#its fucking damaging to readers perceptions of the facts!

[singwhenyoucantspeak]

inflammatory headlines that imply something that is not true should be illegal. i dont care if the article itself sets the record straight. that is dishonest and irresponsible journalism.

[terrence-silver]

God I can't stop thinking about this: Yan! Terry from Karate Kid breaking into Darling's house because he is obsessed with her and loves to stalk her (just like when he broke into Mr. Miyagi's house dressed in his beautiful black leather jacket) . However, the girl returns home too early and catches him in the act. What happens in your opinion? With Smuttyyy and a lot of dialogue if it doesn't make you uncomfortable ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

--- (Yandere!Terry Silver x Reader)

---

He could just hire someone to do this shit.

But, where was the fun in all of that?

Not like he'd ever let anyone but him rummage through your things anyway.

Truth was, Terry knew your daily timetables by heart. Your comings. Your goings. It took time out of his otherwise busy schedule to discover all of it; collect information, precious intel. Make note of the exact times of departures and returns over weeks of observation --- your habits, each and every manner of yours a pleasure to memorize just for its own sake and not because he felt he needed to be quite so careful. Even the tactical layout of your place, unfamiliar to him in the beginning--- well --- he supposed all that military training from back in the day paid off where he could more or less instinctually gage which room stood where judging from the positioning of your windows. Your door. Your walls. He could pick a lock too. Breaking in seamlessly? Leaving no tremendous damage behind that would have you suspicious? Making it seem you could've merely forgot to lock the door in your hurry when you have in fact, your own perception playing tricks on you? Sure. Why not. He was afraid he had Uncle Sam to thank for that too. Surprising the type of things a man could pick up in the army. It takes a wire and some wiggling. As occasionally easy as stereotypes made it seem, just like hotwiring a car was. Again, with a lot of instinct and practice --- not unlike when fucking, the understanding of how to move the tip and where --- and the handle comes undone, limp under his fingers. And there he is, in the sanctuary of all desire existing between walls, hallways and a roof.

Last time Terry's been here, he's let himself into your bedroom.

Discovering a drawer of underwear.

He's wanted to go back ever since. Needed to actually.

Your corridors and hallways already known, he makes an B-line for the chamber where you slept (confirmed and re-confirmed by all the nights spent gazing into your windows during the evenings and at night) opening and closing the door behind him even though there was nobody there and leaning on its surface for a second, closing his eyes, his head falling back, taking in the atmosphere for a moment, feeling a bit like a perverted schoolgirl entirely too exhilarated by the prospect of stealing and reading someone's diary. Sadly, if you had one of those, he was yet to find it and browse through himself and if it existed, he undoubtedly would sooner rather than later.

Discover all your thoughts.

Every feeling you were willing to relay into written words.

The commode of all his interests stands there, in the corner, beckoning him like a siren's call and he wastes no time to slide the top drawer open, uncovering the treasure inside; a neatly stacked pile of white, cotton, soft, fragrant, sweet smelling and ----"Perfect."- He purrs to himself, feeling his eyes dart left and right, transfixed by what he re-discovered, fascinated like it was the very first time, not even mustering the time to finish his own train of thoughts, observing your underwear, fingers sliding inside of one the panties, picking it up and lifting it up to his nose, inhaling the scent. The detergent you used wasn't anything otherworldly where the price was concerned, he could tell, but it egged him on, stuck inside of his senses, like something that infected his mind, refusing to leave. You deserved to have your things rummaged through for that alone. For not wanting to leave his brain. The price you paid for that sort of thing. Like something like that could ever really be for free. -"Freshly dried, huh."- Terry mutters once he had his fill of sniffing, smiling, thumb caressing the fabric fondly, looking at it, really looking at it. The tiny, almost seamless pale pattern. How lucky that cheap, nothing, pathetic bit of cotton must've been to get so close to you and be on you all day. Terry wasn't certain if he wanted to rip it to shreds or make a shrine out of it.

You never noticed the last time he's gone through your stuff.

Or the occasion before that.

In fact, Terry was always so careful never to leave a trace of himself behind, going for total subterfuge. Was it so wrong, though? If he wanted to leave something behind after all? A little souvenir from an anonymous admirer? Even though, admittedly, even the vague thought you'd mistakenly imagine anyone other than him as your ingenue wounded him to the point of irrational, vengeful rage. Maybe he should've simply carved his first and last name into your front door, so there would be no mistake who he was, regardless of how stupid, impractical and compromising that was. He banishes the thought.

For now.

He had this re-occurring fantasy of masturbating with your unmentionables, as Margaret so amusingly called such things, and he decides to do just that, right against the commode, leaning against it with the tent of crotch for friction, pushing against the hard wooden surface, finding some satisfaction that tomorrow or even today, when you returned, you'd cluelessly undress right here where he stood and it would've been almost as if you and him were together --- feeling his lips part as he unzipped his trousers with one free hand, your undergarments caught between his index finger and thumb pushed inside the tight slit, over his own briefs, rubbed back and forth, dryly. He didn't need to work himself too much. Terry was already hard before he even broke into the place, dripping pre-cum into his own fist at this point. It never failed to amuse him how turned on he was every time he visited your home behind your back. It was almost like an aphrodisiac that effortlessly got him off. Now, he'd just wipe himself off in your underwear, neatly fold them the way he found them after he was done and leave you questioning why on earth they were in a state like that...so...crusty and stained. He wants to cackle. Maybe you'd get repulsed, thinking you failed to wash them properly, getting sloppy with the maintenance of them. Maybe you'd touch them in shock, recoiling in confusion and a part of you would've still been touching a part of him whether you liked it or not. Whether you realized it or not. But, Terry would realize and that was enough. -"Yes."- He coos at the thought, throwing his head back, feeling his lips coil into a smile, pleasure bubbling in his gut. He decides to go faster, more vigorously, flying into a run against the piece of furniture.

His eyes snap open --- his panic almost instantaneous.

Terry hears well-known footsteps at the pavement leading up to the front door. The fuck!? Whenever you'd leave grocery shopping it would take you approximately half an hour to get there and back on foot, at a pace of a leisurely stroll. It wasn't even ten minutes. Why were you back so soon!? He hears you halting at the front entrance in a minute of some panic of your own once, just as he knew you would, you realize the door wasn't locked. Maybe you returned because the paranoia was already taking root and you grew into the habit of re-tracing your own steps and returning to check on your own failures to secure the premises, never even realizing --- oh, never even realizing it was all his doing. So, if you came back prematurely, really, it was on him. Terry holds his breath, zipper down, his underwear pushed inside of his trousers along with his hand, he doesn't move, holding his own cock with his fist, teeth gritted together to avoid making a sound. You wouldn't come into this room, his instincts tell him. You'd merely fidget around, find the keys, lock the doors, correcting a mistaken you haven't even really made and leave once more. He listens, turning his head towards the door, his heart thumping. One second. Two. Three. Five. The door handle never moves. Your footsteps fade. The front door slams shut. Keyhole clicks and he's locked inside of your house, watching your back as you rushed down the sidewalk in a hurry through the lowered bedroom shutter.

Terry lets go of his cock, cumming all over the palm of his hand.

On the leather sleeve of his jacket.

Holding back from groaning, but still doing it, muffled and feral.

Fuck --- close call. Too close.

Terry breathes, in and out, in and out, giving himself a second of reprieve. Ironically, if anything, the adrenaline rush serves to renew the yearning and he bites into his lower lip, holding back a giggle. The thought of you actually walking in, catching him...He puts the underwear with a moist patch back where he's found it, smoothening the fabric out, diligently, shutting the drawer, looking around the bedroom for a while, taking in as many details as he could for a short notice, deciding he wanted to dream of this place tonight and everything he'd do with you in it, holding up his hand still wet, slightly unsure what to do with it, eyes falling on your pillow. Ah, yes. Another thing you deserve for nearly walking in on him and interrupting his otherwise perfect calculations of your schedule. Terry feels himself smile so wide his cheeks ached as he wiped his fingers off on the clean linen with two swift moves. Perfect. Now, you'd set your head down and sleep on pillowcases smelling like him and you wouldn't even know it, surrounded with more and more stuff marked with him with each passing day until you'd become eclipsed with nothing but him, as you should be.

The satisfaction in him couldn't be described with words when he decided be extra agile and show himself out through the kitchen window.

[threeletterslife]

13 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity, minor mentions of blood and death

⨰ wordcount: 7.5k

⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)

⨰ previous | series m.list | next

⧖⧗Circa Saphh⧗⧖

So it has been a year. Approximately 12 circas, 365 days and many more hours and minutes and seconds since you’ve woken up from your injuries in the medical tent with no clue of your past.

This realization isn’t something you tell anybody, however. You’re not sure how they would even react to it. Are they supposed to congratulate you? Feel bad for you? Celebrate with you? It’s just a fact—a fact that you can only remember a year’s worth of memories. 

It’s a strange fact, though.

So much has changed since the General grabbed you by the collar and ripped open your stitches. You swear you’ve forgiven him, but it’s hilarious to think about it from time to time. How did someone as sweet as the General manage to do that? But then again, sweet might not be the right choice of word. But if not sweet, then what is he?

For starters, he’s the General of the fucking Army, so there’s that. But he’s also patient and wildly perceptive. He cares for every soldier in his army, and he won’t hesitate to sacrifice his health to save Solaria from the wretched clutches of the Forgotten Kingdom. He’s also someone you trust with every fiber of your being—and you’re awfully aware of how dramatic that sounds. But there’s a reason that he’s the General, and there’s a reason that every soldier who graces the camp respects him.

So much has changed, yes. Including your initial impression of the General, the officers’ initial impressions of you and your initial impressions of the officers. But aside from these changes, lately, you’ve come to realize that you’ve been plagued by your dreams. Well, plagued isn’t quite the right word. You haven’t had a nightmare since the day you took the trip to Aithne with the General. In fact, today, you wake up to a pleasant dream.

There’s a beautiful, red bird, its plumage trailing majestically behind its fiery body as it soars through the sky. You watch her from below, her blazing feathers striking against the cerulean blue of the horizon. But when she flies too close to the sun, she bursts into flames. The ashes rain from the sky. It’s like gray snow, and you catch some in your hands to inspect it. Even though the scene is tragic, there’s a hopeful smile on your face. Then, from the ashes in your palms, a baby fire bird materializes. She coos, flames flickering as she nuzzles your hand.

She’s been reborn.

Besides the changes that you’ve observed, unbeknownst to you, the Solarians officers have also been observing important changes—but changes regarding your stance in the army.

“I think she’s perfectly capable of fighting with us,” Captain Chu says, crossing his arms over his chest. “From our conversations alone, I can tell she wants to, too. Let the woman do what she wants.”

“She’s been improving rapidly,” Major Ahn says. “I’ve been watching her practice. She’s agile and quick on her feet, so she’ll be able to dodge Darlaean spells. My only complaint would be that her fires tend to be… How do I put this? Gentle. I’m not sure she fights to kill.”

“But don’t you see?” Captain Yoo says. “We need a soldier who will do damage to the Darlaeans. We don’t want her prancing about on the battlefield, merely injuring the Darlaeans with her delicate flames. And besides,” he says, clearing his throat after Major Ki gives him a look, “we need her alive.”

“Are you insinuating that she isn’t skilled enough to survive the battlefield, Captain?” Captain Im says.

“I’m not saying that.”

“We know,” Captain Bak says, fixing her bangs. “That’s why we’re saying you’re insinuating it.” Next to her, Captain Goe snickers.

Captain Yoo coughs. “For Soo’s sake, I’m trying to protect her. She’s an asset to our army, is she not? Why would we risk losing her on the battlefield?”

“Soldiers are starting to gossip,” Major Lee says, scratching his head. “They want to know why an officer is not risking her life like the rest of us. They’re not sure why only she earns this privilege.”

“Of course Major Lee and I have tried our best to shut the gossip down,” Major Jang says. “But we feel as if it is about time to allow her to show off her skills. She’s perfectly capable of fighting.”

“Being capable doesn’t minimize the risk, Major,” Captain Yoo says.

“Why are you so worried about her well-being, anyway?” Captain Chu says. “Weren’t you always the one that wanted the worst for her?”

Captain Yoo frowns. “That’s not quite right.”

Major Ki places a hand on Captain Chu’s shoulder, and he seems to reconsider his choice of words. “I meant to say, Captain Yoo, I find it strange that you’re suddenly willing to speak in favor of her safety when you’ve had a record of suspecting the worst in her.”

“I think it’s possible that opinions change,” Captain Yoo says. “Were you not also suspicious of her? Weren’t most of us? Now we’re divided over whether she should fight with us. And I am only suggesting that we don’t allow her to because she is an excellent battle planner. We need her behind the scenes, not on the battlegrounds.” He pauses. “Besides, she is objectively too kind-hearted to fight. Don’t you think putting her on the battlefield will scar her forever? And what if that affects her ability to strategize?”

“I… I agree with you, Captain,” Major Ki says. 

“You do???” Captain Chu turns to his girlfriend in shock. “I thought we talked about this.”

“Officer Ryu is thoughtful and empathetic,” Major Ki says. “She tends to embody the pain of others. I find it quite hard to believe that she will flourish on the battlefield where there will be death and pain all around her.”

“With all due respect,” Captain Im pipes up, “I must disagree. Empathy does not equate to weakness. Officer Ryu is an exceptionally adaptable individual. She may struggle at first, as most of us did, but she will become accustomed to the battlefield. I believe she will be a great asset in battle. Her resilience and empathy are strengths that others could learn from her.”

“What I’m trying to say,” Major Ki says, “is not that empathy is a weakness. I, too, believe that empathy is a strength—especially in these trying times. But I believe in taking reasonable risks, and I do not find this risk reasonable at all. Officer Ryu has come to us and graced our army with great strategies and battle plans. If we were to lose her on the battlefield, we will be losing our greatest advantage over the Darlaeans. Officer Ryu doesn’t need to fight to justify her position in the army. She has already proven to us time and again that her knowledge and intellect alone is enough.”

“But my question is, Major, why do you assume that she will die?” Captain Im says.

Major Ki sighs. “Nayoon, you of all people should know that you never know what will happen out there. Mistakes are made. People die for little to no reason. Amazing individuals become hurt so arbitrarily, that you begin to wonder if the spirits even exist. We assume the worst because if we don’t, we become wounded by surprises—not just physically but mentally as well.”

Captain Im’s shoulders shake as she takes in Major Ki’s words. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Major Ki says in her quiet, gentle voice. She fidgets with her hands, her rings clanking together. “I know it was hard for you the past several circas. But think about how hard it might be on Y/N—someone who hasn’t had as much time as you to adjust to the Solarian Army. How do you think she will fare when something unspeakable happens to her? Do you think she can get back up and fight as you did?”

Captain Im becomes very still. In fact, the whole tent becomes still.

The officers nervously look around, wondering who will speak next—wondering if the General or the Lieutenant will intervene. Then:

“Yes.” Captain Im looks up, staring Major Ki straight into her eyes. Major Ki quickly looks away. “She’ll get back up and fight just like I did, Major. I believe in Y/N, and I trust that when she says she is ready to fight, she really is. She knows the risks, Major. She’s worked in the medical tent. She’s seen what the Darlaeans have done to me. She’s seen what the Darlaeans have done to everyone else. But she wants to fight because she loves Solaria and she wants to protect it. So tell me why we are protecting her when we don’t protect every other soldier in the army. We’re all equal here in Solaria, so why must we prioritize her life over any other? I know that sounds horrible, but for the lack of better words, we’re all expendable. This is war. We take risks; we make changes. We signed up for this; we knew the risks coming into this campground. And isn’t change what got us here in the first place? If we hadn’t allowed Officer Ryu to work with us, we would’ve been pummelled by the Darlaeans long ago! Who knows? What if Officer Ryu proves herself on the battlefield? Who’s to say she will be too empathetic to kill?”

“I’m sorry, but I have to agree with Captain,” Captain Chu says. “I was hesitant on change before, and I know I’ve had my doubts about Officer Ryu. But now I know that she is a soldier with many talents. She’ll be an even greater asset to the army if she fights with us, don’t you think?”

“She can start off small,” Major Hyun says. “I would like to invite her to be my third captain.”

“Yes, yes, the fifth sector is a good place to start,” Captain Chu agrees.

“I like that idea,” Captain Chang says, pumping his fist in the air. “Who else agrees?”

Every officer except Major Ki and Captain Yoo nods.

“It doesn’t matter what we think,” Captain Yoo says, though quite bitterly. “It’s the General and the Lieutenant who will get the final word.”

“Unless we vote like last time,” Major Lee points out.

“That won’t be necessary,” Yoongi says quietly. Everyone turns to stare at him, but he can only stare at the table, deep in thought. “I’ve made my decision already.”

“You have?” the Lieutenant says, raising her eyebrows.

“I have been the one who has been training her closely over the past several circas,” he says, staring at his knuckles. “So I know if she’s well-suited to fight or not. And while I appreciate your sentiments—” he finally looks up to meet the eyes of his officers “—I believe this is a decision I must take upon myself.” He pauses, glancing at Doyun. She looks as stoic as ever, but he knows that she’s going to give him shit after the meeting. It’s not often he goes rogue.

“Officer Ryu will remain working on her given tasks,” he says. “She will not fight.”

There are murmurs of confusion, and only the half-tipsy Captain Goe has the guts to speak out. “But why?”

Yoongi thinks, wondering how he should phrase his thoughts—or if he should reveal them at all. Finally, he decides to go with a simple: “Major Ki and Captain Yoo have made strong points, and I happen to agree with them.”

There are more murmurs, but the officers seem to trust his decision—at least for now. He dismisses them—all except Lieutenant Kang—and he hears some of them whisper amongst themselves as they leave: “Officer Ryu’s going to give him a little visit and change his mind again.” But he doubts that. He’s really made up his mind this time, and not even you can change it.

Doyun immediately whirls on him when the tent has finally emptied. “We didn’t vote.”

“We didn’t,” he agrees. 

Doyun gives him a strange look. “You usually implement votes when it’s matters as serious as this.”

“Do I?”

“You feel strongly that Y/N shouldn’t fight.”

“I do.”

“You have your own reasons, don’t you, Yoongi? Reasons other than the points that Major Ki and Captain Yoo have made.”

He nods. 

“So you’re scared,” his lieutenant says, raising her eyebrows. “You know, I don’t think making her fight against the Darlaeans is going to suddenly activate her memory.”

“We can’t be sure,” he says. “I’m still skeptical that she was ever a spy in the first place.”

“I think you’re in denial, Yoongi,” Doyun says, softly. She’s using her gentle voice—the one she uses to try to coax people into facing reality. He’s seen her use it on soldiers before. To think that she’d use it on him, too.

“I’m just…” He shakes his head. “Doyun, we have to be strategic about this. Say she was a spy… Then, they would be looking for her. If she showed up on the battlefield, fighting for us…” 

“It’d be a blow to their morale,” Doyun answers. “What can they do about it? Tell her that she’s originally Darlaean? During a battle? I can imagine how successful that would go.”

“It would infuriate them,” Yoongi says. “They’d call it an illegal move. They’d think that we planted a Hyoscine patch on her to keep her docile and obedient. They’d use that to justify war crimes. Don’t you think it’s about time that they invented a death spell? It would decimate us.”

“Though that seems like a bit of an oversight of the future, I do agree with your concerns…” Doyun sighs. “Maybe it would be wise to wait until she gets her memories back—if she ever does, that is.”

“But she doesn’t want her memories back,” Yoongi says. “She’s content with leaving her past behind.”

“So, what? We never allow her to fight?” Doyun says. 

“Yes.”

“Do you think she suspects that she’s Darlaean?”

“No.”

“I think you’re scared about something else.”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi cocks his head. “What about?”

She just smiles, shaking her head. “I think you’re in denial again.” She sighs, straightening out her back before turning and beginning to walk out of the tent. “Oh, by the way,” she says, pausing halfway out, “I’ll call her here for you so that you can deliver the news to her yourself.”

She leaves before he can ask her what in Sooht’s name she thought he was in denial about. Why the hell was she smiling about it too? All smug and confident. She thinks he’s scared about another thing. What could it be? Sure, the thought of you going off to battle and never coming back is terrifying. But that’s a terrifying thought to have for every single one of his soldiers. Of course he’s scared of losing you. Just as he is scared of losing everyone else. What a preposterous suggestion. Though losing you would surely affect the army in some way. Without your ingenious battle plans, how could the sectors boast fewer casualties and an increased number of victories? His army needs you—alive and well, that is. Just as he needs every other officer, soldier and healer in the campground. It’s purely logical and absolutely strategic. But had Doyun been alluding that he…?

Never mind.

Why would that even matter? He has bigger problems to think about now. Like how to break the news to you, how to handle your hundreds of questions, how to turn down your attempts to persuade him… 

But why, for Sooht’s sake, would Doyun accuse him of being in denial? Being in denial of what? That he, the General of the Solarian Army, harbors legitimate feelings for his officer? What an absurd, nonsensical, ridiculous idea. Love and war are two things that should never be said together in the same sentence—at least not seriously. Does Doyun think he’s fond of you? Well, she wouldn’t be completely wrong. He’s fond of everyone in his army. But… For Sooht’s sake! He almost wants to call her back and ask her what she’d meant. How could she imply such a thing? That he has feelings for his officer? Ludicrous. No one can make him feel butterflies in his chest. No one can make him feel like he’s soaring across the sky like a fire bird. No one can make him feel his heart stop when they even so much glance his way. That part of him has been carved away by the effects of the war. When you’re constantly surrounded by death, by pain, by suffering, you learn that having a lover is the worst thing that can happen to you. It’s the worst thing that’s happened to Doyun, and he knows how much Minhee’s death affected her.

So no. He cannot like you. He isn’t prepared to lose you.

“Sir?” 

Your voice makes him jump. And there you are, peeking into the central tent, unsure whether to come in. A strand of hair falls onto your face, thanks to the light breeze outside, but you sweep it away, smiling sheepishly. “Doyun said you have some news to tell me,” you say. “May I come in?”

You need not ask for permission, but he finds it endearing that you do so anyway. “Yes, Officer,” he says. “Come in.”

“I hope it’s not bad news,” you say. But the lilt of your voice, the shimmer in your eyes… You’re making a joke, and it’s starting to make him feel guilty. 

Upon Yoongi’s silence, your face gradually becomes solemn, and your eyes begin to dim. “Oh,” you say. “Did something happen, sir?”

“Just an officer meeting,” he replies.

He watches your eyes widen and you gasp out, “Today, sir? Did I miss it?”

“You weren’t invited.”

He sees a sudden sting of pain across your face at his laconic words and realizes that he’d misspoken. “I mean—I meant that—” he sighs “I meant to say that we were discussing your involvement in the army. So yes, it would make sense that we didn’t call you in.”

“My involvement, sir?” The look of pain morphs into a look of panic.

“It was regarding the topic of whether you will fight in our sectors,” he says, feeling worse and worse as the conversation drags on. “And I’m sure you’ve been thinking this, too. After all, I was the only one who oversaw all of your training.”

His short explanation has seemed to somewhat relax you, but you’re still quite tense, for he hasn’t born the news just yet. It almost makes him hesitate, almost makes him reconsider for half a millisecond. But he plows through. “I’m very adamant about keeping you on the campgrounds, Officer,” he says. “You are an excellent strategist, and I wish that you continue to devote your time and energy to our battle plans. From now on, you will be exempted from further training, and you will not be fighting on the battlefield.”

He watches as your face falls.

“Am I… am I not good enough, sir?”

It brings back memories.

“Am I not good enough, Brother? Why is everything I do never enough for Mother?”

“It’s not your fault. Sometimes, people make decisions that you just don’t understand.”

“But I want to understand. I want to be good enough!”

“I think you’re enough for me, Yoonsoo.”

“Your ‘enough’ is subpar. At least, that’s what Mother says. Besides, don’t try to console me. I’ll just work harder until I am good enough for Mother. That’s the difference between you and me, Brother. You’ll stop before you reach your goal. But I’ll chase after it until I reach it.”

Yoongi’s not sure how to answer your question. He knows how it feels to not be good enough. He knows it hurts, and he hates to put that kind of pain on you, but what else is he supposed to say? If he answers that you are good enough to fight in the army (which, arguably, you sort of are—excluding some minor areas in need of improvement), then you will wonder why he isn’t allowing you to fight. And yet if he answers that you are not good enough to fight, you will burn yourself out by working until he says that you are enough. 

Unfortunately, you seem to take his silence as a ‘Yes.’

“Please, tell me what I need to work on, sir. I’ll fix it,” you say. You look eager, almost even a little desperate. “I’m willing to learn, and I’m asking you, respectively, sir, to reconsider. Please, just a couple of circas. I swear on Sahn’s head that I’ll improve by then. I want to fight for Solaria, sir. I can’t stand staying back and watching my friends risk their lives every day, only for me to lounge around with scrolls and bottles of ink!”

“Those scrolls and bottles of ink are saving lives, Officer,” he answers as level-headedly as he can. “We need you working on the battle plans. I don’t want you to go out there, come back, bloodied and fatigued, and have to retire to your tent to work again.”

“I think I can manage, sir,” you say. “I promise that won’t affect the quality of the plans and reports.”

He should’ve known that you won’t give up. That even though you’re kind and compassionate, you can be quite stubborn when you put your mind to it. Maybe he has to be more stern, maybe a little stricter. He sighs. “You’re just not ready, Officer.”

“Is it because of my fire wielding? I can practice that, sir. Please, allow me to train with the other soldiers,” you say. “I’ve fought in the army before, sir,” you say. “It just so happens that I don’t remember my time there. But I can do it again! And I swear I won’t be an embarrassment to Solaria.”

He frowns. You could never be an embarrassment to the nation, and he hates that his rejection might make you feel insecure. But this is for the better. “Y/N,” he says. You look surprised that your name has fallen from his lips, and he’s glad that he’s able to get your attention like this. Maybe it’ll make you listen to him. “We can’t risk losing you.”

You stutter for a few seconds, looking surprised at his words before finally being able to articulate your thoughts. “I’m as expendable as everyone else, sir.”

