#I tried to do a more cell shady type thing but went back to my regular painty when i struggled to get the shadows to play nice :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Note

I love your last fic so much it got me thinking could you write something about like the gallaghers( +Kev and v and sandy etc) observing Ian and Mickey’s relationship? Like their perspectives of seeing them be soft with each other and just their dynamic? I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense lol <3

hiiiii anon!<3 okay i want to start off by saying that this got WAY too long, bc i loved this prompt a lot- so much that i think i might make this a multi-part thing on ao3! i started with sandy (since i am in love with her) but i’ll also go through the gallaghers/kev & v soon- lmk if u guys want me to continue, and who u would want me to write next if i do (or if u want me to continue with sandy lol i have lots of thoughts and feelings)

this ended up taking place in s10 when we first meet sandy, fyi:) also tw for brief mentions of abuse (as always, bc of terry 🙄) -- and there is a reference to the line in 10x07 that jokes about mickey and sandy for a brief moment

When Sandy heard her phone buzz on that Tuesday afternoon, sitting on the stained and lumpy couch in her shithead uncle’s living room while drinking a beer and arguing with Alek about what type of insurance fraud could make the biggest payout, she had no idea what to expect on the other end of the line. The phone kept ringing, the contact info lighting up the screen: MICKEY.

Mickey? Shit. It had been a long fucking time. Between her own various juvie stints as a kid and Mickey’s time behind bars overlapping just as she got released, Sandy hadn’t seen Mickey since… high school, maybe? Whenever it was, it was back when Mickey was a grimy kid with spikey hair and dirty fingernails, a kid with an obsession with guns and way too much time on his hands, back when they would hang out by the train tracks and drink beer and get way too high and do stupid shit; all in all, back when everything was a hell of a lot simpler. Sandy assumed Mickey had met Royal and been clued in about her shitshow of a life at some point while she’d been gone, and they’d possibly overlapped at a family party or two a few years ago when they both were in town— but other than hearing about the aftershocks of Mickey coming out and driving Terry up a goddamn wall, so much so that Terry broke his parole and was headed straight back to prison hours after his release, Sandy hadn’t seen Mickey in forever.

Which is why this call intrigued her so much— Mickey was supposed to be in prison for at least a couple more years, or at least that’s what his brothers had said, so why the fuck was he using a cell phone right now?

Sandy nodded her head towards the cellphone, cutting Alek off mid-sentence and sliding her thumb across the screen to pick up the call. Before saying anything, she rose off the creaky springs of the couch and speedwalked out to the front porch before answering— whatever the fuck Mickey wanted, she assumed he was calling her because this conversation wasn’t for the ears of any other Milkoviches. She lit a cigarette and leaned against the post of the front stoop, listening to the silence hanging heavy on her phone’s speaker.

“Mickey? You there?”

A low chuckle came from the other end of the line.

“Fuck. Been a long time.” Mickey’s voice sounded the same; punchy and snarky, maybe a little gruffer and raspier after years of cigarette smoke. Sandy waited a moment for Mickey to give more of a reply, or an explanation for his call, but it was clear that Mickey wasn’t going to give one right away— it was like he was testing the waters, like he was deciding if making this call was the right move. Soft static echoed on the phone line.

Sandy totally got it— reemerging from a life of cinderblock cell walls and barbed wire fences fucking sucked, especially when you were a Milkovich and the moment you got out you were faced with a choice, an opportunity: did you want to go back home, or did you want to start fresh, erase your own name, and forget this dysfunctional family ever existed? Sandy knew she felt the same way when she got out. Mickey deciding to call Sandy was a big fucking move, and she realized that— reclaiming your life as a Milkovich on the brink of a new beginning took guts.

“So, I take it you’re out of prison?” Sandy asked after a moment, inhaling another slow puff of her cigarette.

There was that laugh again— Sandy had weirdly missed it. Honestly, Mickey hadn’t ever been too bad to be around— they’d both felt like outsiders in the family, had both always had a strong head on their shoulders and a fucking moral compass, unlike the rest of Terry’s sheep who did his bidding and got swastikas tattooed on their chest. When he was younger Mickey used to follow Terry and his older brothers around like a lost puppy, and he even got those fucking knuckle tats—but later in high school, Sandy remembered seeing something deep snap inside him, bleeding out in “STAY THE FUCK OUT” and “FUCK LOVE” signs taped onto his bedroom walls. At the time she thought it was the fucked-up shit with Terry and Mandy driving him up a wall— but now she realized the constant bombardment of homophobia, coupled with the cuts and bruises blooming on his cheeks and the cigarette burn scars on his arms, must have been signs of Mickey realizing the rude awakening that was inevitably going to come if he wanted to be who he was. Sandy couldn’t even imagine— no one really gave a shit who she fucked, and her cousins didn’t know anything about her sex life—but she couldn’t fathom being Terry’s son, the pride and joy of the Milkovich clan, and needing to outwardly admit those deeper parts of herself.

“Yup, I’m free to join civilization as of this morning. Overcrowding or some shit.” Sandy could hear Mickey also taking a drag of a cigarette on the other end of the line. She smirked to herself. Guess we both didn’t break the Milkovich nicotine addiction.

“So, uh, listen,” Mickey continued, and Sandy immediately knew he was in deep shit if she was the one he was calling to ask for a favor. “I’m in a bit of a… situation. Don’t wanna go into too many specifics, but there might be a massive fucking Mexican cartel after me right now.”

Sandy barked out a laugh before she could help herself. Fucking Mickey. “Oh yeah? Sounds like you’re feeling thrilled to be a free man again.”

Mickey chuckled again. “Fuck you. But hey, d’you think you can bring my shit by to me, so I don’t have to stop by the house and get fucking killed? You don’t gotta rush or whatever, just didn’t wanna show my face quite yet.”

Sandy could feel all the unsaid things wrapped in the way Mickey’s sentence ended. Didn’t want to show his face quite yet because of this cartel bullshit, or because of Terry? She decided it didn’t really matter— Mickey was a good guy, she could spend an hour or so rounding up his shit and bringing it to him if that’s what he needed.

“Got it.” She blew out more smoke, watching it curl and drift over the wasteland of the front yard on a gust of summer air.

Mickey cleared his throat, like he was gearing up to say more. When he spoke, his voice was softer around the edges, more genuine than before.

“I’m, uh. I’m sure you heard everything about me while I was gone. About Terry flipping his shit. Probably not the best idea for me to come around the house quite yet—my brothers n’ I haven’t really talked much since then either.” He paused, inhaling another drag of his cigarette. “I figured you’d get it. And hey, if you can bring the stuff by, I’d love to hear all the badass shit you’ve been up to the past few years.”

Sandy nearly winced—yeah, if by “badass shit” you mean getting forcibly married to a douchebag and then couch surfing for months— but she tried to keep her shit together for Mickey’s sake. She stubbed out her cigarette on the railing of the porch, straightening from where she was leaning.

“I’ve got it Mickey, don’t worry about it. Where are you right now, anyways?”

She could hear the hint of relief bleeding into Mickey’s voice when he replied. “I’m at the Gallagher house? The grey one by the tracks.”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “I was in jail for a couple of years Mickey, not braindead. I know where the Gallagher house is.”

Mickey huffed out a breath, but there wasn’t any sharpness in it. “Excuse me for tryin’ to be helpful, smartass.”

“Why the fuck are you there, anyways?”

“I’m, uh, crashing with my partner for now. Ian?”

Holy shit, Mickey was still fucking Ian Gallagher? Sandy had pieced together that Ian was the reason Mickey came out months after getting married to some Russian bitch, and according to Iggy the whole reason Mickey went to jail in the first place was some love-crazed revenge plot on Ian’s behalf— but since getting locked up Mickey hadn’t kept in touch with anyone, other than a shady-as-fuck message to his brothers after he’d busted out of prison letting everyone know that he was in Mexico, despite getting thrown back into jail in Chicago a couple months later. Sandy didn’t really know the details, and she especially didn’t know anything about Mickey’s love life— but it was wild as fuck that someone as unsettled and ruthless and batshit crazy as Mickey could’ve been with the same person all this time, especially someone as seemingly bland as Ian Gallagher. Huh. Wonder if I’ll get to see Ian.

“Got it. I’ll round up your shit and bring it by the Gallagher house later today. And don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know you called til you’re ready.”

Mickey exhaled on the other end of the line. “There shouldn’t be much, just check the drawers or whatever. “

Sandy knew for a fact that most of Mickey’s lingering possessions had probably been taken, sold, or thrown out by a zealously homophobic Terry by now, but she wasn’t going to say as much to Mickey over the phone.

“I’m on it. See you in a couple hours.”

“Hey, Sandy?” Mickey blew out a long breath, and this time Sandy couldn’t tell if it was because he was still smoking or because he was riding a wave of relief, releasing the floodgates of anxiousness he’d been holding in the whole conversation. “Thanks. I fuckin’ owe you one.”

Sandy smirked. Maybe Mickey being let out of jail early was a good thing, despite how fucked his whole situation seemed— maybe, for once, someone in her family would be fun to be around, wouldn’t set her teeth on edge every two seconds by making a racist comment or forcing her to be something she wasn’t.

“I’ll text you when I’m almost at your love nest.”

She imagined Mickey’s grin as he replied. “Fuck you. See ya soon.”

After scraping through every rickety dresser drawer in Terry’s house for nearly an hour, Sandy could barely come up with anything that was reportedly Mickey’s: a couple of tattered shirts, an impressively overused-looking bong, and a single sneaker she’d left behind because she couldn’t find the other one. She threw it all in some shitty burlap rucksack she’d found on one of the bedroom floors, assuming no one would miss it— it dawned on her that maybe her cousins were lying, and some of the other stuff in the house was still Mickey’s, but she’d collected what she could based on the whispered directions Alek and Iggy had given her when Terry was out of the room.

Sandy unlocked her phone, and typed a quick message to Mickey. “Out front.”

Mickey’s reply came quickly, and Sandy noticed the front curtains rustling on the top floor of the Gallagher house.

“Coming down”

The front door creaked open, and Mickey walked out onto the front porch. He looked good; he looked cleaner, sure, but also like a fucking adult—like he’d grown into himself, like he actually carried himself with confidence instead of just pretending to. He nodded his chin up at Sandy in acknowledgement.

“Long time no see.” He smirked, leaning on the banister. “You make a good delivery service. All those hauls we did with Terry must’ve been good training.”

Sandy lazily walked up the front steps, reaching the bag out in front of her for Mickey to take. “Here’s all the shit I could find. It’s not much.”

Mickey jerked his head to the open door behind him. “You wanna come in for a sec?”

Sandy grinned. Why the fuck not. “Sure."

So that was how she found herself perched on what was presumably Ian Gallagher’s bed, watching Mickey ruffle through the burlap bag, his brows furrowed as he realized just how much of his shit was actually gone.

“This everything?”

“As much as I could find.”

They comfortably chatted back and forth about how everyone was— Sandy decided to divulge the fact that Mickey’s brothers were idiots who tried to crawl in bed with her every night, which is something that she had to joke about so she didn’t go fucking insane sleeping under the same roof as them.

“Fuck ‘em, chop their nuts off next time they try it.”

Sandy smirked. Finally, a decent fucking relative. She made some hollow joke about staying with Mickey, alluding to the extra-shitty night decades ago when their cousins had forced them to make out when they were way too high on something.

“Or I could stay here with you. Have fun like we did when we were kids.”

“You know that’s fucked up, right? We’re fucking cousins!”

“Plus he’s taken.” A voice came from around the corner.

Ian Gallagher looked bigger, taller, and more solid than Sandy remembered; he was definitely miles away from the scrawny kid with the bangs who worked at the Kash N Grab that Sandy and her cousins endlessly used to fuck with in middle school. Ian’s shoulders were wide, his body imposing in the tiny room; immediately, Mickey’s aggravated stance softened when Ian walked in, wrapped in a towel from the waist down.

“Oh right, you.” Sandy grinned as Ian hunched over the bed and grabbed his deodorant from the nightstand.

Mickey had turned back to the bag of clothes. “Hey, I had shampoo and shit, is there soap anywhere?”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “You’ve been gone for years, you think your brothers would save that shit for you?” she bit out— and okay, maybe she was a little pissed at Mickey’s brothers for the constant-sexual-assault thing.

Ian just applied his deodorant and leaned in close to Mickey as he passed by the bed towards the doorframe. “You can use mine. We’ll hit Costco later, I’m getting paid.”

It was stupid, but Sandy felt something soft pang in her chest at Ian’s words; it was just now that she was realizing it, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen someone take care of Mickey before, or so… automatically factor Mickey’s needs into a situation. Being a Milkovich was all about scrounging and scraping, and guarding what little you had; a Milkovich would never let someone use their fucking soap just because they cared about them, or not as an immediate reaction anyways.

“Nah, I can’t, man. PO texted me when you were in the shower, he’s got a job for me.”

Ian kept looking at Mickey from where he was leaning in the doorway. “Then give me a list of shit you need, and I’ll pick it up for you,” Ian said in an overly simple tone, like he was mocking the fact that Mickey didn’t realize Ian would run an errand for him.

Sandy smirked. Jesus, Gallagher is whipped.

“Isn’t that cute, little domestic bitches,” Sandy crooned before she could help herself.

Ian stepped into the room again and leaned in towards Mickey, pressing a kiss to Mickey’s cheek while Mickey aggressively tried to uncrumple one of the pile of shirts from the bag.

“Mm, thank you,” Ian said in reply, his voice muffling as he smushed his face closer to Mickey’s.

Mickey instantly smiled smugly as Ian’s lips pressed against his cheek—then he noticed Sandy was staring, so he flipped her off and smiled even wider. What the fuck? Sure, Mickey had flipped Sandy off, but he was practically fucking beaming in a way that Sandy had never seen. God, wonder if I’ll find this shit someday.

Ian detached himself from Mickey and walked out of the room, Mickey’s eyes lingering on his torso. Once Ian had turned the corner Mickey snapped back to attention, fixing his eyes back onto the small mountain of clothes spread on the bed in front of him. Mickey lifted the bong off the bedsheets, and met Sandy’s gaze.

“You have to go, or d’you wanna hang for a bit? I don’t have to be at work for a couple hours, and it’s gonna suck enough that I should probably be high before I get there.”

Sandy grinned. “Hell yeah, I’m down.”

They sat on the rickety back steps of the Gallagher house, silently taking hits and passing the bong back and forth. It had been years since they’d been in the same space, but Sandy and Mickey easily sank into a comfortable silence, passively surrounded by the shrieks of kids playing across the alleyway and the bubbling of water as they inhaled. Mickey blew smoke out of his nose, then sat back so he was leaning against the banister and passed the glass pipe to Sandy.

“So,” Sandy started as she held the lighter to the bong and inhaled deeply. “Ian Gallagher.”

Mickey huffed out a laugh. “Yup. That’s some Romeo and Juliet shit for ya.”

Sandy smirked as she exhaled. “You really fucking love him, huh?”

Mickey eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly as he looked towards her. “Yeah. Guess I do.” He took the bong from Sandy’s outstretched hand. “Took me forever to get shit straight with him, though.”

Ah. So their road to domestic bliss wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. Sandy’s curiosity was growing.

“Because of shit with Terry?”

Mickey stiffened, coughing a bit as he exhaled smoke, like Sandy’s question caught him off guard. “Shit. Yeah. That too. Let’s just say there were lots of fucking ups and downs, and we both had a lot of shit to unpack.”

Sandy snickered. “You sound like a fucking couples therapist.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “If you wanna see couples therapy, I should tell you about the months me and Ian were sharing a fucking cell. We nearly ripped each other’s heads off. We literally stabbed someone so one of us might get sent to fucking solitary.”

Sandy’s laughter grew. “Are you fucking serious?”

Mickey grinned, and passed the bong back to Sandy again. “Fuck. Yeah. I fucking love him, though. He’s fucking crazy, and I still can’t let him go.” Mickey looked off into the distance across the alleyway, and either the weed was really hitting him right now, or he was being a very sappy motherfucker.

Sandy nudged Mickey’s knee. “You guys are cute together.” Mickey’s eyebrows raised when he heard the word “cute,” and Sandy quickly tried to rephrase. “Not cute, but y’know. Good for each other. You seem happy. Happy is... good.”

Mickey nodded pensively. “How’re you doing, anyways?”

Sandy shrugged noncommittally. “Eh. We can talk about me another time. How the fuck did you and Ian end up sharing a jail cell, anyways?”

Mickey let out a throaty laugh. “I heard Gallagher was getting locked up when I was down south, so I essentially pulled some strings and fucking snitched on the cartel I was working for. Hauled my ass back up here so we could be together.”

Holy fuck. Sandy’s jaw nearly dropped. “Mickey, you’re batshit crazy.” She shoved him squarely in the chest this time. “Are you fucking serious?! You evaded the feds, were living in Mexico, and you came back for Ian Gallagher?”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, placing the bong on the steps. “I can’t explain it, man. I just didn’t wanna be anywhere else, I guess.”

Sandy leaned back onto the banister. “Shit.” She paused for a moment, wondering if she should ask the next question. “Do you… want me to tell anyone you’re back?”

Mickey glanced over at her, his eyes alert. “Nah. Not yet. That okay with you?”

Sandy nodded. “Of course.” Mickey pulled out his phone, checking the time and presumably looking for a distraction from tiptoeing around talking about Terry— but Sandy had to tell him, had to let him know one more thing.

“Hey, Mickey?”

Mickey looked up. “Yeah?”

“I don’t really know the details of what went down with Terry, or whatever— but I just wanted to let you know that… if you ever wanna come home, I’m on your side. No questions asked. And I think a lot of the others are, too.”

The corner of Mickey’s mouth ticked upward. “Thanks.”

Sandy stood, checking her phone and zipping her leather jacket. “Well, I’d probably let you sober up a bit before your big parolee first day of work.”

Mickey raised a middle finger up to her from where he was seated, but then rose to stand.

“Thanks for comin’ by. And hey—you’re free to crash here anytime. There’s a million fucking kids running around all the time, but there’s always a couch or something open if everyone at home’s giving you too much shit.”

Sandy felt something warm growing in her chest. It had been a long fucking time since someone offered to take care of her, just because they could, just because they wanted to— maybe being a Milkovich wasn’t half bad. Maybe there were some good ones.

Sandy nodded in acknowledgement, and turned to walk down the creaky back steps. Wow. If Sandy was sure of one thing right now, it was that Mickey really, really fucking loved Ian Gallagher.

#also this goes without saying but i am not acknowledging the inc*st jokes as things that actually happened #bc that makes me!! wildly uncomfortable!!! lmao #but that being said hope y’all enjoyed this :)#gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #sandy milkovich #gallavich fic

98 notes · View notes

envision-fandom · 3 years

Text

Evolve pt.2

Isaac Lahey fanfiction

Reader x Isaac Lahey

Prompt - This fanfiction is based loosely off of Teen Wolf Season 2, where Isaac first becomes a werewolf. You are new to Beacon Hills High School and you can’t help but develop a crush on your Chemistry partner. But how will your relationship evolve, once your crush is bitten by Derek and becomes a werewolf?

You couldn’t believe Isaac was a suspect for his own fathers murder. You were so shocked at the news, that you didn’t even question how Scott had found out. You went to school the next day and was even more surprised to find out that Isaac had broken out of the Sheriff’s station and was now a wanted fugitive. You couldn’t help but wonder if this all connected to that suspicious guy who had spoken to Boyd at the ice rink.

Who was he and why was Isaac hanging around with him? It was all to curious. Both Isaac and Erica had both suddenly turned into two completely different people and they were somehow connected to this Hale guy? And Boyd was still missing, after speaking to them all? And now Isaac’s father was murdered and Isaac had somehow managed to breakout of a jail cell?

You had too many thoughts to process, so you decided to speak to your friends about your concerns. As soon as you mentioned Derek Hale approaching Boyd, they were instantly concerned, which just confirmed your suspicions more. They all huddled around and made plans to visit Boyd at the ice rink. He was supposed to be working tonight. You offered to go with them, but they instantly turned you down, which made you even more suspicious.

You knew there was something your friends had been hiding from you and you were certain it all lead to this Derek Hale guy. You decided to follow after them and go to the ice rink yourself.

You arrived at the ice rink early and decided to confront Boyd first. He was cleaning the ice and it took him a while to notice you were there “What are you doing here Y/N?” He asked, looking slightly concerned.

“Are you serious?” You question, “I’m here to check up on my friend, who hasn’t been bothered to reply to any of my calls or texts!” You took in a large breath before continuing “Some suspicious guy comes to see you late at night and then I don’t hear from you! You didn’t even bother to come to school! Both Isaac and Erica have begun acting strangely and now you! What has Derek Hale done to you all?!” You begin to ease up, wanting to show your concern “Is he threatening you?” You question.

Boyd finally looks you in the eye “He’s not threatening us Y/N. He’s helping us.” He finally admits.

“Boyd, Derek isn’t helping you, he’s using you!” Scott's voice suddenly calls across the rink. You spin around to see your friends standing behind you.

They all approach you, and begin surrounding you. It was as if they were protecting you from Boyd for some reason. Scott continued speaking to Boyd, until another voice cut him off.

“I’m not using him Scott.” You turn and peer over Stile’s shoulder. Derek Hale was walking across the ice, followed by Erica and to your surprise Isaac.

You found yourself drowning out Derek’s next words, your main focus on Isaac. His eyes met yours and your heart instinctively began to beat out of control. A mix of emotions passed through you. You couldn’t help but feel this strong attraction towards Isaac, even through the fear and confusion. ‘He could have murdered his father!’ Your mind kept screaming the same thing over and over, but your heart wouldn’t listen. It yearned for Isaac.

You finally snapped back to reality at the mention of your name “I will take her home.” Isaac says, crossing his arms across his chest and turning to face Scott.

“Who? Me?” You blurt out, cursing yourself for zoning out at the conversation at hand.

Isaac lets out a sigh, before finally making eye contact with you “Yes, you.” He says with a bored tone.

“Wait a minute.” You interrupt, “I’m not going anywhere! I’m here to talk to my friend. If anyone should be leaving, it should be you!” You gesture towards Isaac irritably “You’re literally a fugitive!”

He lets out a dark laugh “Yeah, well, you’re just a human!” He retorts and you gaze at him in confusion. What was that supposed to mean?

Before you can question Isaac, Derek suddenly interrupts “That’s enough!” He glares at Issac and to your surprise you visibly see Isaac step back slightly. Was he frightened of Derek?

Derek swivels around suddenly and addresses Stiles “You. Get her out of here.” He then turns to face Scott “We have some business to attend to.”

Just as you were about to argue further, Boyd suddenly speaks up “Y/N, it’s okay. Go home and I will speak to you at school tomorrow.”

You look towards you friend “So you’re coming back to school?” You question and he nods in reply “And you’ll tell me everything that’s being going on with you?”

He stutters over his reply “Y-yes.”

You were convinced that there was some shady business going on between your friends and Derek Hale. But if Boyd promised to tell you what was happening, for the moment it was the best you could hope for.

You let out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll speak to you tomorrow. But also text me when you get home so I know you’re safe?”

Boyd smiles at you and nods. You smile back towards him and suddenly Stile’s arm is around your shoulder “Come on Y/N, I’ll take you home.”

You look up at Stiles and gently shrug off his arm “That’s okay. My car is in the car park, so I’ll drive myself home.” You smile towards the rest of your friends “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

They all say goodbye, except for Scott who is too busy staring daggers at Derek. You walk straight past Isaac, not even bothering to look in his direction, but as you drove home, your mind was uncontrollably filled with thoughts of him.

Could he really have murdered his own father? How could he have escaped from his jail cell? And why was everyone so unconcerned about him showing up at the ice rink with Derek? Was anyone going to report seeing him to the police? Should you report it?

You pulled your phone out of your pocket at a stop sign and typed in 911. Your thumb hovered over the call button, but for some unknown reason you couldn’t bring yourself to press it. Except it wasn’t unknown. Deep down, you knew that the reason you couldn’t report seeing Isaac to the police, was because you were in love with him. You were in love with Isaac Lahey. A suspected murder.

At school the next day, there were so many questions you had for both Boyd and your friends. You had planned to corner them all at lunch and force them to speak to you, but to your annoyance, they somehow all managed to avoid you. This just made you more suspicious and honestly plain mad. You were especially mad at Boyd, however. He had promised to speak to you at school the next day, but he was too busy hanging around with Erica that you never got the chance to talk to him alone and find out what was going on with him.

You knew what you were doing was wrong, but Boyd and your friends had given you no other choice. After school, you waited in the car park for Boyd and decided to follow him home. You watched as he exited the school, except once again, he was joined at the hip by Erica. Usually Boyd would catch the bus home, except today both him and Erica climbed inside a familiar SUV. Derek Hale’s car.

You trailed slowly after them. Staying a few cars behind, in order to not get caught. They led you to an abandoned Railway depot. You waited a couple of minutes, gathering your courage, before following them inside.

You crept around the rusting carcasses of abandoned cars, heading towards the faint light in the centre of the depot. You could see a dust covered train in the distance and voices could be heard from inside. You decided to hang back for a moment and wait to see if you could hear their conversation, but suddenly a body was flying through the air and landed heavily on the ground ten feet away from the carriage. Isaac lay crumpled on the ground, gasping for breath. On instinct you rushed towards him and crouched down beside him, helping him to sit up “Oh my gosh, Isaac are you okay?!” You asked a clear panic in your voice “Quickly, we need to get you out of here!” You say desperately, trying not to think about who had just attacked Isaac and thrown him out of the carriage. All you tried to focus on was getting you both away and to safety.

Isaac finally glanced up at you confused “Emily? How hard did I hit my head?” He asks, pressing the palm of his hand to the back of his head.

You look over him in worry, before using all of your strength to try and pick him up. It was useless. You weren’t strong enough to carry him. “Isaac, do you think you’re strong enough to move?” You question, debating whether to run away quickly to get help first, or to stay by his side, not wanting to leave him alone.

“There will be no need for that.” A deep voice suddenly interrupts your internal rambling and you look up at the figure, standing in the doorway to the carriage. Derek Hale stared down at you, an amused smirk on his face.

You stood in front of Isaac protectively “Leave him alone!” You shout. Trying to ignore the panicked beating of your heart and the fear slowly creeping through you, paralysing your body.

“Do you really think you will be able to protect him?” Derek questions, taking one step towards you.

You stand in place, not wanting to back down “Yes.” You say with false confidence “I have already called the police, they will be here soon to save us.” You lie, trying to scare Derek into running away, but this only makes his smile spread further.

“You’re lying.” Derek begins to advance towards you.

Suddenly Isaac is standing in front of you. He pushes you back in one swift motion and stands between you and Derek, acting as a protective barrier “Leave her alone!” He shouts at Derek, before facing you. A worried look on his face.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He questions. You nod in response, no longer trusting your voice.

Isaac lets out a sigh of relief, before opening his eyes and glaring at you darkly “What the hell are you doing here?” He questions.

Isaac's attitude had completely changed and it felt like you were facing a complete stranger. You were too shocked to speak. If he was okay now, why wasn’t he running away from Derek? Was he not the person who attacked him?

Isaac pulls you out of your internal ramblings “Answer me!” He bellows.

You flinch back in shock “I-I was looking for Boyd.” You admit. “He promised to speak to me and I was worried about him, so I followed him here.” You speak quickly, your voice shaking slightly.

Isaac once again lets out a sigh “You shouldn’t be here Y/N. This has nothing to do with you.” He says, his voice fading out into a whisper.

“It has everything to do with me!” You finally speak up “Boyd is my friend! And there is something weird going on with the rest of my friends and I know it has something to do with Derek! And I’m worried about you!” You exclaim. You hadn’t meant to say the last part, but you were so filled with the adrenaline from the recent events that you couldn’t control yourself.

“You were worried about me?” Isaac questions. He looks away from you suddenly, trying to hide the blush forming on his cheeks.

For a brief moment, Isaac looked so much like the old him that you let your guard down and approached him, reaching your hand out to comfort him. But as soon as your hand makes contact with his shoulder, he shrugs your hand away and moves back to stand beside Derek.

“You don’t need to worry about us anymore Y/N. Myself and Boyd, we are doing fine and the only reason Derek is involved is because he is protecting us. He has provided us with a new life.”

“What does that even mean?!” You question, raising your voice out of confusion and hurt. As soon as you felt yourself getting closer to Isaac, he always seemed to keep pushing you further away. It felt as if he was scared for you to get too close.

“Please Y/N. Just leave us alone. Pretend none of this happened and go live a normal life.” He is no longer glaring at you. Instead, it seems as if his eyes are almost pleading with you to just listen to what he was saying and leave. Was Isaac actually pushing you away to protect you?

It had been a week since your encounter with Isaac. It was clear to you that he wanted you to stay away from him and honestly, you thought that it was probably best for yourself also (He was still a suspect for murder after all). So that night, you turned your back on Isaac, Derek and Boyd and made your way home.

You had also listened to Isaac’s advice about making more friends at school. You still sat with Stiles, Scott, Lydia and Allison at lunch occasionally and spoke to them in class. But ever since the strange meeting at the ice rink, they had all been distant with you also.

You made your way to your first class and sighed slightly, knowing Mr Harris had planned a group activity, where you had to continuously switch partners. You cursed yourself for being so distracted by Isaac during that class, that you hadn’t bothered to get to know the rest of your peers and you only hoped it wouldn’t be as awkward as you expected it to be.

You were on autopilot as you entered the classroom and began making your way to the back of the room, towards your empty desk. The seat next to you had remained vacant ever since Isaac had been arrested, except today the space was no longer empty. Isaac was back in his usual seat, leaning back on his chair slightly and staring out of the window. You felt your heart stop.

Your strides suddenly became shorter and your pace slower as you walked towards your desk, not sure whether the figure in front of you was real or not. You sat next to Isaac cautiously, trying your hardest to slow the beating of your heart. You glanced up at him nervously, not trusting your voice to say hello.

You waited for a moment to see if he would acknowledge you, but he continued to stare out of the window, clearly adamant on not speaking to you.

You gazed across the classroom and noticed the rest of the class also sneaking nervous glances towards Isaac. Mr Harris entered the room suddenly and began to speak “As I’m sure most of you have already noticed, Mr Lahey has returned to us. Now, let’s begin on what really matters here. My lesson.” The whole of the class returned to their forward facing positions and were no longer looking between Isaac and Mr Harris.

You tried to focus on the sound of Mr Harris’s voice, but you couldn’t help but be painfully aware of Isaac's presence beside you. The last time you were seated next to him, he was sliding his hand up your thigh and you had slapped him hard across the face. Your cheeks suddenly warmed and you looked down at your text book, not wanting anyone to notice the reddening of your cheeks.

After Mr Harris had finished explaining the experiment procedure, he had initiated a new seating system, so that you would work with a number of different students in your class.

You quickly began the experiment, with no help from Isaac, and after a couple of minutes it was thankfully time to switch. You watched Isaac as he practically sprinted from his seat and made his way to the desk in front of you. He sat next to Scott and began to converse with him in a hushed whisper. Your curiosity began to take over and you tried your hardest to listen into their conversation, before realising that you had promised yourself you would no longer get yourself involved. You pulled yourself back to reality and smiled at your desk mate as they sat down next to you. You dove back into the experiment, trying to distract yourself from Isaac. After half an hour, you were finally on the last stage of the experiment.

You last desk partner for the day sat beside you and began talking to you cheerfully. He introduced himself as Brad and you found yourself laughing at a few of his jokes. Even though you were getting along with your new desk mate, you couldn’t help but long for Isaac. You gazed across the classroom and found him seated beside Lydia. He was holding the crystal they had made in his hand and was holding it out in front of her face. You looked away quickly, as Lydia bit into the crystal and Isaac let out an almost seductive smirk.

Even though you had told yourself over and over again to move on and forget about Isaac, you couldn’t hold down this burning feeling of anger and jealousy inside you. You tried to calm yourself down by interacting further with Brad and then to your surprise he asked if you wanted to hang out together at lunch. Although you hadn’t felt a physical attraction towards Brad, you had fun talking to him, so you agreed, hoping to gain another friend.

You had been texting back and forth with Brad throughout the rest of the day and well into the evening. He even called you before you went to bed and invited you to a rave which was happening tomorrow night. A twinge of guilt had spread through you when he asked, knowing he must be asking you on a date. But before you could refuse, an image of Isaac with his arm around Erica in the dining hall entered your mind, followed by an image of him seductively feeding Lydia the crystal in Chemistry and in a moment of pure jealousy you agreed.

Both you and Isaac were once again ignoring each other in class the next day. You focused on your work and Isaac lay his head on the desk to sleep. It took most of your will power to stop making glances at his cute sleeping form.

Mr Harris decided to step out of the classroom for a moment, and almost instantaneously everyone began talking amongst themselves in a hushed whisper. Letting out a sigh at not being able to talk to your desk partner, you pulled out your mobile. As soon as you did, it chimed alerting you of an incoming text. You checked your messages and saw it was a text from Brad. You looked towards him. He was seated at the front of the class room and had swiveled around in his chair to smile at you. You returned his smile, before reading his text.

He says he is excited for your date at the rave tonight. You begin typing out your reply, when suddenly you sense a set of eyes glaring at you.

You look to the side and immediately make eye contact with Isaac. It was the first time since he had returned to school that he had even bothered to look in your direction and now he was practically burning a hole right though you with his intense gaze.

You’re so flustered that you can’t seem to form words. Instead you just hold his stare, causing Isaac to be the one to break the deafening silence “Don’t go to the rave tonight.” His abrupt comment stuns you for a moment.

You finally collect your thoughts and reply “What gives you the right to read my texts?” You ask, dumbfounded at his audacity to invade your privacy.

He rolls his eyes at you, which fuels your anger more “Just do as I say for once.”

You let out a shocked choke “I can’t believe you! I’ve already done as you asked! I’ve left you alone. I’ve made new friends and I’ve even gotten myself a date! Which, by the way, is none of your concern. So why don’t you take your own advice and leave me alone?!” You spun away from Isaac and focused on the board in front of you, signalling the end of the conversation.

Isaac let out an annoyed sound, which you almost mistook as a deep growl. He was about to warn you again about going to the rave, but he was interrupted by Mr Harris’s reappearance in the classroom “Stop the chit chat everyone, or I’ll keep you behind after class!” Mr Harris warned.

You spent the rest of the lesson sitting in a simmering rage, which Isaac could easily sense. Once the bell rang to signal the end of class, and the end of the school day, you rushed towards the exit. Isaac followed after you, wanting to convince you not to attend the rave, as he knew that Jackson would be there to strike at his next victim. However, as soon as you left the class room you bumped straight into Brad, who was waiting anxiously for you. In your fit of rage aimed towards Isaac, you had completely forgotten to reply to his text.

