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crashdevlin · 3 years

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Another Second Chance 18- Therapy

Another Second Chance Masterlist, Happily Ever Eventually Masterlist

Author’s Note: The final (hopefully) installment of the Happily Ever Eventually RPF series.

Summary: Y/n finds herself a new house and Misha is determined to make it a huge project.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Word count: 2993

Story Warnings: past cheating, mentions of FFM threesome, not much in this one

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s pretty, right?” I ask, looking around the open concept of the first floor of this $350,000 house.

“Kitchen’s kinda outdated,” Jensen says, pointing at the fridge. “I mean, that fridge has gotta be from when you were in high school.”

“I could buy new appliances, Jay. Get a natural gas stove set up. Install some cabinet pulls, because I’m not a really big fan of this whole lack of elements.” I gesture at the cabinets. “Probably stain it a little darker to go against the flooring. But it’s pretty, right?”

Jay smiles. “Yeah. It’s pretty...and it’s about twice as big as the one you’ve been living in. Which is what you need.”

“Yeah. Walk-in closet in the master, too. It’ll be a good place to put the security hub.”

“Or you could put the security hub in the closet in the den and put your clothes in the master closet,” Jay suggests, grumpy old man in his tone. "And if you're gonna update the kitchen, you gotta update the bathrooms. Get one of those-"

"I am not getting an automatic toilet!" I laugh. "No one needs that!"

"Of course no one needs it but it's freakin' awesome!"

"Okay, Dean," I tease.

"Dean would agree with me. Automatic toilet, with the bidet and the-"

"Dean Winchester would break an automatic toilet and then complain that it's a damn computer which means he can't fix it without help."

Jay laughs. "He'd still think it was cool."

"He'd be down for the heated seat. I will give you that much."

He smiles as he looks around. "So...are we looking at your new digs or what?"

I bite my bottom lip and run my hand over the granite countertop. “Shouldn’t I ask Nova's opinion? It's gonna be her home, too."

"She's a teenager. As long as she's got her own room, I'm sure she's gonna be fine." He sets his hands on my shoulders and smiles. "But you can show her pictures or bring her by before you sit down with the realtor."

I nod and smile. "It's in the right school district and a bigger room for her and for Mav and the bonus room can be an office. I really think it's the place."

"Then get it," he encourages. "Get it, Baby Girl. We can make it perfect. I'm no stranger to a little reno."

"Please," I start, laughing. "A contractor did the work on your old place. Shush."

He looks a little offended. "I helped. I painted. I installed the sink in the half bath off the kitchen."

"Fine. You can stain these cabinets for me." I wink and step away from him. I'm gonna get this house. "Come on." I walk to the foyer where the realtor is waiting and I smile at him. "Can I put in an offer now or should I wait a few hours?" He smiles brighter than the sun.

"You can make an offer anytime, Miss."

Miss. Still young enough to get 'miss'. "Good. Let's do this."

~~~~~~~~~

"Four bedroom, 2 and a half bath, 3200 square feet with an office next to the master bed. It needs some updating and work...had a contractor quote me $60,000 but that's not bad...covers new appliances, too."

"I could come down and help," Misha offers. "You know, a lot of that stuff you can DIY and I can help with most of it."

"You don't have to do that, Meesh."

"Why would I let you spend that much money on something I could help you with for a fraction of the cost?"

"Misha, you really don’t-"

"I'm not letting you tell me 'no' on this. We'll get together some manpower and get this done for you."

He's really not going to let me say 'no'. "Okay. Well, it's going to be several weeks before the paperwork is finished and all that. I'll let you know when it's mine."

"Good. I'll start looking at HGTV.com." Damn it, Misha. Don't be so extra. "And send me pictures and a floorplan so I know what I'm working with."

"Yeah, okay." Really no point in arguing. It's Misha. If I don't send him pics and a copy of the floorplan, he'll just find the house and get them himself off the internet. "I'll send it to you after my appointment tomorrow, okay?"

"Sounds good. Talk to you then."

"Bye, Meesh." I hang up and sigh. He's gonna make it this whole thing, isn't he?

His house in Washington did come out amazing, though, so he does have some skills that will help in this. Eh, why not? Why not get together with my best friend and make my new home my own?

"So, I get to see this house eventually, right?" Nova says, walking into the living room.

I smile. "Come see all these pretty pictures I took and we can speculate on what craziness Misha is gonna come up with." I pat the couch next to me and she comes over. "This is the view from the street." I start showing her the pictures and she claims a room before I've even finished the digital tour.

"Oh, and you're gonna paint the exterior, right? Like, it's pretty but it's yellow. You're gonna fix that, right?"

"Oh, I'm sure Misha isn't going to let me move into another drab house. You weren’t here the first time he showed up at this house but he had opinions about all of it. I didn't let him talk me into reno last time but this time...I don’t know...maybe this will be the forever home so…"

"It's gotta be custom!" Nova exclaims.

"Exactly."

"Can I paint my walls custom? Or get custom wallpaper done? I know that a lot of people don't like wallpaper but I've seen a few places that got it right and-"

"Yeah, baby, of course. We'll figure out something awesome for your walls." I kiss her forehead. We'll do whatever she wants for her room.

"Yay!"

I love when she's happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been a while since I've been in Dr. McCauliffe's office. Life has been in the way...and I guess I didn’t want her to judge me for my involvement with Jensen...which is ridiculous because she's my therapist. She's not going to judge me.

"So." She taps her pen against her clipboard. "What's new?"

"Well...I have been dating Jensen again. I know you saw that in the news."

"I saw it on Mr. Collins' Instagram, actually," she says with a smile.

"Right. The video. Forgot about it for a minute. Um, yeah, like I said in the video and Jensen said in his...spark's still there, we're giving it another chance."

"How's that feel?"

I bite my bottom lip. "Scary as Hell, honestly. I mean, but it's good. I've done pretty good with boundaries and moving slowly. You know, before...we jumped in head first and everything was this intense passion right out of the gate but this time…" I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe we've grown up, or grown old, but…"

"Have you slept with him?" she asks and it's because she knows that sex was a big issue when I was with him before. Sex was all we were supposed to be in the beginning and sex ruined us in the end. I know why she's asking but there's this...well, it's a bit intrusive, isn't it? It seems like she's judging me for being sexually active and I know that's not what it is but my whole spine goes tense when she asks.

"Yes. We dated for about a month before we started getting physical again."

“And how has that been? I don’t need details, of course, but...emotionally, how has it been to be intimate with Jensen again?”

How to answer that?

Really, how am I supposed to answer that? It’s the best sex I’ve ever had, emotionally fullfilling in a romance-novel sort of way. It’s perfect but it does have its scary moments. “Well, we’ve only actually...slept together a couple times this time. His libido is a lot less than it was. I mean, he didn’t have sex the entire time we were broken up, can you believe that?”

Dr. McCauliffe adjusts her glasses and shrugs a little. “I do not. Five years is a long time to go without sex...but you seem to believe it. That’s what matters.”

I never even questioned it. Should I have? No, because he’s been so honest about everything else. “I went years and years without sex after Nate. I believe Jensen did the same after me. He had a lot going on. He was in recovery for alcoholism. He had to be a good father and work on his career and-”

“You just got very defensive, very quickly. Why is that?”

Fuck, I don’t know. I run my hand over my mouth and shrug. “I don’t know,” I respond honestly.

“Analyze it, Y/n. Why would you get so defensive over my disbelief in what Jensen told you?”

“Because I didn’t question it,” I answer after a moment. “Because he told me that the last time he had sex, real full-penetrative sex, was the time that broke us and I didn’t really question it. I took it at face value because we’ve been doing very good about honesty with each other and what if that’s stupid? What if I’m stupid because maybe he’s lying about it and keeping stuff from me and-”

“You said he’s been very good about honesty so far, right?”

I nod. “Yeah. He’s...he admitted to stuff that I never thought he’d admit to and he apologized for stuff and he’s been open about what happened and why. He’s even been honest about little things that he would have lied about before...like I told him about Will and he Googled him. Used to be, he’d keep that kind of thing to himself, never tell me, but he admitted it without even prompting.” I chew on my bottom lip as she starts scribbling on her notes. “I believe him. It might be stupid but I believe him.”

She sets her clipboard in her lap and smiles at me. “It’s not stupid...and he’s likely changed enough that honesty is important to him. You’ve told me that his recovery has changed him. Jared’s told me the same. Now, it’s a bit hard for me to believe that he’s changed so much in the last five years that he would have abstained from sex since the last time he was with you, but...I don’t know the man, do I? You do. Jared does. If you believe him, then don’t let me change your mind.”

“I believe him. You didn’t see the way he looked at me the first time we...‘Reverent’ is the best word for it.”

“What do you think that means for you?”

I scoot back, leaning against the back of the couch. “I think he’s finally got Danneel out of his head.”

“Do you?” she asks and I hate when she asks things I don’t want to answer. “Danneel was a major roadblock in your relationship before, wasn’t she?”

“You know she was. I was so focused on giving Jensen what he wanted...Danneel...that I couldn’t see that I was what he was supposed to be wanting. I wanted to be like her, couldn’t appreciate myself. I know this stuff, Doctor.” I shift on the couch and sigh. “I don’t wanna be Danneel and I don’t want Jensen to be with her. I want Jensen to be with me...I want him to want to be with only me.” I shrug. “Seems like that’s where we are. He doesn’t even talk to her anymore. I talked to her the other day and she didn’t even know why he doesn’t talk to her anymore.”

“You talked to Danneel again?”

“Yeah. We ran into each other at a shop while I was getting Nova a new dress. It...didn’t go well. Nova was very combative with Danneel. I ended up having to...be very honest with my daughter. She knows about everything now...even the night with Danneel.”

“Oh? How’d that talk go?”

“It was...it was good to get it off my chest, actually. It was like the conversation where I told her about, about why her father and I got divorced. It’s like...It was a hard conversation but it was an important one. I don’t have to...hide things anymore and that’s a blessing. She understands why I make the decisions I make now...she understands...the betrayal was a lot deeper than she even knew. She understands that now and...maybe it’ll make us closer, but at least she knows the truth now.”

“And she’s living with you now, right?” I nod. “How did that happen? Nathan doesn’t seem the type to just allow her to do what she wants.”

I snort. “He’s definitely not, but...he fucked up with Jenny, blew up his marriage. I’m actually surprised it took her this long to realize that he was cheating on her, but whatever. Um...Nova didn’t want to be there for the destruction of his way of life and she asked if she could come to Texas. I convinced him to let her come because she didn’t need to see the parade of his affairs that Jenny would bring up. I then used those women to convince him not to fight me on custody when I refiled. It was…” I scratch at my cheek. “It was a low move, but it’s exactly the kind of move he pulled on me, convincing the judge that I was too unstable to care for her. I don’t feel bad about it, especially since she wants to be here.”

“That’s a big change...on top of other big changes.”

“Yep...and there’s more coming. Because I need more room since Nova is living with me, there will be a new home in my future."

"A new home? That's exciting."

"It is. And I am more excited about it than I am scared so that says something."

"I remember how anxious you were about your first house. I remember all the security options you went through."

"Well, security had to be heavy. I had to think about Tom and his crazy-ass fans and the crazier of Jensen’s fans and the paps. There was that one photographer in Vancouver that climbed the balcony outside the condo to get pics of me and Jay, remember?" I shiver at the memory of looking out the French doors to see a man with his camera, snapping away. So intrusive. "I'm gonna have to put up a privacy fence and a coded gate at the new place, too...and, of course, all the security cameras."

"Sounds like a big project."

"Yeah. Definitely. Not even half of it, though. Misha wants to DIY everything."

"Misha isn't your husband, Y/n," Dr. McCauliffe reminds me and I laugh.

"I think he forgets that sometimes. But there's not a lot of use in arguing with him. He's...well, he's right a lot. Like, most of the time, I mean. So, I always cave to him."

"Do you want to do a big DIY project at this new house?"

"Not at first, I didn't but...I dunno. Might be fun. I've never gotten to do that kind of project and knowing Misha, he's gonna make it fun even if it is hard work."

"Well, as long as you can maintain your work as well as this project. How is that coming along?"

"Really good, actually. We started shooting not too long ago...and I hadn't even considered that this project might be detrimental to Midsummer. I'll have to make sure that Misha knows that Midsummer comes first."

"Well, it seems like you've got things under control."

"Yeah? I was afraid you'd tell me I was...going too fast or…"

"Do you think that? You were telling me that you'd done well with boundaries and keeping things-"

"Well, I have! I mean, Jensen was talking about moving in together already and I shut that down and decided to get a bigger place...my own bigger place."

"Jensen wanted to move in with you?" She writes down something on her notes. "And you said 'no'?"

"I said 'no'," I confirm. "I was really proud of myself, Doc. Nova was proud of me, too, actually. Which was...it was interesting and new. I don’t know that she's ever been proud of me for anything and I know that it's supposed to be the other way, where I'm proud of her and I am, of course but Nova being proud of me setting these boundaries and sticking to them...it gives me hope that she'll be able to do the same in her own life, you know?"

"There's nothing wrong with feeling happy that you made your daughter proud and there's nothing wrong with hoping she's going to make different mistakes than you. She's going to do well in life if you keep making the best choices for the both of you." She sets her clipboard on her desk and smiles. "I'm proud of you, too, by the way. Six years ago, you would have jumped at living with Jensen."

"Six years ago, I did."

We finish out our session with a promise to not go so long without seeing her next time. "Mental health is about the maintenance," she reminds me as she opens her office door and walks me to the reception desk. I agree and set an appointment for six weeks out. I call Misha as I start my car, intending to tell him that Midsummer comes before the house project. I haven't even gotten a 'hello' out of my mouth when he speaks.

"I saw the pictures you sent. I have so many ideas!"

