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honeymoonjin · 3 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, panic attack

A/N: apologies for my tgm crimes here but i gotta keep you on your toes since you have the old plan. also i'm not going to spoil anything but day 25 has one of my fav scenes in the show so far ;;-; so please enjoy this chapter and i will continue to work hard to finish the following one and get back into the posting routine!

DAY TWENTY-FOUR

You’re roused from sleep by the feathered sensation of fingertips on your jaw. Twitching slightly, you try and move away from it, burrowing deeper into the warm, gently rocking pillow your head is propped up on.

Before you can slip back under, however, the fingers give one last attack: a sudden flick to your cheek that echoes with a thwack. You flinch and furrow your brows, grumbling your displeasure since your words haven’t quite found you yet.

“Get up, sleepyhead, unless you’d rather I just piss in the bed.”

That’ll do it. You shoot up so quickly your vision swims, one side of your face feeling cold without the comfort of Yoongi’s chest. “Fuck you, go pee,” you slur, eyes still half-closed, the morning glare peeking through a gap in his curtains.

Yoongi happily but hurriedly trots off to the bathroom, giving you a moment of respite to collect yourself. It takes a few moments to recall the previous night, not just the way Yoongi’s voice had made you cum in your room, but also the way it later lulled you to sleep as he told you hushed stories of his childhood or anecdotes from his days as a sex education teacher.

You can even hear his voice now, just barely slipping under the crack of the door, humming and singing under his breath as he washes his hands.

When he finally exits, you’re propped up by pillows, duvet tucked over your knees and eyes crinkled fondly at his bedhead.

“Oh, no,” he starts with a frown, “you better get that look off of your face.”

Your smile drops. “What?”

Taming his hair with a few flat strokes, he shakes his head. “I need somebody sane in this house to talk to. You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me, it’s conflict of interest.”

Mouth dropping open, it takes you a few minutes to note the subtle curl to his lips. “You dick! I’m certainly not planning on it, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey,” he defends in a drawl, no attempt at modesty as he shucks his pyjamas before browsing his chest of drawers, “it’s been done before. You come for the massive dick and stay for the massive heart.” He pauses, shoulder muscles flexing as he reaches in to a drawer, pulling out a pair of dark wash jeans. “Stop looking at my ass, I’m trying to lecture you.”

On the contrary, you lower your gaze and narrow in on it. “You’re starting to develop a little bubble butt, Yoongi. It’s very cute.” Not leaving him time to protest, you barrel on. “Besides, your dick isn’t that big.”

“That’s only because you’re comparing mine to hyung’s. And Namjoon’s. And… And Jungkook’s, I guess. And-” Suddenly he cuts himself off, throwing himself back on the bed with his back hunched in despair. “Fuck, do I have a small dick?”

“Mm, not really,” you dismiss easily, deciding to finally get out of bed and pick out your own clothes - selecting them from Yoongi’s drawers, of course. He makes no protest, still staring blankly at the jeans in his hands. “You just have steep competition here. There’s nothing wrong with small dicks, either. They’re cute.”

Now visible from your angle, Yoongi’s face twists in a grimace. “But my dick isn’t small, right?”

You shrug, slipping on one of his FG shirts and a pair of sweatpants loose enough that you have to knot the drawstrings. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

He spares one somber glance down between his legs before he slips on a pair of underwear, finally stepping into the jeans. There’s a brief period of comfortable silence, before he lets out a small sigh. “Can I… Can I confess something to you?”

Although a quip would be easy enough to say, you sense the joking is over. “Of course, Yoongi,” you assure instead, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed beside him. He doesn’t meet your eye, busying himself with slipping a shirt over his head. “What’s up?”

Once he’s fully dressed, he still keeps his eyes low. “When you- On Monday, when you voted out Jin-hyung. I was so glad.”

You pause for a moment. “Because you wanted him out of the competition?” you venture, but he shakes his head dully.

“Because I thought he might look at me again if he didn’t have you.”

Something sinks in your stomach, cold enough to make you shiver. The guilt in Yoongi’s voice doesn’t conceal the open vulnerability of his expression as he fiddles with his bitten fingernails. “What do you mean, Yoongi?”

“What him and I had earlier wasn’t healthy, I know that,” he defends to himself, “but… I still miss it. I miss him. But even when I spoke to him after the elimination, all he would talk about was you. And I can’t even be mad, because I get it. And I- If I’m honest,” he murmurs, feet scuffing restlessly on the carpet, “I don’t even know what I’m wanting to achieve by telling you this, but I couldn’t stand not having anybody know about it. I never wanted it to get this messy. I told myself I wouldn’t let my feelings get caught up. But I think a little heartbreak would be worth it, for him. Is that stupid?”

You feel so unanchored, like there’s nothing for you to grab onto to steady yourself. More so, you feel entirely incapable of helping your friend like you so desperately want to. “It’s not stupid,” you begin, reaching out to cup one of his hands snugly between the two of yours, head resting on his shoulder in solidarity, “and I’m so sorry. Does he- does he know you feel this way?”

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi admits in a low voice, leaning into your touch. “If he does, then he must not like me since he’s not acknowledging it. And if he doesn’t, then he must have never even considered me like that. I know I was a distraction at best.”

You knit your brows together, deep in thought to try and find the right words to say. “Or perhaps he knows and he’s respecting your boundaries by letting you initiate, especially since he was the one who took advantage of you last time. And perhaps he doesn’t know, and it’s only because he’s so caught up in his own feelings that he hasn’t considered that you may feel the same. You just don’t know these things, Yoongi. I didn’t know how you felt either until you told me.”

He nods slowly, jerkily. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “Jungkook said almost the exact same thing, actually.”

You pull back slowly, curiosity colouring your tone. “Jungkook?”

Yoongi manages a shy smile, cheeks colouring slightly. “He approached me. We- we talk a lot, way more than hyung and I ever did. I know Kookie has a crush on me, and we said we’d take things slow, but dammit, I can’t help but like the kid.”

You let a surprised laugh bubble up your throat. “That- I was not expecting that, but I’m so glad, Yoongi. Even if you don’t have Jin, I’m glad you’re letting yourself be happy with others.”

His smile falters. “Is it greedy that liking Jungkook doesn’t make me want Jin-hyung any less?”

You go still, thinking of your own blooming feelings for... Well, for most of the people in this house, if not - at least a little bit - all of them. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I’d like to think not.”

Yoongi lifts his gaze to you, carefully studying your face. “Do you ever worry,” he begins, so softly that you have to strain to make the words out, “that our feelings have been set up. By the show, I mean.” His brows furrow deeper. “We’re living in a practical paradise - luxurious house with no real jobs, our food is paid for, we’re literally getting rewarded to have sex. It’s so artificial, you know? So who’s to say that our feelings are artificial, too? I- I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits with a pensive stare.

You can’t lie. You nod. “I’d like to think not,” you repeat hollowly, “but… I mean, yeah, this feels like some alternate reality, and thinking of any of you in normal, mundane, real-life scenarios seems so strange. Like, can you picture Hoseok sitting down and doing his taxes?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head in bemusement as a line of tension eases from his shoulders. “I hope he hires an accountant. I certainly wouldn’t trust him with my money.”

You let out a deep sigh and fall backwards onto the duvet, air punched out of you on impact. “The thing is, Yoongi,” you declare in a matter-of-fact tone, “we have no way of knowing what life will be like once all this is wrapped up so why even bother worrying?”

He turns slightly, just enough to watch you warily over his shoulder. “Maybe because I could get my heart broken?”

You pout at him. “Tell me how that’s any different from developing a crush in real life?”

He opens his mouth, furrows his brows, and closes it again. “I- Ugh. Fuck you for being correct.”

Pleased with yourself, you hide your grin as you playfully knock his side with your foot, making him recoil with a groan. “Be as cautious or as impulsive as you want, but even if all this is fake, you could’ve just as easily developed those feelings outside of the show. Like come on, if you saw Jin in the grocery store don’t tell me you wouldn’t fall in love on sight!”

Yoongi shakes his head again, a wry smile playing at his lips. “I see your point… and now I’m picturing Jin getting groceries and looking hot doing it...wow.”

You cackle at the dazed look on Yoongi’s face, using his arm to pull yourself up off the bed, patting him on the shoulder. “Good talk, champ. I’m off to chow down on the leftover pork from last night. Care to join me?”

His eyes glitter, but the doctor declines. “Yoonji said she blackmailed one of the production team to bring her fried chicken from her favourite place. She’s hiding it in the bunk room, but you didn’t hear that from me. She’s selling some to me for a small fortune, the little devil.”

“Less than half a week here and she’s already set up a black market,” you muse, “I think I may be in love with her, Yoongi.”

“Don’t you dare.”

While the kitchen is empty when you first arrive, it only takes the sizzle of pork belly in a saucepan to draw your roommates down.

Jin is first, silently rummaging in the pantry and fridge for some side dishes to add to the mix. In return, you begin boiling some hot water, adding instant coffee mix to two mugs.

As the others join, the line of mugs and glasses on the kitchen island grows, until even the two Min twins are hovering in the kitchen, looking suspicously still hungry after their illicit breakfast.

There aren’t enough chairs at the table to seat you all, but luckily Taehyung and Jungkook are happy hunched over the bench in the kitchen, sharing a set of Airpods and snickering at a seemingly endless stream of TikToks.

At the table, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi chow down on their meals, the latter with a considerably smaller portion made up mostly of meat. Yoonji and Jimin are on either side of you, with Jin on one end, chewing slow to savour each bite.

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve all shared breakfast at the same time, and you’re struck with a deep feeling of fondness at this little family-like group you’re living with. Jimin sneaks extra strips of meat or spoonfuls of rice into your bowl when he thinks you’re not looking; Hoseok listens enthusiastically to Namjoon’s explanation of a summer school course he’s taking, even as he has to ask for clarification just about every second sentence; Yoongi splits his time between checking up on the two maknaes with a soft look, and scowling at his sister’s teasing comments.

“Any plans for the day?” Yoonji asks suddenly, tugging you out of your musings. She’s dressed sleekly in a black velvet mock neck shirt and high waisted denim shorts, her face as stark a resemblance to her brother as ever, with two sharp lines of black on her lids being the only visible makeup. “Except, I suppose, the mandatory fucking.”

You huff with pink cheeks, never growing used to hearing it so openly. “The days kinda blur together a little when you have no real responsibilities,” you admit, “I should probably find a hobby or something.”

Yoonji’s eyes crinkle in faux empathy. “Oh, honey, you’re gonna be so out of it when you return to the real world. You all will,” she adds, before shrugging, “except maybe Namjoon. Seems like academia doesn’t stop for anyone.”

You can’t help but agree. “He has more brain cells in his pinky finger than I do in my own body,” you swear, “he could break an arm and still type a thesis one-handed.”

Halfway through a mouthful of food, you’re rewarded to the ungraceful yet endlessly endearing sound of her snorting, a hand cupped over her mouth. After swallowing, she turns towards you to respond. “I haven’t known him for long, but that seems to check out. He’s quite the character, huh?”

You don’t miss the meaningful lilt to her voice, nor the quirk of a sharp brow. “He’s a good guy,” you reply under your breath, gaze darting down the table to where the man himself is engaged in an intensely enthusiastic discussion (okay, closer to a TedTalk) with Hoseok, now using pieces of meat to create an abstract diagram in his otherwise empty bowl. The latter looks bewildered, but is nonetheless paying deep attention to every word.

It’s impossible not to feel soft inside as you look at the pair of them, all complementary contrast. Hoseok with his slender nose and harsh facial structure and Namjoon with a round, gentle face. One of them dressed in sleek black and the other in oversized earth tones, the typically reserved one animated and the bubbly one focused in. It had taken you barely a month of shared living to become completely fond of these men, not just Namjoon and Hoseok but all of them, and as much as it was nice to have someone new in the Villa for a while, Yoonji’s presence makes you more aware of the fact that you and the seven guys had developed a certain equilibrium that seemed slightly off-balance with the change.

It makes you worry about what other disturbances this delicate system could hold, and if returning to the real world would be a shift large enough to permanently upend it.

Wishing to dispel the pessimistic narrative beginning to form, you focus in on Yoonji again. “Anyways,” you start, “how are you finding the Villa so far?”

“Certainly an interesting look behind the veil, though it’s really not ideal having to-” Yoonji’s cut off by the chirp of an incoming message on her phone. “Sorry, one sec,” she mumbles absentmindedly, but you don’t miss the way her face falls when she reads the message, immediately glancing directly across the table to where her brother sits.

To your growing concern, Yoongi is also reading a message on his phone, and he quietly excuses himself from the table, leaving his bowl half-eaten. He jerks his head towards the front door, and Yoonji manages a quick apology before they’re leaving the room.

All startled out of their separate conversations, the remaining members of the household sit in confused silence, enough that even Taehyung and Jungkook turn around from their phones.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks in a worried voice. “Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”

Nobody replies, Jin just shaking his head with a grim frown and leaving the table himself, going after them.

“Guys,” Taehyung says more insistently, eyes not leaving the empty seats at the table.

“They both got a text,” you say with furrowed brows, “Yoongi and Yoonji. Must’ve been bad news, judging by their faces.”

“Jin-hyung’ll find out what’s going on,” Namjoon assures, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself, “let’s just clean up for them and wait for an update. Yeah?”

The two youngest nod solemnly, still with a single Airpod each bobbing in their opposite ears.

For a while, the group of you remaining sit in silence, as if caught up in some spell that would only be broken once Jin returned with some answers. The absence of Yoongi at the table is so much more pronounced, and you can’t help but feel the sickening worry swirl inside you when you look at his bowl, chopsticks strewn carelessly beside it.

Everyone is just waiting for bad news. You’ve felt this looming dread before, and it either came with a swoop of relief or a blow of despair. Your teeth find your thumbnail as you wait helplessly to see which one it’ll be.

It feels like an eternity before the door finally opens, making everyone jump, but only a few minutes have really passed. Jin is panting slightly, like he ran back from wherever Yoongi disappeared to.

“He’s-” he starts quickly, before a tremor passes over his face and he grimaces, jogging over and falling heavily into his chair at the table, face in his hands. “Their dad is in hospital. Heart attack.”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit together in sympathy. “Is he okay? Was it serious?”

Jin shrugs, looking up enough to run his hand over his face and take a shaky breath. “He’s alright for now, but apparently they need to make sure it doesn’t repeat anytime soon. If he settles, he’ll be fine, but there’s a chance that he might suffer another attack. Yoongi and Yoonji are going to the hospital now to stay with him until they’re more certain he’s stable. Just in case.”

