this might be a new hobby for me so. I also went to Daiso which I think is now my favorite place, they sell random stuff and cute stuff which I ended up buying more than 5 items.

Going to stores surprisingly took me 3 hours it’s already lunch time so I went to a café that also sells meals. The ambiance of the place is so calm and expensive, and there’s not much people inside which what I like. I ordered iced matcha and sum carbonara. After I eat, I headed back home cuz I might end up spending all my recent salary in just one day cuz that’s possible to happen. Knowing myself I’m a big spender but try to manage that since I’m now earning and paying my own bills.

On the way home I didn’t saw the strange old man, thankfully. I’m tired and can’t deal with him right now. I put down all my bags on the floor, got change and lay on my bed. I was busy scrolling through my phone when I heard a knocked on my door so I stood up and walked over my door. My eyes grew bigger when I saw who knocked. It was my neighbor, Jae. He’s wearing sum navy long sleeve button down polo and jeans, way different from what he always wears except only his slides.

“Hi Jae.” I greeted.

“Hello y/n. Do you have time?”

“Yeah why?”

“Um I know we don’t know each other that much but can you help me?”

“Well, I guess what is it?” I honestly don’t have an idea what help he is asking. I don’t know he might ask me to help him move furnitures or carry huge boxes or even buy him food outside the building or sumthin.

“I’m sorry if it’s so sudden, you’re the only person that can help me about this, can you do makeup on me?” Eh? that’s all? I really though he’ll make me carry boxes. When I looked at him, he’s scratching his forehead. I think he’s embarrassed. So cut-I don’t to make things complicated for him so I I’ll put my curiosity behind.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I already bought makeup earlier so you don’t have to worry.” I nodded and bite my lip. So, I have to go to his place? Omg

“Uhh so where do you want us to do it?” Woah that sounds so wrong. I immediately covered my mouth that made him laugh. “I-I mean am I going to your place or?” I nervously laughed. Damn. What the fuck.

“Anywhere you’re comfortable.”

“Okay so.. my place?” I asked him and he nodded.

“I’ll just get the stuff” he said and entered his apartment.

I scanned my room making sure that my place is clean. All my dirty clothes are on my basket. I have no dishes in the kitchen. My bed is a mess so I quickly smoothen the crease I made on my bed earlier. I sat on my chair and suddenly felt my heart beats fast. I just realized that it is my first time inviting a guy that I barely know, in my apartment. Not that I trust easily, it just my gut feeling telling me that he’s a nice person.

I heard a knocked so I stood up and opened the door.

“Hello again” He smiled and extend his hand carrying a paper bag. I took it and oh boy it’s heavy.

“Have a seat.” I offered him to seat on my small dining table cuz I don’t have a couch in my apartment. I sat on the other chair across to him. I took out all the makeup inside the bag and lay it on the table. I think he bought every item that’s in the store, there are more than 10 products inside the bag.

“Okay..” I looked at him and he fixed his posture and looked straight at my face. Woah. I never felt more shy in my life.

“I already have moisturizer on.” He spoke. How come he can read my mind? Besides from being a streamer is he a mind reader too?

“Do you think that’s enough cuz I don’t know what I bought.” He pointed the bag.

“it’s.. a lot.”

“I asked for assistance and the lady there suggested those.” I laughed. Poor boy.

“I think she tricked you from buying everything.”

“Happy to help.” He said.

“Great. Okay I’ll put foundation on your face first.” I opened the bottle and put sum at the back of my hand. When I said that he bought every single item in the store, I mean it. He even has the complete set of brushes.

I can see that he’s still staring at my face while I put foundation on his face. He’s prolly counting my acne and dark spots. I’m too shy to tell him not to look directly at me so I just asked him to unbox the products.

“Can I ask?” I spoke.

“Sure.” He answered while he’s busy unboxing each item.

“Why am I the person you reached out for this?” I raised the foundation and brush, referring to the makeup.

“Most of my friends are men I bet they don’t know anything about this and I think you’re the only woman that can help me plus you lived across so..” I laughed when he said the last part.

“What is this for? If you don’t mind me asking” There, I said it. I’m just curious why he wants me to his makeup at 3pm. Not sus at all.

“A-ahh I have an event.. yeah an event I need to attend to”

“Hmm. Is it like the streamercon thing?”

“Y-yeah something like that.”

“By the way what time is the event?”

“Probably at 6 but I have to leave at 5.”

“Alright I’ll just make it natural.” He nodded and stared at me again.

“Do you play games?” He suddenly asked.

“No and I will never.” He laughed.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t like playing and It looks complicated”

“Maybe at first but once you started playing, you’ll get used to it.”

“Still not convince.”

“How about hobbies? What do you do?” I stop what I’m doing and looked up as if that I’m thinking. He looked at me intently, waiting for me to answer.

“Nothing.” I said and continue doing his face.

“What? Really?” He said surprisingly.

“Yeah, I don’t really have a hobby.”

“How about that painting?” He pointed something on my back so I looked back to see. It was my painting on top of my drawer, I hid it behind my picture frame cuz I have a nowhere to hide it.

“That was years ago. I don’t paint anymore.” No story behind it. I just stop doing it. Besides I got busy from working.

“Why though? That honestly looks really cool.”

“Really?” He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Alright.. down to the last part.” I finished doing his face and I didn’t put a lot of makeup since he already has great skin. I just put concealer under his eyes and brought colors back to his face. I grabbed the peach lipstick and twisted it open. Still laughing in my mind cuz the sale’s lady prolly made him buy 4 lipsticks.

Now it’s my turn to look at him. I’ve been avoiding his gaze while we’re talking, trying to focus on what I’m doing. I don’t want to make it awkward for the both of us so I’ll just make it fast.

“Just stay still okay.” He nodded while looking anywhere but me.

I don’t know where to put my other hand so I let it rest on my lap while the other one is holding the lipstick. I raised my hand and before the tip of the lipstick even touch his lips, he grabs my wrist.

“Why?”

“Nervous.” He said, still not looking at me. I’ve seen guys afraid of having lipstick on them which I don’t understand why but I don’t question it either.

“Is that necessary?” He added.

“Not really but for you, yes. You’re quite pale, I don’t want you to look dead.” He slightly laughed and softly released my wrist from his hand.

“Am I that pale?” I nodded.

“Alright then.”

“Do you want to?” Asking him is he wanted to put it on himself.

“No, it’s my first time I might mess it up. I’ll just let you do it.” Woah. I feel honored.

“Okay hold still.” I leaned my hand on his face but I can see him leaning backwards.

“Don’t lean!” He laughed.

“Alright.. sorry.”

I hold his shoulder using my other hand and raised the other to glide the tip of the lipstick on his soft lookin lips. I saw him shut his eyes and I find myself smiling cuz I think he looks like a cute little kid. I didn’t realize that the application was taking too long until he slowly opened his eyes. My smile slowly fades while my hands still attached to him, creating connection between us. Our eyes locked into each other for a solid 4 seconds until his eyes slowly landed on my lips-sxsnpRYrccxSWwhhelp

“W-woah.. m-my makeup is a masterpiece.” I said and quickly moves away. I grab a palette with a compact mirror and hand it to him. He took it and scanned his face. I can feel my cheeks heating up.

“Masterpiece…” He said and turned to me smiling.

“Thank you so much y/n for helping me. I owe you.” Thankfully I’m not that dumb enough so I heard it right.

“No worries Jae. Happy to help.” I said mocking him about the sale’s lady situation. He laughed.

“No really. I can’t thank you enough.” His phone rings, he looked on it and put it in his pocket. “Also.. can you please keep the bag for me?” I nodded. We stood up and walked over the door.

“Sure.”

“Thank you again y/n I’ll see you… sometime. I’ll definitely make it up to you.”

“Don’t bother. It’s alright.”