~~~

The Kitchen Sink - @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @wasabiwitteks @rainbowkisses31 @rissbennett @mariekoukie6661 @officiallyunofficialperson @dolphincliffs @mrs-meghan-winchester @gayspacenerd @foxyjwls007 @ilovefanfic86 @marvelfansworld @f-yeahfandoms @wonderlandfandomkingdom @hhiggs @sev3nruby @hobby27 @paintballkid711 @divadinag @thewhiterabbit42 @fantasymyth-1 @queenoftheunderdark @cosicas-cuquis @superfanficnatural @letsby @supernatural-bellawinchester @onethirstyunicorn @swinchester27 @chalicia @screechingartisancashbailiff @death-unbecomes-you @dayasvalkyrie @paryl @wereallbrokenangels @the-american-witch @that-one-gay-girl @tatted-trina6 @sunshineandwings86 @lunarmoon8 @wheezyeds @vicmc624 @couldabeenamermaid @vulgar-library

#cassie writes stuff #spn fanfic #spn rpf #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader

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rae-is-typing · 4 years

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‘Cause You Had a Bad day...

Notes: This little piece was inspired by the dumpster fire of a day I had a week ago. It’s self-indulgent as f u c k, as most of my fics are. Enjoy :)

Description: You’re having a terrible day. Your friends at the Avengers tower help you out a little bit.

Characters: reader, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, a rude receptionist named Lisa, unnamed security guard, Peter Parker is mentioned

Warnings: swearing, fractured limbs, squabbling between friends, x-rays

Disclaimers: Civil war probably didn't happen because everyone likes each other and gets along. Kind of.

Word count: 2.4k

Rain pounds on the cement, thunder rolls in the distance and it’s as if a dark cloud is looming over New York. You keep your head down with your hood up. The one day you forgot your umbrella is the one day that it rains like a motherfucker. Your entire body shivers and shakes, and the gusts of wind is only making it worse. You desperately wanted to call for help or a ride, but your phone has been dead all day because you forgot to charge last night. And to top off the shit sundae, you got locked out of your apartment and your parents are gone for the weekend. So you have to walk all the way to the tower from school with no phone, no wallet and no umbrella.

Nothing is going your way at all. You just want to get to the tower, take a nice hot shower, and crawl in a hole and die.

It’s only when the tower is in sight that you can relax and perk up a little and the pep comes back to your step. But without any warning, you fall forward. A figure runs past you at full speed with a purse in his hand. The contents of your bag spills out in front of you. You put out your hands and try to catch yourself, only to land hard on your wrist.

A cry falls from your lips as pain shoots up your arm. Tears immediately come to your eyes, not only from pain, but from your own righteous indignation.

“Fuck,” You cry weakly, pushing yourself up with your good hand. You had superhealing like Peter, but it’s not instantaneous and you’re definitely feeling this one.

You manage to gather your stuff with one hand and shove it back in your bag unceremoniously. You stumble to your feet, cradling your wrist to your chest. Walking the rest of the length to the tower, you desperately trying not to cry.

Someone was kind enough to hold the door for you when you finished walking the steps. After a quiet ‘thank you’, you stepped into the larger lobby.

“Excuse me, miss. I need some ID.” The snotty voice of the receptionist rang throughout the wide area.

“I’m here almost everyday, Lisa. Can you let it go one time?” You snap, pausing before the elevator.

“No, unfortunately not. It’s S.I. policy that we ID every visitor that enters the lobby.” Her voice bursts with fake sympathy.

“That is bullshit and you know it,” You voice hardens.

“I’m sorry ma’am. Please let me see your ID.”

You take a deep breath, trying not to go off on the bitchy receptionist. “Lisa, there are a ton of other people in here and neither you nor your co-workers have ID’d one of them. Now if you’ll excuse me,” You huff and walk towards the elevator, ready to press the button when someone puts a hand on your shoulder. You look behind you to see a security guard dressed in all black with a hard expression dressing his face.

“Can I help you?” You snap.

“I need you to come with me.” His voice is rough and low. His shoulders are squared, with arm gripping you, the other is placed on the weapon at his side.

“No.” More anger bubbles in your chest and your hands begin to shake. Your abilities begin to make themselves known through the surge of power you feel in your veins. Heat comes to your hands and your skin begins to warm up considerably. He grabs you by your upper arm, keeping a tight grip on it as he begins to drag you back to the entrance.

“What the fuck, let me go!”

Anxiety replaces your frustration. Knowing that using your abilities for anything other than pure self defense would definitely land you a weekend in jail and a ban from most career choices, you’re desperate to keep your powers at bay. You struggle in his grip, his hands squeezing your upper arm likely to the point of bruising. He had you at the entrance when the elevator opens. You don’t see it, but Tony, Bruce, Steve and Sam walked out into the lobby.

“What the hell is going on here?” Tony’s voice reverberates throughout the lobby with vigor. The bustling lobby goes silent; everything seems to stop. Your head snaps back to see Tony and Steve march up to the security guard. Steve pushes him off of you, and Tony begins to interrogate him.

“Why were your hands on my kid?”

“I-w was-”

“I don’t want to hear it. Get out of here and don’t come back.”

The security guard’s face changes form hard to confused and back to hard as he exits the building with slightly slumped shoulders.

“Mr. Stark, sir,” Lisa rushes out from behind her desk and in front of Tony. He glares down at her. “He was doing what I told him to, you don’t need to terminate him.”

“Why was my kid being dragged out against her will? And why is she holding her wrist like that?”

“She didn’t give me an ID. It’s industry policy that we ID each visitor-”

“She’s been coming here almost everyday for over a year. She is not a visitor.”

“All I did was-”

“Save it. Go home and don’t come in tomorrow.”

“But, Mr. Stark-”

Tony doesn’t listen. Instead, he turns to where Bruce is gently holding your wrist in his hands, examining the sprain. You skin has cooled down, but you’re still shaking and breathing hard. Steve and Sam stand near you. Sam’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes ablaze with anger. Steve had draped his coat over your shaking body, warming you up without the help of your abilities. The anger had left your body when Tony and the others began handling the situation. It was replaced with defeat and exhaustion.

“Jesus kid, you’re soaked. Did you walk all the way here or something?” Tony’s voice went from brutal to concerned in a heartbeat. He ushers everyone to the elevator to avoid the prying eyes of those in the lobby.

“Yeah,” You say softly, wincing when Bruce pressed two fingers to your wrist.

“Why didn’t you call one of us?” Steve asks.

“My phone died.”

“Where’s your umbrella, honey?”

“In my apartment.”

“Why didn’t you get it before coming here?”

“I got locked out.”

“What happened to your wrist?”

“Someone ran into me and I fell on it.”

“You couldn’t catch a break today, could you?”

You shake your head, sniffling.

“You need to get changed before you catch a cold,” Steve says.

“That’s not how it works,” Tony chimes, glancing at Steve. “The common cold is a virus, the weather has almost nothing to do with it.”

“Really? She’s in pain and soaking wet and you’re chastising me for not wanting her to get sick?”

“I just thought you should know how viruses work. Your information is a little outdated. What’s it been? Seventy-three years?”

“You know what, Stark? You can-”

“Stop fighting.” Bruce says, a hint of a growl coming through his normal voice. The two men stop squabbling for a moment to turn their attention back to you.

“Super-healing not working yet?”

“I think so, it just really hurts,” Your voice cracks as you hold back tears. You aren’t one to cry over most things, but the stress coupled with your feelings of defeat and indignation and finally getting a break become too much for you.

“Oh kid, you don’t need to cry.” Tony speaks, voice turning slight with discomfort at the sight of a couple tears trailing your cheeks. “Seriously, you don’t.”

“Sorry,” You choke out, trying to wipe your eyes with your good hand.