“When is he coming back? Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide, shiny. He can’t stop fiddling with his fingers, self-soothing.

“Not for a while, I don’t think,” Jin divulges with a pained expression. “He needs to be there for his family right now. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

The front door creaks, and all of you instinctively whip your heads towards it, as if Yoongi himself might be returning already, but you’re greeted with the weary face of Producer Sejin, joining you at the table, taking Yoongi’s old spot. Taehyung frowns deeply at the choice, turning his face away.

“What’s going on?” you ask quickly. “What happens to Yoongi? And us?”

“Yoongi is… He was in a rush to get going, understandably, so we didn’t speak in great depth. But he in short stated that he’d return when his father was in better health if the place was still open for him. I’ve got in contact with the higher-ups, and we’ve agreed to put the show on a temporary hold.”

“On hold?” Jungkook asks in a nervous voice. “What does that even mean?”

Sejin clears his throat stiffly and clicks his tongue. “Well. It means we’re putting a stop to the game for now, in short. If Yoongi is able to return by the end of the week, we’ll resume as usual. Otherwise, we’ll consider him to have permanently left the competition, and we’ll be forced to continue the game without him.”

You frown, fighting the urge to cry. This all feels so wrong, like he’s been taken from you with little hope of reunion, and discussing it like administration feels so clinical. “So we’re just sitting here, not knowing if he’s going to come back home, waiting around in limbo?” As soon as you finish, it feels like the word home lingers in the air longer than the rest of them. And perhaps this house doesn’t feel like home to you, but it certainly seems like six of the seven pieces of home are around you right now, and it’s not the same without him away. By the way the others are solemn and red-eyed, you probably aren’t the only one that’s begun feeling that way.

Sejin just shakes his head slowly, as subdued as you all are. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal. The boss wanted to film it, make a big drama out of it, and then kick him off the show for views. I’m doing the best I can here to compromise and give him some dignity.”

Eyes widening, you stare at the round eyes of the cameras in the living room. “Are you- are you even allowed to say that?”

“I cut the camera feeds,” Sejin says in a defeated tone, “the show is officially off-air for technical difficulties. You can do what you want here while you wait - hell, you can leave if you want, just please be prepared to come back on the Sunday. We’ll have a discussion about whether Yoongi can return, and what we’ll do if he doesn’t. Understood?”

“Understood,” Namjoon offers up for the group, and the producer leaves with another sigh and an attempt at a comforting smile. You can’t help but feel bad for him, working such an emotionally draining job, especially when you’ve heard nothing but bad things about his employer.

Once the room falls into quiet again, Jin stands up, chair legs scraping against the floor. “Okay, I think we should decide as a group what we’re wanting to do. Stay or go?”

You open your mouth to give your two cents, but before you can, Jungkook suddenly chokes on a sob and covers his face with his hands, Jimin immediately scooting his chair closer to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Hey, what is it?” Jimin asks quietly, but the room is so silent that you all catch it. “Talk to me, bun. What is it?”

Jungkook takes a few stuttering breaths to compose himself, sniffling. “I don’t want you all to leave too,” he confesses, Jimin’s thumb catching a tear dangling on the tip of his nose, “isn’t Yoongi-hyung enough?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the elder promises, pressing a kiss into his hairline before looking up at the rest of you, eyes widening intentionally. “We’ll stick together through this until he comes back, yeah? It’s not all bad. The cameras are off, remember? We can have a break now, we don’t need to worry about the show. Isn’t that nice?”

After a moment’s considering, Jungkook nods slowly. “‘t is nice,” he admits begrudgingly. “But only if everyone stays.”

You can’t help but smile fondly, getting up yourself to come behind him, stroking his hair back. “We’ll stay, of course we’ll stay. Let’s spend some time together tonight, we can put on a movie and snuggle, how about that?”

He perks up at the thought of this, glancing around the table as the others nod in affirmation. “I’ll bring down the blankets,” he bargains, cracking a small smile, and the rest of the room relaxes, immediately bursting into sound as everyone arranges the necessary supplies for a good quality movie night, almost back to normal.

Jungkook, as the member of the Villa in most urgent need of a pick-me-up, is given movie choosing privileges, so the seven of you tuck in for a rewatch of his favourite Spiderman movies, perhaps the only thing that can keep him glued to the screen.

At first, the absence feels overwhelming to you. Try as you might through the opening sequence, you can’t shake it. Your mind counts heads without thinking, keeps looking at the space on the couch where Yoongi liked to put his feet up. Even though you know it’s his father who is unwell, not him, there’s the sick swelling in your stomach that makes you feel like his departure is final, and shortly after the title card plays out, you’re quietly excusing yourself and stumbling to the back door, in desperate need of fresh air.

It’s cold outside, a brisk wind cutting through you. You barely make it around the corner out of sight before your legs buckle, and you let yourself fall into a pathetic crouch, your weight propped up against the side of the house as you try to suck the chilled air into your lungs.

The panic creeps up on you in swells, the irrational fear that Yoongi would leave the show and you’d never see him again and everything would fall apart suddenly feeling like a whole tsunami crashing against you. Your fingers claw at the exterior wall as you fall back onto your behind, unable to even keep yourself in a crouch.

More so than the intrusive thoughts, it’s the image of Yoongi’s face falling, of him rushing out of the house in frantic distress that replays in your mind and leaves you suffocating. He looked so scared, your calm, reliable Yoongi. He was like a pillar, but that news was a fell swoop he couldn’t stay strong against. Your heart burns for him, cramping and aching in your chest.

For a moment, you picture yourself staying out here, gasping for breath until the sun goes down. You feel alone, more than ever since coming here, and even as the thought spooks you, there’s no energy in your body to do anything about it.

Just as your breaths start to sound more like death rattles and you curl your face towards the ground, a warmth envelopes your back, arms circling your middle and lifting you up.

“Hey, breathe, breathe with me, Y/n. I’m here.”

You recognise the voice. You recognise the built torso holding you steady, but your mind isn’t putting the pieces together, and so you simply squeeze your eyes shut and allow yourself to be maneuvered around there are hands on your face and a deep voice instructing you to look at me. I’m here; look at me.

You crack your eyes open, body heaving with the effort it takes to get any oxygen in your lungs, but you’re met with the soulful brown eyes of Kim Namjoon, narrowed in concern.

His hands are warm despite the frigid air outside, and you let yourself melt into him, eyes sinking to watch his lips mouth instructions, demonstrating exaggerated breathing for you to follow.

You feel distinctly like you might vomit, but you force yourself to match his breaths. The shuddering in and stilted out aren’t as fluid as his, but slowly your heart doesn’t thud in your ears and your body doesn’t shake as violently.

You feel damp, sweating all over, and your whole body aches, but your hearing begins to properly tune in again, coherence creeping back. “Na-Namjoon,” you gasp, wishing you had the energy to grab his arms or hug him or something other than lying limp against the wall of the house.

“Shh, hey, don’t strain yourself. Take it easy. I’m here.” He’s crouching in front of you, eyes locked onto you as he continues to hold you steady, jaw kept aloft by his hands. “Keep breathing, and it’ll go away. It’s a panic attack, I’ve had my fair share. You’ll come right.”

Trusting him despite the persisting burn in your chest, you let him coach your breathing for several more minutes, the heightened air influx making your head go light and floaty.

Once a counted breath turns into a yawn of exhaustion, you know the worst has passed. It leaves you boneless, not a single ounce of power left in your muscles, but you can breathe again, and it’s all thanks to the man across from you.

“I’ve never had one before,” you manage, voice cracking, “not like that.”

Namjoon’s lips press together in sympathy, and he turns to prop himself against the side of the house beside you, letting you continue breathing independently. “Is it Yoongi-hyung?”

You nod weakly, and the academic hums in confirmation. “I used to get panic attacks a lot in university. I used to hate them, thought they meant I was weak. Like I couldn’t handle the pressure as much as I thought I could. But, you know, these days I just figure I’m only panicking because it means so much to me. And I don’t think that makes me weak at all. It just means I care. Don’t feel ashamed about this, Y/n. All it means is that you care about hyung a lot.”

All the breath in your lungs leaves you in one rush as you prop your head in your hands, knees tucked towards your chest. “Yeah.” You wish you had something more appreciative to say, but your mind is waterlogged, weighed down and not functioning.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind the curt response. “I care about him a lot too. He’s like the glue for us, isn’t he? I’m worried to fall apart without him here keeping us in line. But we survived before we knew him and we’ll survive now. What’s better is supporting each other and waiting to see how we can support Yoongi-hyung, too.”

“You’re right,” you admit with a heavy breath, wiggling your toes to will energy back into them. “We’ll be okay.”

Namjoon bends sideways to bump your shoulder warmly. “That’s the spirit. Now; I’m happy to stay out here as long as you need, but Jungkook was the first one to notice you had been gone for a while, and I think he’s probably getting concerned by now. If you’re up to it, I can give you a hand to get inside and join the others again. What do you reckon?”

You lean your head back against the wall, taking a moment to consider. “What movie is he putting on next?”

“He mentioned wanting to check out Paw Patrol on Netflix.”

“Let me die out here,” you plead weakly.

Namjoon laughs, the sound like comfort itself, and stands up, offering you a hand. “Come on, kitten, up we get.”

In the end, the Netflix viewings manage to distract you for the rest of the night. When your limbs are tangled together and snacks are flowing, it’s easy to tune out of reality a bit and focus on the television screen in the comfort of shared company. Jungkook clears space on the couch for you the second you return, and clings to you for hours, his chin on your shoulder. You don’t complain, feeling soothed by the physical closeness. But the hours pass, and when the majority of you can no longer hold in your yawns, Seokjin gets up to turn the lights back on and clean up.

“Let’s get some rest,” he decides, and it’s that return to the real world that immediately dampens the atmosphere again, the group of you turning solemn. You pause to pull out your phone, sending Yoongi a quick message of support, and that you all missed him already, but no reply comes.

Without words being spoken, the seven of you remaining find yourselves flocking together as you make your way up to bed. Jin flanks the maknae as Namjoon and Hoseok lean heavily into each other, the four of them disappearing into Jin’s room. You naturally fall into step with the remaining two men, Taehyung linking his arm into yours and holding you close all the way to Jimin’s room.

Somehow, the house is too quiet. Even though Yoongi wasn’t a particularly noisy housemate, his absence cloaks the air.

You have no energy to shower. Washing your face is as much as you can manage, and Taehyung is even more despairing than you are, slumped on the toilet seat as Jimin cleans his face for him.

The uncertainty is what makes your heart flutter on edge, unable to wind down, and you know from the restrained looks of fear and distress in the guys’ eyes that they feel the same. The show would be undoubtably ruined if Yoongi couldn’t return. But more important than that, Yoongi would be ruined if he lost his father so suddenly.

Knowing Yoongi is hurting makes you ache, and you cling to your lovers like they’re your anchors in a churning sea, tucking your face firmly into Taehyung’s shoulder. It soothes you a little to be pinned between them, but the three of you still lie awake as the minutes blink by agonisingly slow.

At some point, you must fall into a fitful sleep, because when a sudden noise fills the room, it rouses you aggressively, and you almost kick Jimin’s shin in the process. Grunting, the half-asleep man rubs his face and twists around, fumbling on the nightstand for the offending noise.

It’s Taehyung’s phone, vibrating against the wooden table, and once Jimin blinks twice at the glaring screen he gasps and yanks the charger out, sitting up in bed. “It’s hyung,” he declares in a voice more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before. “Wake Tae.”

You force yourself to dispel those last few wisps of sleep from your brain, and gently shake Taehyung awake. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s almost two in the morning, but your heart leaps as Yoongi’s face fills the phone screen, looking right at the three of you.

“I thought you would be together,” he states with a rueful smile, though you can see that it doesn’t quite reach his reddened eyes. “Sorry for calling so late.”

“Don’t apologise, hyung,” Taehyung whines, half of his weight on you as he leans in close, “we were so worried about you. How’s your dad?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow beneath mussed hair. “Not great,” he admits. “A little more stable, at least, but he’s pretty confused right now. Nurses worry that it might have affected his brain.”

Your heart sinks, both at the thought of a relatively young man suffering such awful health complications, but also at how Yoongi was trying to hide his exhaustion and distress. “Oh my god.”

“Mm, we should know soon what the damage is,” Yoongi explains further, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding his phone aloft, “and if he’s alright I can head back h- head back to the Villa. He’s just been sleeping a lot today so… We don’t really know how he’ll be until he’s conscious for enough time. Yoonji’s with him at the moment, I just wanted to duck out and give you guys an update. Where are the others?”

“Jin-hyung’s room,” Jimin answers, even as he’s throwing back the covers. “They’ll want to hear from you themselves, just hold on a minute.”

You hear Yoongi’s voice echoing from the phone and strain to make out his words as Jimin heads to the door. “No, no, don’t wake them. I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to come visit? Of course none of you know my dad, and he doesn’t know you, but- Well, Yoonji and I could do with some company.”

You jump up, rushing to Jimin’s side. As he naturally accommodates your presence and pulls you flush against him, you lift your face up to the phone. “We’ll be there,” you assure Yoongi, “just please get some rest tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

Yoongi’s pained smile breaks your heart, and Jimin leads the phone back to the bed so that Taehyung can say a final goodbye before the three of you hang up and crawl, exhausted but somewhat relieved, back into bed.

#bts x reader #bts x reader smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #the gentlemen #tgm #yoongi x reader #jin x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

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soramei · 3 years

Text

Intentional - Part 5

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: cursing, eventual smut

Word Count: 4.0k

Masterlist

A/N: yeah so about that upload... i was really busy this whole week but i hope to start uploading mondays again! thanks for understanding!!

Taglist (reply to be tagged!): @planetdemon @hvunvely @fluffybitch0325 @fashi0nablee @juststop88 @straykisz @theultimaterad @margaritas-en-la-montania @meowtella

There was a pause in the phone call.

You started biting your nails, instantly regretting what you had just done. Basking in your stupidity, you could only wait for his response, for it was too late to retract what you had just said. Your day must have been worse than you thought. It must have been so bad that you had the nerve to ask Bang Chan — an idol, a person with a strict schedule, somebody who you had an argument with — to come over to your pathetic little apartment.

You kept nibbling on your fingers.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

You froze, eyes wide.

“Huh?” You were bewildered. You weren’t even expecting an answer, much less this.

“It’s cold this late at night,” he explained, “I’ll be there soon.”

You didn’t know what to say. You heard rustling on the other side of the call.

“Wait, I’ll tell you my address,” you blurted out.

“You did,” he said.