“I insist.” He looked at me intently. It’s like there’s sum energy from his eyes or maybe it just him that made me agree to everything that he says. I think I need to go to hospital. There’s something wrong about here or there’s something wrong about me…

“Alright. Alright.” I slightly raised both my hands, showing him that I surrender.

“Good. See you then. Bye y/n” He smiled. What the fuck

“Bye Jae.” I smiled back. I waited him to leave before I hardly shut my door. I leaned on the back of my door, thinking about what just happened today. There’s nothing wrong about me. It’s him. He’s the problem. The way he looked at me. The way he smiles. The way he laughs. Gosh.

I’ve seen this in films before and I’m now living on it.

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#Day6 #Day6 Jae #Jae Park #EajPark #Day6 x reader #Day6 x Reader Fluff #Day6 Fluff #Jae x reader #Sweet Night #FanFiction

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emybain · 4 years

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Quarantine: Renegades Edition

so please don’t take this seriously. i honestly don’t remember writing half of it, but it be like that. this is simply a glimpse into the lives of Nova and Adrian during a global pandemic, aka snippets of the few months they’re in quarantine together. also, happy birthday to my girl nova. there’s a bonus/crack scene at the end that was inspired by tiktok, as well. i regret nothing (other than this poorly written fic)

ao3

“They’re saying this thing could spread into June, July, maybe even August,” Adrian said, relaxing back into the leather couch, pulling the laptop with him. Nova adjusted against him, pulling the blanket over her legs just a little higher as the AC powered on.

“That’s if people keep being dumbasses,” Danna replied from behind the screen, leaning forward to rest her head in her palm. “It’s our job as citizens to prevent the spread of this disease. Why can’t people get that through their thick heads?”

Nova and Adrian were on a video call with the rest of their friends, who were all also quarantined in their homes. Nova had her own apartment, but at the very start of this outbreak—a new disease that was rapidly spreading around the world—she decided that quarantining by herself for an unknown amount of time wouldn’t be good for her mental health, so she packed up clothing and other essentials and headed over to the Everhart-Westwood residence. Not to mention that a mansion was vastly better than a one room apartment. Oh yeah, and she supposed being stuck with her boyfriend every day wasn’t so bad.

“They’re being ignorant,” Nova chipped in. “People think that they’re immune, or that this virus is being blown out of proportion.”

“When they get sick, I’ll laugh.” Ruby popped a cracker in her mouth before the camera became blurry as she moved. She appeared to have shifted from lying on her back to her stomach from a spot on her bed. There was minimal background noise from her end, which was suspicious since she shared a room with two teenage boys. They must’ve been off playing video games, probably who Max was laughing with from his room upstairs.

Narcissa poked her head out from behind a lengthy book from her place on Danna’s bed in the background of Danna’s screen.. Like Nova, she lived by herself, and would rather be with her significant other than be alone. “This isn’t the first time a pandemic has spread throughout the world. There was the European Virus fifty years ago, coronavirus back in the 21st century, the Spanish Flu in the 20th century, and so on and so forth.” She waved a hand in the air. “Hopefully, people will come to their senses. History always repeats itself, no matter how hard we may try to prevent it.”

“Thanks for the optimistic input, babe.” Danna rolled her eyes and cast a glance back at her girlfriend.

“It’s what I do,” Narcissa replied, returning her attention back to her book, but there was a smile on her face.

“Well, maybe when things start to calm down a bit, we can all hang out. A picnic or in cars or something.” Oscar shrugged. “Six feet apart, of course. I’m not about to catch something from you nasty people.

“Did you just suggest a picnic?” Ruby snorted. “You might want to check your temperature. I think you’re getting sick.”

“You seem to forget all about the many picnics we’ve had.”

Ruby stuck her tongue out in response, then straightened a little and turned her head to the side. “What?” she yelled. After a moment, she turned back to the screen and groaned. “Ugh, I have to go. Mom’s making me bake with her again. Maybe this time we’ll try something besides bread or cookies.” She waved at them before she vanished from the meeting.

At that moment, the front door clicked and opened, revealing Hugh and Simon, both carrying multiple grocery bags.

“My dads just got home from the store. We should probably go help.” Adrian sat up, leaving Nova to fall a little in his direction as she had been leaning on him.

“Hi Adrian’s Dads!” Oscar yelled, though they were already out of the room when he did so. Nonetheless, they both shouted back their greetings from the kitchen.

“I should probably go, too. There’s this show I started bingeing and I finished the fifth season last night. I’m dying to know what happens after that cliffhanger.” Danna leaned back in her chair.

“Oh, is it that one you were telling me about?” Nova raised her eyebrows. “Based off of that movie series?”

“Yes! And watch it so I can rant to you about it! I’m so pissed off at the main characters. They’re just...so stupid.”

With that, the remaining five waved and said their goodbyes. Adrian set the laptop down on the coffee table in front of them, and they both stood up. Nova stretched, her muscles tired from sitting for nearly an hour.

In the kitchen, Hugh was unloading the bags while Simon busied himself with spraying the items with cleaner and wiping them down with a paper towel. A couple of weeks into quarantine and Nova and Adrian knew what to do. They got to work putting stuff away, with Nova on pantry duty and Adrian at the fridge.

Although Nova hadn’t been out in public since the world went into quarantine, she could tell that the grocery stores and other places were beginning to recover from the initial shock of the pandemic. With each trip to the store, Adrian’s parents came back with more and more food and supplies. Hugh had even decided to buy a fridge to store out in the garage for extra food that didn’t fit inside. She found that to be a bit ridiculous, but it seemed to make him happy. What was it with men and having fridges out in their garages?

“Is Max upstairs?” Simon asked, pushing a milk jug toward Adrian.

“Yeah. I think he’s playing video games.” Adrian shot Nova a look, and she repressed a smile; they both knew what was about to come.

“Has he done any schoolwork since we left two hours ago? Or at least left his room?”

“I think he left to use the bathroom about forty five minutes ago,” Nova said. She glanced at the knock-off brand of her favorite crackers in her hand and sighed, placing it on a shelf. The off-brand wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t the same. It was the type of product that you had to buy name brand, as the imitations were just a waste of money. Alas, with the pandemic, she knew it was a fight to get the good products before anyone else.

“He’ll get it done, Pops,” Adrian reassured. “He’s been doing fine the last couple of weeks. Just going at his own pace, is all.”

“I know.” A sigh escaped Simon’s mouth. “And I’m glad that he’s able to be a kid now, but being a kid includes doing your homework.”

Nova thought of the classes she was taking at a local university. She was doing her best to keep up with her online work, but as the weeks dragged on, she was losing motivation. “This quarantine is probably nothing for Max, remember? I’m sure he does his work whenever he wants to because he actually enjoys doing it.” She shrugged. “Better than sitting around surrounded by glass walls.”

“You’re probably right,” Hugh added, washing his hands once the last of the groceries were out of the bags. “I’m not too worried about him, just as long as I get to see his face once a day.” He chuckled at his own words. Simon offered a smile in support.

Once all the groceries were stored away, Nova and Adrian headed downstairs, taking the laptop with them.

__________

Adrian stood from his seat, where he had previously already been on edge.

“Nova, where are you going?” The glare he received was enough to scare off anyone else. He had seen this side of her before, though, and was unfazed. “It’s almost midnight,” he added, only increasing the glare.

“Anywhere but here.” Her eyes turned to Hugh, who crossed his arms in response. The two were arguing. Again. It was something that was new to their quarantine, having only surfaced about a week ago. They liked to argue over literally anything, from who got to have control over the remote to whether or not Nova should be a part of their daily “family walks” to the current state of the government and the involvement of the Renegades, who were no longer in charge but were still heavily tied into politics. Hell, even the weather wasn’t safe from their growing agitation with one another. Today, everything had been going fine, for once, until Hugh just had to bring up a curfew, as Nova liked to leave the house at odd hours.