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. A release of emotion is healthy. Stark’s a robot, so he doesn’t understand that.” Steve says, wrapping an arm around you, and letting you rest your head on his shoulder. He throws a pointed look at Tony. “Cry if you need to.”

You nod as the elevator begins to rise. Steve keeps an arm wrapped around you, and you keep your head on his shoulder. You’re crying, but not outright sobbing and occasionally wiping your eyes. The sharp pain in your wrist has dulled to a simple throb, and your hair is slowly drying. The elevator is silent until Bruce speaks up.

“I’ll take a closer look with the live x-ray in the med bay. Right now it looks like a simple fracture that your body should be able to handle within the next couple hours,”

You only nod, eyes fixed on the elevator door. It opens to the med bay. It’s clean, medical instruments on carts and scales in other places. It takes up an entire floor for post-mission operations and other check ups. There are a few doctors on call for emergencies, however you and the other Avengers were most comfortable with Bruce or occasionally Dr. Strange checking in on you if you can help it.

“Come over here,” Bruce says, leading you to a large table with a few slots built into it and a monitor on top of it. “I need you to take off the jacket and roll up your sleeve.”

You follow the instructions, and take off your bag and set it on the floor. Then you take off Steve’s jacket, hand it back to him, take of your soaking wet hoodie which Steve also takes and roll up the sleeve to your equally soaked shirt.

“Put your arm through here,” Bruce says, gesturing to the slot in the table. It’s glass on both sides and emits a brilliant blue light. You sit in a chair near the table and out your injured arm through the slot. He gently grabs your hand and guides it to the right position. You fold your legs criss-cross-applesauce on the chair.

It takes a while for the image of your wrist on the monitor. Bruce studies it for a couple moments and you stare blankly at the image of your bones. There’s a small break on the radius of your forearm near your hand.

“It’s a green-stick fracture, it uh looks like your healing factor has already begun to take care of it. Does it hurt?” You nod. “Alright, I can give you some of the painkillers that we give Peter when he’s hurt.” Bruce turns off the x-ray and lets you take your arm out before he gets up and rummages through a random cart.

You look up when someone places their hand on your shoulder. Steve smiles down at you. “We’re ordering food, what do you want?”

You shrug, staring back at the now blank monitor. “Something warm,”

“Alright, Shawarma it is.” Tony declares.

“We are not eating Shawarma again. Let's get something more palatable,”

“Shawarma is palatable.”

“Not three nights in a row,”

“JARVIS, place the usual order the Chinese place downtown.” Sam says, rolling his eyes at their squabbling.

“Done,” JARVIS’s automated voice rang out.

Bruce comes back over holding a small white pill in a small cup, a glass of water and what looks like a brace. You took it from him, easily swallowing the pill and water down.

“Put this on with it. It’ll keep your arm in the right position,”

“Thanks,” You say,slipping the brace on, tightening it and resting your injured arm on the table.

“They’ll begin to take effect in a few minutes. You should be able to shower and get dressed after that.”

You nod, looking back down at your lap. Soon enough, your wrist stopped hurting. You get up without a word and take yourself to the floor you and Peter stay on when you’re staying overnight. Peter is running errands with May, so he won’t be in until later.

You get to your room and push open the door. Tossing your bag and the brace on your bed, you plug in your phone and go to the bathroom. You turn on the shower to mildly scalding and peel of the wet clothes.

You take a nice long shower, taking your time in warming up, and crying a little more. The hot water washed away the rest of your tears, your frustration and the anxiety that you’ve been lugging around all day.

“Miss Y/N, the food has arrived. I recommend you get out soon before it is all gone.” JARVIS speaks. You sigh, turning off the water. You dry yourself off quickly enough and put on a soft crewneck sweater and a pair of large sweats and slip the brace back on.

You put on a pair of slippers and make your way to the communal floor to see Steve making himself a plate. He smiles when he sees you.

“Feeling any better, sweetie?”

“Kinda,” You shrug. “I’m really tired,”

“It’s been a long day, doll. Get some food, Sam’s putting on a movie,”

You nod, grabbing a plate from the stack near the food. You fill it up with what you want and go to sit in the living room. Tony lounges on the largest chair in the living room, Sam sits with his legs up on the love seat, and Bruce is curled up on the smaller of the chairs in the living room.

“Welcome back, kid.” Tony breathes out, stretching out lazily. He changed too, now donning a band shirt and some joggers.

“Hey,” you greet him, sitting on the sofa that’s next to the love seat.

“We’re watching Easy A once Steve gets his ass in here!” Sam begins with an even tone before throwing his head over his shoulder and yelling the last part.

“I’m coming, be patient.” He grumbles, taking a seat next to you and placing his food on the coffee table.

“Took you long enough, Capsicle. Start the movie, J.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lights in the living room dim, the surround sound starts and the movie begins to play. You sink in the couch, the comfortable plush calming you even more. With the help of the drugs and the brace, your wrist feels as good as knew. Gratitude warms you chest as you catch Tony’s eye. You smile at him.

‘Thank you’ you mouth. He only nods with an equally warm smile gracing his lips before turning back to the movie playing on the screen.

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writingismyhappytime · 4 years

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Escaping Grace

A/N: So I wrote this fanfic over 4 years ago when Blackveilbridesfanfiction.com was still a thing, and there's been a lot change with the band since then. It's one of my first fics to ever write --- actually, it IS THE FIRST fan fiction I ever wrote.I'm going to do some editing to it before it's posted here from its original content since my style is a little different, so it's doubtful there'll be as many chapters, but I still hope you enjoy it! (And please don't judge, I was just a wee babe when I started out. Or judge gently. Well, I actually I judged it pretty hard when reading back through it.)I've rewrote it significantly so much that the plot has changed here and there, as I didn't like the previous at all. It was terrible, I'm going to be honest. I'm going to include in each chapter references for lyrics used from other bands, as I'm absolutely no musical artist and not clever enough to come up with my own for Escape From Grace to use in their music, so look for that at the end of each posted chapter should it come up.

A sound of immense excitement escapes my lips before I can stop it as I stare at our manager; he's barely made it halfway through his sentence but he has my full attention. I clasp my hands together as I straighten, grinning from ear to ear as I bite my lip.

This is the best news I've ever had. In my entire life.

Well, second best, getting signed on as a band was a pretty big memory to me, and all the people in the room as well. Coming from a nowhere town and being a nobody, working all those bars and gigs trying to get attention --- how we got so lucky, I'm not sure, but I'm thankful. We would still be struggling to make it if it wasn't for our manager, so I'm pretty grateful to him.Even more so now that he just gave this announcement.

I'm so getting him some donuts for our next meeting.

"Well, I'm glad you're taking the news so well," our manager says after a moment with raised brows, and I can feel my cheeks start to heat as everyone looks at me. I give him a sheepish look of apology, leaning back in my chair and trying to contain my excitement.

Still, he had to know I would be excited about this! Sure, we're a signed band, for a record label, but it's still a struggle. Even signed we still have a lot of work to do, and it would be too easy to fall into obscurity or be a one hit wonder, which isn't something that I want. This is going to be the rest of my life, it's what I want more than anything, and I'm not going to let this opportunity slip past me.

We're just getting our footing as a band, trying so hard to break out into a scene already full of so many talented people. Sometimes it's overwhelming and I feel like we've hit a brick wall, like we're never going to climb any higher. No one makes it quick big in this business, I guess, which is another reason why I'm so excited, why this is so important --- it could be our big break!We've been mostly openers for other bands in the last year, with one small tour through a few cities that gave us a lot of publicity, but nothing like this! Per our lovely manager, we're going to be opening for Black Veil Brides on several different occasions on their upcoming tour! They're one of my favorite bands, their songs feature themselves on all my playlists, and the fact we're going to meet them!

Oh, I can't stand it.

Is it suddenly really hot in this room?

I squirm in my seat, chewing my lower lip thoughtfully as Craig continues with the announcement. He was just going over the usual bits, we have a meeting pretty frequently about our lined up gigs and to be on better behavior than the last few. Some, or rather one of us, likes to get tipsy and flirt with fangirls, and despite his occupation as a drummer, still makes the boyfriends fairly upset.

My eyes flick to the blonde drummer not paying any of us a bit of attention, looking at his phone and swiping left or right occasionally. He looks exhausted, black rings under his eyes; I'm surprised he even managed to make the meeting today.

"When's the first show?" Clarke, our bassist, asks, his feet propped in my lap as he leans his chair back, teetering precariously on the back legs. He doesn't seem near as excited as I am about this, but he's never really been that into the type of music that we're playing. He was more into the hardcore, metalish type, which as hard as I might try, my voice just wasn't cut out for. I'm always waiting for the day he's going to drop the bomb that he's ditching us for something more his speed, but I wouldn't blame him.

Take an opportunity where you can get it.

"Three weeks," Craig replies, checking his watch. He's always kind of in a rush when it comes to us, we're not exactly his biggest moneymakers, but I like to think we're not at the bottom either. I mean, it would be nice to actually meet in an official space and not the breakroom of the record label, but I have the feeling maybe Craig doesn't exactly have a ton of pull and probably doesn't have his own office to see us in.

Still, he's been good to us, and I appreciate it. The fluorescent lights above dim a little before getting brighter, reflecting off his shiny bald head. He has thick old man eyebrows that are seriously in need of a trim, and absolutely no facial hair to speak of, which you'd think he'd want to balance out the baldness, but I digress. He's not a thin or tall man, and he has a thing for chunky watches and outdated t-shirts that makes him look like a suburban dad instead of any sort of manager.

"That's coming up pretty quick, don't ya think? We have some stuff already booked, don't we?" Vale looks nervous, shifting in the blue plastic chair beside me. Her gray-painted eyes flick to me, but I give her a bright, reassuring smile she reluctantly returns after a moment. She's my lead guitarist, my backup vocalist, my roommate, and my best friend. She holds many titles very dear to me, in fact. Without her, there's no telling where I would be right now. "And why us, exactly?"

"Well," our manager rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat and pretending to study the notes jotted down on Subway napkins in front of him. "Another band was going to open for them, but their lead singer has to have his tonsils removed. So, I pulled some favors, and got you guys signed instead!" He grins at us, looking very pleased with himself as he shoots us some obnoxious finger guns.

Vale rolls her eyes as she leans back in her chair, giving him an unimpressed look. She tugs on the end of her long black hair thoughtfully. "Well, you're certainly not letting us fade into obscurity, I'll give you points for that."

Craig looks satisfied with the response.

I glance around the round table we all sit at. Vale to my left who is now focusing on fixing her black eyeliner in a compact, and her brother Clarke where he's casually chatting with Craig as if he's actually interested in the gig. Our drummer, Nate, has finally passed out against the whiteboard behind him, and I'm pretty sure that's a sheen of drool on his chin.