Isaac noticed you stop to speak to Brad, so he hung back to listen into your conversation.

“So Y/N.” Brad began “You’re still up for the rave tonight, right?” He questioned, clearly worried you were no longer interested.

You knew that Isaac was listening into your conversation, which only angered you further. You forced yourself to smile through your fury. Instead of answering however, you asked Brad to walk you to your car. Not allowing Isaac the chance to speak to you again. As soon as you were out of ear shot of Isaac, you assured Brad that you still wanted to go to the rave with him tonight. Even more now knowing that it would annoy Isaac further.

Tag list - @rogershoe

#teen wolf #Isaac Lahey #Isaac Lahey teen wolf #Isaac Lahey fanfiction #Isaac Lahey fandom #fanfiction #fandom #imagine #teen wolf fandom #teen wolf fanfiction #daniel sharman #daniel sharman fandom #daniel sharman fanfiction

36 notes · View notes

i-see-no-whump-up-here · 3 years

Text

Whumpmas in July (Day 6): Mistake

A/N: I’m working on introducing some of the characters I write with, so this is a whumpee’s start with one of my usual whumpers, a whumpee collector who (pretentiously) calls himself “The Master”. I don’t think this needs any CW’s, but please let me know if I need to add any.

Jesse took a deep breath, and he knocked on the big, wooden door. Barely a second passed before he heard. “Come in.”

“Mr. Donovan? Sir?” Jesse cautiously opened the door to an ornate office. Tall, walnut bookcases lined two walls so they framed the fine furniture between. Mr. Donovan sat at his desk, backlit by a large bay window. He didn’t look at Jesse, continuing to write in his journal.

“Have a seat,” The man said. Jesse stepped around the leather studded chair and did so gingerly. He didn’t speak yet, too afraid to mess up this opportunity. He still didn’t know quite what it was, but he knew that he needed it. Mr. Donovan finished his thoughts and then set his journal to the side.

“So, Josiah—“

“Jesse,” The younger man corrected. Then, he realized he interrupted, and he backpedaled. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just a habit. Never been a fan of my full name.” He laughed nervously. Mr. Donovan raised an eyebrow.

“Right.” Mr. Donovan grabbed a manila envelope and opened it, pulling out a small stack of papers. He set only the top page in front of Jesse. “Fill this out.”

“Sure,” Jesse looked around. He started to reach for the pen holder but stopped himself. “May I?”

“You didn’t bring a pen,” Mr. Donovan asked— or said, rather. Jesse’s face turned red.

“No. Sorry— sir,” He wasn’t normally one for formal titles, but in this case, he thought it was warranted. A few days ago, he received a call from Mr. Donovan. The man found his resume online, and he claimed to have a unique opportunity for him. Jesse looked him up to make sure it wasn’t a spam call. His full name was Henry Donovan, and apparently, he was quite wealthy, worth several hundred million, but he couldn’t find much more about him. An elusive type— not a man who often socialized, as far as Jesse could tell. Some part of Jesse wished he could find more information on him, but he feared looking this gift horse in the mouth.

The man hadn’t said no, so Jesse carefully grabbed a pen and twisted the tip out. He wrote his full legal name in the right spots, and then he looked down the rest of the page. The form contained a weird mix of personal, legal, financial, and medical information. He paused for a moment, wanting to ask why Mr. Donovan needed this. He didn’t quite feel comfortable putting his social security number in, but surely if the man was asking, this was legal. He must have a team of lawyers watching his wealth, and this wasn’t some shady online website. He filled it in and answered the rest of the questions.

He wrote his current address. He lived alone. He didn’t have a current employment. He didn’t receive money from his parents. When he got to the medical part, he marked them as deceased. He didn’t have any allergies. He didn’t know of any current health issues. His family’s medical history was clean. The last box asked him if he told anyone about this opportunity, and to share who. Jesse forced himself to speak up. “What do you need this for? What exactly is the opportunity? Is it research or something?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute. It’s fairly straightforward,” Mr. Donovan dismissed. As Jesse signed the bottom of the page, he pulled out two more pages from within the stack. “Sign on these lines.”

“It pays well though, right?” Jesse scrawled his signature a few more times, but the papers were pulled away from him before he could see what they said at the top. “You said you knew I was behind on my rent, but I have some other payments to catch up on. I was wondering if we might be able to frontload some of the pay? Then I can take less later.”

“It’ll all be taken care of,” Mr. Donovan promised. Jesse nodded. Right. He probably needed to get the job first. Or did he already get it? He drove all the way out to this insanely fancy manor, so surely he did something right. Mr. Donovan started to get up, and Jesse sprung to his feet as well.

The man walked to one bookcase and pulled on a few books. Then, he moved a few more aside to reveal a pin pad. He typed in a code, and there was an audible click. Jesse startled as a bookcase slid back. Okay… that was unique.

“Ah. Cliche,” He gave a weak smile. Mr. Donovan didn’t seem amused.

“Classic,” He corrected. Jesse flexed his hands at his side. “I need to ask that you turn off your phone and remove anything from your pockets. It’s a security concern.”

“I can keep secrets,” Jesse promised, but he did as requested. He set his wallet and keys on the desk, and he turned off his phone, setting it alongside. As an afterthought, he made sure they sat straight and neat. Then, he joined his potential employer at the bookcase opening. A staircase was visible now.

“After you,” Mr. Donovan gestured toward the stairs. Jesse hesitated. The whole scenario felt off. Not by much, but Jesse was generally suspicious of wealthy people, and the whole secret staircase thing wasn’t helping his secret lair vibes. Although, it didn’t look evil and dingy, nor like a sex dungeon. The stairs were nicely lit with elegant tile and an indent in the wall that acted as a railing. Mr. Donovan quickly grew impatient. “I’m a very busy man, Jesse.”

“Right. Sorry. I appreciate the opportunity. I really do,” Jesse insisted. Even if he was nervous, that wasn’t a new feeling for him, and he needed the money. Whatever he was getting paid, he was sure it would help, and he figured it’d be worth the weirdness of this all. The sum he needed to fix his entire life was probably mere chump change to this man. He forced himself to start forward. Mr. Donovan trailed a few steps behind him. At the bottom of the stairs was a small junction, with hallways going forward and either direction to his left or right. Jesse waited for the man to catch up to him at the bottom.

“Left,” Mr. Donovan instructed. “The door on your right.” Jesse went down the left hallway. There was only one door on his right, and it looked to be made of brass. Mr. Donovan had to scan his eye and fingerprint. The whole place was very high security, and Jesse wondered again what he was getting into. The door unlocked, and Mr. Donovan motioned him in. “Fourth on your left.”

This hallway had at least a dozen doors, but they were all made of metal. They had closed metal windows-- like prison doors. Jesse hesitated. “What’s down here?”

“I’ll show you in a second.”

“Why is it all reinforced? What is this?” Jesse asked. Mr. Donovan took a step forward, and it spurred Jesse to at least step into the hallway, still debating how much he could question in this position. He had to be pushing his luck as it was, and historically, no one appreciated his questions.

“Go,” Mr. Donovan said sternly. “Unless you want to end up in prison from debt.” Jesse felt his heart beating faster. He didn’t, obviously, but he wasn’t sure he wanted whatever was happening here either. Were there exotic animals in these cells maybe? Was he comfortable with that? Could he be? For the right sum? He didn’t know.

“Fourth on your left. Last chance,” Mr. Donovan insisted. Jesse numbly walked forward. He watched as the man typed in another pin, and then he opened the door.

It was a cell. A small cell with nothing but a white trash bin in the corner and a white padded bed. Holy shit. Holy shit! No. Absolutely not. No no no. Jesse took a step back, but Mr. Donovan was already behind him. “Go inside.”

“No!” Jesse yelped. “You’re insane. Absolutely fucking bonkers!” He swiveled his head to Mr. Donovan and then back to the cell. “What the heck is this for?! Do you think I’m just gonna go in there?!”

There was a click, and Jesse looked behind him again. Mr. Donovan held a small pistol in his hand. His soul might as well have left his body. Guns absolutely terrified him, and he’d barely seen any, much less had one aimed at him. He tried to find words in his dry mouth. He opened and closed it like an idiot.

“Step back,” Mr. Donovan ordered. Jesse compiled without even thinking. The man took a step after him, and Jesse moved back again automatically.

“Please,” Jesse’s voice strained. “Don’t shoot me.” He continued to back away, eyes trained solely on the gun. Mr. Donovan moved his hand, and Jesse flinched. The hand found the door handle. Wait. Jesse hadn’t even realized he was in the cell now. He surged forward.

The door slammed shut just as he got there, his hands hitting the padded metal surface a second later. He slammed his palms against it. “Wait! Wait!”

The window cover slid open, and Jesse could only see out through iron bars. “Mr. Donovan, please!”

“Technically, I have a doctorate--”

“Doctor Donovan--”

“-- but you will just call me Master.” The window slid shut. Jesse hit the door again in panic. He searched for a handle, for a crack, for anything to grab, and he found nothing. He yelled. He squeezed his fingers between the padding, but it was bolted down. He slammed his shoulder into the door so hard his entire body hurt with the impact, and he fell backward onto the floor.

Down there, the walls felt so high yet suffocating at the same time. He got onto his hands and knees and stared at the unmoving door. No... What had he done?

7 notes · View notes

theyearoftheking · 3 years

Text

Book Seventy-Five: Sleeping Beauties

“According to the Blackfeet Indians, brown moths bring sleep and dreams.”

Well hello, Constant Readers! There’s nothing like an entire day of travel, and being stuck on an airplane without Wifi to keep you focused, and force you to finish reading a book you’re not really interested in. I’m back from vacation: my family, and my friend from college’s family went to Florida for a long weekend.

Y’all...

Florida is like the Wild West. Unless you’re in a Walmart, no one is seen wearing a mask. We walked into a restaurant Friday night, and the entire place stopped to stare at us in our masks. It was the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever experienced. The hostess even pretended she couldn’t understand me with my mask on. Girl, please.

After that encounter, we pretty much stuck to our house and the beach. Oh, and Waffle House. Because the good people of Waffle House enforce mask wearing, distancing, and the consumption of tasty pecan waffles. Don’t at me... I know it’s not fine dining. But as a northerner, Waffle House is a total novelty. I’m at my happiest with some cheesy eggs, hash browns with jalapenos, and a pecan waffle. Oh, and a Diet Coke. Because, calorie counting is real.

I forgot to type that last line my sarcasm font.

So, back from vacation, and I finished Sleeping Beauties. If you love the epic narrative of The Stand, and the social interactions of Under the Dome, and reading books that go on about two hundred pages too long: than Sleeping Beauties is for you. It’s Steve and Owen’s attempt at a feminist narrative (they drop the Nevertheless She Persisted quote, as well as a dedication to Sandra Bland), and I admire the effort, but it just seemed ham-handed to me. And I’m not someone who claims that men can’t write feminist fiction... I just think Steve loses himself when he tries to send a feminist/social justice message (we’ll get into it more in Elevation).

But where Steve (and Owen. Sorry, Owen) really score, is when it comes to predicting the future. There are so many parallels to 2020/2021, it’s almost hilarious. Sleeping Beauties was published in 2017 and tells the story of a plague (if I never hear that word again, it will be too soon) that only affects women, and as soon as they fall asleep, a cocoon is wrapped around them. If you try to wake the women, or tear at their cocoon, they will come at you in a murderous rage.

Relatable AF.

The small town of Dooling, and the Dooling Correctional Facility seem to be the center of the plague, and a woman known only as Eve Black seems to be responsible both for creating the plague, as well as the new world women venture into once they’re asleep. It’s a feminist utopia known only as Our Place. Women fall asleep in our world, enter Our Place, but if they’re burned alive in our world (a thing that happens), they vanish from Our Place. Additionally, if someone tries to move their bodies in our world, they feel the vertigo in Our Place.

So, a group of town vigilantes try to storm the correctional facility where Eve Black is being held, and they want to take her to the CDC in Atlanta to poke and prod at her, and find out why she’s not affected by the plague. The prison employees don’t want this to happen, they think Eve is the key to reversing the plague, and waking the women back up again. So, the town of Dooling erupts in a civil war of sorts.

So, here’s where it gets real 2020. Are you ready for these parallels?

Remember when “The Former Guy” (thanks President Biden, that will now be how I refer to him) started calling Covid “The China Virus? Well, the sleeping virus took a same turn. It was initially called The Australian Sleeping Sickness and then turned into Female Sleeping Flu, and finally Aurora Flu (after Princess Aurora from Sleeping Beauty).

Angry citizens decided to raid the White House, looking for answers about the virus. They were pissed their government wasn’t prepared for a global pandemic that affected only women. So, there was looting, violence, even an interview with a woman who got tear-gassed. I wonder if they checked her purse for an onion...

There was hoarding of toilet paper!

There was fake news that the respiration exhaled from sleeping women caused the plague to spread. So, they decided to burn the women’s bodies. Kinda like that time The Former Guy told people to drink bleach? Remember that one?

But the most compelling parallel... the one that Steve and Owen got right... A few weeks ago at dinner, we were talking about what women would do in a world without men. My daughter and I agreed we’d take a walk at night to look at stars, we’d walk along the lakefront together with our dogs. We’d take a nap under a shady tree. The list was LONG. My husband didn’t understand. But I don’t expect him to. He doesn’t live in a reality where he could be sexually assaulted, or killed because he’s viewed as an easy target. For women? It’s a different story. In Our Place, one of the women watches a little girl walking down the street at night and reflects that there are no predators or pedophiles out to get her. Now that’s a utopia, folks.

All and all, it was an interesting concept, and there were some fun characters; but the book just went on too long for my taste.

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 46

Total Dark Tower References: 68

Book Grade: B-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

Doctor Sleep: A+

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

11/22/63: A+

Mr. Mercedes: A+

End of Watch: A+

Under the Dome: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Full Dark, No Stars: A+

The Bazaar of Bad Dreams: A+

Just After Sunset: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

Stephen King Goes to the Movies: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Finders Keepers: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Blaze: B+

Hard Listening: B+

Revival: B+

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Joyland: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

Sleeping Beauties: B-

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

The Wind Through the Keyhole: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers D

Next up SHOULD be The Outsider, but I grabbed the wrong book when I was packing. So we’re going to jump ahead briefly, and discuss The Institute before returning to our regularly scheduled timeline.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights, Rebecca

#sleeping beauties #stephen king #owen king #constant readers #nevertheless she persisted #waffle house #florida #the stand #under the dome

4 notes · View notes

notquitecanon · 4 years

Text

Lauren Reynolds/ Marvel (Reader Insert) Pt. 5

TW: death, combat, guns, knives, fighting, blood, graphic description of violence and injury angst, arguing (if that counts)

This is Criminal Minds Season 6, Ep. 18, so if you haven’t gotten that far and don’t want it spoiled, maybe just move along, come back and read once you’ve finished season six.

Gonna be honest, I took Seaver out of this. I love her character, but she just kind of got in the way. Otherwise, most of this is the same as the episode, except where I either modified dialogue or switched around characters!

I wanted to use this chapter to show some relationships between the team, but I don’t think I did a very good job of it. Also you lowkey a badasss.

Part one Part Two Part Three Part 4

___

It took another hour's drive to get to Quantico. Anderson seemed to feel your unease, so he didn’t even attempt to make small talk, only driving faster. You were grateful for that. You were grateful for Steve, trying to cheer you up. But the anxiety was back, climbing up your throat like bile. You chewed on your thumbnail as you watched the scenery go by, wondering what would wait for you at the BAU.

As soon as you were brought into the building, you caught a beautifully familiar face. Sighing in relief, you rushed forward into a hug, “JJ.”

“They called in all their cards, huh?” She breathed, returning the embrace. You detached as you were ushered into an elevator.

“Any idea what this is about?” You asked, her lips pressed into a line. That wasn’t a good sign. The elevator dinged and opened up.

“We’re about to find out.” She muttered, giving your hand a squeeze as the two of you strided out of the elevator. The two of you walked into the BAU like you owned the place, she was wearing her Pentagon ID and your SHIELD badge was clipped delicately to your belt. Hotch was explaining the situation.

“I’ve reached out to two experts on the matter who can also shed light on Prentiss’ past.” He informed them, pinning what looked like Prentiss’ key card to the idea board. Reid’s head cocked to the side.

“Them.”

When Hotch nodded to you and JJ, every head swiveled to you. JJ held her head high, trying to hide her anxiety, while you just smiled at your team.

“Let’s get to work.”

Within 45 minutes, you and JJ had completely redone the ideas board. With her Pentagon connections and your SHIELD intel more and more blanks were being filled. Even with the advancement, every minute passed was another minute Prentiss was in danger.

“My contact only knew her history word of mouth. She assumed Lauren Reynold’s identity when undercover for Interpol. With them they profiled terrorists.” JJ explained, then you piped up.

“Interpol worked closely with SHIELD operatives for that. She was a part of a special task force called JTF-12.” You added, that information had actually come directly from Clint- who apparently worked several missions against the IRA and had a personal grudge with Ian Doyle. He offered to come in, but you told him to stay with his family.

“They were assembled after 9-11. CIA, SHIELD, and other Western Agencies assembled the best and brightest. As you may have heard, all sorts of people were recruited post 9/11. These were the same agencies that recruited Bruce Banner, Betty Ross, and tried to recruit Tony Stark.” You continued.

“Terrorists and Serial Killers profile different.” Derek pointed out. The roundtable nodded.

“How does Ian Doyle fit into this?” Spencer asked, eyebrows knitted fiercely together. You made a mental note to check in about his headaches later, but for the moment you just answered his question.

“Doyle was her task forces last target.” You filled him in, flipping the mission file onto your tablet. JJ nodded.

“And now the JTF is on his hit list. He’s already hit Jeremy Wolf, Sean McAlister, and Tsia Mosely.” She explained, motioning through photos. “And the team leader, Clyde Easter hasn’t checked in since Tsia’s murder and is currently presumed dead.”

“Did JTF make the arrest?” Hotch asked, and you answered.

“No, the host countries handled that so the team could move onto the next case. And so names wouldn’t be on paper.” You informed. Hotch’s face screwed up in confusion.

“If all they did was deliver a profile, how does Doyle even know about them?” He asked. JJ and you shared a look, but you bit the bullet.

“Due to the shady nature of terrorist cells, international agencies will use infiltration tactics. Which is why Emily was considered a US spy.” You explained, catching Derek’s disapproving scoff. You knew he liked things straight forward. Spencer, however, continued with another question.

“Who was undercover on Doyle?”

This time it was JJ who delivered the bad news, “Emily. She made contact with him in Boston to get intel on Valhalla. She was posing as another weapon’s dealer.”

JJ then passed out printed out photos of a younger Emily, cutting flowers, wearing a linen pants suit. Derek looked at the photos, “She looks mighty comfortable.”

Hotch redirected the phrasing, “How close did she get to Doyle as her cover?”

Once again it was your turn to give bad news, sucking in a deep breath, “Well, his profile included an in-depth background of all his romantic relationships. Emily... was his type.”

You paused to look at the rest of the table. Morgan’s face flashed with contempt. Spencer’s frown deepened as his eyes flitted back to the photos. Garcia was looking around for an explanation while Rossi and Hotch shared a look. Now they understood just how personal this was for Doyle.

And that put Emily in so much more danger.

______

After the meeting, Hotch assigned tasks. You had watched Derek storm off towards the garage, Rossi following calmly behind him to go through Prentiss’ apartment. Garcia retreated back to her computer room with JJ as they worked on finding any sort of paper trail.

You were left with Reid, you and he were reviewing the SHIELD case files that were relevant to the case. For the longest it was silent, the two of you working in harmony for Prentiss’ sake. You paused from your scrolling, looking up to the genius. His eyes were moving almost inhumanely fast as he mouth the words he was reading, one hand scribbling down notes as he went.

“How have your headaches been?” You asked quietly. His head popped up, eyes wide, so you quickly placated him, “No one’s around. I just figured that all the screens, puzzles, and people are probably not great. Reading on screens for the past 30 minutes straight probably hasn’t helped either.”

His eyes softened, going back to the tablet, “The Doctor said it’s psychosomatic. But I think he’s wrong.”

You nodded, waiting to see if he would add anything to the matter, he did, continuing to say, “They died down a little bit, but it does seem to correlate with stress.”

You smiled softly, “Have you told the team, yet?”

He shook his head, smile pulling into a guilty line. “Just you and Emily, the others would just worry and baby me.”

You just nodded, going back to your files. It was probably for the best that Derek had been sent to Prentiss’ apartment with Rossi- just the idea of her seduction had made him angry. The explicit details would enrage him. Speaking of the pair, your head turned as the pair rushed through the bullpen to Hotch’s office.

“Guess that means they found something.” You muttered, watching the door slam behind Derek. With a sigh, you flicked to the next page for fresh content. It was a file report of their first meeting. You’d gone through this countless times so you popped your head up to rest your eyes, settling on the idea board across the room. Then it clicked.

“If we’re profiling Doyle like a normal unsub, and Emily as his object of desire/rage... It’d make sense for them to go back to the place it all started. That’s Boston.” You thought aloud, eyes meeting Spencer’s. You watched him process before he nodded, eyes lighting up with understanding.

“We need to tell Hotch.”

________

“Boston. She went to Boston.” You blurted swinging the door open. All three men gaped at you, Derek was holding Emily’s passport and Rossi’s was dangling a gold necklace from his fingers. Hotch paused before looking to you, with Spencer lurking just behind you.

“What’s your evidence?” He asked, jaw and eyebrow set. You took a deep breath.

“Well she’s not running away,” You started, pointing at the passport in Derek’s hand, “And she’s chasing Doyle, who’s chasing her. Like any other unsub/victim combo. They’re going to end up where it all began. That’s Boston.”

Hotch nodded, gesturing for the rest of you to follow him. JJ and Garcia flanked the group, Garcia rambling her findings as the team sped towards the exit. “Sir, one of Clyde Easter’s covers was flagged by TSA on a flight to Boston.”

“Have him detained as soon as he steps off. We need to go. Garcia, you're coming with us.” Hotch’s orders were clear and concise, and the team was quick to carry them out.

_______

On the jet to Boston, you listened to Garcia leave voice messages on all of Emily’s old numbers. Her voice was quiet and small, you could hear the tears she was holding back as she plead with the voice mail, “Hey, Em, it's me, Penelope. Hotch told me to go through all your numbers, and I found this old listing. You probably don’t even use this anymore, but if you do, if it is you and you’re out there... Come home, please.”

You could hear her throat tighten, so you placed a comforting hand on her knee. Her other hand laced with yours in solidarity as she continued, “God, Emily, what did you think? That we would just let you walk out of our lives? I’m so furious at you right now! Then I think about how scared you must be, how you’re in some dark place all alone. But you’re not alone, ok? You are NOT alone.

We are in that dark place with you. We are waving flashlights and calling your name. So if you can see us, come home. If you can’t, then... then you stay alive. ‘Cause we’re coming. We’re coming.”

She clicked off, pressing the cell to her lips as a safeguard to keep her tears at bay. You squeezed her hand before getting up. Stopping at the coffee bar by the bathroom, you checked your own phone- naively hoping that maybe Emily had reached out. No such luck, as of 10:13. Three hours had felt like three days. You did have three other texts from your SHIELD friends.

Clint: Be careful with Doyle, he’s more dangerous than he looks.

Natasha: Clint told me you're going after Ian Doyle. Be careful.

You laughed dryly, so much for secrets. Texting them appeasements, you were touched by their concern.

Steve: Just checking in, any word on your friend.

You: Nothing good yet. Following a lead to Boston.

Three little dots showed you that he was typing, but you beat him to it.

You: If that text is going to say ‘be careful’, don’t even send it.

The three dots disappeared, before reappearing and turning into:

Steve: Yes ma’am. I’m sure everything will work out.

_______

Twenty minutes later, your tablet pinged: an alert from SHIELD. You had already combined Boston PD with all your relevant tags. You handed your tablet off to Hotch as you voiced your findings, “Hey guys, I got a firefight in east Boston. Automatic weapons, sounds like our guys.”

“ANnnnnd, I got video footage.” Garcia chimed, tapping away at her computer. She gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

“Baby girl, what is it?” Derek pressed with concern. You scooted in closer to her to see, soon your understood her dread.

“It’s, It’s, Emily. She’s here. Oh god, she’s walking into a trap.” Penelope gasped. Her eyes were watering, but Hotch kept his cool.

“Garcia, put in on the big screen.” He ordered sternly, but somehow still kindly. The blonde hacker nodded fervently, wiping her eyes from under those red glasses.

“Right, Right, I can do that.” She said, mostly to herself as she followed through. Soon the video was on the jets display. All the team members were silent the first time the video played through. The air in the cabin seemed thick with tension. Derek and Hotch visibly tensed, as if ready for a fight. Next to you, Rossi’s expression hardened, the only readable emotion was disdain. Spencer looked as if he was cringing and couldn’t stop. Beside him, JJ simply clenched her jaw and forced herself to watch- just as she had done when Spencer was taken hostage all those years ago, Emily had been knew then.

You watched as Prentiss sprayed the car with bullets, shattering a window before throwing a flash grenade in the SUV. Then she squatted down to cover her ears, but as soon as the boom was over, she was on the move again. Stalking around the SUV, that’s when the camera angle switched. Now showing the passenger side, you watched as Emily seemed to negotiate. Then from out of nowhere, a man appeared and shot Emily twice.

This caused a scream to erupt out of Penelope while everyone else either gasped or winced. Derek, ever the protector, attempted to comfort her with a warm arm around her shoulder, but it didn’t seem to help until the man (who you presumed to be Doyle) revealed her bulletproof vest. There was a collective sigh of relief when Emily seemed to stir.

Just as quickly as Emily attacked, Doyle shoved her into another van that quickly sped off. Garcia took the screen off the monitor and tapped at her computer a little longer.

“I can follow them two more blocks, but then they vanish.” She admitted, still furiously typing and apologizing for losing her cool.

When she finally gave up, she moved into the group displaying her screen. The video feed was backed up and ready to play again. The group looked at the paused screen, three men around the black range rover.

You broke the silence, “They knew she was coming. Doyle was already lying in wait before Emily even got out of her car.”

“From the first angle, it looks like Doyle got into the SUV. But from this angle, you can see that he didn’t,” Garcia agreed, switching the camera and playing the feed again, “Which I wish Boston PD warned us about before I started watching it. Sorry again for the screaming.”

Derek watched the silenced video in shock, “She threw a flash-bang grenade into a car. She’s lucky the three people inside didn’t die. Is anybody else bothered by that?”

You stopped to think for a second, thinking of if it did bother you. You realized it didn’t, maybe it would have before SHIELD, but now that seemed like a normal course of action. That said a lot about the effect Natasha and Clint, hell even day to day life with SHIELD had on you. Before you could stop yourself, you lifted your eyes to him, “Three targets.”

Rossi clarified your statement, but didn’t seem to disagree, “Well, three bad guys.”

Derek scoffed at the word change but Hotch spoke up before Morgan could air his complaints, “Illegal as it is, I think Prentiss knows she has to be as ruthless as Doyle.”

“That’s how you survive.” You muttered, watching as the video played on a loop, not able to take your eyes off it, “It’s how spies survive.”

“Don’t eve-” Derek started, but Spencer interrupted with something constructive.

“He’s come to the US to wage a public vendetta. He even hired a group of mercenaries to remain loyal to him. He has nothing to lose, so she has to act the same way.” He defended Emily. Derek sighed in frustration, turning to look out a window.

“So how did Doyle know she was waiting for him?” Rossi asked, floating ideas around. You answered with another question.

“Well, we’ve already discussed the probability of a mole. So who knew the Emily left the BAU?” You posed the question. JJ continued your line of thought.

“The same guy who’s been feeding Doyle the contractors and agents? So someone who has known Prentiss from the beginning.” She nodded, glancing around the jet. “Our best suspect was just arrested with a suitcase full of cash.”

Classic rat, selling secrets. A flash of anger went through you before you suppressed it.

“How do we get Easter to talk? He won’t cooperate willingly.” Spencer asked. The group fell silent, and despite the fact you wouldn’t show it, you couldn’t help the hostility in your voice.

“There are lines I can cross that you guys aren’t allowed to. SHIELD has looser rules on interrogation.” You offered angrily, glaring at the footage of Clyde Easter on the monitor. Hotch narrowed his eyes as if he was trying to read you but didn’t agree or disagree with your implications. Derek watched you with shock.

“It won’t come to that. I’ll interrogate him, the rest of you focus on Doyle’s location.” He decided. The rest of the team nodded before Penelope piped up.

“I hate to be the one to ask this, but,” She paused for a deep breath, “How long does Emily have?”

Hotch tried to hide his own stress, but some seeped through, “Her best chance is also the most troubling. Doyle saved her for last because he views her as his stressor. This means he’ll take his time.”

It was a bittersweet hope, but hope nonetheless.

_______

When the jet landed, it was all a flurry of activity. A race against the clock to save a victim, that was a story you told to often. But this time, you had the feeling of impending dread in your stomach. This wasn’t a random stranger. This was Emily.

The same Emily that force-fed you water on wilder nights, who had the sweetest cat named Sergio, who saved your ass more time than you cared to count. Emily who set you up on blind dates and drank wine with you when they ended up terrible. Emily who noticed your crush on Spencer and kept it a secret for an entire year until you had gotten over it and moved on- she was the only person who ever knew, and would likely take it to the grave. Emily who always had your back, both in the field and in life. Like the rest of the BAU, she was family, and it was hard when your family was in danger.

Even though everything seemed to be moving at lightspeed, it somehow seemed not to be moving at all. In fact, you wondered if time had stopped until Rossi dragged in a scrawny man in an atrocious suit yelling obscenities.

“Who’s that?” You asked as Rossi handed him over to the police. He wiped his hands in discuss as he answered. Hotch approached in interest.

“Jack Fahey. Irish Mob. He called Easter’s cell phone 12 times in six hours.” Rossi explained. You and Hotch nodded, seeing the thin connection.

“Any connection with Doyle?” Hotch questioned.

“Boston PD says he’s low level. But the Irish mob has long-standing ties to the IRA.” Rossi confirmed. Your jaw hardened.

“I’ll put some feelers out. Maybe find a few more ties.” You sighed, pulling out your tablet to search through files. Keywords: Doyle + Fahey / IRA. The search was running through millions of files so you set it down while it loaded.

“You two see if you can get anything out of him.” Hotch nodded, turning back to Garcia as you and Rossi shared a look.

____

You, Rossi, and Spencer stood in the doorway of Fahey’s interrogation room. Anyone could see that his skin was already crawling in discomfort, and having three sets of eyes on him would irk him further.

“Alright, Jack, why were you blowing up Doyle’s phone?” You asked, making your tone as condescending as possible. His fingers drummed against the table impatiently.

“Any of y’all got a smoke? Bean pole? FBI Barbie?” He sneered, licking his lips. You scoffed, letting his insults roll off you like water.

“What do you think?” Rossi asked. You purposefully turned your back on Fahey, knowing the lack of attention from the only female would drive him up the wall.

“Male ego narcissist masking deep-seated insecurity.” Spencer shrugged, looking between you and Rossi.

“Loudmouth, overcompensating.” You feigned a giggle, “You know what that means.”

You looked over your shoulder giving him the “mean girl” once over. He started to object. But Rossi continued as if he wasn’t talking.

“So if we puncture his self-image, this hood rat will talk.” He nodded. Apparently, being called hood rat was more of an insult than a little dick.

“Hey, hey, hey. I ain’t no hood rat. You take that back.” He demanded. You just smiled sweetly.

“So admit to being... lacking in other areas?” You asked as you took the seat across from him. Spencer stood behind you and Rossi sat beside you.

“I ain’t neither. I’m more than adequate and I ain’t a hood rat.” He growled, leaning back in the metal chair. Rossi scoffed as you just smirked.

“You look like one. Smell like one too.” Rossi paused to take a deep breath, “Smell that?”

You and Spencer shared a look, dramatically sniffing the air before answering in unison, “Hoodrat.”

“I am not! Take it back!” Fahey whined. This strategy was working quickly, and you hoped Hotch was having the same luck. Rossi stood, sauntering around the table and leaning down to eye level with the Irish mobster.

Condescendingly, he asked, “Jack, do you know what a hood rat it?”

Then he looked back to the two of you, “See what I mean, he’s just gonna have to learn the hard way.”

Fahey held up his hands in surrender, “All right, all right, Clyde? he was going to pay my medical bills. This ear, it ain’t growing back.”

“What happened to it?” Spencer asked from behind you. You nodded as if to say that was your same question.

“This bitch teammate of his shot it. Said it was a warning.” Fahey growled. Seemingly not noticing the three of you share a look. “Thought she could take on this IRA big shot named Doyle. So I told these- AHHH.”

He was cut off by Rossi shooting out of his chair and grabbing the edge of his injured ear, he immediately went limp in his hold to avoid further damage. You inwardly cringed at how greasy his skin and hair looked but ignored it and his pathetic cries.

“Where is Prentiss?” You growled, watching his eyes dart from you to your teammates as if they were going to stop Rossi. He kept stuttering words, using the word “who” like a lifeline. Spencer leaned across the table.

“Lauren Reynolds, where is Lauren. Reynolds.?” He demanded. Rossi let go and sat back down, offering him a reprieve to answer. Almost sickeningly, his face lit up.

“Ohhh.” He drawled, his voice made your skin crawl in the worst ways as he cheekily smiled between the three of you, “Friend of yours, is she?”

“You tell us where she is right now or I swear to god I’ll send you to a prison where they’ll teach you what a hood rat is.” Rossi threatened. Fahey only smiled, thinking he had the power back in his corner.

“And by the time you do, she’ll be in pieces. So, uhhh. My price just went up.” He grinned. Spencer and Rossi only shared a look while you glared at the grunt in front of you.

“Dr. Reid, do you have a pen on you?” You asked sweetly, eyes never leaving Fahey who looked more confused. Spencer produced a fancy pen out of his cardigan, placing it in your waiting hand. “Thank you, will you boys wait outside. I just want to chat with Mr. Fahey here.”

Your voice was so sugar-sweet, that it bordered on malice. With another shared look, the two men left the room and turned off the camera that was recording the interrogation. You waited a few moments, staring at Fahey until he squirmed. He chuckled nervously,

“Want ole Fahey to show you a good time? I mean I know your partners are still watching, but if it doesn’t bother you, it-” You cut him off with a harsh growl.