“You… You were heavily injured not just a year ago,” he says, shaking his head. “And you’re still dealing with the consequences. For Sooht’s sake, Y/N, as far as I’m concerned, you’re still injured. Why do you feel the need to fight?”

“I’m evading my officer duties, sir,” you say. “How is it that I’m writing plans for battles that I will take no part in? It feels selfish. What do I know about sacrificing my life and risking it all for Solaria? What do I know about charging into battle in the formations that I’ve made myself? I want change, sir. I know change makes you wary, but sometimes, it’s just the right thing to do.”

“I have no problem with change,” Yoongi says, his frown deepening. “But you have to understand, Y/N, that what I suggest you do—to sit out from battles—is change in itself. Not everyone in the army must fight, though it may seem like it. We have our healers, our cooks; they’re not evading their duties by not fighting because fighting isn’t a part of their job here. If I asked you to fight for the army solely because you are an officer, that would be following tradition. Asking you not to fight as an officer is change, and it’s a change that I believe is right for my army. You have been doing exceptionally well with your battle plans, and I think it’s time that we finally decide that being an officer means you are exempt from fighting. In the meantime, you will be taking on all the administrative tasks here.”

You’re silent.

Yoongi’s worried if he spoke too much. Did he scare you into silence? Are you thinking of a brand new argument? Or are you admitting that he is right? 

In a quiet voice, you say, “Then why did you help me train, sir? If I was never going to fight, then why did you let me become a fire medium again?”

His face softens. “I thought you deserved to be reconnected with your element. You’ve always known how to wield fire. It was just the right thing to do—to help you relearn it.”

“I’m disappointed, sir,” you say, head down, nibbling your lip. “Not at you… Just… Knowing that I used to fight in the third sector… And now I’m just…”

“Being on this campground already gives you honor,” Yoongi says. “You should be proud, Officer. It’s not often that a soldier becomes voted into the officer meetings with such short notice. I understand your disappointment but… it’s for the better.”

You nod. “Yes, sir…”

In truth, Yoongi doesn’t know what to think. He understands what it feels like to be branded as a soldier, an officer but be unable to fight—he’s been in the medical tent before, stuck in that stuffy cage, unable to do anything about his harrowing condition. But your duty here is to plan. It might take a while for the others to understand, but he needs you to do what you do best. Solaria is on track to victory. Why would he potentially risk it all and send you off to war? But then again… If you’re so willing to fight, why would he bar you from that? Oh, right. Because there’s a sliver—or a large chunk—of a chance that you’re Darlaean. The thought disgusts him. Or, maybe disgust isn’t the right word. How can he look at you and be disgusted? That doesn’t feel right. Conflicted. Yes, that’s what he is. He’s conflicted that there might be a chance that you’re Darlaean. And if you are Darlaean and he does allow you to go to war, then another Darlaean might recognize you. Things will get political, quickly, and he’s not sure how he could handle that. He’s a General, for Sooht’s sake, not a king. Though he does assume most of the royal responsibilities, anyway.

But all he really knows how to do is fight. That’s what he was taught to do when he was young, and that’s what he has been doing. Until now. How does he deal with a situation as tricky as this? And how does he do it in a way so that you don’t suspect yourself at all? And how does he know that he can trust you? And why would he ever care for a Darlaean? It just doesn’t make sense.

He massages his forehead, eyes squeezing shut.

“Sir, you look like you have a migraine,” you say. “Have you been overworking yourself?”

His eyes immediately open. “That’s usually my line, Officer,” he says. “But no, I have not been overworking myself. It’s just…” He hesitates. Would telling you that it was a difficult decision make you feel any better at all? Would he be better off not saying anything?

“It’s just?” you echo, cocking your head.

“Never mind,” he quickly says. “I was up all night reading your scripts, so forgive me if I don’t sound like my usual self today.”

“Sir, I think you might need some sleep.”

He smiles. “Maybe later tonight, Officer.”

“Maybe?” you say in disbelief.

“Fine then, most likely.”

“How about certainly?” you laugh.

He shrugs, straightening out his back a bit. “I’ll certainly try.”

The two of you stare at each other in silence, but it’s the good-natured kind. One where he’s silently admiring your face, your smile, your brightened eyes. It’s one where he begins to feel self-conscious that you’re staring at him. He gulps, feeling his Adam’s apple shift excruciatingly slowly as he brushes his bangs out of his eyes. What could you possibly find interesting on his face? Or maybe you’re not looking at him at all. It’s quite possible that you’re just thinking off into space, and you just happen to be staring his way. 

Yes, that makes much more sense.

He clears his throat, and you blink, looking almost a little flustered as you turn your gaze away from him. “Well, then. That’s all the news I had to bear, Officer,” he says.

You nod, staring at your toes. He wonders why you’re having such a hard time looking at his face now. He hopes it’s not because you’re still disappointed about his decision. He hopes it’s not—

“Thank you, sir.”

He freezes. Thank you?

“I know this isn’t the news that I was expecting… But it was probably harder on you to tell me,” you say. “Probably harder on you to come to this decision, too. But I respect it, and I think I’m starting to understand your reasons, sir. So thank you. For being honest with me.”

Now he feels even worse. Bu t how would you even react if he were to tell you that he and the Lieutenant think that you might originally be Darlaean? They’re keeping this from you for your own safety. So all he can do is nod and agree with you.

“Of course,” he says. 

There’s just a little more staring. A little more waiting. Then, all too soon, you’re straightening out your uniform and taking a deep breath. “So… um, may I be dismissed, sir?”

He doesn’t know why those words make him feel such disappointment. But alas: “You may, Officer,” he replies.

You give him a curt nod. “Well, good afternoon, then.”

“Yes,” he says, watching you leave the tent. “Good afternoon.”

You’re chewing on your lip hard enough to taste iron. Not being allowed to set foot on the battlefield and giving in to the rumors about sucking up to the other, higher-ranked officers seems so pathetic.

What will everyone say when you’re marching around every circa without a single gash on your face, not a mark on your body? Will they resent you? Will there be more gossip? Will you be able to feel their searing glares on the back of your head? And why do you care so much about what others think of you anyway?

Sometimes, you wish you could be more like Captain Bak. Or Captain Goe, for Sooht’s sake. They don’t give a damn about anything other than their own business, and you wish you could say the same for yourself. But alas, you tend to gravitate toward the thoughts, sentiments and feelings of others. Sometimes, you make up thoughts that they might not necessarily have. So maybe… Maybe you’re blowing this out of proportion. Maybe not fighting as an officer won’t be so detrimental to the others’ trust in you. And hell, maybe you should start minding your own damn business and finish this plan before the water clock chimes to indicate morning. 

You sigh, picking up your ink brush and chewing the very end of it. You can still taste the blood on your split lip. But you choose to ignore it, squinting at your scribbles and nearly incomprehensible diagrams in the amber lamplight. The moonshine is dim today, but instead of it being eerie, it’s cozy. The darkness makes the little light that you do have, ever so brighter. You find yourself snuggling closer to it, feeling even more compelled to sink into the massive amount of work you have.

Slowly, you take the brush out of your mouth, contemplating your next strokes. Your eyes waver just a bit, losing their focus, and in that second, you notice a shadowy figure in your peripheral vision. A figure that looms just several steps away. A figure that doesn’t exactly seem familiar yet doesn’t exactly seem so foreign, either. A figure whose head is tilted to gaze up into the dark sky.

Though you wouldn’t normally stare so hard in one direction (especially not when it’s light out), the darkness allows you to break simple societal norms. And upon the extended amount of time of which you stare this silhouette of a person down, you realize she is indeed familiar.

It’s Captain Moon.

Though you’ve never talked to her directly, you know quite a few things about her. Like the fact that she never talks during officer meetings because public speaking isn’t her forte. And the fact that her whole sector (Major Hyun and Captain Yang) are quiet people in general—and it works in their favor because the fifth sector consistently produces great results. Plus the fact that her family had disowned her for joining the army. Including the fact that she only joined to make money for her family, and now she doesn’t really have anyone because even her best friend was killed right before her eyes.

She seems to be lost in thought, unmoving, standing in the darkness all by herself, watching the sky. Is that what you look like to others when you’re entertaining your thoughts?—lost, alone, lonely? 

You don’t want to pry, nor do you know her well enough personally to do so. So, you force yourself to stare down at your scripts, continuing on with crafting the battle plan that you’ll have to ask for the General and Lieutenant’s approval tomorrow. But the image of Captain Moon standing in the darkness burns in your mind. You can’t help but think if she’s okay. Yet, is it really your business to go up and talk to her about it? What if she thinks you’re just being a nuisance? What if she just wants to keep to herself? What if she finds it offensive that you’ve listened to others talk about her past? What if she doesn’t want you to know? 

But every time you glance up, she’s still there, staring at the sky. You wish you could see the expression on her face—whether she’s staring up there wistfully, angrily, peacefully, hopefully. That would help gauge whether you should go and check up on her. 

You spend another several minutes listing out the pros and cons of making conversation with your fellow officer. Pro: you might make another close friend. Con: she voted against you in the beginning, so she might not be so keen on you now. Pro: she has something that she wants to talk about with somebody. Con: she has something that she doesn’t want to talk about with somebody, and asking her will make her hate you. Pro: she looks lonely, and maybe your presence will help her. Con: that’s her resting stance, and you’re going to look like a pretentious idiot. The list goes on and on, but you finally realize you’re making stupid excuses for yourself.

With a sigh, you get up and approach Captain Moon.

She turns when she hears you coming toward her, and with the darkness of the sky, you can’t quite catch the look on her face.

“Oh,” she says, her tone quiet and even. You realize this is actually the first time that you’ve heard her speak. Her voice is pretty—deep and resonant and smooth like a pebble weathered by years of monsoons. “Officer Ryu.”

“Captain Moon,” you greet her. Suddenly, you’re regretting not bringing your lamp with you, though you’re holding your battle plan tightly in your hands. It’s so dark that you can’t read her expression. Should you abort your mission and retreat? Should you press on?

You surprise yourself by going with the latter. “I just realized we’ve never talked before,” you say. “Thought I might keep you company tonight… if you want it, that is.”

She’s close enough now that you can delineate her facial features: her unkempt, wavy hair, thin lips, high nose, sad eyes. Though she always looks like this, you’re not sure if there’s something about the shadows crossing over her face that makes her look even more sorrowful than usual. 

“Ah… yes, yes,” she says after some hesitancy. You realize maybe you’ve barged in on her personal space after all. And sure enough: “I didn’t expect anyone to talk to me.”

“O-Oh!” you stutter. “Well, that’s all right. I can go back to my battle plans and all. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“No, no,” Captain Moon says. “You’re no bother. Usually, I’m doing this in my tent, but I just needed fresh air today. Yes, yes. That’s all.”

“...This?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was praying.”

Oh. You’ve forgotten that some Solarians do this; another wonderful reminder that even after a year, you’re still not quite up to speed. 

“Ah, praying,” you echo, unsure how to react. “To… to the spirits?”

“Yes,” she says, and though your question is a stupid one, she answers calmly with no judgment or malice at all. “I feel better connected to Soo and Sori when the moon is out.”

“Oh, Soo and Sori,” you say. “Are you an air and water medium as well?”

She shakes her head. “No, but my family is.”

“Your family.”

“Yes, yes. My family.”

It’s a sore spot for her—as you can imagine—and you hate yourself for leading to it being brought up. It’s even crazier to you that she’s praying for the same family members who’ve disowned her for fighting for her nation. Did they disown her for her own good? So she doesn’t waste time on the battlefield thinking about them? Or did they disown her for their own good? So they don’t need to worry as much about whether she’s alive and well?

“I guess you’ve heard,” she says.

“O-Oh, it’s just that…”

“Yes, well, I’ve forgiven them,” she says. “But I couldn’t forgive myself if something bad happened to them because I omitted them from my prayers.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

She doesn’t react, just stares back up at the moon. “Everyone has a reason for their decisions.” A long pause. “Some decisions are better than others. But… in the end, the spirits will watch over us and guide us, so we need not worry too much.”

You’re not sure how much you agree with that, but you nod anyways.

“Ah… I know that not everyone prays, and I apologize if I’ve offended you,” Captain Moon says, to your surprise.

“Oh, no,” you say. “Oh, no, no. You haven’t offended me at all. I’m just… Well, I’m not too well-acquainted with the spirits and their stories and praying…”

“Yes, well that’s fine. It’s better, probably, too.”

“Better?”

“My family is very spiritual,” she says. “They disowned me because Soo told them to. But Sooht was the one who told me to go to war. It’s complicated,” she says. “As everything often is. The best we can do is wait it out.”

“Wait it out…?”

You’re not sure how much you agree with that, either.

Captain Moon nods. “You will accomplish great things here, Officer. I don’t need any spirit to tell me that. And… I’m sorry that I voted against you. It was almost a year ago, but I feel bad about it to this day. I’ve been meaning to say something, but as you’ve said, we’ve never quite got the chance to talk…”

“Oh, Captain!” you exclaim, nearly startling her. “You don’t have to apologize for that. Please, trust me, no hard feelings at all.”

“Yes, yes, well, I was worried…” Captain Moon says. “I know I don’t talk very often. I didn’t want you taking it the wrong way.”

“You don’t really owe anyone to speak,” you say. “If anyone were to make assumptions about your silence, it would be their fault and not yours.”

She stares at you with a strange look on her face. “Where were you all this time?”

“Me?”

“I apologize,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just… someone as… as admirable as you… How did we only know of you since last Circa Sapph?”

That’s a question that you’ve been asking yourself all this time as well. “Maybe…” you say, “maybe I’ve made some complicated, not-so-great decisions in the past. Who knows? It’s a mystery.”

“I don’t mind a good mystery.”

You smile. “I won’t mind it after I get some answers… You know, I had a dream today.” You’re not sure why you’re suddenly telling Captain Moon this, but something about her makes you think she’d know exactly what it means.

“A dream,” she repeats. “A good one?”

“Yes, a beautiful one,” you say. “I saw a fire bird. She was soaring straight toward the sun, until she got too close and lit up in flames. But she was reborn in my very hands. I don’t know. It was emotional when I woke up. I was just wondering if it meant anything.”

“Of course it means something,” Captain Moon says. “No dream is without meaning; they are often the keys to the truth. Fire birds are rare, even in Solaria,” she says. “It’s a good omen, to have them in your dreams. Yes, yes. Hope and rebirth,” she says. “Sooht is calling to you, Officer. How lucky you are.”

“Hope… and rebirth,” you say, slowly, chewing on each word. Maybe Sooht’s telling you to stop nosing about your past. Maybe it’s a reminder that you’ve been given a chance to start completely over, and that you need to take it, rather than drown in the mystery every so now and then.

“Maybe you’re our fire bird,” Captain Moon says.

It’s such a preposterous idea that you let out a silly grin before realizing that Captain Moon was not joking at all.

“Oh, but I’m serious, Officer,” Captain Moon says. “So much has changed since you came back to us last Circa Sapph. You’ve given us the reason to start hoping for the better. Maybe we’ll win this war, now. So maybe you’re our version of the fire bird.”

“That’s quite flattering, Captain, but I’m only one face among thousands of others. I’d hate to take the credit when I don’t deserve all of it.”

Captain Moon shrugs. “It’s okay, Officer. I don’t expect you to embrace the compliment. Just know that I believe it—that many others do too.”

It feels weird to have people look up to you. How long will it take for you to disappoint them? What if the aspect of you that they admire is your façade? Why does it feel wrong to be the symbol of hope and rebirth? You don’t feel particularly altruistic; you’re not even that optimistic. But if people are counting on you, you can’t just let go of their trust.

You and Captain Moon part ways, Captain Moon saying something about how her head has been cleared and that was enough praying for today. You, on the other hand, retreat back to your tent with your unfinished battle plans; you’ve still got work to do.

With the oil lamp flickering, you finish up your plans, double, triple checking, for false accuracy can cost lives. You’ll have to quadruple-check in the morning, too. But for now, you’re feeling a little drowsy, and after that conversation you’ve had with Captain Moon, you want to see what other truths might be hidden in your dreams.

You remake the blankets—they’re usually quite messy—in an attempt to coax a great night’s sleep. But upon tossing and turning the futon, something small catches your eye. You gasp when you realize what it is.

The container. The one that Joon had made for you around a year ago. The one that contains the necklace. You can’t remember the last time you’ve even thought about it, and you find yourself reaching out to open the case up.

The necklace is as beautiful as ever. The white gem shines brighter in the dim light than you could’ve ever imagined. You wonder how many owners this necklace has had. The original Darlaean to whom the gemstone belonged, the Solarian who snatched it away, the other Solarian who sold it, the person who believed it made a stellar gift for their love, and now you.

But before the flood of questions and curiosities open up in the gates of your mind, you shut the case. It’s not for you to think about. Captain Moon said every dream is for a reason. Why would you dream of a fire bird and not try to be reborn? You’ve lost your memories for a reason, too. So why try so hard to remember? Why want to remember?

Gently, you lower the case back to the ground and collapse your futon over it. Out of sight, out of mind. You crawl into bed, wrapping your blankets around you, watching the light of your oil lamp quiver.

Then, with a flick of your hand, the light extinguishes. The smoke wisps up, gray swirls reaching for the top of the tent. Your eyes slowly close as you hope that you’ll see that fire bird again in your dreams.

There’s something about it that feels so familiar, too.

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⨰ a/n: hello hello! how are you? i absolutely love writing officer meeting scenes because it's so fun imagining a tent full of these intimidating but soft soldiers coming together to discuss war logistics 😩😩 i hope this chapter brought you some form of happiness! i'll see you in two weeks <3

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[keilemlucent]

a weary head

(r18+)

hawks || takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~2.5k

Keigo fucks you senseless, literally. But, he cleans up his messes well.

warnings:  dom/sub, aftercare, subspace, hawks literally concussing the reader by accident, sex accidents in general, vomiting, panic attacks

|||||||||||||||||||

Your legs are wrapped around Keigo’s waist that you can feel muscles beginning to pull. It almost hurts enough to ask him to stop— almost.

“Holy shit, you’re really this much of a slut, huh?” Keigo’s squeezing at your windpipe again, forcing your lungs to starve and your vision to haze up. “I can feel you clenching down on me, babe!”

You try to spit, wretch, turn away, anything to get away from his gaze.

It’s feral, the way Keigo is staring down at your slick body as he pounds into you. You’re already so bruised, thighs and hips colored purple and black with his biting grip. Your cunt is gushing slick, lube, and old cum. It’s dripping to the floor, slicking the hardwood beneath you, making finding purchase all that much harder.

Keigo’s eyes are still piercing yours as you turn your head away, trying to focus on anything but the obsidian stones set where his pupils should have been.

“Oh, so that’s your game now? Is that really smart?” Keigo chides, rearing back to slap you across the face, forcing your face back to him. He grabs your cheeks, nails biting into the soft skin of your jaw. “Open up, birdie.”

“You’re disgusting,” You spit back, but it hardly matters. Keigo has two fingers in your mouth, forcing you to keep your lips open for him. He leans forward to spit into your mouth, drool globbing into your mouth. You know better than to bite him, no matter how much you want to. The punishment that follows from biting the hand that literally feeds you was too great and too damaging.

Instead, you just choke as Keigo laughs at him, regripping your thighs with raking nails.

And he starts back up at an unforgiving pace, not a single ounce of him holding back on your ravaged cunt.

You’re screaming, fully, and with your entire chest. Your arms, tied expertly behind your back are bruised and sore beyond feeling. They were hardly holding sensation as they were beaten into the floor beneath you.

You sob as Keigo grabs one of your tits, purposefully sharpened nails driving into the squishy flesh. You screamed, trying to kick at Keigo, but you were so effectively pinned.

“Be a good little fucktoy and maybe I’ll let you come again,” Keigo sneers, squeezing to the point of breaking your skin. Your chest was already covered in scratches and thin lines from his talons. You’d be aching the next day, even if he tended sweetly to them.

Keigo’s getting close, pace downright frantic as you sob over and over. You can’t tell pleasure from pain as Keigo drills into your deepest parts. Drool leaks from the side of your mouth as Keigo somehow manages to speed up.

“You’re gonna come when I tell, right cocksleeve?” Keigo is just fucking cruel at this point.

You manage to nod, breathing getting a little too fast.

Keigo’s hand, slick with sweat moves to the front of your throat, squeezing at the sides.

The muscles of your shoulders and neck had been straining for so long, all through Keigo’s relentless fucking. How many rounds and orgasms had they had to hold your head up with your arms for leverage?

“Cum for me,” Keigo growls down at you, free hand taking to slap your across the face.

It didn’t matter, really. The muscles supporting your head and upper body pulled painfully and gave out. The strain on your neck had finally made you go limp.

With each thrust, Keigo is moaning and crying in ecstasy. He’s fully within rapture as he bruises your insides, making them match the outside,

You, on the other hand, are having a very odd orgasm that wasn’t all that pleasant. It is half-hearted, body so used up and spent that it was hardly holding together. It’s mainly interrupted by the rhythmic slamming of your head against the floor that Keigo was fucking you into.

Your vision is swimming by the third impact, breathing coming in painfully fast gasps.

By the fifth, your brain is mush and you were having trouble staying conscious.

By the sixth, your perception was being warped.

There’s stillness, but only for a moment. You can vaguely here Keigo’s breath change, but it feels like you’re underwater. Every part of your body is thrumming with a fucked up mix of adrenaline and endorphins. You felt like you were swirling and ungrounded.

Keigo gasps and curses above you.

“Oh, fuck,” It’s Keigo’s voice, disembodied. “Oh, fuck, (Y/N).”

There’s some activity, you guess.

Your head is starting to hurt.

The tension on your arms is released. You can’t feel them very well.

“Hey, hey, can you talk to me?” Keigo’s voice is firm, but there’s an edge of nervousness to it.

You make a small, weak noise from the back of your throat as your eyelids scrunch. Your body buzzes and twitches, making your head hurt even worse.  

You could feel one of Keigo’s hands smooth over your cheek, “Can you use your words?”

Oh, it takes all of your effort to push anything from your lips. Your vision is still fucked though you can tell Keigo is doing something. Maybe.

“C-can’t.” Your voice is hoarse, rawed along with your body. The face-fucking earlier really shredded your throat.

There’s something cold on the back of your head, where it had been hitting the floor. Your body moves on its own, away from the sudden sensation, but something (someone, Keigo) catches you and forces you to stay put as he applies the lightest pressure.

“I didn’t realize I was hitting your head, I’m so, so sorry angel,” Keigo’s voice is so sad.

“S-s’okay,” You slur. Your breath is still coming too fast, but it’s slowing down. “Happens.”

Keigo doesn’t reply, but you can just feel that he doesn’t like that response.

“Angel, I’m gonna pick you up and take you to our room, okay? Get you somewhere nice and dark,” Keigo doesn’t make you reply, but rather scoops you up and carries you off.

You’re becoming more lucid, slowly. There are weird strikings of fear in your heart, like odd jolts over your mind in its beaten state.

Keigo pulls out your specific aftercare blanket, a soft, baby pink fluffy thing. He slides onto the bed, against the pretty headboard, sending a flurry of feathers to do his bidding. He situates you in his lap, the blanket pulled over the two of you.

Despite the fact that being next to Keigo felt incredibly good, but the position made your stomach swirl and head pound even more.

Being upright is awful, you decide. You want to be on the mattress better.

“Can I lie down?” You try to blink, your vision a little clearer as you turned to look at Keigo better.

He shook his head, smoothing over your sweaty hair, “I’m sorry angel, but you gotta eat or drink first. Then I wanna look you over.”

You feel crushed, your chest hurts. You hurt so bad and you just want to lie down.

You must’ve started crying because Keigo is cooing at you a moment later, rubbing his thumbs at your cheeks.

“It hurts,” You manage to say before pressing your aching head to Keigo’s neck.

“Oh, angel,” Keigo squeezes you, pressing the gentlest kiss to an unbruised part of your skull. “I know, but I need to help you first. Can you trust me to help you? Then, we’ll get you laid down.”

You sniffle. You don’t like the answer, but you do trust Keigo with your life, literally.

Your nod is weak against his sweaty collar.

Some of his feathers must’ve returned because Keigo is resituating the two of you. Your back is supported on the headboard and he’s sitting in front of you. He’s wearing boxers and helping you into a soft shirt. It’s one of his, smelling like his nice, spicy cologne and sweat. It helps dull the pain of wanting him close, but it certainly doesn’t quell it fully.

Your vision is nearly fully back, perception almost proper, but everything truly does hurt. Even your teeth feel like they’re rotting in your skull.

“Kei’, I-I don’t feel good,” You whimper at him, moving to your knees, rubbing at your face. “Help.”

It’s not a request you’d ever make outside of a scene or subspace, not so bluntly anyways. Keigo is immediately running kind hands up and down your arms, regarding you with the softest, most loving gaze. It’s laced with concern, moreover. There’s a pull at his brows and a bad quirk in his lips.

“You did so well, angel. I’m so, so proud of you,” Keigo is shaking as he pulls you into him, rubbing up and down your bruised back. “You took it all so well. You’re so good. So, so good. I love you so much.”

You press into him. With your eyes shut and pressed to his sticky chest, the world is duller and your head hurts worse, “Can I go to sleep?”

You ask again, hoping for a different answer.

“No, love, I’m sorry. You gotta trust me, okay? Let’s start with some water,” Keigo is pulling away and you hate it. You want him touching you. It feels like you’re burning alive if he’s not.

“NO!” You shriek, grabbing his arm as it goes for a condensation-covered bottle laying on the bed.

Keigo freezes.

You tug.

“Angel,” Keigo’s voice has dropped, far deeper than his usual, pretty, high baritone. It’s a tone that you know too well when he chooses to assert himself. He moves to grip your jaw, where he had earlier, but far softer. “You are going to listen to me, understand? I love you, and I’m helping.”

You’re crying again because everything hurts. Your head and body are aching and Keigo is being mean to you and you just want to lay the fuck down—

And then you’re scared.

And then you’re panicking.

And then you’re choking on air.

Your lungs won’t fill fast enough.

Keigo rushes to wrap you in his arms, wings, and legs helping to press down on you. You are both familiar with the helpful nature of weight during moments like this. His lips are at your ear, breathing slow to encourage you to do the same.

But it hurts so much.