You frowned, trying to remember if you did or not. That’s right. You blushed at the memory of your first day of work.

“Oh yeah, umm, I’ll hang up now.” You awkwardly said, hanging up before Bang Chan could fit another word in.

You were a statue in your own apartment, clinging on to the last words exchanged on your phone. In actuality, you didn’t know why you asked him to come over. It was just blurted out in the moment. Or maybe it was a result of your extremely frustrating day. Either way, you felt extremely embarrassed that you did so, especially so late at night.

You started boiling some water, still trying to rationalize what you had just done. This was normal for friends, right? Na-eun and Yoojin came over just yesterday and you were friends with both of them. You knew for a fact that you two were friends, but you still couldn’t find an explanation for the strange feeling in your chest whenever you were around him.

Turning your phone on, you checked your face in the selfie camera. It was a miracle that your makeup didn’t smudge off. You thanked your new ‘CLIO’ foundation cushion, it looked like all that time you spent doing your makeup didn’t go to waste. You stared at your reflection for a couple more seconds before turning your phone off. Why did it matter what you looked like anyways? You wiped off any remaining lipstick with the back of your hand.

The kettle started rumbling, letting you know that the water was ready. You took out your mug to prepare some tea. It was a bad idea to have tea this late at night, but there was something about your mother’s tea that could knock a grown man out.

Sipping your tea, you turned on Youtube to an episode of a Korean web-drama that was getting really popular. It was another one with some rich CEO and a clumsy average girl, but you still watched, fully enamoured. On the recommendations list, there was a video with Felix — the other person you saw at the cafeteria on your first day — on the thumbnail. I can never escape from work, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes.

You clicked on it anyways, just to pass the time. Watching through the video, you were shocked by the production value. Well, that, and Bang Chan. Whether it was hair and makeup or just his acting, he was so different from the person you knew in real life. You were in awe by his natural charisma gleaming at you through the screen as it was a rare quality that few people you knew possessed. Embarrassingly, you found your eyes drawn to only him in every group shot. He looked good in an apron.

You got distracted by more random videos before clicking back on your drama. The next episode was just about to start when the buzzer to your apartment rang.

It was Bang Chan.

Hurriedly, you shuffled towards your door. With your hand on the handle, you took a deep breath before opening the door.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“Hey,” he smiled back. He was leaning over you, his forearm on the doorframe. His coat was bulky, almost engulfing his whole upper body. He was wearing the same beanie you saw on multiple occasions, and in his hand was a white plastic bag.

You stepped aside, silently gesturing for him to come inside. He took your hint and sauntered in the room, head turning left and right to observe his surroundings.

“It’s not much,” you blushed, realizing how small your apartment really was. You could basically see all your belongings from the center of the room.

“No, it’s cute.” Bang Chan looked at you, taking his hat off. His dimple peaked out. “I brought some leftovers from that barbecue place. The kids and I went there after our shoot today.”

So that was what the bag was. With only food on your mind, you rushed to help hang Bang Chan’s coat before setting the table up.

The food was really good. They were leftovers, but it was so good. Stuffing a bite of pork belly in your mouth, you sighed. Where was this food earlier today?

“It’s good, right?” Bang Chan asked whilst chewing on a piece of meat. “I’ll take you next time.”

It was like he read your mind. You nodded eagerly in response, to which Bang Chan replied with a smirk.

“So, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, “how was your date today?”

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to remember that embarrassment of a night. It was such a pity too, because that man was probably the most gorgeous man you’ve ever witnessed. You swore he had just stepped out of a webtoon when you first met him.

“It was alright,” you shrugged. It was difficult to reflect on the date without putting a damper on your mood, but maybe vocalizing it would have helped ease your discomfort. “He compared me to a model, you know.”

Bang Chan chuckled, making you look up in confusion.

“Was it because you looked exactly like the model?”

“No,” you replied.

His face immediately fell. “You’re kidding, right? Y/n, tell me you don’t believe anything that loser said. He’s got to be something below garbage if he was comparing two women.”

“Thanks, Chan.” You tried to force a grin on your face. “I appreciate it.”

There was a pause.

“I know my opinion means nothing, but Y/n, I think you’re beautiful.”

You stared into Bang Chan’s eyes, frozen like a statue. Your heart was beating so loud that you could hear it more than you could feel it. He stared back at you from across the table; mouth parted, breaths uneven.

You’ve received many compliments before, to which you would always reply with a smile and a quick ‘thank you’. However, it felt as if your brain malfunctioned in this moment and your heart was the only thing keeping you alive. You could still feel your body, but you couldn’t think.

“Thank you, Chan.” You awkwardly coughed, blushing profusely. Immediately focusing your eyes at the table, you couldn’t bear to keep looking at him.

The two of you ate in silence, with only the tapping of chopsticks adding to the ambience of the room. You wanted to make conversation with him, but you did not want to be the first one to break the silence. It frustrated you that you were so shy right now as you’ve never been like this back home.

To heck with it, you thought. There was no need to be shy around him.

“So,” you still couldn’t look him in the face, “any shows you’ve been watching lately?”

Small talk was good. You could do small talk.

“Actually, I’ve been wanting to watch this Transformers movie for quite a while.”

“Transformers?” You’ve never heard of that one. It must’ve been an American movie.

“Seriously?” his eyes widened. “You’ve never seen Transformers before? Oh, we’ve gotta watch it now.”

“You wanna?” you smiled. “I haven’t used my TV since moving in.”

“Mhm, let’s do it.” He stuffed the rest of the leftovers in his mouth before standing up and clearing the table.

You watched him clear the table in a trance. You should have offered to help since it was your own home, but watching the veins on his hands appear and disappear was way more interesting. Watching him, you suddenly remembered the hoodie.

“Oh, that’s right!” You exclaimed, shuffling over to the bag with the hoodie in it. Taking Bang Chan’s black hoodie out, you held it up to him with both hands.

He looked down at you and chuckled.

“Keep it,” he took it from your hands and slipped the hoodie over your head. “At least until you buy a new jacket.”

“I will.” You rolled the sleeves of his hoodie higher to show your hands. You turned the light off, leaving only the floor lamp to illuminate your apartment. Grabbing the remote from your coffee table, you summoned Bang Chan over to the couch.

You turned on the TV, fooling around with the remote control for a few seconds before giving up.

“I give up.” You sighed. Pouting, you handed the remote over to Bang Chan. He took it from you and started reading the buttons.

“Netflix, right?” Bang Chan asked, to which you nodded. “There we go.”

He scrolled through the titles, looking for the coveted movie. Once he found the movie, he quickly selected it and turned the subtitles on. That was nice of him, you thought. Although you also studied english in university, it was nowhere near the level of watching a full english movie.

The title sequence started and you tried to immerse yourself in the movie. You watched in awe, surprised at the fast pace of the action already.

Fully engrossed, you started to sink your back into the couch. Half-way throughout the title scene, you felt Bang Chan stretch his arm behind you to rest on the back pillow. Suddenly, you started feeling too aware of your surroundings. You sat up straighter.

Throughout the whole movie, you caught wafts of Bang Chan’s cologne everytime he moved. He smelled like safety and familiarity.

You turned your head up a little to get a glimpse of his profile, mapping out every edge and curve of his face. The light illuminated the tip of his nose, along with his dewy cheekbones and chin. The plum of his lips were let slightly open, allowing his teeth to peek out slightly. You unconsciously let out a sigh.

“Something wrong?” He turned his body to face you.

You shook your head and focused on the movie.

The rest of the movie was pretty good, although it lost you at parts. You watched the end credits in silence, not knowing what to say.

“So,” Bang Chan cleared his throat beside you, “I should get going now. Since it’s late.”

You turned your head to face him, not realizing how close the two of you had physically gotten throughout the movie. Looking up at him, your face was inches away from his. His face was almost enveloped by the darkness of your apartment. You heard his breathing get heavier.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “you should.”

He didn’t get up though.

You heard his staggered breath as you kept looking in his eyes. The end credits had long been over by now. Your own breath was just as shaky and you heard your heart beat out of your chest.

He started leaning in. Slowly.

Your eyes widened. You gulped, your nerves snapped you back to reality all of a sudden. Wasn’t he supposed to be your friend? This wasn’t what friends did… Right?

Clearing your throat, you leaned back shyly.

“You should go. I don’t want the others to notice you’re gone.”

Silence.

“Yeah.” Bang Chan’s lips flattened in a line. Without another word, he stood up and walked towards your door.

You followed him in silence, hoping to at least send him off. Wrapping your arms around your torso, you watched as he put his boots on in the dark. He tied his laces, and with a nod, he opened the door and stepped out.

You were left with a sour taste in your mouth and a cloudiness in your head. Still standing in front of your door, you tried to process what had just happened. However, you couldn’t. All you could think about was the soft curls of his hair, the delicate threads of his eyelashes, and his lips. The dusty rose of his lips. The parting of his lips. Inviting you in.

You were frozen, looking at nothing particularly. The only thing on your mind was Bang Chan.

The door opened.

“Hey, sorry, I forgot my jack-”

His sentence never got a chance to complete itself as you rushed to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. As your lips touched his, you felt a fire ignite in you like nothing you’ve felt before. Your fingers clawed at the nape of his neck, wanting more. Wanting to be closer.

Almost immediately, Bang Chan responded. He was taken by shock at first, but his hands didn’t waste any time to grip your waist. You felt the muscles of his shoulders tighten as he pulled you closer.

He moved you back into your apartment by the waist, lips never leaving your own. You blindly shuffled backwards, only focused on trying to get closer to him. If that was even possible.

You ignored the clunking of his boots against your clean floor, allowing him to guide you to the couch. A whimper left his lips as you used your hand to comb through his hair, pulling it. His soft brown curls were silk against your fingertips.

The back of your legs hit the couch and he turned you around so he could sit on the couch. Your lips finally left his. You gasped for air, trying to steady your deep breaths.

Bang Chan’s breathing was synchronized with yours, his equally as unsteady. He reached his hands out again, grabbing your waist and pulling you on top of him. You were a ragdoll, responding to whatever he wanted to do to you.

With each knee on either side of him, you gripped his jaw and kissed him again. The fire inside of you instantly reignited. It was addicting.

The two of you didn’t dare to separate from each other, only parting to gasp for air every now and then. Even in the dark, you could imagine the plum of his lips and the threads of his eyelashes. This drove the fire in you more.

“What if the boys realize you’re gone?” you breathed out the next time you parted from his lips. They were most likely sleeping, but the thought still worried you.

“Fuck them.” Bang Chan exhaled. Grabbing the back of your neck, he reconnected his lips with yours. You gladly complied.

His sloppy kisses slowly moved from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck, eliciting a soft whimper from your throat. This seemed to only edge him on as kept leaving sloppy kisses against your neck, all the while running his hands up and down your waist.

His cologne surrounded you, keeping you safe. Soon later, the adrenaline left the two of you, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing to fill the room. You brushed your thumb under his eye to which he deeply inhaled.

“Chan?” you said. He was leaving kisses all over your collarbone.

“Hmm?” He didn’t seem to pay much mind to what you were saying.

“It’s half past three. I really think you should get going.” You didn’t want him to leave, but you were almost sure he had another packed schedule for tomorrow.

“Mhmm.” Your words went in one ear and out the other as he made his way up your neck again. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and let out a small moan.

“C’mon, get up. How did you even get here, by the way?” It took everything in you to break away from his touch, but you were starting to get sleepy.

“Taxi.” He said, helping you get up from his lap. He stood up after you, brushing his hand against your waist one last time before making his way over to his jacket.

“You’re allowed to ride a taxi?” You tilted your head, sceptical.

He slipped his jacket on.

“No.” He peppered little kisses on your cheeks. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that now.”

You giggled, pushing him by his shoulders out the door. He played along, pretending to stumble with every step he took back.

“Text me when you get home,” you said, repeating what he said to you on your first day of work.

He nodded in response and winked before turning around to head home. As soon as the door shut, you slapped both hands against your face. Your little act of impulse had spun your head in spirals. You didn’t know whether to feel relieved at the fact that Bang Chan reciprocated your impulsive actions, or to worry that you had not only just kissed your coworker — but also a freaking idol. No one — not Manager Chen, your friends, or even anyone in the general public — could know about this. If they did, both your careers would be screwed.

You doted on this thought as you got ready for bed, only the worst possible outcome came to mind. If either your manager or his manager knew about what happened tonight, you could get fired. Or even blacklisted. You sat in bed, nervously biting your nails.

Your phone buzzed.

Bang Chan: Hey, I got home. Nobody’s awake… ^^

Bang Chan: Don’t think too much, alright? It’s late, go to sleep…

You felt relief reading his text. For some reason, he knew you were overthinking your actions. You decided to listen to his words and go to sleep.

The next day, Sunday, was very uneventful compared to the day before. You texted Bang Chan back when you woke up, but because of his busy schedule, he hadn’t had the time to reply yet.

Yoojin called in when you were eating lunch, asking about your date. You told her the truth, explaining how there would definitely not be a second date with that man. She sounded disappointed and vehemently tried to set you up with another man in her pool. You politely declined, thinking about your restless night with Bang Chan.

You finished some work ahead of time to free up the next week. Since you were invited to work with Manager Chen at the content shooting, you assumed that you could lessen your work stress ahead of time.

The shooting days were allocated for Friday and Saturday, with there being an overnight stay at the mountains. Whilst you didn’t know the arrangements for Stray Kids, you were informed that the production crew booked a small lodge for the team. You were excited to not only see a behind the scenes of a real shoot, but to also possibly form a closer relationship with Manager Chen.

You were thankful that you did some work ahead of time as Monday’s workload was so much lighter than usual. People were still coming to you with their ideas for the project, but with your other work done, you had the time to go through everybody’s ideas.

You didn’t hear from Bang Chan the whole day, which was nothing out of the blue. You remembered him showing his schedule to you once. The amount of things he had to do everyday had your eyes bulging out from their sockets. All of a sudden, you were thankful for your nine-to-five job.

The next couple of days ran the same way as your Monday, with you easily breezing through your workload. Since you had more time during your breaks at work, you took to exploring the part of the building that you could. You admired all the art, the trophies, the awards and memorabilia. Of course, you also spent more time with your new friend Na-eun.

On Thursday, the day before the shoot, you were helping the producers by translating some notes for the script. All was going smoothly, when you got a text.

It was from Bang Chan.

You weren’t going to lie; you were curious as to what he sent you. He was basically silent the whole week so far, and if you were being honest, you missed hearing his voice. And seeing his face. And feeling his hands brush against your waist.

Bang Chan: Come to my recording room… I’ve got something to show you.