“This house is a fucking nightmare.” She gripped the keys to her motorcycle in her hand and turned to the door. From beside him, Adrian heard Max mutter something about irony under his breath. He too, despite entering the years of being a disagreeable teenager, was sick of the fighting.

“Language, young lady,” Hugh said, warning laced in his tone.

“Once again, you’re not my dad,” Nova gritted out. She opened the front door, revealing the darkness outside. “And you never will be.”

“Nova, what he’s asking isn’t completely unreasonable.” Simon ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re in our home for who knows how long, so as parents, you’re now our responsibility. Even when you’re not under our roof, you’re our responsibility. We just want you to be safe.”

“If you don’t want to follow our simple rules, then why are you even here? We’re paying for an apartment not two miles north from here, and you’re not even there. Instead you’re here, wasting our time and resources.” Even though the words weren’t directed at him, Adrian felt a chill go down his spine.

Nova’s mouth opened, and she stared at Hugh blankly. Adrian could’ve sworn he saw her eyes welling up. “I’m here because I didn’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone my entire goddamn life, and I didn’t know if I could handle doing it again.” She swallowed, hand turning on the screen door. “But it’s not like I expect you to understand.” And then she was out the door.

Adrian rushed forward, eyeing his dad coldly. “Seriously?”

“She’s out of line!” Hugh defended, although Adrian could see the regret in his features.

Choosing not to answer him, Adrian shook his head and went outside. Nova was at the end of the driveway, sitting on her motorcycle and looking down at the ground. Adrian approached her slowly, making sure his steps were loud so that she knew he was there.

“I don’t walk to talk about it.” She hid her face even more from him when he bent down. “You’re welcome to come with me, but I don’t want you to get in trouble for breaking curfew.” Her voice soured at the word.

“I understand why you’re mad, but don’t avoid me because of it.” He lightly nudged her chin with his knuckles.

“He’s just so...so…” she lifted her head up, running a hand through her hair in frustration as she tried to find the right words

“Stubborn? Controlling? Self righteous?”

“Yes.” She let out a laugh, though it was void of humor. “It’s just...who does he think he is? I’m an adult. Even if he was my father, he can’t control what I can and cannot do.”

“You seem to forget that I’ve had to live with him for years,” Adrian said dryly. He reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. “I’m an adult, too, but that doesn’t matter because he pays the bills.”

Nova gave him a long look. “You really need your own place.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“But you get what I mean.” She looked down at their hands, turning them around to examine the back of his. “I’m not his kid. It’s different with you because you’re his son.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to keep you safe.” Her grip on him tightened, just slightly. Even though it had been a few years since the events surrounding the supernova, Nova still had trouble believing that her former enemies actually cared about her. It was hard to trust them when it had been ingrained in her from a young age that they were the bad guys.

“I can take care of myself fine. I’ve been out in the middle of the night so many times I’ve lost count. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.”

Adrian sighed and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. There wouldn’t be any reasoning with her, at least not tonight. He had to let her cool down and return to the subject when she had a clearer mind. “At least come back inside? We can go play video games downstairs, or watch a movie, or do anything you want. I’m sure once you and Hugh are both calmed down, you can reach a compromise.”

“But I don’t want a fucking com-”

“Or he’ll see things your way,” he tacked on quickly. Right. When she got like this, it had to be her way. It was funny, how she resented Hugh at times for his stubbornness, when she was equally as stubborn if not more so. This quarantine was really getting to all of them. Adrian couldn’t wait for the day life could go back to normal.

“Adrian? Nova?” Adrian turned his head around to see Max, who was squinting at them through the dark, despite the outside lights being on.

“What’s up, Max?” Nova shifted her body on the bike to face the teen.

“Pops wants to know if you’re coming inside soon. He needs to set the alarm so he and Dad can go to bed.” Max paused, eyeing the bike. “Unless you’re going for a ride, then he’ll leave it off.”

Adrian waited for Nova to answer, as it was up to her. Nova ran her free hand over the bike, then sighed.

“We’ll be in right behind you. I was just...checking some things on her.” All three knew she was lying, but Nova was still learning how to express her emotions in front of others. Even in front of Max, someone she got along with as well as she did with Adrian.

“Alright.” Max turned to leave, then glanced back at her. “You know, things are rough right now, and I know it isn’t easy for everyone to be in isolation for so long, but,” he shrugged, “at least we’re together. I was able to make it in a quarantine for ten years with no one but myself and the doctors for company, so this is easy for me, but I know I’m probably the only person on this planet who thinks that way.” He let out a soft laugh. “I guess I’m just trying to say that I’m glad you’re here, and that I’m glad our family is quarantining together.” The smile he shot her was genuine. He turned back around and walked back to the house, where Adrian could see the outlines of his dads watching at the door.

“Huh.” Adrian watched his brother go inside. “Just when you think he’s starting to learn how to be a proper kid-”

“-he goes and spouts shit like that?” Nova finished, shaking her head. Adrian could see the small smile on her face through the curls hiding her features.

“Yeah.” Adrian squeezed her hand. “C’mon, let’s go back inside.”

“Okay.”

__________

Nova placed the mixing bowl in the sink and turned on the faucet. She reached into a drawer and grabbed a towel, placing it under the running water. The kitchen was a mess, although she had seen it in worse states. At least the ingredients were all stored away so that she could get started on wiping down the counters. Hugh and Simon were at headquarters for the day, as their presence was required for something Nova didn’t care enough to know about, and they figured it would be best to work from there instead of coming home. And, according to Simon, them being out in public and at headquarters would be good for publicity. It had been a while since they stepped into work, seeing as even the Renegades had to obey social distancing orders.

Point being, they were out of the house, so Nova could do whatever she wanted without questions being asked. And she had grown to appreciate baking during quarantine, among her long list of new and revisited hobbies. The Everhart-Westwoods always, to Nova’s surprise, had sweet tooths, so they never minded that Nova made a mess of their kitchen; it was just when Hugh or Simon entered the kitchen and started asking a bunch of questions that got on Nova’s nerves. Today, she could bake in peace.

Or so she thought.

“Mm. Smells good in here.” She looked up at her boyfriend, who just entered the room. He peeked at the oven. “Cupcakes?”

“Muffins,” Nova corrected, setting the used towel next to the sink. There was dried paint on his forehead, as well as on his hands. She had to shake her head. How was it possible to get so dirty? Well, she should speak for herself and her flour-covered apron.

“Oh, well, same thing.” He shrugged and grabbed a water glass from a cabinet.

Nova blinked and reached for the remote, which was sitting beside her, and paused the show she was watching on the kitchen’s small TV. “No. No not really.”

Adrian chuckled and nudged her lightly as he passed her to the fridge. “Yeah, kind of. The only difference is cupcakes have frosting.”

Nova scoffed. “The only difference? They’re two completely different things. That’s like saying ice cream and gelato are the same.”

Adrian turned to face her, leaning against the fridge. He took a sip of his water. “Ice cream and gelato are the same. One’s just claimed by the Italians.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Those aren’t the same, either, dumbass. Ice cream, clearly from its name, has more cream than gelato. And gelato’s more dense than ice cream. Those are just two differences.” She crossed her arms. “There are more.”

“And? What does that have to do with muffins and cupcakes?”

“Because they’re not the same.” Nova had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. And Adrian claimed he was a smart person. Yeah, maybe smart compared to sloths. “Muffins are considered a bread. Cupcakes are...well...cake. Two completely different recipes. You can’t just slap some frosting on a blueberry muffin and say it’s a cupcake. Maybe it looks like one, but the flavor and textures are way off.”

“They both are made the exact same way, babe. No difference.” With the way he was smirking, Nova had the thought that he could just be messing with her.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me.” She glared at him. “Fine. If you won’t believe me, the baker, then you don’t have to eat any of my muffins. Not cupcakes.”

He groaned and reached for her, but she dove out of his reach. “Nova, don’t be like this. I’m sorry. They’re not the same, okay? Happy?”