Your stomach is churning to the point of intense nausea.

“Keigo,” You manage to push out, giving him a desperate look. A hand is wrenching into your hair.

You’re lucky Keigo knows you so well and has a near-supernatural intuition. There’s a trash can in front of your face. You stick your face fully into it and you wretch. You’re sobbing as you vomit up everything in your stomach, bile, acid, and all. Keigo holds your hair, rubbing at your back.  

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Keigo is so soft but almost grief-stricken as he rubs at your shoulders. “Get it all out, okay? I’ll take care of you. Just get it all out for me.”

The notion is comforting, but the feeling quickly lost as another wave of sick leaves you.

Finally, you’re just coughing and spitting. You're still crying and your whole face is burning in addition to the migraine you’ve fully developed.

Keigo gently pulls you upwards, feathers taking the waste away. There’s a soft, warm cloth running all over your face, it pays extra attention around your mouth and nose.

It covers your nostrils and you freeze up.

“Blow, (Y/N),” Keigo urges, nodding with a soft smile.

In most other situations, this would be fucking humiliating. But, now? You did exactly as you were told, feeling somewhat comforted as much as your body hurt.

Keigo disposes of the washcloth, grabbing the water bottle from before and giving you a clean cup, “Rinse and spit as much as you need. Then, drink as much as you can, okay, angel?”

You nod, weakly, doing just as he said. It hurts, drinking so much water. It hits your tummy harshly and you stop after only a fourth of the bottle, looking at Keigo helplessly.

Keigo pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling out a bowl of somewhat warm rice, “Cold, huh? Let’s get something else in you.”

“The only other thing I want in me is your fat cock,” You manage to crack a joke quietly, weakly, very much kidding, but it manages to get a bark of laughter (a little too loudly) from Keigo.

“There’s my girl,” He’s still laughing a little as he presses some of the rice to your lips. “Eat as much as you can, okay? You don’t have to finish it all if you can’t. Tell me if you feel like you need to throw up again, okay?”

You nod weakly, opening your mouth for the bite of food.

You eat painfully slowly, stomach tolerating food to some level. Keigo is patient, offering words of encouragement as your brain slowly rises from the hellishly low section of subspace it was in.

You manage to finish it all, earning loads of praise and kisses from Keigo.

“Thank you,” You offer him as you finish the bowl. He beams you with the radiance of some divine being. His wings have been folded politely to his back, but you can see them fluff up with his joy. Keigo is kind, leaving tender, feather-light kisses wherever he can reach. Your body is still aching and your head fucking hurt, but it is soothed by Keigo’s comforting and distracting presence.

You’re so distracted, it takes you a moment to realize Keigo has pressed a handful of pills into your hand, another water bottle at the ready.

“They’ll help with the pain, we just needed something in your tummy before you took them,” Keigo soothed, running a soft hand over your shoulders.

You down them wordlessly and with a nod.

Keigo proceeds to lay you out on the bed, pulling off your shirt as he does. You don’t like being so exposed, but he calmly explains he needs to clean you up and deal with any other wounds he made.

Oh, right.

You’re leaking like four loads of cum right now.

Marathon sex with Keigo usually ended with you destroyed, but this instance was a lot.

There aren’t too many deep wounds, luckily. Just a few scratches that wept a bit too much blood to be left alone. Keigo cleans and bandages them, talking to you softly. You don’t say much in reply. You know that part of Keigo’s aftercare is letting out the remnants of his energy about the scene vocally.

He presses a kiss to the last bandage with a smile, looking up at you as you slowly put your shirt back on.

“You okay?” You ask him, eyes softening. “That was a lot.”

“It was, but it was very fun. I am very okay. I’m far more concerned about you.” Keigo’s eyes softened as he strokes at the bruised skin of your thighs. “I feel awful. I didn’t realize I was hitting your head like that. I’m very sorry and it will not happen a second time. New rule, pillows for your head for floor sex.”

You groan, “That takes away so much of the allure, though. You know I like getting roughed up like that Kei’.”

“Angel,” He gently pushes you down to the bed, guiding your now somewhat soothed skull with a tender palm. “What you’re not gonna like is when I have to take you to the doctor tomorrow to check if you have a concussion.”

You grumble and snuggle into him.

There’s sweet silence for a minute.

“Thank you, Keigo. You did well too,” You kiss his jaw a few times. “But, if you don’t take the day off tomorrow to take care of my ass, I will personally come to your agency, sit under your desk, and give you head until your balls fall off.”

“Oh, baby,” He nuzzles into you with a throaty laugh. “Say less.”

You’re not sure which option he means, but you suppose its the one where he’s tangled up in you.  

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Start Line (Part One of Two)

M/F Pairing: Fem!Reader x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 7.2K

Genre: Boys over Flowers AU! Strangers to enemies to potential lovers!

Summary: Starting a new school is never easy, but the four rich and popular boys who pretend like they’re above the rest of the student population? Well, that makes everything even worse.

A/N: You don’t need to watch the show to understand, but it might be fun! AKA this is a Kdrama recommendation. 

Also, I’m super sorry to the anonymous user who asked for this and probably impatiently waited for me to get a grip!!! 

Tagging @skzwriternet​

For my entire life, I’ve had to work harder than everyone else to secure the things that I wanted the most. 

Which is why nothing could enrage me more than the sight of the four boys sitting on the bleachers together in my new school’s gymnasium.

I had just recently transferred into the school on a swimming scholarship, and a young student assistant offered to give me a tour of the facilities before my first day of scheduled classes. Her name was Suzy, and she had enough intel on the school’s population that even the CIA would be jealous. 

I wasn’t normally one for drama, but Suzy’s warning about the school’s infamously named “F4″ was enough to leave me feeling cautious: “You see those guys over there?” she had asked when we sat down together on the bleachers. “It’s fair to say that they run the school, so most people try to avoid pissing them off.”

The boys in question were all starters for the school’s accolade-heavy basketball team. Apparently, that meant a lot in this affluent and well-endowed community, and I could tell that they considered themselves with the highest regard. Especially the oldest, a handsome blonde whose killer accent was surely the ruin of any one of those poor girls who flocked around them like they were desperate for attention.

“Bang Chan,” Suzy informed me. “He’s the leader, and his family owns an entire line of luxury hotel chains.”

“I guess that means something special?” I remarked, and Suzy gave me a curious look. 

“His family owns the school, but if we’re talking worth, then his parents pretty much own this whole town.”

“So, he takes advantage of that,” I noted, and Suzy nodded her head before indicating to the other three boys.

“They’ve all been friends since they were kids, but everyone knows that Chan and Changbin are super close.”

“Changbin?” I questioned, and Suzy pointed to the introspective and sullen-looking student who was ignoring all of the other girls with narrowed dark eyes. 

“His parents died when he was young,” she explained. “He lives with his grandfather.”

“Oh?” I wondered, and I looked at Changbin again with a fresh perspective - as someone who had experienced trauma that would follow him for the rest of his life.

“Felix and Minho are the real fuckboys,” Suzy continued. “They’re notorious for the weekend rule.”

“The weekend rule?”

“Find a college party, hook-up with a nameless girl, and then leave her before she’s too attached.”

“Fuck boys,” I grumbled in agreement, and Suzy sighed as if she had personal experience...but I seriously doubted that someone of her caliber would stoop so low knowing full well what kind of reputation she was dealing with.

“The entire school is at their beck and call,” she said. “They do whatever they want, and nobody ever questions them.”

“Well, I’m here to graduate and find a good college for swimming,” I said, meeting Chan’s gaze from a distance. “I don’t have time for games.”

The ominous faction leader smirked as he held my stare, eyeing me up and down with a flicker of interest that I chose to ignore when Suzy asked if I wanted to finish the rest of our tour.

Day One

On my first day of classes, Suzy was kind enough to stick close to my side, although I was beginning to see that she wasn’t very popular, and we were mostly ignored by the rest of the populace. Which was just fine with me.

“Check it out!” she exclaimed. “Our schedules are almost identical.”

“I’m glad,” I said, ducking my head to avoid a couple of rough-housing football players who were “playfully” knocking each other into the lockers. “I’m pretty sure you could get lost in here.”

“Well, ideally, most students start here in Elementary school, and they stay all the way through High School,” Suzy said. 

“A pretentious education at its finest,” I remarked, wondering how much money was literally walking by me with every Luis Vuitton bag and Gucci-made uniform that passed in opposing directions. 

“Do you start swimming after school?” Suzy asked, making easy conversation as we entered our first classroom - advanced biology.

“Yeah,” I said, following Suzy to the back of the room. “There’s a tournament this weekend.”

“Already?” Suzy gasped, and she plopped down into one of the desks next to me. “Will you have enough time to practice?”

“I’ll be fine,” I reassured her, reaching for a spare notebook as the teacher walked in to begin one of the most intense lectures that I had ever attended.

But the school’s Academic reputation was no joke, and I imagined that they hired the finest teachers that the school’s infinite endowment could afford - a budget that would eclipse the remainder of the public schools in the district. Yet, no one seemed to blink an eye at how obviously unfair that was, as if these well-off students deserved a high-class education simply because their parents made more money than they could spend.

My new socio-economic environment was becoming more and more apparent, and I was suddenly feeling every part of the outcast who wandered into the wrong part of town with good intentions. But a moralistic attitude would get you nowhere in life if everyone else refused to acknowledge the fact. 

I learned quickly that the students at this school were only looking after themselves, but the lesson was hard to accept. Which might explain my uncharacteristic heroism when it came to defending Suzy later on that afternoon when she agreed to give me a ride home after swim practice.

I was outside, sending a message to my mom, when I noticed a black SUV careening backwards at a speed that was far too fast. Meanwhile, Suzy had settled down inside the car to start the ignition, messing with the dials on the radio, when a powerful jolt sent her jerking forward. “What the hell?” Suzy shrieked, turning around in her seat only to startle with that “deer in the headlights” look of absolute horror.

“Shit!!” she cursed, and I watched her get out of the car before taking a deep breath and joining her on the opposite side of her smashed trunk where a huge crowd of students had started to gather around us.

They were talking rapidly amongst themselves, and I figured out why they were so interested the minute Bang Chan and one of his friend - Felix, perhaps? - walked up to Suzy with a bored expression. “You do this often?” were the first words I ever heard from Chan. “I can’t believe you got in my way.”

Suzy immediately bowed her head - submitting to the older Senior. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but I couldn’t stand to watch her expose her most vulnerable position. 

“Hey!” I shouted, walking around Suzy’s crumbled form to stand toe-to-toe with the infamous Bang Chan.

“You must be the new girl,” Chan remarked, eyeing me up and down with vague interest. “I kinda expected something more when I saw you the other day...”

I seethed when his gaze fell lower, as if pointing out something that only hormonal teenage boys would care about. “I’m not here to impress you,” I replied, and he arched one brow.

“I don’t need to be impressed,” Chan said. “But your little friend disrespected me, and I think she should apologize.”

“You’re the one who wasn’t looking!” I snapped. “Anyone with eyes could see that you were too busy on your phone to pay attention!”

There was a collective conversation from the crowd, and Chan studied the growing conglomeration of students surrounding our confrontation. “Do you have proof of that? Or, is it your word against mine?”

“Someone with any sense of dignity wouldn’t act this way,” I countered, and Chan immediately started laughing.

“Oh? Isn’t that cute,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You have a lot to learn around here.”

“The only thing I’ve learned is to stay away from you,” I said, and Chan rolled his eyes like it was the dumbest thing he had ever heard.

And the torment only continued.

“Hey!” I snapped when he knocked his shoulder against mine, coming to stand in front of Suzy again with disdain.

“Pay for the damages,” he ordered. “And then apologize to me.”

“Chan-” Suzy started, but I grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn around. 

“I wasn’t finished,” I said, and our noses almost brushed from the minimal distance I allowed between us. 

“I don’t want to hear anything else about your idea of honor or whatever,” Chan sneered, but he paused when I held up my phone, pressing the play button on the video which provided convincing evidence of the incident.

“What about this?” I asked him, and I could practically see him come undone.

“Give that to me!” he demanded, but I took several steps away from him, returning my cellphone to my pocket. 

“But I’m sure the police would be interested in seeing it.”

Chan’s eyes perceptibly widened, and I felt a surge of triumph in knowing that I had the upper hand. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” I taunted him, briefly glancing over my shoulder at his friend who had started snickering - like he was enjoying our fight. 

“Fine,” Chan huffed. “What do you want?”

“You’ll pay for the damages to my friend’s car,” I said. “And...”

“And?” Chan snapped, clearly impatient.

“You can apologize to her instead,” I finished, and there were several consecutive gasps from the student population.

“Is he gonna do it?”

“There’s no way Chan will give in!!”

“Someone film this!”

My smile continued to widen at the jeers of my classmates, and Chan was finally at his wits end, spinning around on his heels to growl an imperceptible attempt at an apology to Suzy who could only look at him in awe. “We’re done here,” Chan said, and I shrugged nonchalantly, watching him storm away with his friend in tow behind him.

I sighed once they were both gone, feeling a sense of profound justice after proving that even the great Bang Chan could be defeated, but then Suzy appeared in front of me with a grave look in her eyes that told me this whole ordeal was far from over. “Y/N,” she whispered. “What have you done?”

Day Three

The next morning, I walked to my locker feeling every gaze turned in my direction. I frowned at each of them, wondering if this was the aftermath from the incident with Chan and his stupid friends. Yet, when I finally paused in front of my locker, an uncomfortable sensation of dread sent me into a cold sweat when I saw what was taped to the front of the door. 

It was a red card with a black skull at the top and the infamous “F4″ written across the bottom.

“She got the card!” someone announced from off to the side, and it didn’t take long for other students to rush in my direction.

“The card?” I whispered to myself, remembering Suzy’s previous warnings concerning the exploits of the F4 boys. It wasn’t an accident that I had received this ominous warning, and I knew that I was in trouble.

Quickly, I darted through one of the exits leading outside, placing me somewhere on a small veranda where I leaned against the bannister overlooking the school’s athletic fields. “What the hell is wrong with this place!” I screeched, projecting my voice across the fields, and I didn’t expect anyone to hear me...

“Why the hell are you screaming?” 

I paused at the sudden question, widening my eyes when I realized it was closer than I expected. “You come up here often?”

I staggered backward at the interjection, spinning around to locate the voice that had uttered the simple question. “Hello?”

There was a sigh, and then a familiar sweep of brown hair appeared from around the corner. “This is my spot, you know?”

“No,” I said, cringing at my tone. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

The recipient in question was none other than Changbin, one of the four members of the school’s notorious F4. His dark black hair was wind-swept across his forehead, falling in thin strands over attentive brown eyes while he leaned against the wall of the small patio sectioned off from the rest of the veranda. “Lesson learned,” Changbin continued, swaggering up the stairs to stand next to me, looking out over the playing fields. “I guess I can’t come here anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I found myself asking without really thinking about what it might look like to show that I was concerned. After all, he was a member of the same F4 that had just terrorized me with their stupid calling card.

“You’re here,” Changbin replied as if the answer might suffice. “I have a feeling this place will be too loud.”

He sighed then before starting for the exit. “W-wait!” I stuttered, unable to put together a logical sentence before Changbin was already walking back inside.

But Changbin’s unexpected appearance proved to be the least of my problems.

For the remainder of the afternoon, I faced an onslaught of humiliation courtesy of my classmates. Everything from jeers between classes, to more insulting pranks like decorating the desk on my homeroom classroom with vulgar language and pictures.

Yet, worst of all was coming face to face with Bang Chan himself who smiled some kind of sickening smirk at me before quietly asking if I had had enough of the torment. “This is nothing,” I growled at him.

“Oh? Well, it’s only gonna get worse,” Chan promised, and he left without another word, leaving me to stew over a powerful combination of anxiety and frustration.

However, Chan’s idea of worse was, indeed, inexcusable. And I nearly screamed when I went to swim that afternoon, only to discover the pool littered with trash. But there was nobody around to help, and I spent the entirety of my scheduled practice time cleaning up with water, wrinkling my nose at a few questionable banana peels.

“I guess he went through with it,” a familiar voice interrupted my trash session, beaming through the haze of disgust lingering with every brush of my fingers across sodden newspaper or moldy plates.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded of Felix and Minho - the infamous duo who were practically glued to Chan’s side.

“We just wanted to meet you,” Felix said, and I watched through narrowed eyes as they brought over chairs from the side to sit down at the poolside.

I frowned. Couldn’t they help? “Why are you interested?” I asked instead, bringing another load of trash to the edge.

“Well, it’s been awhile since anyone stood up to Chan,” Minho explained, and there was a playfulness in his gaze that left me feeling uneasy in concern to their real intentions.

“Doing what’s right shouldn’t make me a martyr,” I said.

“But it does,” Felix replied with a cheeky smile. “He’s gonna keep up the torture, you know,” he continued, waving his hand around to indicate the trash still floating on top of the chlorine-caked water. 

“Forever?” I grimaced, hating that the word had slipped free without really thinking about what it would mean to admit such things to Chan’s friends.

Minho smiled, looking up at something over my shoulder. “I’m surprised to see you here, Changbin?”

I turned around as if it was instinctual, watching the same person from earlier on the veranda walk inside from the locker room. He seemed even more out of place than Minho and Felix, studying the pollution of trash swimming with me. “She’s interesting,” Changbin said, and I was surprised when my stomach did a few somersaults at his confession.

“I agree,” Felix inserted, leaning back against his elbows with his shirt sleeves rucked up high on his forearms. “It’s been a while since Chan has been this invested in something.”

“It would be nice if he could stop,” I grumbled, and I met Changbin’s sincere gaze as he knelt down next to the poolside.

“He’ll give up when he thinks you won’t back down,” Changbin finally decided, and I watched as he started gathering the trash floating in his direction.

Day Seven

In hindsight, my imagination ran wild with scenarios that were more insane with each progressive image that crossed through my head. 

But what could you expect from someone who had just figured out that she was being followed by three burly men wearing suits like they were the Men in Black. 

Each time I started to walk faster, they would also do the same. Until it got to the point where I was zigzagging around corners, doing my best to dodge out of their sight, only to find myself once again confronted with the strange men who had no intentions of leaving me alone.

Eventually, I paused on the sidewalk outside of the school’s entrance. I was running late that morning, which meant nobody else was around to witness this madness. But I was a strong, independent woman with a a no-nonsense attitude that compelled me to project my voice across the well-polished front lawn. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I began, holding up my hands when they grew closer. “What seems to be the problem?”

“We have orders to bring you to our boss,” they said, which only confused me even more.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know who you’re talking about?”

“Our apologies, miss,” the first man continued. “We were informed that you might try to resist.”

“Like I’m just gonna skip school and leave with a couple of strangers who have no conception of personal space,’ I glowered, but when I tried to spin around on my heel, I found myself colliding with an enormous chest, and I sighed, realizing that they had clearly been distracting me long enough for the third guard to sneak up behind me. “Fine,” I muttered, rolling my eyes when he grabbed my arm, leading me to the sleek black car running at the front of the school.

From there, my day only continued to grow even weirder, especially when I found myself walking up the steps of a gigantic mansion that looked like it could grace the cover of Vanity Fair magazine.

“Where am I?” I tried to ask, but the guards ignored my question, bringing me inside the house where I felt a twinge of misplaced guilt for treading my dirty sneakers across the pristine marble floors that practically shined with my reflection looking back at me.

“Greetings, miss,” a friendly tone greeted me, and I studied the older gentleman who dismissed the guards with a wave of his wrinkled hand. He was dressed impeccably in a suit with a long coat-tail, balding gray hair styled atop his head in a delicate swoop.

“What’s going on?” I demanded, but the butler was silent as he indicated for me to follow him. Down the crowded corridors, decorated with large, extravagant paintings, and down the granite staircase descending to the floor in a circular pattern.

Down a stretch of never-ending hallway that led to a bedroom at the end where two younger women - identically matched in uniform - greeted me by name before ushering me inside.

“Can you at least tell me where I am?” I asked the butler who followed us inside, giving out instructions as I was forced onto a stool in front of a vanity mirror, wincing when the woman immediately started to yank a brush through my long hair.

“This might take a while,” she said, and I frowned at her tone, coughing when a fresh puff of powder was streaked across my face - compliments of another girl who had a palate of make-up balanced on her hand like it was a paint tray and my skin was her canvas.

“I’d like to know something,” I insisted, but I was met with silence, crossing my arms across my chest as I resigned myself to the unexpected makeover since it was a thousand times better than my earlier scenarios where I envisioned myself dying from a James Bond-esque death.

It was only a half-hour later when the women declared themselves finished, standing back to admire their work while I had a staring contest with the girl looking back at me in the mirror. Because it was hard to believe that it was me with neat ringlets decorating my scalp, and sticky globs of mascara and foundation hiding the blemishes on my face.

I looked amazing, but it wasn’t really me. Still, I wasn’t given much time to study my new appearance, and I hesitated when the butler extended a black dress in my direction. “Our boss wants you to wear this,” he informed me, and I hesitantly accepted the expensive fabric.

“Who’s your boss?” I tried once more, but the butler simply smiled at me before waiting outside for me to get dressed, and I squeezed myself into the exquisite gown that swept the floor at my feet, hugging my curves and accentuating my figure in ways that my sweatpants and t-shirts couldn't.

When I finally walked back out, the butler smiled at me in approval before waving his hand in a grand fashion. “He’s waiting in the living room.”

I swallowed hard, following him once again through the maze of the house while wondering who I might be meeting. A rich donor? A potential Sugar Daddy?

They were all grand ideas that proved to be far better than the truth, and I could only gape in surprise when I was led into the living room, only to meet Chan’s eager gaze from across the expanse of white, designer-brand carpet.

“You!” I hissed in an accusing tone, watching the butler leave from the corner of my eye.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Chan asked, eliminating the distance between us with a few calculating steps. “They were right about the dress. You actually clean-up nice, Y/N.”

I scoffed at the backwards compliment. “Are you serious?” I nearly growled. “You kidnapped me for this?!”

Chan looked at me in disbelief, and I wondered if it was the first time that he had ever been rendered silent. “Do I not get a thank you?”

“A thank you?” I repeated. Incredulous.

“I brought you here,” Chan said, but he was clearly hesitating. “I thought you might like the attention? The clothes aren’t to your taste?”

“Shit, you’re dense,” I muttered. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“It’s obvious,” Chan said. “Talking down to me the other day, pretending like you aren’t affected by the F4 card...you just wanted my attention. And guess what, Y/N? I’m willing to give it to you.”

I blinked once, trying to understand his ridiculous train of bullshit. “What?!”

“You can be my girlfriend,” Chan said, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s a pretty big deal, but I’m sure you know that. I’ll even let you hold my hand between classes, and maybe come to your swim meets or whatever.”

“Chan...” I started, but then I broke off with a sigh because nothing I could think of seemed like an appropriate response. “I don’t think there’s even a remote chance that I would want to be your girlfriend.” I shivered, releasing a groan just saying the title. “Whatever you think is happening…it’s totally warped inside that screwed up head of yours.”

“Y/N-”

“Please,” I interrupted him, holding up one hand. “I’ve had enough, okay? I just want to go home.”

“But...” Chan tried to protested, stuttering around his words when I yanked off the expensive heels, chucking them off to the side. “How could you not want this?” he asked. “The outfit itself cost over $1,000 dollars.”

“$1,000 dollars?” I repeated, widening my eyes when I thought about how many hours my parents would need to put in at our local laundromat business to even make close to the amount he just threw away like it was nothing. “Chan, I might not live in the same world as you, but where I come from? You don’t make friends with money...you make them from the heart.”

“Impossible!” Chan protested, even as I turned my back to him. “Money can buy anything!”

“Is that why I’m leaving?” I returned, reaching down to hold my dress in place while feeling a small sense of satisfaction at having left Chan completely speechless.

Of course, in hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have tossed the shoes because the cement was hot against the soles of my feet, and I had attracted more than one curious look as I stormed down the street in search of the main road to take me back home.

“Stupid moron,” I huffed, practically jogging down the road with bare feet and my dress hiked up my legs to prevent me from tripping over the train. It was probably a sight for sore eyes when it came to the rich socialites who populated the neighborhood.

But like the sun’s rays penetrating the clouds on a rainy afternoon, I heard the sound of a motorcycle growing closer from behind me. Until the bike was right next to me, and the driver removed his helmet to expose a familiar bush of brown locks.

“Do you need a ride home?” Changbin asked, and I swallowed hard as I met his steady gaze. It was a simple question, but the fact that he didn’t even question me about why I was here? Nor could I detect any judgement in those impenetrable brown eyes that held all the allure, sending my heart knocking against my breastbone once again.

“Yeah,” I agreed, taking the extra helmet from him. “It’s been a shitty day.”

“I know how that feels,” Changbin said, and I was surprised by his easy conversation, planting myself on the seat behind him.

“Thank you for this,” I said, wrapping my arms around his waist and shivering at the thick smell of his cologne.

“It seems like you might be worth the effort,” Changbin remarked before kicking his bike into gear, and my heart did something strange that might be considered very dangerous when it involved the F4.

But I couldn’t help it, and I had never been more at ease this close to someone else.

Day Ten

Despite my adamant protests, the school insisted that I needed to take a physical education course, which meant that I was forced to pretend to enjoy dodgeball with the rest of my classmates. Hiding out at the back while most of the other girls did all the hard work. But I was only meant for one sport, and dodgeball was as far from swimming as one could get.

It helped that Suzy had gym at the same time, and we talked between games, with Suzy leading most of the conversation.as she offered introductions for most of our other classmates. “Mandy,” Suzy grumbled at one point, indicating to a tall blonde with long legs and a permanent sneer. “She thinks that she somehow has a chance to be with Chan, even though he’s kinda made it obvious that he doesn’t think anyone here is good enough.”

“Really?” I snorted, seeking Chan out from the corner of my eye, playing basketball on the courts with the rest of the F4. 

“It’s a running thing here,” Suzy continued. “But most people don’t even try since they don’t want to get on Mandy’s bad side.”

“Whatever,” I replied, averting my gaze when Chan’s eyes met mine. “He’s not even worth it.”

“Most of our classmates would disagree,” Suzy said with a shrug, nudging her shoulder against mine when one of the instructors ordered us to begin the second round.