I'm the lead vocalist, the frontperson of our band, and I also play keyboard when it's called for. I've always been close with Clarke and Vale, we grew up together as neighbors. It was their idea to form a band and get out of our old town, and when Nate joined us, it seemed like we might actually have a shot. It still blows my mind that we've made it this far without something breaking us up.

I've never had a lot of good luck, but maybe it's all been building up for this.

"Sooo --- do we get to meet the band beforehand?" I ask Craig, trying not to sound as eager as I feel but probably failing. I wanted to meet them, every single one of them, gawk at them like a fangirl meeting their idol, and wholeheartedly embarrass myself. "Where's the venue? When do the shows start? Are we going to get a bus this time or are you going to make us ride in your minivan again like a gothic soccer mom? Y'know that's not really going to give us the badass impression we're going for."

Vale snorts, biting her lip to hold back a laugh as Craig sighs heavily.

"Just be lucky I had a van to get you all to that show, alright?" He grumbles, but the experience had been mortifying. Just getting started, our actual ride breaks down, and suddenly Craig rolls up in a blue minivan with proud parent stickers on the back glass and yells at us to get in. Never again.

"But yes, you do get to meet the guys beforehand." Craig states, rubbing his jaw. "The lead singer, whathisname, wants to meet you guys before the first show. He's probably going to measure you up and make sure you're up for opening for his band. You guys need to make a good impression," he warns us, as if I'm not already planning on murdering whoever embarrasses us first; only I get to feel humiliated, no one else gets to do it for me!

He glances at Nate where he snoozes, and I know the warning is more for him then anything, but he's sleeping, so it's not really having any effect.

I feel like some tween girl meeting her boyband idol for the first time, being presented with front row tickets to his show. I rub my hands nervously against my thighs, ignoring the dampness my nerves are causing.

I'm the youngest in the band. I've known Vale and Clarke since I was twelve, and without them I doubt I would have made it through my teenage years. Or any years, if I really wanted to admit it to myself. I owed them a lot, more than I could ever pay back, but I'm hoping with our success that'll be enough.

"I heard he was an asshole when Asking Annie opened for them in Vegas." Clarke says, not looking at all thrilled. I frown at him, and shove his legs out of my lap for such a crappy comment. He knows I love that band! He ignores me, letting them drop easily to the floor before straightening in his chair; he better be glad I didn't tip him over!

"To be fair, Alex, their lead singer, is totally dopey and he can only perform while high, so," Vale closes her compact with a snap, the lights glinting off her dark nailpolish. "I would've been an asshole to him too. This is really good for us, guys. This could be it, y'know? None of us are going to screw this up by being rude or listening to rumors. I don't even care if they're true; the publicity this is going to bring us is worth it."

Well, she makes a good point, and Clarke concedes; that or he just decides ignoring his younger sister is better than arguing and just looks away. I'm sure the microwave in the corner has suddenly become much more interesting than the conversation.

I tap a nail against the table thoughtfully, still having a hard time believing this. We're finally getting a big break, with a band that I know at least two of us like, so that's a good thing! I thought earlier I was going to pass out from how hard my heart was beating, how excited I got at the prospect of meeting them.

"Is this not the best news ever?" I sigh as I look at everyone, unable to contain my glee. "Ever? Like seriously? Do you guys know how great this is?"

"Saying it multiple times doesn't make it true," Clarke mumbles, for some reason intent to find a reason to not be as excited as I am. He's always so serious and cautious, ever the distrustful one. Well, I suppose when you're the oldest in a band that you're younger, reckless sister is in, you sort of have to be the adult and the ringleader; hell, I'm the lead singer, but I listen to him and take his advice to heart.

"It'll give you guys a good amount of exposure," Craig states, folding his arms along the laminated tabletop. "Hopefully it'll kickstart some more sales of the new album you're about to drop."

"And Leah will get to meet the object that she lusts so much after," Vale adds with a chuckle.I send her a horrible look, ignoring the heat burning my cheeks; she doesn't have to mention that in front of everyone.

"Really? Which one?" Craig looks amused, and sometimes I get the feeling he sees us more as his kids than business partners. I mean, I think he does have some teenage girls, or boys maybe, I'm not quite sure, so he probably deals with this all the time. Crushes, heartbreak, the need of a minivan for emergencies.

"The lead singer, Andy. It's the voice I think, the deep drawl and that nice hair ---."

"Vale."

Vale giggles, winking at me as she twists the end of her long hair absently. She's enjoying watching me squirm, but really it's no secret. I mean, I wasn't exactly discussing my interests with Craig in that area, but I suppose it doesn't matter now.

Just makes things a little awkward.

"Andy Biersack? Really?" Our manager doesn't look impressed with my choice of crush. "Why am I surprised over this?"

I sink a little in my chair, merely shrugging my shoulders.

Craig just shakes his head before he starts getting to his feet, grabbing his note napkins and folding them together. He's never very organized, but I like to think it's one of his quirky qualities. He tucks the napkins into his shirt pocket, says goodbye to us, and heads for the archway leading to the hall.

One of these days, maybe we'll actually have a meeting room.

"Oh." Craig's head suddenly pops back into the kitchen, holding the end of a torn napkin. "I forgot to mention. You're meeting the love of your life at Club Rehab tomorrow at eight. Don't be late, dress to impress."

"What!?"

Craig suddenly is one, and I stare after him in horror. "Did he just say we were meeting them tomorrow?"

"Mmm." Vale looks thoughtful. "Dress to impress, like don't we always?" she snorts, cutting her eyes at her brother. "Don't be an ass, and yes you're coming. Wake up Nate so we can fill him in."Clarke frowns, glancing at the snoozing drummer, his lips parted as his head lolls back and forth; he's getting marker all in his freshly dyed blonde hair.

"I suppose we don't need to look like losers when we meet them." I mumble as I prop my chin on my hand, watching as Clarke kicks Nate's chair easily with his long legs, causing Nate to wake in a panic, sputtering. He looks around wild-eyed for a few moments before he realizes he's not under attack, then sends Clarke a scowl.

"What was that for!?"

"Rise and shine, Snow White. You slept through the meeting but we have news."

"I wasn't asleep," Nate mutters, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand, blue eyes bloodshot. "I didn't miss anything."

"Were you out late again partying?" Vale looks annoyed with him, her full lips drawing into a frown. She's one of the prettiest people I've ever met, I sort of envy how she always looks so put together and confident. She's tall, but the right kind of tall that's not too tall, and slim, able to wear whatever she wants and she never has problems finding her clothes in the store.I'm much shorter, and I might as well shop in the toddler section to find jeans that aren't too long for me.

"No," our drummer retorts, running his hands down his face. Yeah, sure bud, those black circles under your eyes say something different. Nate was a partier, he was even before he joined us, we knew that. He knew all the best places to have a good time, and I'm fairly sure he doesn't usually get out of bed until noon or he has to meet us. Sometimes you could still smell the cheap perfume and booze off the wrinkled shirt he doesn't change. I like him well enough, but some people shouldn't have fame or too much money, it isn't such a good thing.

Be famous responsibly.

Clarke quickly explains what Nate's missed during his impromptu nap, and our drummers eyes light up. He likes the other bands drummer, admires his techniques, and even his sleepy head knows this is a big deal for us.

Momentous, really.

"When do we meet them?" he asks eagerly, rubbing his arm.

"Tomorrow, and don't come smelling like a bar." Vale replies, staring him down beneath thick black lashes; she has a fierce glare, I'll give her that. She gets to her feet, stretching her arms in front of her. She nudges her chair under the table, and we all sort of follow suit as we get to our feet. Nate mocks her slightly before taking a sniff of himself, only to grimace.

Everything is going to go great tomorrow, that's what I'm going to keep telling myself. We're going to make a fantastic impression, we'll be charming and humorous and they'll want us to open every show! Or, actually, we'll be so famous they'll be opening for us by the time it's over with.

I can dream.

Just.... oh my god.

What exactly am I going to wear?

I look at Vale in utter panic. She could wear a paper bag and look fantastic, but it's not that easy for me.

What if I go in there wearing something horribly mismatched, or that doesn't work at all? What if I look like some Avril Lavigne, pop princess rip off and they don't want us opening? I could say something stupid, insult one of them accidentally, what do we even know about them?

"Why are you making that face?" Nate asks warily as we step out into the hall together. "If you're gonna be sick, aim that way."

"I'm just thinking about tomorrow, don't be a dick." I wait for Vale to catch up with me, seeing she's focused on her phone. "Vale?"

"Mmm?"

"We need to go shopping."

"Shopping?" She sends me an amused look as we fall into step, the worn carpet of the hallway pillowing our footsteps. "Why?"

"Because we need to find something to wear tomorrow."

"You realize whatever you buy you won't wear, and you'll have buyers remorse like you do every time."

"Vale." Now she's starting to stress me!

"Oh, fine, don't freak out. We'll go after we grab some lunch, find something to aww the boys with." she looks amused, and her arm twines with me as we walk. "But don't worry so much, it's just another business meeting. Think of it more like that."

"Is that how you think about every meeting we have?"

"Well, no, I imagine Craig in his underwear and it sort of ruins any intimidation I might feel."

"Well that's a mental image I didn't need."

Vale grins down at me, squeezing my arm as we reach the front desk and give the harried looking secretary a smile as we leave.

I'm worried about tomorrow, but I do tend to worry and be anxious about everything. I might be excited now, but tomorrow I know I'll be an explosion of nerves.I just want everything to go well so badly.

#bvb #blackveilbrides #blackveilbridesfanfiction #andrewbiersack #andyblack #andybiersaxoc #andybiersackfanfiction #escapinggrace #kellyrages

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ooachilliaoo · 4 years

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WIP Whenever

I was tagged by the amazing @alyssalenko, the lovely @natsora and the brilliant @rpgwarrior4824 for this - thanks for thinking of me my dears!

Sorry I sat for awhile on some of those tags! In recompense have a mostly completed scene from the ever-ongoing Mass Effect longfic WIP of mine.

There were a few new bullet holes in the bar, Grunt was crying in the shower, Tali had collapsed in the guest bedroom, Jack was still downing shots (though her reliance on the table for support was far greater than it had been) Traynor had passed out on the upstairs sofa after thoroughly embarrassing herself in front of EDI… and, all in all, her misfit crew of reprobates and heroes looked as if they’d had a thoroughly good evening.

Good. That had been the point after all.

However, she had rather had her fill of drunken crewmates stumbling over their words as they tried to make barely coherent conversation. It wasn’t as fun if you weren’t as drunk as they were.

She was sure than when Joker had initially proposed that she should thoroughly break in Anderson’s apartment with what was possibly the most raucous party of the decade, that he’d fully intended that she would have the opportunity to let her hair down.