“Shut up.” It was a stark difference from both your condescending and sweet tones. Jack even flinched as he registered your anger. In one swift motion, you were by his side, pressing the butt of the pen into the skin between in ribs and his side, right where the bend of his arm would touch. His entire body immediately seized up.

“I learned this fun little trick from a friend of mine that worked for the KGB in Russia. They made the IRA look like you, like a bunch hoodrats. You wanna know what’s happening? I’m pushing against your brachial artery. If I don’t ease up within the next forty-five seconds, you will start to bleed internally. If I even slip, I’ll puncture your skin and you will bleed out quietly in this chair. You will die a very slow, cold, and painful death, do you understand me?” You hissed in his ear.

“The Feds don’t allow this! I got rights! They’ll see the video and you’ll go to jail.” Jack struggled, you chuckled bitterly next to his ear.

“I’m not FBI, and the camera stopped rolling the moment they put a pen in my hand. And given your predicament do you think any of the actual FBI is gonna help?” You asked, pressing down ever so slightly.

“Ok! Ok! I’ll talk!” He gushed, jerking away from you as you let go completely. You threw the pen on the table, as he continued, “On one condition. The government pays my medical bills.”

You raised an eyebrow, picking the pen up again. His eyes widened backing away, but Rossi entered before you could continue. He looked from you to Fahey.

“We’ll discuss it. (Y/L/N), with me.”

You nodded, following him out. Once the door was shut, you turned to the older profiler, indignation clear in your voice “Rossi, what gives, he was about to give me everything!”

Rossi nodded over his shoulder at Derek who was watching you in disgust in anger. You knew Derek disapproved of off the table methods, but this was Prentiss!

“(Y/N), you almost killed him! That’s not how we do things. I don’t know how they do things at SHIELD or at Interpol, but in the FBI we try to beat the bad guys without stooping to their level- the KGB, really (Y/L/N)? We’re the good guys, or have you forgotten that?” He growled, voice bordering on patronizing as he followed you and Rossi out of the observation room. You gave it right back, emotions were running high and your frustration from Fahey, from Doyle, hell all the way from the last time Fury yelled at you- it was all boiling over.

“First of all, I had it completely under control, he wouldn’t have died. Second of all, I can name ten interrogations off the top of my head when you turned off the camera or when Hotch had to pry you off an unsub, so I don’t even want to hear it.” You snapped before stopping dead in your tracks to turn sharply to him, voice rising with every syllable and hands gesturing wildly, “And lastly, Derek, I don’t know if you got the memo, but one of our best friends is being held hostage by one of the cruelest arms dealers in the books. This isn’t little leagues anymore, so I’m sorry if you’re too good to get your hands dirty, but I’m getting really tired of this holier than thou attitude towards Prentiss and me. I don’t care what beef you have with her right now. If you’re not prepared to give everything to this case, to get her back alive, then why are you even here?”

Your eyes were alight with anger, and Derek’s eyes were wide with shock. He’d seen you angry at unsubs, even seen you pop off at Hotch before. But he’d never been on the receiving end, nor had he ever seen this kind of fury. Reid watched on, almost afraid to get between then two of you. Finally, Rossi decided to put a stop to it. He placed a hand on your shoulder, sharing a look that said, ‘Stop before you say something you regret.’ You nodded and let him lead you away from Derek.

Once out of Morgan’s earshot, Rossi rubbed your back a bit- he was always more fatherly than he liked to claim. “You alright?”

It was a two worded question, but you knew the implications. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself, before shaking your head, “Sorry, I know now’s not the time for infighting. I just got so, so...”

“I know it’s hard to keep your head on straight, but the important thing is that you didn’t say anything you couldn’t take back.” He nodded before motioning you along, “Now, let’s get back to what really matters. He’s either afraid of you or in love with you- I can’t tell, that gives us a little bit of leverage. What else did you notice?”

You chuckled a bit at his joke, letting go of the anger as you answered. “Withdrawals. He needs a cigarette.”

“Let’s use that.”

____________

“You know when a cigarette is best?” Fahey asked after a long drag of a cheap cigarette. Grey smoke swirled around him like fog on a lake. Derek was worried about me killing him? Lung Cancer will get him long before I do. You and Rossi simply rose an eyebrow, waiting in the cold air on the roof for Fahey to say anything useful. “After sex with me.”

After that thrilling conclusion, you simply rose an eyebrow as Fahey licked his lips while looking at you up and down. He continued on to say, “The Fluorescents didn’t do you any justice, sweetheart, neither did the stabby stabby, but a fiery woman is attractive and I can be very forgiving.”

Rossi stepped between you two, pretending to scare him off but really protecting him from you. Growling a harsh, “Mind your manners.”

Fahey backed off, protectively covering his injured ear, “All right, whoa, whoa.”

Rossi continued own, glaring at the worm, “You’re already extorting us for Prentiss’ location.”

“It would be a real shame if you, I don’t know, ‘slipped’ on an ice patch and fell.” You singsonged, as you looked to the sky. Fear flashed over Fahey’s face before he smiled cheekily.

“If you keep being mean, I’m gonna fall in love with you.” He grinned. You simply rose a single eyebrow as Rossi put himself between the two of you.

“Listen pal, I don’t know how much longer I can hold her off, and up here she can a lot worse than poke you with a pen.” Rossi shrugged, stepping out from between you two. You just smiled sweetly, flipping the pen through your fingers. “So out of curiosity, what’s it like working for Doyle?”

“Eh. He’s not so tough.” Jack shrugged taking another long drag, so long that the cigarette burned down to his fingers. You offered another one and Rossi held up a light. You skimmed the rest of the rooftops, anything so you didn’t have to look at Fahey as he gushed about his ‘involvement’ with Doyle.

“Wow, you’re really the man, huh?” You asked clearly not paying attention, looking at the building adjacent. Something about its silhouette just wasn’t quite right. But Fahey distracted you with another lewd comment.

“I could show you how much of a man I really am...” He stopped when Rossi stepped closer forcing him to back off, allowing you to narrow in your eyes on the discrepancy. You’re eyes widened in realization a moment too late.

The whistle of a bullet followed by a warm spray of blood punctuated his last disgusted comment. A sharp pain grazed your shoulder as you shouted, “Sniper, GET DOWN!”

Rossi didn’t give you time to argue as he covered you with his body, pulling you to the ground. Two more rounds shredded through Fahey, making his body convulse before it hit the ground. Rossi covered you like you were his own child, holding your head against his chest until he deemed it safe. By the time you were able to get a good look at the sniper- no snipers, there were two- there was just a flash of silver off one building and the other retreating out of your firing range.

Even with the warm blood dripping down your face, you didn’t think about your own life. Without Fahey, you might never find Emily.

________

An hour later, the clock had struck midnight and your phone had been long neglected, forgotten on some desk as soon as you had arrived. After getting first aid (and arguing against going to the hospital), your shoulder had been wrapped where the bullet grazed you. You were dabbing blood off your shirt sitting on the bench outside the police station’s bullpen, mentally kicking yourself for wearing white. Hotch slipped in, watching you do so.

“That’s not going to come out. How’s your shoulder?” He stated, sympathetically. You nodded with a shrug.

“Could be better. I don’t know what else to do to other than twiddle my thumbs.” You sighed, resting your elbows on your knees. Aaron stood across from you.

“(Y/N), we have a problem.” Hotch stated, your eyebrows furrowed, waiting for the rest of what he had to say, “Without Fahey, there’s not much left.”

“Hotch, unless you have a point, this is the worst pep talk, ever.” You sighed. Hotch didn’t even crack a smile, he never did on cases.

“We all want to save Prentiss so bad, that we can’t see this case straight.” He admitted. Again you nodded.

“Ok, what do we do?” You asked. You were at a loss, exhausted, upset, dirty, and you honestly didn’t know what Hotch was getting at.

“None of us can give an unbiased profile. So we bring in someone who can.” Hotch nodded to you, handing your cell phone over to you. Suddenly it dawned on you what he meant. You had a call to make.

________

Hotch left you alone to make a call, he didn’t know any of your SHIELD friends but he said he trusted your judgment. Clint was the first that came to your mind, but he’d told you everything he knew about Doyle, so he wouldn’t be much help, and he was biased. Natasha would have been a good contact, but she was on a mission. Your thumb hovered over Steve’s contact before finally pressing the call button. It took a ring and a half for him to answer, unsurprising he was up at this hour.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong, what happened?” You smiled at the concern in his voice.

“Hey, Steve, I’m fine, well mostly, but I could use a fresh pair of eyes- or well ears.” You started, waiting for his response to your not-quite question.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Steve asked and you smiled at his willingness to help. With a deep breath, you launched into the entire story, only sparing the bullet grazing incident. Knowing Steve, he’d sprint to Boston just to force you into a hospital.

“Steve, you don’t know any of them, tell me, what sounds off?” You asked the soldier who had been patiently listening to you ramble.

“Keep in mind, I don’t understand much about this profiling science, so it might not be very helpful, but...” He started, but trailed off.

“Anything is helpful, we’re at a wall and the clock’s ticking.” You sighed, eyes closing as you leaned your head against the wall.

“How does their affair change your profile? Does that truly affect it that much?” He asked, and while he had a point, you took the moment to relish the blush you knew was on his cheeks. Regardless, you’d already explored that point.

“What else?” You pressed, wishing you could see his behavior. The other end was silent. “Steve, I’m sorry to put in this position but I can’t even see it straight anymore, please think!”

“Why is he targetting families?” The Captain rushed out. And your eyes widened.

“Steve, keep going.” You whispered, rushing into the bullpen and grabbing a dry erase marker. You jotted down, ‘families?’ as you listened to his search for the right words.

“You said Prentiss is Doyle’s stressor, that he believes she wronged him. So why go after everyone else. The child in DC, it doesn’t fit with the rest of the story.” He rambled. You basically copied him word for word.

“Rogers, I can’t thank you enough. If this whole SHIELD thing doesn’t work out, remind me to get you an interview at the FBI.” You smiled, praising him over the phone. You heard the rest of the team already chatting over ‘your’ discovery.

“Anytime, (Y/N), just be careful.” He conceded. You nodded as if he could see you.

“I’ll try my best.”

__________

With Steve’s added push and a little help from Clyde, the team was back in action. You labeled him as a family annihilator and deduced he had a hidden child. From that, Garcia cross-referenced Irish Immigrants with Doyle’s employees. That’s where she found the pictures.

A series of photos. A middle-aged brunette woman and a small blonde child. In the first few they were both crying to the camera, silver duct tape silencing them. In the next couple, there was a hand brandishing a handgun. And in the last three, the photos showed them limp, blood trailing down from the bullet wounds. The photographs were sickening, gruesome in every way. Aside from the obvious, something was wrong. You clicked through them, trying to decipher what your gut was telling you. Spencer watched over your shoulder, seemingly sensing the same thing.

“(Y/N), look at the hand.” He muttered, and you complied gasping as you understood. Garcia looked at the pair of you in confusion before Derek voiced their question.

“It’s a hand in black clothes.” He shrugged. Spencer shook his head, reaching over you to point at his epiphany.

“No, look at the nails.” You clarified, examining the jagged and short edges Spencer was pointing at. Garcia gasped.

“Oh, oh my god.” Was all she managed, subconsciously scooting her rolling chair away from the computer. First assumptions- worst assumptions- ran through your head at Mach speed, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something.

Regardless of the implication or whatever your instinct was trying to tell you, you spoke, “Garcia reference search warehouses, secluded or abandoned, with their own perimeters, cross that with any Interpol activity. .”

She simply nodded, clearing away the gruesome photos from her screen. You did the same with your mind, I’ll find out the truth from Prentiss when we save her. We’ll sort this out.

“Got it. 1518 Adams Street.”

Garcia’s words from earlier that night rang through your head, Emily, I think of how scared you must be, in some dark lonely place. But, Emily, we’re waving flashlights and calling your name. We’re coming, just stay alive.

_____

“Agent Prentiss is the only friendly in the building. Rescuing her is out primary objective.” Hotch ordered as you all geared up. Safety’s clicked off, ammo clicked into chambers, velcro ripped on and off as vests were strapped on- it had been a long time since you wore FBI labels you thought as you tightened the straps- and there was a collective sense of determination and nervous energy in the air.

“Our only advantage here is stealth. Once they know we’re on-site, there’s nothing to stop them from killing her.” Derek- always in charge of strikes- informed. “So we keep it quiet until we get to her.”

Everyone nodded in agreement as the briefing disbanded. To your shock, Derek approached you. The look he gave you wasn’t friendly, but wasn’t hostile either, so you decided to hear him out.

“Like you said, this isn’t little league,” He began, watching you clip extra ammo clips to your belt, “I’m sure the strike team is great, but as it stands you have a better grip on this than me. I want you in there with me when we go in.”

You simply nodded, holstering your gun. Derek had an automatic weapon slung on his shoulder, while you just opted for extra handguns, giving you three loaded guns on your person. One in your hip holster with a silencer attached, one in the waistband on your pants, and an ankle holster hidden by your pants. Taking some of Natasha’s advice to heart, you also slid a tactical knife into your vest- just in case.

Derek wasn’t done though, “I don’t know this world, and frankly I’m not comfortable with it. But I can sort my issues out with Prentiss when we get her back. And I need someone I trust in there watching my six.”

The statement seemed mundane, but you knew the meaning behind it, someone I trust. That was as close to an apology as you were getting, but you offered him a genuine smile- you’d take it. Just like old times, you wrapped your arms around him, and he returned the hug. Like a brother to me.

“We good?” He asked as you let go. You nodded, raising an eyebrow as if nothing ever happened.

“Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

___________

Entering the warehouse was nervewracking, as everything relied on stealth. A silenced sniper took out the two guards at the gate, allowing your’s and Derek’s group to enter. Every guard and goon was taken down by a silent bullet, a quick and quiet end to their life. You kept your wits about you. Every step was a step closer to Prentiss. You thought was you stepped quickly behind Derek, eyes sweeping crook and cranny.

As more and more thugs appeared, the group fanned out. It was a sad fact that anyone who saw you had to be killed or incapacitated- no one could spook Doyle. Not when you were this close.

You waited for Hotch to send the signal. Winding through hallways, gun at the ready, you waited. Every ounce of anger and frustration you tunneled into fine-tuned senses as you followed Derek. The two of you stuck together, the rest of the team was checking other buildings. As you entered the first large room, you heard it. A struggle, Prentiss’ yells and a man’s grunting as you heard the fight. At the same time, the group of enemies noticed the two of you- your first count said nine. Then it happened, the power went down. That was the signal for all hell to break loose.

“DEREK GO!” You shouted, as two rushed towards you. You shot at one blindly, hitting him in the leg. The other didn’t have a gun so he tried to grab you. You delivered a roundhouse kick to his face, hooking the bend of your knee around the back of his neck and pulling him to the ground. The butt of your gun whipped across his face before you finally pull a bullet in him. Derek gaped at you for a moment, before snapping back to reality. 7 enemies, one injured

“I’m not leaving you!” He yelled back, fighting off another. BAM. Six and one injured.

“Derek, you have to trust me. I got this.” You growled eyes adjusting to the dark as a particularly large man hulking up to you, “Emily needs you. She’s fighting, but she needs you.”

Derek hesitated, but finally growled as he complied, sprinting towards the sound of Emily’s struggle as you emptied the rest of your clip into the giant approaching you. He was easily seven foot and padded with extra layers of flesh and maybe a vest, he grunted at the shots but he didn’t slow down. Part of you regretted sending Derek away as your eyes the other five approaching you.

Make Natasha proud. You thought as you vaguely heard Derek demand back up for you over the comms. Lightning fast, you dropped the empty clip before replacing it with a new one. This time you emptied it into his chest and forehead. Almost inhuman, he kept walking for a minute before finally collapsing in on himself. Five, one injured. You locked eyes with every other man in the room, a moment of calm before they all rushed at you.

A tall, lean man with blonde hair was the closest to you, so you pitched the empty gun at his face like an MLB pitcher. It hit his nose with a satisfying crunch, causing him to stop to hold onto his bleeding face. Four, two injured.

The next was almost of a caricature of an Irish stereotype: short, red-headed but balding, square jaw, and bulky with muscle. He had a jagged scar running from his eyes to his neck. He was too close, you didn’t have time to grab another gun. You realized that too late, a solid fist connected with your ribs. The pain was immediate, but just as Nat had trained you, so was your reaction. Her voice echoed in your head as you dropped to the ground and swept his feet out from under him. ‘Your enemies won’t wait from you to recover, neither will I’

After a swift kick to his redhead, you turned to your left swinging your leg up and around to look around the next nearest enemy, a stocky bald man. Using your leverage, you pulled yourself up and twisted, grabbing your ankle gun at the same time. This sent the bald man to the ground, disorienting him long enough for you to put two shots into his head. Three, two injured.

In your distraction, the redhead had recovered, sneaking behind you wrapping his strong arms around you, pinning your arms to your stomach. “Drop the gun, bitch.”

You didn’t, so he squeezed you hard enough that you swore you felt the already throbbing ribs crack- or maybe it was your elbow- forcing the gun out of your hand. The blonde, face now dripping blood, approached.

“Hold her steady for me, Mckellan.” He smirked after kicking your knees, forcing them to buckle before balling his hand into a fist. The grip on you tightened and you braced yourself for a hit. Even with the preparation, it didn’t ebb the pain. You had been punched before, but not like this. You felt the curve of his knuckles whip your head to the side, right where your eye met your cheek, you watched as your earpiece clattered to the floor. The blond kicked it out of your sight. The force dizzied you, but you didn’t get a reprieve. ‘Mckellan’ dropped one arm to take hold of your hair, jerking your head up just in time for the blonde to hail another fist onto your face. This time landing on your jaw, allowing you to taste the blood in your and feel it trickle down your face.

They laughed expecting you to be done, as your head hung for a second. You defiantly lifted your eyes to the blonde’s, spitting out a mouthful of blood and hoping he could see the murderous glint to your eye. He did, and you saw the fear in his as he registered too late. With all your strength, you threw your head back- twice. The first time you hit your captor's nose, you felt it crumple. The second time was his chin, you felt the force cause him to bite down. Hope you didn’t want your tongue, you sick fuck, you thought as his hold loosened.

With a little more freedom, you jumped up and arched your back, wrapping your legs around the blonde's neck. With all your might, you threw your body to the ground, twisted your hips, and bent your knees. You felt all your muscles strain but were rewarded with a sharp snap as the man went limp. One short breath before you lunged for your gun, kneeling and aiming it at Mckellan who had just spit out his bloody, severed tongue. Your lip curled in disgust as you pulled the trigger. Standing up, you kept your count, Two left, two injured.

Before you could even find your next target, someone launched onto your back. The sudden weight disoriented you as grubby fingers pulled at your face and hair, causing you to once again drop your gun. His grubby fingers prodded at your face and his heels dug into soft flesh to hang on. Base instinct took over, their weight causing you to blindly stumble backward until you hit a wall. Feeling the contact, you grunted in anger pulling back before ramming your attacker against the wall again. The short man shouted curses at you but didn’t let go. With a primal growl, you did it again, harder this time. Checking him into the brick wall with as much force as possible. This time he dropped, and you instantly whirled around kicking him in the stomach as he scrambled to his knees. You took the leverage, your fingers knotted into his greasy black hair, to maximize force you brought your knee up at the same time you brought his head down. You didn’t know whether he was dead or unconscious, but it didn’t matter as he crumpled to the floor- he wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

For a moment, you leaned against the wall forgetting there was still another attacker. You were panting and sweating, fatigue set in as you lost your momentum. The ache in your head blossomed, reminding you of the hits you had taken, your shoulders were sore from Mckellan’s hold, your knees from the blonde’s kick, not to mention the two blooming bruises and busted lip on your face, (you wouldn’t be surprised if your nose was broken), the koala attack and the hockey style defense you put on had your entire bottle rattle, and that was just on top of normal body fatigue. I could really use a super-soldier right about now you thought.

Of course, your moment of rest was no longer than fifteen seconds. Just enough time for someone to tackle you from the side. You shrieked in shock and pain as you hit the ground on your already injured ribs, your attacker's weight adding to the hit. Your head smacked against the concrete, and you saw stars and you tried to escape as he tried to wrap his hands around your throat.

It took a moment for you to regain your wits, but when you did, you rolled. Your attacker fell away, or at least his weight shifted enough for you to scramble away. You saw your gun a few feet away, so you scrambled towards in on your hands and knees. Seeing your plan, the bearded man grabbed your ankle and hauled you back to him. In anger, you twisted around, your other foot stomping into his face. You knew you wouldn’t make it to your firearm, so instead, you leaned up and tackled him back to the ground. The two of you rolled a good distance before you ended up with the upper hand. This time with you on top, you delivered one well-executed punch to the face before slipping the knife out of it’s hiding spot. With a growl, you brought down the knife, but he caught the handle as the tip pierced the skin above his heart. For a moment there was a power struggle, he was no longer fighting for Doyle, he was fighting for his life.

But you were fighting for Emily. A rush of determination lit a fire in you. You reared back, balling up your fist and hitting the butt of the knife like a hammer. It plunged the blade in an inch. Sensing how close you were to winning, he flailed underneath you, trying to hold off the blade with his remaining strength. With one last growl and hit delivered to the knife handle, the last of Doyle’s men slacked against the bloody floor.

After all the struggle, he was dead rather quietly. Besides the injured one, that should be all of them. You heard the click of a gun safety sliding off.

“You’re too late bitch, Doyle’s alread-” BAM smoke rose out of the hole between his eyes as he fell over.

His (him being the first man you shot in the leg) gloating distracted him before he even had a chance to aim at you. The moment you heard the click, you’d slipped your hidden firearm out. With a groan of pain, you rose to your feet. Everyone in the room either dead or wallowing in pain as Swat flooded in. Slowly, you moved to pick up you earpiece, entire body protesting movement.

“-A MEDIC IN HERE. PRENTISS IS DOWN.” You tuned into the last bit of Derek’s pleading. Like you had been electrically shocked, you were recharged, tearing towards Derek’s location. It was three hallways over, and as you came in, your heart broke.

Emily was on the floor, a bloodied piece of wood sticking out of her abdomen. Derek was beside her, holding her hand. He noticed you, eye raking over your body. You knew you probably looked like hell, but he didn’t comment. There were other priorities and your health didn’t make the list at the moment.

“Go after Doyle, he can’t have gotten far!” He ordered, you nodded, taking one last look at Prentiss- her eyes lolling around- before you sprinted out the back door. You could hear a commotion up ahead so you followed the noise, reloading your gun as you went. Turning a corner, you could see Doyle across the train tracks about to get into a car, staring straight at you- smiling.

“IAN DOYLE, SHIELD, PUT YOU’RE HANDS IN THE AIR AND GET ON YOUR KNEES.” You thundered, anger tearing shreds in your already sore throat. Into your comm, you asked, “I have a shot, do I take it?”

Hotch picked up as a train whistled its approach, “Yes, take the shot.”

Right as your finger twitched against the trigger, your comm hissed in your ear causing you to flinch- but not take your eyes off Doyle who was now grinning like the Chesire Cat.

“Belay that order. Agent, you do not take that shot.” A new voice took over your comms.

“Who is this? On whose orders?” You heard Hotch demand. Your eyes remained on Doyle, who curiously hadn’t moved. Anxiously, you gripped your gun tighter keeping your target in firing range. The train was getting closer, making it harder to hear, the spotlight lighting up the night.

“Order comes from the World Security Council.” The voice shot back. You growled although no one could hear it. You were taking the shot, you had already decided. You didn’t care if you spent the rest of your life in federal prison. Doyle deserved it. Hotch was still arguing with the new voice as your entire body tensed.

Time moved in slow motion, you were losing your window. Running forward, you squeezed the trigger, bullet ricocheting off metal. But you were too late, the train cut in front of you like a knife.

“Guys, I’ve lost my visual. Does anyone have sights on Doyle!” You shouted into the comms. Trying in vain to see past the train. Slamming your earpiece into the ground, you screamed a slew of curses at the top of your lungs- your anger, desperation, and anguish being lost in the noise of the locomotive. Minutes later, the end of the train flew by you. Revealing what you already knew, Doyle was gone without a trace.

Another hiss of curses fell out of your lips as you turned on your heel and sprinted back to Emily and Derek. Arriving just in time to see the EMT’s put her on a stretcher, you hunched over to catch your breath. Though you still had plenty of anger, your adrenaline was fading fast, no longer masking any of the pain you were in. You hissed as you limped behind Derek, trying to catch up to Emily’s stretcher.

“How’s she?” You asked, not arguing when he slung one of your arms of your shoulder to help you. His jaw hardened.

“She’s been through hell. Lots of blood loss. Maybe some internal bleeding.” He shook his head, leading you back through the warehouse. Back through the room that held your handiwork. Derek saw this too.

“You look terrible. I shouldn’t have left you.” He remarked, watching as an agent pulled a sheet over the guy with a knife in his chest. You shook your head.

“If you stayed with me, Emily would be leaving in a body bag. She’s got a chance because you scared Doyle off. I’m the one who let him get away- I should have taken the damn shot.” You reprimanded but ended in a low snarl, one arm going up to cradle your ribs that were now throbbing. Normally, there would have been a handful of jokes and a few innuendos in there. Derek would have teased you and questioned you on where you learned to do all that. You would have teased him about being able to kick his ass. But now, there was only resignation. The case was over, but Emily’s fight wasn’t finished.

When you finally saw the light of the ambulance, Hotch rushed to you. Eyeing you up and down. “We’re going to meet Emily at the hospital, should I call another Ambulance?”

You shook your head as Rossi appeared- the ambulance was pulling off with sirens piercing the night air, “Minor wounds. Nothing to worry about.”

Both older men looked unconvinced but didn’t press the matter, allowing Derek to help you into the back of an SUV. You sank into the seat beside Spencer, who was wringing his hands with worry. He gave you a once over before beginning to ramble about minor injuries and the statistics on death’s in the US. For once you didn’t have the energy to listen or pretend to listen, you just stared at him blankly until it tapered off, ending with his handing you a handkerchief. You took it gratefully, lacing your hand through his as a comfort and dabbing the cloth to your face as the SUV pulled into the road.

The radio clock read 3 AM, and the night showed no signs of an end.

____

Garcia and JJ met the rest of the team at a hospital, where the whole lot of you were ushered into a waiting room. Garcia fussed over you a little, which you knew was because she was so worried about Emily, but couldn’t do anything so you allowed it. Several nurses tried to drag you to the ER for treatment, but you refused every offer until JJ came up behind you.

“Emily will be in surgery for the next few hours, go get patched up. I’ll come to get you if anything happens.” She told you, it was quiet and gentle, like the warm hand on your shoulder- a stark contrast to everything else that night. You hesitated, looking back to your team and then to the doors that lead to Prentiss. Sensing your hesitation, her blue eyes locking with yours, “Prentiss would be the first person to drag you into an ambulance.”

With a defeated sigh, you nodded, letting a short Hispanic night nurse lead to the ER. She, along with a gaggle of other nurses and one doctor’s approval, went to work. They cleaned out the numerous cuts and scratches along your face and arms, diagnosed you with a mild concussion, wrapped your knee (advising you to buy a brace if you wanted it to heal right), and told you that you fractured two ribs. You refused X-rays, knowing that they’d take to long. So with their work done, most of the nurses went to their next patient.

The one that brought you stayed behind and despite your silence- Claire Temple her name read with a smiley face beside it, was incredibly kind. She handed you two wet hand towels, “You’ll feel better with all that blood off you. Be careful where the skin split though.”

Tiredly, you sponged off the blood- which did make you feel a little less gross- and was careful around the bandages. Claire stood behind you, deft hands working through your hair- pulling out glass, twigs, and god knows what else- before twisting your hair into a loose braid. With a kind smile, she offered you a bottle of water and two large white pills.

“Thank you for your kindness, but I need to be-” You started to protest. She dropped them in your hand regardless.

“Honey, those are max strength ibuprofen. You’ll be perfectly alert, as long as you can stay awake.” She smiled- you were exhausted, the clock on the wall read 4:02 AM- stepping to the side. “Go wait with your friends, your other friend should be coming out fo surgery soon.”

Her kindness was something you really needed at that moment, a reminder that not everything was terrible, so you mustered the sweetest smile you could, “Thank you, I really needed that.”

“I know, now go.”

_______________

The waiting room was bleak. Hotch and Spencer took turns pacings. In the time you had been back, Spencer had gone through three cups of coffee. Garcia was beside Derek- who hadn’t moved, only holding his head in his hands- nervously tapping her pen against her notebook. JJ was in and out, making a thousand different calls. Rossi stared into thin air as he was lost in thought.

You had only been in there for forty-five minutes, but as you sat a few seats away from everyone else, mentally beating yourself up- I could have taken that shot. I shouldn’t have even asked permission- your anxiety was already bubbling over.

When JJ entered the room without a phone in her hands, you knew something wasn’t right- as did everyone else in the room. A single pull of her lip confirmed everyone's fears. Some tried to remain stoic- Hotch’s jaw hardened, Derek hung his head- others immediately broke- Garcia gaped, denial written across her face, Spencer was shaking his head like he was being lied to.

“She never made it off the table.” JJ tried to keep a smooth tone, eyes meeting the floor. Your heart shattered, Emily was gone. Doyle actually killed her- you didn’t save her. Your eyes were hot with tears, and before you knew it your feet were carrying you out of the waiting room, out of the ER, out of the hospital.

Your throat was constricting, tears blurring your eyes as you slid to a stop. You didn’t go that far outside, but the distance felt like miles. It said a lot, that you ran outside- the rest of the team is inside, together. You thought, choking on a sob, you thought bitterly, God, how fitting. I left, just like I left them.

Your thoughts kept devolving, breathing becoming erratic as it became sobs became harder to hold in, I left, maybe if I stayed I could have noticed something was up with her, brought it up sooner, figured Doyle out sooner. We shouldn’t have waited for SWAT we could have been there twenty minutes earlier. I shouldn’t have listened to Morgan, I should have stayed with them and helped stem the bleeding. I shouldn’t have asked permission to take the shot. I shouldn’t have listened. I should have taken the shot. It wouldn’t have brought Emily back but at least her killer wouldn’t be running free. I should have taken the shot.

You dropped to your knees against the cold pavement, allowing yourself to cry as you looked to the sky for some sort of answer. All you found was a hospital helicopter heading east. You sat outside, in the middle of March in Boston, in a short-sleeve not even noticing your shivering until a warm hand was on your shoulder. You looked behind you to see Hotch, who shrugged off his coat and put it on your shoulders. He helped you up, his ever so serious eyes looked at you- and as always you felt obligated to give him an answer.

“I should have taken the shot.” You croaked, now acutely away of how cold, hungry, sore, and exhausted you were. Hotch shook his head.

“You had orders not to.” He corrected, stoic as ever. That was good, the team needed a rock in all this. But at that moment, you didn’t see that.

“He got away.” You choked, wiping at the near-frozen tear trails on your face. For the first and only time in your life, Hotch pulled you into a hug. It was stiff and cold, and honestly reminded you of every ache and pain, but the sentiment was nice.

“We’ll catch him again. Let’s go home.”

________

I was excited for this, but then it turned out,,, bad

taglist: @irishfaulk97 @viarogers @toboldlyscream @benji-booxx @sophiiev @thebadassbitchqueen

#criminal minds x reader x marvel #marvel x criminal minds #mcu x reader #criminal minds x reader

234 notes · View notes

ally-writes-many-things · 5 years

Text

Secret Voight (Jay Halstead) S2 Part 1

Summary: The team finally knows that Y/N is Voight's daughter. One secret is out but theres still one secret that's not out. Y/N and Jay's relationship. Will that stay a secret or not? I mean Voight always finds out about things, right? Season two of Secret Voight starts now.

Words: 3179

Requested: yes

Prompts:

Warning or A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long! Been busy with work. But I'm working on part 2 as I'm posting this!

I stood there with my arms crossed looking at my half brother, unimpressed. The only thing that has changed about him from the last time I saw him was his height. "Y/N! Come on!"

You looked away from him, trying to figure out what to say before you looked back at him. "Come on, nothing. I'm not feeding into your habit,"

Justin looked at you as if you had slapped him. "Fine, whatever. You had never helped me and didn't care about me. You only cared about impressing dad and that why you got applied to be on Intelligence,"

You just sat there looking at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. "Justin, you can try to guilt me all you want but I'm not gonna change my mind,"

He huffs and walked away but stop midway to whoever's car was parked behind him. "You know, you're just like dad,"

Your dad may do some shady things but he is loyal. You rolled your eyes and walked to your car and got into it and screamed out in frustration. When you met Justin, he was alread to lost and you were never clicked with him as you were 'too much' like your father. Him and Voight didn't have a great relationship. You tried to help him over and over, gave him hundreds of dollars but he would blow them on stupid things and you had enough of it. You didn't know what he wanted this time but the way he looked and acted it wasnt anything good. You sighed and drove to 21st.

You walked into Intelligence and you saw Jay start to walk up to you, which you walked past him and to your father's office. His door was open, so you just walked into his office but shut the door. "You need to do something with Justin before he gets killed,"

Your father swirls around looked at you. "Not even a good morning?"

You rolled your eyes. "Good morning. You need to do something with Justin befoe he gets killed,"

Voight puts his hands together and just looked at you. You rolled your eyes. "He called me last night after. Did you know he got out early?"

Voight shook his head. "No. What did he want and when did he get out?"

"Like a month ago, he asked to meet up. The when we did asked me for money and dad, he doesn't look good,"

Voight just nodded and sighed. "Theres nothing anyone can do. I've tried. You've tried. Everyone has tried. Jail obviously didn't do anything,"

You were about to say something but Voight stopped you. "Dont worry about him. We got a case,"

You sighed in defeat, he walked to the door and opened it for you. You just looked at him for a minute before walking out and over to your desk. Voight walked to the middle of the room. "All right, there are two unrelated wire investigations. Surveillance followed three of area central's top-ranking gang targets to this house on Carpenter. Narcotics hasn't gotten anywhere with it, so command staff wants Intelligence on it. Roll out in five,"

Voight took a look around the room before coming downstairs. You grabbed your gun and badge from your desk and started to walk downstairs when Jay walked next to you. "Everything go okay with Justin?"

You didn't answer him and kept walking. Jay whistled. "I take that as a no,"

"You have that right,"

You got into Jay's passenger seat as he climbed into the driver's seat. You looked around to see if anyone was near the truck and no one was there. You leaned over to Jay and turned his head to face you and kissed him. He smiled within the kiss and placed his hand on your cheek. You pulled away after a fee seconds and looked at him. "Sorry, just wedded that,"

Jay shook his head and chuckled. "No need to apologize babe. It's always welcomed,"

You smiled as Jay turned on his truck.