As usual, I lingered at the the sidelines away from my team, making a half-hearted attempt to play along, especially since I seemed to be a recurring target, using other bodies to protect myself from stray plastic dodgeballs. “What the hell,” I grumbled, wondering if that stupid F4 card was to blame for my classmate’s sudden desire to single me out from everyone else.

I crossed my arms at the thought, finding myself once again looking back over at Chan...Did he think it was funny to make me a target of ridicule? Well, at least Changbin was being surprisingly nice, and just the mere mention of the older boy was enough to do crazy things to my poor heart.

But lost in my daydreams, I failed to notice that Mandy and one of her friends had stalked to the edge of the court, rearing back to throw their dodgeballs at me while I was distracted. “Y/N!” I heard Suzy’s voice scream from across the field, and I looked away from Chan only to find myself frozen in place while a dodgeball flew in my direction.

The sickening CRACK! of the stupid thing hitting my nose was audible, and I immediately tasted blood on my upper lip. “Go clean yourself up, Miss Y/L/N,” one of the instructors said, but I was furious that she was treating the situation so nonchalantly.

It was all Chan’s fault. Even if he hadn't thrown the ball, he empowered his classmates to belittle me at every opportunity, and I was tired of being the school’s metaphorical punching bag. And I hated the tears threatening to fall, refusing to show any signs of weakness as I stormed past Suzy for the girl’s bathroom.

“Fuck,” I cursed as I leaned over the sink, splashing some cold water on my face as I looked at my bloody and mangled reflection in the mirror. 

This was the worst incident so far, and I hated that the situation had escalated to something physical, gripping the edge of the sink tightly as I closed my eyes to regain control over my breathing.

“Here,” a voice whispered from behind me, and I turned around with a glare already contorting my expression when I was forced to face Bang Chan once again.

“It’s your fault,” I replied, snatching the paper towel from him as I dabbed at my nose. “What the hell are you doing in the girl’s bathroom?”

“I’m sorry,” Chan said, but I refused to believe it was sincere, turning back around to check the damage of my nose in the mirror. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“You can’t be sorry after the fact,” I snapped. “You had every chance to make things right and leave me the hell alone.”

“Well, I can’t do that now...” Chan trailed off, and it was surprising to see him suddenly look so unsure of himself. “I'm just trying to help...”

“And who asked you to do that?” I returned, looking at him from the corner of my eye. “Even if you were the last person on Earth, I would never ask for your help!”

My exclamation was punctuated by a rather harsh sound after I shoved the paper towels into the trashcan, preparing to leave the bathroom before Chan grabbed my arm to turn me back around. “What do you dislike so much?” Chan whined. “I don’t understand...I’m rich, handsome, smart...”

“All of it!” I interrupted with a harsh tone, and Chan immediately stumbled back against the sink. “You must not realize, but do you think those things matter to me? Because I can’t even consider them when your entire personality is unattractive! Your arrogant attitude, your stupid face, and that ridiculous curly hair!!”

“Are you insane?” Chan asked, and his bewildered expression would be funny under any other circumstances.

“I’m not done yet,” I sharply interjected. “It annoys me that you guys are allowed to do whatever you want at this school, and the whole red card deal? Where you give everyone a free pass to bully other students? Like it’s nothing? That’s the absolute worst thing about you!!”

“Y/N...”

“Do I need to repeat it?” I interrupted once more. “I hate everything about you!”

The harsh exclamation was met by silence as Chan continued to stare at me, and I decided to leave him alone in silence to think about everything I had said, rejoining my classmates with a sense of relief at having stood up to someone who considered himself as better than everyone else.

Day Fourteen

“You should come with me,” Suzy remarked one afternoon, sitting next to the poolside with me as I swam my regular laps. 

“I’d rather not,” I said, pausing at the edge of the pool to consider her request - a night under the stars, as the school’s dance team had proclaimed it, and it was one of the biggest school events of the year.

“Why?” Suzy whined. “The F4 revoked your red card, and you can meet some more people...maybe even score some connections.”

“Right,” I scoffed, thinking the idea absurd, but I guess it wouldn’t seem so outrageous to the ones who had been dealing with these politics for their entire lives. “I’m not really that outgoing.”

“It’s okay,” Suzy reassured me, and I could tell that she really wanted me to come with her, which is probably why I felt compelled to agree. But her smile and cheering was worth it, especially considering just how good of a friend Suzy had proven to be during the past two weeks.

And that’s how I found myself walking up to the school’s gymnasium that weekend, wearing an uncomfortable black dress that Suzy had agreed to lend me for the occasion. “You look hot, Y/N,” Suzy said, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my reflection reminded me too much of the time when Chan had brought me to his house to play dress-up.

“I can hear the music all the way out here,” I said, following Suzy up the gym steps.

“Yeah, this event isn’t regulated by the teachers, so it’s basically a free-for-all,” Suzy explained, and I desperately wished that I could find the appeal in that statement, especially once we entered the building, washing us in neon colors of purple and pink. “Let’s dance!” Suzy immediately cried, pulling me to the dance floor despite my protests.

Thankfully, I only had to awkwardly navigate the party scene for one song before Suzy became preoccupied with a very cute Senior boy from our homeroom. I was able to sneak away to the punch bowl, ladling some of the red liquid into my cup before bringing it to my lips. “Hmm,” I wondered, eyeing the drink because it tasted so familiar...”Oh well,” I said, shrugging as I proceeded to drain several more cups before sinking down against the wall, never noticing that a pair of eyes had been watching my every movement until a pair of Versace-toed boots stopped in front of me. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Chan remarked, and I was shocked that he had the guts to talk to me after honoring my request to be ignored for the past several days.

“What do you want?” I grumbled, reluctantly taking his outstretched hand to help me stand again because my vision was unusually blurry and my stomach was churning.

“The punch was spiked,” Chan said, chucking at my disheveled state.

“Spiked?” I repeated, finding myself totally incoherent as I leaned most of my weight against him. “When did that happen?”

“The Seniors do it as a prank,” Chan said, and his gaze seemed to soften as he held me close. “Do you want to sit down?”

“That would be nice,” I slurred, allowing him to guide me over to the bleachers where I dropped down with a thud!

“Damn, you’re pretty wasted,” Chan said, looking me over with an uncharacteristic amount of concern.

“I didn’t know...” I trailed off, pointing back at the punch bowl. “It tasted so good.”

“I bet it did,” Chan said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he cleared his throat. “I saw that you came with your friend, but maybe you might want some company?”

“Sure!” I said, patting the space next to me. “You’ve caught me in a good mood.”

Chan grinned - a genuine smile that I could hardly recognize - as he sat down with a sigh. “This doesn’t really seem like your type of scene.”

“Not really,” I agreed, narrowing my eyes when the room started swaying. “But you’re not my usual type of person.”

“Right,” Chan agreed, chuckling awkwardly as he messed up his hair - straightened instead of curly. “Maybe we could go somewhere else?”

I frowned because, even though I might’ve been a little more than tipsy, I still remembered that I didn’t like Chan, and there was no reason for me to go anywhere with him. “Are you intentionally ignoring everything I said from the other day?”

“No,” Chan murmured. “But I was hoping that I could give you space...and maybe a chance to prove myself?”

“Really?” I snorted. “How much have you changed since the last time we talked?”

“Probably not much,” Chan acknowledged, much to my surprise. “But after everything you said, maybe I’d like to? And I feel like you’re the only person who can be honest enough to help me.”

“Oh,” I replied, slightly disconcerted by Chan’s abrupt change in attitude. “Still, after everything you did...”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” Chan quickly agreed. “But I think you’re one of the rare kinds of people who believes in second chances.”

I exhaled loudly at his words, and in part to keep myself from throwing up after all the alcohol I ingested. “Where would we go?”

“What about a date at the diner downtown?” Chan asked, swallowing hard. “With me?”

“Let’s not call it a date,” I grimaced, and Chan agreed, even though it seemed to be a reluctant remission on his part. “But, yeah, that actually might be nice.”

“Perfect!” Chan said, and he was already on his feet with an energy that was impossible to ignore. “I’ll have Changbin tell your friend. Wait right here, and I’ll come back.”

“Okay,” I muttered, clutching my stomach as I watched Chan run off into the crowd. “Jeez, Y/N,” I groaned. “What are you doing with this guy?”

It might be one of the worst decisions of my life, but something he said struck a nerve deep inside of me. He might be unbearable, but he was right about one thing: people could always change, and I was the type of person who allowed second chances...just as long as someone was willing to earn it and prove themselves.

“Are we taking your car?” I asked, staggering against Chan’s hold as he brought us outside the gym.

“Yeah,” he said. “We can take my car, and you can sober up on the way.”

“Good idea,” I agreed, regretting the decision to drink so much of that stupid punch with every swaying step towards Chan’s expensive sports car.

He had the decency to open the door for me, and I fell inside with a grunt, waiting for him to turn over the ignition before he started fussing over me. “Do you need anything? Something to drink? Are you hot or cold? Should I turn on the music?”

“Don’t ask questions,” I gritted out - a response to everything while I leaned my head against the window.

“Got it,” Chan said, and he dutifully followed through on his promise, never speaking again until we pulled into the parking lot of the diner he had advertised earlier. “Do you feel any better?”

I nodded, an honest response. Because the drive had taken close to twenty minutes, and I had found a water bottle in the floor, downing the contents to settle my stomach and the wave of nausea that only alcohol could bring. “We can go inside,” I said, rolling my eyes when he made a show of coming around to help me out of the car, grabbing my arm despite my protests. “What is this place?” I asked when we walked inside, choosing an empty table near the back.

“My friends come here a lot,” Chan replied. “It’s quiet.”

“Quiet?” I laughed. “There’s no way it’s quiet if the whole school comes here.”

“They don’t,” Chan said, surprising me yet again. “Nobody knows we come here.”

He gave me a meaningful look, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was risking a lot by entrusting me with their secret. “Got it,” I said, miming myself closing a zipper across my lips (perhaps that was the drunkenness affecting my judgement).

But Chan still laughed, and then he went to the counter to order, leaving me to contemplate what the actual hell I was doing with the school’s literal celebrity who treated most people like shit, including me for a short while at the very beginning.

At this point, I really couldn’t blame the alcohol. So, what was wrong with me? Why was I doing this?

“Here,” Chan said, dropping a mug of something sweet down in front of me, effectively interrupting my internal conflict.

“Hot chocolate?” I asked, and I was definitely caught off-guard as Chan shrugged and sat down in front of me.

“I thought you might prefer this,” he admitted.

“Oh...” I started, searching for a good response. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Chan said, and he smiled as he watched me taste the foam resting on top. “Is it good?”

“It’s nice,” I admitted, and Chan had the appearance of someone who had just landed an acceptance to their dream college.

“You’re different from the others,” Chan said, switching the topic. “I like that about you, and it makes me regret everything I’ve done even more.”

“Yeah,” I huffed. “That red card shit needs to stop.”

“I agree,” Chan said, bringing his mug even closer. “My friends have wanted to stop for a while...”

“They’re way smarter than you,” I said, tilting my head to the side as if it might give me a different vantage point of the confusing boy sitting in front of me. “Did you really want to come here with me?”

Chan nodded, eyes gleaming. “You’re interesting,” he decided, mirroring the exact same thing that Changbin had said to me a while back. “I think I like you a lot, which is why what you said to me at my house and in the bathroom really made me reconsider a lot of things.”

“Oh?” I questioned him, amused by his reasoning, and possibly even endeared by his regretful expression. “I might learn to like you...” I trailed off, laughing at his puppy-dog eyes as he looked at me with obvious desperation. “If you learn to behave.”

“Is that so?” Chan remarked, and his smile was perfectly sincere. “Well, I think you’re the best person to teach me.”

And despite our complicated history together - unwinding after such a brief amount of time in one another’s company - I was more than willing to try for the very strange boy who was starting to show me the intricate layers underneath all the wealth and arrogance - a mere façade for something better, the potential for good if a brave enough person was careful enough to find it.

End of Part One

[austarus]

Frost/Caitlin Snow x Reader - 5 and 7

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

*I’m not dead, however, I’m slowly trying to get back into writing. I’m so mentally and emotionally exhausted from my uni and classes. I’m just so tired. I just want winter break to come. My professors and university don’t really care about doing their jobs correctly or compensating/accommodating the students during the stress of the pandemic. It’s harder at the hospital I work at. Break is coming soon and I have so many fics planned. 

Word Count: 2453

“So, cutie, when are you going to tell them?”  

You yelped in surprise at the source of the voice. Turning around you saw Frost leaning against the doorframe of your room. “Tell who- What- How the hell did you even get in here?” You raised an eyebrow at her while she strolled in and plopped down on your bed. You had no idea why she kept calling you pet names.

“I picked your lock.”

“Of course, you did,” you sighed, folding a shirt and setting it aside. You continued doing your laundry while Frost laid back on your bed, legs crossed. Glancing at her, you shook your head while she sucked on a lollipop. Caity had yelled at her for invading your privacy the entire time she was picking your lock. Frost payed her no mind. With your clothes fully sorted in piles, you picked one up and moved to your dresser. Bending down, you opened the most bottom drawer and placed the jeans there along with some leggings. Frost’s eyes racked over your figure.

She’s got a pretty nice ass, huh Caity?

Can’t you keep your eyes to yourself? Be respective.

Hey, (Y/N) started it a few days ago. Remember? And I’m being perceptive.

Caitlin had gone silent at the back of her alter ego’s head. A few days ago, you had accidentally stared a bit too long when she wore a deep V-neck romper. The back was completely open, and Caitlin was sporting her typical heels that day. The physician had caught you a few times, she just wasn’t sure what was up. Did it look bad on her? Was it damaged and you didn’t have the heart to tell her? Frost had… insisted on an idea, but Caity had shut her down. After all, you’ve only been ever interested in guys.

Her eyes were all over us. And her reaction when I came out was delicious.

“Nice panties,” Frost broke the silence, holding one up that had straggled far from you. Confused, you caught it when she had thrown it at you. It was a lacy deep blue one. You huffed and folded it quickly.

“Thanks, I guess.”

Your phone vibrated, with a frown you checked it. It was Cisco.

Ciscito: Is Frost/Caitlin with you? 5: 46 PM

You: Yeah? Why? 5: 51 PM

Ciscito: Good, keep her out of the labs for a bit. Barry and I are going to try to jumpstart the Speedforce machine thing again and she’s sort of been bothering us all day. 5: 53 PM

You: What? No? Have Ralph come pick her up! He’s better at dealing with her. 5: 54 PM

Ciscito: Too late... 5: 55 PM

You: She broke into my home!  5: 56 PM

Ciscito: That sounds like our frost queen. And Ralph’s busy with Sue 5: 57 PM

You: … Of course, he is 5: 58 PM

“I can see your nipples,” You snapped your head up to see the cold meta sit up on your plush bed. You felt your cheeks flush slightly as she smirked at you. Frost loved teasing you, “Right through your shirt. Perky. Cute.”

Don’t make her uncomfortable!

But its so cute and so easy to see her blush. Plus, you’ve seen her boobs in dresses before, they’re pretty cute. So squishy. I can just-

-They are- But that’s beside the point. Just, you know-

-I know, chill, I got this.

You rolled your eyes at her, “In my defense, if I had known someone was coming over, then I would have put a bra on.” You were having a lazy day today, deciding to just clean and not come into the labs. Originally you were going to just laze around without any clothes. You’re glad that you didn’t go through with that idea. “Don’t you have anything else better to do? Anyone else to bug?”

“I’m bugging you.”

“Besides me, Frost.”

“Nah, I’m good. Where’s your alcohol, by the way? I’m stealing some.”

“No, fuck you.”

“When and where? Because we can go right now,” The cold-powered meta pointed with her thumb on the bed. “Bed is right here so-”

“-I will hit that pretty face of yours.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty. Caity, she thinks we’re pretty.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned. You always got into these sorts of… Well, you didn’t know how to exactly word it.

“So, when are you going to tell them?”

“Tell who what?” You rolled your eyes as she had followed you out of your bedroom into your quaint living room. Caity took the time to appreciate your small apartment. It was cozy, the color scheme fitting well with not just the décor and furniture, but with your personality.

“The team,” Frost simply stated as she ran her fingers over the cool marble of the side-counter attached to the wall and connected to the counter where the sink resided. You eyed the meta carefully, a ball forming in your gut.

“About what?”

“You know about what.”

“No, I don’t.” Pulling out the alcohol, you avoided her eyes.

“Can I use your bathroom real quick? Don’t want to break the barrier while drinking or else we both know there’d be no end to the bathroom trips for Caity.”

Hey! Rude! I’m right here.

But it��s true.

“First door on the left,” You simply said, pouring the meta a drink while you pulled out some snacks and ginger ale for yourself. Your stomach had been hurting you for a bit. Might as well entertain the Frost Queen while the boys finish. I swear, a warning would have been nice before she arrived.

Frost entered your bathroom and turned on the lights. She froze for a moment at the sight on what was on the arm of the bathtub. Before a snicker left her lips which erupted into a full-on laugh.

Is that-

-a dildo in her bathroom. Yup. Frost got closer and picked up the cleaned toy. She figured it was because the cleaning products for it was out on the counter. Which means she had used it fairly recently. Frost licked her lips at the thought of you using it. That same thought made Caity remain quiet and just feel hella bashful, yet… intrigued by it. Aw, that’s cute she can only take up to 5”. Bet you we can-

-Frost-

-get her up to 7”. Now that’s a delicious thought. It’s a good thing I bought the str-

“Hey, Frost have you seen- Oh my god- I- that’s-” You dropped your towel as you froze in the hallway. The meta turned around with the colored dildo in hand. Your ears had perked up at the intense sound of her laugh, wondering what she was laughing at. Well, now you know and you’re 100% convinced she’s laughing at you.”

“Not yours? I honestly find it hard to believe.”

You tried to form words, but your mind would not comply

“5 inches. That’s real cute. Caity thinks so too.”

Do not involve-

-You think it’s cute, now hush. I can feel your feelings too.

“Are you only meant to tease and pester me?” You flushed under her gaze, stepping over to take the dildo away. “Also, where’s Caitlin? Isn’t she supposed to be having the day to herself this time?” But she dodged you. Running out of the bathroom. You shut off the lights, because duh you pay rent and also save energy thus saving the planet.

“We sort of… switched it up. But this,” Frost held up the detailed dildo. The two of you kept running around the apartment like that. “You can do better. And you know what I mean.” Your heart stopped when she winked at you, giving the tip a slow lick as he eyes never left you. You swallowed hard.

“By the way, Caity and I know. Well, it was mainly me, but no need to be shy.”

“I- How?” You sighed in defeat because you couldn’t catch her. Well, you wanted to 100% tackle her to the couch and steal the dildo, but you Frost didn’t like anyone touching her. Instead you just took a seat on the couch while she moved to stand in front of you, the coffee table wedged between you both.

“A little birdie may have stared a bit too long a few too many times when we were wearing that v-neck romper.” She shrugged before taking a seat beside you. “And it really was adorable watching you fumble about and look away.” Frost smirked, resting her elbow on the back of the couch. “I wonder what else that face can make.”

You felt the air in the apartment get stuffier. “A-and Caitlin knows?”

“Oh, she knows. Now she knows. She just wasn’t convinced about my thought of you being gay… or well, bi. Mainly because you dated guys.” She handed you the dildo.

“Th-that did not mean I can’t be interested in girls. I just… never acted on it.”

“Oh, I know. She just didn’t want to assume and everything. You’re shit with talking to guys, so I figured you’d be the same way or much worse with girls.”

“Gee, thanks,” you rolled your eyes at her, setting the suction cup dildo on the counter. There was a silence in the apartment. You got up to grab the drinks, handing her the glass of alcohol on the rocks while you had your cup of ginger ale.

“Girls do it better.” Frost broke the silence and took great pleasure into seeing you almost choke on your drink.

“Where the fuck did that come from?”

“What? I was just stating an obvious fact in case you were wondering-”

“-I was not-”

“-Yes, you were.” She deadpanned, placing her alcohol down on the coffee table. “Oh, so Caity’s gonna tap in. Hold on.” You raised an eyebrow at the meta melting back into her human alter ego. Platinum blonde hair changed to a beautiful brunette color, eyes softening up as well.

“I am so sorry, I swear she doesn’t think before speaking,” Caitlin started apologizing, fidgeting with her hands. She was always so pretty and adorable when she did that. Or just whenever she spoke in general. “… But she is right.”

“About which part? That chicks do it better? That she can get me to 7”? Or that I’m shit with talking to guys and I would be much worse with girls?”

If she gave me one night, I’d get her to 7-

-Frost-

-Plus, who’d pass up a night of that kind of kinky fun.

Frost! Stop!

You raised an eyebrow and figured Frost was whispering her two cents into Caitlin, who was automatically flushing. “What did she say?”

“Too many things.” Caitlin roughly sighed, “I- we… sort of have been thinking and reflecting-” -Get to the point!- -I am! “A-and we wouldn’t really mind if- I mean we just. W-we like you. And we just wanted to know that we weren’t misinterpreting the signs.” Way to sound like a high schooler with a crush. Grow a pair woman and say that we wanna kiss and bang her like the world means nothing.

“I..” You took in a breath and held your cup with hands. A shaky breath left you. Glancing away, you collected your thoughts before turning back to an expectant Caitlin. “I really like you too. Both of you. Like… a lot.” Caitlin smiled, but you continued. Frost just whispered that she knew it and tried to get Caitlin to go in for the kiss. But Caitlin tuned her out. “At first, I… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to say anything because I just- I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship. It’s- That’s why I kept going on those random-ass dates with some guys on bumble. It was actually fun taking some of the guys down a few notches. I swear the male ego is so infuriating sometimes.”

“Amen to that. Honestly Ronnie and Julian were one of the best guys in my life.”

You smiled back at her, “I wanted to convince myself that I shouldn’t be thinking of my close friend like that. But then I kept thinking and feeling. And here we are.” You gestured to herself and you.

Caitlin pulled you into a comforting hug, her arms around your shoulders, “When Frost came out, I did too. I think Cisco and Kamila were the first one’s to know. They did have to drag Frost out of a gay bar where she was literally arm wrestling the other drunk customers. Not one of her best moments.”

Caitlin pulled away abruptly, Frost coming out to defend herself. Platinum blonde locks, icy white irises, and blue lips. “Hey, it was one of my finer moments! I was kicking their asses left and right.”

“I never said anything.” You giggled and Frost just cupped your face with a grin on her face.

“You’re too cute to stay mad at.” The meta tugged you into a kiss, her cool lips pressed against yours, your hands lightly gripped her arms as your lips started smacking against hers in a rough-ish kiss. “Mm, you taste good. Like… vanilla latte?” Pulling away, Frost licked her lips from the kiss and melting back into the depths of her mind for Caitlin to come out to have a taste. Caity’s kiss was gently -sensual- unlike how heated Frost wanted to get with you. Damn, your heart was flying, and your panties were… well… yeah… You locked lips for a bit with Caitlin, nibbling on her soft lips before she finally pulled away with a small breath. Her cheeks were flushed and lips slightly swollen. She looked so cute.

Frost came out once more, pointing behind you, “You know, we can put that dildo to good use tonight.”

Frost, what the hell!

“Shouldn’t you take me out on a few dates before we go to bed?”

“Nah, we can do that tomorrow morning. Plus, Caity’s a big cuddle bug so be prepared for that. I’m more of a big spoon. For now, we can play with that bad boy,” Frost pointed to the dildo behind you, “before upgrading you the 7 inch that I have at home. And believe me. You’ll really enjoy it when I’m done with you.”

“As long as I get to do you too.”

“Obviously”

“Is Caity ok with it?”

“Oh, honey, she’s going to be more than ok with it. She’s flailing around embarrassed right now, but she’s hella wet so. Bed. Let’s go.” You couldn’t help the fit of giggles you had as she dragged you by the hand to your bedroom while holding the light purple dildo in her other hand.

[shoezuki]

Tommy's prison/revival arc isnt well written actually

Anyways ive been wanting to talk on it a while for a bit here but havent had the Time or like. The thought to. But im gonna go off now.

First off im gonna say im ASSUMING this stream and plot of tommy being in the prison with dream is written entirely by tommy and dream. Wilbur May be involved in the latest stream but im not sure.

Bringing tommy back to life after only three days of him being dead did practically nothing to progress plot, the characters, or audience's understanding. In fact i feel that it damaged Other characters' potential and plot and already established plotlines.

The 'development' aspect

A really, really easy way to see if anything has changed or developed through an arc or plotline is to straightup just compare the 'beginning' to the 'end' in terms of the barebones situation. So;

Beginning: tommy is trapped in an isolated prison cell with dream, his own abuser who has hurt him in the past, for an unknown amount of time. He's terrified of dream and being stuck there with him.

End: tommy is trapped in an isolated prison cell with dream after being killed then revived by him, his own abuser whos hurt him in the past, for an unknown amount of time. Hes terrified of dream and being stuck there with him.

Okay. This is simplified obvious. But the point stands. ALTHOUGH the troupe of 'going back to the beginning' is common in the heroes journey its. It doesnt work here. Has tommy learned anything? Has he changed as a character? Is the severity of their situation any different? Have we, as the audience, learned anything new?

Im going to expand on that last point because i think it has the strongest potential argument. Technically for progression in literature and development of plot/characters, things can Change without them being Aware as characters. It can change just by the audience's perception changing or being challenge.

Slight example: i've been reading a webcomic called Your Throne. Its a fantasy/political drama about a noble lady who entered a competition with another noble lady to become the empress. The main lady lost despite her being a better fit, and the comic starts with the main lady trying to assassinate the empress. Its assumed and stated by the main lady that she 'ruined her life' and so thats all the readers know. However, later in the novel we see flashbacks to the competition itself and find that the two ladies were extremely close friends, neither wanting anything bad for the other, but it was the emperor himself who manipulated both of them for his own agenda. Those flashbacks gave us an entirely different idea of who the real antagonist is and completely changed the two main ladies' relationship. THAT is how the audience's understanding of the plot and novel can be used to change the entire story. We dont get such here though

Some things that were brought to light during tommy being dead/revived:

Dream is capable of reviving people infinitely

This was already implicated and assumed. The book dream has being a means of reviving people has been around Technically since schlatt's death. This just 'confirmed' what was known

Time works differently/feels longer in the afterlife

This doesnt really impact much beyond emotions and implications. If we had more insight into what the 'afterlife' is like beyond nothingness perhaps so. But really it just makes it so wilbur being dead for what feels like 9 years and tommy having been dead for 2 months appeal to emotions.