But, of course, she hadn’t. Despite the fact that the mis-matched group of miscreants currently tearing her new apartment to pieces constituted some of her closest friends, she was still their Commander. She still needed to lead them and well… some professional relationships just wouldn’t survive seeing her puke her guts up.

Also, she’d never hear the end of it if she did.

Like the bloody fish tank.

Stupid bloody fish tank. Honestly. Who had a fish tank for a floor?

Grinning to herself, she took a sip of the singular glass of whisky she’d been nursing all night. It wasn’t the good stuff, but it was semi-decent and it was always easier to refuse a drink if you already had one.

Behind her in the apartment, she heard the sound of something smashing. A large something.

She wisely chose not to turn around to verify what it was. If it was something important, she’d just threaten to shoot the culprit until they either replaced it or cleaned it up. And if they’d caused some sort of bodily injury, she would actually shoot them.

Just nowhere important.

“I think Jack just broke that expensive sculpture,” Kaidan said dryly, as he came to join her on the balcony overlooking the Citadel skyline.

“Ah.” She took another sip. “Well, good thing I wasn’t fond of it anyway.”

He shot her a small smile. She remembered it well, it was the same smile he’d shot her after the beacon on Eden Prime, and then she took a moment, because it was a party and they were technically on shore leave, to smile back.

It was nice. The hectic rhythm of the Citadel was close enough to hear but far enough away to seem… removed from them. Almost peaceful. The familiar sound of skycars whirring past, coupled with the general hubbub of adverts playing and people talking made the war seem, just for a moment, a million miles away.

It was almost enough to make her understand the council’s inability to act, to believe that the war was real. That the Reapers were here, wiping out entire planets.

Almost.

“So, Shepard,” he said after a moment, his voice rendered delightfully husky by either her closeness or the whisky he was drinking. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much.”

“Can’t help but notice you’ve been nursing that one whisky all night.”

She should have realised that he’d notice. He always did.

“I’m still their Commander.” It was all the explanation she needed to give, at least to him.

“Sure.” He nodded. “Though I remember once, you told me that I wasn’t a subordinate.”

“You aren’t.”

She wondered what he was getting at. Judging by the look in his eyes he was up to something. She considered him carefully, trying to determine if whatever he was planning would be something she could enjoy or something she’d regrettably, have to shut down.

He wasn’t sober, not by any means, but he wasn’t drunk either. In fact, now that she thinks about it, she remembers him refusing his fair share of drinks as well. Almost as if he’d been as careful with his intake as she had.

“So.” He slid a step closer to her. “Does that mean you can drink with me?”

“What do you think I’m doing now?” she teased, taking another slow sip.

“C’mon Shepard. You should have the chance to go a little crazy too.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy enough?” A warm feeling, that had nothing to do with the whisky but everything to do with his nearness, exploded in her chest.

“Oh absolutely,” he breathed, “but maybe I want to see how crazy you can be. Maybe I’ll be surprised.”

Dear God, his eyes were glittering, actually glittering. Amused. Dangerous and incredibly sexy. Proof positive, if she needed yet more proof, that she could probably get blackout drunk, do the craziest thing she could think of and he would do nothing more than thoroughly enjoy the ride.

God, she loved him.

“What are you suggesting Major?” she asked.

“I have a bottle of genuine Scottish whisky hidden in the kitchen. What do you say you and I take it out on the town?”

She can feel her lip quirking at his outdated turn of phrase and debates for a moment about whether she wants to waste time teasing him about it. In this case, she decides against. Despite her usual propensity for teasing him at every available opportunity, she’d much rather fast forward to the part where the two of them raise hell on the strip.

Tearing her gaze from his, with what she recognised was a supreme effort, she glanced back inside the apartment. Most of her crew appeared to have either gone to bed or passed out where they were standing. Even Jack was now slumped over the bar. Wrex’s snores were practically rattling the windows.

“Just us?” she questioned, turning back to him.

“Just us.”

She grinned.

“All right, Major,” She shot back the last of her whisky. “Do your worst.”

He smiled and moments later they were gone.

Hours later, they stumbled back into the apartment. She could barely walk straight and could not stop giggling. Actually giggling.

“Shhhhh,” she hissed, hearing Kaidan’s rich chuckle as he stumbled in behind her. “Shh shh shh.” She pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. “You’ll wake the children.”

He blinked at her blearily, pressing a quick kiss to her fingers before removing them.

“Shepard, in their state? I don’t think anything will wake them.”

He pointedly glanced towards where Garrus was half sprawled on the couch. She followed his gaze. Garrus was drooling on her sofa.

She didn’t know turians drooled. Huh.

***

I’ll Tag: @faith-less-one @pip-n-flinx @poweredbycoffeeandwine @ljandersen @hawkeykirsah & anyone else who wants to! (No obligation of course)

#writer meme #WIP

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tierneysinclair · 4 years

Photo

“Nobody’s ever been arrested for a murder; they have only ever been arrested for not planning it properly.” ― Terry Hayes, I Am Pilgrim

Basic Information

Full name: Tierney Sinclair Pronunciation: Tier-Knee Sin-Claire Nickname(s): Not if you like to live. Tierney doesn’t do nicknames. Tierney is the only name he’ll answer to. Birthdate: September 8, 1979 Age: 40 Zodiac: Virgo Gender: Cis-Male Pronouns: he/him Romantic Orientation: Straight Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Nationality: American Ethnicity: White Current Location: Miami, Florida Living Conditions: Tierney lives in a small apartment above his new garage. It’s nothing fancy and that’s the way he likes it. Well worn couches, outdated kitchen appliances, wear worn towels. He doesn’t live in the slums but owning only new things has never been a part of Tierney’s lifestyle.

Background

Birthplace: Las Vegas, Nevada Hometown: N/A Social Class: Presents as lower-middle class but has enough money in the bank to be upper class if he really wanted to be. But he never will. Educational Achievements: None. Tierney never went to school. By the time he was released for the testing facility it was too late and too hard to get someone like him caught up. Sporadically home schooled by staff and other people Tierney isn’t the sort of person you want on your trivia team. He struggles with complex math, history, and all other assorted ‘average school knowledge’. Father: Unknown Mother: Unknown Sibling(s): Unknown Birth Order: N/A Pets: None Previous Relationships: Nothing lasts longer than a night. Do one night stands count? Arrests: A lot. By the time Tierney aged out of the foster program he’d been arrested more times than he had fingers and toes. Nothing major, minor mischief and petty theft. It wasn’t until he was picked up by the Syndicate that he started doing bigger crimes. And by then he had the support network to not get arrested. Prison Time: Surprisingly, not a lot. Accumulated, no more than a few months. It pays to have friends in low places.

Occupation & Income

Current Occupation: Hitman for the Blackburn Syndicate & Freelance Motorcycle Restorer Dream Occupation: None. Tierney has a limited view of both his life and the world. The idea of having a ‘dream’ anything is a foreign concept to him. Past Job(s): He was boy once at a greasy diner once. When they found out he’d lied about who he was a week later he was fired. Chicago wasn’t kind to kids with rap sheets and level five rankings. Falling in with the Syndicate has been the only ‘real’ job he’s ever had. Spending Habits: Tierney is a very frugal person. He buys almost everything second hand or used and very rarely spends it on anything new. The only expensive things he owns are his bikes and a flat screen TV. Tierney’s not ashamed to admit most of his money gets spent on bike parts anyways. Debt: Never. Credit cards mean government ability to track him. And being in debt t other people is a one way trip to being killed over it at a later date. Tierney repays any debts he can’t avoid as quickly as possible, but he tends to avoid accruing debts as much as possible. Most Valuable Possession: Some people might say it would be his bikes, and from a purely financial stand point it most definitely is, but according to Tierney it’s the Blackburn Syndicate, hands down.

Skills & Abilities

Physical Strength: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney works out twice a day, every day, no exceptions. He needs to be in top physical condition for every job and now it’s just become a part of his daily habits. He’s supremely strong in his own right but mix his powers in with it and a supremely dedicated force of will he could probably lift a car above his head.

Speed: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney isn’t the fastest hitman on the market but he’s perfectly capable of darting in and out of a situation with speed. It’s part of the job to act quickly and what he lacks in sheer speed he knows he more than makes up for elsewhere.

Intelligence: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney never went to school. What schooling he did get the few years he had between testing and aging out was sporadic at best. He’s not ashamed of his faults but he doesn’t go around talking about them much either. Besides, being able to recite the presidents holds no bearing on his life choices so...what’s it matter? Tierney knows how to do his job exceptionally well. What Tierney doesn’t know ranges from complex math to the English Oxford Comma.

Accuracy: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney’s powers require a certain degree of needed accuracy coupled with the fact he’s exceptionally talented with a range of deadly weapons. He prides himself in hitting exactly what he’s aiming at every time. Sure, he misses, but that usually because his target makes an unexpected move before he can account for it.

Agility: Above Average | Average | Below Average

He’s getting older, he won’t lie about that, and that’s starting to show. Tierney is less likely to look like a stunt double these days. No somersaults or daring roof top leaps happen these days. Besides, it’s more dramatic to sweep in like an avenging angel and sweep out just as quickly. Agility is good for running away. But you only run away when you get caught. And Tierney never gets caught.

Stamina: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney’s powers are tied directly to his stamina. It’s taken him years and years of practice to build up the stamina he has now. He can use his powers for hours before he starts to feel winded and hours more before he gets tired. (Unless he goes for the super taxing activities like lifting buildings or psionic explosions.) It’s perhaps his greatest strength, his ability to keep going when others weaker than him might stop.

Teamwork: Ciara Sawyer is his go-to partner. Hell, most would call her his only partner. He doesn’t like working with other people and tries very hard not to do it. He will when he must but he’ll be begrudging about it the whole time. Talents/Hobbies: Motorcycles, Lockpicking, Murder Shortcomings: His sense of justice, the inability to kill someone who isn’t involved with what he’s doing. It’s a bonus he can erase minds when he wants to. Anyone who knows Tierney from work and outside of work knows he has a severe weak spot for his gang. Touch a hair on their heads and he tends to lose focus. Languages Spoken: English Drive?: Yes. A MV Agusta Brutale. Jump-Start a Car?: Yes Change a Flat Tire?: All the time. Ride a Bicycle?: No way. In hell. Swim?: Not because he likes to. Play an Instrument?: Nope Play Chess?: Yes Braid Hair?: No Tie a Tie?: Yes. Of course! Pick a Lock?: Oh hell yeah. With his mind. Cook?: Yes, but not well.