“Not until you’re honest.” She checked the timer above the oven. “I’m going downstairs for a minute.” Pointing a finger at him, she added, “Don’t mess with them. I’ll know.”

“Admitting defeat?” he called at her back.

“Hell no,” she tossed over her shoulder. “This conversation is far from over, buddy.”

She definitely heard him mutter rudely how he knew, but chose to ignore it. After all, she was the bigger person in the relationship.

__________

Adrian turned into a parking spot and turned off the car. He glanced over at Nova, who was giving him a very pointed look.

“The park? What did you plan? A picnic?” That was, in fact, the plan, but only part of it.

Leaning over, he planted a gentle kiss on her lips. It only softened the look a little. “You’ll see, nosey.” He unbuckled himself and opened the driver door. “Now, come on.”

She rolled her eyes, but got out as well. Seeing her in a pair of cutoff shorts and a simple t-shirt was refreshing, as she had been wearing sweats for the past two months, ever since the world was sent into quarantine. She and Adrian both had been dawning the same three pairs of pants and shirts for weeks now. But, this was the first time they both actually got out of the house, save for their daily walks or motorcycle/car rides, so it was only fitting to get dressed up for the occasion. And by dressed up he meant ditching the sweatpants.

Also, it was Nova’s birthday. Adrian hated that she was being forced to spend it unceremoniously, when so many of her birthdays had gone practically unnoticed growing up with the Anarchists, so he took it upon himself as her boyfriend to do what he could for her. And that meant having a socially distanced picnic in the park with their friends, who they hadn’t seen in person in months.

They walked down the sidewalk hand in hand, going into the grass whenever a biker or runner passed by them to maintain distance. Adrian almost wanted to pull his mask out from his pocket, but knew he was probably fine. Besides, if he put his mask on, Nova would follow, and he knew how much she hated wearing them, for obvious reasons. They were outside, and there were hardly any people in the park.

“You’re an idiot, Adrian Everhart,” Nova said once they could see their friends, but there was a smile on her face. They were all spread out on blankets, making a circle, and in the center sat an unoccupied blanket piled with food and gifts.

“Hey, I can’t take all the credit.” He squeezed her hand, grinning down at her.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” Oscar said, checking his watch. “We’ve been here for hours. We’re starving.” He stood and went to the middle to start making a plate. Adrian made a face at his back. He had specifically asked that they wait for Nova until they started eating in the group chat, so he guessed Oscar was holding his word. He waited, after all.

“Twenty minutes,” Danna corrected from her spot beside Narcissa. She looked at them and rolled her eyes. “Happy Birthday, Nova.”

Everyone chorused in their ‘Happy Birthdays’ and Nova thanked them as she and Adrian sat down on the one remaining blanket. “You guys didn’t have to go and do this for me.” She turned her gaze specifically toward Adrian. He raised his hands in defense.

“Blame Oscar for putting the idea in my head. All he ever talks about when we video call is how bored he is.”

“That’s true.” Nova shook her head in amusement. “This is very sweet, but don’t expect me to cry or anything.”

“You cried on your seventeenth birthday, and that’s enough for us,” Ruby teased.

“That was literally two years ago.” Nova ran a hand over her face. “It meant nothing.”

“Mhm,” was Ruby’s response, but Adrian could tell she wasn’t convinced. None of them were, obviously.

Nova peered at the food pile. “Is that Mediterranean pizza I see?”

“Yeah, and it’s all yours,” Oscar clarified, passing a plate he made for Ruby to her before sitting down himself. “I still don’t understand how you like that. There’s not even meat on it!”

“There’s also cannoli’s.” Adrian stood to go make them both plates. He knew that cannoli’s were one of the few desserts she liked, probably because they weren’t that heavy. “Do you want one or two?”

She pondered the question for a moment, then smiled at him. “Two.”

When he returned with their food, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“What was that for?” He handed her plate over.

“For being you, and for giving me the best birthdays ever.” She shifted her body to lean against him. “How’d you know I wanted to see everyone for my birthday, anyway?”

“Because I know you.” He kissed her forehead. “Happy Birthday, Nova.”

__________

Bonus crack scene:

“I would like to thank everyone for joining me today,” Nova said, swirling the water in the wine glass she snatched from the cabinet. Since Hugh wouldn’t let her drink actual wine, this was the next best thing. She cleared her throat. “I took it upon myself to observe the members of this household over the course of a week and rate everyone on their performances.” She pointed to the pyramid of papers set up on the wall, held there by type. There were pictures of everyone in the household behind a white sheet of paper. Starting at the bottom on the left side was the worst member, and the one at the top was the best. Why she decided to do this, she had little clue, but she figured it would be an entertaining activity to spice up everyone’s day.

“Is that what this is? I thought it was something actually serious.” Hugh leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a smile on his lips.

“It is serious.” She pointed her glass at him. The fast movement caused a bit of water to slosh over the side. “It has come to my attention that there are people in this household who have some improvement to work on if they want to move up next week.”

“If I’m not at the top, I’m breaking up with you,” Adrian joked, adjusting the glasses on his face. She narrowed her eyes at the camera he was pointing at her.

“I do not accept bribes.” Tearing off the first piece of paper, she began. There was a snicker, probably Max. “Hugh.” He immediately started protesting, but Nova silenced him. “No, no, no. You’re mean to me. Always looking to post up or some shit.”

“Language,” he warned, though his tone was light.

“Not to mention you don’t let me express my true self by cussing,” she added sharply. “Also, you tried to kill me three years ago and I’m sorry, but I just can’t forgive my haters like that. Try better next week, okay?”

“Hold on, wait a second.” Hugh held up a hand. “First of all, young lady, if you want to bring up the past, it goes both ways, but we’ve both changed for the be-”

“No comments at this time,” Nova interrupted. She ripped off the next sheet of paper. “Next up is Nova.” Laughter broke out in the room. Even she couldn’t help from smiling. “Not gonna lie, I held out hope for this one, but she’s got a lot of issues, if you know what I mean. Always picking an argument, refuses to participate in family activities, and is kind of just there. Doesn’t really do much of anything. The only reasons she’s above Hugh is because, for one, she’s far more attractive, and she bakes stuff for everyone.

“Adrian-”

“Oh, come on!”

“-you refused to cuddle with me yesterday and watch guilty pleasure movies because you said you were busy. You argued with me the other day on the validity of the Star Wars prequels and sequels.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And you’re filming me without my consent. Other than those things, though,” she shrugged, “pretty cool boyfriend. You didn’t say anything when I stole one of your sweatshirts the other day, so that gets you some points.”

“Wait, the gray-”

“Max is next.” She tossed the white paper to the ground. “You never say anything mean to me, unlike some members in this household, but that could also be because you spend all day on video games. Because of that, I’m afraid you can’t be higher.”

“Hey, I’ll settle for third.” Max shrugged, grinning.

“And that’s why I like you!” She nodded firmly. “In second place, we have Simon. Who doesn’t like Simon? You always have something nice to say, and on occasion, you’ll back me up in an argument because you’re an intellectual. I always enjoy our deep conversations, too. Truly a wonderful person.”

“Thank you, Nova. I enjoy our talks, as well.” Simon chuckled. He looked pretty pleased to be on top.

“And that leaves us with,” she ripped off the last paper at the top, causing the room to erupt in laughter and clapping, “Obi Wan Kenobi. Truly an iconic and handsome man. Every time I watch Star Wars, he brings up my serotonin levels. Not just because he’s cute, but because he can land some sick burns.”

It was easy to say that, thanks to Adrian’s video, Nova started a trend all over the world.

#nova artino #adrian everhart #danna bell #oscar silva #ruby tucker #narcissa cronin #max everhart #hugh everhart #simon westwood #renegades #archenemies #supernova #supernova spoilers #my writing

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chipper9906 · 4 years

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Bound To You - Chapter 9: One Last Idea

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings Will Change As Story Is Updated

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 6,324

Overall Word Count: 70,628

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (9/?)