----

You put the walkie up to your mouth and called the team. "We got the main eye,"

Voight came through next. "We're set up to the north. We got the south and a partial of the alley. If anyone goes mobile from the house, we're in position for a take-away. Oh and Ruzek, move closer. See if there's any movement in the house,"

At the same time I saw a someone walk up, Jay did too and he called it in. "Hold up. We got company,"

The guy started to pull something out and you noticed it was a gun before you could call it in, Atwater called it in. "Gun!"

We quickly got of the car and as soon as he did we were under attack. I don't know how lmany there were or how long it took, all I know was it was silent as it the gunfire crease. We walked into the house and started to clear the house. "Clear!"

You and Jay walked into the last room. "Police! Clear!"

You saw someone dead on the floor and other one that was alive. You took notice of the rest of the team coming in minus Ruzek and Atwater. "Hoodie's dead. This one's alive,"

You looked at Jay as you put the walkie to your lips once again. "Charlie 50-21, emergency,"

Voight looked at you like you were crazy. "What? He's gonna bleed out. We gotta put pressure on the wound,"

You pressed your finger back down on the walkie. "Shots fired by the police. Offender down,"

You heard Atwater call you guys into a room and when you got in there, you see specialize specialized ammunition "Cop killers,"

Ruzek stood up and was looking at something. "Hey, look at this,"

You walked over to him. "What do you got?"

"Insulin,"

"Somebody was a diabetic?"

"Or not. Is there a black market for this stuff?"

Jay walked up to us and grabbed the Insulin. "None that I've heard of. But you know what? It's a good place to hide a bullet, though. Nice work,"

-----

You walked up to the board and tapped two pictures on it and then turned to face the team. "This is Edward Jelko, the deceased street-level dealer. This is Peter Thomas Banfill, the offender, currently baking in a coma over at County. Jelko probably thought like we did that Banfill was sitting on something big, went over there to rip him off,"

Antonio walked up to the board and pinned more pictures on the board. "These are M995s, teflon-tipped, kevlar-penetrating rounds. Ballistics has them linked to several recent homicides. And we found 100 of these at the scene. It's for type R insulin, which is a Canadian designation and with any luck, our little surprise visit got the gun runners scrambling, which means they're gonna make mistakes, okay?"

Voight nodded and looked at all us. "Eyes open,"

---

You were typing on your computer, corssrefercing things when Antonio comes back in after going out and talking to his C.I. "Hey! I found the source of the Insulin. A company near Toronto named Markham Medical Supply their sales rep makes a run here every other Thursday. He left at 5:00 this morning,"

You stood up from your chair and walked over to Antonio. "I'm guessing they have tracking numbers on all their products?"

Antonio looked at you. "Yep,"

Voight walked over to you two and nodded. "All right, get those tracking numbers, locate him on GP, and- you already did that,"

Antonio smiled. "Yep, Atwater and Burgess are en route tracking the signal,"

You held out your fist for Antonio to fist bump it and he does. "Nice,"

You were walking to the car to where Burgess and Atwater said they found a body. "This is definitely our sales rep. George Wilenko, 41. He's been with Markham Medical for 17 years. No record, fully bonded, has border clearance. This guy's not your typical smuggler,"

Al pointed at a cup. "You notice the cup?"

You looked over at the cup and saw a lipstick stain. "Lipstick on the lid,"

Jay and you had picked up the wife and had her in the break room after telling her, her husband was found dead. "My mother always called it Murder City but the first time we visited, I fell in love with Chicago. The lake, the river walk. George and I went to the top of the Willis tower. God, I just I can't believe it. Why would someone kill my husband?"

Jay sighed and looked at her. "We think that he was smuggling guns into the country,"

The wife looked at us like we were beyond mental. "George?"

You nodded. "He wasn't killed over Insulin. And on his last trip here, we think his vehicle was filled with these,"

You pointed over at Jay and Jay sat a bullet down on the sink. The wife looked like she was gonna faint. "I'm hallucinating. This isn't happening,"

"Five people have already been killed by them,"

The wife wasnt believing anything we said. "Look, you don't get it. George would never do that ever,"

"How often did you make the trip down with him?"

"Every couple of months. We always stay at the Sofitel. I shop. That's why he dropped me off. They don't have Bloomingdale's in Canada,"

You and Jay share a knowing look.

You and Jay were at Jay's desk, checking out the story that the wife told us wien Antonio comes back into Intellegnce. We got somethin'. These are our bullets. Can you believe the velocity of these things? Forensics traced one round that went through the TV, through the wall, ended up halfway through the engine block of an ice cream truck parked across the street,"

Voight nodded. "Seven homicides and counting,"

While you were listening to them, Jay was still digging. Our widow's lying. Her cell phone provider said she was never at Bloomingdale's. She spent the afternoon up in Edgewater,"

You and Jay walked back into the break room where she was sitting with the door closed. "We're gonna get real honest real quick. Do you recognize these men?"

Jay laid down the photos of the victim of the cop killer bullets. "Oh, my,"

You were getting fed up with her. "Yeah, neither can we. His face was shot off by the bullets you and your husband brought into Chicago. You lied to us. You weren't browsing Bloomingdale's. You were in Edgewater. You and your husband had a nice run, right? You start off with something simple like x or kush, and you got greedy, and you upgraded to gun-running. You got George killed, which makes you an accessory to his murder,"

Jay took a step in front of you at this point. "Y/N,"

You just looked at him but moved so he wasn't in the way anymore. "So we're gonna try this again, only this time the truth,"

She sat down andsighed. "I was visiting a friend. - An ex-boyfriend,"

You rolled your eyes. "If you're gonna lie, put some effort into it for me,"

The wife gave me the I'm not lying look. "Call him. He'll tell you,"

Jay placed a pen and a piece of paper on the table and pointed at it. "Name, number. I want you to take me through your entire day, every stop you made, every person you talked to, everything you did,"

"I already told you,"

You out your hands on the table. "Tell me again,"

She nodded. "We were on the road by 4:30. Didn't stop till we crossed the border just past Ann Arbor. Got some coffee, some gas. Used the washroom. George got a phone call from our nephew-"

You stopped her there. "Who's the nephew?"

"He lives here. He likes to meet up with George Oh, God, Mikey doesn't know,"

You look at her. "Does Mikey have a last name?"

She nodded.

Jay walked up to the board and tapped a picture up as you pointed at it. "Michael Ganz, lives in East Garfield Park, has a record: robbery, possession. Runs with a small crew,"

Jay nodded. "Claire's ex-boyfriend checks out right down to the five hundred bucks,"

The tech analysts came in and stands in the middle of the room. "Got a ping on Ganz's phone, pulled all the numbers he's called in the last 24 hours. All the calls were to the same numbers, a cell phone registered to a Lucky M Pawn and Loan - in Gage Park,"

Al pointed at the tech person. "Lucky M. I know that ding-dong,"

Antonio nodded. "We'll go talk to him. Come on,"

----

Jay left to do something in which he didn't tell you what so you left to go and grab a cup of good coffee. You were coming out of the shop when you saw Justin across the street trading money for something. You placed your coffe cup on your car and walk over to where Justin was. Justin didn't see you til the moment you reached over and grabbed what was in his hand. It was drugs. You gave me a dirty looked before crushing them into dust and throwing them into the dumpster next to you. "Y/N! What the hell?"

You didnt even acknowledged him and started to walk away but he grabbed your arm. You instantly reached over with your free hand and punched him in the face. "Don't ever grab me like that,"

Justin recovers fast as he walked up to you. "Dont throw away something that isn't yours,"

You resisted the urge to strike him again. "Is that why you wanted to borrow money? To buy drugs?"

Justin didn't answer you. You pursed your lips together. "Thought so. You just got out of jail, Justin. Do you want to go back?"

Justin looked at you quickly. "Are you gonna arrest me?"

You shook your head. "With what evidence? I just destroy it. So no, I'm not but the next thing I see you buying or using any type of illegal substances, I will. Now get out of here,"

Justin takes one last look at you before walking away. You sighed as your phone started to ring. You reached into your pocket and answered it. "Voight,"

----

You, Burgess, Atwatter, Voight, the IT person were sitting in the surveillance van after Al got into a car with the suspect. He was calling out directions when his phone got tossed out the window. It was a few minutes after his phone got tossed when they finally stopped. Now we are just waiting for the takedown word. "It's just like Christmas morning,"

That was it, you all jump out of the car and move into the bulding. "Police!"

You and Jay walked around the bulding as you see two people hiding southwest, you called it out to Burgess and Atwater.

---

You sighed as you finished up the paperwork from the case and placed it in a file on your desk. Jay had already left and so did the rest of the team besides Voight. You get up from your desk and grabbed your jacket. You walked over to Voight's office and knocked. Voight turned and looked at you. "I'm headed home,"

Voight nodded. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. I love you,"

You nodded and said I love you too.

---

You walked up to the door and knocked. It was a few seconds befor you heard feet shuffle to the door, you smiled as your grandmother opened the door. "Its late. Everything okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I just wanted to come over and I know it's late but I missed you,"

Your grandmother pulled you into the house and then into a hug. She led you into her kitchen where you sat in a chair at the table. She walked over to the coffee pot and turned it on. "How's your father?"

You shrugged. "Same as ever. Jobs going good as well,"

You two didnt say anything else until the coffee was done. She grabbed the pot and a cup. She poured some of the coffee into the cup and sat down. "Are you gonna tell me what's bothering you or am I gonna have to guess?"

You sighed and took a sip of your coffee. "Justin is out of jail,"

She gives you a look, you give her the same one back. "Yeah, I know. Early release. Today, I caught him buying drugs and instead of arresting him. I destroyed the drug and gave him a choice. I know what I was wrong but he's my half brother. I cant let him drown,"

She sits her coffee down on the table and looked at me. "You have a big heart but sometime you gotta let people fall,"

"Its hard grandma,"

"I know but in the long run itll be better for everyone,"

---

You wake up to your phone going off, you groaned and rolled over and you saw that it was a text from Justin.

From: Justin

Thanks for not ratting me out. Dad set up a dinner, you're coming.

You sighed and texted him back.

To: Justin

What if I have plans?"

From: Justin

Cancel them.

You looked at Justin and then at Voight at the table and sighed. You didnt want to be here, you rather be laying in bed wrapped up in Jay's arms. "So this guy comes across the yard. He's all skeezed out on crystal or something and he says, he says, chicken pot pie. Like I'm supposed to know what that is, right? So my boy looks at him, points back at the block and he says, that way. Did not matter what this cat was on. He just doubles back to where he came from lickety-split, you know what I'm saying?"

You pursed your lips together as Voight looked at his son. "Hey, J, listen, I got some news. Um I had to pull some strings, but I got you in at the CTA,"

"That's where that's where city workers send their loser relatives,"

Justin looked at you for help but you shrugged. "It's a job. And it'll help you get back on your feet,"

He gives you a look which you ignored. "You know you sound more and more like him every day, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "You start Monday,"

"Okay, pop, sure,"

Voight's phone started to ring and he gets up to take it. "Excuse me, I gotta take this,"

You and Justin didn't talk while he was gone. He comes back and placed money on the table for the check and looked at you. "We gotta roll,"

#jay halstead x you #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #chicago pd #kevin atwater #antonio dawson #kelly Burgess #adam ruzek #hank voight #secret voight

230 notes · View notes

baepop · 5 years

Text

PRIVATE // 3

You attend the ill-fated party that changes everything.

Word Count: 8.3k

Pairing: Jungkook x You x Jennie

Genre: Slight smut / Angst, angst, and more angst

A/N: Who are you guys rooting for? I want to know :)

The ride back to Jennie’s apartment was full of heavy silence, so loaded with her questioning stares and your unspoken frustration. Your leg couldn’t help bouncing up and down anxiously as you stared out of the window. Your mouth rested on your palm, covering your pained expression. It was a rare occurrence for you to cry, and much less over a guy, so you were willing yourself to get over it. You couldn’t though.

“We’re here babe.” Jennie’s voice was barely over a whisper. She’d never seen you this upset. It’s always her who needs to be comforted, so she was out of her element.

You wordlessly climbed out of the car and lead the way up to her penthouse. Taking your shoes off at the door, you rushed into her apartment and began pacing in front of the giant windows in between her living room and her kitchen. The sun was setting behind the skyscrapers that decorated the spectacular view thirty floors up, but you were two busy biting the nail polish off your freshly manicured fingers.

Jennie dropped her handbag on top of the dining table then settled down in a chair to watch your mental breakdown front row. She brought her foot up on the seat to rest her chin on her knee. The girl patiently waited until you paused to look out at the cloudless pink sky with your hands on your hips before clearing her throat. Your head snapped in her directed, realizing how rude you were being.

You turned your gaze back to the view before breaking the silence. “I’m sorry. I owe you an explanation. I’m just trying to calm down before I tell you everything.”

Jennie chewed on her bottom lip with furrowed brows. “It’s okay, you don’t need to explain. I think I already know what’s going on.”

You whipped around to stare at the girl who grew increasingly nervous in her chair. “What do you mean?”

“You saw Jungkook at the restaurant…didn’t you?” You dropped your hands limply to the side, utterly lost for words. Did she see me being an idiot at his table earlier? “I…sort of already knew he’d be there.”

“But...how? Ugh Jennie just tell me already. What the heck is going on!?” You rushed over to the table to sit next to her, but she refused to face you.

“Yesterday, I hung out with Jungkook at the bar. He left to take a phone call, and when Yoongi and I met up with him outside he seemed really frantic on the phone. It seemed like he was talking to a girl, and he didn’t want us to hear his conversation, so he agreed to meet her at that restaurant today before hanging up.” Jennie peaked at your face with a sheepish expression before continuing. “And when I woke up this morning, I realized he had been over last night because his jacket was laying on the couch. I hated thinking this, I really do Y/N,” she reached out to grab your hand, but you pulled away before she could, “but we needed to know if he was two-timing you. And obviously he was! I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

Jennie watched you with wide eyes as you scooted your chair back and stood over her. “Wow Jennie…that was...”

“Thoughtful?” She offered.

“Manipulative.” Your word wounded her deeply, and it shown in her crumpled expression. “Jennie, that was humiliating…and if you felt like he was shady why didn’t you just speak up!?”

Jennie sighed, “Because you wouldn’t listen! You’re sooo head over heels for this guy despite acting like you’re not! You needed to see for yourself!”

You drew in a shaky breath, “Jennie you had no right. I cannot believe you.” You turned towards the door, but your friend grabbed your arm before you could get far. This time it was her eyes that were glassy.

“Why are you acting like I’M the problem here? HE’S the one who’s the dirt bag! I don’t get why you’re so mad!”

You ripped your arm out of her grasp and looked her in the eyes. The sad and frustrated expression on her face would’ve normally worn you down by now, but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to forgive her, at least not right away. “No Jennie, you’re the problem here. You need to realize how fucked up your logic is.” You quickly stepped into your shoes and slammed the door on your way out. Jennie’s tears spilled over at the sound of the door’s echoes reverberating through her giant empty apartment.

“Why are you here again?” Yoongi flipped to the next page in his textbook and continued taking notes at his desk under the soft light of his lamp.

Jungkook laid in Yoongi’s bed with his arms crossed under his head staring at the ceiling. The two had been inhabiting the older boy’s bedroom for a while in comfortable silence.

“I don’t know man…I’m just frustrated. I can’t believe my luck right now. Out of all the places to run into her, why across town…and of all days, why tonight…?”

“Dude, you have to back up and start from the beginning. I don’t understand anything you’re saying to me right now.”

Jungkook explained his awkward run in with you at the restaurant just two hours ago. “Wait… so, she thought Jisoo was your date or something?” Jungkook nodded in response. “I mean she’s hot but, that’s just gross.” Jungkook chucked a pillow at Yoongi’s face as he laughed at the boy’s misery.

“Don’t talk about my cousin like that!” Yoongi held his hands up in defeat. “What should I do? She looked really upset. You know how rude J can be.” Yoongi nodded thoughtfully, recalling his own run in with the ice queen.

“You should just be transparent with her. She’s a reasonable person.”

Jungkook plopped back down on the bed and returned his gaze to the ceiling. “Yeah I know…but then I’d have to explain WHY I was seeing Jisoo and that’s not going to be a fun conversation. I just can’t shake the feeling of how weird this all was. Do you think she’s stalking me?”

Yoongi chuckled at the thought of you of all people stalking his friend. “There’s a zero percent chance of that being the case. That seems like something Jennie would do though,” Yoongi added nonchalantly as he scribbled notes in his notebook.

Jungkook scowled as the realization dawned on him. She must have been listening in on his phone call yesterday, he was sure of it now. Did she think she could cause problems between you two and get away with it? Jungkook sat up on the couch suddenly. His blood was boiling, and he needed to figure out a way to turn the tables.

“Thanks for the talk. I’ll see you in a few days for your party.” Yoongi barely acknowledged the younger boy’s departure as he focused on his notes for the big test coming up.

On his way to your apartment, Jungkook called your phone three times but you didn’t answer. His knocks on your door went unanswered as well, much to his disappointment. He hated leaving you alone to mull over something that just was not true, but he had no choice if you were avoiding him.

The boy sat down on your steps and tried your phone one last time before hearing the familiar beep of your voicemail. “Hey Y/N…You looked pretty upset earlier and I just wanted to make sure we were fine. I was having dinner with my cousin and we were discussing some private things. I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea. And I’m sorry about her demeanor. Call me back when you get this.” He slipped his cell back into his pocket then begrudgingly left your apartment.

Jennie turned the chrome knobs of her shower faucets until the water was exactly the way she liked it. The steady streams of liquid fire silently descended from her state-of-the-art waterfall showerhead, causing her vanity mirror to fog rather quickly. After brushing her long hair one hundred times exactly3, she slipped out of her plush robe and entered the shower. The water fell over her head, drenching her locks on the way down to her toes. She knew the hot water was awful for her hair but worrying about the details of her beauty routine was exhausting when she was already worrying about tons of other things. You were at the top of those things.

A few days had passed since she last talked to you. It was easily the longest time apart the two of you had spent since becoming friends. Although she wanted nothing more than to call you or show up to your apartment unannounced, her pride was getting in the way. She just couldn’t believe she was the one getting the short end of the stick despite trying to help you. Although, if she was being entirely truthful, it was for her own benefit. She began thinking that perhaps you were right, perhaps she did need to figure some things out. Jennie never had anyone in her life who would reprimand her and tell her when she was doing things wrong, not until you. It made her love you so much more for it.

Still, she couldn’t allow herself to come crawling back and beg for you to give her the time of day, at least not right away. All Jennie ever wanted to do was be around you, know what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling. She tried not to think about her feelings for you, choosing instead to occupy herself with other things when she wasn’t hanging out with you. The truth was that it scared her to death. She never felt like this about anyone. Jennie had dated countless boys and all types including bad boys, ivy leaguers, guitarists from up and coming bands, even a politician once. Nothing was as thrilling as sleeping next to you.

At first, she thought she had finally found the kind of friendship she had grown up seeing on TV; the kind where you’d do anything for each other, no questions asked, the kind where you’d drop everything and come running no matter what, the kind that would rival the longest marriages. While all that was true, she eventually realized that’s not all this was. Jennie realized she was in love with you on the night she saw you flirting with a woman for the first time.

Jennie had known you were bisexual, but she had never given it a second thought, nor had she ever analyzed her own sexuality for that matter. So, her reaction to seeing you seduce someone else came as quite a shock to her. Squirting cherry blossom scented body wash onto her bath sponge, she recalled that crystal clear memory. It was the day after that one stressful test. You had spent the entire week indoors, studying your ass off. Once it was over, all you wanted to do was go out and have some fun. She remembered you telling her you preferred calm pubs over crowded clubs, so it came as a surprise to Jennie when you invited her to go clubbing that night. She remembered the exact outfit you wore too: a little black dress with a light jean jacket and black doc martens. Normally you wore your hair down, but that night you decided on an updo with wispy curls that framed your face.

When you both arrived at a club in the downtown district of the city, you realized it was Latin Night. Jennie was never much of a dancer, so she was content with sitting at the bar and watching your expert salsa moves on the floor from afar. She hadn’t seen you that carefree and graceful before. Your sheer magnetism and confidence had entranced her, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be you or be under you. As if the universe was trying to send her a sign, the redhead who was sipping her drink at the bar two seats away decided to make her way to you on the dance floor. The guy you were reluctantly dancing with was getting a little handsy, and the redhead arrived just in time to save you from him. She had grabbed your hand, spun you around then wrapped her arms around your neck. The male stranger immediately took the hint and backed off, and you were oh so grateful for it. Jennie remembered how you placed your hands on her hips after the mysterious woman began swaying them wildly from side to side.

It happened long ago, but the memory still stung just a bit. It also turned her on a lot. Jennie’s nipples hardened as she pictured the way you romanced that woman. Taking her time rubbing the suds on her stomach and around her breasts, she closed her eyes and suddenly she was at the club again. She watched intently as you held her tightly to you, grinding on her leg in time to the beat of the song. You both smiled at one another, never leaving each other’s eyes. It seemed that the redhead thought you were the funniest person in the world with the way she threw her head back in obnoxious laughter. At that moment, you subtly leaned into her neck and took a whiff of her perfume. It seemed no one noticed such an intimate move, not even the redhead, but Jennie did.

Amidst the steam in her shower, Jennie began pinching her right nipple with her right hand. Her left hand slowly traveled downwards past her navel to her sex. Her breathing grew shallow as her memory played like a projector in her mind.

She remembered how you spun her around as the beat slowed down, so the redhead was grinding on your front. The more she rotated her hips the harder you gripped onto her. As if feeling brazen from your reaction to her dancing, the amber-haired seductress dipped into a squat and rubbed her ass on you the entire way up, flipping her hair cheekily in the process. Jennie could tell you were already feeling the effects of the liquor you had downed before heading to the dancefloor. The lazy smile on your face from her move had Jennie squeezing her glass of liquor tightly in envy. She wished so badly that she could reverse time so she could be the one to steal you away from the guy with grabby hands. Just then, a broad chest blocked your view of the dancers. Jennie’s look of annoyance wasn’t enough to deter his advancements. The blonde stranger chatted away about playing some sport, but Jennie was too focused on watching you two to pay any attention to him. Nodding and throwing “mhm’s” his way every once in a while was all she could manage as she watched you two from the bar.

Jennie’s fingers swirled around her clit. Sighs of contentment and light moaning could be heard from beyond the glass that lined her shower. Jennie’s body writhed in pleasure as she recalled your brazen actions that fateful night. As the sexy stranger grinded on you, you moved her hair off her shoulder, but not without lightly touching the exposed skin on her collarbones and holding up a few strands close to your face. You then leaned into her ear and began whispering things to the girl that made her smile and close her eyes. Jennie surmised that you had suggested they take a break and get a drink, probably because the male onlookers your show had attracted was becoming quite obvious, even to Jennie who was perched at the bar. As the two of you made your way towards her hand in hand, your eyes met Jennie’s. You smiled, looking in between her and the man who was in her way, wiggling your brows. Jennie smiled halfheartedly, realizing you weren’t feeling the same jealousy that she was. She didn’t care the way you did.

Jennie was growing wetter and wetter by the second, and it had nothing to do with the water dowsing her body. She bit her lip as she dipped a finger into her core. She placed a foot on the rim of the shower to get better access and held onto the wall for support. She curled her finger to reach her g-spot and thought about what that night would have been like if she had been braver. She could almost feel what your hands might feel like, gripping her hips that same way. Jennie began panting at the pleasure she was feeling. She slipped another finger in, pumping them in and out with increased speed. Taking turns rubbing each breast, she bit her lip and imagined what it might have felt like for you to whisper filthy things in her ear, for your finger to caress her skin, to feel you pushing your body up against her.

Jennie’s eyes burst open as the telling signs of her orgasm shown. Her walls clenched around her fingers and her toes curled involuntarily. She barely registered the curses slipping from her lips, reveling in images of you and her enthralled in the heat of romance.

As the pale brunette toweled off in her bedroom, she finished recalling the memory of that night. She had watched you flirt with the redhead for nearly an hour before deciding to feign illness. She barely had to act, since watching the two of you together really had made her sick to her stomach. She blew off the muscular blonde and interjected in between you two as the redhead was in the middle of telling you a story. Thankfully, you immediately jumped to your feet and agreed to take her home. The sexy stranger’s soured expression at your goodbyes made Jennie secretly happy, as if inflicting a karma that the girl had unknowingly accrued. When you two reached the doors of the high-rise building, she begged you to stay the night to which you conceded. As if another cosmic sign had presented itself to the lucky girl, you left the crumpled-up phone number that the redhead slipped you on Jennie’s nightstand unknowingly. When you phoned her the next day asking if she had seen the small piece of paper, Jennie assured you she hadn’t but would keep an eye out for it.

She pulled her drawer out and picked up the piece of paper she had kept from you. She never understood why she refused to throw it out, but now it was quite clear. The paper served as physical proof of the intentions you were accusing her of, like some kind of righteous magnetic force, she couldn’t escape the truth of her deceitful behavior.

It had been almost a week since you’d spoken to Jennie and Jungkook. It was also the slow season for retailers, so the unstimulating hours at work each day afterward gave you lots of time to reflect on the situation.

While Jungkook had reached out several times, you still had yet to receive a simple text from your best friend. This didn’t surprise you in the slightest, however. Jennie was not the best at making amends, much less making the first move. You weren’t sure that you were ready to make up anyway. You hated feeling like her little puppet, like you were too stupid to realize what was going on without her help. And listening to Jungkook’s voicemail explaining what was really going on made your fight with Jennie worse because it confirmed how willing she was to come between you two without knowing all the facts. You weren’t any better though, because you quickly assumed the worst too, which is why you still hadn’t answered Jungkook’s messages. You were older than him, yet you felt you handled the situation immaturely and you hated it. You wanted to spend a few more days sulking alone, but Yoongi was being extremely persistent on getting you to attend his house party tonight. You laid on your couch with your head hanging off the edge staring at his name flashing on your cell phone’s screen. With a groan, you answered the call, “What do you want from my life?”

“Get over here now. The party’s already started and you’re going to be doing some serious catch up if you don’t get a move on.” Yoongi spoke closely into the receiver as the music blared in the background. He wanted to beg you to come over because he was tired of seeing Jungkook’s face drop every time someone walked in and it wasn’t you. “Come on. You’ve been all moody and MIA for days now. It’s starting to weird me out.”

You groaned extra loudly into the receiver knowing he was right. You couldn’t hide out forever, and you weren’t a coward who avoided fun parties where you knew a certain someone might be. “Give me 20 minutes.” You abruptly ended the phone call and dragged your feet every step of the way to the closet to find something to wear.

Yoongi sighed with relief as he put his phone in his back pocket and headed to the kitchen for another drink. The sight of Jennie swaying drunkenly atop his marble counter stopped him in his tracks. “Uhhhhh…when did you get here Jen?”

“I let myself in through the back. What’s in this jungle juice by the way? I’m totally feeling it right now.” Yoongi tried to take the red cup out of her hand but she moved it out of his grasp, sloshing the liquid toward the cabinet.

“Dude you’re way too drunk way too early. Slow down.” He tried to grab the cup once more, but she mushed his face away with her free hand.

“Stop it. I’m sad. I need this. Leave me alone.” Jennie pouted childishly into her cup. Yoongi sighed and retreated to the fridge to make his own drink.

“Why is everyone so goddamn sad right now? I need new friends.” The blonde boy slammed the fridge and headed into the living room to rejoin the party.

It was only 10 minutes later that you joined the party. Jungkook had been too busy cheering on one of his friends who was shotgunning a beer to notice your arrival. Yoongi, however, saw you at once and pulled you to the side.

“Come with me.” Yoongi grabbed your forearm and led you to the kitchen. “We need to get you drunk. And more importantly you need to make Jennie fun because she’s really stinking up the party right now.” As you entered the kitchen, you immediately noticed the brunette animatedly conversing with a stranger by the fridge. The guy looked happy you two had come in and took his chance to escape the conversation, and the kitchen for that matter, as Jennie turned her attention on you. “Please handle this.” Yoongi pushed you in her direction before busying himself with making your drinks.

You figured she hadn’t told him about your fight, or else he wouldn’t be acting the way he was. You tongued the inside of your cheek and crossed your arms while Jennie pretended you weren’t even there. The pale girl flipped her hair and sipped on her drink, staring ahead. You snatched the cup out of her hand and placed it out of her reach. “OK, that’s enough. You’re way too drunk, I can already tell.”

“Why do you care? Jungkook’s in the living room if you haven’t noticed. Why don’t you join him so he can deceive you some more?” Jennie rolled her eyes.

“You know what, Jennie? I think I will. Excuse me.” Yoongi’s eyes followed you as you marched out of the kitchen angrily. He immediately realized what was going on and felt bad for pushing the two of you together.

You found Jungkook sipping from his cup on the couch. His eyes instantly locked with yours as you entered the room and you noticed how rosy his cheeks were already. His hair was curlier than usual, and he wore those ripped jeans that drove you crazy. Fuck, he’s way too hot. Without hesitating, you grabbed his drink and downed the entirety of it in seconds. The boy stared at you in confusion and admiration. The taste of the liquid was extremely tart and unnaturally sweet, but you didn’t care. When Yoongi appeared by your side with the drink he had made you, you did the same to that one as well.

Wiping your mouth with your hand, you turned towards Jungkook. “Can we talk?” He nodded in response before you lead him into Yoongi’s bedroom. You closed the door softly and turned to the boy who had plopped down on the bed. His expectant stare made you blush, or maybe it was the alcohol kicking in already. The way his thighs spread out has he comfortably supported himself with his hands behind him made your mouth go dry, but his expectant stare had you clearing your throat. “I’m sorry I’ve been so lame. I’m thankful you called to explain what happened, because I definitely got the wrong idea,” you chuckled nervously before continuing, “But to be honest, I’ve been in a shitty mood after arguing with Jennie that night, so I’ve been avoiding this conversation. But we’re both here now and…I’m realizing I should’ve just called you back.” Your blush crept over your face and made your complexion the color of a tomato.

Jungkook’s smile had grown twice in size after listening to you rambling. He was peeved with you at first but quickly became enamored with your bravery. His smug expression only flustered you more. “Yeah, you should’ve called me back. But you’re right, we’re here now. So how are you going to make it up to me?” The way his head tilted back exposing the veins on his neck instantly had you thinking filthy things. However, you didn’t want to make having sex with him within earshot of other people a regular occurrence. The liquor flowing through your system, however, did not agree one bit.

“I…I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me how I can make it up to you?” You swallowed thickly as Jungkook got up from the bed and made his way to you still standing in front of the door. He stopped with only a few inches of space in between you. Burying his head in the crook of your neck, he inhaled deeply, making your baby hairs stand at attention. He then brushed his lips so lightly along the soft skin below your ear that you weren’t sure whether he really did it or not. As he brought his hand up to your face, he pulled on a curl of yours so that it sprang back once he let go. A shiver ran down your spine, making his cocky crooked smile return. You stared at his lips, willing them to make contact with yours, but instead, the words you least expect to hear from him tumbled out of them.

“Be my girlfriend?” You stared at his mouth forming the words, unable to understand them for some reason. When your eyes shifted upwards to gaze at his innocent expression, you realized exactly what was going on.

“You’re asking me to be your girlfriend? After I made a scene in front of your cousin then ghosted you?” You couldn’t help your giggles that followed.

Jungkook laughed and tipped your chin up with his finger to get a better look at your face. “Yeah, I guess I am. Look, I don’t know any other girl that would’ve had me at the palm of their hands this past week without so much as a text. I like you. And I’m not willing to share you. So, what do you say?” Jungkook squeezed your nose playfully, making you giggle again and swat his hand away.

Suddenly the memory of his weird behavior before he went down on you came creeping back. “Why do you keep insinuating that you’d have to share me? Did your ex fuck you up that bad Jeon?” Your joke seemed to have hit a nerve as his smile faded.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not the only one who’s interested in you Y/N.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his statement because he didn’t understand how utterly single you were. “What’s so funny?”

“You. You’re what’s funny. The fact that you think you have to compete with anyone else is hilarious. Look, I don’t really do the whole girlfriend thing but it’s sweet that you care about that kind of thing.” You attempted to curl your arms around his neck, but he stopped you before you could.

“Well it’s important to me and I’d like it if you reconsider.”

“Why is it so important to you?” You stared into his eyes but he avoids your gaze. Before you could press him for answers, there was a loud knock on the door that startled the both of you. You opened it to see Yoongi on the other side.

“Please don’t fuck in my room,” Yoongi remarked as he looked between you both.

Jungkook placed his hand on your hip and kissed your temple. “Don’t worry, we’ll find somewhere else to do the deed.” He then lifted you off your feet and proceeded to carry you away. You squealed at his unexpected notion as he carried you back to the kitchen. The curly haired boy placed you on the counter a few feet away from Jennie then wrapped your legs around his waist. “So, where were we? Oh yeah, you were agreeing to be my girlfriend!” He smiled widely up at you so you just couldn’t help but run your fingers through his silky raven locks.

Boys like him were so dangerous. You’d agree to anything he wanted from you just so he could look at you this way again, like you’re the only girl in the world. But you’d been through this before. You’d done the whole gross couple young love thing and you found out you just weren’t cut out for it. You hated sacrificing your needs and your wants to accommodate someone else. You hated having weird domestic expectations thrust onto you when all you wanted was to fuck and maybe have some stimulating conversation afterwards if you felt like it. Maybe it was the utter boredom of your last relationship that turned you away from doing relationships at all, maybe it was the exciting hookups that had turned sour after making it a regular thing. Either way, you couldn’t find it in yourself to give Jungkook exactly what he wanted, so you were hoping he’d be willing to compromise.

Jennie’s sounds of disgust broke the silence between you two. You looked over at her and realized she was witnessing your tender moment with Jungkook. You were getting so fed up of her negativity that you turned back to the cute boy between your legs and said, “Ignore her. Say something to convince me to let you have me all to yourself.” He met your smirk with his own, leaning in to steal a soft kiss from your lips.

“Wow Y/N, I didn’t know you were so into fuckboys,” Jennie remarked casually.

“As opposed to what? You?” Jungkook spoke up with pure venom directed at the drunken girl. You stared between the both of them, confused as to what was going on.

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jennie squeezed her cup and glowered at the tall boy.