Your eyes lit up right away, curious as to what he wanted to show you. Quickly checking the time, you decided to take your lunch break then and there. After all, you didn’t have much work left for the day anyways.

Locking up your computer, you zoomed inconspicuously past all the other cubicles and made your way to the elevators. You weaved through the hallways of his floor, praying that your memory didn’t escape you. It seemed like your memory was on your side today as you found yourself in front of a familiar set of doors. You didn’t bother to knock before going in.

Inside was Bang Chan: feet up on the desk, drinking from his iced coffee, concentrating on his producing software. You smiled. He looked so comfortable, even in an ‘office’.

He had his headset in, and didn’t seem to notice that you had entered. You went up behind him and tapped his shoulder. He turned around, and immediately threw his feet off the desk and stood up upon seeing that it was you. You smirked.

“I should really put a ‘please knock’ sign on the door.” He cursed under his breath. He reached behind you to close the door.

You giggled.

“So, what do you have to show me?” you wondered aloud.

“A new song. Since the filming is tomorrow, the producers put me on a time crunch to finish the song by today.”

So that was why he was so busy, you thought. You didn’t realize how the sudden filming would have impacted his schedule for the month. Especially since it would take up two whole days.

He let you sit in his chair, and hovered over you to press play on the song. His chair smelled like his cologne.

As he was playing the song, your eyes drifted up to see his face. The face — even after only four days — you missed. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent. That, along with his disheveled hair, told you that he truly was dedicated to his work. You imagined him sitting where you were, two in the morning, sipping on his iced americano.

“You like it?” His eyes drifted towards you, resembling a puppy bringing a ball back to its owner.

“It’s amazing. I don’t know how you managed this in just a few days,” you said. And you were sincere too. You couldn’t imagine yourself doing any of this.

“Eh, you know, late nights.” he shrugged. “Wanna see another?”

You nodded, and the two of you began listening to another one of his songs. You listened in silent wonderment.

However, the silence didn’t last long as the two of you soon found yourselves on the couch: hands all over each other, lips the same. You were lying underneath him, his arms resting on either side of you to hold his weight up. Your lips never left his as you ran your hands up and down his defined biceps.

The two of you couldn’t stay away from each other. The sound of the songs that he had put on shuffle filled the room, along with a fleeting sigh of moan every now and then. Bang Chan’s hand had started wandering up your blouse when, all of a sudden, the door opened.

“Hey, I have the lyrics h-” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide.

Crap.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #stray kids angst #bang chan angst #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan fanfiction

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smallgodseries · 3 years

Photo

He doesn’t need to be a purist.

He doesn’t need to concern himself with oil temperature or fluffiness or finding the perfect fold. He doesn’t care what ingredients are used, as long as eggs (or egg substitute) are among them, and he’s not here to debate the difference between an omelet and a scramble. He just wants everyone to have a filling, fulfilling breakfast, or lunch, or midnight meal after the concert, when they need something to settle their stomachs and make them feel like the world is going to be beautiful again. He’s here for the people who need soft foods for one reason or another, the ones who drown his works in cheese and salsa, and the stoners out at two in the morning, settling into their padded booths at one of this twenty-four-hour temples.

Let the chefs and the pedants argue endlessly about the finer points of the culinary art, about the difference between omelet and crepe, or quiche, or any number of other egg-based dishes. The only argument he cares about is fresh fruit and cottage cheese vs. home fries and pork products, and he doesn’t even care about that very much. He wants everyone to have whatever side dish their heart desires, drenched in butter or lightly sprinkled with herbal salts or devoid of all seasoning save for its own juices. Elvis isn’t here to judge. Judging is the task of other gods.

And as to those other gods, well…he is happy to feed them all. He just wants the world to be full and content and peaceful, and if his way of achieving it involves mise en place and shredded cheese, can anyone really question his methods? Can he really be blamed for thinking a properly browned piece of toast can help to bring about world peace?

Anyone who tries is probably just hungry. Come, and eat, and be fulfilled.

…………………………

Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

#Small Gods #smallgodseries #Elvis Parsley #egg #Seanan McGuire #Lee Moyer #icons and stories

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bunjywunjy · 4 years

Note

Cursed rabbit facts?

wild rabbit meat is one of the lowest-fat animal products in the world, naturally being about 2.3% fat. (beef and pork, for comparison, are closer to 30% fat!)

funnily enough, this means it would be functionally possible to starve to death on a diet of rabbit, even if you ate an entire wild rabbit every day by unhinging your jaw like a snake and swallowing it whole! (don’t do that. please don’t do that.)

the dangers of an all-rabbit diet are so well documented that the disease you get from it even has a name- RABBIT STARVATION.

probably best to just leave the bunnies be, all things considered.

#cursed biology #eating animals #Anonymous

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Sooo I know I’m abusing the power you gave me (let me send prompts) but I’ve a very good reason, I promise (I’ve Nie brothers feelings and I love your writing) and I need to ask for this “5 times everyone realises that actually NMJ is the pushover in the Nie brothers relationship bc let’s be honest NMJ let’s NHS get away with everything and every time NMJ tries to get NHS to do something he has to bribe him with fans or resign himself to never get that done” and I find that hilarious :p

“Your sons have quite a good relationship, Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Fengmian remarked, but the man didn’t look especially impressed by the compliment.

“Especially given that they’re half-brothers,” Jin Guangshan added, and Jiang Fengmian sighed internally: the addition made the original statement into a taunt, which hadn’t been what he meant at all. “Rare to see such a good relationship in such cases.”

“Would you know?” Wen Ruohan asked, smiling poisonously. “And here I thought you had only one.”

“I’ve tasted pork; I don’t need to know how to butcher a pig. Look at how the older one lets the younger one around follow him around everywhere – certainly I wouldn’t have tolerated such a thing for one so much younger than me.”

“I always liked playing with others,” Jiang Fengmian said mildly. “The bigger the family, the better, in my view…it’s nice to help and be helped.”

“I don’t think the infant being carried around is doing that much helping,” Lan Qiren observed.

“And yet he’s clearly the one calling the shots,” Wen Ruohan mused, his eyes settling on the field where the two were playing – or rather, the toddler was demanding a ride and his older brother complying. “Given how stiff-necked the Nie family is, traditionally, it must be very reassuring to you, Sect Leader Nie, to see your son so – compliant.”

Sect Leader Nie abruptly changed the subject.

Later, he came to Jiang Fengmian, an expression of fury on his face. “It’s not any of my business, so I don’t care what’s going on with your search for that servant of yours and his family,” he said icily. “But I’ll thank you to focus on rearing your own children, and stop drawing unwanted attention to mine.”

Jiang Fengmian felt rather unjustly accused. It was true, he’d been thinking of Wei Changze’s son – of how well he’d get along with his own A-Cheng, if only Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren could be convinced to stop traveling around and come home for a little – but there was no reason for old Nie to be so snippy. There had only been the five great sect leaders around; what was he so worried about?

“You can’t be serious,” Lan Xichen said, pressing his lips together to try to restrain his laughter and altogether incapable of restraining his smile.

His smile only grew when Nie Mingjue’s shoulders rose up somewhere around his ears in embarrassment.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” he replied stiffly, and then he actually bought the – product.

Lan Xichen managed to hold himself back as they continued down the shopping street, and finally when they were back on the unoccupied path back to the Unclean Realm he let out a peal of laughter.

Nie Mingjue shot him a sidelong glare.

“Little Huaisang has you completely under his thumb,” Lan Xichen laughed. “You’re always buying him things, every time I see you – if it’s not new fans to add to his collections, it’s another animal for his little menagerie –”

“It’s not a menagerie.”

“He has a half-dozen birds, a mated pair of pangolins, and that – that beast you got for him –”

“The boar?” Nie Mingjue asked. “I didn’t buy that, I found it, and anyway the plan is to release it back onto the mountain once it gets a little larger.”

Lan Xichen waved his hand, dismissing Nie Mingjue’s little technicalities. “All that’s fair enough,” he says, laughter still in his voice and his eyes still curved up into crescents. “I would buy Wangji anything he liked, if only he had more hobbies. But even I would draw the line at purchasing my little brother erotic art.”

“He likes it,” Nie Mingjue said defensively.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Lan Xichen said, trying to move his eyebrows suggestively like he’d seen someone do once. Judging from Nie Mingjue’s mildly horrified expression, he wasn’t successful. “Still, don’t you think you’re sending him mixed messages? On one hand, you’re always yelling at him about not practicing his saber enough, and on the other you’re spoiling him rotten –”

“He hasn’t formed a golden core yet,” Nie Mingjue said abruptly, and Lan Xichen’s smiled faded. “Yes, still. It’s late, no matter what standard you hold him to – forget the Great Sects, forget regular sects, even by the children of rogue cultivators usually have the basics of a core by now.”

Lan Xichen didn’t know what to say. Lan Wangji had formed his core very early, earliest out of all his generation in fact – he had never had to worry about his brother’s cultivation, not once.

He wanted to tell his friend not to worry, that it would come in time, that Nie Huaisang would catch up…but he was right, it was late. In another year, they would be sending out invitations for select people to come study at the Cloud Recesses, where Nie Huaisang had been a few times before, but this time would be the first time all the sect heirs were in a single place.

If he didn’t have his core by then, there was a chance he’d never get it. That he’d live only the short life of a common person, shorter even than the shortened life of a Nie cultivator –

That Nie Mingjue would have to watch his baby brother grow old and send him off first.

“So I buy him things,” Nie Mingjue concluded with shrug that was anything but casual. “More things than he needs. If he finally forms a core, there’ll be time enough then to teach him discipline – and if he doesn’t, well. At least he’ll be happy for the few years he’ll have.”

“The answer is still no,” Nie Mingjue said, just he had said the first few times, and without paying the slightest attention to the table Jiang Cheng had just overturned.

“Why not?” Jiang Cheng snarled, incensed. “If we join forces together and win, we’ll strike a blow against the Wens that will be felt across the land –”

“And if we lose, the damage will be incalculable,” Nie Mingjue said, unmoved. He didn’t look up from the correspondence he was reviewing. “We didn’t come here expecting to find a Wen stronghold; neither of us brought enough people. No.”

Jiang Cheng sneered. “We didn’t bring enough people, no, but there are enough at hand if there weren’t exceptions being made.”

Nie Mingjue paused and finally put down the letter, turning to look at Jiang Cheng. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Nie Huaisang isn’t that far away, with plenty of cultivators acting as guards at his side,” Jiang Cheng said, crossing his arms. “If you summoned them, we’d have enough to tip the scales in our favor. But you don’t, just because he doesn’t feel like fighting – why do you let him walk all over you?!”

Nie Mingjue looked at him for a long moment, his gaze dark and angry.

Jiang Cheng began to feel as if he’d made a mistake, but it was too late to retract his harsh words.

“Very well,” Nie Mingjue said, and Jiang Cheng began to brighten. “I’ll write to Meishan while I’m at it; your sister can come bring along the ones who are guarding her, too.”

Jiang Cheng blanched. “You can’t! Jiejie can’t –”

“Why not? Her cultivation is mediocre, but no more so than my brother’s,” Nie Mingjue said, and he was very angry. “Or are you going to say that she’s the only one left in your family but you? That you don’t want the Wens to have a chance to take even more of your family away? Isn’t all that just as true for me?!”

Jiang Cheng hung his head.

“We’re fighting this war to win it,” Nie Mingjue said. “There’s no point in winning if we lose everything on the way. Get out and talk a walk; I don’t want to see you until you’ve beaten some sense into that thick head of yours.”

“Da-ge, you know you can’t keep the secret of the saber spirits from Huaisang forever,” Jin Guangyao said, and his voice was reasonable as it always was – calm and even and to the point, just the way that Nie Mingjue had liked so much when he’d been his deputy.

The tone mostly just irritated Nie Mingjue now – but then, most things did, these days.

“I’m aware of that,” Nie Mingjue said, scowling. His fingers were pressing at his temples – another headache, it seemed. They were happening more and more these days, and that didn’t help the quality of his temper one bit. “He doesn’t need to know all the details yet. He’ll have to bear the burden eventually, but – not yet.”

Jin Guangyao chuckled. “You always let what he wants make decisions for you, da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue ignored him. That was normal, too.

“Let me play for you again, da-ge,” Jin Guangyao said, and his smile broadened. “It might help your headache.”

Wei Wuxian was of the opinion that disturbing the unquiet corpses that had been sealed in the Guanyin Temple in Yunping City was a terrible idea, but sometimes you had to make sacrifices when politics became an issue. The once-more-ascendant-Nie-sect-is-asking-only-somewhat-politely sort of politics.

Every once in a while, Wei Wuxian cursed Nie Mingjue in the back of his mind. Surely, if he hadn’t spoiled Nie Huaisang so much, he wouldn’t have become so demanding – so insistent!

(So incredibly good at finding just the right weak spot to press on…!)

“Your brother is still going to be a fierce corpse when we open that thing,” he said. “You know that, right? He didn’t recognize you then, he won’t recognize you now – he’s an extremely powerful fierce corpse, which is going to make it very hard to control him right away. There’s a great deal of danger involved in being here.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I appreciate the warning, Wei-xiong.”

“In light of that,” Wei Wuxian continued. “Don’t you think you should watch from further away?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Wei Wuxian sighed and lifted Chenqing to his lips, nodding at Lan Wangji, and together they set about unsealing the tomb.

Nie Mingjue’s corpse was just as overwhelming as he remembered, bursting out of the tomb a few moments before they expected it, and the backlash was enough to make Wei Wuxian, with his weak golden core in this life, cough up blood, which in turn made Lan Wangji stop everything to look at him, which meant that there was nothing between Nie Mingjue’s outstretched fingers, curled into claws, and Nie Huaisang, standing there with nothing but a fan in hand.

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to – he didn’t know what, to try something to save someone who really had once been his friend, however he’d ended up and whatever he’d done, and who he still rather liked and who’d had pretty good reasons for things and who at any rate he didn’t want to see dead at the hands of his own brother –

Nie Mingjue’s clawed fingers stopped only a hair’s breadth away from Nie Huaisang’s head.

Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his throat.

A moment passed, and then another – and then the direction of Nie Mingjue’s hand shifted, and he ran his fingers through Nie Huaisang’s hair with a delicacy that Wei Wuxian, an expert on all things resentful energy, had never thought a white-eyed fierce corpse was capable of.