Wilbur is evil

This one fuckin sucks i cant lie HSKSHSISSGEGDV. Like i was gon go on bout it and i will but it jus sucks. We have nothing to go on besides tommy's word, no examlles of what Horrible things wilbur said could make tommy assume this, etcetc. Ill most likely make a seperate post on how this feels like we're just going to get 'wilbur is a horrible villain' type with him. But still. I feel wilbur Not Being Good isnt a new development.

Dream is going to revive wilbur

This doesnt feel new either, part because phil had wanted to revive wilbur before (ill get to that more later) and that tommy had kept dream alive/initially imprisoned him with the idea of him reviving wilbur.

Dream believes wilbur will break him out of prison

Okau this makes no sense to me actually. I cwnt understand How exactly wilbur would be able to do this? Or why dream believes he even Could? Mans been dead for like 9 years and all we Know of the afterlife is that its black... nothingness. How would 9 years of that make wilbur capable of busting the prison open?

So. Yeah. All in all this plotline hasnt done anything new, developed things, or altered people's perceptions. We just ended up back at square one. Back to tommy being traumatized, dream being 'evil' and horrible and doing villain monologues, and them being stuck together.

Other characters and plotlines

Im pretty damn sure tommy's revival fucked up a LOT of other characters' plotlines and potential development. Honestly i feel this has a lot to do with the writers not communicating with other ccs well enough. But Ill talk about specific characters from least to most fucked over in my opinion:

Sam

He's the best off. He hqd been there during tommy's death, had been close to tommy, had majorly blamed himself and his own mistakes for tommy's death. His grief and self hatred was actually really heartbreaking and well done. The attached character of Sam Nook being unaware of tommy's death and simply waiting for tommy to return was a really good parallel to sam's own grief and anger. like it really snapped sam the guy who cares for tommy and wants to do Right by him back together with him as the Warden of the prison. Mixed personal life with 'just business'.

I feel it wouldve been nice to have him like. Have more time to grieve properly and come to terms eith tommy's death and his own involvement/influence over the events. Him finding tommy alive again Could be a means of him like. Facing his own grief head on if done well.

Ranboo

Mostly in the context of him and sam's argument do i feel it got screwed over. The weight of them yelling at each other and trying to find who to blame and the implications that Maybe ranboo was the one who caused the security breach that closed down the prison on tommy just.... doesnt hit so hard anymore. Because how can there be blame and arguments and a 'who done it' mystery when tommy popped up all fine again?

Puffy

I dony know much of her involvement or how she found out tommy died (besides metagaming shhhhh) but i saw her monologuing of how they 'failed' tommy and like. Her whole 'he was so young we the Adults failed him' spiel is like........... inconsequential? Now??? Like no dont worry he died but hes alright now.

Philza

BET YOU DIDNY EXPECT TO SEE THIS FUCKER!!!!!! But actually though i want to talk bout how this ties into phil. A LOT. for Zalbr ❤. But also because i see ppl tying phil to tommy's death n like nah shutup u doin it wrong. Ill go off more in a Wilbur Post. But essentially: i dont like that dream is now going to revive wilbur. I feel they arent going to tie philza into this Despite phil having originally been trying to revive his son and studying on it and Attempting and Failing. But now suddenly dream can just. Say some magic words and Poof wilbur lives? So we're just going to Kill philza's revival attempts plotline and leave that hanging? This made his efforts seem pointless and Wack like oh why didnt you just Say The Magic Words phil????

Niki

I feel really bad for niki. She hasnt been able to do a lore stream during tommy's 'death' (she tweeted she wanted to but her computer wasnt working) and considering her entire character.... that shit is important. We seen it with Jack Manifold how tommy's death impacted Him considering he literally wanted tommy dead. And since niki is in a similar boat to jack of trying to kill tommy and it being her Only goal...... thats extremely important.

BUT. i feel there wasnt any communication. Did she or anyone even know tommy would be revived? Did no one consider they could At Least let her do a single stream on it? Like jack manifold????

We couldve gotten a Really good niki lore stream. I genuinely was so excited for it and i dont regularly watch her. But we seen it with jack manifold which is why i dont feel he got screwed because mans genuinely did So Good he could pop off with anything n i think it works in His favour. But now........ for niki. Canonically she never even knew tommy was Dead. So its like nothing even happened for her. Is she just supposed to continue on trying to kill tommy with no progression?

What i think would work

This is more me being like 'hey @ the dsmp writers let me in' type speculation sbosegussgs. But i was thinkin on a Really easy way to 'fix' this without rewriting lore and the streams.

Dream should kill tommy again now that he's been revived and Leave Him Dead.

More development for the characters who are affected by his death Especially niki. More time for grief and self reflection and development

A chance for the audience to figure out what the 'afterlife' really is.

Dream is supposed to be smart and a master manipulator or something right? Why doesnt he use being able to revive tommy as a bargaining chip with sam for his own freedom?

The audience would now Know dream's intentions with tommy better, that this death isnt 'final', but we could still see other characters' grief and reactions and coping without it feeling cheap. Ive seen some 'but people dont know tommy is alive so hes still dead in their mind' but that sucks imo.

We'd know more on dream's ability to revive people and that he can just Do It on a whim (which i think sucks but hey im trying) but no one else would know this canonically

Okay. Im done. If you read this. Thankyou. I love you. Hmu.

[liddolwhynot2000]

Chains: Part 2

____________________________________

Summary: Without thinking, you spoke up, feeling oddly hopeful.

'Any chances you want to.. Come in and have some tea?'

____________________________________

Pairings: Levi/Reader, Erwin/reader

Genre: Some fluff, liddol angst

____________________________________

ChainsPt1. ChainsPt3. ChainsPt4

Drabble#1

____________________________________

Out of all your memories, an entertaining memory for you to look back on would be the first time you met Levi Ackerman.

It had been an unusually quiet day, not many people had come to the resteraunt, leaving you with less work then usual. When the bell had chimed, you had decided to take the order, bored out of your mind. Much to your surprise, it was Erwin, followed by three other soldiers.

After exchanging pleasantries, you seated them and brought out the menu's. Erwin left, after asking you to note their bill in his tab.

You observed that the young girl was rather chipper and nice, while the blonde man was polite and charming. The man with dark hair and dark eyes, he hardly paid you any mind, not even bothering to spare you a glance. Overall, they had been pleasant enough, eating quietly and calmly.

Once you had served them tea, however, some accdientally spilled on the dark haired man's shirt and arm. He had hissed in pain, and you had immediately begun rubbing a cloth over his arm, before grabbing him gently by the wrist and dragging him to the nearby restroom, despite his complaints.

'I'm fine, let go of my ha-'

'Please don't be difficult, I'm trying to help you. '

Dark eyes flashed dangerously at you but you held firm and began washing his arm, causing him to grunt a little.

'I don't need your fucking help-'

You ignored him and went to grab the medical kit.

'We have a gel for burns. It'll sting a lot though'

By now, you had managed to make him sit down. The look on his face gave away how he would rather jump out the window then sit here. He rolled up his sleeves, unwilling to take off his shirt infront of you, despite the tea stain. You quietly began applying the cream, trying your hardest to be gentle as he hissed.

'I'm from the underground. '

'So?'

'Do you not know what that place is-'

'I know about the underground area in Wall Sina, yes.'

'Then you should know your helping underground scum, touching his filthy skin'

'Don't be ridiculous, I don't care where you're from. '

He grunted, obviously not believing you. Clearly, he hadn't been treated well because of where he was from. Sighing, you finished applying the cream and went to put the box away and get him a new shirt.

'Stay here, I'll be right back'

A barely perceptible nod was your answer. You went outside, and upon noting the concerned look on his friends faces, assured them that he was okay. You learned their names were Farlan and Isabel.

'He's not in the best mood right now, but he'll be okay'

'Levi aniki is always in a grumpy mood, like an old man-'

'Isabel if he hears you say that-'

Giggling, you made your back to Levi, having gotten a fresh shirt from one of the cooks. You were still smiling as you approached him, causing him to look at you apprehensively

'What's with that shitty smile?'

'Your friends are rather amusing. '

He eyed you warily, before gesturing for you to leave. When he came out, they had all decided to leave. You made your way to Isabel, handing her a box full of some dessert, much to her delight.

'Consider this my way of apologising for spilling tea on your Levi aniki.'

Isabel beamed at you, an impossibly wide grin spreading on her face. Farlan smiled too, while Levi clucked his tongue and made to leave without another word.

'Uh sorry he's a little-'

You waved off Farlan apology, assuring him it was fine. You smiled at them as they left, feeling good about today.

You silently wondered what Levi would make of the Lemon cookies you had specifically given him, along with the note that told him he was the first to try that recipe.

Maybe that would show him that some people didn't think of him as less for being from the underground.

____________________________________

The next time you saw Levi, it was about a month later. It had been at the market, you had been bargaining with the shopkeeper over tomatoes as you caught sight of him and his friends.

Isabel noticed you first, smiling brightly and rushing to you. Farlan had followed calmly, chuckling as Isabel gushed to you about how much she had enjoyed the treats. Levi, with two brooms strapped to his back, rolled his eyes and made eye contact with you as acknowledgement.

You smiled amiably and chatted with them briefly, promising Isabel you would write down the recipe for the cupcakes you had made and questioning them about how they had been settling in the corps.

Twenty minutes later, in a twist of events masterminded by Farlan, you were walking back home accompanied by Levi. The silence perpetuated between the two of you, with Levi unwilling to talk much. Or at all really.

Farlan had, through some miracle, coaxed him into walking you to your house and carrying your heavy bags. The moment Levi had argued that Farlan himself could do it, he had comically feigned an arm cramp and had left to find a doctor with Isabel. Levi had glared and grumbled. You imagined he was thinking along the lines of 'oh I'll give you a reason to visit the doctor just you wait', before taking your bags from you and grumpily making you lead the way.

You lived in a decent, small, one room house not too far from the resteraunt. It was a clean area, with a small lawn attached, where you grew out fresh vegetables. You were paying a modest amount of rent for it, and someday hoped you could save enough to buy it.

'This place is filthy.'

Huffing, you turned him with an eyebrow raised. Everything was clean, in fact you had cleaned just before heading to the market.

'How so?'

'There's a pile of leaves right there. Someone spilled an obnoxiously shitty colour of paint on the fence. And, I just saw a mouse run by.'

Alarmed, you backed away from your lawn, eyeing your surroundings suspiciously.

'M-mouse?'

His expression had broken a little, showing some thinly veiled amusement. Too bad you were too worried about rodents crawling into your bed at night and hence, unable to focus on this new development.

'Don't worry, just get blondie to handle it for you. Maybe they'll focus on munching on his eyebrows and leave you alone. '

'Blondi- you mean Erwin?'

'I'd rather not. I can wage war with demonic rats on my own. '

Shrugging, he handed your bags to you. You thanked him politely and watched as he started to walk away. Without thinking, you spoke up, feeling oddly hopeful.

'Any chances you want to.. Come in and have some tea?'

Levi froze before turning around and staring at you. His usually cold eyes flickered for a moment, a hint of something you couldn't identify had flashed in their depths. He actually seemed to entertain your offer for a minute. In the end, he opted to be as polite as possible, which was probably the work of the voice inside his head that sounded like Farlan.

'Maybe.. some other time. Say hi to the rat for me. '

'The only greetings that rat is getting is in the form of a wack from my broom.'

'Tch- don't damage the broom.'

'It's the only weapon I have. What else can I do?'

'Co exist with the rat. Maybe it'll introduce you to its family. It's tiny, shitty babies probably'

The image of that made you feel rather sick, and it showed on your face. Levi smirked, before turning around to walk.

'Thank you.'

It was hardly audible but you heard it. You watched with wide eyes, as his small form faded out of your vision. He didn't turn back to look for your reaction or elaborate but you knew exactly what he had thanked you for.

With a smile, you went inside. You would think more about Levi later, for now, there was a rat to be dealt with. As if on cue, you heard something shatter, making you sigh.

It was going to be a long day.

____________________________________

The night sky was beautiful tonight, stars sparkling, a calm breeze drifting throughout. It was rather quiet, but you found the calm to be soothing as you walked back home.

For some reason, you felt like taking the long way home. This path usually meant passing by the survey corps headquarters. Humming, you walked passed it, contemplating what to make for dinner. Just as you almost left the building behind, you noticed a hunched figure, sitting with their back to a wall.

You could hardly make out who it was, so you cautiously moved forward, heart in your throat, to catch sight of the stranger

It was a soldier. The way they were mindlessly staring at the ground gave away the despair they were feeling. The Survey Corps had come back from an expedition this morning but you hadn't seen them return, too busy filling out tax forms.

You accidentally stepped on a twig, the snap sound causing you to still with your eyes wide. With baited breath, you watched the soldier lift his head and turn in the direction of the sound, showing you their identity.

'Levi?'

Familiarity flashed in his eyes as he got up and started walking towards you.

'Are you oka-'

'Is it too late to take you up on that cup of tea?'

'Huh?'

____________________________________

You and Levi had ended up friends after that. You had comforted him upon learning of Isabel and Farlans deaths, wishing that the lighthearted duo had gotten to live longer and see what the world above had to offer them. You hadn't known them well, but you could tell they were the good sort.

Levi began approaching you after that, often dropping by the resteraunt. You would sometimes visit him, giving him some homemade lunch. The two of you often enjoyed eating together in comfortable silence, the conversation pleasant and amiable. Banter with him, much to your own surprise, made you laugh and feel alive.

'the rats are still living around your house aren't they?'

'I've been trying to scare them off but-'

'You want to help raise its shitty brats?'

'No- I don't want to-'

'Just admit it. You like those filthy monsters.'

'No~'

'Then I'll just visit and throw them out for you.'

'.. You're mean.'

You smiled to yourself, biting your lip as you flushed a little, remembering your conversations with him.

'You like him don't you?'

'Like who?'

'Commander Blondie.'

You paused

'I used to. Not anymore'.

'I see. So he's a blind idiot huh?'

The last part had been muttered under his breath, clearly not meant for your ears. But you had heard him anyways and only barely managed to hide your blush from him.

You could only hope Levi's heart beat as fast as yours when the two of you were together.

____________________________________

'I'm being promoted to captain.'

You paused in cutting vegetables, startled, before turning to Levi.

'A-Are you serious?'

'Yeah.'

You put the knife down, making your way to the man casually munching on lemon cookies.

'That's amazing! And to think you haven't been in the corps that long either. Wait- how could you sit here for so long and not tell me huh?'

'I was enjoying the cookies.'

'Honestly-'

You went off on a rant, telling him you would make him his favorite dish as celebration, and maybe you would even get some meat. You were genuinely happy for Levi, knowing he deserved this promotion.

As you moved about the kitchen, looking for supplies, you completely missed the fond smile he had directed at you.

____________________________________

'Captain, I'm in love with you. '

You froze, your hand on the door knob, as throat suddenly constricted at the sound of Petra's voice. You immediately backed away from the door, an awful feeling swelling up in your chest.

Petra, sweet, kind hearted Petra, who never had a bad thing to say about anyone. You knew, given her personality, it was difficult to not love someone like her. She often reminded you of Marie, vibrant and beautiful. She was a strong and capable soldier, one who had garnered the respect of all her cormades almost immediately.

Only a fool would turn Petra down. And you knew Levi was anything but a fool.

Tense, you leaned into the door again, heart steeled as you listened in.

'...give you a chance.. '

Your eyes closed in resignation at Levi's voice, lips tugging into a frown. Holding your tears at bay, you tightly grasped the lunch box you had brought for him and began to walk away.

Erwin had chosen Marie and Levi had chosen Petra. And you couldn't blame either of them for it. Because what could a mousy woman like you offer? Especially when compared to women like them? Even you would choose them over yourself.

History really had repeated itself and with that thought, you began to chain your heart up again.

____________________________________

'Oi where the hell have you been?'

Caught unaware, you nearly dropped the dishes in your hands.

'L-Levi, its been a while. How have you been?'

You smiled at him pleasantly, uneasily noting how his irritated his expression was. Maybe he and Petra had gotten into a fight?

'Where. Have. You. Been?'

The dangerous tone had you nervously chuckling.

'Where I always am-'

'I haven't seen you in three weeks.'

'I haven't had enough time to drop by and -'

'And you always arrive early and leave early, right before I come see you.'

'The new hours are exhausting, blame the boss he-'

You trailed off, faltering at the sight of Levi. He looked his perfect self, clothes impeccable, hair properly brushed. But his eyes were a different story, one that made your heart clench and the newly formed chains to violently rattle.

He looked hurt.

'I haven't been trying to avoid you-'

'Yes you have.'

'No, I just didn't think Petra would like another woman being so close to-'

Levi's expression lit up in fury and he was in front of you in seconds, hands grabbing your shoulders. There was something deseprate about the way he was looking at you.

'Did Petra say something to you? Is that it? I'll put her on stable duty for the rest of her shitty life-'

'No she didn't say anything-'

'Then why have you been avoiding me?'

'Because I wanted to give you and your girlfriend space!'

Silence. Absolute silence.

Levi looked bewildered, an expression uncommon for his usually stoic self. He took in your sad expression as understanding dawned on him and sighed in exasperation.

The hands that had been grabbing your shoulders, lowered themselves to your upper arms. You were pushed into the counter behind you. Levi was only a little taller then you, just enough for him to have to look down at you. His expression was so soft and you were so focused on it that you didn't even notice the chains effortlessly untangling themselves.

'I don't know why you think this, but Petra and I aren't together. At all.'

'But I heard-'

'She confessed to me. I turned her down. She's just a comrade.'

Feeling embarrassed, you could only let out an 'oh' and stare at your shoes. The sound of a chuckle had you blinking as a hand gasped your chin and nudged it upwards so you would look at him.

'However, there is this girl I like. '

His other arm slid down to your waist, wrapping around it. You couldn't bring yourself to look away, hardly any words escaping your mouth.

'I've liked her since I met her.'

Your hair, which was messily getting in your eyes, was gently tucked behind your ear. The same hand then went to snag your wrist, gesturing for it to wrap around his neck. Your arms obeyed him without question.

'Isabel and Farlan wanted me to ask her out. They were always being little shits and teasing me about her.'

Your heart skipped a beat, you felt too light as he lowered his lips to yours. Just a little more distance and the two of you would be-

'She lives with a filthy rat and its family.'

'Hey! It's not my fault they keep coming back-'

Your indignant defense of your unorthodox pets was cut off as gentle lips pressed against yours. Your eyes closed as you melted into him, feeling like you were on cloud nine and too caught up in him to register anything else.

There was a time you had released the chains surrounding your heart on your own, but this time, they had turned to dust and ceased to exist. Never to be recreated, simply because you wouldn't ever need them again.

Too bad the reason for the chains existing in the first place, had to watch it happen with his own eyes. Levi wasn't a fool, Erwin deduced to himself. But as he watched you embrace Levi and smile so brilliantly, Erwin knew that the only real fool was him.

With that, he silently walked away from the door Levi had left open. He needed a drink.

____________________________________

A/N: ta daa! I hope y'all enjoyed that! I'm tempted to do a smol part 3 From Erwin's perspective. But that depends on if y'all even want it. Till next time people! ⭐

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Angst/violence/gore/blood/mentions of prostitution/SMUT(eventual)/veryinaccuratesurgicalprocedure

     Honestly words have been fermenting in my brain for many moons. I am new to this, so please be gentle.  I have written before, however never for a fandom. Special thank you to @yespolkadotkitty and @rzrcst for their support and encouragement, it truly means the world to me.

Summary: You are a nurse on the Green moon contracted to care for a group of prospectors. An act of violence forces you to flee your camp. Ezra finds you.

Words: 2376

 PART ONE

    The first time Ezra fell, it was with the Saters. You’d been hunched in a cordoned-off section of tent, dust motes waxing and waning against the haze of thick, dank air. At least you could breathe, a small mercy it was to remove your helmets and sit unfettered in the musty inner folds of the makeshift barracks.

    The Sater stank. When he sneered at you, his grey lips parted to reveal the jagged tombstones of his teeth. When you had first sat down and dispelled with the perfunctory greetings, choking down the offering of what always reminded you of unsweetened Turkish coffee mixed with engine oil, his eyes made no attempt to hide the way they had raked over you as if you were some shiny toy. Or a bag of meat. You were under no delusions when it came to the fact that you, by nature of being female, were going to be ogled. Still, it left you no less disgusted as you fought to keep your face impassive while his eyes honed in on your chest.

    Ezra sat beside you on the narrow bench, hunched forward with forearms balanced on knees that were spread to allow for his head to clear the sunken canvas ceiling. His expression was equally neutral, the only hint of tension showing in the tight bunch of muscle at his jaw. He knew as well as you that if the sater did not accept the barter, things would turn dark.

    Ezra had been here longer than you. Stranded with no transport after the crew he’d arrived with turned on each other over dig locations and payload disbursement. The pod they’d arrived in had been burned, irreparably damaged and left no more than a husk in the Green due to the short-sighted fury and bullheaded ire of his hired compatriots. In the fracas, he’d sustained an injury to his right arm from a rogue thrower shot. In retrospect it could have been much worse, but the spores of mold that made the air so toxic had worked its way into his flesh the same way selfishness and suspicion had seeded the demise of his partners.

    You were hired as a nurse to tend to your own hired prospecting crew, lured in with promises of adventure and treasures beyond your wildest dreams. You had known there had to be a catch, you were not so naive to believe that consequence could elude you, but you had signed the contract anyway hoping for more than the dreary clinic you’d worked in for the past five years. You were alone, you were lonely, you had no family. Your few friends had steadily drifted away from you as they met their own partners, started their own families. You were left to the ether. So you signed almost without thought when the recruiter came, signed before you had time to think it through, because you were aware that if you thought too much you’d talk yourself out of it. You knew all too well how adept you were at talking yourself out of things.

    So, you’d arrived on the Green and things had proceeded as planned, uneventful for the most part. The others on the crew were respectful, if a bit distant. Nothing untoward had happened until a contractor by the name of Jorin began to take a particular interest in you. At first you’d been able to politely deflect his advances. Showing up in your tent unannounced, he feigned all manner of illness and injury to get your attention. Over time he became more aggressive, invading your space until you had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not welcome. It was not until he’d followed you back to your cot and tried to push you down that you’d snapped. You hadn’t meant to kill him, but the scalpel you had hidden in your fist had found its way to his carotid artery nonetheless. So you left, and you were blank and in shock and covered in someone else’s blood when Ezra found you.

    He’d stood, imposing and straight-backed, hand on hip while his head followed your shambling approach. Your adrenaline was waning, and you shuffled forth on trembling legs, hands held aloft in supplication. When you reached his clearing in the midst of dense vegetation you noted his mouth moving at light-speed, the hand on his hip twitching toward the thrower he had slung across his back. As you got even closer you noticed his eyes were wide. You were not on the same transmission channel so you could not hear him. Your hands gestured as if underwater, left hand tapping your transceiver while your right held up three trembling fingers. When Ezra understood he switched the channel and immediately his animated drawl was filling your helmet.

    “.....cannot fathom how you are standing in my sights looking like you’ve been baptised by Lady Bathory herself, alone? Please do tell this lonely old prospector how in Kevva’s name above you’ve found yourself in such a state of affairs?”

    You noticed immediately that he did not seem at all frightened or wary of your appearance, just confused, and….excited? You gazed up into the visor through a constellation of blood spatter and freed your tongue from its bone-dry cavern, swallowing thickly.

    “I didn’t mean to kill him. He tried to, to…..he came after me.”

    Ezra stepped forward in what seemed a conspiratory move. You froze. Taking note, he’d immediately stepped back, but his dark eyes fastened to yours with an intensity that made you feel as though he could see through you into your very essence, every shameful childhood memory, every flaw and triumph as readable as prose on paper.

    “Intention rarely informs the realities of snuffing out the flame of mortality. Between intention and action there lay an endless array of variables, something I know as well as my own name. In all my time on the Green the one thing that continues to ring true is that people here take. If you have nothing to offer, they will find something to take.” 

    He straightened before continuing, “Given that you are appreciably female I can imagine what it is he believed himself entitled to. You have none of that to fear from me, little stranger. I am but one lost soul amongst this verdant hellscape.”

    You were still processing the events of the past several hours, and it took you some time to accustom your ears to the man’s mellifluous cadence. The people in your previous company had been stilted, blunt, mostly monosyllabic. This man before you spoke as if convinced his words would alight and manifest whatever sacred force or unimagined color the universe deemed fit to spew forth. It was incongruous. You considered your next words carefully before you spoke.

    “Do you have a dwelling? A tent? I hate to impose, but this is my only suit and I’d like to get as much blood out of it as I can.”

    That was how you’d become acquainted with Ezra. You’d exchanged names as you walked to his tent, and all the while Ezra pontificated. The tent was modest, two cots arranged across from one another. Equipment stacked along one canvas wall, while texts and notebooks spread across a folding table toward the front entrance. Ezra explained where the water source was located as you both disconnected your helmets and stripped your suits. The blood splashed across yours had dried to a dull rust. Almost as if it could be something other than blood. Almost. 

    You’d set the suit to soak in cold water and truly noticed the man in front of you for the first time. He was tall and broad-shouldered, thick locks jutting chaotically from the dome of his head and curling around the lobes of his ears. A shock of blond colored the seam of his hairline. His brow was lined with years of tension and unrest. Wide, dark eyes below pronounced brows. A prominent aquiline nose. His mouth, still moving. Always moving, as if he were trying to get every thought he had out of his head before the hourglass ran out on him.

    Your eyes were next drawn to a dirty bandage circling his arm. You’d been so lost in your head over the strange turn of events that you did not notice the barely perceptible wince as he inventoried what appeared to be dried ration packets.

    “What happened? To your arm, I mean?”