“Sure you do! Why don’t you just admit that you’re madly in love with Y/N already? Everyone knows it.” Jennie chewed on the inside of her lip, unable to say a word. “Y/N, I’m sorry for being so frank, but you have realize she’s getting in the way of us for a reason, right?”

You looked back at Jennie whose piercing dark eyes were still trained on Jungkook as if his head would spontaneously combust if she focused hard enough. You turned back to Jungkook who was returning her hateful stare. “Jennie’s my BEST FRIEND Jungkook. Just because she cares about me doesn’t mean she’s in love with me.”

“So I suppose her bragging to me about sleeping in your bed every night is a show of friendship too, huh?” You couldn’t understand what he was saying, and why they hated each other so much. It was obvious they developed more of a relationship than either of them let on. But there was no way Jungkook’s words held any merit. They couldn’t. You looked back at your friend whose cup was shaking in her trembling hands.

“Jungkook! That’s enough. You’re upsetting her. What’s the matter with you?” You pushed him away so you could console Jennie, but she had already gone out the back door.

“What’s the matter with me?! Seriously Y/N? Are you that blind? That girl wants you and for some reason you’re none the wiser.” You looked up at Jungkook feeling as if you didn’t recognize him anymore. Before you could register what you were doing, you slapped him so hard your hand tingled. He clutched his throbbing cheek and regarded you incredulously. Before he could say anything, you were already out of the door in search of your friend.

It was very dark in Yoongi’s backyard due to the lack of lighting on his back porch and the late hour, not to mention there were a ton of trees that offered the house privacy from the neighboring houses. You had to squint to spot her. Jennie was stumbling through the grass holding herself up on a tree. You were no doubt already drunk yourself, so you tried not to trip as you hurried over to the girl.

“Jennie! Wait up!” You called out to your friend, but she walked deeper into the foliage ignoring you. When you finally caught up to her you grabbed her shoulder and turned her towards you. “Jennie!” As you looked at her face you realized she was crying. You hated when she cried. “I’m really trying here. But I don’t know what to do. How do I fix this?” You buried her head in your chest as her sobs wracked her thin frame. She wrapped her arms around you and held you tightly close to her. Her tiny sniffles broke your heart every time you heard one slip out. “Babe…it’s not like you to cry when someone’s being mean to you. Is it ‘cause you’re drunk?” You crooned your words as you rested your chin on her head. She shook her head “no” in response. “Then what is it?”

Jennie looked up at you. You could barely make out her tear stained cheeks in the darkness. She uncurled her arms from around you to place her hands on your shoulders. Suddenly she was pushing you against the nearest tree with enough force to let loose the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Her cold fingers knotted themselves in your hair as she leaned in to crash her lips against yours. Your entire body was frozen with pure shock. Time stopped as her fervent lips pressed into your still mouth, willing them to return the sentiment. Jennie was kissing you and you didn’t know how to react, so you settled for just letting it happen. Your mind struggled to process the moment, but your body had other ideas. Your hands, which were glued to the rough bark of the tree, found a new home on her waist. Your lips began imitating the rhythm that her mouth was setting. Soon you were holding her body against yours and leaning into her to deepen the kiss. The unexpected passion lit something inside of you and suddenly you needed more. Both of your hands began exploring each other’s bodies. Hers took turns resting on your cheeks then on the back of your neck as yours glided across her lower back then down to her upper thighs. A small voice at the back of your head repeatedly asked you what the hell you were doing right now, but you didn’t have any answers for it.

Leaning down to find the back of her knee, you hiked her leg onto your hip as your other hand got a full grip on her hair. You tugged at it until her neck was exposed to you and began planting open mouthed kisses on her alabaster skin. Jennie’s soft mewls barely disturbed the stillness of the night. “Is this what you wanted from me?” You manhandled Jennie with her hair, willing her to look you in the eyes. Her blown out pupils could only focus on your puffy lips as her chest heaved dramatically. “Answer me!” You turned your bodies so that she was now caged by you against the tree. From beyond your hidden spot in the woods, you could see the back door swinging open to reveal a few students from the party spilling out into the backyard.

The low buzzing of the far-off conversations sobered Jennie enough to look up at you. “Well, I guess Jungkook was right after all.”

You backed off the tree to see the serious expression on her face. Her words brought back the anger you still hadn’t worked through. “What the hell is happening here Jennie? You’re not gay. Is this another one of your manipulative moves to get me away from Jungkook?!”

“You don’t know what the hell I am!” Jennie screamed back at you. Her sudden outburst alerted a few of the stragglers by the back porch, so you pressed your hand tightly against her mouth to keep her quiet until they stopped looking into the wooded area. Jennie pulled your hand away so she could continue, “Stop being so naïve Y/N. I just needed to know that you wanted this too. And you do.”

You stared at the girl, realizing you didn’t recognize her either. You wanted to scream and call her a psychopath, but goddamn you also wanted to taste her again too. Without a warning you took her face in your hands and kissed her intensely. Instead of kissing you back, she bit your bottom lip roughly and dragged it out.

Jennie struggled to get her words out as you both stood there panting, centimeters from each other’s mouths. “I’m tired of waiting for you Y/N. I want you. And you want me too. So I’m leaving this party to go climb into your bed. And I won’t be wearing much when you find me. Don’t keep me waiting.” With that, Jennie pushed herself off the tree and started walking back towards the house. You turned your back and leaned on the tree for support, feeling how fast your heart was beating with your clammy hand.

“I’m drunk right now. I’m so drunk right now.” You said aloud to yourself as you tried to process what the hell was going on. Your best friend wants to fuck you tonight, meanwhile the boy you’ve been dating is inside with a red cheek. “OMG, Jungkook!” You gasped aloud and hurried inside to make amends with him, only for Yoongi to tell you that he jetted off 15 minutes ago.

“What the hell happened Y/N!? He said you slapped him then left the party! You are the least dramatic person I know, so this doesn’t sound like you at all.” Yoongi admonished you quietly by the front door as his party guests busied themselves with the brand-new keg that had just arrived.

“Ugh Yoongi, I know! I think I‘ve seriously screwed things up and I don’t know how it got away from me. Those two just…they just get my blood boiling!” You covered your eyes as your head thudded against the wall. “Everything’s all screwed up.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and placed his hands on your shoulders. “Y/N, don’t be so dramatic! Jungkook is head over heels for you. I’m sure if you just go over to his place and apologize, he’ll forgive you! As far as Jennie’s concerned…well I don’t know. You’ve really got your hands full with that one.” You groaned as he chuckled humorlessly. “Come, let’s get you some liquid courage so you can deal with your messy life.” Yoongi ushered you forward toward the keg as you reluctantly led the way.

Twenty minutes later you were laughing at the top of your lungs listening to a story from a theatre major. By now, there were twice as many people in the room and the simultaneous conversations occurring made it hard to hear. Your drink sloshed around in your cup as you drunkenly traded stories with the group of people keeping you company. Your entire body was warm and buzzing from all the beer you had consumed in record time. You had finally started to forget about the love triangle you were in before your phone buzzed in your pocket. Without a second thought, you pulled it out to see what the notification was. Jennie texted you a picture. When you unlocked your phone to see what she had sent you, you almost dropped your phone inside of your drink. Holding It to your chest, you looked around to see if anyone had noticed what was on your screen. Since no one seemed to be paying any attention to you, you slowly tipped your phone back to get a better look. It was a picture of Jennie laying on your bed, wearing a red lace lingerie set. You gulped as your eyes traced the curves of her body barely covered by the delicate material. The bright color against her perfect skin turned you on. She was laying sideways on your bed on top of rumpled sheets. Her shiny hair seemed to have been falling off her shoulder mid picture. Her top leg was folded over the other, showing you just a little bit of her ass cheek. Her head rested against her palm and the other laid on her thigh in a pose that said “I’m bored, get over here already.” You chuckled at the thought of her propping the phone up against your windowsill and striking a pose. You knew her like the back of your hand.

You also remembered exactly where that lingerie set was from, because you helped her pick it out. A few months ago, Jennie had dragged you all around the mall during a routine shopping trip. Only this time, to end it off, she led you into an Agent Provocateur to pick out a full set of lingerie. You smiled at the memory of her rudely turning the salesperson away in favor of your expertise. You made your way along the decorated wall, feeling all kinds of fabrics and cups and beaded designs with your fingers until you settled on a beautiful balcony bra with a matching panty, and garter belt.

“Who’s this for?” you remember asking her during check-out.

She blushed and answered simply, “For someone special.”

You locked your phone and put it away to contemplate on what to do. On one hand, Jennie was waiting for you to show her a good time. And boy did you really want to. On the other hand, if you waited too long to make amends with Jungkook you may end up losing him for good. But if you kept Jennie waiting, she might get mad and leave which would prolong your fight. You also weren’t ready to end whatever this thing that was going on between you two was. You sighed and closed your eyes. Either way someone was going to be hurt, and you hated it. What would you even say to Jungkook? What would you say to Jennie? It would be all too easy to just stay here with Yoongi and pretend tonight didn’t happen, but you knew you couldn’t.

However much you tried to simplify the situation, you knew it was way more complicated than just choosing someone. They were both making you feel things you hadn’t felt in a really long time. But it seems Jennie isn’t out of the closet yet, so you knew this thing with her would not be easy by any means. She was also your best friend and continuing to go down this road with her could lead to your friendship being completely over. The thought of never speaking to her again was painful.

You downed the rest of your drink and said your goodbyes to the nice strangers who were sad to see you go. Yoongi was busy chatting up a girl by his bedroom door, so you decided to leave without saying anything to him. As you walked down the block, the brisk air licked at your rosy cheeks, but the alcohol in your system kept you too warm to care. You knew Jungkook’s dorm was only a few blocks away, so you decided to just walk instead of Uber, hoping that the fresh air would clear your head so you’d know just what to say.

After a few minutes, the grey exterior of the residence halls came into sight. Your stomach flip flopped, knowing you’d be seeing Jungkook again. You bit your lip, thinking about how sweet it was that he insisted on making you his girlfriend. You really should try to keep your hands to yourself, what a mess they’ve made tonight.

Once you reached the steps leading to the door of the lobby, you took a seat and called Jungkook. He didn’t answer so you sent him a quick text asking if he could open the door for you. Five minutes passed without any sign of him. You weren’t sure if he was sleeping or just ignoring you. Either way, you weren’t giving up.

12:06 am – Open the door Jeon. We need to talk.

12:07 am – I need to see you right now. Don’t leave me hanging out here.

12:09 am – Please?

The door swung open in the middle of you typing your next text to Jungkook. You turned around to see him holding a frozen bag of peas up to his face as he held the door for you. You smiled with relief and let yourself into the building. As he led the way to his room, you focused on what he looked like from the back. It seemed he had showered and changed into his pajamas on your way here. His pants hung low on his hips, exposing his boxer briefs just a bit. You gulped and looked upwards to deter your inappropriate thoughts. Instead, you focused on how his hair bounced subtly with every step he took. If you were sober, you’d be planning what to say to him right now. Drunk you, however, was content with absorbing every bit of his presence.

You caught the door to his room as Jungkook opened it and entered. He placed the cold pack of vegetables back into his mini fridge then sat down on his bed with a heavy sigh. You stood in the center of his bedroom, unsure of what to do. When he finally looked at you, you realized just how mad he was.

When you refused to speak first, Jungkook initiated the talk, “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I told you, I really needed to see you.” Your voice sounded so small you couldn’t believe it was coming from you.

“Y/N…you don’t want to be with me. You should’ve just sent your apology over text. I can take a hint.”

You could understand why he felt this way, but it still upset you nonetheless. You crossed the room to sit next to him on the bed. “Jungkook…I’m sorry that I slapped you. Believe me, I feel really guilty looking at that giant red mark on your cheek. I won’t make excuses for my behavior, but I also need you to understand that what you did tonight was not cool.”

“I know,” Jungkook answered before you could get the rest of your speech out, “What I did to Jennie was fucked and I need to apologize to her. Outing her like that…it definitely wasn’t cool. But Y/N…” He paused to run his fingers through his hair frustratedly. He looked at you and smiled bitterly. “I really fucking like you. I’m just not sure I fit into your life. At least not in the way that I want to be in it.”

You gently turned Jungkook’s face towards you so he could see the honesty in your words. “Jungkook, I really fucking like you too. And I think you’re wrong. I think it’d be really stupid to end things here. As long as we’re both open and honest with each other from now on, I don’t see why we can’t still get to know each other.” Jungkook searched your eyes before looking down at his feet to mull over your words.

You held your breath waiting for his reply. When he finally looked up at you, he said, “Then stay with me tonight.” You stared back at him, knowing the statement wasn’t as innocent as it seemed. If you agreed, then you’d be standing Jennie up. If you left, then things would definitely be over between you. His wide-eyed expression was too much for you to handle. Fuck.

“Sure. I’ll stay.” Jungkook smiled with relief. It was only just past midnight, but you were both already spent. As he laid down and patted the spot beside him, you placed your phone on the nightstand next to him then removed your pants. Climbing over him to claim your spot next to the wall, you laid down on your side to be little spoon. Jungkook reached over and turned off the lamp, leaving you both in the dark.

#bts fanfiction #blackpink fanfic #jungkook smut #jennie smut #bts smut #bangtan smut #bangtan #private #private fanfic #baepop private

172 notes · View notes

charliedoyleloves · 4 years

Note

You caught me doing something dangerous and flipped out w viktor? :>

“You Caught Me Doing Something Dangerous and Flipped Out” – Three Armed Metal Husband ft an engagement???? Maybe not exactly the trope, but still. I know you live for this content Maddie, do not lie to me.

@shvnpo

Also going to tag @sacredempressnatlyia because this seems like the type of thing you would like. If you don’t want to be tagged again, let me know!

He was stalking around the room again, his leg brace clacking against the floor with every odd step. Step, clack, step, clack, step.

The clack didn’t come, and they realized he knew they were awake.

“Charlize-“ his voice was a low growl, one that they were rarely on the receiving end of, “what were you thinking? The Enforcer? The Grey Lady?”

There were many things that Viktor was not. And subtle or patient was rarely one of them. He was a man of engineering, and engineering had things to do. Even his feelings were frantic and oh so loud. A fast paced song that they could never get him to dance with them to.

Charlie sat up, legs flexing where they couldn’t move any longer. They stared at Viktor, maskless and frazzled, so they did not need to stare down. It was obvious what was happening with them. Their job had them support their own weight, move it around and manipulate it.

Charlie knew that they were lighter now.

“You needed someone to go. The auction had Blitz’s tech, I needed to get it back for you.” Their arms supported them as they got into a straight sit. Legs aching. “How were any of us to know it was a set up for Ferros to go after someone? Lets face it, shady blackmarket deals is kind-of what I do for you.”

“No!” His arms flew wide, third arm pulling at his hair slightly. A habit to calm himself. “You’re a fucking acrobat Charlie! That is your job, one that I know you love! I don’t need you to be doing any of this!”

They threw up their hands, a sign that he would know was them condescending. With him trying to remove his emotions, how could they explain that they had to go after his technology because it would make him feel better. That their decision was purely emotional.

He took a deep breath, one they could almost feel in his song, and dragged his hands down his face.

“You are an important person. To the Cirque, to the Evolution.”

They bit their tongue, stopping themselves from making an inappropriately snarky comment. One to hide the hurt of him not mentioning himself. Once upon a time, he would have brought up that they were important to him.

But that was just being selfish. Viktor had his hands, all three, full with the prosthetics and surgeries he was doing. Important work.

“Just say it Vik. It was stupid and reckless.” They shrugged, listening to the frantic thrum of him. Hoping it would calm it down. “Not your fault, but mine.”

Just facts. The highest proof of something. Facts over feelings, right?

But he didn’t speak again for a while. Time that they used to finally face their own facts. Looking down, they traced the outline of their legs under the sheets. From their hips, to thigh, then cut off. The blade of the Grey Lady, the Steel Shadow of Piltover, cut clean through above their knee.

As they tried to flex the muscles, it didn’t work properly. The ends of them not anchored right. The end of their acrobatic career. But they pioneered a new type of magic with their studies before their performances. One that they could devote their time to now, right?

The tears darkened the sheet, hot and streaming steadily. Breath caught in their chest, a fault of emotion not physiology.

Step, clank, step, clank, step.

Viktor left the room, leaving them alone. Would the Cirque really care for them, now that they could not perform for them? Their parents didn’t care, their debt to the family paid off. Viktor suppressing any care in him. With his song gone, they were acutely aware of how alone they were.

Their own feelings, a song they thought they were deafened to, bounced off the walls of the empty room. Empty beds and empty chairs around them, just as their parents had warned. They could not leave the room, basically becoming a cell all their own. Just like would have waited for them had they stayed in Demacia.

Was their fate ultimately to always end up trapped?

Their breath quickened, and their legs twitched and magic buzzed beneath their skin. It did not come, instead the magic uselessly flowing to their legs and not returning. Trying to heal something that it was never meant too.

The metal walls only caused it to bounce back to them. An echo chamber for their unheard songs. Dragging them into their unfortunate thought spiral. Getting louder and louder in their magic which deafened them to everything.

When a hand rested upon their shoulder, it all stopped.

“Charlie, I’m going to remove the sheet.”

Viktor’s voice was far softer now, his song still frantic but not unusually so. The tempo off and instruments of his emotions not in sync. He must have used some of his chems to force himself to be calm.

They moved their hands so he could, turning their head to hide their distaste. The cut of their legs was clean, not shocking from a professional. If one of the Glorious Evolution was not there to cauterize the wounds, they would have died of bloodloss quite quickly. The young man’s chem induced calm likely being the only thing that saved their life.

But perhaps it would have been better if there were no such chems.

Charlie’s leg jumped at the feeling of cold metal, not at all the overly warm metal of Viktors augments. They swore, turning back to him before stopping.

Beside their leg was an intricately made full leg. Copper swirled in filigree above matte red and blues. The metalwork being among the finest he had made. Large enough to fit over their thigh. Long enough that it would have covered their entire leg. The feet being just their size.

“I can create the inner workings of a prosthetic for you, but…” His taking the calming chems made more sense as they looked over the fine craftsmenship. “Is this the shell of them you would want? Something plainer can be created, if it’s too much.”

An engagement gift. It wasn’t among the finest metalwork Viktor had made, but would have been the finest to date.

They looked to him, their eyes wide. Brown meeting his own dark blue. Exhausted rings around his, a stubble that would have taken him too many days without shaving to achieve. Third hand resting upon their shoulder and rubbing small circles.

On his knees beside their bed.

“You made me leg braces?”

Like the one he wore, but so much more. Just, more. Something they could wear in their performances. The points where they were most themselves, they would wear his finest work.

“A pair, yes.” One of his hands shook the spare one. Looking away to focus on his creation. “You hold onto Demacian Aesthetic Principles, and symmetry is a good thing, yes? And I was testing out some engineering that could give you options should your gravitational magic is not enough. I tested the heels, but they should be able to dampen the shock of large falls. Possibly even reducing them into their entirety because of the hydraulics-“

Charlie leaned forward and put a hand on his cheek. The frantic pace of his song increasing as everything was beginning to sound in tune. Accidentally wearing the chems away with the sheer frantic nature of the moment. A spiral downwards into emotion.

“Viktor, I would love for those to be the shells.” Their thumb rubbed against him, and they watched his eyes flit back and forth as he thought. “I just want to be sure what all you are asking me; will you marry me?”

They heard a group of wind instruments pause, a group of the assistants, nurses, and helpers of his Glorious Evolution listening in. With the augments he gave them, no doubt.

But his slight laughter against their hand pulled their thoughts from that. His eyes darting back to theirs as he leaned into their hand.

“How is it even when I’m on my knee, you propose?” All three of his hands rested on them. One a cheek, one at their waist, the third kept to their shoulder. A tired smile and the craftsmanship telling them how long he had thought of this. “But I need to be certain that you are not accepting because of a fear-“

“In my trunk with the Cirque, there is a cloak that is enchanted and made with the finest materials that I could get my hands on.” It was a task to keep their focus on his eyes, to not draw themselves inward. To not revert back to the childhood habit of taking up as little space as possible. “I ask you as someone who has spent the last five years loving you.”

They could not force a smile upon their face. Not because it wasn’t a happy moment, but because they needed him to know that this was serious to them. That they meant the words they said. That they spent nearly five hundred hours embroidering and enchanting the gift they were too scared to give him.

“My Gravity,” they flushed as the new nickname, knowing how important he thought such things; the heat of both his hands upon their cheeks; the intensity of his stare, “I will spend the rest of my days returning to you, for as long as you would have me.”

They laughed a bit, leaning into him as their hands went to hide their face. Ears reddening and curling into themselves. New leg to be accidentally falling to the ground.

“You could have just said yes.”

Their own song was humming in their ears, heartbeat acting as the drumline. His laughter adding more to the music.

His hands shifted, letting him shift them further onto the bed, and he climbed up. Not nearly as armored as usual, the thin fabric of his shirt warming them up. Literally being soft around them. They hid further into their hands.

Pillows were shuffled, him trying to find a comfortable way to lay down in the bed that was too small for him. Legs bent where theirs was propped against him. Not saying a thing about how he curled around them as if to protect them.

Charlie did elbow him about it.

“So,” he whispered into their hair, “do you think I will have to tell my mother about this? Or will the others whom were totally working and not listening in will?”

They laughed into their hands and his chest.

“Would you risk her not hearing it from you the first moment you see her next?” Hands were moved, trying to figure out the new comfortable. Still tucked under his chin. “If the first thing you say to her is not ‘I got engaged’ or ‘They Said Yes’, she will hold it over you for the rest of your life. Frankly, you should call her now.”

“Maybe.” It was a hum against their head. “You need rest though. I noticed that your mana has been draining and it has been impacting your vitals for days. Sleep, more sugars to keep yourself balanced, and low activity until I can at least make a temporary prosthetic to stop the magic from draining.”

“Can I ask one thing?”

Another hum.

“Can you kiss me?” They could feel and hear the curious and amused look on his face. Whether it was their magic or just seven years of knowing him was not as important. “We did just get engaged, I did just wake up from a major injury, and it has been over a week since the last time.”

One of his hands tilted their chin uncomfortably high as he stooped at an equally uncomfortable level on the bed. But it was still a kiss that they loved dearly.

#answered #three armed metal husband #and i guess an engagement #si: piltie #look man i would love to marry that man if i knew how #charlie does art #charlie writes #eurekasdiary #no edit i die like an idiot

4 notes · View notes

dracula-in-purple-story · 4 years

Text

From Enemies to Friends

CHAPTER TWO

Author’s Note : All of this is ENTIRELY NON-CANON. I’m still working on my writing skills. Thank You and Enjoy, hopefully.

It was late at the dark, gloomy night. Most residents are deep into their dream wonderland. Some are doing their shady businesses. Unfortunately for the hidden residents of Inkopolis, there were no rest for them.

Multiple alarms blasted out in the massive fortress located deep in the forest of Mount Nantai. Most of the people emerged from their slumber quickly and get dressed before waking up those who are a deep sleeper. After they geared up, they immediately rushed to the nearest kettle in order.

Nicholas, who had just walked through the gate door of the main entrance, heard the alarm and, with a little bit of hesitation, dropped everything he was holding as he rush straight to the emergency kettle at the corner of the front garden wall, where it was hidden by flower bushes. He changed into his other form and swam right into it.

As soon as he emerged from another kettle, the place around him reveals to be an underground base. Full with equipments, gadgets, computers and weapons. He rarely went here ever since he became a co-guardian for his young master but he knew, for a fact, that this place is now chaotic.

Half of the night-shift people are typing away in their computers and tried to keep track on their task or rushing around, while another half of them seems to be missing, but it soon replaced by bunch of day-shift people fully suited up and lined up right in front of an old but fitted lady, who aged pretty well for a 130-years-old.

“Nicholas, just in time.” the old lady said in a firm authority, “Before we address the situation here, how’s my grandson?”

Fond murmurs were heard among the people before got silenced by the glare from the old lady. Nicholas sighed in bliss, “He’s fine, Mistress! He is still the pure boy who worried over small things.”

She nodded in acknowledgement, smiling a bit, before broadcast a image onto the huge projector screen in front of them. A crashed unidentified flying object. Half of the crowd gasped. “Isn’t that a failed prototype of Thunderstrike? Why is it here?!” Suzuki, another co-guardian of Erek, speaking her mind out in fear.

“Minale, come here and report on what the Scout Squad D had discovered, please.” the old lady said with simple directness. A three feet being, equipped with a large propeller helmet, zoomed right behind the crowd. “As you can see from the picture,” she started her report while landed on the table with grace, “a failed prototype military aircraft, Thunderstrike, crashed outside the city, with a corpse of a Mini Zapfish that was used to operated the aircraft. Bless its soul.”

“The Scout Squad D previously assumed that it was just a public test run from the underground Oct-”

“Wait,” Nick rudely interrupted Minale’s report, “what do you mean by ‘previously’?”

“It is where I’m trying to get to the point, Mr Nicholas!” she scoffed, “If I may continue, they thought it was just a test run until a power outage happen. It only last for approximately five minutes before the power came back.”

“Ten minutes before we activate the emergency alarms...” Minale continued along with a stressful sigh, broadcast the picture of Inkopolis Tower, “...the Great Zapfish is gone.”

This statement alerted the uneasy crowd as they scanned the picture. Indeed, the Great Zapfish is missing from its tower. The Mistress clapped lightly to gain their attention back to her. She nodded to the Scout captain who zoomed back to her post, giving out commands as she spoke to the microphone that wirelessly connected to the Scout Squad D.

“So far, the conclusion of the report is that Thunderstrike is merely a distraction tool in order to steal the Great Zapfish. Even though we all know that we got more than enough Zapfishes to supply our power source and they have other resources to generate power,” the old lady halted her talk for a few seconds, “why would they want the Great Zapfish for? Any possible answer? Or someone knows exactly why he would need it?”

The absolute silence is eerie until Suzuki shakily raised her hands. The old lady arched her eyebrows before nodding to let her answer. “Twenty years ago, I... I participated the project before I escaped, Mistress Octivia. He’s building some... sort of heavy spherical aircraft with some built-in turntables and mixers... along with some Wasabi supplies...” she gulped, “...the module were estimated to use large amount of energy... but Alivia and Alivia Jr helped me sabotaged the process before aiding me to escape that hell hole!”

“Calm down, dearest.” a tall figure, wearing a set of laser sight goggles, patted her shoulders sympathetically as she cried uncontrollably.

“Go calm your wife, Hayato. I fill in the rest of the details to you two later.” The lady in charge pardoned them as they walked back to the kettle. “Unfortunately, even with their best efforts in sabotaging, the heavy aircraft was built. If he manage to tame the Great Zapfish to do his bidding, Inkopolis is doom to be destroyed.”

“And as Octarians ourselves, we know how Octavio operated behind his DJ set. If we let that happen, we would be back to the starting point! Are you ready to oppose against the hypnotisation once more, my fellow friends?!” she shouted in a fierce tone.

“YES, MISTRESS!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Erek woke up early in the morning, the sky was bright and the sunlight shone through the windows. Lazily, he stretch his body as he get up from his bed and walked out from his bedroom. The birds were chirping and enjoying the cool breeze when he opened up the slide door that leads to the balcony. The dew drops were falling from the leaves of various flowers he potted yesterday. The sun was rising up from the clouds as he water his flowers.

Just as he walked back to his bedroom to take some clothes for his fresh debut, there came a huge knocking and loud ringing on the main door.

“Must be the neighbours... Cod, I forgot about introducing myself to them yesterday!” the boy mentally slapped himself, “Coming!”

He rushed to the door, not before he tied his tentacles to Topknot, and opened it to see three inklings standing there. One of them, the cyan ‘inkling’ girl, looks familiar but he couldn’t pinpoint on where he seen her before. The middle one of the group, a pink inkling girl, decided to talked.

“Hello there, rookie! The name’s Callie Mac N! Callie for short. On my left is one of my Roller buddies, Mike!”

Mike, an orange inkling boy, raise his Octoglasses and rest it in his forehead, “Hello~!”

“On my right is our little floof of our humble crew, Jewel!”

The cyan girl smiled brightly, “Hewwo, I’m Jewel. Your neighbour at the corner over there! My mommy told me about your arrival yesterday. What’s your name?”

The three of them stared at him with excitement. Nervously, he scratched his head before replying, “Oh... uh... My name is Erek! Nice to meet you all! Want to come in? I’m about to change my clothes and start cooking breakfast.”

“Oh, great! Thanks, buddy. Don’t mind us crash-... WOAH!” As soon as they were welcomed into Erek’s home, they were met with the most freshest living room they ever seen. A bookcase full of the latest video games, a clearly expensive LED TV along with its loudspeakers, limited edition of Chirpy Chips poster with the members’ signature and, is that a freaking CoroCoro hoodie hanging on a coat rack that was supposed to be out in like, next year?

“Umm, guys? You have been standing here for a long time. I made some light breakfast so we could... uh... chat?” Erek, now donning the Starting Gears, was quite concerned about his new friends, who gawked at his living room quite a long time. “Is it weird? My living room?”

The trio snapped out of their daze. “What, no!” Callie exclaimed, “It’s just... woah! My daily earnings couldn’t even pay for this kind of luxuries! Let alone that hoodie! How did you managed to get that?! It was supposed to come out next year!”

“Next year? But I got it for my birthday three days ago. My friend, Kevin, who gave me that just said they have extras so... yeah!” Erek recalled a little.

“Dude, you don’t actually mean Kevin, the famous trendsetter who just opened a company called Cuttlegear? That guy knows his stuff about fashion!” Mike gushed, “This Octoglasses? Automatically became my favourite headgear after he post some cool model pictures with them. And you know him?!”

“Yes? He works for my Grandmama and he take care of my wardrobe since I was young.”

“Wow! That is crazily fresh! Can I check your closet?”

“Mike, that is rud-”

“Sure, go straight and turn left, you should be able to reach my gear wardrobe.”

Mike cheered as he rushed to the location. Jewel facepalmed, “I’m sorry about my boyfriend.”

“It’s fine. I could give some gears away if he loved it so much. I was planning to buy my own clothes with empty slots anyway.”

“Wait, wha-”

“OH MY GOD! CALLIE! JEWEL! LOOK AT THIS! EREK HAVE SUPER FRESH CLOTHES! EVEN THE SLOTS ARE GOD TIER! I’M IN HEAVEN!”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Gramps, come on... pick up the cells already...” Marie is pacing around the studio. After her cell ended with the monotone message and a beep, she heavily huffed before looked helplessly at her cheerful cousin, which now have a frown on her face as she fiddling with her thumbs. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.” she plopped down to a sofa as Callie sat down nervously beside her.

“It can’t be... he usually would answer us in a few rings. And now this happens!”

“It’s going to be alright, Cal. Once we finished our broadcast, we head straight down to Octo Valley to check up on him. He’s the strongest squid we have ever known.”

“I know, Marie. But, it’s Gramps we are talking about. Possibilities are limitless! What if his SquidCell is broken? What if he was kidnapped? What if-”

“Callie, calm down!” her cousin smacked her head slightly before caressing it gently. Callie pouted before surveying around the studio. The production team is a hectic mess. Bumping against each other frantically, papers are flying everywhere, the cameras are being thrown left and right.

“Squid Sisters? Five more minutes before we start the Inkopolis News!” a female show betta glided gracefully in front of the two cousins, pointing at her blue watch impatiently.

“Ms Betty!” the Squid Sisters immediately stand up and bow to her. “Sorry, me and Marie were-”

“I know,” Ms Betty halted the black inkling, “I’m not blaming you girls. This is probably the first time we have to broadcast this kind of news. If it weren’t for that Great Zapfish to go missing on us...”

“We understand, Ms Betty. We truly do.” Marie grimaced a bit before following behind their director. Once they arrived at the Inkopolis News Studio, they immediately went into position, just like they had been practised for the last few weeks.

“Don’t be nervous and follow the script. Add some colours into it like you are not reading whatever was written here, okay? That was what made this program famous for.” Ms Betty addressed, “We are ready in three, two...”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Man, you are a really good cook!” Callie complimented Erek as they finally arrived at the Plaza. Jewel nodded shyly, agreeing what she had said while Mike is burping loudly, “Yeah, you should totally teach me that recipe! I could cook for my babs and mother-in-law too!”

“Mike!” Jewel slapped his back softly. They laughed loudly at the interaction. Probably loud enough to cause four certain inklings to turn their heads to them.

“Oh, you guys! Where have you been?!” a dark blue inkling boy with glasses asked. Callie shrugged it off when her new friend have a questioning look, “Those guys are the rest of my crew. From left to right, we got the ever so quiet Kitty,” she gestured excitedly to a lime green inkling girl who just waved before turning her focus back to her SquidPhone.

“Marcus, the ‘cool guy’ wannabe,” a purple inkling boy just flicked her some fingers before finishing his drink.

“Blitz, my roommate and another Roller Buddies,” the boy with the glasses offered to shake hands. Erek accepted it and shake politely.

“And Marlee! Our new member from last week!” a dark green inkling girl grinned at them.

Once introductions are done, Blitz pondered a bit, “I’m going to assumed you haven't watch the news, yes?”

“No. Why?” Mike asked back, “Are the news reporter some blacklisted musicians?”

“No,”

“Racist?” Jewel cautioned.

“No,”

“Famous enough to actually expect them to report Inkopolis News?” Callie guessed before squinting at the big window where the reporters would be sitting. “Well, yes! But it’s not the point right now! The content-”

“HOLY ZAPFISH, IS THAT THE SQUID SISTER?! I’M A BIG FAN! HEY CALLIE, WE HAVE THE SAME NAME!” Callie Mac shouted enthusiastically as she run up the walkway and squeezed her way through the crowd outside.

“Why do we elect her as the captain?” Marcus scoffed at her behaviour. “So crazy, that woman...”

“I’m a big fan as well... but not as hyper as Callie is.” Erek giggled. The crew laughed it off for a while.

“So, back to the topic, what do we miss?” Mike questioned with a curious tone.

“You see, well,” Blitz looked at his clueless teammates, and a new friend, with a sense of guilt, “I don’t think we could participate this month Splatfest.”

The trio gasped. They were shocked, especially Erek. His first day of debut had clashed with a horrific news. The kind of news he didn’t expect to happen in the first place.

“Are you serious, mate?” Mike fretted, “We never ever have a Splatfest cancelled before! All they need is to postpone, like they did in that Pencil vs Pen Splatfest!”