Nie Huaisang smiled, content. “Da-ge has always let me get away with everything.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #jiang fengmian #jin guangshan #wen ruohan #lan xichen #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #your prompt was very fluffy but the end result turned out not to be #sorry #timetomakeanewwish

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grilledcheeseandguavajelly · 4 years

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“It Was Hard To Breathe, And She Called To Me” -- Cordelia Goode x Reader

Long story short, I had a lot of feelings and anxieties about coronavirus when everything got bad back in March, and this was the product of that. I wasn’t going to post it (for multiple reasons), but after revisiting it I changed my mind. Hopefully it isn’t too rough!

Words: ~3,600

Warnings: Coronavirus, panic attacks, anxiety, hyperventilating, scratching (if anything about wearing masks or claustrophobia triggers you, I would skip this one!)

~Enjoy, my little peaches!~

It hadn’t hit you. The severity of it all, the effect all of this was having on the simplest things. Holed up in the academy, it hadn’t affected your day to day life, besides not being able to go out. Cordelia had strictly enforced the quarantine, but she didn’t let you girls go out during the week anyway, and your weekends were usually spent in her bed, the only real alone time the two of you got nowadays.

It made the sneaking around more fun, though, having to dodge prying eyes all seven days of the week. Never getting a break from the questions and the constant knocking on Cordelia’s door. Only able to steal kisses in the fleeting moments before dinner or deep into the night.

You had been so wrapped up in everything with Cordelia and so dead set on not watching the news, that you didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until you actually stepped foot in a grocery store.

You were all on a rotating schedule for groceries and errands, but so many girls had joined recently and Cordelia always needed you for something else, so you hadn’t gone out for groceries for roughly two and a half months. Until today.

It was Coco’s turn, but she had come down with a cough and Delia refused to let her leave her room. Nothing serious, she had said, but she wouldn’t let her leave if her immune system was even the slightest bit compromised.

You had volunteered to go, and Cordelia had looked at you with frantic eyes, but when Mallory innocently offered to cover your chores, there was no arguing, and before you knew it you were masked and gloved and fighting the New Orleans heat to get to the store.

The streets were empty, a few leaves blowing across the sidewalk in front of you the only sound. It made the hair at the back of your neck stand up, this once lively city now stark still and abandoned. But you brushed the uneasiness away, trudging along and relishing the air conditioning once you arrived.

Everything had gone well at first. You dug out your list, scratching a few things off quickly as you pulled them from the shelves. But then you were tasked with getting meat, and when you walked down the aisle, everything was gone. There were two containers of wrapped salmon, and that was it. No chicken, no beef, no pork. And you couldn’t pick up the salmon because one of the new girls had a fish allergy.

Twenty minutes later and you had found someone to help you, had had a garbled exchanged through your respective masks, and were waiting for them to pack you some new meat. Luckily, when you mentioned the school they recognized you and were willing to help.

After that it was toilet paper and napkins, but that aisle was also practically empty. Signs were put up saying “one of each”, so you grabbed whatever you could find. No hand soap, no disinfecting wipes.

What felt like hours later, you were snug in your place marker on the floor, waiting to check out. Tugging at your mask and cursing the stupid thing for exacerbating the heat and making the air entirely too thick. You swallowed down the thought that you couldn’t breathe, pushing a panic attack out of your mind.

You can breathe. It’s just fabric. Doctors do this all the time.

The woman at the register barely talked to you, only enough to tell you that you had to choose between the toilet paper and the napkins. When you referenced the sign, she clarified that it meant one of any, not one of each.

You shook your head incredulously as you thought about how sad it was that the world had come to this, and inevitably took too long to make a decision between the two.

Ultimately, the toilet paper won out. It should have been a no-brainer, given how many girls lived in that house, but somehow, with the panic attack ebbing and falling in your chest, you couldn’t think straight.

Your heart was pounding by the time the cashier finished scanning and bagging your items, and you tugged at your mask as it slid down your nose with your soft panting.

You remembered when Cordelia had given it to you, smiling as you tried it on for the first time. She had told you it suited you, and you grinned in the mirror because the blue pattern did look good against your skin.

That had been almost nine weeks ago. It hadn’t seemed that long, hadn’t seemed that bad. All you had used it for were your weekly walks with your girlfriend, and even then, you were more focused on her hand in yours and how her eyes crinkled around her own mask to notice.

But now, as you tapped your phone to the keypad and waited for it to process your payment, time started to stretch around you, the past lengthening as the cashier printed your receipt.

By the time you had left the store, the stress of the world was making the air press in around you.

And by the time you made it back to the iron gates of the academy, the panic had completely overtaken you.

Your arms were scratched raw, bags dragging you down and making you feel trapped in your own body. Your gloves were gone, torn through and lost somewhere along the way. The heat amplified the pounding of your heart, sweat pricking your neck as your head churned around the thought that you couldn’t breathe, there was no air.

Somehow you found your way to the kitchen, dropping the bags on the counter as the room spun around you. And when the girls started to trickle in and dig through the bags, you pushed past them. You needed to get out. You needed to be alone. You needed to breathe.

They called after you, voices echoing against the high ceilings of the building, and you dug your fingers into your hair and pulled, desperate for the pain to distract you from your thoughts.

But you didn’t even feel it, the room tilting and spinning and making you stumble against the walls.

You found the door to your room on instinct, reaching for the knob and pushing against it desperately when it didn’t budge. You froze, choking on your breath, but then you registered that you had to turn the handle. Then you would be safe. It would be quiet and calm and no one would find you.

No one would find you.

You could choke and suffocate and have a heart attack, and no one would know.

You twisted, pushed, and the door unstuck, hand slamming hard against wood as you desperately threw it open.

The door banged against the wall and you flinched, pushing your hands against your ears as your eyes frantically searched the room for somewhere to sit. Somewhere to stay. Somewhere to hide.

Quiet, quiet, quiet.

You needed quiet.

The only thing you could register was your breathing, hard and fast and out of control. It was out of control. You were out of control.

The room was too hot and you couldn’t get enough air in and you thought you might suffocate, your chest tightening as you pulled and tugged and scratched at your ankles.

You hadn’t realized you had curled in on yourself, pressed against the wall beside your dresser, but it felt better like this. Safer like this. If you could get down low and tuck yourself away, the world would melt down and nothing could hurt you.

Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch.

Footsteps broke through your racing thoughts, steady at first until something clattered to the floor. You flinched at the sound and suddenly heels were clicking roughly against the wood, closer and closer and louder and louder.

You whimpered, digging your face further down between your knees.

“Y/N?”

The voice was warm, panicked, and hands on your shoulders made you cry out, breath wheezing as you struggled to breathe faster, take in more air.

There was no air in this room. There was no air on this earth.

The harder you sucked air in, the tighter your chest constricted, pushing it back out of your body and leaving your mind spinning with a lack of oxygen.

When the person spoke again they sounded farther away, muffled, their words barely seeping into your brain between the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Look at…don’t…slow down….I’ve got…you can…why don’t…can you….”

You whined against the sound, fingers digging into your scalp. And you hadn’t registered your hands over your ears until they were being pulled down and away and the world was forced back into full stereo around you.

“Y/N, look at me, breathe, you’re alright.”

“No no no no no,” you started, batting at their hands and digging your palms back over your ears as you rocked.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s just me. It’s me.” Cooing, shushing, pulling for your hands again. Gentler, calmer. Slowly peeling them off of your ears and smoothing them down onto your knees.

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid,” you mumbled, tears pricking your eyes as warm hands enveloped yours, tracking small circles over the back of your wrists.

“No, Y/N. You’re not stupid. Shhh. You’re not stupid.”

Suddenly there were thumbs tracing your palms, rubbing lines and patterns firmly into them. And it grounded you enough that you registered the voice that was talking to you.

You lifted your head from your knees and looked up with bleary eyes, the room swimming around you as tears streaked down your face. You blinked against them, the light refracting in them too much of a sensory overload.

But then there were fingers there, wiping at your cheeks and clearing your vision, so soft and so tender.

And she was there. Right there. Close enough that she could reach every inch of you, but far enough to give you space to breathe.

Something shiny glinted behind her and you glanced over, registering a tray and a shattered tea cup laying abandoned in the doorway.

Your breathing quickened again at the thought that you had done that. She had dropped that tray because of you. Shattered the cup because of you. A mess. Everything was a mess. You were a mess, that was a mess, the world was a mess.

“Shhh shh shh,” she cooed, pressing her hands hesitantly to your cheeks, the warmth distorted by something rough. “It’s okay. None of that. I’m right here. Take a deep breath.”

Something inside of you shattered with her words, heart plummeting as your chest constricted again. You clawed at your shirt, heat pressing in on you again.

“I- I can’t,” you choked out, pulling and yanking at your collar to force space around you. “I c-can’t breathe, Delia.”

Her name was more of a plea than anything else. Desperation to fix everything, fix the thickness of the air, fix the panic coursing through your veins, fix—

She shushed you again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Sweet girl, let’s take this off, alright?”

And you nodded, assuming she meant your shirt. Assuming she was trying to help you cool off.

But fingers behind your ears startled you, and your eyes flashed open, frantic as they searched her face. She only smiled, soft and delicate as her fingers dug under elastic and pulled, looping the bands of your mask from around your ears and pulling the fabric away.

You sucked air in like you hadn’t breathed in a thousand years, hands flying out to her shirt and grounding yourself in the satin there. And then you blinked, heart rate slowing as she folded the mask in front of you and set it down.

You hadn’t realized you had still been wearing it.

You hadn’t even thought.

Her hand on your chin caught your attention and she tipped your face up so that you were looking her in the eye.

“Better?” she murmured, eyes soft as she tried to gauge your reaction.

And tears pooled in your eyes because it was. Infinitely. But not because your mask was gone. It was better because she was here.

Your breaths stuttered and you sniffed, and then Cordelia was right there, hands cupping your face.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Her brows pushed up as she searched your eyes, and then she pulled your head to her chest, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

You grounded yourself against the feel of her, her heartbeat quick against your cheek, and you could feel her heavy breathing as yours finally slowed.

Her fingers tracked over your spine, tapping as they hit the bumps of your vertebrae, one by one. She cooed at you, she shushed you, she whispered sweet nothings in your ear, her other hand skimming through your hair.

Suddenly the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders, and just like that, the world felt normal again. Everything aligning and righting and slowing down around you.

And you broke.

You cried for what could have been hours, gripping your fingers further into her shirt and twisting and folding and rubbing the fabric together against the pads of your fingers. And all the while she sat with you, rubbing your back and kissing your hair and rocking you softly, back and forth and back and forth.

By the time your sobs subsided into sniffles you could hear the girls bustling downstairs, pots clattering somewhere in the distance and soft arguments drifting up the stairs.

Cordelia didn’t pull away, though. Her grip on you stayed constant, wrapped tightly in her arms as her chest pushed into yours with every breath.

She let you break the embrace, sniffing as you pushed a kiss to her jaw and pulled away to look her in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” you started, the only words you could comprehend after your brain had churned itself inside out.

“No no,” she chided, finger coming up to shush you. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I—“

She cut you off again, leaning forward and brushing her lips over your nose. “No.”

You swallowed, nodding softly as she stared you down, a small smile on her lips as she almost dared you to try again.

You cleared your throat, coughing lightly. “I didn’t know I would have such an issue going out.”

She nodded, brow creasing as her thumb came up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You hadn’t realized you were crying again.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she tried, head tilting.

You shook your head, unsure that you would be able to put your feelings into words. But somehow they fell out of your mouth anyway.

“I didn’t realize how bad it was,” you started, fingers tapping against Cordelia’s arm as the empty aisles and numbered tiles flashed through your mind again. “I mean, I had heard you all talking about it, but I brushed it off as nothing. I didn’t— But being there, finding half of the grocery list out of stock… What is happening to this country?”

Your voice cracked as your breaths started to wheeze, eyes searching Cordelia’s face frantically as you shook your head.

But she shushed you before you could work yourself up again, pressing her hand against your chest and splaying out her fingers.

“Look at me,” she said gently, eyes soft. You did. “Put your hand on my heart, darling. Okay?”

You nodded, reaching up and mimicking her, spreading your fingers out and pressing in until you found her heartbeat. The feel of it grounded you, and you noted that it was pounding quickly beneath her ribcage.

“Are you alright?” you asked softly, eyes flicking up to hers. All she did was smile, pressing firmly against your chest.

“Breathe with me, darling. Can you do that? Breathe with me.”

Her thumb tapped against your chest and you felt it reverberate through you, slowing your heart rate.

“In for four,” Cordelia started, her thumb tapping four times, slowly.

You complied, inhaling in time with her.

“Hold for four,” she said, searching your face as her thumb tapped four more times.

You held her gaze, your heart rate slowing as you held your breath.

“And out for eight,” she sighed, releasing a long breath as her thumb tapped eight times.

You watched her as you deflated, the way she was holding onto your eye contact like a lifeline. The way her brow was creased down the middle, just barely. The way color had risen into her cheeks, flushing them a dark pink.

“There,” she tried, leaning into your hand on her chest.

There was a long silence, you relishing the way her hand felt against you, relishing the steadiness of her breathing, the warmth seeping through her shirt.

When you looked back up at her, you realized she hadn’t moved her gaze from your face the entire time. Guilt washed through you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you started, hand falling from her chest. But before you knew what was happening, she had scooped it up in both of hers and pushed it back into place.

“You didn’t scare me,” she said softly, offering you a reassuring smile.

You tilted your head, brow furrowing.

“You worried the hell out of me, but you didn’t scare me.”

You laughed then, something light expanding out through your chest. And then you were practically tackling her in a hug, wrapping your arms around her shoulders as you squeezed her to you and settled down in her lap.

“How are you always so strong?” you asked softly, nuzzling your nose against her pulse point. Her hands found your hair on instinct, threading through your curls.

“I’m not,” she answered quietly, and you hummed as she trailed off. A moment later she found her voice, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “You say that I’m strong, but I’m just as frightened as you.”

You pulled back, brow furrowed. “Delia…”

“What gets me through, though,” she continued, fingers trailing from your hair back down to your heart, “is this.”

You blinked at her, nose twitching. “My heartbeat?”

She nodded, pulling your hand back to her chest. “Do you feel that?”

“Of course,” you replied, fingers twitching on her shirt.

“That is all that matters right now. Alright?”

You shook your head, brow furrowing. “I don’t understand…”

She leaned forward then, pressing a soft kiss between your brows. “This heartbeat, your heartbeat,” she started, fingers fidgeting against your chest, “is the only thing that matters to me. We do the best we can, day by day. We count our blessings and help people who are suffering. And that’s it. That’s all that’s in our control.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You hummed, pushing your forehead against hers and melting into the feel of her. The comfort of her so close, so strong.