Physical Appearance & Characteristics

Faceclaim: Joel Kinnaman Eye Color: Brownish/Greenish Hair Color: Ashy Blonde Hair Type/Style/Length: Average/Well Kept/Short Glasses/Contacts?: None Dominant Hand: Right Height: 6′ 2″ Weight: 187lbs Build: Athletic Exercise Habits: Two session, morning and evening. Every day, two hours. With intermittent practice in between with others. Skin tone: Fair Tattoos: Left shoulder reaching to just below his elbow, spiders out to cover some of his chest and back. Got it to cover up an old gunshot scar. A faded string of numbers on his right arm (080879-58-05). Piercings: None Marks/Scars: Tierney is covered in scars. From battle wounds to childhood scrapes, to remnants of his life as a test mutant. Most can be found on his chest and back but part of why he wears pants and sleeves is to hide the others. Don’t want his identifying marks to get out and doesn’t like explaining to others what happened to him in order to get that many scars. Clothing Style: Dark colors, long pants, long sleeves, deep pockets. Usually a coat when the weather allows. The more places to hide the things he needs to work the better. But he cleans up well, he has plenty of suits in his closet too. Usually second hand stuff, the only time he buys something fancy is when he’s on a job. Jewelry: A set of dog tags labeling him a level five mutant. Nothing more. Allergies: None Diet: Average. More fast food than probably healthy. Physical Ailments: Stiff knees. Jumped off a few too many building in his younger years. Spent too many hours kneeling behind walls after that. They don’t bother him much but anyone with eyes can see they’re stiff. His left shoulder is also stiff, he favors it. Perhaps on of his worst gun shot injuries to date. It haunts him. And aches when the weather changes.

Psychology

MBTI Type: ISTJ-A (The Logistician)

ISTJs are often called inspectors. They have a keen sense of right and wrong, especially in their area of interest and/or responsibility. They are noted for devotion to duty. Punctuality is a watchword of the ISTJ. As do other Introverted Thinkers, ISTJs often give the initial impression of being aloof and perhaps somewhat cold. Effusive expression of emotional warmth is not something that ISTJs do without considerable energy loss. ISTJs are most at home with "just the facts, Ma'am." They seem to perform at highest efficiency when employing a step-by-step approach.

Enneagram Type: Type 6 (The Skeptic)

The committed, security-oriented type. Sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent "troubleshooters," they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it. They can be cautious and indecisive, but also reactive, defiant and rebellious. They typically have problems with self-doubt and suspicion. At their Best: internally stable and self-reliant, courageously championing themselves and others.

Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral

A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition, or a personal code directs her. Order and organization are paramount to her. She may believe in personal order and live by a code or standard, or she may believe in order for all and favor a strong, organized government.

Temperament: Choleric

Cholerics are extroverted, quick-thinking, active, practical, strong-willed, and easily annoyed. They are self-confident, self-sufficient, and very independent minded. They are brief, direct, to the point, and firm when communicating with others.

Element: Earth & Fire Emotional Stability: Stable Introvert or Extrovert?: Introvert Obsession(s): Motorcycles. Tierney doesn’t know a lot outside of how to kill someone and get away with it. But he knows practically everything there is to know about motorcycles. How they work, how the break, how to fix them. Everything. Some would call him obsessed but Tierney calls it laser focused. Compulsion(s): Protecting his family. It’s what’s on his mind in every situation. All of his actions are dictated by this fact. Even for decisions that aren’t going to impact the Syndicate are measured against this need. It’s never occurred to him that it might, in fact, be a problem. It’s just natural. Phobia(s): Mutant testing facilities. It’s irrational, especially now, to be afraid of getting taken back to the white walled hellscape he grew up in. But he is. He scrubs his name clean where ever he goes and actively avoids anyone in a lab coat who starts asking questions. He even takes down fliers asking for mutants to ‘willingly’ submit to testing. He doesn’t talk about those years for damn good reasons. Addiction(s): None Drug Use: None Alcohol Use: Often Prone to Violence?: Always Prone to Crying?: No Believe in Love at First Sight?: No

Mannerisms

Accent: Depends. A bit of a hodgepodge of Boston and Midwestern. Tends to adapt to the common accent after a while when staying in a place for a prolonged period of time. Speech Quirks: None Hobbies: Motorcycle Repair, Motorcycle Rebuilding Habits: Spinning things in the air when he’s concentrating. Leg bouncing. Ordering more food than he can eat so he has left overs in the fridge. Nervous Ticks: Rubbing his nose and spinning objects in the air at high rates of speed. Drives/Motivations: Protecting his family. Fears: Losing his family, someone dying on him, being taken back in for testing. Sense of Humour?: Dry. Like the desert. Do They Curse Often?: Like. All the time.

Favorites

Animal: Bear Beverage: Heineken Beer and/or Black Coffee Book: None. Tierney hates reading. Color: Deep Green Food: Ciara’s Flower: None Gem: Emeralds Mode of Transportation: Motorcycles Scent: Fresh brewed coffee, rain on the horizon, motorcycle oil, pizza grease on your fingers Sport: Football and Hockey Weather: Rain Vacation Destination: None

Attitudes

Greatest Dream: End mutant testing. Tierney sees nothing productive in the act and goes out of his way to end it whenever and wherever he can. Mutants are people. Not lab rats to be poked at or taken away from their families. Greatest Fear: Losing one of his family and being taken back for mutant testing. Most at Ease When: Elbow deep in one of his bikes with of his closest friends lounging on the couch across the way. Least as Ease When: He doesn’t know what’s going on around him. When his plans has fallen through and he’s no longer in control of what’s happening around him. Worst Possible Thing That Could Happen: Alma being murdered. Biggest Achievement: Taking out the president of the company that held him as a test subject when he was a child. Biggest Regret: He has exactly Eleven. Eleven deaths that weren’t supposed to happen but did.

#hc #mrtask #murder tw #violence tw #abuse tw

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talesofpanem · 5 years

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The Race (a Proving Them Wrong Outtake)

Author: @butrfac14

Rating: T for potty language and references to sexual situations.

Author’s Note: This is an outtake from the universe of my story Proving Them Wrong.

Hope you guys enjoy!

“Oh your ring is so pretty!” Delly squealed. She jumped up and down, Katniss’s left hand still trapped between the two of hers. “I’m so happy for you guys!”

Katniss grit her teeth until she was able to claim her hand from Peeta’s best friend’s death grip.

They’d been driving through town on the way back to the house, having just come from his mom and dad’s to tell them about the engagement.

(His parent’s reaction had went about as well as could be expected. Peeta’s father hugged her, but her future mother-in-law couldn’t be bothered to look up from her wine glass. “Hope you know what you’re getting into,” was all she said before walking towards the kitchen for what Katniss had to assume was a refill. Probably her third or fourth by now.

Good times. Katniss could just feel the family bond strengthening already.)

As she drove past the parking lot where their friends liked to hang out, Katniss casually remarked, “It looks like everyone’s here tonight.”

“Ooh, pull in. I really want to tell everybody.” When she shook her head at him, Peeta leaned across the seat and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Katniss rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile at the excitement in his voice. We have such a backwards relationship. It’s probably a good thing he’s excited because we’d just go to the courthouse if it were up to me.

“I can’t believe you guys are getting married,” Johnna nudged Katniss with the toe of her boot after she’d extricated herself from Delly’s death grip. “It’s a pretty ring, but why in the hell do you want to do that?”

Katniss shook her hands to try and regain some feeling in them.

“Things seem good between you guys, why screw it up by making it legal? That’s when all the shit starts to go wrong.” Johanna lit a cigarette and blew a streak of smoke in her face, her wide brown eyes narrowed to slits in contemplation. “Marriage is an outdated idea.”

Katniss stepped back, waving a hand to clear the air while she held her breath. “What if I said you can be one of my bridesmaids? Will you shut up about it then?”

“I’m not wearing taffeta.” Jo answered, “but sure, why not.” Katniss looked out of the corner of her eye and noticed Delly had Peeta trapped in a tight hug, her ample curves pressed tightly against him. If Katniss didn’t know Delly so well the close contact with Peeta would probably piss her off, but that was just how she was.

She just went a little overboard sometimes.

(Katniss had wondered on occasion if the girl was an anaconda in a previous life)

“We’re also having Delly and Madge, and Peeta’s asked Finnick and his brothers.”

“Just make sure you pick something that makes my ass look good.”

“It’s my number one priority Jo.”

Johanna took another drag off her cigarette. “Was it all romantic and shit when he asked you?”

Katniss was very glad it was dark outside. There was no way Jo would’ve missed the furious blush creeping up her neck and covering her face. She wasn’t telling that particular story to anyone, but Jo had a scary knack for ferreting out the truth. It didn’t help that Katniss was a terrible liar. “Yeah, it was romantic,” she mumbled, looking over her shoulder.

Before Johanna could start flinging out the inappropriate questions she always seemed to keep sharpened and ready in her back pocket, Finnick and Annie pulled into the parking lot in Justine, Finnick’s beloved Chevelle SS. The two of them sat so close together on the bench seat, his arm looped around her shoulder, that they looked more like a two-headed alien than a couple in the dim light.

Finnick leaned around his girlfriend’s body, hollering out the window at them. “Climb in, jokers.”

Johanna walked over to the passenger side door of Justine and propped her hands on the roof, sticking her head through the open window. “What’s up?”

Finnick grinned that wide, cat-like grin of his that meant he had some juicy information. “Marv and Dalton got into some kind of pissing match over whose car was less of a shitpile…”

Marv actually had a pretty nice car, a metallic blue Foxbody 5.0 Mustang, but Finnick chose to disregard that knowledge. It was well known there was a standing rivalry between the two of them that no one but the boys themselves understood.

(Quite honestly, that last statement might be giving Finnick and Marv too much credit. Katniss mostly chalked the rivalry up to the fact that they were both dumbasses.)

Dalton had a Chevy Caprice wagon. A strange choice, but Dalton was a strange guy. He’d dropped a big block motor into the car a few years ago and tinted it’s windows black to match the custom paint job on the exterior. And for the finishing touches, he’d added a humongous red decal on the back window that declared the car Your Worst Nightmare and blood-red ground effect lights around the car’s undercarriage.

Guys and their toys, Katniss thought as she leaned against Justine. I’ve spent way too much time with these idiots. I shouldn’t know all of this useless information.

“They’re going out to airport road to settle their differences.” Finnick supplied.

That meant a drag race.

“Are they going to whip their dicks out next to see whose is the smallest?” Johanna cracked, and Katniss almost choked on her own spittle.

Annie threw her head back and laughed. Finnick raised an eyebrow and looked back and forth between the girls. “Maybe. They didn’t put out an official itinerary or anything.”

Jo pulled on the door handle. “I’m in- it’s boring as hell around here anyway. You coming Katniss?”

She looked over her shoulder. “Sure, why not. Just let me see if Peeta wants to go with us.”

Finnick tapped the steering wheel. “Hurry up though, I know they’re on their way out there already.”