“News Flash, brother.” the purple inkling roughly tilted his friend’s head up, the rest of them followed suit, “Our humble energy source had disappeared!”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Staaaay fresh!” was all she last heard before turning off the radio. Furrowing her eyebrows, Tres quietly packed her Splattershot Jr. Before she could even tiptoed towards the old, rotten door, she was hugged from the back. Usually, she would roundhouse that person who dared to risk their life to hug her but there are few exceptions, especially this little yellow figure behind her is her baby sister.

“Paula...” she turned around before kneeling down to hug her back, making the little inkling giggled silently. Tres smiled softly, “Go back to big brother, would you? Breakfast’s ready.”

“Annnd you are going to stay this time, Big Sis.” another yellow figure, slightly smaller than Tres, spoke sternly while pointing a pan to threaten her. Tres smirked a bit before running to the door. She was succeeding before her face got stuck. A freaking clear tape prank.

“Cielo... Zona...” she pulled the tape immediately before screaming in pain, “Again?”

“It’s ya fault that ya makin this easy for us, Big Sis.” two small orange figures appeared outside the door. They laughed heartily at her before shrieked as their eldest sister hugged them off the ground. It’s not long before the rest of the siblings decided to join their group hug.

They settled down after they finally convinced their eldest sibling to stay back and properly eat her breakfast. Although it’s been a while since they have breakfast together, Tres still wolfed down her share of food. Diego couldn’t stand this any longer as he hit her softly but still painful enough with the very same pan.

“Eat it slowly, Big Sis. It’s not like the Inkopolis Tower is going to run anywhere.”

“I know but the faster I earn some cash, the sooner we can get the surgery to be done.”

“Big Sis...” the small twin-tailed inkling mumbled before she quickly snatched back her small bits of bread from her twin brother. The eldest grinned at this sight before excusing herself from the table. She pecked each one of them before heading out.

“Be careful not to overwork yourself, Big Sis!” Diego shouted. Tres halted her movement before glancing back at the eldest brother of the house. “I can’t promise that.”

She sighed before whispering, “Not when our dad have his life on the line.”

#Splatoon #My Splatoon Story #My OCs #draculainpurple #Agent 3

11 notes · View notes

throwinggrapesoffthebalcony · 4 years

Text

preface to LAVENDER SOAP

You can feel apocalyptic in a number of ways, even while living in peaceful times. But what many times looks like peace, isn’t. And so a piece may arise during our own suppressed apocalypse. That was the case with Lavender Soap and my life in 1996. Very few places have had the energy to influence me as a writer, to feed into my tendencies, and even fewer places that could provide a sense of peace, that I was only ever able find in the water; buoyant saline, under the warmth of the ray’s of the sun. Even in storm, or the dead of winter, it was a tranquility, a sanctuary, that I could never find on land. Depending on your life, it’s a beautiful separation.

The epoch and the hotel was very different then, it was at peace tucked into the trees. It wasn’t decimated by this new cheap world yet. The perfect air was still influxed with the smell of foliage and perfume and of old materials, plaster ruined and repaired a thousand times, regrouted with the tiles left intact, the aging glue of wallpaper is sweet. Decor should be timeless during our lives. Life is so short after all. It was a hotel imbued with and not completely claimed by the past yet, with the past, absorbed into the walls and woodwork and tapestries. The faint voices, rapes, murders, sufferings, and suicides of a more glamorous past, saved like metal oxide on tape in the walls; played when the atmosphere is right. The first element that effects me are women I’ve been involved with sexually and their particular fashion and our conversations, the other is the inspiration of architecture; this necessity to remove and protect ourselves from the elements of nature. And the third being that wild energy of nature itself, weather, thermal dynamics, etc. I’ll save the commentary about the energy arising from the earth and surroundings for the preface for SSHS, which was more influenced by the raw energy of a geographic location and life’s tragedies than it was about architecture. And writing that piece was never about silence for me, while Lavender Soap was born, not in the clash of an apocalyptic scene, but in the very opposite, in the midst of the most pleasurable quiet, not an absolute silence, but a perfect quiet. The sound of air moving through trees, the sound of a rotary telephone ringing, faint voices speaking somewhere, the existence of humanness, not intruding on your life, when it doesn’t need to. That was a time when I think everyone had their own scenario, there were bounds, and knew that your scenario wasn’t their scenario; which is called sanity. Perfect separation of lives, we were humans not insects. And because of this, meeting someone was always much more interesting than now. Lavender Soap is, besides being a psychological piece delving into my experiences at the Chateau, it’s also to a great extent a retrospect, and a regression to my childhood. It was in a childhood bedroom that I perfected disassociation, disconnection, and detachment in, out of necessity, for survival. A house of continual violence, week after week, year after year, leaves you with nowhere to go but down. Fantasy and pictures, allowed me to drift off. A calendar out of date, a hopeful month of lavender fields is where all of my loves stood. They never take you up. Sleeping with my weapon of choice, a tapered necked ball peen hammer. And with the faint smell of WD40 and rust the angels never come to save you from the screaming. A movie about war, that’s pretty in a way, is the only way I can remember that film.

In 1996, experience wasn’t found on a cell phone. I was young and if you wanted to feel something or experience something, you had to shower, dress and traverse whatever plane you were on. And from one location to another, so much could happen, and in-between there was discovery, moments. Forget the set pieces, that’s not what this life is made of. This life is made of moments. In my opinion, that curiosity is what the young are absolutely lacking in today’s world, that and not feeling like individuals. There was a conversation that I read, I think around that same time, where a film editor, I think Murch, if not, one of the other prominent film editors, was talking about editing on a Moviola. And because of the linear nature of working with whole strips of 35mm film, he would have to pass through a lot of footage that he hadn’t previously considered, and that he would have, if working in a non-linear manner have never encountered. And there, he would find moments that worked more profoundly than what he was intending to use. And I think that lack of an analog approach in living, has people missing the more profound encounters, the accidental encounters, encounters more enlightening than what they might experience with a premeditated itinerary. But wait, they had an exchange on tender; what a fucking joke. I feel sorry for them. I’ve never fallen in love with this new digital era, a work of spite and bitterness, a reaction to a world that didn’t feel inclusive enough, so it’s become a strategy of slash and burn. And how do you tell someone to fuck off so they truly listen in today’s era? Must it be an apocalypse for the stalkers. Are people always drawn into that state of darkness. And it’s so easy to lose sight of the jungle you’re in, when the modern world disguises the archetypes so well. The weeks become months and the months become years and years become a decade, while I was creating the philosophies of a man facing death, even while undeservedly healthy, and unfairly able to fuck.

Arriving at the hotel in 96’ was serendipitous, or fateful, whether you want to believe that life is steadfast or whimsical. It felt whimsical when I met a couple of cute girls named Hanni and Sunny at Beverly Connection one evening; one lovable, the other the type to want to watch, then try to explain what each of the other really wanted. I jotted down a few impressions I had of them at the time. They told me that they had this special place they wanted to show me. I thought they were full of shit. But one evening they picked me up and took me to the Chateau Marmont. The weather was terrible that night. I was dressed for the woods. It was a quiet place, empty, with an entrance of willow branches hanging dank over the drive. We sat in the living room and even while I tried to concentrate on the conversations we were having, I was only half there, while the other part of me had already wandered off into the hotel, amongst the spirits and whispering lips. Sunny called, with the concern of the other on mind. It was against her religion to have sex before marriage, and she was confused as to whether oral copulation was sex. I gave the wrong and less comforting answer. Of course it is. People go stagnant just as places do. I went looking for Hanni where she worked at Milk and Honey as a hostess. I saw her through the windows, but the place was busy and I didn’t want to get her into any trouble, so I continued on my walk. I didn’t see them much anymore, but I kept going back to the Chateau. It was just as quaint during the afternoon as it was at night. On most nights, it was desolate, like a huge spaceship had hovered over and removed every last trace of guests. This was before they began to monetize the mythos of the place, and run it like a circus. The hallowed courtyard had eyes in 1996, and then in 2006 it had the eyes of a cheap set looking for anything edible. Drug dealers intwined with movie moguls and music producers. When first arriving there, there was peace, and I would explore the floors unimpeded. I felt strangely allowed. One afternoon that week after the two girls had shown me the place, I went and stood on the landing on the shady side of the hotel. I could have stood there for centuries. I thought about a life with her, while still in love with what I couldn’t have. I wasn’t apart from those feelings yet. They choked me up, but I would never cry. I probably set the record for being on the verge of tears, while they dried. The people were more reclusive and weird then. With so many people in those rooms, so few went about. They come out for air. They ask each other, never asking you. Even while asking me, would be the quickest way to find something out. Strange quirks with some of these who reside here. Notes I wouldn’t even have to look back upon to remember. I didn’t know about the inner workings of Hollywood yet, even while I was already pitching ideas, but wrote literature and not scripts. I didn’t know there were those perpetually green-lit, only needing content, and those perpetually in the red light. But on the surface, everything was crystal clear, with my young primo lenses at the time, seeing even the minute texture in anything like glitter in the dust. I suppose speculation has always been a turn on. But the place was an immediate enchantment, and people were actors, so forgiven, and no idiosyncrasies of the fauna would keep me from going back. I loved the place. It gave me a chance to linger in that aesthetic. There were occasions when I’d stay in the living room until dawn, undisturbed, when I could have stayed and ordered breakfast if I’d wanted to. Hollywood and this hotel had already had a long history before I arrived. The materials, the curtains and rugs and upholstery was already soaked to the bone, damp with the secretions of the body, the blood, the saliva and vaginal fluids of the past. In the present, you can smell the distinction of a vagina from a mouth perfectly. But through time, it becomes this amalgamated scent, so fine and subtle that it could be bottled as perfume; an aphrodisiac for the intellect. I want to stay and live here, but it costs a fortune. Check out time is like another death, the woman who spreads the sheets might be the perfect fuck. Dreaming in a bed that saw the golden age. The ghosts of a thousand whores arise. But that was the wet part of the dream. They all say the same thing, they all dance the same way. They all want to stay in this world. This, while everyone claims to live in a higher plane. They want freedom without the label being emblazoned upon them. Today’s perfect. That’s just a desirable label and we all have desires. You wish you could turn them all into someone someone would have loved. On the landing on the shady side of the hotel, the rush of thoughts has me without sight, the sun penetrating my eyes. I wouldn’t even know what a strange thought was then, always in the wine. I went into the shadows falling over me. The strange trees don’t know my past, but it seems that they love me. She was cold, goosebumps on the skin, she never warms. She’s not of this world. But this place is like heaven’s turnkey, and here I can dream, that I’m living a spectacular life. My every thought here like a disco in the dark light. It’s coming up river with the blackness gleaming to take my life. In the past one only had to return to civilization. Now, there is no civilization to return to. Modern society is like a plague that has no brains. That dies out, not by heat or cold or is prevented by the razor wire of another man’s desires for peace of mind. Death is the only peace. Just as I was told of my literary pursuits, that all the hours were wasted, and to think about the fact, that all those I admired in that craft, are all dead, and so was the craft. I was sitting at a drive-in theatre. Hail memory. Prefaces are life, when a form of death has already occurred.

On the subject of soap balls, they were always perplexing. My grandmother, a strange woman, born in New Braunfels, Tx, who never opened her presents, wouldn’t let me wash my hands with them. They were decorations, to be dusted and sniffed for their essence. One lathered by mistake and placed back into the bunch looked funny, and you wondered if she’d notice. They looked like dull gum-balls in a decorative bowl, and I’d acquired a taste for soap, or at least I wasn’t as disgusted as they’d wanted me to be. You can frustrate the hell out of a nun that way, by loving it, and asking her for more. But I was curious as to whether they were different flavors. I couldn’t tell; perhaps because sometimes smell and taste are inseparable. Perhaps their mystery lays in their not being of a practical shape, and round always tends to represent the erotic, like ovaries, representing the female anatomy. But there’s also a aspect in the work that I didn’t consciously think about until after writing the piece. And that was that in the victorian era, in the psychological journals, they often considered masturbation an attempt at suicide, or a suppressed death wish. And even while much of what they believed in then is laughable, maybe the act of masturbating with lavender soap was my fragrant wish to kill myself. I don’t know if I’m trying to cum or kill myself in the present either. My theory is that it keeps me from being desperate and at the mercy of women, when they aren’t readily available to me.

Dark blue was a piece I was more in love with writing, a story about a woman who’d committed a sin, that caused me to become an exile to femininity. When you can no longer trust women, there’s no longer a church to visit, there’s no safe place to hide. Dark Blue wasn’t as spontaneous as Lavender Soap, it was more evolved, I wanted to think carefully about it, I wanted some past world to be impressed. I wanted to stay immersed in a calm exile. Those who could even judge literature, now were few and far between. And because Dark Blue was also set at the Chateau, it was slowly being devoured by this more delirious work. It was like one stage of my life devouring another. And I wasn’t even in that careful mood to make a copy of it before I began cutting it up, and making fodder of it for a pop piece. I’ll probably extract Dark Blue from Lavender Soup and make it the subtle, psychological piece I’d wanted it to be; another conversation piece, the finite texture of dark blue polyester, a comfortable face and beautiful thighs, and a line, ‘I can’t believe you’d ever do this to me.’ You never expect a woman to be a criminal. It’s subtly frightening. You take the time to stare more deeply into the mystery of a pair of eyes. And when you can no longer believe in the feminine, when that door too, says deception, when it says enter at your own risk, it leaves you with no sanctuary at all in this world.

Lavender Soap was a chance to dwell on audiophilia and woodworking, even though much of the elaborations ended up on the cutting room floor, when it began to feel like This Old House. I think in every field, there’s an equilibrium with our humanness. And I think that wood and glass and analog technology was something that we can never rise above. There was no dissonance between it and the human body. We evolve technology, but the whole while we’re devolving. Like an individual, as a society, we cannot admit to wandering onto the wrong path, out onto a branch that leads to our demise, and while looking back at our past selves in arrogance, at our own expense. They’re already like zombies, and I think 5G will finish them off. Lithium, lithium, lithium. War, an OLED screen, and a sickening.

There was that first period of time exploring the Chateau when LA was magical, then I moved to D.C. and New York for a number of years. And as I did, many of the stories I’d started in my notebooks about or taking place in that setting were put on the back burner, while I was experiencing more of the in between and writing what I considered more significant novels. I’d visit Los Angeles on occasion, and the first place I’d want to get to was Venice, then after that, the Chateau Marmont. There were no marriage vows on the east coast, so I moved back to Los Angeles around 2006. I’d seen the Chateau become a less mysterious and more clamorous place during my visits but that was confirmed when I started going there frequently again. The magic was gone, for sure. And that magic was peace and quiet. Literature was becoming a dead beast, that had no place in this frivolous nature. I myself was disenchanted. I met a girl named Emma while I was living up Larrabee. I thought, maybe. And for the record, it was unfair to her that I quickly had such high expectations. I wanted a family. She said I was too smart for my own good and proceeded to eat my heart out. But I admit, I had her on the most perfect day of her life. No one will remember her so fondly. And so, at this breaking point of my life, I’d gone to a bicycle shop down Robertson and bought a chrome Bianchi Pista, trying to remain relevant and alive. I belonged in nature with a risk to life and limb; this was a crazy city now, homogenized, ceaseless, hungry. It was a point in my life when I had to seriously contemplate a return, a return home, or to academics, even while I despised its limitations, and had already fallen in love with studying outside of those restraints. I needed to give hard thought to returning to create some stability for myself, a life of normalcy, even if in some nowhere place. I already knew I’d been on a blacklist for some time by then, and well aware of the futility of trying to make it, while there are those determined to keep you down. But I kept writing, even without those motivations. And so I was riding around with that last chance to return on my mind, like always being conscious of death. The new technology had everyone riddled with something more invasive than neutrinos that just pass through everything. I was trying to shake off the stogy thoughts of literature and avoid the lack of patience that had infected everyone. And disappointment only aggravates your pride. You want to prove something, so you slip even in the bright sunlight, further into the heart of darkness. I’d try to ride through it, and write through it; the dystopian nightmare that everyone had feared would come, if they had their way, and they had their way. Without an exit strategy, the delusional self-induced Berkeley type archetypal bitch, had a plan. The illusion of an alternate world onto the real world. It had me dreaming of a landslide or a flood or a ball of fire heading right for us more than ever at the time. The freeze of disappointment settles on the brain. The billiard balls cease to scatter with infinite possibilities. You have to begin to look for your moments, then get the hell out before they burn down around you. But I would ride and when moving at the right speed, I could still say, that it was the place I first fell in love with. I played dead riding with no hands. I brought my old notepads out and began burning into Lavender Soap on a silver airbook. And again I’ll save this subject matter of writing tools and how they effect the process, for SSHS; the pen as opposed to a laptop, as opposed to a typewriter, etc. etc.

Why my father or anyone else for that matter was so miserable is about a past we cannot know. My father lived a life before I was ever born, I can’t judge him. It’s just the sight of an underwater knife and old scuba gear; everyone dives and that’s their life and no one else’s. And despite the terror in the household, he made an effort to educate me. He was a musician, so I was dragged around to Jazz festivals, which I always found fascinating, even while never being my favorite genre of music. More importantly, he loved film, and would take me to see first rate films while I was still at an impressionable age. It was Texas at a very different time. I don’t think he would in today’s world ever be able to sneak me, as a child into movies like The Godfather, The Deer Hunter, or Apocalypse Now. At least without being escorted by the police past the ‘no such thing as gender’ restroom doors, which the icon of the beast and word androgyny. Apocalypse Now is still my desert island movie, it was like candy to a child’s mind. I leave it in the DVD player for months at a time playing on a loop. It’s a movie I never tire of watching. I love when someone hates what I love, so maybe it’s a way to turn the stalkers off. Let them dwell in what will break them. It’s based on a book called Heart of Darkness, which is also one of my favorite works. It’s about the primordial model that we can’t get away from. We can build empires, then die over the wrong look. And when you’re a child, you see everything so differently, your eyes move to different parts of the screen, you take a different path through the film. You may not understand the poetry yet, or the subtext, or every word uttered, but you see another layer of beauty, that an adult might miss. And so your memory of certain elements are vivid. What’s written on a helicopter as it lands, ‘death from above’, and lavender smoke in the air making the ravages of life so pretty; like makeup on the whorish face of humankind. Then all the years have gone and it becomes like a masterpiece of background noise to a life in the continued, but post modernistic bloodbath of tribal animosities and nepotistic tendencies. The Heart of Darkness was a perfect model, because it’s the only model that makes any sense. We will die of a spear in the modern world. That dark model dwells in the modern city, and she’ll fuck us when she wants to. The end is always a bright pink clit coming down with bitterness and animosity. I can’t wait.

When I first arrived in Los Angeles, we were consumed by the talk of lenses and cinema and the craft of filmmaking, when the craft was religion, and not political correctness. We knew our lenses. How’s political correctness done as an industry?, you may ask. Fairly well it seems. The advertisers don’t give a fuck what they’re selling or what Greco Roman history they’re destroying. They’re mercenaries. They’ve not replaced civilization with anything that will last. But now, nothing’s supposed to; not even history. Once again we can’t escape the analog nature of ourselves and how other methods aren’t as conducive for the flesh or for externalizing our fascinations for the world to see. Our inability to get away from that period will see us shrinking as human beings. We won’t be strong enough to fight off the virus. Analog is more evolved than digital, and I call this the ‘prism effect’; if you’ve ever seen a prism penetrated by sunlight, and how it separates white light into a spectrum of colors, it’s a beautiful sight. Now imagine the energy it takes and the technology to do what the prism does so simply, and without the need for batteries. We’re trying to digitize and synthesize nature until it resembles nature again, or sounds analog again, or feels like flesh again. Why? So someone can shut it off when they’ve lost control. The digital age has allowed a bunch of really strange and ‘awkweird’ people to rule over earth; and as it’s turned out they’re not immune to the thirst for war and destruction or terror. They just like to fuck things up from a distance, and don’t believe in repercussion. But someone at a pseudo think tank can cost so much life then walk to Starbucks to get a cup of coffee. We’re all vulnerable to nature.

We can try to escape to places like Topanga or Malibu, but they want to stay connected. They don’t want the natural world to take place, even with all the natural beauty that still exists. Off the grid, makes them nervous, they’re so used to spying on everyone’s every move. It’s become their addiction, their lithium. I’m not your lithium. And it was during a time I was trying to escape, living out old Topanga road that something that might be considered trivial happened, but that in my mind was like some completion to an era of my life, like some forgiveness to put that part of my existence to rest. It was an afternoon that my girlfriend at the time and I made a stop at PC Greens along the Pacific Coast Highway, headed for a beach higher up. She waited for me while I ran in to buy a few things. And there, roaming around the store, was Martin Sheen. An old man now, but with the same face and voice. I looked into eyes I felt I knew well. I’m never one to bother actors, I know they fight for their private lives as well. But when heading for the checkout he came towards me like an old friend, and he was in a sense. And like perfection, what was playing and what was he singing to me? ‘The answer my friend is blowing in the wind.’ And he sang it as if disappointed, but as if there were time. We can’t know each other’s lives, but it was a beautiful sentiment. I went back out into the sun, elated, as if spared. Interesting. The wind took us up. We could have dissolved at that point with the waves breaking over us. Never complete, never finished.

And now, on another now. I leave the menu screen on flickering for hours, with the droning sound of the helicopter over fiery palms sweeping across my life, before I can bring myself to hit ‘play film’ again.

-Alan Augustine

Los Angeles, 2020

#chateau marmont

2 notes · View notes

neraawritesxx · 5 years

Text

i wish

pairing: kakashi x sakura genre: romance, drama, humor, nsfw word count: 13,935 rating: mature

↬ note: So, I finally got around to finishing one of my Secret Santa gifts for my discord server. This piece of work is dedicated to YummyFoods! I hope you had a wonderful holiday, hun. Also, special shout out to @mummapaintstheblues for keeping my sane throughout this entire writing process. I wouldn’t know what I would do without you bby ~

September 30th, 2018

"Don't you even think about it, Forehead." Ino's threat is thinly veiled, but there is no real hostility behind her words.

Sakura blinks, suddenly being pulled from her reverie. The bar is dimly lit and smoky with the pungent scent of stale beer and…something else she can't quite put her finger on. The heavy rock music pulsing through the speakers is more background noise than anything else, and unfortunately for the patrons who paid money on the jukebox, the tunes are drowned out by the brash group of bikers who take up the far corner of the bar.

She's not sure why Ino brought them all here for a girl's night out. It's not their typical scene for a Friday night, but then again, the blonde always had a soft spot for the local hole in the wall. Cheap, watered down liquor and all.

Sakura turns her head towards Ino, with an eyebrow raised, and asks, "What are you talking about, Pig?"

"I see you staring at the door. Don't even think about leaving."

Sakura grimaces and Ino scoffs, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her skull. She throws an arm over the back of Sakura’s chair and leans in close to deliver her next words. "I know what you're thinking. Stop. It took me two weeks to plan tonight around everyone's schedules. You're going to keep your pretty little butt planted in that seat, have another drink, and enjoy our girl’s night out. That is final."

Sakura's nose wrinkles with her displeasure at being scolded like a child, but she says nothing in retaliation. She swats Ino’s arm off the back of her seat and turns her attention to the cocktail in front of her. It’s some obnoxiously blue citrus drink that TenTen ordered for her. She has no idea what’s in it, nor is she too keen to try and find out, so she fiddles with the straw instead.

Sakura could play dumb, deny that she wasn't thinking about coming up with an excuse that would lead to her inevitable escape. She knows Ino wouldn’t fall for it though, so she doesn’t offer any type of apology and keeps her head held high. Unfortunately, now that the topic has been openly addressed, it doesn’t merely end with Ino’s brusque and portentous command. It’s now time for everyone at the table to give their two cents. TenTen is the first to voice her opinion on the matter.

"Oh, leave her alone, will you Ino? She just misses her man, and I can't say that I blame her."

A hot flush of embarrassment crawls its way up Sakura’s neck, staining her chest and cheeks crimson. She buries her face in both of her hands and groans softly, trying to keep the sullen note out of her cry, but it’s to no avail. It sounds pathetic even to her own ears.

"TenTen!" This time it’s Hinata who cuts in.

"What!?" Tenten exclaims, and it sounds almost remorseful – almost.

Sakura raises her head just enough to level TenTen with a baleful glare between her splayed fingers. The brunette takes this as a challenge, however, and meets Sakura’s soured look with a matching one of her own.

TenTen tosses her arms open, looks around the table, and challenges the entire group with, “Someone tell me I'm wrong! Go on!”

She's not wrong. Sakura knows it, TenTen knows it, Ino and Hinata and everyone else within their friend group, even those who weren’t present, know it.

However, Sakura would rather not be faced with the uncomfortably awkward topic that is her current relationship status. Nor does she want to hear Ino harp on what she firmly believes is the right course of action for Sakura to take. They’ve gone through this same scenario a handful of times now and it has only ever lead to one thing: an argument.

When no one raises to her taunt, Ino – shockingly – included, TenTen drops her hands into her lap, sitting further back in her chair with an air of triumph. Her eyes drift over to Sakura, who has now fully come out of her hiding spot and offers her a small, delicate smile.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Sakura. A few years back, when I had that internship in Suna, I was forced to leave Neji behind. It was hard. Really hard. I went from living with my boyfriend and seeing him every day, to a phone call or maybe a FaceTime, three times a week. I missed him so much, and I didn’t give two shits about who knew it or not. You’re allowed to miss him, Sakura."

Sakura considers her words, feels somewhat pacified by them, enough so to let her shoulders droop. She runs a hand through her hair, twirling the ends between her pointer and middle fingers.

"Oh please," Ino mutters narrowly. It’s dry and mocking and oh so condescending and immediately Sakura is put on the edge.

And this is precisely why Sakura was worried to begin with: the judgment.

Best friends are there to keep you grounded, to slap you with the harsh reality of any situation. Ino and Sakura are no exception to those rules. They worry about one another, take care of each other, and Sakura wouldn’t have it any other way. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean Sakura wants to hear about what Ino believes she is at fault for.

Especially right now.

She would rather not get read the third degree about her current relationship in a shady ass bar on the outskirts of town, who's main populace is bikers. But, like clockwork, Ino doesn’t disappoint. Her judgment is harsh and swift.

"You guys are blowing this whole thing out of proportion. They aren't even really dating. It’s not a real relationship. There's nothing for her to miss.”

And that is…well, that is the real brunt of the issue, isn’t it?

Again, Sakura rather not deal with this under the influence of alcohol, but Ino’s words are like a hard slap to the face. Sakura isn’t about to sit back and let her pick apart what little happiness she’s managed to cling onto. Anger flashes hot in her blood and Sakura grits out her retort before she even has a chance to think about it.

“And you’re the expert how? Like your relationship with Genma is so picture perfect. How’s Kurenai? I’ve heard she and Genma have been spending a lot of time together recently."

Her words are snappish and harsh, and the entire thing comes off a lot more confrontational and abrasive then Sakura intends. But she’s pissed off and upset with what Ino has been saying over the last couple of weeks. Sakura knows it’s a lie. A downright dirty lie that isn’t even based on some semblance of the truth, but then again, Sakura doesn’t need it to be true; she needs it to wound. That small, dark, vindictive side of her wants Ino to hurt just a fraction as much as she hurts right now.

The funny thing about revenge though, that spitefulness and greed, is that it’s like a plume of smoke. It’s there, it’s tangible and real, but when you reach out for it, you’re grasping at nothing but air. It’s fleeting, just like the smug pride that puffs out Sakura’s chest just a handful of seconds before Ino’s face falls.

That’s when Sakura knows she’s fucked up.

Sakura immediately scrambles to try and correct her mistake. She leans across the table, reaching for Ino, but the blonde evades her gasp by pushing back in her chair and standing up from the table.

“I need another drink,” Ino announces bleakly. Without waiting for anyone to comment, she spins on her heels and walks over to the bar.

There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of another chair scraping against the wooden floor is heard.

“Well, that escalated quickly,” TenTen jokes as she stands, but it falls flat. Her eyes soften as she takes in the stricken expression that has crossed Sakura’s face. She pats Sakura’s shoulder once, then twice, lips curling into a lopsided smile. “Don’t worry about her. She just needs some time to cool off. You’re both so hot-headed and stubborn sometimes. I’m surprised you two don’t come to blows more often.”

The lighthearted remark causes the corner of Sakura’s mouth to twitch, but the smile doesn’t hold. TenTen takes it as a victory anyway.

There’s a loud holler from across the room, and all three pairs of eyes search for the source of the interruption. None of them are all that surprised to find Ino sitting on a bar stool, surrounded by the group of bikers, shot glasses raised in the air in salute.

“I’m going to go make sure she doesn’t drink herself silly,” TenTen states, amusement apparent. Hinata buries her fit of giggles behind her hand and Sakura’s smirk is a tad rueful. “Be back in a bit.”

Sakura watches as TenTen treks across the room, skillfully maneuvering past one of the men that tries to put an arm around her. She smoothly sidles up next to Ino, occupying the bar stool beside her. Sakura observes them talking for a bit, sees them both laugh at a joke that TenTen tells, and releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She turns her attention back to their table and is surprised to find Hinata’s pale eyes surveying her.

“TenTen is right you know,” the quiet woman declares. “Just give her some time. She’ll get over it.”

Sakura hums her agreement, head nodding slowly, almost absentmindedly. “I know she means well. It doesn’t excuse what I said, though.”

Hinata offers a nod of her own. “No, it doesn’t. Then again, that’s what friends are for. We’re used to the good and the bad, the highs and the lows. We forgive one another, even for hurtful words.”

The table falls silent after that and Sakura takes the time to mull over the entire situation, teeth digging into the flesh of her bottom lip. She becomes lost in thought for a while, not that Hinata seems to mind. It’s her cell phone ringing that breaks her from her trance. Sakura looks down at the device just as Kakashi’s face lights up her screen.

Instinctively, Sakura hits the mute button, cutting off the cheery chime of her ringtone. She glances at Hinata, who’s is pleasantly occupied with watching Sakura’s phone light up again with another incoming call.

Brow arched, Hinata probes, “Are you going to answer that?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Sakura affirms and toggles her gaze from the tabletop to the other side of the bar to where TenTen and Ino are still occupied.

The unspoken reason why Sakura won’t answer Kakashi’s call hangs in the air between them. Sakura can feel Hinata’s stare drilling a hole into the side of her head, and she mentally prepares herself for another verbal lashing. However, the question that comes out of Hinata’s mouth is the complete opposite of what Sakura expects.

“You look pale. Do you feel dizzy or sick at all?”

“What?”

“I said,” Hinata reiterates with some emphasis. “Do you feel dizzy at all? Like you need some air? It’s probably because of all the smoke in the room. Maybe you should go out back and take a few minutes to collect yourself.”

Sakura stares, and stares, and stares; brows drawn down and lips parted in her confusion. It takes longer than Sakura would like to admit – and Hinata clearing her throat, looking pointedly at Sakura’s cellphone and awkwardly jerking her chin in the direction of the hallway that leads to the alley out back – but, revelation finally dawns.

Hinata is giving her an out.

They both know that Ino wouldn’t let Sakura hear the end of it if she were to leave unannounced, especially after everything that has occurred, but under the guise of needing some air…well, that just might work.

Without another word, Sakura stands from the table, phone in hand, and beelines for the back exit. The door hasn’t even closed fully behind her before Sakura has her phone tucked between her shoulder and the side of her face, the dial tone blaring in her ear.

The night air is humid and somewhat sticky but not so unbearable with the soft breeze blowing through the alleyway. She finds herself nervously pacing, waiting for him to answer. He picks up on the fifth ring.

“Hey,” He greets in that calm, cool tenor, albeit somewhat breathless.

At the sound of his voice, the entire world around her ceases to exist. It halts and melts away until there is nothing left but her and him.

“Hey, yourself,” She returns, fighting back an elated smile. Sakura stops walking around in circles and presses herself against the brick wall next to the bar’s back door. She untucks the phone from her chin, holding it to her ear with her right hand. “Sorry I missed your calls before, I’m actually –”

Her explanation is cut short by the sound of a dog barking in the background on Kakashi’s line.

“Is that Pakkun?” She asks, bemused.

Kakashi chuckles. The sound causes warmth to bloom in Sakura’s chest. She loves that sound.

“Yeah, it is. It’s like he knows when I’m talking to you. Hey Pakkun, you wanna say ‘hi’ to Sakura?”

There’s more barking on the other end of the line and Sakura makes a few cooing noises into the receiver. They both laugh when Pakkun howls his own greeting.

“So,” he hums. “How was your day?”

She doesn’t tell him about the argument with Ino, nor does she tell him that she has snuck away from her friends and found solace in the alley behind Konoha’s local watering hole. Instead, they talk about everything and nothing. He tells her about a new podcast that he’s been listening to recently, and she fills him in on some of the cases that she has taken over at the hospital. Sakura is overly pleased to be speaking with him, so much so, that she loses track of time.

When Ino barrels through the back door on unsteady feet, Sakura squeaks in surprise. Ino whips her head around at the noise, taking in the scene with bleary, unfocused eyes.

“Sakura?” Kakashi calls. He sounds worried and Sakura does her best to try and not be too delighted by that. She shouldn’t be ecstatic that he’s panicking over her. “Is everything alright?”

“Uh…yeah. Everything is fine, Kakashi,” Sakura assures, knowing that it won’t placate him in the slightest. “I’ve got to go, though. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

He clears his throat, and there’s a rustle on the other side of the line like he’s moving around. Sakura can tell that Kakashi is a bit put off by her abrupt end to their conversation by the way he begrudgingly replies with, “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll call you after work tomorrow.”

Sakura offers her goodbyes and goodnights, then hangs up the phone and pushes off the wall before sliding the device into the back pocket of her jeans. A hushed stillness descends on the alley, thick and stifling, but Sakura wisely chooses to let Ino take the lead on whatever is about to play out.

Ino breaks the ice with a slurred, “You know I didn’t mean what I said before, right?”

Sakura dips her chin towards her chest and offers a wan, but apologetic smile. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry for what I said also.” She peeks out at Ino from underneath her lashes. “Forgive me?”

“Forgiven,” Ino confirms with a solemn nod. She wanders over to where Sakura is standing and leans against the wall on one shoulder. “I’m just concerned about you, Forehead. I’ve never seen you like this with a guy before. Well…not since Sasuke.”

At Sakura’s hate-filled glower, Ino throws her hands up in a placating gesture, but her grin is impish. “Okay, okay, bad joke. I’m sorry. Seriously though, boyfriend or not, you care about Kakashi. Why don’t you tell him how you feel or, at least, talk things out? Why are you both okay with this weird ‘we should be dating, but we don’t like to be adults and address our feelings’ thing that you two have going on?”