    Ezra sighed deeply before answering. “Merely a flesh wound from an errant thrower blast while my crew and I were in the midst of parting ways. It was a most unsavory affair, I’m afraid. I don’t believe the weasel wielding the staff even meant to shoot me.”

    You stepped closer, eyeing the torn, worried cloth. “You have to be careful. The spores in the air will seep into everything, especially an open wound. Your bandage is filthy. Do you mind if I take a look?”

    “You have experience with dressing wounds?”

    “I’m a nurse.”

    You were wholly unprepared for the brilliant smile that split his face. Suddenly you could see the younger, roguish man that he had undoubtedly once been. You were suddenly overwhelmed, you could not understand how the heart in your chest fluttered as desperately as a bird beating its wings against the cage of your ribs. You felt close to panic as you realized that you were reacting this way to a man you did not know. 

    Careful.

    “Kevva above, I must have done something right in a past life as I’ve done nothing in this one to deserve such a fortuitous gift! A nurse! An angel of mercy, a dove of benevolence!”

    You felt heat rush to your face, and you cursed your feeble emotions as you turned quickly away from him. Please, ignore my abject idiocy. 

    “Med kit?”

    “Ah, of course. My apologies, Dove, I forget myself.”

    You pointedly ignored the unprompted endearment as any further contemplation on this new development would lead to literal hysteria. What the fuck is wrong with me?

    Ezra sat at the table near the entrance, sweeping the array of notebooks and papers to the side. You pulled up a crate once taking the med kit and unwrapped the soiled bandaging. You understood how awkward it had to be to dress a wound with one hand, and so you were able to forgive the haphazard application. He hissed and winced again as you revealed a very red, open and angry wound bed assaulting the meat of his right bicep. Black had begun to settle in around the ragged edges. It did not look good. Your gut sank as you noticed the purplish pucker of skin surrounding a crater that oozed and tunneled, purulent drainage saturating the underlying gauze. 

    The mold had done a spectacular job of decaying what would have normally been a straight forward traumatic thrower wound. You were shocked that Ezra was not screaming in pain.

    You kept your face studiously blank as you set out supplies: a vial of Ancef, sterile saline, bandaging, gauze, antimicrobial foam, hydrogen peroxide, a basin, and the scalpel you’d kept clutched in your fist as you’d fled. There was an injectable narcotic preloaded, you offered this to Ezra and he shook his head, his eyes still and worried. He knew it was bad, and he was scared. A wave of melancholy slammed into you and without thinking, you reached out and laid your fingers gently on his wrist.

    “Hey.” He met your eyes, and they were old. Ancient, and filled with what was akin to an existential weariness. You had to dig the toe of your boot into your calf to keep your eyes from filling with tears. You cleared your throat. It did not sound like a noise you’d make. You wondered who you were, really, before speaking.

    “I’m going to do the best that I can. It won’t be pretty. Your wound is badly infected. The black bits are necrotic, and if I don’t debride your wound it will spread. I’m going to try my hardest to save your arm. This is going to hurt, so I really think you should take the injection.”

    Ezra’s solemn gaze swung to fasten on yours. After a pause of internal debate, he simply nodded. You filled the basin with hydrogen peroxide and placed the scalpel in. You picked up the preloaded syringe and sterile gauze and quickly discharged the narcotic serum into Ezra’s left deltoid. His eyes soon took on a haze of detachment, pupils constricting to pinpoints.

    You picked up the scalpel and got to work, and Ezra finally screamed.

    He kept his arm impressively still while sweat cut rivulets down the planes of his face. His jaw clenched so tightly you feared his teeth would crack and splinter- you’d finally and wordlessly paused your work to place a length of spare leather strapping between his teeth, which he clamped onto like a feral dog.

    You worked quickly and wordlessly, cutting ribbons of spoiled flesh from the blessedly granulating bed of tissue and muscle beneath. Your mind worked in circular prayer, asking forgiveness from the universe for killing, for hurting. Ezra’s flesh was a sacred scroll and you were inscribing your texts upon it, begging for deliverance. It was not lost on you that the same scalpel you’d used to snuff one life was carving death out of another.

    When the deed was done, you reconstituted the Ancef and injected it into the meat of his buttock. You did it quickly, too wrung out and disturbed to feel impure. There was nothing prurient about what had just happened, nothing sexy in his agony. For all of its intimacy it was brutal and ugly and traumatic. At that moment you were inextricably bound to one another.

[fandom-blackhole]

I'm back from my mandatory two day socialization recovery period required for all socialization even if I enjoy it. It's time for some Mermaid!Din au thoughts (No thots unfortunately but we'll live)

First off I love the isolation that the reader faces because of the lighthouse they live in. And I love how the townspeople being nice to the reader help give them a reason to stick around when weird things start happening.

I love how it took months before anything strange starts happening, like were Din and Grogu just not around or were they observing the reader. Did Din ever try to stop Grogu from damaging the lighthouse or did he let the little rascal do as he pleased.

· And gosh I love the idea of reader dressing in old worn clothing, a knit sweater with fraying sleeves, sweat pants covered in paint from repairs, an old windbreaker to help keep the cold out. It makes me heart all warm and fuzzy.

Edna, who i've head cannoned as this series Miss Chatham (H2O: just add water charter) is honestly life goals. Like live near ocean - check(ish), have rare knowledge that can be used to help new person - check, being just slightly spooky -amazing. And is that a little matchmaker I see her playing? I love it.

Then Grogu being injured :( I bet that Din is absolutely being eaten alive by guilt even though we all know it’s not his fault and he does literally anything he can to keep Grogu safe and happy.

And In love how Din is venerable enough to ask for help, like he recognizes that this is something out of his area of expertise so he goes to the person he knows is “safe” to get help. He’s humble enough to admit that he needs help and is not capable of doing everything for Grogu. And being able to admit that is an important life skill that not enough people have.

· But even after he ask the reader for help he is still hesitant which shows that even though hes trusting reader he will still kick (is it still a kick if its with a tail) the readers ass if he hurts him.

“But you can help him” Oh my heart the trust in that sentence. Like Din just heard, “so yeah I can help your son but I have to take him somewhere it will be hard for you to follow. And he needs to stay there for at least a week, and even if you manage to come its going to be so far from your natural element.” But he was still on board with the plan. And then he goes to climb on the rock so he can drag himself all the way to the light house because he can’t let his little boy go alone even if it means hurting himself to do it.

Reader was smart af for doing the old blanket slipperaroo trick

Reader immediately knowing something was up when she walked into town is so realistic. She literally is hiding a massive secret at her lighthouse of course anyone would be on edge walking back into society. Especially a society that already knows a little something about the secret. But them to amplify it. Miss Chatham to the rescue. She knows that reader is up to something and she uses her powers as an old lady with lungs and karen potential to scare off the problem for a little bit. The reader just placed so much trust on Edna by straight up telling her that she's housing Din and Grogu.

· Also that fool browsing the menstrual hygiene rack, like dumbass. Is this your way of making him miss every shot? Because we know that storm troopers are well known for their ability to miss every shot so making him automatically turn to tampons? Genius

Cashier for the win, like beep beep bitch now pay up

The "cyare" omg and then the reader warning Din about the cookies and him being so curious about them. The way Din is so perceptive of the readers mood that he is already able to tell that something is wrong. It was such a smart idea to have the reader lead with asking him to give her a small chance to calm down about what happened in the town.

Din and the reader low-key flirting and teasing each other at the end is so adorable. Grogu with the cookie absolutely melts my heart like of course that boy is hungry.

So this is a slightly polished layout of my stream of consciousness while reading this. Does it make sense? Probably not. But I love this idea and you have done it justice.

Ahhhhhhz thank you for all of the lovely thoughts and compliments, im glad you like my story and I hope it continuesto meet your expectations!!!! And you made perfect sense darling!

To reply to some things:

Honestly, I chose the isolation for two reasons, 1- it made sense, especially for how the plot is going to play out, privacy and isolation is needed, and 2- im introverted and I like being alone, so I just projected

The town's people are great! They are used to having lighthouse keepers just up and leave because of all the weird stuff, so the second that one sticks around they were all overjoyed, because like I said, a lot of the people work on boats fishing so the lighthouse is super important to them

Din did wait and observe the reader, wanting to know what to do when to attempt to scare them off. But also like no, he tried keeping Grogu away from the lighthouse as much as possible, not knowing what the reader might do to him, and just being a protective father, but we all know Grogu is a little shit and he snuck out before Din could stop him

Reader dresses in the COMFIEST clothes, and honestly, I am very much a sweater and comfy leggings kind of person, so again, something I am projecting

I love that you and everyone is loving Edna, she is definitely one of those cool old ladies that sneak you treats and shenanigans when no one is looking!

Also because idk if anyone has pointed it out.... in the last chapter I thought I was heavily hinting at it, but maybe it was more subtle than I thought, Edna and her MERMAID were alot more than friends *wink wink* she's gay as fuck and thats why she made the joke about not liking NUTS

Din loves Grogu, in and out of this AU, and it was 1000% not his fault that Grogu got hurt, in fact he was trying to protect him! Din definitely panicked and the first person that came to mind was the reader, and while he didn't know them, he knew for some reason they were safe to go to for help (as well as knowing the lighthouse would be a good place to hide while some things cooled down 👀), but Din will always be cautious because he is scared for his son

Din is just *chef's kiss* 👌, an amazing father who will do ANYTHING for his son, no matter what it takes

The whole blanket thing literally came from my childhood, thinking about how my sisters and I would drag eachother around on blankets, and I just thought it would be great for this scenario

Like the reader is gonna get real paranoid during this series, im not going to lie to you, things are gonna get rough, but Edna is the MVP she's one of those people that could pull your darkest secrets from you just by glancing at you, and the reader pretty much assumed she was safe to talk to after she had informed her about the food offerings

Ok ok, as for the dudes, I was too lazy to look up their names and stuff but they were these dudes from season 1 that gave Din Grogu's bounty: the first dude is the one 'hiding' in the women's hygiene section

Din is just obsessed for human food at this point, and he feels things for the reader even of he doesn't want to admit it quite yet

Din also may be oblivious as fuck, but he's also observant, hes a bounty hunter for fucks sake, he needs to be able to pick up on these things, so yes in my stories Din is really good at picking up on emotions, even if he doesn't fully know how to react to them

Im aiming for a slow burn foc, but to be honest with you all, chances are it is going to be a regularly paced romance, which for my writing is slow paced, so yeah the idiots are flirting and teasing eachother, but also like they will not be talking about or admitting feelings for at least a few more chapters

Grpgu deserves all the cookies!!! He's a growing tadpole, who has been magically healing himself while in a coma like state, so he hasnt eaten in days, and if he wanted he'd probably be able to devour 2x his body weight and then some, so a few cookies recieved in some kind of mysterious way are well achieved

Merman!Din Tags: @writeforfandoms @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @honey-goth  @mando-abs @lux-cream-67 @rachelle-on-the-run @katcharm   @ladamari68 @bluegalaxyprime @my-life-as-a-bird @altarsw @zarakem @stargazingthenightaway

(Added the taglist in case any of you guys wanted to read over my thoughts and things bc I have some hcs and cleared somethings up ypu may be wondering about)

[sleepypeaky]

amore?

michael gray x italian american male reader

wc: 1.5k

warnings: mentions of death, scars, you know the drill

request: My gay italian ass self would LOVE a Micheal Gray fic, but like, not sure he would like a guy who's italian after that fucking Luca incident.. and I dont know if you write for mlm..

a/n:  I hope you enjoy! idk why i made it so long but when i get a plot in my head i mean,,,,,

also i always try not to describe the readers features so everyone can be represented and i full mean for that when i say early on that michael sees him as italian. I personally dont look italian besides my nose- somehow the like 2% irish overrided it- so obviously this is a little off but i didnt know where to fix it

1927

Michael sat in his desk chair facing the window.

He was in New York City, he was the head of this branch of the company.

But he still felt like something was missing. Naturally, part of that feeling was from the fact that he had been exiled from his home. But the other was something else, boredom maybe, depression, loneliness. 

He sighed and turned back to his desk, where his meetings planner was open to the days page. 

His first meeting was a clandestine one, booked under a guise of what it really was. It was always intriguing, Michael thought, running a company that was a front. 

What he knew of this client was they were attached to one of the city’s hundreds of speakeasies, what these prohibition inhibited Americans called their secret pubs. And he assumed the client was coming to purchase some quality booze from the Shelby Company Limited.

What he he didn’t expect was who they were going to send. 

Normally the heads of the pubs sent someone to broker the deal in their place, a tall weasel faced man usually, who reeked of alcohol from every pore. 

Instead, when his secretary opened the door, an incredibly striking Italian lad strode through.

-

You weren’t expecting to see a man like that behind the desk. You figured it’d be some slimy old guy getting rich off of the illegal cash. Not a charming and incredibly handsome British boy.

-

“Uh hi, I’m Michael, Michael Gray.” He held his hand out to you and you shook it.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

 He offered you a seat. 

“You’re not from around here are you?” You said.

He chuckled, “What gave it away?”

The deal was done in barely a half hour. But somehow you both found yourselves at lunch. 

“So how did you find yourself in, well, this line of work?” Michael asked.

“Well it’s pretty simple, there’s always work for people who don’t mind taking risks.” Michael smiled at that. You continued, 

“but I could ask you the same question.”

“Well lets say that this is one of the less illegal ventures of my family. And as you put it, risks are lucrative.”

“Ill cheers to that.” You smiled and raised a glass.

-

The lunches happened again, and then again.

Soon you were meeting daily, making up further excuses for getting to know each other.

-

“My family is, well, its complicated...” Michael chuckled one day as you were at lunch.

You smirked, “Michael, i’m Italian. My family is fucking nuts, trust me, your’s is no worse than mine.”

With people who had said that to Michael in the past he had laughed along and said sure, he was sure you meant it. Probably not in the same way, but he was in no position to argue.

“I might work in the illegal pub world, but some of my family is fucking nuts,”  You began. “My parents are fine, they came over from Italy before the war and brought my grandma, who i’m convinced my grandma used to be a spy or something in Italy. At least 3 of my cousins are working for the mob. It easy work for us, we’re all connected to one family or another between here and the old country.” You noticed a dark look on Michael’s face, a typical reaction “Dont worry, not the big guys like the Black hand, we don’t mix with Sicilians, they think they’re better because they live on an island.”

You went on for a bit more, just basic family outlining. And then it was his turn.

Michael went into the abbreviated version of his past (how he was taken and adopted) and the Shelby’s endeavors- the betting to drugs, smuggling, alcohol. Eventually he got up to the Changretta execution and John.

“John was killed by the Black hand in December ‘25.” 

“Stronzi, I’m sorry.” You cursed. 

He rubbed his right shoulder, “Yeah, after that my cousins decided to take down the boss, unfortunately I made some stupid decisions that could have ruined the plan and ended up exiled here.”

He took a weak bite of food. You tried to lighten the mood.

“Well, you weren’t kidding when you said you’re family was complicated.” 

You both laughed.

Shortly after this lunch you were both walking back to his office when a group of black clad men passed by on the street. They passed by without issue, but you saw that Michael paled and clenched his jaw. They were blatantly Black Hand. You saw he was rubbing his right shoulder again, nd you now figured it was a nervous habit. You endeavored to take his mind off it and started a new conversation.

-

About a month following this, you had brought Michael to the bar where you worked. You danced to the jazz and drank heavily, both getting caught in the energy of the decade. 

You ended up back at his office, now the only ones there, and he cracked open a hidden bottle of Shelby malt. 

Now both of you were on several glasses of liquor from the night, you found yourself floating in and out of conscious perception. Though you came to, suddenly, when you realized your lips were quite incriminatingly interlocked with Michael’s. 

Your inhibitions lowered, you continued gladly. And before anything progressed you both passed out drunk on his office floor.

-

You didn’t talk to him the next day. Mostly because your hangover was so severe you thought you would have permanent brain damage, but also because you were not sure how to proceed.

It would be easy to pretend like nothing had ever happened. To blame it on the booze, or just claim you didn’t have any recollection of the night. That was also gnawing at you, what if Michael didn’t remember?

It would be easy to just move past it, but did you want that?

-

Michael still felt the slight pressure in his head after 2 days. He rubbed his eyes and put the cigarette back to his lips. He was sitting in his apartment contemplating. He knew what he wanted, but did he want to risk it.

The door buzzer rang as he stumped the cigarette out. Who was calling at this hour? He took his pistol from the table.

He walked along the passageway to the door, he unlocked it and looked through the crack.

His heart skipped a beat and he released his grip on the gun.

“I got your address from your secretary.” You said. “I hope that’s o–” 

Michael cut you off by pulling you inside and kissing you against the shut door. You gave in to surprise and kissed back, pushing him through the hallway. 

Without breaking you unbuttoned your shirt and let it fall in your path. He broke for a breath of air.

You kissed him again and began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled back quickly to say something, but it was too late. You had already seen them.

Two knotted scars on his right shoulder.

“Michael what-”

“I didn’t want to tell you.” He looked down. “I was scared.”

Still in shock you watched as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. Low on his abdomen were two more scars. 

Suddenly in your mind you connected the signs, talking about john, the Sicilians, and the instinctive rub of his shoulder.

“They shot you too.” You said in a barely audible whisper.

Michael only nodded.

You walked forward and reached a tentative hand out to one on his shoulder. Tears prickled your eyes. You walked around to his back, you hand trailing over the soft skin before finding the exit scars from 3 of the bullets.

Michael turned to face you. 

“I didn’t think you’d ever find out.” 

You nodded.

He put his hand behind your head and guided it back to his. 

-

“What do your parents think?” Michael asked later.

Your head was tucked in the curve of his neck, your arm laying over his bare chest, playing carelessly with the sheet draped over it.

“My dads not really invested around to care, i think he knows but it’s just brushed over. Ma still thinks that maybe if she pushes the right Italian girl at me i’ll change. But honestly?” You laughed. “You’re catholic, she’ll be over the moon.” 

Michael smiled and threaded his fingers through your hand.

“What about you?” You moved back a little to see his face better, “Does anyone know?”

Michael let out a deep breath, the one that normally proceeded any talk referring to his family. 

“There was always so much going on that i didn't have much time to process, much less let anyone else see it. There were girls, i wont lie. That may have thrown them off. Even now, i think there is so much actual bad going on that what i do wouldn't make any of them bat an eye.”

“Is this what you want?”

He looked at you,

“I didn’t know until now.”

You breathed. 

“And?”

“More than anything.”

And he kissed you again.

☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾

☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾

☾ ✧ ☾ ✩

☾ ✧ ☾

☾ ✧

☾

[hogwartsfirebolt]

This is the very best fic I have ever, ever read. I promise you that I am not kidding: A fic rec. 

Grounds for Divorce - @tepre - 122k - Explicit

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

In the 18 months I have been an active member of this community, I must have read no less than a thousand wonderful stories, many of which have touched me in ways I could never fully articulate. Whenever someone asked, I would recommend four, five fics, never able to pick just one as my favorite, I thought that, with so many stories out there, loving one above all others would surely be impossible. I was incredibly, deeply, beautifully wrong. 

Thoughts under read more

I struggle to think of a place to begin this rec, because there is no way any of my words can ever truly do this masterpiece justice. I suppose I could begin by telling you that this story is so damn brilliant in every single aspect that I can’t wrap my own head around how much I adore it with every piece of my silly little self, or that it is so careful in its execution that I didn’t even realize when exactly it was that I irremediably fell in love, or that I had never read a piece of fanwork that held such a deep understanding of itself, that there was little I could do but let myself be pulled right into the heart of it, of this. 

I was lucky enough to get to know it when it was still about 50k words long, and even then, when I sat down and read all of that, I knew that this was something incredibly special, and every single word that was added since then only made me feel even more sure that I was witnessing the birth of what is surely going to become a fandom classic. At least for me, it shifted my entire perception of the pairing, the fandom, the entire wizarding world. There is a before and after Grounds for Divorce for me.

Now, the concept in itself is simple. This is a bonding fic. You know the kind. Harry and Draco are nothing to each other after the war, and somehow find themselves literally on the brink of death unless they touch each other. That’s what it is. A bonding fic. But, oh dear, if you go into it expecting just THAT, it will literally knock you out. I’m not kidding. Just, poof, passed out on the floor, because despite using a pretty popular fandom trope as a base, that’s about the only thing that isn’t 100% unique to this story. 

This is the moment when I tell you that there are about seven years between chapter 1 and chapter 10. Yes, we get to see Harry and Draco from age 18 to 25 or so. That is the first thing that is notably different from any other bonding fic I have ever read, that they’re stuck together for literal years, and so they can’t stop living their lives while they are bonded, no, the show must go on. The second thing that makes this special are the mechanics of the bond itself, and how it’s a simple spell that makes them sick when they go a long time without touching each other, and when they do touch each other, it pushes for more more more in such desperate, delicious fashion that I clung to my seat when they were first learning how to deal with this desire. 

The third thing, the MAIN thing, the most BEAUTIFUL THING that makes this fic special is, of course, the characterization. Oh my GOD. How do I even put this to WORDS. There is just no way I can explain how fucking perfect everybody is in this. 

Harry is damaged from the war and doesn’t realize it, Harry has trouble connecting with people and doesn’t realize it, Harry is carrying a hell of a burden on his shoulders and doesn’t realize it. It’s beautiful how much I, as a reader, was able to pick on all these things when Harry himself has no idea that he’s dealing with them. He is angry, he hates being bonded to Draco at first, hates that he has to spend his days with him, and doesn’t even stop to consider that maybe things are different with Draco now, he closes himself up and chooses not to engage, and this, to me, felt like such an accurate depiction of who he is. After everything he went through, this is YET ANOTHER THING he has no control over. 

Draco is just lovely. It’s impossible not to love him. He is intense and he’s rambly and seriously annoying, but he’s also damaged, he’s careful with himself after everything that happened, and he genuinely does try to be better, and that is something that always makes me so weak in the knees for him, when he is truly just good and doing his best not to fuck up. 

Their interaction is difficult to describe, because it changes every moment the more they get to know each other. We begin with a lot of anger on Harry’s side, confusion and hurt on Draco’s side, and as they learn how to navigate the fact that they’re now bonded, the situation shifts. Draco tries to connect with Harry, Harry just wants to live his own life. Years and years and years pass, and they go through so much together, they learn to become friends by accident, they learn to care about each other, they shape their lives around each other without even realizing it. They’re married, for all intents and purposes, and dealing with it in very different ways. 

The massive amount of growth we see them go through in this is just indescribable. We start with them as boys, hold their hands as they become men. 

They hurt each other a lot. Harry hurts Draco for like five or six years straight, being dismissive and impenetrable. Draco hurts Harry later on. They grow together, they date other people, they watch each other date other people, always with this bond between them making things difficult, and it’s really, really messy. 

The love story, as we witness it, unfolds almost by accident, entirely underneath the surface, such a masterfully crafted slow burn, that by the time the characters themselves realize what’s happening, they’re elbows deep into it and it’s impossible to turn back. It’s beautiful, the intensity of the feelings simmering for years, the depth to their interactions, how meaningful the little things become, in time, how much Harry’s perception of Draco changes, how much this makes Harry change. 

The Harry we end up with is. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. He is. I CANNOT. The intensity with which I THIRSTED over him has no precedents. His single-minded intensity, his focus, his drive, his certainty, how he throws himself headfirst into things once he chooses to and doesn’t look back at all. He is just. Hot as all fuck. That’s it. There’s no other word to describe him. But to get here, to find this beautiful, intense, loving man, we have to go through so many layers of decades-old hurt and his struggles with being human that he’s not even aware of, and, really, this story is about forgiving Harry in so many levels, about finding that even though he saved the world, he’s just human and he has a fuckton of issues, and this deconstruction of the hero persona we find in him, in how he willingly sacrificed himself in the war but now has absolutely no clue how to be open and trust people is just. Delicious. And don’t even get me started on the physicality of him, and how in some parts he’s just sex on legs. 

The Draco we end up with is a man so honest and open in his love, a man who overthinks and rambles and is impossibly lovely, a man who goes through so much hurt and still always shows up for the people he loves. He is clever and beautiful and just absolutely wonderful, so loyal and caring that it aches. 

Watching these final versions of them love each other made me cry so, so many times. 

All of these words have just been an attempt to explain what they are, individually and together, but they are NOTHING. I can never truly explain what happens in those 122k words. It’s something you need to experience for yourself, and there’s so much MORE than this. 

There’s Ron, who is the loveliest human of all time, and there’s Hermione, who is still so loyal and fierce and wonderful, and there’s Draco’s friends and baby Rosie, eventually, and every single character was obviously created with so much care that they feel solid, real, even the original ones. 

The settings are vibrant, I felt like I was standing in the Malfoy townhouse all those evenings Harry and Draco sat together, I saw Harry’s garden come to life right in front of my eyes, I saw Egypt in stark clarity, once they went there, and actually, that entire section just feels like such an intense sensory immersion in every way, physical and emotional. When they finally have sex, I almost fucking burst out of my skin with the intensity, the depth of each touch, the pace of each scene. 

The writing is just beautiful, the kind of structure that reads smoothly and leaves you breathless and makes you feel everything that ever happens in the story, there’s quotes that sometimes literally made me have to stop reading to catch my breath, to regroup before being able to continue, because they were SO beautiful, SO spot on. Every single detail is styled to absolute perfection, not a single hair out of place. 

There is nothing like this story. Nothing. I have never felt so connected, I have never loved the characters so deeply, I have never reread anything as many times as I have reread this, I must have read it like 12 times at this point. 

It’s not just a fic, it’s an experience. I don’t know what else to say to convince you to allow yourself to go through it, because it is worth every single second. I could beg on my knees right now. It is my number one fic, the best I have ever encountered, and I think it might remain that way, always. 

Do yourself a favor and CLICK HERE. Give Tepre your love (all of it, SHE DESERVES ALL OF IT for creating this), allow yourself to feel everything this story has to offer, and once you’ve done that, come to me. I will never tire of this. (heh, reference). ❤️

[parlonsdautrechose]

Popular

Mon, 25 May 2020 04:18

Spent hours being immersed in this noxious love story, first listened to the Audio-book and then watched the TV show. Strangely, I have this weird gut-wrenching guilt whenever I have to admit it to someone that I listened to a book rather than read it. Here I have done two crime in the same twenty-four hours, listen to a book and watches the show.