Her nose brushed against yours as she spoke again, breaking the silence that had settled.

“We are healthy, we are safe. And that is all that matters.”

You nodded, fingers finding her shoulders and scratching lightly in acknowledgement. You felt her sigh, and you let out a long breath, the pressure and stress of the day finally deflating out of you and leaving you weak and pliable in her arms.

Cordelia nudged her nose against yours, prompting your eye contact. She watched you, eyes lidded and questioning, and waited for your soft nod. And as she leaned in and kissed you, softly, gently, purposeful and delicate, you realized that she was absolutely correct. As long as you had her, nothing else mattered.

She cupped your cheek as she deepened the kiss and you parted your lips, moaning at the comfort of her and the warmth that was pooling through you at her touch. The familiarity. The inevitable protection that came with it.

Before you knew what was happening your hands were up under her shirt, sitting straighter in her lap so you could roll your hips down over hers. Her mouth was locked to your neck and your eyes were screwed shut. Until you heard a thump outside the door and a soft “Miss Cordelia?”

Your eyes flew open as Cordelia froze and you had time to register one of the newer girls standing wide-eyed in the doorway. And then there were fifteen more girls there, all piled around each other, mouths agape.

You heard one of them whisper “I knew it!” and then you dissolved into laughter, burying your face into Cordelia’s shoulder as she chuckled in your ear.

Madison’s heels came clacking down the hallway before either of you could say anything, and as you lifted your head from Cordelia’s shoulder, you met her eyes.

“Oh come on, you pervs,” Madison groaned, batting at the girls and reaching for the door. “Don’t you have better things to do than peep on a lame-ass make out sesh?”

The giggling subsided and the door clicked, and you pulled back, looking at Cordelia.

Your brow popped. “Lame-ass?”

She shook her head, biting down on a smile. “Make out sesh.”

You cackled at her sarcasm, and the way she was looking at you — her smile growing yours, yours growing hers, her eyes entirely too hungry for your own good — you thought that maybe being quarantined wasn’t the worst thing, after all.

Tag List: @thatgirlintheleatherjacket @shineestark @duchessfics @darling-dontforgetme @midnight-lestrange @nerdaroo @pradababey @mssallymckenna

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rainythefox · 3 years

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Nightfall (CH.15)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight Chris/Jill (There’s Wesker & William Bromance too lol). Rated M for smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 15:Infatuation

Claire was awake when she heard Chris getting ready for work, but she stayed in bed. She didn’t join him for breakfast or a cup of coffee. She didn’t see him off. She just turned over on her side, away from her door where the hallway light creeped through underneath. She had endured a near sleepless night of tosses and turns, the aches in her muscles a stinging reminder of what she had done.

She must’ve fallen asleep for a couple of hours because she awoke to sunshine peeking through the curtains. The sun was out, reflecting off the snow that blanketed the city. Claire got out of bed and did her usual morning ritual: dressing, brushing her teeth, hopelessly trying to come up with a way to escape her grim situation. Funny how that last one had snuck into her daily routine. Her new normal apparently.

Claire made herself toast and orange juice for breakfast but barely touched it. She tried distracting herself with the newspaper, but there wasn’t anything interesting to read in Raccoon Times.

Umbrella Corporation opens new distribution center, creates 600 new jobs

Mayor Warren promises more funding for local orphanage

Kite Bros. expands Downtown travel with new subway tunnel

Clock Tower Plaza puts up traditional Raccoon City Christmas Tree

Even though Chris left her his truck again, she didn’t want to go anywhere. Where would she go? See a friend and potentially drag them into her situation? Try and get help from someone else that was under Wesker’s boot or on his payroll? Raccoon City seemed like an illusion now, a cesspool of collusion and extortion. As though the rose-colored glasses she had once viewed the city in were ripped from her eyes to expose all of the red flags and blood she couldn’t see before.

Besides, she felt bad for the fight she had with her brother last night. Despite Chris overstepping boundaries with his overprotective nature, he was just concerned for her. He knew she was hiding something and was worried. The Redfield siblings only had each other, for nearly nine years now. Chris had sacrificed time and time again for her, to make sure they could stay together, to make sure she could go to college, always making sure she had what she needed over himself. Even when Chris’s behavior got him discharged more than once, he always put her first.

He knew she could take care of herself. He made sure he taught her all he could. Most brothers were protective of their sisters, but Claire wondered if Chris’s...excessiveness was perhaps a form of PTSD from what happened to their parents. Stepping into that guardian role, he went right into the Air Force, just like their parents. He abandoned a normal future to ensure hers, to keep them together, and to somehow get closer to the parents they had lost.

That was why it was hard to stay mad at him. Even if this time he unmindfully didn’t know the danger he was putting them in with his good, albeit intemperate, intentions.

Claire decided she would apologize when Chris got home that evening. And so, she spent the day trying to be productive, to keep her mind from wandering. She studied for a while, and then cleaned the house for a bit, blasting Queen at high volume. However, no matter what she did, she couldn’t keep herself from thinking about not only her situation, but the man that now had her literally pinned under him. She worried what his next scheme for her would be. But she’d be lying to herself if she denied the excitement that also thrummed through her veins. The strange mix made her queasy.

By the time it started getting dark, Claire realized she had wasted most of her day deep in thought, trying to make sense of it all, plotting for a way out, and maybe spending more time than she’d care to admit thinking about what happened between her and Wesker.

Chris would be home soon, so she started dinner. While cooking, she turned on the television to keep her mind focused, but after a few channel changes, a local news station caught her attention with a caption that filled her lungs with ice.

“Raccoon University professor missing, linked to drugging and sexual assault of multiple students.”

Claire turned up the volume, perturbed, because she just knew which professor they were talking about…

“-ow long has this been going on, Alyssa?” asked the anchor.

The news reporter, a pretty, bob-cut blonde, was quick to answer while standing out in the cold in front of Raccoon University, wearing a white coat and a red suit. “I’m being told this may have been happening for over a year now. The RPD are keeping the victims’ identities under wraps at this time, but I do know there are at least four. Dr. Simon Lowery has been missing for a little over 24 hours, having fled after trying to drug a female student at the open house last night. We have yet to get a statement from his wife, but police are saying she had no idea of his behavior. We’ve heard the same testimonies from colleagues. This is one of those -”

Claire clicked the remote. The TV went black, silent. She stared at the screen, a shocked reflection looking back at her. The news story rubbed her wrong. Lowery was a bad man, she knew that much. He would’ve killed her over those documents, would’ve strangled her in the snow when they fought to keep her quiet over stealing whatever it was she had stolen. But not once did she get the feeling he was like that.

She’d bet money that the news story over Lowery was made up to cover up what really happened. She wasn’t sure if Wesker came up with the story or if it was any of his numerous pawns. Didn’t matter. It proved what she already knew, just like the other day when the news covered that Finley guy’s supposed “suicide” in his car. Just as Wesker had told her before, their fates were whatever he decided. Not just their deaths but their legacies, tainting and twisting them, dismantling and disgracing them, like a true god of death.

The city would never know what really happened to Finley and Lowery, whether they deserved their fates or not.

Claire shook out of her thoughts, a chill running over her as she recalled Finley’s head exploding, blood spraying all over the snow. Why had fate led her down that very same path that day?

A smoky, tangy smell pervaded her nostrils. Dinner was burning! Cursing, she raced into the kitchen to save it. The pork chops were burned on one side but other than that, the rest of dinner turned out okay.

Chris came in not long after she had finished cooking, silently walking over to her spot on the couch as she read a book. The couch shifted when he sat down, and so she looked up from the pages. Still in STARS uniform, her older brother scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable but presenting her an apologetic smile. It was hard to stay mad at him with a puppy-dog face like that.

“Hey…”

“Hey,” she mimicked.

“I’m sorry, Sis. About last night. I clearly went overboard. It’s been eating at me all day.”

“Chris, it’s -”

“Let me finish,” he pleaded. “I know you’re an adult. I know you can kick anyone’s ass. I’m overprotective because of what happened to Mom and Dad.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“But that’s no excuse to act the way I did. I trust you, Claire. And I believe in you. But I get so...obsessed with making sure you’re safe and-and fine that my stupid brain can’t see anything else! I let it get the better of me too much. So, from now on, I’ll work hard to keep myself from going overboard and to trust you more. N-Not that I haven’t trusted you! You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you. It’s stupid of me to act like you have. We’ve always had that unspoken pact that we can tell each other anything and it will always stand.”

Claire shifted uncomfortably in her spot. “A-Always.”

“I love you, Sis. I’m really sorry.”

The Redfield siblings were both stubborn and proud, and so sometimes it was Chris who apologized first and sometimes it was Claire. Although Chris usually gave in before she did. Despite that, this was still pretty soon for Chris to give in, as big as a fight they had. Claire wondered if something happened at work that made Chris come to his senses faster. Maybe Jill talked to him? Wouldn’t be the first time. She was her brother’s best friend, after all.

She decided it wasn’t important for now. She had been ready to apologize to her brother when he got home, and here he was apologizing as well. She was ready to put the whole fight behind them and move on...as best as she could in her predicament anyway. At least Chris had seemingly given up pushing her for answers. What a lucky break! Jill must’ve really lined him out.

Claire hugged Chris. “I’m sorry too, Bro. Love you!”

His strong arms wrapped around her and squeezed hard. For years growing up, it had been the safest feeling in the world. She always cherished it. Soon they pulled away, and got up to eat dinner.

William paced, flipping through pages, catching important details and logging them away at a rate far faster than the average person. Wesker leaned against the wall, dressed in his STARS attire, watching him pace a trench in front of him. Always calm, always collected. How did he do it?!

The cable car shuddered, flicking the light overhead as it rose to the surface. He hated taking this hunk of junk! Normally, he didn’t have to, but they were meeting Irons in the sewers. Perfect place to find the slimy rat.

“No! Goddamn it, no! Why? They said Sheena Island was strictly testing and experimentation! That old bastard is moving my Hunter research there without my consent, and now the Tyrants? Mass production on a prototype? Even if they perfect the Epsilon strain, it’s nowhere near ready for cloning!”

“Are you truly all that surprised?” Wesker asked.

“No, I just…” William sighed. “It’s shit like this that tells me Spencer has no plans to put me on the executive board! If I don’t get in there, we’ll never be able to fulfill our plans! And there’s no way in hell I’m bartering the G-Virus for that spot. It’s my legacy, mine to completely control. He’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers!”

“Best not tempt fate, old friend.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“At any rate, your tantrum is premature. With those numbers, the Sheena Island facility won’t be operable for any kind of mass production until August at the earliest. The research team on the Epsilon strain knows that the T-002 will be obsolete by the time it is finished. More than likely a new model is being developed and that will be the one they intend to manufacture. We have time to take this knowledge and use it to our advantage later.”

Birkin snorted. Lately Al’s “optimism” gave him anxiety. "Don’t you think we have our fingers in too many pies already? And toes at this rate. We’re wearing ourselves thin, Al. With too many enemies waiting for us to screw up.”

It was a reasonable concern. Sheena Island’s true motives were still mostly top-secret for now, going by this information sent by Alex. Roth must’ve bought this information from this other cohort of his, and was probably trying to haggle deals with Mueller, Lowery, and Bard. As well as Crawford and Finley. William made a mental note to thank Alex for this later. Wesker may have been a member of the Umbrella Intelligence Division as well, but he meticulously watched his dealings, aware of Spencer’s tabs on him. Alex didn’t have this problem, and so was their go-to source of anything they weren’t privy to.

His partner scowled. “That is such an absurd idiom. Regardless, we are committed at this point. Roth still has our stolen data and the plans for Sheena Island directly affects our goals. You admitted it yourself.”

The cable car shook and screeched, sliding to a halt. The light above the door turned green, and the robotic female voice told them to watch their step and have a good day. No, he would certainly not have a good day! He was having to deal with this and was about to meet a big rat in a stinky sewer. Didn’t the stupid voice know that? How insensitive!

“Yeah, I know. Guess we better be careful how we handle this.”

Wesker and William exited the cable car and walked side by side through the sewer facility. There weren’t many workers, but they all gave them a wide berth, keeping their heads down.

Wesker chuckled to himself, but William heard it over the water pumps and machinery.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just acknowledging that your prolonged bout of paranoia has made us change places. I’m usually the one telling you we need to be careful.”

They were both ruthless and ambitious, but Wesker had more patience and control. And although his back-and-forth stints of paranoia did make him more cautious, Will still hadn’t developed the patience or control that his partner had always had.

If only you knew why...what he’s making me do…

William frowned, rubbing his shoulder and quickly cleared his throat. “Well, no wonder you're so optimistic lately, taking after me. Like a little ball of sunshine!"

His partner didn’t respond to that, and William hoped it wasn’t because he had caught his nervous tic. In case he did, he quickly changed the subject. “So, did you get the kind of reaction out of Ada you were expecting?”

“More or less. I’m still annoyed by how you handled it though.”

“Look, you asked me to bring Claire up in a way to get a reaction from Ada to see if your suspicions were right and I did just that! You’re welcome, by the way!”

They reached the monitor room where they were meeting with Chief Irons. William entered first, and the Chief immediately noticed him, an Umbrella mercenary on each side of him. His pudgy eyes squinted testily and he opened his mouth to start his usual complaining. That is, until Wesker entered right behind him. His mouth quickly snapped shut. Ah, the benefits of having Al around!

Irons glanced around the room, his usual air of arrogance belittled and squashed like a bug. But there was nowhere to run in this room, nothing to protect him. He was at their mercy, but the tough-as-nails Irons wouldn’t be one to break so easily.

He half-laughed, half-snorted, attempting to cover his discomfort. “Now this must be a special occasion if you're both here. Rumor has it when you two are together, someone's going to die...or wish they would."

"Well, funny thing about rumors, Brian," William smirked. "There’s always some truth to them."

It was fun seeing the color drain from his face only to completely flush red like a cherry. He glared their way, fists forming tightly at his sides. "Oh yeah? And how exactly am I on you two assholes' shit list today? Considering all I do is cover your goddamn tracks and provide you with security all hours of every fucking day. Wait, don't tell me, you two have a rehearsed good cop, bad cop routine just for me?" He laughed. "No thanks."

Will nudged Albert. "Damn it, he guessed it! Wait, am I bad cop this time? I forget?"

"I'm always bad cop."

"No fair! We should take turns!"

Irons rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Just get to the point of why I'm here. If we're negotiating new deals, it's a bad time. I'm a busy man, after all."

"Funny you should mention that, Chief," Wesker sneered. "We're done negotiating with you."