And that is the million-dollar question, isn’t it?

Why is she so afraid to tell Kakashi how she feels?

Everything about Kakashi fascinates her; from his explosive wit, to the flirtatious way he touches her, to the way he let her read over his shoulder when he is nose deep in those smutty books of his.

His smiles always reach his eyes, and he never minces his words. He isn’t afraid to break out a sarcastic quip or a tactless comment, even if the situation doesn’t call for it. Sakura understands he is quiet when he has nothing to say, and that it is often mistaken for aloofness. The more time she spends with him, the more she can read his moods, and it seems…he lives his life freely. There is no careful containment of his emotions, no order to his chaos. He doesn’t care if he is offensive or nice. Kakashi is Kakashi, not someone else’s idea of what he should be.

Sakura had been envious of him when she first met him. It must be nice, she remembers thinking. No restrictions. No expectations. No fear.

It’s what drew her to him in the first place.

Their romance wasn’t some whirlwind. There was no love at first sight, no candlelit dinners, or carving a heart with their initials into the bark of some tree.

No, Kakashi and Sakura started their relationship ass-backward. Cue one very sloppy, drunken one-night stand that left them both embarrassed, unsatisfied, and hoping that they would never cross paths again.

Unfortunately for both of them, their liberal arts college had a requirement that all freshman needed to take a welcoming seminar. The point of the class was to assist them with the transition from a high school environment to that of a university. It was a bullshit class, an easy A to put on her transcript, something that should have gone off without a hitch. However, when she came to class on that first day and found out that her partner was the guy who she slept with on a whim, two nights prior, things had gotten a little uncomfortable.

It hadn’t been easy. Kakashi was just as thrown off by the circumstances as she was, and they tiptoed around one another consistently, walking on eggshells. Neither wanting to address what happened, but the issue weighing heavy on both of their shoulders. She brought him coffee one morning, about three weeks in, and that seemed to help ease the tension. They worked together to the best of their combined abilities from there on out.

And when the semester came to a close, they just kind of…stuck together.

She couldn’t tell when it happened.

When had late night cram sessions and take-out and passing encouraging messages written on review notes turned into this? When had their usual brand of camaraderie turned into something that could mean so much more?

She can't place that moment in time where their relationship shifted from exchanging inappropriate comments in the lounge of their dorm building to this deep sense of companionship.

Because Kakashi Hatake? Well, she felt something for him – something completely and undeniably real — a kind of kinship; a connection; a sense of belonging, like they were two people who, at their bare bones, understood each other. But she didn’t know if she has earned the right to feel that way, especially about him.

What she is sure about though, is that Kakashi has always been there. Since that first night at the party, throughout all four years; the ups and the downs, the good and the really, really bad – like that one incident where a professor accused her of plagiarizing her midterm paper – Kakashi has always been by her side, and that was more than Sakura could ever hope to ask for.

Kakashi wasn’t her first choice in a man, nor was he her second or even her third, but no one else in her life was as concerned about the little things like he was. He texted her to remind her to eat on her busier days, dropped off notes when she was sick and couldn't make it to lectures, and was even open to being the designated driver on the nights that they went out. He was a pain in the ass most of the time, like a nagging mother, but he was her pain in the ass, and one of her best friends.

When graduation came along, and Kakashi was offered a position in an up and coming law firm in Iwa, she encouraged him to go with a smile.

And after he left, Sakura tried to put her pieces back together because that’s what you do when someone you love leaves. You pick up the pieces and make them work again, somehow.

And yet.

And yet…she really fucking misses him, and there is nothing that she can do to fill that void. His presence in her life is unmistakably irreplaceable, and she knows that he feels it too. All this unspoken shit that continues to grow between them needs to be addressed, but a phone call or a video chat isn’t the proper way to handle it.

He deserves better. They deserve better.

“I don’t know, Ino,” Sakura murmurs dejectedly, breaking herself from her train of thought. “I really don’t know.”

Ino pushes off the wall, flicks her ponytail over her shoulder, then gives Sakura a long perusal from head to toe. She huffs, throws an arm around Sakura’s shoulders, and with all the overzealous flare and dramatics of an inebriated person – which includes a lot of strange hand motions and head bobbing – proceeds to tell Sakura all the reasons why she needs to ‘man up' and 'tell that bastard how you really feel'.

By the end of Ino's rant, Sakura doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or to cry, maybe a combination of the two, but she does feel better about the entire Kakashi situation and where she and Ino stand on it.

"Seriously, Forehead," Ino states. "What am I going to do with you? Your love life is a mess. I thought I raised you better than this."

Sakura responds with an unladylike snort and nudges Ino's side with her shoulder.

"I don't know about my love life, but I do know that I could use a drink. Let's head back inside. I want to be on your level by the end of the night."

"Fuck yes! This calls for shots!"

-⇞-

October 15th, 2018

“Sakura, will you please put your phone away and help us? I’m struggling over here!”

Naruto’s whine goes unheard and unnoticed by Sakura. She instead focuses on holding her camera steady, lining up the perfect shot to capture a photo of an absurdly robust pumpkin in the middle of the patch. It takes a minute or two, but she finally snaps a picture that she likes. Sakura swipes right on the touch screen a few times, finds a filter that makes the entire photo pop with color and adds a silly, little gif-sticker of a person dancing in a pumpkin costume to the bottom right corner.

Sakura posts the photo to her Snapchat story, sends Kakashi an individual copy, then shoves her phone into her sweatshirt pocket.

When she turns back towards Naruto and Sasuke, they are both leveling her with varying looks of contempt – though, to Sasuke’s credit, that’s his typical facial expression. He looks more bored than pissed off.

“What?” She asks innocently.

Sasuke grunts and shakes his head, but doesn't say anything. He rearranges his arms more securely around the two pots of mums he has in his hands and then pushes past Naruto, cutting his way across the field and into the parking lot.

Sakura rolls her eyes and closes the distance between herself and Naruto, taking one of the pumpkins awkwardly balanced within his grasp. He releases a sigh of relief at her assistance, adjusts the two remaining gourds in his grip and starts to take off after Sasuke, Sakura falling into step beside him.

Most of their walk is in companionable silence; Naruto occupied with making sure he doesn't drop the pumpkins they paid a pretty penny for, and Sakura content with watching hordes of children running around the grounds with their parents hot on their heels.

They are halfway to the car when Naruto ventures to ask, "Where has your mind been all day? You've done nothing but check your phone every five minutes."

Sakura nearly trips at his question, boots scuffing along the gravel. Thankfully she doesn't harm or destroy her precious cargo.

"I have not!" She tries to deny, but Naruto is giving her that look. It's the same look that Ino gives her whenever they've broached the same topic over the last couple of days. It's the 'you're-not-fucking-fooling-me-now-spill-it' look. Sometimes, Sakura swears that her friends are all conspiring against her.

She tries to think of the best way to explain it. It's not like she's kept Kakashi as a dirty little secret from Naruto and Sasuke. It's just...well, given the history that she shares with her two childhood friends, it is a bit uncomfortable. How do you address your dating life to the two overprotective lugs who have chased away most of your romantic prospects over the years? Especially when one of those lugs used to be a romantic prospect?

"It's that guy from undergrad, isn't it? What was his name again? Hatake, right?"

Both Naruto and Sakura look up at the sound of Sasuke's voice. He's leaning against the bumper of Naruto's beat up pickup truck, arms crossed, looking all the bit off-put as he usually does.

"Is that true?" Naruto quires, turning from Sasuke to Sakura, head comically cocked to one side like a confused puppy.

She bristles, but it's not out of embarrassment at being caught red-handed. It's out of general annoyance that Sasuke always seems to know what's going on in her life even before she does.

"How the hell do you know that?" Sakura snaps, the inquiry clipped and measured.

Sasuke smirks. It's that trademark, 'I'm-an-insufferable-bastard- and-I-know-everything' simper that, once upon a time, Sakura turned into a pile of mush over. To this day, she looks back on her high school self and wonders what caused her to think Sasuke Uchiha was the bee's knees.

"It's not like you're hiding it very well," Sasuke explains, his dull tone matching his flat affect. "You two were close in university. Freakishly, attached-at-the-hip close. You constantly talk about him or bring him up in conversation, and you don’t even realize it. It’s like it’s natural for you to talk about him. Plus...," If possible Sasuke's smile grows all the more condescending. "He's your top best friend on Snapchat."

“Ohhh,” Naturo screeches, excitement mounting. “You know what that means!”

Embarrassment tickles along the expanse of the back of her neck, hot and apparent. Sakura scowls, gritting her teeth and tries to ignore the sudden rise in her body temperature.

"What are you, my stalker now?"

Her jibe doesn't garner her the reaction that she would have preferred. Sasuke outright disregards her and Naruto bursts into a fit of giddy snickers. Sakura somehow finds herself once again overcome with the shocking realization that these two idiots are like brothers to her. Two brothers that are pushing her into dangerous territory. The ‘were-gonna-talk-about-the-birds-and-the-bees’ territory and Sakura is not sure she wants to have this conversation once again in so few weeks.

Turning her nose up, Sakura strides over to the back of the truck and tosses the pumpkin she was carrying over the lip of the bed. Sasuke and Naruto’s combined bemusement follows her as she makes her way to the passenger side door, but Sakura keeps her chin held high and with as much dignity as one who is exceptionally flustered can muster, climbs into the truck, slamming the door behind her.

It's a few more minutes before the boys join her in the car, Naruto sliding into the middle seat between Sasuke and Sakura from the driver's side. The first half of their trip home is spent in an increasingly painful bout of silence, nothing but Sasuke's classical playlist filling the stillness of the vehicle.

It's Sasuke, astonishingly, breaks their self-imposed quietude.

"Ino brought it to our attention a few days ago. The whole thing with you and Hatake." His eyes slide from the road to Sakura. It's not a stern or sardonic look; it's a look that tells her to keep her mouth shut while he explains further. Sakura does right by him and actually listens for once. "And before you go off the handle about her spilling your little secret to us, she wholeheartedly wanted our opinions on the matter."

Naruto cuts in eagerly, gesturing with his hands while he speaks. "She's worried about you, you know? The whole 'I don't want her to end up alone' thing that all you girls all panic over. She wanted us to see if we could figure out what's holding you back from finally putting yourself out there with this guy."

He leans in close for his next words, resting his head in the nook between her next and shoulder.

"And imagine our surprise, Sakura-chan, that we had to find out you were seeing a man, behind our backs, from Ino of all people!" Naruto's childish antics bleed through his mock upset. He pouts his his lips and bats his eyes, but he's smiling, and Sakura doesn't fall for his games.

"He wasn't a secret per se," she whispers sheepishly, shrugging Naruto off. She doesn't let him get far though. Before he can fully recover from her shove, Sakura tucks herself against his side, resting her head on his chest. One of his arms comes across her back, pulling her closer.

Sasuke huffs one of those weird sorts of breaths that you can’t tell if he’s amused or aggravated. She thinks it the former, though. It's the closest thing to a laugh that she's heard from him in years. "Then why didn't you tell us about him?"

"I…don't know," Sakura reluctantly admits, waving a hand helplessly before letting it fall into her lap. "The whole thing is confusing. We're confusing. I’m not entirely sure where we’re going or even what I’m looking for. I know how I feel, but I don’t even know how he feels. Besides…talking about my sex life, or lack thereof, with the two of you is the last thing that I want to do.”

The mention of Sakura and sexual intercourse in the same sentence throws Naruto and Sasuke for a loop, much like she figured it would. Naruto releases an indignant squeak and squirms uncomfortably in his seat. His dismay is rolling off of him in waves, and Sakura feels the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to gather his bearings. Sasuke…well, Sasuke looks like he’s about as uncomfortable as someone would be if they swallowed broken glass.

“Did you…did you sleep with him Sakura?” Naruto bravely asks.

Sakura harrumphs. It’s weird, trying to have a conversation with her ear pressed to Naruto’s chest. She shifts, readjusts herself and places her head against his shoulder instead. "Out of everything that I just said, that's the only thing that stuck out? Seriously? Do you guys think I am some twenty-three-year-old virgin?"

“Change of topic. Right now,” Sasuke begs. “Please.”

Naruto snorts dryly. “We’re in the presence of an asexual being, Sakura. No inappropriate talk allowed.” There’s a beat, and the atmosphere in the car changes. The humor is gone. Then, Naruto continues in that sinfully serious, considerate tone of his, “You know, if he makes you happy, we would never be opposed to the two of you being together.”

“Hn.”

And that admission warms Sakura, right down to her very core. “I know,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”

The remainder of the car ride passes with Naruto making snippy remarks about Sasuke’s driving. As they arrive just outside the city limits, their bickering escalating into something that could potentially put all three of them into a dangerous situation, Sakura’s phone begins to ring in rapid succession. She wiggles slightly in Naruto’s arms, pulling her cell from her sweatshirt pocket. The screen is filled with notifications of missed messages, one from Ino and multiple from Kakashi.

"Your boyfriend?" Sasuke inquires. He doesn't try to hide the entirely smug tilt in his voice.

"He's not my boyfriend," Sakura corrects.

Naruto interjects with, "Well, technically, he kinda is. Or rather, he's not your boyfriend, yet. That's the keyword: yet."

"You two are insufferable."

"Don't not answer on our account," Naruto says. He's wearing a grin so wide it causes his eyes to crinkle in the corners. "Please, carry on. Pretend like we're not here. Hell, call him if you would like. We won’t say a word. Right, Sasuke?"

Sakura quickly jerks her elbow, catching Naruto in the ribs. "Not gonna happen. Do you think I’m dumb enough to get him on the phone in the presence of you two?"

“Ohhh, she’s embarrassed, Sasuke. She doesn’t want to show us what she’s like with Kakashi. Look at our little Sakura, all grown up with a boyfriend.”

“Hn.”

“Will you two shut up!”

-⇞-

Later on, long after the boys have dropped her off at her apartment, raided her pantry and left behind a mess for her to clean, Sakura Facetimes Kakashi to tell him about her day. She informs him of Sasuke and Naruto’s teasing and about how, inadvertently, he has gained their seal of approval as her ‘not real boyfriend.’

She says it as a joke, something lighthearted and playful that they can both laugh at, but Kakashi doesn’t see the humor in the situation like she thought he would.

He’s quiet and contemplative and looks far too serious as he mulls over her words.

“…Is everything alright?” She eventually asks. This isn’t like him. He’s never this quiet, not with her.

Kakashi starts at her question, like he has forgotten Sakura is on the other side of the video call. “No, no. It’s nothing. I uh…I gotta go. I promised Genma I’d give him a call after work. Something about Ino and some fight they had. You know, guy stuff. I’ll message you sometime tomorrow.”

Before Sakura can sarcastically quip that relationship advice isn’t exactly his forte, Kakashi has already hung up on her without so much as a proper goodbye.

Judging by the lack of missed calls or text messages from Ino, Sakura knows Kakashi is lying about the Genma scenario.

And She’s not entirely sure how she feels about that.

-⇞-

October 31st, 2018

"Well?" Sakura asks. "What do you think?"

Kakashi is uncharacteristically silent, and Sakura turns from where she is admiring her costume in the mirror to stare at her phone screen propped up on her dresser.

He has an odd look on his face, a cross between exasperation and unease and…longing? She’s not quite sure what to make of it. Things have been off between the two of them for the last couple of weeks. Kakashi’s been avoiding her. Their video calls are now few and far between, and if she does happen to rope him into a regular phone call, they don’t chat for long.

Sakura’s trying her best not to let it get to her, but it's not as easy as she would have initially thought. She thought she missed him when he left, but she finds herself yearning for his attention and validation even now.

“What is it?”

His reply is instantaneous. “You’re going out…wearing that?”

Sakura looks down at her witch’s costume. Sure, the black dress was a little too short for her liking, and the neckline was a lot less modest then she would have preferred, but it was cute and it fit her nicely, plus the bell sleeves really pulled the whole thing together. It also had a hood, and in the absence of buying a pointed hat, that was the next best thing.

She frowns. “What’s wrong with it?”

On the other side of their FaceTime call, Kakashi snorts. “I can see your thighs.”

“I’m wearing stockings. You can’t see anything.”

“You have a lot of makeup on.”

“I’m supposed to be a witch, Kakashi. You know, ‘double, double toil and trouble,’ and all that dramatic flair? Makeup pulls the whole look together.”

“You don’t have a hat. You can’t be a witch without a hat.”

Sakura reaches behind her and pulls the hood over her head. It rests haphazardly over her curled hair, but she doesn’t make any move to straighten it. “Boom. Who needs a hat when you have a hood? Next.”

She crosses her arms and watches as Kakashi’s eyes narrow to slits before slowly trailing down the column of her neck.

In a last-ditch effort, he proudly exclaims, “You’re showing a lot of skin.”

Sakura jaw drops open, but her stupefaction is short lived as irritation fights its way to the forefront. “If you’re talking about my cleavage, you know from firsthand experience that there’s not that much to show. My chest is basically nonexistent.”

Kakashi grumbles and turns away from her. He’s sulking, brooding in his silence. Sakura can’t figure out for the life of her why he’s acting like this. And then, finally, it dawns on her and Sakura has to fight down the unexpected bout of laughter that begins to bubble in her chest.

"Are…are you jealous?"

Her query is met with the response she expects. Kakashi burrows further into the pillows at his back, bottom lip jutted out like a pouting child, still refusing to look at her through the phone screen.

“That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re jealous and upset that I look good.”

“You look great,” He corrects, and if it weren’t for his deadpan manner, Sakura would have taken it as a real compliment.

“Don’t change the subject. Is that what’s been going on with you, lately? Some kind of…of warped jealousy that’s been making you act all weird.”

She watches the line of his shoulders tense at her accusation, watches as the muscle in his jaw ticks in indignation, and Sakura knows she’s hit the nail right on the head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, bullshit. Ever since I went pumpkin picking with Naruto and Sasuke, you’ve been acting strangely. You don’t call or reach out as much, and even if we do talk, it’s always a one-sided conversation.”

Her frustration is mounting and Sakura knows better than to put him on the spot like this. Kakashi never reacts well under pressure, but she can’t help it. Whatever his reason is for acting the way that he has needs to be addressed now or it will eat away at her for the rest of the evening. It may be selfish of her, but she is not ruining her Halloween night because he’s in a bad mood.

“Hell,” She accuses, palm smacking the top of her dresser as an outlet to her aggravation. “You can barely stand to look at me right now!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sakura. You’re right. I’m pissed off! How would you feel if the person you were interested in makes your feelings the butt of a joke with her two dimwitted childhood friends?”

Sakura stills, shoulders slumping as the ferocity drains out of her. "What...what did you just say?"

Kakashi's face is an otherworldly shade of purplish-red, and if Sakura weren't so shocked by what she just heard, she would have told him to call a doctor. From the bottom of his chin to the tips of his ears, his mortification and horror stain his face in blotchy patches of crimson. He tries to fix his little slip by hastily backpedaling.

"No...it was just...I uh, didn't mean it that way."

She's not going to give him an inch. "What way did you mean it then, Kakashi?"

He doesn't answer and Sakura is left with nothing else to do but stare at his image on her phone screen, wringing her hands in uncertainty.

How have they gotten to this point?

They talk every day, but they really don't communicate well with one another, do they?

Sakura understands and accepts that half of the blame is her own, but despite her efforts, everything over the last five years has come to a head. This was the issue with the dance of courtship. Especially a courtship as misconstrued and messed up as their own.

"I wanted to tell you," Kakashi finally says. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends as he derails. "I wanted to sit down and talk to you about this when I was home for Christmas this year. I wanted to lay everything out on the table and finally address this thing going on between us, and see if we could move forward from here...together. But then you started talking about Naruto and Sasuke, and they made a joke of our relationship, and you laughed along with them, and I know –"

"Kakashi, stop talking."

"You know, that's really kind of rude to say to someone who's confessing their feelings for you."

"Kakashi, stop talking."

And he does. He listens, he always listens to her, but he's not happy about it. He's frowning, lips pressed together in a taut, thin line. Sakura takes a deep breath, then another, and then another. When she finally feels the flush of her impatience leave her cheeks, she says, "I have been crazy about you since sophomore year."

He doesn't respond to her admittance. He looks shocked and angry and a bit relieved, and Sakura has a hard time keeping up with all of the emotions that are crossing his face. His eyes never leave her, though. They bore into her, grounding her. They are dark and stormy and smoldering, and for a long moment, Sakura forgets how to breathe.

Eventually, she proceeds with, "I can't tell you when my feelings changed, but they have, and I'm not sorry about that. I want you to know that my intentions of telling you about Sasuke and Naruto wasn't to hurt you or make a joke of your feelings. I didn’t know how you felt. They both, including Ino, have been pressuring me for the last month to talk to you about everything. About how I feel...and if you're serious about this...about us, then so am I. I'm all in. So, I’m going to ask: are you?"

Her profession brings back that alarming violet color to his cheeks. Sakura, with all the patience of a saint, gives him time to collect himself and Kakashi readily takes it. The way he processes her confession brings about a new myriad of emotions. His face contorts from apparent shock to pleasure, then he grimaces sheepishly, then stares at her blankly for a long while. After a few minutes pass, the corner of his mouth curls up, slowly, then the other.

And before long, he’s smiling.

It's a big, goofy, megawatt grin that lights up his entire being and radiates his absolute elation at the turn of events. Sakura doesn't think she's ever seen him look so happy.

Kakashi swallows thickly, then releases one, long, drawn-out exhale. His voice is heavy and heady with emotion when he murmurs, "You don't know how long I've been waiting for you to say that."

“Fucking finally!” A voice shouts from the doorway.

Sakura yelps in surprise and turns to find Ino leaning against her bedroom door frame. She’s dressed to the nines in her rendition of a modern Jessica Rabbit costume and Sakura finds that it’s a bit difficult to keep her eyes solely on Ino’s face. Showing a lot of skin, indeed.

“I tried knocking,” Ino enlightens, observing Sakura’s befuddled look. “But you didn’t answer and the front door was open, so I let myself in. Now, though, I can see why you were too busy to answer the door.”

Ino looks at the cell phone propped up on Sakura's dresser and her grin broadens. Though Kakashi can’t see her from that angle, Ino gives a tiny, coy wave of her fingers in the direction of the device.

"Hello Kakashi," she sings.

"Hi, Ino," he politely returns.

Sakura smacks her forehead with her palm and grumbles.

-⇞-

November 9th 2018

It has been a shitty week. A really fucking shitty week and all Sakura wants to do is go home, crawl into her bed, wrap herself into a bundle of blankets and pillows, and sleep for the next three days.

One of her long-term patients at the hospital took a critical turn, and despite her best efforts, he passed away in the middle of her shift the night before. Dealing with the family and the paperwork was one matter, but the emotional turmoil sitting heavy in the pit of her stomach is another.

Tsunade tried her best to turn the loss into a lesson; this might have been the first time Sakura lost a patient, but it would not be the last. Though the bonds she forms with those in her care are important, she needed to learn how to cope with the grief adequately. It didn’t help that last night’s shift had also been her third in a row, and the second day at the hospital that turned into a fifteen hour, around the clock stint in the emergency room.

Sakura is run ragged, emotionally and physically weary down to her bones. Everything fucking hurt, and if it weren't for the fact that she was currently holding on to the stair railing, she is pretty sure she would collapse into a boneless heap right in the middle of the stairwell.

There were other things on her mind as well. Sasuke and Naruto were fighting over something that she can’t, for the life of her, even remember anymore. She was caught in the middle of two bothersome, stubborn men who refused to apologize to one another and admit that they were at fault. She had been receiving passive aggressive messages from both of them throughout the last two days.

Ino was having problems with Genma – again – and despite Sakura’s best efforts to try and be there for her friend, Ino’s sour mood was festering to uncontrollable proportions. No amount of consoling and cajoling could calm her down.

Sakura was sure that Kakashi was getting the same treatment from Genma, but she could neither confirm nor deny that, solely based on the fact that she and Kakashi hadn’t been speaking all that frequently. Now, that wasn't to say that things between them weren't going well.

They were going better than well. Things were amazing.

After they had laid everything out and expressed how they felt, they were finally on the same page and progressing forward, together. Things were still new, but she is giddy with the possibilities of a new romance. It was uncharted territory, and though she was acting like a lovestruck high schooler, Sakura is excited for the things they could experience with one another.

The distance was still a disconcerting factor, but relationships take work and effort, and Sakura would be damned if she wasn’t willing to buckle down and power on through.

But, with the holidays approaching, things were getting especially hectic. Being in medical school, and as low on the totem pole that she was, Sakura had been forced to cover up a majority of the slack at the hospital. The patient census was low, more nurses and senior staff were taking off to spend time with their families, and it left the interns scrambling.

Kakashi wasn’t faring much better then she is. His firm is just as busy and he’s stuck covering most of the grunt work.

Phone calls were few and far between with their conflicting schedules, but they managed to text each other here and there. Or, more accurately, Kakashi sent Sakura very colorful, very threatening messages about remembering to eat properly and take care of herself.

Sakura manages – just barely – to pull herself up the two flights of stairs to the floor that her loft was on. Her mind is focused on nothing but reaching her bedroom and the sweet oblivion to be achieved once she makes it there, but as she approaches her apartment door, two things become apparent.

One, there is a teenage boy who looks barely old enough to drive, dressed in a polo and khakis, blocking the entrance to her apartment.

Two, he’s holding one of the most massive bouquets of roses that she has ever seen.

“Hello?” She calls out tentatively. “Can I help you?”

The kid turns at the sound of her voice. He looks relieved to see her. “Are you Miss Sakura Haruno?”

Sakura nods, letting her gaze shift from his face, to the bundle of flowers in his hands. She then gives him a quick once-over, recognizing the logo of the local flower shop stitched into his left sleeve.

“I am. How can I help you?”

He seems overly delighted by her confirmation and thrusts the bouquet into her unsuspecting arms. Sakura struggles to receive them without crushing a bud or two.

"Awesome! I'm glad you're here." His enthusiastic manner reminds her of Naruto. "I didn't want to leave these outside your door where anyone could step on them. You don't need to sign for them or anything. Have a nice day, ma’am! "

The delivery boy is there one second and gone the next, and Sakura is too flabbergasted to fully contemplate if she's insulted by him addressing her as 'ma'am.’

She looks down at the bound blossoms, a neat array of reds, pinks, and whites, and she spies a little card mounted on a plastic display nestled in the center.

It's a simple note, written in elegant, feminine script.

Just a friendly reminder --

Thinking of you always.

Yours,

Suddenly, Sakura doesn’t feel so tired anymore.

-⇞-

Later that day, when Ino stops by and notices the bouquet sitting as the centerpiece on Sakura’s kitchen table, she proceeds to call Sakura a sappy, love-sick fool.

Sakura couldn’t and wouldn’t bring herself to care, because it was undeniably true, and no amount of teasing was going to wipe the goofy smile from her face.

-⇞-

November 16th, 2018

"If you're not going to help, I'm going to hang up on you."

"Now, Sakura, that hardly seems fair."

"Listen here you brat. This case is the make or break of my residency at the hospital. Either you help me go over the case files, or you quit distracting me. If you keep bothering me with useless nonsense, I’m going to fly to Iwa and beat you with a stick."

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Kakashi.”

"Alright, alright. Geez. Remind me to never get on your bad side, babe."

“You already are!”

-⇞-

November 22nd, 2018

It's the middle of the afternoon on Thanksgiving Day, and Sakura is panicking.

"Sakura, sweetheart, you need to calm down."

She glares at the phone sitting on her counter, hoping that he could feel the weight of her scowl all the way in Iwa.

"That's easy for you to say," She grounds out through gritted teeth. "You didn't just ruin Thanksgiving dinner! Seriously, how the hell did I manage to burn a fucking turkey!"

There's a noise on the other end of the line, it sounds like a snort, she perceives it as a snort, and Kakashi is lucky that he is calling her from his office because if he were home, she would rip into him for finding anything about this situation hilarious.

Sakura settles on raising her middle finger in the direction of the phone, and that mollifies her – if only slightly – despite him not being able to see it. She continues to frantically turn the pages of the recipe book her mother gifted her when she moved out.

"If you're not going to help, Hatake, get off the phone."

"It's just Naruto and Sasuke," is Kakashi's flippant dismissal. "You could put instant noodles in front of the both of them and they would still praise you for it."

Sakura releases a distressed whine and turns another page, eyes skimming for something that she can whip together in a matter of an hour and a half. She hears Kakashi click his tongue and there's an echo of movement on the other end of the line like he's switching the ear that he’s pressing his phone against.

"Take a deep breath," he coos into the receiver. "You said you managed to save all of the side dishes, right? You can still serve those. I’m sure the boys wouldn’t mind.”

There's a murmur of another voice on Kakashi's end followed by Kakashi's muffled response. There's a pause before his says, clearer this time, “Sakura, I need to go. Make a noodle dish for the main course. I'm sure you have all the ingredients at home. I'll call you later, alright? Have a good time. I love you."

The call disconnects right as the cookbook slips from her lifeless fingers and clatters against the countertop. The noise that emanates from the back of her throat is a mix between a squeak and a whimper and is entirely distressed in nature.

Did he…did he just…?

The ringing of her cell phone interrupts her thoughts and Sakura looks at the brightened screen to see that she has messages from Kakashi waiting for her.

Kakashi Hatake (3:36:15 pm): So... I totally just said that... Kakashi Hatake (3:36:32 pm): Sorry for throwing it on you like that. Kakashi Hatake (3:36:47 pm): But it's true, and I'm not taking it back. Kakashi Hatake (3:36:59 pm): Remember, deep breathes, cook some noodles, and enjoy your time with your friends. I'll call you tonight.

For the next two hours, Sakura is too distracted with staring at those messages to try and salvage dinner.

They eat Pad Thai takeout for the main course and Sakura’s not even the slightest bit ashamed when she serves it.

Naruto and Sasuke – mostly out of fear for what would happen if they were to complain – tell Sakura it's the best Thanksgiving dinner they've ever had.

-⇞-

December 16th, 2018

Ino shows up on her doorstep that morning, and in all of her assertive glory, demands that Sakura help her bake something for her office holiday party.

Though Sakura would love to tell Ino that she is on her own, she has always been susceptible to Ino’s puppy dog eyes and her futile resistance crumbles before it even has the chance to form fully. The two of them make their way into the kitchen, and Sakura’ falls into the rhythm of a familiar and comforting routine: shooting the shit with her best friend, laughing about inanities, and dancing around her home as they prepare food in concert, singing along to one-hit wonders from the early nineties.

After the last couple of months, nothing could have been more uncomplicated or more healing than returning to this normalcy.

Cookies in the oven and coffee brewing, Sakura uses the lull in their baking to check her phone, and Ino notices the preoccupation instantly. Being an excellent friend, she misses exactly zero opportunities to rub Sakura’s face in it.

“Who you talking to, Forehead? Your boyfriend?” Her voice was sickly singsong, light, and teasing.

Sakura shoves her shoulder in repentance and laughs. It’s just as much jubilant as it is incredulous, and she shakes her head instead of getting defensive.

Sakura is in a good mood. It’s Sunday, and that means she and Kakashi have a movie date later on – which meant they would watch television while on the phone together and comment on the absurdity of whatever shitty horror film that they put on.

Ino walks over to the counter where the coffee pot resides, pours two mugs full, then returns to Sakura’s side, placing her cup on the table in front of her. They sit in companionable silence for a few moments, relishing in those first few sips of a fresh cup of coffee.

“Are you happy, Forehead?”

The spontaneity of the question catches Sakura off guard. Slowly, she places her mug on the table, keeping both hands wrapped around it and stares at Ino. The juvenile cheerfulness that her friend had exhibited that afternoon is long gone, leaving behind nothing but mindfulness and concern.

Sakura is aware that Ino’s question has nothing to do with her job, or her impression in that exact moment. It’s about her relationship and how it makes her feel and Kakashi. It’s always about Kakashi.

“Yeah, Pig,” Sakura reassures. “I’m happy.”

The gravity of the situation dissipates as Ino nods once. “Alright then.”

Sakura snickers. “I should be the one asking that question. How are things with Genma?”

Ino snorts, rolls her eyes skyward, and they fall back into the comfortable, compatible joviality that they had shared throughout the afternoon.

Later on, about a half hour after Ino leaves, Kakashi calls and apologizes, but he has to cancel their movie date. He cites work for his excuse, and though Sakura is disappointed, she doesn’t hold it against him. She spends the rest of her evening flipping through Netflix and noshing on the cookies that didn’t make the cut for Ino’s dessert platter.

She readies herself for bed shortly after her movie ends. She plugs in her phone and cozies herself between the numerous blankets, sheets, and quilts on her bed. With the lights out and the only sounds in the room being the hum of her breathing and the buzz of the heater, Sakura begins to drowse. The chime of an incoming text message startles her out of her light snooze. Glancing at her clock, Sakura grunts and rolls onto her elbow, reaching for her phone on the nightstand.

Kakashi Hatake (11:01:30 pm): I have to speak to you tomorrow. Can you call me in the morning?

Just as she begins to thumb a response, another text message arrives.

Kakashi Hatake: (11:01:45 pm): You should be sleeping.

Then another.

Kakashi Hatake (11:01:51 pm): Seriously. Put the phone down. You have a shift tomorrow afternoon. Just call me in the morning.

Sakura does as she was told, a sly, little smile on her face.

Read receipts. She should really turn those off.

-⇞-

December 17th, 2018

There are some emotions that are difficult to explain – that exist in the kind of liminal space between other, more easily understood feelings like happiness and hate and fear. There are some emotions that don’t have a name: the sensation of looking up at someone and one day beginning to wonder, not for the first time, whether or not you really love them. The moment when you get exactly what you always wanted, but begin to feel guilty for all those who never will; the sense of coming home to an empty apartment after a long shift, and feeling both an abiding comfort and a profound impression of loneliness.

And Sakura was feeling one of those confusing, nameless emotions at that moment – a deep and personal sense of mourning for someone she was deeply tied to, but unable to adequately express the magnitude of her feelings.

"I'm...sorry...," she mumbles faintly. "Can you repeat that?"

She's back in the alleyway behind that sketchy bar Ino insists on dragging them to whenever their schedules align. She didn’t get the chance to call Kakashi that morning. Tsunade called her and asked her to start her shift a few hours earlier than intended. The patient census was still low, but her mentor wanted someone in the ER that she could trust.

By the time she was relieved of duty, Kakashi was still at the office, hence the late-night phone call.

Kakashi is insufferably silent on the other side of the line. He sighs, then sucks in a deep breath. There's a pause, a beat, where Sakura thinks that he might actually elucidate what he just said, but he merely sighs once again.