Something makes me feel like people around me will think of me less of a reader if I say that I prefer audiobooks better. I have however seen so much improvement in myself since audiobooks and podcasts compared to plain reading.

I used to date this guy once, he really liked me but somehow seemed to enjoy feeling superior in some sort of way. He used to kid around how my grammar and "English" isn't really up to the mark ‘even after I read so much’; Didn't just fuel my ceaseless Imposter syndrome, but also made me like myself a little less.

After reading Normal People I realised how much others perception in your younger years can linger on to your future. It'll slither into your behaviour, crawl its way into the insecurity treasure box, even leave some permanent dents in that personality chest. I was considerably popular in school and would say continued the same way in Junior College and in college. I however never believed that I thought no one really liked me and wanted me out of their lives.

I have certainly displayed a series of emotional outbursts and impulsive decisions to portray that feeling, that feeling of not belonging. It did come from insecurity, but it also came from my inability to step outside my own deluded worldview. The narcissist in me could only see the pictures in the colours that I liked, and to be specific here, hated, and never bothered to check in with the reality.

The reality, which I constantly fail to acknowledge is rather more mundane; People in my life did appreciate me being around, in fact, in most cases they did care for me. They didn't make a daily outwardly display of that care, no one does that, but they did care.

The book, the story, brought back the pain that was sitting in the corner of my heart, right back. I can imagine the isolation of being lonely in a crowd filled with people who love you, but I can also feel the loneliness that's talked in the traditional sense. The consistent loneliness, that longing for love; fuck even the part where you would pathological submit to your partners every sexual desire; I could relate to that.

How family isn't always redeemable, how just a few hours with toxic family members could be damaging.

The uncertainty in where their relationship goes from here is unsettling, but that's life, isn't it? You either stay with the story till people die, or you leave abruptly. Slice of live, trance de vie--you will witnesses, experience for a bit, and leave.

[theplumsoldier]

SHAMELESS [1]

Your name: submit What is this?

Summary: its stevens bday 100 is the new 20

Pairing: steve rogers x reader

Word count: 5263

Warnings: eventual smut, vulgar language, explicit language

Judging by the well-known effect alcohol had on human beings thus the fact that you had just downed your sixth shot of the prettiest bottle from the top shelf, everyone in the bar could tell the woman sitting opposite from the bartender was absolutely wrecked.

Steve Rogers made his way toward you, trying not to draw too much attention to himself as he pushed his way through the crowd of people. Feeling a hand seemingly out of nowhere rest on your shoulder, you turned your head. For a second thinking it might be whatever low-life who had decided to buy you a drink to get in your pants, but to your surprise, your eyes landed on the hero in the spinning room.

You felt your minded gasp become vocalized and your back automatically straightened at the sight of your Captain. At first, you were confused to see him, for you and him had not exactly been on good terms since he had last scolded you after a mission took a bad turn. Then you realized he was in a club, meaning loud techno, sweaty bodies, grinding, drugs, alcohol, and many other things you knew with certainty, he was no fan of, and all to get to you. Probably to cuss you for not answering your phone and to bring you back because there was another mission awaiting.

"If you're here with another mission, I'm busy. Might wanna try one of the agents that's actually part of your team, because you know-" you clicked your tongue and heaved your shoulders, "I'm not," you lashed, downing your seventh.

When you had finished your unexpected play during the mission, you had returned to the jet to find the rest of the team looking completely out of themselves. Well aware this sight was more than partly your fault, your eyes instantly went to Cap and Wilson, expecting your rebuke to fall down on you at any time now.

When first Steve caught the sight of you, not even Sam dared to thwart the raging path he was on, followed by a side of the Captain you had never seen, as he briskly marched towards you.

"Okay before you-"

"What the hell were you thinking, Y/N? Pulling a stunt like that, you could have killed us all!" he raged and you could not tell if he acted on the adrenaline running and was actually just worried, or whether he really was angry with you.

"And instead of doing that I saved you, you're welcome. Ymir's dead- that was the mission, wasn't it?" Your eyes flicked to Wilson's, who was standing by Wanda and Su, a worried look on his face. When your eyes met he shook his head, telling you just stand there and take the harsh scolding.

Steve's eyes grew big and you instantly regretted letting your attitude take the control of your chords.

"Who the hell do you think you are to put your teammates' lives on the line? I don't give a rat's ass if you think you might have a quicker solution, for it is not always the best; it never has shown to be in your case, so one thing I just can't seem to wrap my mind around, is why you keep acting without ever thinking anything through!"

"Woa-woa- hold your horses, you don't think I would actually incinerate the building unless I knew you were all in a safe place, do you?"

Steve did not look one bit convinced, although you did feel slightly hurt by what he had said. He might not have accused you of anything, yet, but you felt as if he had just betrayed your trust completely.

"I don't know where I have you anymore." He tried calming himself, by keeping his breath steady. "You never operate under the instructions you're given, you act carelessly causing way more damage than needed, disobey direct orders from your superiors-"

"Well if the instructions weren't so fucking stupid-" you tried with whatever reason you had left to defend your position, but you were already aware you were in knee-deep shit.

"And this goddamn attitude of yours!" Your Captain could no longer withhold himself for yelling in your face, feeling like he might as well give up on getting you to understand the concept of discipline. “Look at you teammates! Come on, take a look," he dared you and you hesitantly looked over your shoulder.

First, you found your eyes landing on Wanda who's head was hanging low, hand on heart and knees weak. Supporting her and keeping her from collapsing to the ground stood Sam, your other superior. Blood dripped from his eyebrow as well as lip, and the look in his eyes burned a deep hole in your heart. He seemed almost unable to stand himself, but he found the strength to shake his head in disappointment.

The apologetic look in your eyes helped no one and you tore them away, not daring to look at the rest of your broken teammates.

"Do you even understand how much damage you've done to this team? Not just now, but on multiple missions, you have recklessly decided to carry out a spontaneous plan!"

Many had insulted you much worse than your Captain currently was, but no words had hurt more than the ones Steve fired at you. Your eyes were pointed to the floor so no one would notice the water in your eyes. Blinking hard enough to spill a tear on the floor, you took deep breaths. You had just wanted to help.

"Look I have tried okay? My God have I tried, and yet I simply cannot get you to just listen and do as you're told. I don't see any other way than taking you off the team."

Steve's scolding expression could be seen from tables away and his hand went up to his forehead, pressing on his temples, probably trying to flatten out the headache you were causing him.

"Come on, now that's not fair," he complained with a huff.

You grunted, "I don't see how it's not."

"You really think I would be seen in a place like this if it wasn't for a reasonable cause? I came here to explain myself to you, the least you could do is for once listen." This man was making your blood boil.

"Well to be fair;" you poked the screen of his cap upwards, revealing more of his face. "You're not really seen."

An irritated sigh escaped his lips and a wary glance scanned the people behind him before he took off his cap and swiftly drove his hand through his blond hair. He looked nice but you quickly tore your eyes from him.

Waving at the bartender, liquor refilled your glass and you were about to down another shot when you felt Steve pull out the bar stool beside you. You rolled your eyes and drank up, accepting his presence.

In any other situation, a gentleman like himself, Steve would have asked if he could sit, but he knew you would have said no.

You eyed him up and down without turning your head. "You're taking shot's with me now?"

He huffed from beside you, trying to reach your eyes. "You know I can't get drunk."

"Yeah, well that sounds like a you problem."

Steve Rogers had not been drunk many times and the feeling of alcohol rushing through his veins was not something he was familiar with. He was happy with the man he had become in order to do the greater good, but in the process, he had made peace with the fact that he is not like everyone else, which included him never again being able to find himself in a drunken state. Although it was years ago he had accepted this consequence and others that followed, boy did he long for the rush of the toxic liquor.

"Y/N I came here to let you know why I had to let you go." Steve tried to ease his way into your head with the euphemism, but this only vexed you.

You let out a laugh and tilted your head at him. "Let me go? Just say it as it is, you fired me, Rogers. And with plenty of reason." You raised your glass to your lips but noticed you had already emptied it.

Steve's voice zoomed out as you tried to catch the bartenders attention, who was currently serving other customers.

The loud and heavy bass boomed through Steve's ears and he was pained this was what was considered music nowadays. His voice was barely audible over the banging sounds and what seemed perceptible of him, you blocked out.

This was noticeable to him so he grabbed your waving hand and caught your attention. You quickly retreated your hand from his, giving him a hard glare.

"Y/N can I please talk to you somewhere else?" he pleaded and the brief moment your eyes looked into his now dismal ones, you nearly fell for it.

The sound your glass made when it collided with the desk was almost silencing in Steve's ears and you turned to him with an illegible expression.

"Do you know why people come here, Steve?"

He was about to answer, but you cut him off before he could.

"To forget and have a blast. Until you showed here and ruined my night I was doing pretty fuckin’ good on the forgetting part. Though I haven't gotten around to the phase where I'm havin' a blast, so unless you are gonna help me with that, I would rather have you out of my fucking sight."

He did not say anything back but the apologetic face made your heart beat faster. He looked too pretty in all these lights.

"Okay since you cannot take a hint, I'll make this easy for you. You are just about the last person I want to see right now and honestly, the mere sight of your perfect face, makes me want to give you a black eye, but just because I know you came here just for me, you can explain yourself but don't expect me to listen." The alcohol made sure nothing was left out.

Calling the bartender over you ordered a stronger drink, preparing yourself. Steve felt disgusted with the amount of alcohol you were consuming, but even more with himself as he knew he was the reason for that.

"I understand that you're angry with me-" you grinned contemptuously and sipped from your glass. That's a nice way of putting it. "And you have plenty of reason to be, but you have to understand that it was not a spontaneous act to fire-"

"Choose your words wisely, Rogers," you admonished with raised brows.

"Just listen: it was not just because you irrationally acted the way you did. After several missions, the thought has gone through my head. In fact, it was a very well contemplated thought I have had for some time-"

"Okay look, you're making an even bigger jerk of yourself right now."

"Goddamnit I-I care for you Y/N!" he exclaimed abruptly, his hand on the desk forming a ball. You pursed your lips and eyed him suspiciously but he had your full attention now. "That's why I had to do what I did. Since you were recruited, you have proven your worth multiple times and have taken drastic decisions no one else has and put your life on the line, to save others. That's one of the things I admire about you, but at one point it might backfire. I have plenty of deaths on my conscience already, I don't want yours as well."

Steve's words had taken everything from you. Your breath, vocabulary, steady heartbeat. It took you a minute or so to return to reality and have your mind fully process what he had just said.

Slipping slightly back on your stool, you cleared your throat.

"So... You admire me, huh?" you taunted, eyes watching the liquor turn in the glass. When you started sipping, you heard him sigh and a small grin rested in the corner of your lips.

"You're impossible," he mumbled and slid his hands through his hair. Shaking your head you looked back to him.

"Okay so let me just get this straight, ‘cause something just ain’t addin’ up. When you fired me, it was not because I'm reckless or spontaneous, it was because you wanted to keep me out of danger?" Steve nodded although he felt you minimized his words. "Because you care for me?" Once again, he nodded.

"Yes.”

You squinted and made a sound, putting down the glass with a thump, your fingers tightening around it.

"What the hell, Steve! I can take of myself!" you insisted, offended by the truth of his action.

He made a face. "That's what I want to believe but you can't always decide the outcome of missions. HYDRA might be terrorists but they're still trained in combat like us, they think tactical just like you and me. Only difference is they shoot to kill, so they see a chance, they take it. They don’t care if innocent people get hurt along the way."

The dark liquid began to stir in the glass, and your eyes were fixated on the movement, as your mind ran to everywhere it should not be. Feeling the material of his pants momentarily brush against your knee, a shudder ran through your body and your blood heated in your veins.

“This is my job, this is what I’ve chosen to do with my life. It’s my decision. The same with you, you have to respect that.”

Steve turned on the little bar stool so his whole body was turned to you. “And I do! Y/N, I–”

“No! See that’s the thing, you don’t! If you fired me because you think I’m putting my life on the line on every mission then you need to rethink your life decision ‘cause that’s in the fucking job description!” you yelled out in anger and hastily lifted your hand to your head while supporting yourself on the edge of the bar.

The loud bass and alcohol pumping in your blood made you dizzy and when you felt like the stool was tipping, you quickly stood up on your feet to find a better balance. Steve was quick and without hesitating to help you out, asking if you were okay.

Standing in an awkward position in Steve’s arms, you turned your head in a slow motion not to make yourself even giddier and found his eyes. They looked so pretty in the dark light, only lights from the stage and bar reflecting on the blue of his irises.

“Let’s get out of here, Y/N,” you Captain insisted and you nodded and bit down on your lip, following him through the jumping crowds.

When getting out to the lot of the club you pointed him towards your car and you heard him let out a sigh. Stumbling up to your car, you reached into your purse and pulled out the keys which Steve quickly took from you.

“Hey!” you pouted, trying to get them back.

“What? You really think I’m gonna let you drive in that state? Come on, just get in the car.”

And so with a last irritated, alcohol provided grunt you got in and allowed Steve to drive you to your apartment. You both kept quiet on the ride, though your head was full of thoughts the entire time and Steve’s too, wondering what the hell he was gonna do with you.

When you stepped into the elevator your mind’s train of thoughts quieted down and you leaned against the doors, squinting your eyes at him.

“So you gonna follow me all the way up? Gonna brush my teeth, huh? Tug me in real nice, too?”

Standing opposite you with his rigid frame and crossed eyes with judgmental eyes, he looked down at you. “Just gonna make sure you don’t lie on your back and choke on your own vomit.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t vomit, I’m not weak. Besides, I ate before going to the club.”

“Oh well then I suppose all’s good,” he retorted and when the elevator made a sound, he pulled you from the door so you would not fall as they opened.

Shoving you out, he let you lead the way to your apartment, or rather stumble your way to your apartment. Though it would seem like it with the swaying path you walked in, you were not wearing high heels and thank God for that, for if so you would have probably by now been in the hospital with a sprained ankle.

As you reached your apartment you were having difficulties getting the key into the lock, so Steve took the key like he had earlier with your car and did the work. Opening the door he walked in first, an instinct kicking in when his wary eyes scanned the unfamiliar apartment for anything out of place.

You chuckled at his constant paranoia and clicked your tongue, following him in close. “Yeah, secure the perimeter, Cap.”

He ignored you and flicked on the switch, so the room suddenly became much more bright and you winced, covering your eyes.

“Where’s your kitchen?” asked Steve and you nodded down the hall while supporting your weight against the door frame as you let your shoes fall to the ground. You had never found your thorough training in combat help you with balance or steady pulse when drunk, and this time was no different when you stood up properly to take a deep breath, trying your hardest to keep all the sizzling alcohol in your stomach. “Perhaps you should take a shower, I can smell the alcohol on you.”

If you rolled your eyes another time at the man, you were sure they would be stuck at some point and you mimicked his words in a low voice much like a little child. However, you did as he wished and made your way to your bathroom, not even thinking to close the door properly before you began to strip free of your clothes. The alcohol on your breath made your face contort when you breathed into your hand, and you went for your toothbrush before you jumped into the shower.

On just the other side of the wall, Steve stood in your kitchen with a glass of water in his hand, feeling like he needed something to wash away the foul taste on his tongue he had gotten, from merely being in that dark and horrid club. He wondered if he had made the right move to turn up there to explain himself. He did not want you to think poorly of him, for after all, he had found a liking in you over time.

The first time he had seen you were when you stood lined up along with the other recruits. Not much about you had made you stand out in particular compared to the others, except for the beauty of your grin he quickly found a nice ring to, but that did not mean much when it came to fighting. It was not that you could not fight; that was the mere reason for your place on the team for starters, you were simply not as experienced as the others. Howbeit what made him take more notice of you during those months was your adaptive skills and the peculiar mindset that followed. Not only made it his job easier when you caught on quick and even accomplished tasks in your own unusual and original way, but they sometimes showed to be much more effective. Later on, this team when you had reached several ranks higher, you learned to make his job the difficult part of his life. It never had been what you made it by worrying him out of his good skin, but he would never get tired of the exhaust you caused him.

No woman had ever made him feel the way you did and he was not sure what to do about it.

“Oh, you’re still here. You really like me that much or are you actually worried I might choke on my own vomit? If so, don’t–I just barfed so no worries,” you teased though afterwards, you wondered if Steve caught onto your tone and whether he understood you were only joking when making remarks on wanting him to let you be. If asked you would never admit to it, but you appreciated him being here. He handed you the glass and a tylenol pill. “I see you found my drugs.”

“How are you feeling.”

“Well my head’s not spinning much and whatever was in that fancy bottle’s not rushing in my veins no more, so you know–that sucks,” you grunted slumping down on the table, making it rock a little due to the crooked leg. Your hand brushed through your hair, using the small towel in your lap every now and then. Your naked legs dangled over the edge not long from where Steve was sitting silently. “Also you fired me. That was a real bitch move, Cap.”

He avoided your eyes by looking down. He shook his head and you could practically hear the cogs in his head go to work.

“Will you let me explain? Just hear me out this once–without all the people and loud. . . music. If I don’t make sense to you then I’ll be out of your hairs,” Steve asked, begged. You found his eyes and his dilated pupils and doomed, the melancholic look made you think of a stray puppy. He was forwarded on the chair he sat in, his lips slightly parted and mind probably spinning more than yours.

He was being genuine and you ignorant and intoxicated.

The cynic grin on your lips was as tired as come and almost appropriately considered mad. The expression on his face that laugh caused; he searched for an explanation.

“You know I never really understood you, Steve. You never “made sense” to me,” you confessed and leaned forward. Your index was pointed at him and your eyes looking past his, they were drilling right into his very soul. “All these principles. Believing in right and wrong, actin’ like you got it all figured out, fighting bad aliens so other people don’t have to–you know they say “star-spangled man with a plan” when in fact-” you cut your harsh tone down and pointed your finger at his rock hard chest. “-You don’t have a clue what the fuck you’re doing. What is your plan now, Captain?”

Not that he had not been quiet before, but after your little rant, the whole atmosphere in what with the tension in the air seemed to be a much smaller room was like this little compact box of steamed air. Steve’s face was blank but his mind more awake than ever.

A short but eternal moment went by before you realized how your words may have sounded hostile.

“What do you owe humanity? Is it ‘cause no one ever did you wrong back in the day? Has the world never been cruel to you or–oh because we’ve just treated you so darn good since you got out of the ice?”

“Someone needs to–”

Abruptly, you cut him off and jumped off the table, your bare feet making a sound when colliding with the tiles. You threw the towel over the door to dry and then went back to him. “And someone did. You did. And a marvelous job at that. You’ve had your turn, let someone else have a go at it.”

“People are depending on me, Y/N.”

“Then people need to get their finger out of their ass rather than whenever some bad shit happens they look to a comic hero for saving. You were not born to please others, Steve. You’ve had your fifteen minutes of fame, so now go have a life. You deserve one–and a good one of that.”

Suddenly you felt like all the therapeutic sessions you had had when you were younger took over your vocal cord, and just like that what started out as a conversation regarding Steve’s explanation you had swiftly turned it into another of many sessions. However, this time you were playing doctor and Steve patient. What a play that would make.

“This started with me explaining myself,” he chuckled and you with.

“I heard enough back at the party.”

His eyes were hopeful and you could not help but smile down at him. “So I’m forgiven?”

“Oh no. I’m still out of job.”

You watched him closely as he nodded and wetted his lips. He shifted in the chair and folded his hands in his lap. You should be there. “I think I can fix that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah–but we have to go over things! I still don’t appreciate the way you’re acting in the field, we’ll need to go over that. You cannot endanger yourself more than necessary. “

““More than necessary”? So if I deem it necessary to throw myself in front of a grenade I can?”

“Not unless I let you. Sam’s and my instructions are still the ones counting–I tell you to stand down, you stand down. No question,” he spoke and his serious tone made your head fall back, and you sat back against the table again. This time right in front of him.

You bobbed your head in agreement. What he was saying was pretty much just a clarification of rules that already stood, in all honesty, did not need repetition. Though he was right on every aspect that did not mean you would not bend the rules as soon as you were back, you believed Steve already knew that.

“I should probably apologize to the rest of the team, huh?”

Steve let out a breath and crinkles formed by his eyes in a smile. “Wasn’t sure if that would be asking too much.”

Your head dropped and you did not mind it when you could feel the alcohol was not doing much to you anymore. Your mindset was yet focusing on things you in your sober state would have neglected by now, but it was easier to focus on the words that ran through your head.

“I still think you deserve a good life.”

“I have a good life,” he insisted and you groaned at his statement.

“You only say that because you don’t know any better. Don’t you want something?”

“World peace.”

You could not help the loud snort escaping you. Steve sat leaned back in the chair with an amused expression and big smile, as he watched you laugh at his quip remark and you even though you heard him snicker at some point. You could tell he was catching on to your humor at this point.

“That is such a golden boy thing to say.”

He shrugged and looked at his watch, “I can’t help it.”

Your eyes flickered from his to the watch on his wrist and you watched how he shifted in his place and looked around the kitchen.

“Am I boring you, Captain?”

His eyes grew wide when realizing what made you think that. He had not enjoyed a casual conversation like this in a while. All that was ever in his life was work.

“No, no! I was just thinking it’s been a long day– a week even. And you–you must be completely overworked. With the new training program, it must be hard to adapt?”

“I’m good,” you decided, relaxed in this comfortable and post-tipsy state. “What time is it anyway?”

“2:40.”

“Hey! Happy 4th of July!” you gasped, realizing what day it was and Steve chuckled at your joy over Independence Day. “Wait–weren’t you born on–is it your birthday?”

He sucked in a deep breath, as if not happy about the concurrence or at least the day. “Yeah.”

““Yeah”? Happy birthday! That must be a lot of candles, huh?”

“You could say that. One hundred,” he admitted and your jaw dropped.

“And you spend it humbly explaining yourself to me? In a club?”

“Well, I’m a dedicated man, Y/N.” He adjusted so his foot now rested on his knee. You thought he looked good like that. “I really am sorry, my reaction earlier was unnecessary–”

“Hey don’t be–I screwed up, big time,” you confessed and lifted your hands acknowledging the fact stated.

“No really! I cussed you out in front of the others, that was unprofessional. I should not have decided so spontaneously. I was reacting in the moment.”

“Well, it’s not always bad to be spontaneous. More honest that way.” There was no question on the table if you forgave him or not. In your mind - and any sane person’s for that matter - Steve had done nothing wrong. He has a team to lead and you put the mission and whole team in jeopardy. As he had said, it could have been handled differently.

“I still feel like I should apologize.”

You thought for a second and contemplated acting on the moment. Would it be all that bad? you wondered and at the mentally formed pictures, you could not ignore the heat making you shift your weight. You leaned in over him and his hands fell to the side so there was room for you on his lap. He looked a little taken aback, but you were not going to stop. He had not yet been allowed to react to your action.

“You said you cared for me. Would it be wrong of me to interpret it as you even might like me?”

From his ocean eyes dropped yours to his pink lips and you felt how tense he was this close to you. Barely visible to the eye, but a slight shake of his head made a smirk grow on you. You could feel his rapid heartbeat in the palm of your hand as you ghosted your lips over his.

“Why don’t you sober up, we can–”

“You seem like more of a drug than the alcohol ever could.”

Steve’s heart was racing, same as his mind and with you pressed against his body like that he felt more vulnerable than when facing the enemy. Deciding upon taking a break from all responsibilities, Steve was the one to connect your kiss. He felt you smile against him

In that moment it felt like just about all evil in the world disappeared. There was no H.Y.D.R.A., no poor decisions, no people pending on your actions. It was just Steve and yourself in your small kitchen.

Feeling him grow beneath you, you could not restrain yourself from pushing your backside against him, slowly grinding down on him. He groaned into your mouth and his hips instinctively bucked up, desperate for more friction. You hand slid up to his face, kissing him more passionately and your tongue grazed over his lip to deepen the kiss.

He stood up holding you tight against him and the chair fell back, back colliding with the ground. Your legs wrapped around his waist made you look desperate, fearing he might let go when he broke away. You whimpered and dropped your head back wanting more than nothing to just feel him against you, in you, but when you saw the lustful, sinning glimpse in his eyes, you knew he had no intentions of stopping.

“Where am I going?”

PART TWO

[xyfanficarchive]

Pieced Together

Pairing: DBH Daniel x Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Reader is an ex-Cyberlife repair technician who has been chosen to observe and help rehabilitate Daniel in the months following the successful android revolution. But first, they have to put him back together.

Word Count: 4543 (!!!!!!!!!)

Author’s Note: tHis is insane! this is bananas!!! this is fuckin bazonkers!!! 4.5k words>???>> this is a scene ive had in my brain for a bit now. thsi would be something like the prologue to a long slow burn type fic if i decide to continue it right now, but i dont think i will. ive never written anything of that magnitude before and i want to prepare for it, to make sure im ready to follow through until the end rather than dive right in immediately. I hope you guys read it and enjoy it anyways though!! BLEAS give me your opinions on this!!!

You checked your watch. 12:48 am. You stood on the sidewalk in the eerie silence of the November night; thick, fluffy snow falling around you, padding the environment and all ambient noise. You look up at the sign above the storefront, bright white illuminating the street, the snow scintillating dazzling whites and yellows in the glow of the sodium street lamps. “Cyberlife Repair Centre” it read. You take a sip of the hot coffee in your hand before walking up to the window and pressing your face to the glass, using your free hand to block the glare that would prevent you from viewing the inside.

This place was not the location you worked at before, but it was absolutely identical in every way. Cyberlife was, if anything, the absolute master of the term “cookie-cutter.” You chuckled to yourself.

The room you were looking into was only a small part of the whole building. It was wide and short. There was a reception desk stood in the exact centre against the back wall, directly in line with the door’s entrance. The room was painted in Cyberlife blue, and the walls were decked out with displays (that were currently powered down in the store’s closed state). Sleek, modern furniture sat on either side of the room, shiny, sterile white and uncomfortable. Seating for the patrons waiting for their androids to be repaired. To the left of the reception desk was a normal sized frosted glass door. That was the staff room. And to the right of the desk was a larger frosted glass door, decorated in Cyberlife’s signature hexagonal pattern. That was the repair lab, and where you needed to be.