Chapter Preview:

“Your father shouldn’t have-,” Cas cut himself off with a frustrated grunt, a few octaves away from being a growl. “You were a child. The things he did to you… the responsibilities he forced you to bare… I’m sorry, Dean. I know you have a lot of respect for your father, but that is not a respect I can share.

“Guess we both got too much respect for our dads, huh?” Dean tried to joke, but it fell flat. “You gotta admit that God was more of a disappointment than my dad though, right?”

“The fact that your father is slightly better than an absentee and destructive God isn’t an achievement, Dean.”

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

Character Key For Telepathic Conversations

'Italic Text' - Castiel

'Bold Text' - Dean

* * *

That morning, Dean woke up with a smile on his face.

They were happening quite often, he realized. At least, ever since Cas has taken up residence in his mind, that was. Part of him’s going to miss having Cas up in his head, helping him to turn his nightmares into significantly more pleasant dreams. He supposes that’ll all stop once they get Cas out of his head and back into his body.

Which they will.

Miracle groggily raised her head from the bed at the feeling of Dean shuffling about, yanking himself over to the edge of the bed and into his wheelchair. She huffed that long-suffering ‘how dare you awaken me’ dog sigh at him, but got to her feet with a bone-cracking stretch none the less, obediently following her owner out of the room.

Sam and Eileen were already up (as usual), huddled around the library’s table with a few sheets of paper haphazardly sprawled out between then; a stark contrast from the usual piles upon piles of books it had been the past few days. The two had their heads close together, whispering excitedly to one another as Sam over-enthusiastically gestured to one of the papers in front of him.

“Morning nerds,” Dean greeted them oh so kindly, balancing a scalding cup of coffee a little too close to the family jewels than he’s comfortable with as he pushed himself towards the two. “What’s got you two so jittery at this time of the day?”

Sam and Eileen straightened themselves up, turning their attention towards Dean. “First of all, it’s eleven in the morning. We’ve been up for five hours.” Sam shot back. “Second of all… what’s got you so smiley?”

“Huh?” Dean finds himself raising a hand to his face self-consciously, only to confirm that yep, he still had the smile planted on his face. “What? Something wrong with me being in a good mood?”

“With you? Yeah, since it usually means you’ve put Nair in my shampoo again or something.”

“Yeah, that was a good one…” Dean said wistfully, thinking back fondly to the memory of Sam throwing every bathroom product on hand at him upon seeing the state of his hair.

“Come on, Sam,” Eileen said playfully, wiggling her eyebrows at Dean whilst nudging at Sam’s elbow with her own. “Obviously, Dean had a… nice dream…”

Sam’s questioning frown quickly broke out into an amused grin, the two sporting similar expressions that they wielded against a quickly reddening Dean. “Ooohhhh… Was that it, Dean? Did you and Cas have a nice ‘talk’ about… y’know, recent events?”

“Shuddup,” Dean grumbled, shooting the two warning glares as he slammed his coffee cup atop the table.

‘You’re very adorable when you blush, Dean. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.’

‘You shut up too. You’re only going to make me blush more.’

‘All the more reason to keep complimenting you,’

“See, look!” Eileen exclaimed jovially to Sam, waving to Dean’s blank face. “He’s been awake, what, ten minutes? Can’t go more than ten minutes without Cas!”

“Actually, Cas was giving me tips on the way I can run over both your feet with my chair and make it seem like an accident.”

‘I did no such thing!’

“Damn Cas, and you want me to hide a bag of Miracle’s crap under their mattress? Now that’s just cruel.”

‘Don’t think I won’t take over your body to apologize, Dean. I’ll do it.’

“Yeah, sure Dean,” Sam’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he shot bitch face number twenty-eight at him. “I’m sure Cas was the one to come up with such childish ideas. I bet Cas has never played a practical joke in his life.”

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s condescending tone, picking up his cup of coffee to take a sip. ‘Sam’s getting a little too cocky for my tastes…’

‘I find myself in one of those rare occasions where I agree with you. Although, he is correct I’ve never played a practical joke before. That being said, I now have a good idea of who my first victim will be…’

Dean snorted into the cup of coffee he held to his lips, wincing at the hot splash of coffee to his face whilst simultaneously choking on his own laughter. ‘Only if you promise I can help you. And nothing life-threatening or harmful. Well, nothing too harmful, anyway.’

‘I’m not sure if this is typical of most human’s first dates, but I’m more than happy to agree.’

‘Since when do we do anything the ‘typical way’, Cas?’

‘Good point.’

Sam shook his head with the beginnings of a pleased smile, accepting the box of tissues Eileen had gotten up to get and sliding them over to Dean. “Not sure if I wanna know what you guys are talking about…”

“Glad to see you guys are talking,” Eileen noted as she dropped back down into her chair. “Last we heard you talking to Cas, you uh… you didn’t seem on good terms.”

“All jokes aside, you guys did talk, right?”

Dean quickly mopped up the spilled coffee with a handful of tissues, tossing them into the bin underneath the table with a soft sigh. “Yeah, we talked… Turns out Sergei wasn’t lying. Cas’s grace is running out on its own.”

Eileen and Sam’s face dropped at the news, practically deflating at the table. “So… what does this mean?” Sam asked.

“Mean’s we’re running out of time,” Dean answered somberly, leaning forward to rest against the top of the table, pulling his cup of coffee closer to him.

“How long until…?”

“Few weeks. Month – at most.”

“Shit…” Sam mumbled, running a hand through his hair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “That’s… not great.”

“No. It sure as hell ain't.” Dean said, finger tapping anxiously at the side of his cup. “I’m fresh out of ideas, and Cas…”

“What? What about Cas?” Eileen questioned.

“Let’s just say Cas don’t have much hope,” Dean answered. “He… he thinks we’re wasting our time here; doesn’t think there’s any way of doing this.”

“Yeah? Well, tell Cas to stop talking like an idiot, because we’re not giving up on him.” Sam said strongly, twisting one of the papers on the desk around before sliding it across to Dean.

“What’s this?” Dean asked, straightening back up as he plucked up the paper from the table.

“An idea,” Sam replied. “I was just thinking… do you remember back after… after what happened to mom, with… with Jack?”

Dean paled at the reminder, glancing up at Sam over the top of the paper. He nods his head.

“We had asked Rowena if there was something she could do to bring her back, remember?”

“Course I remember,” Dean answered dryly, dropping his gaze back down to the paper full of complicated-looking Latin. “Didn’t work. What came back was just…”

The realization struck Dean just as he was about to say it. “A shell…” That was exactly what they were looking for. A shell. A vessel. “But wait, it-,”

“It couldn’t support any life,” Sam answered grimly. “But then… Rowena had been working on the spell behind the scenes. And she succeeded. What you’re holding is the spell I used to bring Eileen’s body back, then put her soul into her body.”

“But-,” Eileen butted out before Dean’s hopeful expression could grow any bigger. “That’s kind of the problem we have. We had my soul to bring me back, to recreate my body. Cas… doesn’t have that.”

“Right,” Sam said. “If we tried to use this spell with Cas’s grace… Cas’s grace isn’t connected to Jimmy’s body. There’s nothing for it to rebuild on.”

“Okay…” Dean muttered, feeling a little disheartened. “So… what then? We can’t use it?”

“Well, I was thinking,” Sam begun, a little more excited this time. “It almost seems like we need a mix of the two spells. Brings back a body that can sustain life, but not one that requires a soul to be built upon.”

“And… how do we do that?” Dean asked.

“I have no idea. But I think I know who can.” Sam said, already standing up from the table. “We need to talk to the person who made the spells. Think we’re gonna have to summon the new Queen of Hell.”