The Umbrella mercs pulled their guns on the Chief. Irons froze on the spot, eyes bulging and going to the trained weapons, and this time he turned a bit green.

“Listen, Albert...let’s not get too hasty. Let’s talk like gentlemen. I-I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

His resolve was cracking slowly, but William wouldn’t count the bastard out just yet. Irons had grown complacent in his position, taking advantage of anything he could get his grubby hands on. William and Wesker had allowed much of this behavior to slide in the knowledge that Irons would eventually get himself into a bind. And that’s where he was now.

“Of course, Brian. I am a sophisticated man, after all. Take a seat.”

The Chief of Police looked relieved at that and pulled out a chair and sat down. The Umbrella mercenaries stood at his back, guns still aimed to the back of his head. William and Albert sat down across from him.

William slid a sealed yellow envelope across the table to Irons. “Open it and take a good, hard look, Brian.”

Irons wiped his mustache, a little sweat forming on his brow. He slowly opened the envelope and sifted through the contents. Each page he flipped through he grew a shade whiter, until he was pasty like a ghost.

“What the fuck is this?”

William leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Oh, I don’t know. You tell us.”

Irons trembled in his chair, both from anger and fear. He flushed again, one fat fist crinkling a page and he quickly stood. “You fucking bastards!”

One merc’s gun barrel pressed into Irons’ skull and he quickly remembered his place. He slowly sat down. He sure was sweating a lot now!

“You put yourself in this situation, Brian,” Wesker stated. “You know I keep tabs on you and yet you got sloppy. Arrogant, too, thinking you’d be able to set me up.”

“Your sick fantasies with the mayor’s daughter will be released to the public. Your replacement has already been chosen. You will die,” William continued.

“No! No, please! We can come to an agreement!”

“There are no more agreements to come to, Brian,” Wesker growled. “Just two choices. You can die like William so eloquently stated or you can sell the remainder of your pathetic soul to our cause.”

And unsurprisingly, the Chief went with the option that kept his sorry ass alive. “Deal! You got it!”

“And just so we’re clear. That -” William motioned to the envelope. “- never goes away. This is your last chance. Next time...well...there won’t be a next time. Just you dead and your dirty secrets exposed for all to see. Never forget how replaceable you are, Brian.”

Irons slowly nodded, guarded. “And exactly what are you two going to want me to do for your “cause”?”

“You will still perform your normal duties for Umbrella, and only report to me,” Wesker explained. “But if William and I tell you to do something, you do it. Even if it goes against your orders from Umbrella.”

“Fine.”

“William will be taking over as your handler. You should thank him. It was my intention to kill you tonight and he convinced me otherwise. If he asks you to perform in the circus, I expect you to clap your flippers and balance that ball without any disinclination. Do I make myself clear?”

Irons ground his jaw and stiffly nodded. “You always do, Albert.”

William sat up a little straighter, a haughty grin spreading. Albert’s protectiveness of him always gave him a feeling of empowerment, feeding his ego, and made a darker part of himself more bold, more ambitious.

“Don’t worry, Brian,” Will said with a fake, friendly smile. “You do a good job and stay on my good side, I always pay really well, way more than Al does.” He added a postscript after seeing the Chief’s interested grin. “Get on my bad side, however, and you’ll be my newest experiment...just ask Lowery.”

The Police Chief’s relief was short-lived. The mention of Lowery’s name struck something in him. He scowled, stiffening once more, looking between the two partners in crime.

“So you two were behind what happened at the university?”

“Oh yes,” William bragged. “Which is partly how we found out about your little attempt to set up Albert.”

“Which brings us to our next order of business, Brian,” Albert added. “Who was with you when you met up with Aaron Roth?”

Irons shook his head, hands on the table, still aware of the guns at his back. “Look, Lowery and Bard paid me to keep their business dealings hush-hush. I think they were trying to coerce Mueller into selling key information on his project in exchange for getting some crucial research going down on some island.”

Will sighed. “Don’t make Al repeat himself, ya idiot.” He snapped his fingers. “His name? Who is he?”

“S-Some bigshot from Europe who works on this island. He’s partners with Roth, buying and selling research within Umbrella and other companies. Goes by Stefan Bennett, but I couldn’t tell you if that’s his real name or not.”

When Will glanced at Al, a subtle flex in his shoulder was all he needed to read him. Bennett wasn't anyone known to them.

"Where are they hiding out?"

Irons shrugged. "Don't know. I'm only being paid for their meetings. Bennett will be at Bard’s annual Christmas party. I don't know if Roth will be there. He acted like he had other plans."

Like selling my research, the bastard...

"Then I suppose a meeting with Nathaniel Bard is in order," Wesker announced, sunglasses glinting under the fluorescents as he looked to William with a dark grin.

William returned his partner's smirk. "Yeah...It's party time."

(photo by IsmaelUchihaSan)

It was the perfect day for Jill to be off, or not have her shift until the evening anyway. Late morning, while Chris was stuck at the RPD, the girls enjoyed a light brunch and lattes at a quaint coffee shop before doing some last minute Christmas shopping.

Claire always enjoyed hanging out with the older woman. They had a lot in common and Claire was always learning something new with her company. She often found herself wondering if her oaf of a brother would ever romantically ask Jill out. It seemed like everyone could see it but them. Then again, perhaps they didn’t pursue their feelings because of their careers. Claire didn’t know the policies of STARS, but there might be restrictions there.

The two of them picked up Claire’s gift she had bought for Chris and took it over to Jill’s house. The box was tall and rectangular, about the size of a small adult. Though bulky, it wasn’t as heavy as it looked, and with each of them on one end, was able to carry it easily into the home.

They were greeted by Jill’s overly affectionate golden retriever, Bella. Claire flopped onto the floor to properly greet the fluffy, blond dog. Jill giggled at the sight.

“Hell of a guard dog, ain’t she?” Jill joked. “She’ll lick you to death.”

Better than getting my throat ripped out by Wesker’s dog…

Claire pushed aside that unpleasant memory and stood back up. Hard to believe that was only a few days ago. Her hand was already a lot better, but her ankle still hurt like a bitch.

They carried the box into Jill’s other bedroom that doubled as an office and home gym. The STARS Alpha member’s house was a three bedroom, two bath. She assumed the third bedroom was a guest room, but Claire wasn’t sure. Chris’s house was a bit bigger, with three bathrooms. They had their own in their bedrooms and then the guest bathroom in the hallway.

“Thanks for keeping this here for a bit, Jill.”

“No problem. I guess my home is the popular choice to hide gifts. Chris has yours here as well. I’m just waiting for Barry to ask to keep the girls’ gifts here, as if they don’t have enough space in that big house of theirs.”

“Well, you know how Moira is. She gets into everything. They can’t hide any gifts from her! She’s gonna be a handful as a teenager!”

They laughed and returned to the living room, Bella trailing behind them. Jill fetched them some water and the girls took a load off on the sofas.

“The punching bag was a good thought,” Jill declared. “I know Chris has been wanting one.”

Claire nodded, smiling as she watched Bella carry around her favorite plush duck toy. “Yeah. He’s been really wanting to start bulking up more. Although when we were playing on his guitar last night, I realized he needs a new toolkit for it. So I might have to go pick up one of those as well.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you play too. Why haven’t I got to see you play yet? I’ve watched Chris lots of times.”

Claire shrugged. “I guess we just never think about it when I'm visiting.” The Redfield siblings didn’t mind playing guitar in front of others, but they cherished playing together, reciting notes and melodies their father had played for them when they were young. “Chris told me you played piano? I need to see that!”

Claire didn’t get the piano at all. That was entirely different from the guitar.

Jill softly laughed. “Yeah. It’s ingrained from childhood. Had the meanest instructor ever. Chris jokes that playing the piano won’t ever do me any good, and suggests I learn something else.”

“He’s just jealous,” Claire joked.

Jill laughed at that. “He totally is. You know, I’m happy you two reconciled so quickly. Chris can be so stubborn sometimes.”

“He can be, but I’m not one to talk. Whatever you said to him, it must’ve worked. So thank you for that. I know he’s just trying to look out for me, but it gets old. I’m an adult and can take care of myself.”

The older woman furrowed her brows and shook her head. “It wasn’t me.”

“Huh? It wasn’t?”

“No, it was the Captain.”

Her heart flipped, twisting her lungs to where she choked on air before she could take a drink of her water. It took all in Claire’s power to keep a straight face and feign something catching in her throat. “I’m sorry?”

“The fight you two had upset Chris a lot, affected his performance when we were doing some training. I guess Wesker picked up on it. Apparently, they took a long lunch together, and the Captain helped Chris get his head straight. At least, that’s what Chris told me later.”

Claire was completely freaked out by that information but hid it, wiping her suddenly clammy hands on her pants. She drank half of her water in one gulp and squeezed the bottle so hard it crumpled in the middle.

“O-Oh, I figured it was you.”

“Not this time,” Jill answered. “But it wasn’t without a lack of trying. He just didn’t listen. Not until he had gone too far anyway, the ass. At least Wesker got through to him.”

“Yeah…” she cleared her throat and stood up. “Well, I should get going. I don’t want to take up all of your free time and I have some studying to do. Thanks for helping me pick that up and letting me hide it here.”

It was partially true. Claire didn’t want to take up all of Jill’s day off before she had to go in for night shift. But mostly the recent news had unsettled her and she needed to gather her thoughts on the matter.

Jill smiled, nodding as she patted Bella on the head as the retriever’s big brown eyes stared up at Claire with that duck still in her mouth, tail thumping hard on the hardwood floor.

“No problem, Claire.”

“Stay safe tonight, Jill.”

“You’re not on the schedule...again.”

Ada sighed, crossing her arms and looking at the guard like he was stupid. He was. “I know that. But that won’t matter. William will still see me.”

The guard shifted uncomfortably, studying her suspiciously and then glancing at his list again. “Dr. Birkin is an extremely busy man. He’s been doing important tests all day and asked me to not allow anyone but Mrs. Dr. Birkin and Dr. Wesker entry. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“I’m here on behalf of Albert. He’s busy at the police department currently. Just give him a ring and you’ll see.”

The guard hesitated, thinking and unsure. Clearly, he was scared to disturb his boss in the middle of his important work.

Ada smiled flirtatiously at him. “C’mon, Johnny. Help a girl out? It’s important.” She winked.

Johnny sighed. “Oh, alright.” He put a hand to his headset. “Dr. Birkin? I’m sorry to bother you, but Ms. Wong insists on seeing you. She says she’s here on behalf of Dr. Wesker.”

The spy didn’t miss how the camera up in the corner of the hallway turned down their way, aiming the attached machine gun right on their faces, blinking red light a far deadlier version of Candid Camera.

“Yes, sir. I understand. Will do,” Johnny said into his headpiece. He nodded at Ada and stepped aside. “You may enter. But please, keep it short. He has much to do.”

Ada waved him off. “Thanks, Johnny.”

She went through the automatic door, was sprayed down again, and strolled through the large, multi-room laboratory. She turned a corner, saw bright yellow and outstretched arms, and, on reflex, kicked the thing away from her.

“Ow!” came a muffled voice.

“Will, you idiot. Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Ada snapped.

The mad scientist pulled the hazmat suit’s helmet off, waddling over to the nearby safety station to strip it off and hang it up.

“I think that’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to scaring you!” William laughed.

Ada crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You didn’t scare me. You didn’t even startle me. You mildly annoyed me.”

“Ugh, you sound like Al. One day I will scare him. It’s on my bucket list. It might get me killed, but imma do it!”

The spy shook her head. “I don’t know about you sometimes.”

Birkin seemed extra...quirky today. He had an extra bounce in his step, grinning, humming as he left the safety station to his main desk. That’s when Ada noticed numerous empty energy drink cans and half a cup of cold, forgotten black coffee.

“How many of these have you had?” He did kind of look like one of those zombies Ada had seen being dissected in the Arklay lab, pale skin and dark circles under his eyes.

“Uhh…” he pondered, counting on his fingers as he twitched and quivered restlessly. “Five? I think?” He flopped down in his chair, shifting it side to side.

Ada leaned against his desk, glancing at the disorganized paperwork strewn about. Her sharp eyes caught many interesting and familiar things: G-Virus, Plant 43, Hunter Beta, Cerberus, NE-Alpha parasite, Lisa Trevor, T-Virus Epsilon. Then her eyes caught the interesting things that she had only seen once and was curious to find out more, now with associated words that intrigued her further: Prototype Virus, Project W, eugenics research, Progenitor, Ndipaya.

She had only a few seconds of absorbing these words before William snatched up the two papers that had anything on it. She watched him open his safe and put them inside, only accessible with a scan of his hand.

Ada acted like none of it interested her. “Five, huh? And how long have you been up, exactly? You look like shit. You smell like shit.”

William lifted his shirt and smelled. “I don’t know, when did Al and I go talk with Irons?"

“That was yesterday morning.”

“Oh...shit. Well, it’s been over 24 hours then.”

“I can tell.”

“So, how’d it go with Mueller?”

“As well as you’d expect. I’ve already relayed the info to Albert. Mueller won’t be a problem. In fact, he’s willing to help if it gets rid of Roth. I guess he feels scammed by the trade.”

William smirked, still swiveling slightly side to side in his chair. “I bet he does. Well, with Lowery no longer having a tongue and Irons and Bard put in their places, looks like we might be able to wrap this up by Christmas!”

Ada rapped her nails on the desk, frowning. “Albert told me the plan. Look, between you and me, I gotta ask...what’s the deal with him and Claire?”

Will chuckled. “What’s wrong? You jealous?”

“In your dreams. It’s just that...I mean, I don’t know the girl,” she lied. “But I thought he was just using her to get to Roth. Why have a fling with her? He doesn’t do that...at least not with just anyone.”

“You sure are a curious little kitty,” William half-joked, half-warned, leaning back in his chair. “What are you hoping to use this knowledge for?”

Ugh, she hated when he was an asshole. Then again, he was protecting Albert and so she should’ve known better. The spy sighed. “Fine. I’m just a little worried about Claire, alright? Can you blame me?”

She knew how Wesker worked. Claire was in way over her head. Didn’t matter how smart and strong she was. Despite being his type, she was still different than most and he did seem to have some kind of soft spot for her. And that is what both bothered and intrigued Ada.

“It’s not like you to worry about others like that. And I can blame you, actually. You got yourself tangled with Al. That’s on you.”

Ada bit her tongue. This wasn’t about her. “And poor Claire got tangled out of her control. C’mon, Will. I’ve helped you two a lot recently. Throw me a bone here. I deserve something in return.”