You backed away from the window and adjusted the straps on your backpack before digging through the pocket of your puffy winter jacket for the keycard that would allow you access to the store. You slipped it out and held it in your gloved hand, just staring.

You never did think you’d ever be here again. It made you almost giddy, in a way.

But you had a job to do. There was no time to stand around reminiscing. You walked over to the door and passed the keycard over the wireless pad, hearing the beep of the lock disarming cut through the silence. You pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth of the store inside. The room whirled to life around you, lights coming on blinding to your unaccustomed eyes, the wall displays blinking on and awaiting further human instruction. You turned back and swiped the keycard over the internal lock, closing the store off to the outside world.

Smiling to yourself, you kicked your winter boots off on the rug as you unzipped your jacket. That was something you were never allowed to do, always having to put on an air of perfection and professionality for the customers. Cyberlife was clean, Cyberlife was immaculate. But, you always worked best when you were comfortable, and you weren’t a Cyberlife employee anymore. You were just using their lab you were trained to use to repair the android waiting for you inside. Your… ward now, you supposed. Although the thought felt weird.

You padded your way across the cold floor to that big square door on the right, still unlit beyond the frosted glass. Using the keycard again, you unlocked it and it slid open, and upon entering the lights automatically turned on. There was a soft electric hum coming from the computers and machinery powering up. The room was bright white and sterile looking. In one corner there was a wall of monitors and input terminals, where software repairs were effected. Against the right wall was a set of three large 3D printers, for printing simpler components like limbs, or soft external structural plates, which gave the face and body its shape. On the left wall sat another door, that led into the storeroom where more complex biocomponents that had to be manufactured externally were kept.

You shrugged off your backpack and coat, and slipped off the fingerless gloves covering your hands, setting them down onto a stainless steel table adjacent to the door. Now stripped down to only your jeans and knit sweater, you took another sip of your coffee as you walked towards the centre of the room.

There was the main focus. Another stainless steel table, equipped with sensors and other equipment, a rolling tray of tools situated nearby. Above, a rotating module fitted with assembly tools on long mechanical arms sat waiting, although you had always preferred to simply use your hands when doing your job. You padded closer, sipping your coffee with both hands and relishing the warmth on your digits.

“Fucking Christ…” you mumbled to yourself. Lying down on the table in the centre was your ward, the android you were to repair. You remembered Markus and Connor’s words telling you he was in poor shape, really, really poor shape, but you hadn’t paid it any mind. Now, actually standing in front of him, you realized that it was kind of an understatement.

The PL600 lying in front of you was surprisingly clean for his appearance. You suspected he might have been covered in thirium at some point, but his clothes and person were only now spotless because thirium degrades and becomes invisible to the naked eye. He was missing his left arm and both his legs (and you were surprised at the fact that his legs were torn off above the knee joint, when they were designed to dislocate at the knee). Gaping hole in his right shoulder, gaping hole in the left side of his face (you gently moved his mouth open and closed and cringed at the clicking sound of plastic and metal), the front of his shirt was torn open and his abdomen was scrubbed clean of artificial skin (‘What in the fuck did they do to him at the DPD?!’ you wondered.) And his eyes. Blue-grey and open, unblinking, unseeing in his state of shutdown. You took a flashlight from the rolling tray and shone it on them, and when you didn’t see any sign of damage you were relieved. With a grimace, you took your thumb and forefinger and gently closed his eyelids.

Where to even start with him? You pulled up a rolling chair and sat adjacent to the table, propping your feet up on the edge. It would be a much easier and quicker process if you could wake him and have him run his internal diagnostic program, but there was no guarantee he would even start up in his state of disrepair. Besides, you weren’t sure you wanted to wake him up to be conscious in his dilapidated body anyways.

With a resigned sigh, you spoke up. “Computer, run scan and diagnostic on PL600 model, create list of all damaged components.” The technology allowing for the contactless scan and diagnosis of androids was new, and slow. It was effective, but took time for the computer to take the images it was sensing and separate each component from the rest in a powered-down state. Running your fingers through your hair, you got up and walked over to your backpack where you retrieved the tablet you had stored within. Taking another sip of coffee, you returned to your seat with your legs propped up, and unlocked the computer. You brought up the DPD file on this android. Might as well refresh your memory.

Model PL600. Serial number 369 911 047. There was a description of his nature and his actions on that August night, but you weren’t particularly interested in whatever police officer’s interpretation of the events that were on file. Instead, you elected to view once more the raw footage, visual and audio data taken directly from Connor’s memory banks as a record of what happened. It was intense, as always. You were rather infamous for your notable empathy towards androids, and the plight deviants faced, but you managed to have conflicted feelings towards this one. On one hand, you understood him. The flight of emotions. Anger, sadness, fear, betrayal, all racing through his mind for the first time, clouding his perceptions. Emotions giving him violent impulses that he didn’t yet have the capacity to confront and control like everyone else could. On the other hand, the girl. She was so young. She couldn’t possibly have understood this whiplash change, the android who she trusted to take care of her, with whom she was so close now standing with her on the edge of a building threatening to end her life. With her every cry and plea for her life he seemed so awfully pained, so why? You were caught between the thought that he understood he was hurting her and it was wrong, and the knowledge that he couldn’t really control it, between the belief that what he did was morally incorrect, and the belief that he deserved a second chance.

You looked up to watch him resting on the table. Now, you were legally required to take care of him. One of the first talks Markus and the rest of the android revolutionaries had with the government was on the subject of android criminals. What was to be done with them? Deviation, at the start, before it was possible to wake androids up with a single touch, was an extremely traumatic experience generally brought about by horrible instances of abuse, or strong negative emotions. It wasn’t particularly uncommon for those androids to have charges of assault, theft, or even murder on their records. But it came from a place of necessity, a drive for self-preservation; just scared people acting in fear, in self defense. They ruled that any crimes committed by an android prior to November 11, 2038 would be pardoned, but since deviancy had spread so quickly by touch across the country and most if not all androids were now deviant by non-violent means, it stood to reason that they now should be treated equally in the eyes of the law.

The government’s ideal plan would have involved every android with a crime on their hands being tracked down and put into a system where their behaviour was monitored for a certain period of time. Markus and the rest of Jericho argued that not only would it be a logistical nightmare and a huge waste of resources to track down mostly peaceful people who just want to live free, but it would likely be generally frowned upon given the public’s support of androids and the United State’s unfortunate history of marginalizing people. The government settled on a compromise: all androids currently locked up in evidence stores across the country would be submitted into this system. They were, after all the ones who were unstable enough to let themselves get caught, or something to that effect. The only caveat was that the androids would get to choose who took them in and observed them, helped them reintegrate into society.

That’s where you came in, you were approached by Markus and Connor, and asked to be the one who took in this PL600. You weren’t sure at first. Sure, you were good when it came to dealing with passing deviants, a few nights stay while you pieced them back together in your living room with your limited resources, but to have one live with you? For a matter of months? One who was particularly volatile, particularly angry and difficult?

You’d had a week to think on it. You were given his file to look over. Yes, you were indeed conflicted on how to feel about him, but the more you thought the more you came around to the idea. Markus and Connor trusted that you were capable enough anyways, right? You were up for a challenge.

“Diagnosis complete. Listing all damaged biocomponents,” chimed the computer from a speaker in the ceiling. You were startled a little from your thoughts, and looked behind you at the wall of screens in the corner, where a window had now popped up and was creating a list of all damaged components. You sucked air through your teeth as you watched it keep going on and on, and you pushed off the table with your feet to propel yourself on the office chair towards the screens.

Your expression soured as you read. Nearly every biocomponent contained in his abdomen was non-functional and needed direct replacing, not just repair. There were a few damaged bones in his shoulder area (all his limbs needed replacing it seemed, even the one that looked mostly intact). He was going to need a new jaw structure, and new soft structure components on his hip, and face (‘Fuck,’ you thought, ‘face plates are a bitch to replace…’). All in all, it was looking to be a long night. You looked at the clock. 1:32 am. You sighed.

“Computer, cross reference list of damaged components with current inventory, and create a list. Begin 3D printing any biocomponents not in stock that can be printed,” you said, and after a second or two the 3D printers on the other side of the room whirred to life, and next to the existing list another window popped up detailing which components were available and their index numbers in the storeroom.

“Well, lets get going,” you mumbled to yourself and, setting your now empty coffee cup on the floor, you stood up from your seat and walked over to the storeroom door. Inside, the room was well lit, neat, and clearly labelled. Sleek, white boxes bearing the Cyberlife logo and the codes of the respective parts they contained lined the walls. A far cry from your makeshift shelving of scavenged biocomponents and scrap limbs, parts that were damaged but likely to be less damaged than whatever new deviant of the week who passed through your life was using.

You took a cart and walked through the room, picking boxes as you went. It was like your instinct came back to you in that moment, running through the catalogue of parts he needed in your brain and matching them with their respective locations, legs simply carrying you without conscious thought. Like some kind of latent memory awakened within you. It had been so long, but you fell right back into the old motions.

You took a new lung component. New thirium pump, and thirium filter. There were compatible arms and right legs, but no left legs in sight (‘What sort of left leg epidemic has been going on?!’ you wondered.) There was a replacement soft structural component #6746g in stock (the one that would cover his shoulder), and #4503y (the one that would cover his hip), but no mandible, or component #3365u (the one that would cover the left side of his face). You picked up a roll of new thirium tubing, as you figured you would need to redo the whole setup inside his abdomen too, and left the room.

As expected, you looked over to see all the components you were missing beginning to materialize on the platform of the 3D printers across the room. You wheeled the cart over to the table in the centre. Where to start? You supposed you would have to undress him. That was a thought that made you a little uncomfortable, you realized. You wouldn’t have even blinked an eye the last time you were in a lab like this, back when you repaired automata, machines obeying orders. But now you were repairing a person, fit with a sense of modesty, and you were to strip his unconscious broken body naked without even having spoken a single word to him. To make matters worse, you knew his model was, well, equipped, being programmed to function as a sexual partner if needed, and you were not equipped to deal with the weight of that –

You shook away the thought. Back when you worked for Cyberlife you’d fancied yourself some kind of doctor, spare the fact that you healed biocomponents and code rather than flesh and bone. And this was barely different from a team of nurses stripping a patient in preparation for major surgery, no? In any case, it had to be done, so you situated yourself in a position where you could hook your arms underneath his (or, what was left of them anyways) and with a whole lot more strength than you expected to use, you hefted him into a sitting position. With his dead weight still leaning on you, the corners of your eyebrows drew upwards in an expression of discomfort as you slipped your hands up the back of the Cyberlife default PL600 uniform shirt and pulled it over his head. You laid him back down a little less gently than you would have liked.

You marvelled at the unpredictable oddness of the human psyche when you removed the remaining scraps of his pants with comparative ease, and a whole lot less internal awkwardness. You had to turn around and contemplate that for a second, shaking your head and laughing to yourself in embarrassment, wondering if you were some kind of freak for that, before you once again physically shook the thought from your mind and turned back around so you could get down to business.

But you took a second to admire him first. You never could help yourself with that. You were always amazed at Cyberlife’s ability to take inorganic material and mould it into something that looked so… realistically human. Bar the fact that you could see the places where his body was ripped open to expose plastic and metal parts, the patches where he was missing artificial skin, and the fact that he wasn’t breathing, you might have looked on him and expected him to be warm to the touch, and you tasked with stitching together flesh and not putting together individually manufactured units to create a whole body. Cyberlife was rife with issues, but you had always, always regarded their creations with the same sort of reverence one would a piece of art. And it was moments like these where you were beyond proud of yourself that you knew just how to piece this fractured, mangled form together into a functional whole again.

Which is what you jumped right into doing. This was your specialty. You were one of the best of the best. Ever since you were fired from Cyberlife, you had continued to use your expertise as a repair engineer to help passing deviants, but here? In the lab? This was where you were really in your element. It took creativity to do your job outside the lab but within, you didn’t have to worry about outdated technology failing you, or working with faulty makeshift tools. All you had to focus on was the android in front of you. Being in the repair lab again was electrifying, and you entered a deeper, more exciting state of flow with every metal bone you fixed, every new biocomponent you clicked into its rightful place, every thirium tube and electrical wire you reconnected.

When the PL600 in front of you was as close to fresh off the assembly line as you could get him, it was nearly 8 in the morning, and you felt the exhaustion in your bones. In the fog of your fatigue you had managed to find a sheet (well, more of a plastic tarp used to make thirium spills easier to clean up) to cover him, and you sat in silence just trying to ward off the onset of sleep while you admired your work. After a few minutes you got to your feet and walked over to your jacket to retrieve your phone from your pocket. Only one last thing to do now. You scrolled through your contacts and when you found the name you were looking for, you tapped the call button. You pre-emptively pressed the speaker phone button and began to lazily pace the room.

After a few rings, a voice rang through: “Hello, Y/N.”

“Hello Markus. You told me to call when the – the –’’ your brain was failing you, and your voice was hoarse “ – the fuckin’… boy was repaired.”

“I – yes I did. Did you really already go in? Have you even slept?” Markus’ voice was tinged with concern.

“I left pretty much right away when you told me where he was last night. I got here at – ’’ you pushed a forceful breath through your lips as you wiped your hand down your face “ – fuck, I don’t know, nearly one in the morning? I’ve been working on ‘em ever since.”

“Oh. Well, alright. Don’t wake him up yet. It’s best that you wait until someone else is there, too. Just wait for me, I’ll head out soon,” he said.

“Wait, you’re coming? Alright, uhh – fuck, bring him some clothes, please.”

“Alright Y/N. Try not to pass out,” he sounded teasing on the end of the line, and with a click it went dead.

Well, some coffee couldn’t hurt. You ran your fingers through your hair and raised your arms above your head in a stretch that felt euphoric given your stiff focus for the past seven and a half hours. You walked out the door and into the reception area, blinking in the morning light shining in through the wide glass windows. You made your way over to the staff door and took the keycard out of the back pocket of your jeans, swiping it over the lock. The door slid open and you stepped into the room, yet another set of lights blinking on to reveal the modest staff room. There was a row of lockers on one end, a lunch table in the middle, a beat up looking couch on one wall (in stark contrast to the gleaming, polished seats just on the other side of the door) and –

God, yes. The mini-kitchen. Your focus was immediately on the coffee machine, but you eyed a loaf of bread sitting out on the counter that brought attention to the roiling emptiness in your stomach. A sandwich didn’t sound too bad. You made your way over to the kitchen and immediately opened the cupboard above, selecting a mug that said “#1 Uncle” in multicolored letters and setting it in the coffee machine. You checked whether there was water in it (there was, thank god), and selected a pod from a bin beside the machine, loading it up and pressing the button to brew it. You left it to work and made your way over to the bread, picking it up and inspecting it, and when you were satisfied it wasn’t moldy, you took two slices and laid them flat on the counter before walking over to the fridge and searching it for sandwich ingredients. You took the coffee creamer and sat it next to the coffee machine, before retrieving some sandwich ingredients – sandwich meat, sliced cheese, a tomato, a big head of leafy lettuce in a plastic container labelled “UFD”, some mustard and mayonnaise. And when you had assembled your sandwich and prepared your coffee, you exited the room to find Markus standing outside the door, holding a bag and looking exasperated.

Quickly swallowing a mouthful of sandwich, you rushed to the door as fast as you could without your coffee sloshing onto the floor and let him in.

“I’ve been trying to get in for ten minutes,” he says as you step aside and let him walk past you.

“Eeeeehhh… sorry,” you say, and flash him a smile that goes away fast when you see him look you up and down, eyebrows knitted together in concern. It was then that you looked down to see that you were absolutely covered in blue blood – both fresh and the dark, sludgy, crusty stuff that had been sitting in the PL600’s system for all those months. You looked like a goddamn android murderer with your sleeves rolled up, arms slick with azure fluid, splatters of cerulean all up your front. Not even your socks were spared. You look back up at Markus to meet his eyes.

“Uhh… I was all alone. Shit gets messy in there sometimes. Anyways, lets just get to business here,” you said. You gestured towards the lab door, and started following Markus, eating your sandwich and sipping your coffee all the way.

When you both entered the room, Markus set the bags down on the table next to the door, mentioning that those were the clothes you requested, and walked closer to observe the still form on the table.

“Wow,” he said, a breathless quality to his voice. “You… really are something, Y/N.”

“Oh, yeah?” you said, a little disbelieving tone in your voice. You were well aware you were one of the most proficient repair engineers Cyberlife had seen, but it did you no good to admit it.

“You don’t understand, we weren’t entirely sure it would even be worth trying to repair him in the state he was in, but Connor kept insisting. Kept saying that if anyone could do it, it was you. You continue to amaze me with your skills.”

“I amaze myself sometimes,” you said in a hushed tone. “This guy was in quite possibly the worst state I’ve ever seen an android in. Honestly, ‘really bad shape’ my ass, Markus.”

“Is he ready to wake up?” Markus asked.

“At any time,” you nodded at him, and he gestured towards the android on the table, telling you to do what you had to. You walked over and set your coffee and sandwich down on the rolling tray, activating an angled panel at the head of the stainless steel table he was laying on. You activated a command that would instruct the android to initiate his start up sequence and stepped back to observe beside Markus.

You waited for those few seconds with bated breath. This was the moment you would finally see your work in action, finally meet this android you were supposed to live with for the next eight months, whose insides you had become very intimately acquainted with and yet had never spoken a word to. His LED came on, first shining steady blue, and then spinning yellow as he entered the next phase of the start up sequence. All is going normally so far.

And then his eyes snapped open, he woke with a start and a gasp, LED flashing an angry red as he looked up at the intimidating rotating module on the ceiling, face contorting in fear. He looked to either side, quickly gauging his environment before bolting upright on the table and locking eyes with you and Markus. His expression twisted into one of anger and fear, and he looked about ready to bolt before you raised your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait! You’re… completely naked under that sheet,” you blurted out, and when he looked down to confirm you were indeed correct, he seemed to revaluate his impulse to run.

It was then that Markus began to slowly step towards him, hands raised. He spoke to the android on the table in that voice of his, perpetually smooth and calm, always somehow soothing:

“Hello, Daniel.”

[velkynkarma]

End of Year Meme 2018

@bosstoaster tagged me a while ago for this here so here I am late to the party as always.  (Note: Failsafe was posted in 2018 but I counted it towards 2017 because it was written fully in that time period, so it doesn’t count this year). The Greatest Challenge ~ 49663 words (Shiro and Ryou centric, exchange fic with @bosstoaster ) A Long Night ~ 2359 words (Shiro and Ryou centric) The Red Bayard ~ 6914 words (Lance and Keith centric, for @platonicvldweek ) Color Theory ~ 7574 words (Ryou centric, for @platonicvldweek ) Innervate ~ 18503 words (Shiro and Ryou centric, for @platonicvldweek ) Break Even ~ 4312 words (Matt and Shiro centric) Window Shopping ~ 3391 words (Ryou, Lance and Hunk centric) Genesis ~ 32545 words (AU, ensemble, for @platonicvldweek ) Patience is a Virtue ~ 7349 words (Ryou and Slav centric) Paying Respects ~ 4967 words (Shiro centric, about Kuron)  Talking in Tandem ~ 11559 words (Shiro and Ryou centric) 149136 The Best Lies ~ 13814 words (Shiro and Ryou centric)  Need a Hand ~ 2923 words (Shiro centric) Target Practice ~ 3834 words (Ryou and Lance centric)  Little Crystals ~ 24515 - 19627 = 4888 additional words (Assorted prompts & characters) Familiar Faces ~ 72730 words total written with @bosstoaster (Shiro and Ryou centric....times two lol). Of that, about 38,172 is mine. This thing that still doesn’t have a title ~ 3952 words (Keith-centric, set in Parallel by Proxy universe) Total Fics: 17 (counting Little Crystals prompts as 1) Total Words: 216,719 Ship/character breakdown: Ship breakdown: You’ve come to the wrong writer if you’re expecting anything here Character breakdown (all counts based on -centric or focus for a character, with or without the inclusion of other chars):  10 Ryou-centric or Ryou-focus 9 Shiro-centric or Shiro-focus 3 Lance-centric or Lance-focus 2 Keith-centric or Keith focus 1 Hunk-centric or Hunk-focus 1 Slav-centric or Slav-focus 1 Matt-centric or Mat-focus Plus 1 Ensemble fic and assorted prompts & characters

Characters that had the main focus: Shockingly Ryou actually pulled ahead of even Shiro in this....but only by 1, and only because Color Theory is really just about him, and not both of them. 

Specifics:

Best/worst title? Best title:  Break Even happened on a whim but I actually like that it works on multiple levels. To break even colloquially means to come out without gains or losses (which happens in the course of the fic when Shiro and Matt come to terms with each others’ part in their capture and escape, or lack of rescue). But it can also more literally mean to have been broken, but as cleanly as possible, meaning they may be damaged but it can be fixed if handled well. Worst title:  The Greatest Challenge is kind of bland but I really struggled to find anything that would work. It ended up being too similar to its inspiration, The Most Dangerous Game, though.

Best/worst first line? Best first line: From Paying Respects, “Adjusting to being alive again is…difficult.” Because what a way to open (and also I feel a lot of people didn’t really give this part of Shiro-being-brought-back-to-life much consideration). Worst first line: From Color Theory: “Hey. Ryou. Got a second?” Because I just realized while looking for this that literally the fic prior to it I used the exact same opening line and now I’m kicking myself.

Best/worst last line? Best Last Line: Ooooh this is tough because there are a LOT of good last lines this year with some gut-punching impact. Here’s my faves: Need a Hand:  “Excellent,” Commander Holt says, shaking his hand gently but firmly, sealing the deal. “I stand by what I said last year, Cadet Shirogane. You are going to be the greatest pilot this world has ever seen.” Paying Respects: But he was free. He was home. And Shiro, at least, will respect him and remember him for what he was and what he’d wanted to be. Because he’d known. And because nobody else will. A Long Night: He never does sleep again, that night. Worst Last Line: From Color Theory again (I swear I like this fic): “And they spar.” Just a generally weak ending. The good stuff was all in the middle and I wasn’t really sure how to close it, and it shows.

General questions:

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted? More than I anticipated, considering. 2018 was a very stressful, very bad year for me for personal reasons. Stress means no writing. I’m genuinely shocked I kicked out even half as much as I did.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year? I don’t think I intended for Parallel by Proxy to get as big as it did, so I guess ‘AU’ in a way? Or just...a series? What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. I’m with @bosstoaster on this one, my favorite was our collab fic Familiar Faces. It was super fun to figure it out together as well as a great challenge. Plus it was really nice to actually fic-ify the goofy chat ideas we’d talked about for ages if our respective renditions of Ryou and Shiro actually met. Plus we’d been working on it since June 2018 so it took up a great deal of the year, a lot of work, and a lot of focus, but it had a lot of reward.

Okay, NOW your most popular story. By kudos this is technically Failsafe and Little Crystals, but both counted for last year so I don’t think they qualify here. Sooo....looks like it’s Familiar Faces lol.

However if we’re going by bookmarks, Paying Respects took the unquestionable lead. Story most underappreciated by the universe? Genesis. Hands down. Something I completely expected, since it’s a self-indulgent AU/Crossover fic regarding one of my favorite Playstation 1 era games Legend of Legaia, which virtually nobody has heard of. I wrote it to be accessible to people even if they didn’t know the source material, but people generally aren’t willing to step into a crossover like that unless they A) know the source material already or B) really trust the author.  Story that could have been better? I see a lot of edits that should be made or errors when I go back to every single one of these stories on the list, but none of them stand out as ‘I fucked up somewhere.’ Sexiest story?

Saddest story? Ahahaha there were....a lot. Probably Paying Respects since it was a response to Kuron essentially being murdered at the end of season 6 and nobody seemed to care. But A Long Night is also painfully bitter (only fixed somewhat by the fact that the reader knows by then Ryou will get better). Most fun? Familiar Faces was the most fun technically along all stages of the writing process since I was working with @bosstoaster for that. I was also in a no-motivation phase at the time we were actively writing this, but the fact that I was working on it with another person and I knew toaster was relying on me to finish my part really kept me excited about writing my parts. So I had a lot of fun just trading off and sharing pieces as we went. Without other people being involved, probably Genesis. Again, completely self-indulgent based on a favorite game. I had a lot of fun replaying the game to get details and a lot of fun playing with the universe. It practically wrote itself. I still want to go back to it. Story with single sweetest moment? This question is tricky because I do bittersweet more than actual sweet haha. I’m not really a cute/fluff writer.  If going for pure good feels/charm though, I guess the scene in Color Theory when Allura gives Ryou (actual, decent) advice on how to choose his color (and subsequently, how to identify what he considers important about himself) was pretty sweet. It’s too long to post here though.

Hardest story to write? Target Practice. Guns scare the ever loving shit out of me, I know nothing about them, and I want nothing to do with them. But I wanted to write things accurately, which meant research. Research was watching police training and instructional videos for hours to try and get the accuracy right. I can only hope I did it justice.

Easiest/most fun story to write? Paying Respects. Not ‘fun’ exactly but it just...happened. It’s the only fic I’ve ever did as a ‘reaction’ fic within 24 hours of the source material posting, I never get things planned and worked out that fast. Kuron’s death hurt me and he needed justice ASAP, and a lot of friends out there needed some closure for him.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters? Not really. If I had to give an answer I guess I’d say Familiar Faces helped me learn @bosstoaster ‘s Ryou a little better, but he’s not a canon character.

Most overdue story? Parasite Knight sequel Also a fic I’m working on right now that I’d been working on since season...4? This one actually is guaranteed to make it though.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? Yes, with Familiar Faces. Working with another writer is tough but rewarding! I also stepped outside my area of expertise by tackling Parallel by Proxy to keep an ongoing series maintained. 

What are your fic writing goals for next year? I have a lot of scattered ideas I’d like to hit. I definitely want to explore some little-used characters or side characters in actual plots. I also have a couple AU’s or more ambitious ideas that I’d like to try and buckle down to tackle, in part thanks to encouragement by @bosstoaster and @butteredonions

Whew! Okay. That was long. I won’t tag anyone but feel free to do this if you like :)