* * *

Something about summoning always made Dean feel uneasy. Call it past trauma from previous crossroad deals, call it dealing with demons full stop, call it whatever. It didn’t matter if they personally knew the demon in question (which was something he never thought he’d say in his life), there was still something so… wrong about it. Which is good, he supposes. Perhaps something built into the soul that’s repulsed by the twisted one it’s summoning; a glimpse of what will happen to itself if accepting the deal proposed.

Dean eyed Sam as he finished setting up the candles atop the sigils they had hastily drawn onto the library table, the uneasiness he had already been feeling only heightening when Sam picked up his demon blade, holding his hand over the bowl of summoning ingredients, once more ready to bleed for Dean.

“Are you sure this is even going to work?” Dean asked before Sam could make the cut. “This is supposed to summon the king of hell, isn’t it?”

“Doubt summoning spells care much about gender equality, Dean.” Eileen retorted.

Dean sighed, scratching at his furrowed brow. “You know what I mean… Maybe the spell was specifically for Crowley. What if Rowena has a different spell? And what’s to say she’ll even bother showing up anyway?”

“We’re about to find out,” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “If not… we can always take another trip down to Hell.”

“You say that like it’s normal…” Eileen added under her breath.

Sam slides the blade across his palm, barely wincing at the familiar sting it brings. Another scar to add, a long tally both brothers shared. The burn worsens as he squeezes his hand into a fist, forcing out a trickle of blood that darkens the dry herbs within the bowl.

Sam picks up a box of matchsticks next to the bowl, sliding one out of the pack and quickly striking it against the side. A flame bursts into life atop the match, all three pairs of eyes in the room fixated on the little golden flickering tip.

“Et ad congregandum... eos coram… me…” The Latin drops off Sam’s tongue like it was his first language. The match drops along with his last word, the dry ingredients within the bowl setting aflame at the slightest contact with the match, shooting out a tall flame that had Sam stepping back from the bowl at the wave of heat that came with it.

The bunker was unnaturally quiet. Not the creak of the old pipes, or the whirring of old equipment, or the buzzing of electricity running through an ancient wiring system. All three of them were holding their breaths, scanning meticulously around the room for a flash of auburn hair and an unnaturally bright dress that only Rowena could pull off.

“Did… did you do it wrong?” Dean asks, wheeling over to the table and peering inside the burnt contents of the bowl.

“I don’t think so,” Sam replied, not sounding too sure of himself. “I followed the instructions…”

Eileen grabbed Sam’s hand as he peered down at the book on the table, busying herself with cleaning the wound as the two looked over the instructions. “Maybe we didn’t use enough of something?” She offered off-handedly as she began winding a roll of gauze around Sam’s hand, keeping it tight enough to restrict the blood flow, taping it down to his hand and making sure it was secure.

“Maybe…” Dean says, rubbing a hand across his mouth as he thinks. “Or maybe she just didn’t want to show up-,”

“Or maybe I was pondering over what mess you’re bringing me into this time.”

All three wheeled around (quite literally, in Dean’s case) at the unforgettable Scottish accent, greeted by the sight of a – thankfully – smiling Rowena as she stretched out on one of the chairs, a tumbler of whisky already in hand.

You know what they say… Like mother, like son….

“Hello, boys,” She greeted them brightly, eyes sliding over to Eileen who was – understandably – looking rather unsure. “And girls! Who’s this one?”

“A friend,” Eileen answered warily. “And I hope I can say the same of you… considering it’s your spell that brought me back.”

“Oh,” Rowena said brightly, glancing up to Sam. “You found it then? The spell?”

“More like Chuck led me to it…” Sam’s mouth twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. “But… yes.”

“Well-,” Rowena clapped her hands, making them startle somewhat at the harsh sound. “I’m always one for a wee bit of gossip and catch up, but I’m guessing you didn’t invite me here for a chat?”

Rowena’s gaze had dropped down to Dean as she said that, a surprisingly sympathetic look crossing the witches – demons…? Witch-demons-queen of hell’s face. “Firstly, I suppose I should offer my thanks for saving the world again. At least, I assume you have, since we’re all still here.”

“That’s… mostly thanks to you,” Sam said with a genuine smile of appreciation.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Samuel,” Rowena brushed him off. “And secondly… if you’re here to bargain with me for your legs Dean…”

“That’s not it,” Dean quickly corrected her. “It’s… it’s kind of complicated-,”

“Then I guess it’s something to do with the angel sitting pretty in your head?”

Dean’s mouth swung shut, taken aback by Rowena’s spot-on assessment of the situation.

“Oh yes – I can feel the disgustingly pure energy coming from you, Dean. I’d recognize grace anywhere… Question is: which one is it?”

Before Dean could ever answer, a look of dawning realization had passed over Rowena’s face. She peeled one of her manicured hands off her glass, pointing to all three of them as she counted. “One, two, three… We’re missing one, aren’t we?”

“Two,” Sam says. “We got Jack back, but uh… he’s kind of… God now? We haven’t seen him since we dealt with Chuck…”

Rowena stared blankly at Sam for a few moments. Her eyes flickered between the three of them, waiting for one to reveal the joke. At their serious faces, she raised her glass to her lips and drained the drink in one go, handling the fiery burn of the whisky like it was nothing. “Another God… this one a three-year-old child… what could go wrong?”

“World’s not ended yet,” Dean tried to stay optimistic.

“And what of Mr. Blue Eyes?” Rowena asked. “If I’m putting two and two together… he’s currently the one hitching a ride in your noggin?”

“For the time being. Which is kind of where we could use your help.”

Rowena sighs deeply, looking down drearily to the empty tumbler in her hands. “Come on then; tell me the story.”

“I… we lost Cas. He, uh… he kind of sacrificed himself.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow at him, her long red nails playing a plinking tune across the glass of her drink. “For what?”

Dean swallowed harshly. “For me.”

Rowena narrowed her eyes at him, glancing over to Sam and Eileen for a split second before her eyes settled back on Dean. She kept her focus there, leaning forward in her chair as she asked: “Did you fix it?”

“Huh?” Sam blurted out, unsure of the meaning of Rowena’s question. Because, after all, it wasn’t intended for him. Then again, even Dean seemed unsure of the meaning…

“Dean?” Rowena says his name in the scolding kind of tone you’d expect from a mother. “Did you fix it?”

“Oh…” Dean exclaims as the memory floods back; the two of them sat what felt like miles apart in Rowen’s throne room, unable to even look at one another as they received what – if Dean’s being honest with himself – was a much-needed counseling session from the Queen of Hell, of all people… “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we fixed it.”

Rowena nodded appreciatively at that, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Did you finally figure out what fifth base was with him…?”

“Alright, let’s not go there,” Dean grumbled, annoyed to find he was blushing again. “Point is, I should be dead twice by this point if it weren’t for Cas. And that’s only over the span of these past two months.”

“So other than God… what else was trying to kill you?”

“Death herself,” Dean answered. “Cas stepped in… Summoned the Empty on a deal he didn’t tell us about.”

‘I’m sensing you’re still angry about that.’

“I see… And so Castiel here was taken to the Empty?” Rowena asked.

“Yep.”

“…And the second time?”

“It was… there was a bunch of vamps and…” Dean tried to describe his death in a way that didn’t sound as lame as it did in his head. “I kind of got shoved into a nail…”

Dean knew that look on Rowena’s face. That was the look of someone trying really, really hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry?”

“It was this big friggen’ rusty rebar or something, okay!” Dean threw up his hands as he answered. “One of the vamps got the upper hand on me and shoved me onto the damn thing; pipe went straight through my back and pinned me there.”

“Wow… I suppose that explains the new wheels…”

“Rather have these than the death that was coming,” Dean says. “Cas saved me. Again. When I prayed to him, he… he heard me.”

“You woke him up?” Rowena asks, sounding truly amazed by this revelation. “From the Empty?”

“I did,” Dean answers, a hint of a proud smile on his face. “And Cas dragged himself out of that place to get to me.”