“I’m glad you’re not this stupid.” Katniss told her boyfriend, no not boyfriend- fiance, as they stood along the side of Airport Road. Peeta had his arms around her waist and his chin propped on her shoulder. Delly stood to his left, while Finnick, Annie, and Jo were leaning back against the hood of Justine waiting for the action to begin.

Marv was on right hand side of the road, Dalton on the left. The boys were revving their motors, and Katniss watched as flames shot out the tailpipe of the station wagon.

She rolled her eyes.

Boys were so dramatic.

“Does that mean I’m stupid in other ways?” Peeta teased her, his voice soft. He kissed the side of her neck, and the action made her shiver.

Katniss chuckled and leaned to the side, encouraging him to continue. “No. You know what I mean, don’t play dumb. You’re smarter than all of this macho bullcrap.”

“I don’t know if I’m smarter. If I had more money to burn I’d probably have a better car.”

Katniss turned to face him. The only light source was coming from the parking lights of the cars lining the road, but what little there was shone off his blue eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with your car.” She said quietly. Sometimes Katniss felt like she was too sharp with him. He was so easy to be with that she just tended to blurt things out without thinking of how they might sound sometimes. He was used to her bluntness for the most part, but sometimes Katniss knew she hurt his feelings unintentionally.

Peeta gave her an easygoing grin, and she let out the breath she was holding. “All I know is that nobody is lining up to drag race my Civic.”

She laughed and wrapped her hands around his. “No one better knock the Civic or they’ll have me to answer to.”

Peeta swayed back and forth, holding her even tighter than before. “Well they might be idiots, but it is free entertainment.”

They watched as Marv’s girlfriend Cashmere walked out to the middle of the road. She stood between the two cars and pulled a red bandanna out of her back pocket.

“Ooh, nice touch.” Delly nudged the two. She was obviously excited.

Katniss thought maybe Delly needed to get out more often.

“I feel like I’m watching some bad porno version of Rebel Without a Cause.” Johanna piped up. Katniss, Peeta, and Annie all burst out laughing.

Delly looked confused.

Finnick gave Johanna a stern look. “Don’t jinx them Jo.”

Johanna just scoffed at his concern. “Get over it. I’m pretty sure there aren’t any cliffs for either one of those idiots to plunge over its side to their fiery deaths.”

Finnick wasn’t really mollified but he didn’t get out a response. At that moment Cashmere waved the bandana downward and the two cars took off.

“So you want to go next round Odair?” Marv asked, one arm slung around Cashmere’s shoulder. They were all gathered on the side of the road where he had easily bested Dalton.

The other boy had sulked off afterwards.

Katniss had her arm around Peeta’s waist and one hand in his back pocket. He spoke in her ear. “We’d better go pretty soon, I’ve got to open up the bakery in the morning.”

“Yeah, I’m ready to go too.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips before they separated and turned to walk back to Finnick’s car.

Finnick scoffed at Marv’s words as he straightened up. “I’m not burning all the rubber off my tires, that shit’s too expensive. Besides, Justine is a classic, and a classy lady has no need to prove herself.”

Annie put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready to go home? I’m ready.”

“Do you think we’re getting too old for this stuff?” Katniss asked Peeta as they climbed into the back seat of the car.

“Eh, maybe. I think we’ve got a few more years before it gets too weird though.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and slid over to make room for Delly to climb in after them. Finnick and Annie followed soon after. Johanna was catching a ride back into town with someone else.

“Want to stop at the gas station and get some hot chocolate after Finnick drops us off?” She asked as Finnick pulled the car onto the road.

Peeta shook his head in disgust. “I can’t believe you like that powdered crap.”

“It’s not as good as yours, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

“Fine. Just so long as you don’t bring home any of those nasty baked goods.” He shivered in disgust.

Katniss laughed. “Never. I love you too much.”

Peeta smiled, his eyes locked on hers. Even in these light moments, the love shone through. “What would you do without me? I’ve saved you from a life of terrible baked goods.”

You’ve saved me from a lot more than that. Katniss thought about all the things the two of them meant to each other. Family, stability, love, trust. She rubbed her thumb across the smooth pearl on her ring. Someone that always has your back.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve saved each other,” she answered, squeezing his hand.

#tales of panem #talesofpanem #week 8 #heat #butrfac14 #submission

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

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Yours Truly [Part Thirteen]

Summary: Chris, Sadie, and Layla go to visit Sadie’s family, and come back to an unpleasant surprise. Pairing: Chris Pratt x OFC, Chris Evans x OFC Word Count: 1795 Warnings: None. A/N: This fic was previously posted on my multi-fandom account; in honor of OC Appreciation Day, I figured I would queue it all up for your reading pleasure throughout the day! This was a collab with @captain-s-rogers , and I will link her chapters at the end of all of my posts! Some GIFs were difficult to find again, so if there’s no credit, they’re from Google Image Search or from the original post.

July 19

Caroline,

I got the job here in Lawrence! I’m so, so excited. I’ll be teaching one of the two kindergarten classes and can start setting up my room in a couple of weeks, once I get through all the new hire hoopla.

I also found a house to rent. It’s a little farmhouse, owned by an older couple who have sold off most of their land and just rent the house now; there’s a couple of bedrooms, so you’ll have somewhere to stay when you come visit! You know, in eight years when Mr. President has completed his terms.

We’re going to Wichita this weekend to pack up my storage unit and bring it all here. Chris and Layla will meet my family while we’re there, and if all goes well, Chris and I agreed it will be a good time to tell Layla that we’re together. I think she has some idea, but I’m looking forward to actually telling her.

Okay, I think I have rambled about myself for long enough. How are things in D.C.? I’m glad Chris didn’t let you step down — you have worked SO HARD for that job, and no one can do it better than you! Even with this weird media stuff. I’m guessing the Caroline-look-alike girlfriend was your idea? Seems to be working, anyway. I just hope you’re being true to yourself and heart through all of this, C.

Only another month and summer is over. How has the time gone so fast?

Yours truly,

Sadie

After a long couple of days of new-hire orientation, Sadie was ready to be back at the Pratt farm, moving her few boxes to the new house. The trio would take their time getting up and around the next morning before heading to Wichita, and she was ready to be back home for a while. Sadie had always been close with her family, and she was even more excited for them to meet Chris and Layla.

Before driving back to the farm, she stopped at the elementary school to check in on her new classroom. She wanted to know what size of the room she was going to have so she could be thinking of decor.

“Ms. Coleman?” someone said, catching her attention as she walked toward the kindergarten hall.

Sadie turned. “Yes?”

“Hi,” the woman greeted. “I’m Libby Anderson. I teach second grade.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sadie smiled. “Please, call me Sadie.”

Libby gave a tight smile. “I hear you’ve been working with Layla Pratt this summer. How is she?”

Sadie was puzzled at first, but chalked up Libby’s knowledge of her summer activities to small town talk. “She’s great. Such a smart little girl.”

Another tight smile. “And Chris?”

Sadie’s concerns about Libby’s inquiry grew, tensing her muscles. “Um, he’s great, too. Are you a family friend? I’m sorry, I’m still working on getting to know everyone.”

“Something like that,” Libby answered. “I have a meeting to get to, Sadie, but I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” Sadie replied as the other woman walked away.

Suddenly, the size of her classroom seemed of little importance. She changed course for the parking lot, then hurried back to the farm.

“She’s Emily’s sister,” Chris informed Sadie once Layla was down for a nap and Sadie had a chance to ask about her interaction with Libby at the elementary school.

Sadie nodded. “Now it all makes sense.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about that. The Andersons are just so far from my mind anymore. None of them have even tried to contact or see Layla since Emily left.”

“You don’t need to apologize. She should have been much more clear about who she is and how she’s related to you and Layla. I just hope it doesn’t cause problems at work.”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t see why it would. Why don’t you let me make you a glass of that peach iced tea? Ed’s coming by so we can talk about how things went while I was out of town, and I can tell him about a couple things I’m changing. You can just relax — well, till Layla wakes up, then I’m sure she’ll have other plans.”

Sadie chuckled. “You’re probably right about that. Thanks, Chris.”

She reinforced her gratitude with a kiss before heading off to her room. Until she was laying down, Sadie wasn’t even aware of how tired she felt; she was asleep before Chris brought in her glass of tea.

Both Sadie and Chris had expected for Layla to take a little time to warm up to Sadie’s family, but she took to them right away. She settled herself on Sadie’s father’s lap and immediately began telling him about the farm and about her birthday party and her trip to her grandparents’ farm in Minnesota. Justin listened intently, immediately enchanted by the little girl.

While Chris and Sadie got to packing things from storage into the trailer Chris had pulled behind the truck on the way down from Lawrence, Layla stayed with Sadie’s aunts. She was fascinated still about how they had taught Sadie to make a dress, and finally begged and pleaded long enough, Sadie’s aunt Marie got out the beginner sewing machine that Sadie and her cousin, Marie’s daughter Lizzy, had learned to sew on. When they returned to pick Layla up and head back to Sadie’s father’s house, Layla had successfully sewn a little pillow.

“I did it all by myself, Daddy!” she beamed. Aunt Marie was too kind to say any different.

Chris smiled. “I’m so proud of you, baby girl. Let’s get back to Justin’s house, okay? Daddy and Adie are gonna get cleaned up, then we’ll come back here for supper to meet more of Sadie’s family.”

“I don’t wanna go!” Layla said, crossing her arms over her chest and stomping her foot.

Sadie frowned. “Layla! Be nice, please.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, not sounding sorry at all. “I like Justin, but Marie teached me how to make a pillow! I wanna make another one for Sadie for her new house!”

Marie spoke up, kindly. “I don’t mind if she stays here.”

“You need a nap,” Chris told Layla when she looked at him hopefully.

“Can I take a nap here?” Layla asked Marie.

Marie nodded. “But only if it’s okay with your dad. He’s the boss.”

Chris exchanged a glance with Sadie, who shrugged. “All right. But please, continue to be on your best behavior, and use your manners.”

“Yessir,” Layla promised, rushing off for the sewing machine.

“Nap before more sewing, young lady,” Sadie called after her.

Layla groaned but called back, “Yes ma’am!”

Sadie thanked Marie profusely for keeping Layla for longer before following Chris out of the house. She indeed needed to get cleaned up, and was looking forward to seeing the rest of her family that evening.

“Are you comfortable with me talking to your dad about what’s going on with us before we go back to Marie’s?” Chris asked. “I know it’s sort of an outdated practice, just seems like the right thing to do, still. I don’t mean asking permission, or anything, just – making my intentions known, I guess.”

Sadie reached across the truck seat and took his hand. “I think that would mean a lot to my dad – and to me.”