"I said," He finally mutters and then stops. Sakura hears the clink of his teeth as he snaps his mouth closed.

Sakura squeezes her eyes shut, bites back the tempting urge to vocalize her inherent irritation, and waits for him to confirm her fear. It's another two whole minutes before he speaks again.

"I said, I won't be able to make it home for Christmas."

Her plea is instantaneous. "We already have everything planned."

It's feeble and needy, but it's the only counter-complaint that makes sense in her mind. Sakura knows that Kakashi understands why she's unnerved by the news. If he doesn't come home for Christmas, the next time that he would be able to visit Konoha would be in March.

March.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” He really does sound remorseful, but the sinking feeling in her gut doesn’t go away with his soft words. “I have no say in who the partners decide to keep on during the holidays. They chose me, Sakura, and I can’t change that.”

It’s the first time in their relationship that Sakura hangs up on him out of spite.

-⇞-

December 25th, 2018

“You can still come out with us, you know,” Ino’s voice echoes throughout her apartment. “Genma and I are going to dinner, and we’re meeting everyone at the bar for drinks after. Seriously, Forehead, come get dressed.”

Sakura leans over the arm of the couch, digging her feet between the cushions to keep herself from falling too far forward. Facing the hallway that leads to her bedroom, Sakura yells out, "Thank you for the offer, Pig, but I'm not really in the mood to be a third wheel to you and Genma."

She hears Ino scoff, followed by her footsteps padding down the hall, and Sakura perks up at the sight of her best friend in her borrowed outfit.

Ino chose a pair of patterned tights and an over-sized, cream-colored sweater-dress with an off-the-shoulder, folded-over neckline that she made her look diminutive and cute. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and she foregone any dramatic makeup, instead opting for a mostly bare face and some lip gloss. Ino moseys her way over to the couch and begins to tuck her feet into her knee-high black leather boots that she had earlier disposed of.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" She asks, making her way into the kitchen where she had dropped her coat on the back of one of the chairs.

Sakura sinks back into the soft cushions of her couch. "I'm sure. I'll be fine. I've got a pint of chocolate chip ice cream and half a bottle of chardonnay with my name on it."

Ino returns a second later, donning her wine-colored coat. She eyes Sakura curiously, and with a hint of doubt, head cocked slightly to the right. Sakura can see the gears turning in her head, watches as her lips part like she's about to call bullshit on Sakura's excuse. She doesn't let Ino have the chance.

"Honestly, Ino." The use of her real name gives the blonde woman pause. "I'm alright. I wouldn't let you out of this apartment if I weren’t. You know that. Go have fun tonight. Have a shot or two for me."

Ino scrunches up her nose, and her lips twist with displeasure, but she doesn't argue. She reaches across the space between them and ruffles Sakura's hair playfully. "If you need anything, call me. You know I'd come running."

Sakura gives her a dismissive wave of her hand. "Yeah, yeah. Get out of here already, or you're going to be late."

Ino doesn't fight her, and without another word, she's out the door.

Sakura occupies the rest of her evening with deep cleaning the majority of her apartment. Her kitchen floor has never been so clean. When her shoulders ache, and when her knees are sore and red from the amount of time she has spent on them, Sakura finally decides to call it quits.

She takes a long, relaxing shower, letting the hot water beat against her back and tries to find a sense of calm that has evasively eluded her for the last couple of days. Since Kakashi broke the news that he wouldn't be returning in time for Christmas, Sakura has thrown herself into her work at the hospital.

It wasn't his fault, she knew that, but it didn't make it hurt any less. Ignoring his calls and texts for the remainder of that night was juvenile and childish, and in recognizing her error, she apologized to him the following morning. Kakashi never held it against her, he understood. He always understood — that silly, stupid, reliant man.

Though things between them were fine, they weren't precisely copacetic, and the closer they drew to the destined day, the more strained things seemed to become. Sakura sent him a text this morning with well wishes for his holiday and received an immediate reply, but beyond that, she hadn't heard from him.

When the water turns cold, Sakura shuts off the shower and towels herself dry. She spends enough time in her bedroom to change into her pajamas and brush her matted hair before she beelines for her kitchen. A little while later, Sakura is halfway through her stash of ice cream, the drone of some news program on her television filling her living room, when someone knocks on her front door.

Whoever it is, is impatient, because before she can even put down her spoon, there's another knock, quickly followed by another, their volume increasing.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Sakura calls out, disgruntled at the prospect of her dessert-for-dinner pity party being interrupted.

Scratching the back of her head, Sakura throws open her door and comes face to face with a very disgruntled, yet strikingly familiar pug with a Santa hat on his head.

“Pa...Pakkun?” She gapes, caught off guard.

Her eyes dart down to the hands holding him around his middle, then trail up a toned arm, and then...he comes into view.

Kakashi is there, staring at her, looking so much the way she remembers him from their last video call.

He’s the same, but then again, he’s different.

He’s real.

He’s taller in person then she remembers, and his hair is a bit shaggier, but that jawline, the broad set of shoulders, those are all the same. Just the sight of him stirs something so powerful within her. It’s longing and something so horribly nostalgic that everything around them melts away into faded insignificance. Sakura watches, transfixed, as his mouth moves to form the one single word.

“Surprise?” It’s more of a question than a statement.

There’s a pause long enough to span a single heartbeat before she’s in his arms, squishing Pakkun between their bodies as she clings to him.

“What are you doing here? Better yet, how did you get here?” She’s vibrating with her giddiness, bouncing on her toes.

Home. This is what coming home feels like. It’s here, in his arms.

He laughs at her excitement. There's something about him that softens the longer he embraces her, giving way to such an air of contentment that Sakura can help but hug him tighter.

“It took some convincing, and a lot of overtime, but I was able to get off for the next couple of days.” The mood shifts and the corners of his mouth turn down into a small frown. His expression contorts into a remorseful grimace. “I didn’t want to disappoint you by not making it home.”

Guilt tightens her chest. “I’m sorry,” Sakura states quickly. “I didn’t mean to act the way that I did the other night. I’m not disappointed. I was being childish. I’m so sorry, but I could never be disappointed with you. Not when you’ve worked so hard to be here.”

Kakashi smiles that same smile he had when she confessed her feelings for him, and he finally does what she’s been wanting him to do since the moment he showed up on her doorstep. Her lashes flutter as he leans in, head tilting slightly. He presses his lips gently to hers, once, twice, and then pulls back, pressing his forehead to hers. He breathes out a sigh.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he whispers. "I got here as soon as I could. I’m home.”

Sakura is so overcome with the emotion that swells within her at that phrase.

The canine stuck in between them releases a whine and nips at his owner’s fingers. Kakashi pulls back further, and Sakura laughs at the dog’s antics, reaching out to softly scratch at the fur behind his right ear. It garners her an appreciative lick to the tips of her fingers.

“I love you,” are Kakashi’s next words, soft and sweet and filled with so much feeling.

And nothing else seems to matter, not the stresses of work, not the long distance, not the tension between from the last couple of days. All Sakura knows is that those words have come out of Kakashi’s mouth, here and in person, and it’s like all nine planets have aligned. Everything makes sense. They make sense and Sakura finds herself falling all over again.

She wasn’t about to let him go.

"I love you too," she breathes. "Welcome home."

Kakashi smiles and takes a step in her direction, then another, forcing Sakura further inside her apartment. He takes the time to close the front door behind him and crouch down to release an impatient Pakkun from his grasp; then he straightens, eyes having never left hers.

They are molten and warm, and he looks like he wants to devour her.

He closes in on her again, and Sakura readily jumps at the opportunity to meet him halfway, but there’s something about his movements. They're slower, more measured. He brings both of his hands to her face, runs his thumb across the curve of her lips, parting them slightly, and rests it in the corner. Kakashi moves his other hand to the back of her neck, opening his palm against the shape of her skull, pink hair ribboning through his fingers. Then still, slowly, sacredly, he tilts his head, lets their foreheads brush, then their noses, then plants the lightest, daintiest ghost of a kiss on the bit of her right cheek by the corner of her mouth. Sakura doesn’t feel as lax in this situation as he is, she doesn't want to draw this out, so she turns her head and their mouths lock instead.

Any coherent thought in Sakura’s head almost vanishes at the faint, fragrant whiff of his cologne. It envelops her, drowns her. Kakashi utters a muddled sound in the back of his throat that causes Sakura’s toes to curl. She’s the one to pull back from the kiss this time, but she doesn’t get very far before his mouth descends on hers once more.

Warm, smooth, slightly wet, he presses his lips against her own, briefly. Once didn’t seem like it was enough because a second kiss soon follows, and this one lingers, deepens. He pulls away infinitesimally and his smoldering black eyes peer into hers, which flutter in wonder.

“Hmm,” he hums with a chuckle, and Sakura hears the soft breath escape his lips, feels it as it fans hot against her flushed cheeks before he kisses her once more.

Sakura closes her eyes, fully embracing this beautiful dream and kisses him back. Her hands reach out to touch his chest, and it rumbles beneath her touch. She has a moment to relish in the feeling, and he takes the time to pull her towards him gently. His one hand inches down to tangle into the hair at the nape of her neck, while the moves from the side of her face, follows every dip and curve of her body, and comes to rest at the small of her back, tracing slow, tantalizing circles.

Their soft kisses become more passionate and the tip of his tongue, searing hot, teases and coaxes at the seam of her lips as they kiss, and Sakura doesn’t hesitate to open her mouth to receive him. All Kakashi gives her is one teasing lick before he withdraws, moving his lips to ghost along her jaw, nuzzling into her neck. Sakura moans, a delightful pressure beginning to build within her, and rocks forward to close whatever space is left between them, breasts pressed flat against his chest.

The hand on her back dips lower, squeezing over her shorts, kneading and caressing.

She pulls away from him with a breathless chuckle. “Eager, are we?”

“It has been a while,” he replies before nipping at her collarbone. He uses his nose to push the strap of her tank top down her shoulder and chases the fabric with his tongue. “That one night from freshmen year doesn’t really count.”

“I’ve sent photos as a little preview,” Sakura says, rolling her hips into his. A thrill of excitement shoots down her spine as she rubs against his hardening erection.

“Mm, but photos don’t compare to the real thing, do they?”

As delicious as his playful affections feel, Sakura would rather not waste another second. She steps out of his arms and before Kakashi can complain about the loss of her body, she’s slyly beckoning him with one finger, walking backwards into her living room.

There’s a blur of movement, a flurry of shredded clothing, and a shrill of laughter before Sakura finds herself bent over the arm of her couch.

Kakashi is between her splayed legs, his large hand pressing deliciously on her lower back, pushing her further down. He's taking his time, exploring her, reacquainting himself with what is his. Every once in a while, his fingers take off, thumb trailing across her spine, tracing the sharp indent of her waist, dipping into one of the two dimples just above her backside – the ones that she distinctly remembers him having a sort of less-than-healthy obsession with the last time they were together like this.

"Look at you," he murmurs into the tender skin at the base of her neck. Sakura mewls. “So beautiful.”

He pushes a lock of coral hair over her shoulder for no other purpose than to lick the spot he has just bared.

Sakura sucks in a breath, leaning forward a little more to grant him better access and coaxing him to where she wants him most. Kakashi readily takes the invitation, and when he's crouched behind her, he hovers there, hot breath ghosting against her skin. His fingers delicately trace along the backs of her thighs, running over the curves of her ass and Sakura can hear him utter profanities as he marvels at the sight of her, open and waiting for him.

Face still close, warming her with his breath, his finger traces a path from her clitoris, down, collecting the moisture that has begun to weep from her. He spreads it around on his way back up to tease her bud. Over and over he does this, fingers gently past her clit in one turn, then pressing hard against it on the next.

Sakura squeezes her eyes shut in frustration, feeling oh so good, and wanting so much more, and when she finally opens her eyes, lips parting so that she can tell Kakashi precisely what she would prefer those fingers to be doing, she feels it.

The hot, wet drag of his tongue, from bottom to top, followed by his lips closing around her clit. Sakura gasps. He applies a gentle suction, the tip of his tongue lapping at her intimately, while two of his fingers travel down to insinuate themselves within her. As soon as he's entered her, Kakashi curls his fingers upwards, increasing the suction of his lips incrementally to make the intensity of his caress almost intolerable. He keeps his pace steady, almost languid and a warmth pools heavily in her stomach, building up inside of her.

Sakura’s orgasm overtakes her in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though Kakashi doesn’t seem to mind. The combination of his fingers, his lips, and his tongue prove to be too much for her, and she cries out her release into the couch cushion underneath her.

She doesn’t have time to recover her breathing. Kakashi, one arm wrapped around her waist, yanks her up to a standing position. He makes sure that she is steady on her feet, before gently, but firmly, pushing her in the direction of the hallway.

“Bedroom. Now,” Kakashi commands, accentuated with a playful smack to her ass.

Sakura squeals in surprise which shifts into a stream of giggles as she makes her way down the hall to her bedroom, Kakashi hot on her heels.

Sakura’s not sure how she manages it, but she wrestles him down on the mattress first. The sight of him, lounging back in among her pillows, cheeks flushed in excitement, turns her on more than she realizes. She plants a knee on the mattress, quickly followed by the other, and she crawls demurely towards him.

When she’s hovering over him, Sakura kisses a trail up his left thigh, narrowly avoiding his weeping member that is begging for her attention, and nibbles harshly into the sensitive skin of his groin, laving at it gently with the flat of her tongue.

“Sakura.”

Kakashi’s warning is clear. He doesn’t want to wait, and truthfully, neither does Sakura, so without any concern or modesty, Sakura sits astride him, knees planted on either side of his hips, and shamelessly rubs herself against his cock.

She brings her hands to his shoulders for balance, and Kakashi cranes his neck up to kiss her just as his hands guide her as she lowers herself onto her onto him. Sakura sighs her pleasure as he fills her to the hilt, grinding greedily down onto him until she is seated tight up against his pelvis. When their kiss ends, they pull apart, and Sakura pants at the sensation of him bottoming out inside of her. His hands wrap around her hips, and he leads their movement as she continues to ground against him.

The first few moments are spent fumbling and shifting, both of them trying to find a rhythm that suits both of their needs, and try as she might, Sakura can't get a good enough angle to put enough pressure on her clit, but she's aching for it, and it causes her to whine. Kakashi seems to sense her frustration and sneaks a hand between them and harshly plucks and presses on her quivering bundle of nerves.

And then, all at once, every sensation becomes unbearable. His cock is so large and deep within her, stretching her deliciously from the inside, and the press of his fingers against her clit, the dragging of her hardened nipples against his chest. It’s too much.

A long, low moan accompanies each exhale, and Sakura presses her forehead to Kakashi's shoulder, continuing to rock over him frantically. Her body begins to coil in on itself with the buildup of another orgasm. His grip on her waist is bruising, and Kakashi starts to snap his hips up to meet hers.

Sakura can feel it, like a wave cresting in the tide, and she screams out her release, collapsing forward, sated and boneless. Kakashi stops moving, eyes closed and brow furrowed, fingers twitching on her waist. He holds perfectly still within her as she cums, a satisfied grunt escaping his lips.

Kakashi rearranges them on the bed, pushing her back on the mattress, torso hovering over her as he remains buried deep within her. When Sakura's collects herself, eyes focusing on him, he begins to move again, sliding into her in a luxuriant pace. Each time he pulls back, he nearly withdraws completely, before pressing forward until she's squeezed around him to the root. She was coming down from her previous release, and one breath later he was building her back up. This man would be the death of her.

But what a sweet death it would be.

Kakashi raises himself upright, spreading her legs wider with one hand, while the other occupies itself with cupping her right breast. It doesn’t stay there long before his fingers caress her heated skin, right up and past her collarbone. His fingers wrap gently around her neck, and there's no pressure at first, but then, there's a little squeeze. The slight amount of compression feels surprisingly good, adds to her lightheadedness, and Sakura closes her eyes and groans. One of her hands comes up to wrap around his wrist, and she cants her hips, trying to meet his, thrust for thrust.

Kakashi's eyes close as well and his rhythm stutters a little. Sakura's lids flit up so she can watch the concentration marring his brow, the sheen of sweat over his smooth, pale skin. He groans, quickening his pace before releasing his hold on her throat. He slumps forward onto his hands, one on either side of her head. Sakura wants to cum with him. She snakes a hand down between them and rubs herself frantically, trying to catch up and the other wraps around his neck, pulling harshly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

The feeling of him inside her, over and over, the press of his skin against hers, the flex of his abdominal muscles, and the delightful pain of his teeth digging into the flesh of her shoulder all work in tandem to rewind her up just in time.

He shudders over her, hips snapping and stilling, then moving again, as he releases within her. He continues with small, shallow thrusts, seeking the last delicious sensation of pleasure as his orgasm passes. When it’s finished, Kakashi collapses over her, his weight and heat welcome.

They remain like that for a while, recollecting themselves, but he eventually pulls out of her. They both whimper simultaneously at the sensation, and Kakashi rolls off of onto his side, pulling Sakura along with him. He tucks her against his side, wraps his arms tightly around her and Sakura presses her forehead to his chest, lips brushing along a pectoral. She sighs in contentment.

She feels his lips on the crown of her head, a butterfly kiss, and Kakashi murmurs, "Best Christmas present, ever."

Sakura snorts and nips at his skin. “You’re an idiot.”

He hums his agreement to her name calling, running his one hand leisurely up and down her side.

“Yes, but I’m your idiot.”

Sakura lifts her head and leans in to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “You’re not wrong there.” A pause. Then, “Merry Christmas, Kakashi.”

“Merry Christmas, Sakura,” he says before bending down and capturing her lips with his own.

250 notes · View notes

cards-onthetable · 5 years

Text

Seems I'm wearing grumpy pants again... sorry

(LOL OOPS I get notifications for asks and messages but not submissions for some reason, so I’m just seeing this. Sorry if it’s been sitting since last week...)

Thanks for the review. I needed that laugh!! But I had questions, oh so many questions. So I watched the Jamko bits on instagram. I tried to send an ask but not enough characters (do you wanna punch me yet)?

1. Why does arsehole Janko have Jamie's mobile number? Do they have a relationship independent of Eddie? Maybe it's just me being stupid for assuming, but wouldn't Jamie's number be unlisted to avoid dealing with BS from those he arrests?

I’m sure Jamie’s actual cell number is not public knowledge - Maybe Armin knew which precinct Jamie’s at, and went through Police Channels to contact him? Like maybe that’s his duty phone as a sergeant or something? Or maybe Lena had passed on an NYPD courtesy card to him in jail lol. Hooray for plot holes. Who knows.

2. Did Lena know more about her husbands shady dealings than she lets on/Eddie is aware of? To me that would explain why never divorced. Or she may just be the marriage is forever no matter what type. Given the strained relationship between Eddie and her mother and also the way Lena seems to have treated her, I'm not so sure Lena was totally clueless. She may have moved a bit because people give her grief but she sure is not struggling financially so maybe her husband in jail is worth the high life.

It wouldn’t surprise me. When I wrote (and named, yo) Lena Janko I characterized her as a petty, materialistic person who was a knowing bystander at least, if not actually complicit in Armin’s crimes. But lol I also wrote Armin as a reformed, sympathetic, Good Guy out of prison so what do I know? But we saw that Eddie does not have contact with her father so I do assume Lena still has contact with him at this point - how else did he know Eddie’s engaged, which precinct to find her fiancé, etc?

3. Does Eddie still drive her Porsche? Given that it came from a dubious money source, it seems odd to me that she would still be driving it. The fanfare of the wedding will invite media attention so why make it so easy to make nasty comments? You know Garrett is all about OPTICS and she is about to be a REAGAN aka NYPD ROYALTY. What if Frank is asked about their relationship at a press conference? OPTICS PEOPLE! OPTICS!

No idea dude. When’s the last time we actually saw that car? I don’t know but previously I accepted the headcanon that she kept it at her parents’ suburban McMansion most of the time, with rare times she’ll bring it to the city for a few days. Parking in NYC is expensive af, yo. Like an actual assigned space costs as much as a second rent in some places. But now we know Lena’s been moving around the city for the last 5 years, not up in Westchester babysitting Eddie’s car, so your guess is as good as mine. As far as the optics, I’m not sure how they’ll play it. Lena has brought up the Irony of Eddie, daughter of a criminal, marrying the PC’s son but nobody else has said very much. Maybe the show will address it in a typical Who Cares way and it’ll just be a non-issue.

4. REDACTED because I have some Thoughts about this topic that I hope to address in this fic I’m hoping to finish soon. 👍

5. Why do you hate Anthony? I personally enjoy his sarcasm. But then I also enjoy Gormley's putting the mouth in gear before the brain so frequently.

WHY DO I HATE ANTHONY? OH HERE’S A CAN OF WORMS, AUSSIE. But I’ll be succinct. Anthony’s entire existence bothers me. He’s only here to make Erin’s lawyer-y storylines into detective-y storylines. How often do we see Erin actually act as a lawyer? We usually see her and Anthony Investigating or maybe arguing/discussing a case. We rarely see her actually going her job (except when her ADA position conflicts with Frank’s NYPD agenda). It’s like the show runners have no faith in their audience, and think the viewers only want to see detective/police storylines - as if lawyer storylines, and that whole branch of the justice system, would be too Boring for tv. So I hate Anthony because he takes away any opportunities for Erin - a supposedly powerful and successful woman - to do her actual job, and her entire position as ADA is minimized in the show. It’s insulting to the audience and insulting to Erin too. Anthony’s entire existence is unnecessary for the show to go on. Let us see Erin actually be a lawyer in a context other than being the Reagan Family Bad Guy (and maybe that would humanize her a little bit! We all know she gets some pretty shit writing/characterization lately) and drop this whole charade that investigative, action-packed storylines are the only interesting or relevant storylines.

The whole Jamko and the precinct secret is still BULLSHIT. There is no way there is no push back if their coworkers do in fact know. Does anybody know if this is actually allowed in the NYPD? A superior can date a direct subordinate? Seems ridiculous if that is actually true. Corruption allegations would be made daily. (Agreed yo. We all know it’s ridiculous. And like, does the precinct know? Are they still in the dark? Jamie and Eddie can discuss wedding plans in front of everyone, but it’s still a secret? Coooolcoolcool.)

Jamie not understanding Eddie's messy family situation is BULLSHIT for someone about to be married. If Eddie can't talk to Jamie about this because she fears being judged/not supported then really they should not be getting married. I'm not saying spouses have to share absolutely everything, but what you go through in life often does shape how you see the world generally, so the fact both Eddie and Jamie have chosen to not discuss important aspects of their lives with each other should be a massive red flag. (AGREED AGREED AGREED. I have so many issues all the time. If they’d dated like normal people before jumping into rings and vows, they’d have worked out the majority of this Big Stuff before deciding to commit to one another for life. Like, you typically want to know these things as relevant info when making that decision to get engaged - not after. This “get engaged and figure everything else out later” shit was/is terrible. If the show insisted on doing it this way, they AT LEAST should have moved the Armin situation and the Baby Discussion to the first few episodes of the season. Don’t talk to me about the weird time lapses and inconsistencies in this show, I don’t care if a month of ~actual time~ passes in one week between back to back episodes... they should not be introducing these topics for the first time in the two episodes leading up to the wedding. GOD I HATE EVERYTHING.) There's a reason divorce is so prevalent. I wonder if Eddie feels she should reconcile with her parents because of the closeness of the Reagan family. Or is it something Eddie herself actually wants? Family or not, sometimes people are just toxic and you need to cut them off for your own sanity. (I hope the Reagans don’t put pressure on Eddie to fix things with her parents, ugh. That would be overstepping in a major way and yeah, your relationship to someone shouldn’t trump their toxicity - like Eddie doesn’t have to forgive her parents just because they’re her parents.)

We've already discussed my thoughts on the Reagan siblings getting arsehole sprung from jail before the show aired (spoiler: they were not nice thoughts folks), but as for the BB continuity, consider this: the only consistency is the inconsistency!

@kwannemacher and I have kinda discussed the whole prison fiasco and I think arsehole lost his temper one night after watching a TV show that drove him insane so he started a prison riot and got extra time. He didn't just throw things at TV, he tore TV off wall, set fire to his mattress and started an all in brawl. So 5 years extra for totally losing his shit. BB has the capacity to ignite tempers here so it's feasible arsehole Janko totally lost it. Probably watched one of those dating shows where they pick the so called love of their lives and he couldn't believe who the guy picked. We all have bad days!! (😂😂😂😂😂 omg I can be on board with this)

In closing I hope @ontherockswithsalt has insurance because I am wondering if her TV can withstand the wedding viewing party if you will be enjoying with her (lol I think I will be, and I plan to wrap myself in whole body bubble wrap for the protection of myself and everyone/everything around me). I'm already emotional 🤮🤮🤮 if they go with their own vows. I may be wrong, but I think Will shows Jamie's soft side next week. He won't be dead face or whatever it is you call him. (Dude I am ALL IN on those ridiculous vows. If they’d only said them once, I’d be rolling my eyes @ the grossness, but it would be whatever. BUT THEY MADE A POINT OF SAYING THEM TWICE so they’re committed at this point. Make Jamie recite those ridiculous words for the third time. I want to see the pain on his terrible face as he suffers through that again. If we don’t get those vows I’ll riot.)

Enjoy your week

Aussie

P.S. Yes I realise his name is Armin, but that guy is a narcissistic ARSEHOLE

#submission #aussie

9 notes · View notes

bts-love-sweat-tears · 6 years

Text

Julie’s Love Yourself Concert Diary

Concert Date: September 29, 2018

Written: September 30, 2018

Warnings: I curse more than I should?

Words: 3,330ish-added a few things at the last minute (phew!)

A/N:

[Update: Tumblr couldn’t upload all my photos that I spent awhile choosing and placing, so I’m going to have to pare it down. Sorry bbs! I opted to cut my personal & merch photos in favor of the boys]

So I have one thousand and one things I should be working on-for school, for work, for my eventual job hunt. But instead I am going to write about last night’s experience while it was still fresh in my mind. I was thinking of doing a song-by-song play-by-play, but you can look up the setlist on Wikipedia, so instead I am going to talk about the things that jumped out at me. WARNING: This is essentially one giant spoiler, so I will try to put a “Read More” cut, though it’s been being weird for me lately. So scroll carefully if you’re going to a later date and don’t want to know. All photos taken on my (now ancient) iPhone 6, so I tried to choose the best ones). Will edit as I see typos I made.

I’m a little nervous since I usually write fiction instead of sharing my personal experience. Anyway, full disclosure that this is just my perspective, and I’m (always) happy to discuss things (civilly) if you disagree with me. <3 Photos and opinions are mine.- please don’t re-post anywhere else.

The Background/ Pulling a Namjoon and Leaving my Ticket at Home

Even though I was going to the Saturday show, I flew into LaGuardia using frequent flyer miles on Friday morning. I was staying with a friend in Queens, so I went straight to her apartment. I’m a grad student as most of you probably know at this point, so I spent most of Friday working on a paper that was due. I had two friends I met at last year’s concert going to the Friday concert, and they went for merch promptly at 9, but I had just arrived and had a deadline to meet for school. Around 4:30PM, I decided that I was done for the day and opened Ticketmaster to print my ticket for the next day’s show. When I logged in, I saw the notice that the ticket had been mailed to me. I remembered having seen that when I bought the ticket in May, but in my defense I was jet-lagged and ill on that day. Furthermore, I moved to and from NYC in that time for a summer internship, and SO MUCH HAD HAPPENED. The tickets had been mailed while I was living here and I had never seen them, so somehow it slipped my mind. Obviously I lived too far away, but I didn’t know if I could express overnight them, but I think when I called Ticketmaster, the old ones were deactivated when the guy tried to send me the link.

Anyway, print at home was not an option, so I called Ticketmaster and in a panic explained my situation. They said it happened all the time and offered to send me a link. Luckily I kept the rep on the line, because it turned out that even they couldn’t email a link because of the anti-scalpers/fraud/whatever.

Then the rep said that I could show the credit card, but I had literally cut it up the week prior since the Vendor (e.g. the store that the card was through) had switched their card to a different bank (e.g. Visa to Mastercard), so I seemed shady af, even though I was telling the truth. He said as long as I had a login to a statement showing the transaction (I didn’t, since they had opted to close the account at an institutional level). So I called my mom frantically, and luckily she is the hyper-organized type who keeps paper copies of everything and sent them to me. Seriously, Mom for the win! I run to this print shop as it’s closing and print everything out. I had the Ticketmaster receipt & order #, and two photo ID’s confirming my address. The guy said it should be fine, but I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. This was my one birthday gift and something I had been looking forward to for months. Anyway, my friend and I went out to a local bar near the Halsey (yes, the singer took her name from the station) stop on the L line, and I was super anti-social because I was so upset. I also burst a blood vessel in my eye (it will heal, no worries) because of too much birthday partying the prior weekend, so I’m sure I was a (sour) sight to behold.

I slept poorly for obvious reasons, and left the apartment around 7AM, and arrived to Prudential center around 8:30ish. There were only a few people outside of will call, but the GA line was already wrapped around the building. I made small talk with people outside of the box office, and one woman told me she had gotten soundcheck both days. Seriously, what kind of karma do I need for that to happen to me? She and her friends had been camping out since Thursday, and they were SUPER organized: while she waited in line, one was at merch, and someone else was holding their GA site. I almost wondered if they were a fansite or something. ARMY are a truly organized bunch (except for me, clearly).

Anyway, after another half hour of pure anxiety, they opened up will call and I was panicking, but they were really helpful and gave me my ticket after I verified the order number, showed my id and confirmed some other personal data. I decided then and there that nothing else mattered and I was just happy to be there and be in.

Waiting in line/Logistics/Staff

I left the box office, and got into the GA line. It was probably around 9:15, and the line had already doubled-back on itself all the way around the building. The woman from earlier told me that her friend had got #1000 and was only 3 rows back, so I still had some hope. Basically, you line up to get your spot in line- though it’s kinda dumb that you have to line up twice, it makes security go faster and guarantees that there isn’t a huge surge/stronger people cutting in line later.

I wore what I thought were my most comfortable shoes, but after standing on concrete for hours, I don’t think it makes a difference. People were so friendly though- I never once felt awkward even though I was by myself. The same was true last year- the friends who had gone up for merch on Friday I met while in line at last years’ Wings concert. I chatted with people around me, drank the two bottles of water I had, and looked at my phone. Bring an umbrella for shade and sunscreen though-I didn’t and am rocking a nice farmers burn/tan today. It wasn’t humid though, and it wasn’t raining, so it could have been so much worse.

Even though there were tons of people, everyone was well-behaved. I didn’t see any altercations, though as the day went on the staff seemed a bit overwhelmed with crowd control. I didn’t see too many people selling unofficial merch like last year, though I did buy a few necklaces (Joon and Chim, ofc).

After 3.5 hours, I finally got my wristband. They told us to be back by 2pm to line up for real, as they were going to try to open the doors at 3 instead of 3:30 (didn’t end up happening).

Merch

I then ran to merch, but there wasn’t much left. The fans/pickets were selling out as I got in line, and people were basically yelling “NOOOOOOOO” everytime the staff put up a “SOLD OUT” sticker. I bought what I could that was left, including a bracelet, which I’m actually in love with, the eco-tote (super overpriced tbh, $50 for a canvas bag), but the shopper bags were gone and I needed something to carry the box and batteries V3 ARMY Bomb I bought. I had one from last year that I also forgot, but I think the new version was cool because they are synced up with the music so you can change colors and patterns along with everyone else. Overall, it’s EXPEN$$$$IVE, but if anyone’s worth it, it’s Bangtan.

Newark

I was getting super tired after this, so I kinda passed on the photo studio table, big poster, and UNICEF stuff. I tried to go to Starbucks, but even though it was the middle of the day, I didn’t feel that safe, even though it was like 11:45 in the middle of the day. I’m a 27 year old who’s lived in Latin America (which is generally stereotyped for violence), solo traveled around the world, and I’m from the Rust Belt (aka home of true urban decay), but that part of Newark sketched me the heck out. Probably it would have been fine, but I opted for caution, and went to a Dunkin Donuts and empanada place right around the corner. The timing was actually good since we had to get back pretty quickly to line back up.

The second line was where the staff struggled, telling people to back up and get in order, but it seemed like staff were doing different things. Plus, if they wanted people to back up, they should have created room at the back first, before telling the front to basically “back that ass up” on the people behind them.

GA vs. Seated

I can say this- if you are short, you probably want a seat. Or if you have any kind of knee, back, or joint problems- I stood for approximately 14 straight hours on concrete yesterday. I am just under 5”5” but I was probably one of the taller people in the crowd, so I had a pretty good view. Even though they asked people to not take videos or record, you WILL be looking through a sea of cell phones. I could see pretty well, but sometimes when they were on the main stage I had a hard time seeing around other people’s arms.

Last time I had P2 seated, and the view was wonderful. I went to the bathroom, charged my phone, and ate nachos (lol), so it was generally a more chill experience. I was still super close but up a little higher and could see absolutely everything. But last night I was SO close I could see Joon’s dimples irl, and got splashed by both Jungkook and J-Hope when they threw the water bottles. Probably 100 people think this, but I’m also pretty sure Yoongi (and maybeeee Jimin) saw me jumping and singing along like crazy since I was one of the taller people. At the very least, Yoongi keep looking in the general direction I was in. Ofc I looked gross af with my messed up eye and crazy hair, but what I loved about the concert is that I was 100% able to forget all the insecurities I carry around with me on a day to day basis and have an AMAZING time.

Of course the whole place is crazy high energy, but I feel like last night was INSANELY high. I’m not sure if it was the overall vibe or if that was the GA influencing my opinion. It just depends on what kind of experience you want to have. Also, if you are claustrophobic, you should probably pass on GA. The guards kept forcing people to back up, at one point even coming in with a flashlight, and people would surge forward whenever a member came close. But someone said the night before was chill, so maybe it’s just luck of the draw.

The Show

The show was absolutely amazing. They opened with IDOL, which got people hyped from the get-go. Their dancing was ON POINT as always. People were chanting during the intro videos and chatting as it filled in, so it was a great vibe once again- just super happy feeling. The audio visual part was AMAZING, though I’m no pro, and I loved all of the concert outfits, especially Jimin’s super sparkly sweater. Lots of jumping, and lots of screams. I didn’t have earplugs and was fine, but if you’re sensitive to loud sounds I definitely recommend them. ISTG I remembered hearing a mashup of FIRE, but maybe not? Wikipedia seems to think not. But they played a few older ones too, which made me so soft and nostalgic.