“You could ring a bell and that angel of yours will crawl out of any dark crevice to get to you, Dean Winchester. He’s stubbornly loyal, and a damn fool for it.”

“What can I say? He’s a Winchester; willing to defy death itself to save the ones he loves.”

“One…”

“What was that?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, nothing…” Rowena said dismissively in much too of a high-pitched, cheery voice for Dean to think it’s ‘nothing’. “So, your angel pulls off the impossible once more by escaping the Empty to get to you… and, since he’s in your head, I’m assuming you agreed to possession?”

“Yeah, I did. Like I said, I was dying, and Cas… Cas didn’t have his vessel.”

“The Empty kind of… destroyed it…” Sam added awkwardly to a puzzled looking Rowena. “Cas thinks it’s because he didn’t die like most angels. The Empty literally swallowed him whole; pulled him into the Empty as part of itself.”

“And now Cas’s grace is burning out,” Eileen added on too, feeling a tad bit guilty by how overwhelmed Rowena was looking at the influx of information. “It has been for a while, actually…”

“And that’s why we need your help,” Dean took over. “We can’t just throw Cas into a new body; he’s not strong enough to survive the transfer, and… he kind of has a connection to the old one. Can’t keep him with me either, coz once his grace runs out… well, it’s bad news all round.”

“I’m still not entirely sure what it is you’re asking of me…” Rowena sounded moments away from asking them where their nearest liquor cabinet was.

“We want to know if there’s a way to rebuild Cas’s old body.” Dean wheels himself closer to Rowena, well aware of the pleading tone his voice has taken up. “We’re running out of time, Rowena. Time, and options.”

“We thought maybe something could be done with the resurrection spell,” Sam nervously added on, scrambling for the papers of the spell sat atop the table and waving them in the air. “We were looking over them earlier, and it just… it seems likes a starting point maybe?”

Sam hurried over to Rowena with papers in hand, handing them back over to the witch look a schoolboy apprehensively handing in his work. Rowena accepted the papers being shoved into her free hand, tearing her eyes away from Dean’s desperate face to Sam’s frantic movements.

“Sort of like a mix between the two, actually,” Sam added on hurriedly. “You know, what with the first one not being able to support life without a soul, and the second one needing a soul, so if we-,”

“Sam…” Rowena said his name softly, stopping him from rambling on more. Dean hated that tone. He hated the unusual level of kindness coming from Rowena. Because he knows that’s the kind of tone you use in the hopes of softening the blow of what you’re about to say next.

“You can’t do this, can you?” Rowena’s eyes flicker over to Dean at his crushed words. Considering Rowena had attempted to kill both him and Cas in the past, on top of becoming Queen of Hell… the shine of sympathy in her eyes was surprisingly genuine.

“No, I can’t.”

“But-,” Sam tried, but was promptly stopped by Rowena’s raised hand.

“Angels are different. With Eileen here… her spirit was attached to her physical form. You had something to work with there, you see? The resurrection spell, it’s… it’s more like turning the spirit into flesh. With Castiel…”

“We’ve only got his grace,” Dean says, sinking down into his chair as the realization they’ve met another dead end begins to sink in.

“Which isn’t connected to his vessel,” Rowena continues off Dean’s words. “If we tried messing around with his grace… who knows what could happen? It has nothing to rebuild upon. We could easily end up simply stripping Castiel of the remainder of his grace, and with how volatile an angel's grace can be… we may accidentally turn it into a weapon.”

Rowena stands from her chair, meekly offering the papers of the resurrection spell back to Sam. Sam looks to the papers, shoulders drooped and head hung low as he takes them back.

“I really am sorry, boys,” Rowena tells them, patting Sam’s arm as she glances down to Dean. “If I hear something different… if you find anything in the Book of the Damned, then… you know how to call me. But the truth of the matter is I simply don’t have much experience with angels. And even if I did… I don’t even know how that could help with this matter.”

Dean’s thankful smile comes out more strained than he intended, the effort of forcing his face into one dampened by his crushed spirit. “Well… thanks for showing up, anyway. At least now we know, y’know… you can’t help; so that’s crossed off the list…”

“When you said you didn’t have much time… how much did you-,”

“Not enough,” Dean says with a slight shake of his head.

Rowena dropped her hand down so her fingers were just lightly brushing against the top of Dean’s shoulder. The touch was oddly mother-like, and it had Dean scrunching his eyes shut as he tries to push down the despair that was threatening to rear its ugly head.

“I’m sorry,” Rowena says quietly, as if only to him. It seemed like the final nail in the coffin. Like.. this was it; Cas was right… They couldn’t bring his body back. His grace was going to burn out. He’ll have to force Cas out. He’ll have to say goodbye, again, but now it’s different – now he knows he loves him, now Cas know he loves him, and…

He can’t do this.

“Good luck, boys,” Rowena drawls out, the comforting touch on Dean’s shoulder slipping away. Her eyes drift over to meet Eileen’s, the smallest of a smile twitching at her lips. “And girls… I think you’re going to need it.”

And then, she was gone.

And the last of their hope seemed to go with her.

“That’s that, I guess,” Dean says, staring vacantly at the spot where Rowena was moments ago.

The pitter-patter of paws signals Miracle’s arrival, emerging from her hiding spot now the stranger had left. She makes a bee-line for Dean, slinking over to his wheelchair and resting her head in his lap. It’s able to pull the smallest of smiles from Dean, rubbing underneath her ears and brushing his hands through her thick fur. “Cas was right… you are able to sense a lot of stuff, huh?”

“Dean…” Sam steps away from Eileen’s side. “I’m sorry…”

Dean’s face twists into an amused frown, glancing up to his brother’s guilt-ridden face. “What’s there to be sorry for?”

“Getting your hopes up, I suppose. You… you seemed really invested in this idea too, you know? And I… I don’t know, I guess I’m just sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, well… couldn’t be that easy, could it? Would have been too good to be true…”

“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

Dean freezes at Sam’s confession, getting an unhappy whine from Miracle that the scritches had stopped.

“Something I remembered, right before we summoned Rowena. Even if she could help with the spell… I don’t think it would have worked either way.”

“What are you talking about?” Eileen asks, tugging at Sam’s arm to get his attention. “The spell worked with me, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that’s… kind of the point,” Sam replied with somewhat of a wince. “Those witches? Back when I was working on the spell? That woman warned me, said that Billie would catch onto what we had done and close the loophole. And yeah, I know Billie’s dead now, but… the new Death - whoever they are - isn’t exactly going to let it slide, either. She made it sound like a one-time thing. And… we used it.”

“Hey, no, it’s a good thing you brought the idea up,” Dean insisted. “If it turned out it could have worked, and we didn’t even bother to try it because you didn’t want to bring it up? That would have been so much worse.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Sam mutters, throwing the papers down onto the table. He brushes his hand across his mouth, letting his eyes slide closed with a deep sigh. “There’s gotta be something else. Something hidden in all these files, otherwise I… I don’t know what to do…”

“We’ll find something,” Eileen said, sensing the need for some sense of optimism. Of hope. “We’ve got to look for an answer to find one, right?”

Dean smiled appreciatively up at Eileen. It didn’t feel real. He’s fairly certain Eileen knew it wasn’t real, either.

“Yeah…” He mumbles. He had never craved a drink more in his life. “Sure… let’s find a way…”

He wasn’t sure if Cas’s silence in his head was one of joint hopelessness; or if, perhaps, he didn’t truly believe there was no answer until he heard Dean himself begin to give up.

* * *

Castiel found himself stepping into Dean’s bar once more.

This time… there was something different about it. There was no soft music playing from the jukebox – which was switched off, it’s colorful flashing lights left blank and empty. The soft amber glow of the overhead lights were also switched off - bar from one - leaving the bar in a cold and unwelcoming atmosphere. Only one light was lit, aimed at a sullen-looking Dean Winchester sat upon a bar stool in the corner of the room. There was no beaming smile like there was last time, replaced with an empty expression as he leaned back against the corner wall with… a guitar?