Will kept a straight face, thinking it over. Ada glared at him. Finally, the Golgotha creator grinned widely and leaned forward. Ada recognized the child-like delight, and knew he was about to spill the beans.

“Alright, alright! I think he has feelings for her.”

Ada laughed skeptically. “Whatever, Will! Tell me for real.”

She had to admit, she had thought something similar a few days ago when she spied Wesker nearly pinning Claire against his car. But she soon dismissed it. He definitely liked her and was attracted to her…but had feelings for her?! That was a little hard to believe.

“I do! He is obsessed, I’m telling you. The girl would’ve been dead a long time now had it been anyone else. He’s given her more chances than I’ve ever seen. He had the chance to pop her brother in the back without anyone knowing and didn’t do it! I don’t think he knows it himself, or he purposely keeps himself in denial, but...there’s something about her.”

Ada frowned, thinking it over. William had a point. All of Claire’s stunts to try and fight Albert should have ended with her dead a long time ago. And how her brother had been getting suspicious and snooping around, well, it should have ended the same with him by now.

“You think she reminds him of Anezka?” Ada asked.

Was that her name? Ada couldn’t really remember. She wasn’t around back then and had only heard all the different stories when she came here a couple of years ago.

“Nah...I mean they’re both redheads and feisty, but I don’t think that’s it. Anna jilted him, and besides being a little touchy over it, he’s moved on.”

“Is that really what happened?”

William shrugged. “I guess? No one really knows...not even Al.”

Ada wished she had been a fly on that wall when Anezka was still around. So many rumors and gossip about what happened. She practically disappeared, as though she was only a dream. But Albert remembered...resentfully. Ada knew him well enough that it wasn’t just his ego that got hurt. He actually had cared for her, and he hated that he did.

“Well, Albert’s given Claire all these chances to let her live. You think he will let her go when Roth is dealt with, as he has promised her?”

William scowled, leaning back in his chair. “What do you think?”

The double agent had no idea why, but her heart sank a little. As if she was hoping for something she knew better of. And here she thought her line of work had snuffed out all remaining optimism in her life.

“He won’t kill her. I guarantee it,” William boasted. “As obsessed and possessive he already is of her, she’s stuck. There will be conditions he gives her. I’m sure you know what those would be.”

“You sound happy about that,” Ada pointed out.

He shrugged, but the slight upcurve of his lips gave him away. “I like the girl. Sherry adores her. She’s proven to be quite resourceful and clever. She’ll be handy to have around. Besides, if Al actually has feelings for her, I gotta see where it goes! The geneticist in me really hopes he knocks her up.”

It may have sounded like a dark joke, but Ada knew the lunatic genius was dead serious. “I’m really disturbed by how obsessed you are with your best friend’s love and sex life.”

“I’m just looking out for him!”

Ada would never understand Wesker and William’s relationship. One of life’s greatest mysteries. But what was also another mystery still was why Wesker had feelings for Claire.

Was she the next Anezka?

She parked right down the road. It was already nearly dark, but at least the temperature hadn’t dropped too much. Claire stuck to the recently salted sidewalks, hands stuffed in her parka. Her heart pounded in her throat, and her mind raced with what he could want this time.

Wesker called her while she was waiting for Chris to get off work, summoning her to his house for an “important discussion”. She was anxious for two reasons. One, the last time she saw Wesker just a couple nights ago, they had sex. And two, after learning from Jill that Wesker was the one who dealt with Chris, she wasn’t sure what that meant for her or her brother.

She was queasy, butterflies in her stomach, but she wasn’t about to lose her cool. More than anything, she feared her body would betray her once more, a dark excitement coursing through her blood.

Upon reaching Wesker’s house, Claire spotted a vehicle she didn’t recognize in his driveway. She didn’t get too close to it, but it looked like a ruby-colored Porsche Boxster. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or not about not being alone with the STARS Captain, but she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell anyway.

After a minute of silence, anticipation eating at her, the door opened. Her heart skipped when those familiar grey-blue eyes and dark smirk greeted her. Her stomach twisted, but Claire couldn’t tell whether it was from disgust or excitement.

“Good evening, Claire,” he purred. He stepped aside to allow her entry. “Please do come in. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped inside. “Thanks.”

He shut the door while she looked around. Odin padded over and sniffed her, docked tail wagging slightly. But she didn’t see anyone who could’ve owned the car outside.

Wesker’s hands brushed up her back. The bad thing was Claire realized she didn’t blench this time. No, this time she shivered in pleasure. She inwardly scolded herself as he took her coat off to hang by the door.

“We have much to discuss, dear heart,” he said, one muscular arm locking around her waist and pulling her deeper inside the house.

That’s when the younger Redfield saw a familiar face come into the living room from the kitchen, carrying a full glass of red wine. She nearly blurted Ada’s name, surprised, but quickly bit her tongue, hiding any reaction. Wesker didn’t know that she and Ada had already met personally. And it needed to stay that way.

“I sure hope you weren’t saving that malbec wine for a special occasion, Albert. I helped myself,” Ada said. When her eyes landed on Claire, she was the perfect actress. There was no recognition, no subtle signs given to Claire. “Is this her?”

“The one and only,” Wesker affirmed.

Ada took a long sip of her wine and sat it down on a coaster on the center table before walking over to them. Wesker stepped away while the double agent looked Claire over, one arm crossed and one hand on her chin as she thought. She walked around Claire and even grabbed her arms and lifted them and spun her around.

“Hmm...Yes, I can definitely work with this.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Claire grumbled. Ada spun her around again and grabbed at her hair. “Hey! What’s the big idea?!”

“Hold still, hun.”

Ada withdrew a tailor tape measurer. She measured Claire’s waist, chest, and height, even her arms and legs. Afterwards, she yanked Claire’s ponytail out and felt through her tresses.

“What are you doing?” Claire snapped.

“Taking measurements,” Ada replied. “Trying to figure out what to do with your hair.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain later,” Wesker stated. His Doberman sat at his side, head cocked curiously as Ada got handsy with her measurements.

“Okay, finished,” Ada announced, rolling up her tape and putting it in her pocket. She retrieved her wine and took another drink. “I’ll have something ready by tomorrow.”

“What ready?” Claire demanded. “What’s going on?”

Wesker’s lips barely curled upward. “Oh, where are my manners? Claire, this is an associate of mine, Ada Wong. She originally was to pick you up at the university. Ada, you know Claire, I’ve told you all about her.”

The Eurasian beauty dipped her head. “Charmed.” Still completely in character, although Claire now saw something subtle in her eyes as she stared at Claire. Perhaps a warning? Or just acknowledgement?

“You too...I guess,” Claire said.

Wesker chuckled, catching their attention. “You do not have to pretend to be strangers on my account, ladies. I know you’re well acquainted.”

Claire ground her jaw, glaring at him. Ada didn’t even flinch, expressionless. Taking another sip of her wine, she shrugged.

“Can’t pull the wool over your eyes, can I Albert?”

“Oh come now, Ada, don’t be that way,” Wesker teased. He obviously sensed something from her that Claire didn’t. He stepped around the agent’s back and, besides her tensing barely, she didn’t look disconcerted. “You knew the risks when you decided to meet Claire behind my back.”

Ada didn’t say anything to that. Wesker’s dark grin grew a bit more.

“I’m quite curious of your intentions. You’re not the jealous type. And you’re not one to have concern for others. So why so curious about Claire? I know this has nothing to do with what Sergei asked of you.”

Jealous type? Claire glanced between them, not sure what kind of undertones she was reading here. She was missing something, that’s for sure. She could only infer that Wesker was gauging Ada for something.

“I was just curious what you saw in her, I guess,” Ada dismissed calmly.

Cool under pressure. Just like the man testing her.

“And did you figure it out?”

Ada’s eyes locked with Claire’s. “I think so.”

Wesker’s soft chuckle told them he didn’t believe her one bit. “You and William should give up trying to find something that isn’t there.”

Ada didn’t have to say anything. Her smile told it all. She was pleased somehow, as though she read deeper into Wesker’s words somehow. Claire wished she would tell her the secret. And also shake this weird feeling in her chest.

“Am I going to get filled in here on why she needed to take my measurements?” Claire grumbled.

“Yes, my apologies,” Wesker admitted, his full attention on her now, and the younger woman regretted saying anything. “Ada, you may go now. I’ll fill Claire in…” He smirked.

Oh god. Did he just…? Her stomach pitched and rolled. She knew what would happen once Ada left them alone. In his house. It was an instant body verses mind battle.

Ada shrugged and walked away. Claire never wanted someone to stay and leave all at once before. But the Eurasian woman plopped down on one of the leather sofas instead, resuming drinking her wine. Odin left his master’s side to plant himself in front of her, as if expecting Ada to give him attention now that she was sitting down. Claire released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Wesker scowled. “Or…make yourself at home.”

“I will,” Ada answered nonchalantly. “I’m not about to let this delicious wine go to waste.” She made a show of swishing the red liquid around in her glass. The wine complimented her burgundy fingernails.

Claire caught the agent’s honey brown eyes as she looked right at her while sipping from her lipstick-stained glass, a coded message for her. You’re welcome…

Claire swallowed mixed feelings and glared at the STARS Captain. “So what exactly are you making me do this time?”

“Relax dear heart, it’s nothing you’re a stranger to. We’re going to attend a party.”

His stereotypical college girl jab aside, it sounded easy enough. But Claire knew better. Whatever kind of party it was, with Wesker involved, there would be danger, deception, and death at every angle…

Claire stared at the mirror, stunned. She wasn’t one to get dressed up, not this fancy anyway. Her red-brown hair was pulled up into messy curls with a few tresses hanging around her face. She had more make-up on than what she was used to. The jade-colored halter dress complimented her hair, eyes, and heels. She was only in the shoes for less than half an hour and her feet were already cramping. How did women wear these things all day?

The two assistants Ada had helping her with Claire were finally finished and departed from the big, spotless, and up-to-date bathroom. They were in Wesker’s living quarters in NEST. The younger Redfield tried not to think about what happened the last time she was here. Wesker and William awaited them in the very same room where she and Wesker fornicated, only having arrived a bit ago while Claire was still being made over.

Ada looked her over one last time, one final judgment for approval. Claire didn’t say anything. She really wanted out of this bathroom, but at the same time, she wasn’t ready for the next step.

Apparently, the crooked STARS Captain had meticulously planned tonight. Chris and Jill were working graveyard shifts while he was off and Claire had to tell her brother that she might would have to stay the night at William’s house babysitting Sherry if her parents had to work all night. All the chess pieces were in place so far. Bard’s Christmas party would last well into the night, and depending on how it played out, they might be there awhile. She could only hope nothing went wrong and would get to return home tonight.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Claire. There’s no doubt about that,” Ada said finally.

“T-Thanks.” She wasn’t expecting a compliment from the older woman.

She looked in the mirror again, distracted. This was a little too much for her, but she had to blend in with the other guests at the party.

“I won’t be surprised if Albert takes you home with him tonight after the party.”

Claire blushed, taken off guard, a near panic in her chest only broken by blood rushing like electricity through her veins. She turned to the double agent, holding her breath. Ada sounded so sure as she looked Claire over. As if she knew something the younger Redfield didn’t. Surely, Ada didn’t know…

“I know what happened between you two,” Ada admitted, reading her mind.

“He,” Claire started to blame her captor, but stopped. Could she honestly say it knowing she had decided to do it? Wesker may have manipulated her into wanting to, but she still chose it all her own, no matter how much she wanted to deny it.

“He what?”

She shook her head. “…Nothing.”

“I told you he always gets what he wants, didn’t I? He’ll make you want it, too. That tongue of his is far more deadly than any weapon he has on him. You have no idea how way in over your head you are, Claire.”

The college student glared at the Eurasian beauty. Was she serious right now?! “You’ve got it all wrong! It was just a one time fling. And as far as the rest of my situation goes, I think I’ve been doing pretty damn good considering!”

Ada sighed. “You’re clever, strong, and resourceful. You’ve handled yourself impressively this past week, but that’s partly why Albert’s so infatuated with you.”

Claire frowned, not sure what to say to that.

“Albert’s hardwired to manipulate and take advantage of anyone and anything he can. You give him an inch and he’ll hook his claws so deep in you, there’s no escape. You gave him way more than that.”

“So what? I’m trapped forever now? Is that what you’re saying?” Dread seized in her chest.

Ada looked to the door, as if suddenly paranoid Wesker and William could be listening in and slightly lowered her voice. “I don’t know. Look…yes, he’s using you to take care of Roth in exchange for your freedom, but William and I suspect that Albert may have developed…”

“What?” Claire urged when the agent trailed off.

Ada quickly shook her head, frowning. “Never mind. Just…keep your head. Do what you must to get Roth where Albert wants him for you and your brother’s freedom. Albert’s got a soft spot for you, he’ll likely keep his word if you’re good. As far as this affair is concerned, I cannot help you. That’s your business. My only advice is that you be careful.”

Soft spot? Where the hell was she getting that? There was nothing soft about that man. Then again, she and William, two people who knew Wesker best, kept saying that, so it had to be true to some degree.

Claire wanted to tell Ada that there wasn’t an “affair”. It was a one time slip up, a mistake, it wouldn’t happen ever again. But she couldn’t even believe herself, so there was no way she would convince the double agent.

“Ok…thank you, Ada. For everything.”

Ada exhaled through a small frown. “Don’t thank me just yet…” She turned, walking for the door and motioning for the younger Redfield to follow her. “C’mon, we have a party to get to.”

Claire inhaled deeply, gathering herself, and followed her out of the bathroom. They came into the den, where Wesker and William sat across from each other on the leather sofas talking. They were dressed in posh black suits. Claire berated herself for goggling Wesker. The bastard was so damn attractive anyway, but that suit was hot! She couldn’t believe how much it actually affected her seeing him in that outfit.

The men noticed them and stood up, but their eyes immediately went to Claire. She suddently felt exposed. William’s jaw dropped and he ogled too. The smirk that slowly grew on Wesker’s face as he took off his sunglasses to look Claire over was wicked. More so, it was hungry. He popped William’s mouth shut without taking his eyes off of Claire and closed in like a predator about to sink its teeth into its coveted prey. His eyes entrapped her, an instant, breath-taking spell, and then she was hungry too, felt it spreading through every inch of her body like wildfire.

Ada was right…Wesker would be taking her home with him tonight. And nothing was going to stop him.

#resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil 2 #Albert Wesker #Claire Redfield #clairexwesker #claire x wesker #William Birkin #Chris Redfield #chris x jill #Jill Valentine #Ada Wong #fanfiction #fanfic #My writing #archive of our own

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