In Dean’s hands was a beautiful spruce acoustic, his fingers expertly switching between the six strings. He plucked them quietly, invoking a gentle and solemn sounding sound from the wooden instrument atop his lap. Though, his gaze was not fixated on his fingers as they danced across the fretboard as was expected. His eyes were pointed down towards the laminated wooden panels of the floor, staring without seeing as he played a song that Castiel faintly recognized, though the name wasn’t coming to him.

“I didn’t know you could play?” Castiel finds it almost criminal to interrupt the beautiful melody Dean was creating.

“I don’t. Not really,” Dean replies, not even a hesitation in his playing. “At least, I haven’t actually played in a long time. Comes easy in my dreams, though.”

Castiel pulls out one of the stools from the bar, dropping it a few steps away from Dean. He takes a seat on the comfortable cushion, content to watch Dean as he plays. “When did you learn?”

“You, uh… you remember when I told you about Sonny’s? That time when Dad was out on a hunt, and I got caught stealing food?”

“You mean when your father abandoned you at a young age, leaving you to fend for both yourself and your brother to the point you were forced to steal to feed yourselves?”

Dean’s fingers did stumble this time, slamming his hands against the strings to mute the obnoxiously loud and screeching note. Usually, he would be up in arms at this point; would tell whoever that it was all his fault, he should have been better prepared for looking after Sammy, that he should have known what to do if Dad was out on a hunt longer than usual… but looking at Castiel’s furious face, knowing such anger wasn’t aimed at him, rather on his behalf… He decided he was tired of making excuses for John.

“Yeah… yeah, when that happened,” Dean gritted out, letting himself feel the anger he should have felt all those years ago. “Kept telling myself that it was only temporary, y’know? That dad would get back, get Sammy and come get me. But then… God, Cas – I was shit scared of what he’d do when he found out. If he knew that I had messed up, got myself caught and left Sammy all alone…”

“Guess we both got too much respect for our dads, huh?” Dean tried to joke, but it fell flat. “You gotta admit that God was more of a disappointment than my dad though, right?”

“The fact that your father is slightly better than an absentee and destructive God isn’t an achievement, Dean.”

Dean stared at Castiel for a few seconds before nodding. “Alright, you got me there.”

Dean resumed his playing, the gentle tune of the guitar helping to soothe the tension brought on by the mention of John. “There was this girl there… her name was Robin. She came round every now and then to give guitar lessons. I, uh… I was kind of infatuated with her…”

Castiel smiled fondly at that, cocking his head to the side as he waited for Dean to elaborate.

“Shut up…” Dean grumbled, hiding his own smile at the knowing one planted across Cas’s face. “Didn’t care for it much originally, coz it was just a way to hang out with her, you know? But after a while… I dunno, something just clicked. I started to enjoy it.”

“Why didn’t you keep playing?” Castiel asked.

Dean laughed humorlessly, resting his chin on the top of the guitar. “How would I, Cas? You think Dad would have splurged out on a guitar for me? Bring it with us everywhere we go? He’d probably have just scolded me for wasting my time on a ‘useless skill’ when I could be learning something important.”

Castiel had many more words on the subject of John Winchester and his treatment of his kids, but wisely kept them quiet for now. “What about once you settled down in the bunker? You could have then?”

“Eh, I guess so. We’ve always been busy with everything, so… Guess I never really bothered. Plus I’m pretty damn sure my dream guitar playing skills won’t translate well to real-life…”

“Might be a good hobby to pick back up,” Castiel tells him, reaching out to run a hand down the smooth wooden surface of the guitar with the backs of his fingers. “It would be nice to hear you play for me when…”

Dean’s eyes shoot up to Cas as his voice trailed off, the small content smile playing on his face slipping away. He didn’t need to finish the rest of the sentence. It was the issue they had been skirting around ever since they had stepped into his dream.

For when we get me back.

Dean sighed, lifting his head from the guitar and sliding it off his lap, leaning it carefully against the side of the bar next to him. Castiel’s eyes followed him as he stood from the barstool, brushing off non-existent dust from his jeans in what was more of a gesture of habit than anything. Dean’s arms found themselves tugging at Castiel’s arm to get him to stand, answering Castiel’s inquisitive frown with an easy smile.

Castiel followed Dean’s tugs, letting a smile creep onto his face as Dean’s hand slips down to his own, fingers intertwining with his in a perfect fit. “What are you-,” Is all Castiel could ask before Dean had grabbed hold of his other hand and placed it on his hip, separating their joined hands to place his on Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel followed suit, placing his free hand on top of Dean’s shoulder, his other firmly holding Dean’s waist. Dean took his hands off Cas briefly to snap his fingers, smile widening as an absolute classic (at least, in Dean’s opinion) drifted out from the speakers of the jukebox, the old machine blinking to life with Dean’s influence.

It was downright crazy to Dean how much had changed in such a short amount of time. Not too long ago, he was right here with Cas, doing this exact same thing. It was just as heart-skippingly nerve-wracking as it was the last time, but now… now they were a hair-width away from being chest to chest, swaying together on the spot to the calming music as opposed to the more spacious, somewhat awkward half-step dance as before.

And this time… Dean took in the loving smile that was being directed at him, and he could say that now. That look Castiel had reserved just for him was one of love, and the fact that it’s for him? It’s mindboggling, it’s more than he could ever deserve – and the best part? He can love him back. He can lean down, remove that few inches of space between them, and press his lips to Cas. He can do that now, and if that can’t get a smile out of him, then what will?

“Wherever you go…” Dean’s voice is raspy, and yet gentle as he sings to Castiel, sung in a hushed tone in the peaceful space between then. “Whatever you do. I will be right here waiting for you…”

Dean would be blind to say the soft smile on Cas’s face didn’t have a twinge of sadness to it at his words, his grip on Dean’s hip and shoulder tightening as he sang. He had been planning to be… well, to be Dean Winchester. The Dean Winchester that would be all jokey with Castiel in a moment like this, singing a mopey love song in a ‘stereotypical trashed forty-year-old guy at karaoke’ voice to try and get a laugh out of him. Now, as they held each other in the dim lights of the bar… that version of himself had been sedated.

“I really thought we’d found the answer,” Dean says, one of his hands slipping up Cas’s neck, his thumb gently brushing over his pulse point. “That Rowena would be able to do something. But now it all feels like… like it was the last chance… Now I’ve got no more ideas, and I don’t know what to do, Cas. I don’t know how to save you, I-,”

Dean closes his eyes at the burning he felt building, causing a tear to slip out from under his closed eyelid. He shakes his head at the choking sensation in his throat, pulling Cas forward by his neck until their foreheads met. There they both stood, eyes closed as they swayed to their own music, comforted by the warmth of each other held so close.

“I know…” Castiel’s words were meant to be one of assurance, but they were more like sympathy. Building upon the fact that he had long since accepted his fate. Which is perhaps why a few more tears escape Dean’s closed lids, trailing down his cheek, clung to his skin as a painful reminder of why they were there.

“I don’t want to lose you…” Dean’s whisper is broken and harsh, the voice of a man fighting hard to keep the tears out of his voice.

The sound is enough for the dam in Castiel to break, the last of the angel's defenses crumbling down at the raw pain he could hear from the one he loves. “And I don’t want to leave you,” Castiel whispers against his lips, tasting the salt of Dean’s tears as he places a delicate kiss there. “But there’s not much else we can do now than what we’re already doing, and… to hope.”

And so, in the silence of Dean’s bar, Dean holds Castiel tight. He lets his angel hold him just as close, sharing their mutual grief over what could have been, of the time they could have spent together.

They dance.

And they hope. They hope that this dance won't be their last.

Next Chapter - - ->

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