Chris squeezed her hand before pulling her closer, finishing out the trip back to Justin’s house with his arm draped over the back of the seat, and Sadie singing along with him to the radio.

On the way back to the family dinner at Marie’s house, Chris broached the subject of telling Layla that he and Sadie were a couple.

“I’d like to get you all moved in, then maybe we can have dinner in town and tell her?” Chris suggested. “I figure a place with neutral ground is probably the best venue. She’s been so encouraging to you when it comes to me, I don’t think she’ll have a problem with it, but I want to make it as easy for her as possible.”

“I agree,” Sadie nodded. “I think she’ll be just fine – probably excited, to be honest – but you’re right, it’s better to make it as easy on her as possible.”

The agreement gave them something to look forward to when they returned to Lawrence; the couple was so excited about it, they confirmed for the family members who asked that they had indeed started a relationship. Fortunately, all of Sadie’s family was completely for the idea, and they understood about keeping it quiet around Layla until Chris and Sadie were able to update her on what was happening.

There were no goodbyes with the trio left Wichita, only see-you-later’s and lots of hugs from Layla to Sadie’s family members. Chris told Sadie that it could have been because Layla was older, but he had never seen her that comfortable even with Emily’s family. Sadie’s heart could have burst with that news; she was so in love with Chris, though she had yet to tell him, and her love for Layla had only grown from the first day she met the girl. She was already dreaming of the day they would all become a family, and expand that family, but she kept those dreams to herself for the time being – which turned out to be a good thing, she discovered a few hours after their return to Lawrence.

The heavy furniture had been placed in the appropriate places in the rental house, and the boxes were all in the house wherever there was room. Sadie would have a busy few days ahead, settling the house, but Layla could come with her during the day and help or play, so another sitter wouldn’t be necessary.

She had one night left at the Pratt farm, and they had planned on going into town for pizza after resting a while. Chris and Sadie were both on pins and needles to finally include Layla in their relationship, but it was soon clear that even that would have to wait.

“Whose car is that, Daddy?” Layla asked, leaning forward from her booster seat as they approached the farm.

Chris didn’t answer; Sadie glanced over at him and received a tight smile and a mumbled apology in return. That was all she needed to know exactly who had shown up uninvited to the farm.

Sadie stayed back, helping Layla out of the truck while Chris got out of the driver’s side and approached the woman standing at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Chris,” she greeted politely – too politely.

He cleared his throat as Sadie approached behind him, carrying Layla. “What are you doing here, Emily?”

Part Fourteen

#chris pratt #chris evans #fanfiction #collab #new to this blog

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banditthewriter · 5 years

Text

Best You Ever Had - Billy Russo - 1

Well here it is, the fic I was working on for a while there. Eleven parts in total with the potential for a twelfth, depending on if you guys would be interested in it.

Summary: Your ex gets hired to work security for a week long event you’re hosting. What’s the worst that could happen?

Future parts will have trigger warnings. Feel free to shoot me a message or ask off anon if you have questions or concerns!

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists! Enjoy!

*****

The event was shaping together perfectly. While you had been stressed to begin with, you found that you were completely at ease now.

This event was going to be great. It was going to be the best event of your career. You would be able to draw on the success of this event got years to come.

“Y/N, did you book the security team like I told you?”

You turned around to see your boss staring at you from over the folder of event details. You wanted to snap at him that if he actually read the details, he'd see that you did book through security team.

Instead you smiled and gave him a nod.

“Yes sir. I vetted the company Ironclad. I'll be providing them with schematics of the hotel and the itinerary on Thursday.”

His eyes went back to the folder. Holding in a defeat sigh, you stepped over to the desk and carefully perched on the edge of the chair.

“Do I need to make any changes before I go through with the last of it?”

He skimmed the folder once more before he shut it. Instead of handing it to you, he put it down in front of him and crossed his hands over it.

“I'm going to give it another look over. We can discuss changes tomorrow at the nine AM briefing.”

The only thing that kept you from grinding your teeth was the memory that your mom had paid for your dental work when you were a kid.

“Of course,” you said as you stood up and stepped away from the desk. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Outside of his office you took a moment to breathe in deep. Then you held it for a moment before you released it in a rush.

Working for your father was draining. There was no pleasing that man.

This event was supposed to be your shining moment at this particular hotel but it seemed like there wasn't anything that you could do right. Even when you went above and beyond, he had something to say.

You figured he would have plenty to say in the morning.

That in mind you quickly made your way to your small office on a different floor. You wanted to do a last run through of the itinerary before you went home.

It had to be perfect.

------

The event was supposed to be a bunch of Fortune 500 business leaders and political giants getting together for a week of conferences and parties. That's how these shindigs went; the rich people needed to party between actually doing their jobs. They used hotels because it provided party space, conference space, and the ability to sleep just a few floors above it all. And privacy.

You weren't looking forward to having to stay at the hotel yourself for the week but you'd do what you had to for the company. It's what was expected of you.

Your ultimate goal was to take over one of the hotels one day. If your father let you.

It wasn't that he didn't love you. If there was one thing that you knew, it was that your father loved his children. No, the problem seemed to be that your father didn't respect you as a business equal.

Your sister was a stay at home mom for her two kids. Your brother was a lawyer that worked for the company. All that left was you and you had been interested in the family business your whole life.

Your father owned a few hotels and he was well known. The respect that your last name drew in the right circles was astounding. Why wouldn't you want to be a part of that?

Only your father didn't want you to be part of it. He had damn near thrown a fit when you told him you applied for an open position. And then he had thrown an even bigger fit when you were hired by the board without his input.

You loved your father but his outdated view that women needed to be at home rather than the workplace? You wished you could break him of that belief.

If you were his son, you imagined he would have been proud to have you at his side. As it was, he had asked you to use your mother's maiden name when you first started.

At least he changed his view on that. You had a feeling your mother put him in his place.

The event was coming up quick and you were excited. Even your father would have to admit that you had skill once this event went off without a hitch.

Nothing could go wrong. It had to be perfect.

*****

The next morning you got up early to prepare for work. You couldn't be sure if this meeting would be between just you and your dad or if the other board members would be present so you dressed like it would be all of them anyways.

The offices were in one of the many buildings your father owned outside of the hotel business. He liked to keep his businesses separate and this helped create some distance.

His secretary met you at your office and informed you that you'd be meeting your father in his office. You put your stuff down and made sure you had your folder for the event before you headed to the elevator.

This was your shot to show that you were capable. This was your time to show your dad that not only could you do this job, but you could do it well.

He sat at his desk, his eyes on his computer screen. You wanted to remind him that he was supposed to wear glasses when he was on his computer but you kept your mouth shut.

You were an employee right then, not a daughter.

You also noticed that the door to the private conference room attached to his office was shut but the light was on. Perhaps he didn't realize it had been left on?

Was be getting forgetful? Your grandfather had battled with Alzheimer’s; was your dad showing early signs?

“Sir,” you greeted cordially as you stood in the middle of his overly large office.

“Ah, Y/N, come in. Have a seat.”

You moved to sit and saw the dreaded red pen next to the folder you had given him the night before. That pen gave you flashbacks to high school papers and his assurance that he'd have your papers fixed before they were due.

Which means he had things he wanted to fix.

“You looked over the file?”

He nodded and tapped his hand on the black leather of the folder.

“It's fairly good stuff in here. I can see that you've paid attention to our talks. I only had one major issue.” He opened the folder and started to flick through to a specific page.

You were just impressed that he only had one major issue. This was off to a better start than you assumed.

“Ironclad will not work for this event.” He spun the page where he had marked through the contract in his red ink. “The head of the company has had numerous run ins with various of the attendees. It's for the best if we don't mix oil and water.”

You hadn't been aware of that and the guy had passed the vetting process. The fact that this got by you made you disappointed in yourself.

“I had a few back ups,” you began as you started to open your folder but your father shook his head.

“I happened to have my own connection. I went ahead and approached the head of the company for the contract. He's signing it now.”

You looked at the private conference room and tried not to frown. While you didn’t like that your dad had gone behind your back, you did appreciate the assist in keeping the event running smoothly.

“What company is it? I'd like to do my own research before the event.”

Your dad pulled a business card from the folder and handed it over. You flipped it over to look at the name.

And then you had to force yourself not to crumble the card in your fist.

Anvil William Russo

Son of a bitch.

“Anvil?” Your eyes darted to the door once more before you looked back at your dad. “I'm pretty sure I remember a conversation where you said you'd never work with that company.”

He shrugged and leaned forward a bit.

“Anvil is the best company for the job. I'm not going to put petty grievances over business.”

Petty grievances. You could feel rage boiling under your skin. You wanted to scream, to throw a fit worthy of a soap opera. You wanted to…

“Looks good to me Y/L/N,” a familiar and unwelcome voice called as the door opened to the conference room.

Billy's eyes moved straight from your dad to you. There was a lingering moment where he just stared at you before he finally started to smile.

“I guess I should say Mr Y/L/N,” he said with a grin, “to keep you two separate. Good to see you Y/N.”

You were about to vibrate out of your skin. And you'd owe your mom an apology because you were way past grinding your teeth.

“Dad, can I talk to you in the hallway?”

You never called him that at work. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“This isn't up for discussion Y/N. Anvil is more than capable of providing security for the event and Mr Russo here has proven himself very capable as well.”

You wouldn't have noticed it—you shouldn't have noticed it—except you had spent a long time focusing on Billy Russo’s facial expressions. You couldn't probably draw them from heart.

You saw Billy's grin fall for just a split second before he was smirking in your direction again. If he suspected that you saw his moment of weakness, he didn't let on. And you weren't going to either.

“So that's it. Anvil will run security for the whole event?”

Your dad cleared his throat and gestured at Billy, boredom on his face.

“Billy will be running point. I prefer to have someone I know on hand.”

Was your eye twitching? Your eye was definitely twitching.

This meant that not only was Billy involved with your hotel and the event, but he would physically have to be there. And since this event was your baby, you’d be dealing with him exclusively.

You must have broken a mirror. Or done something really horrible in another life. That was the only explanation.

It took a moment for you to swallow your distaste before you stood up and flashed Billy a completely fake smile.

“I’ll be in touch about preparations,” you said as you turned on your heel with your folder under your arm, unable to keep from flinching when he reached out as if he wanted to shake your hand before you were out of reach.

There was no way. You couldn’t understand why your dad was okay with this considering how horribly things had gone the last time you had been involved with Billy. Did he not remember how Billy had broken your heart? How he had destroyed you?

Your ex was going to be working security at your event. Your big event. This was a disaster.

And it could only get worse.

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#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #my writing #best you ever had

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fortheloveoffanfic · 5 years

Text

Think

Chapter 1

John, with the king's approval (and annoyance), had invited Y/n to stay at the Bowery and she had been there for almost a month now, helping them strategize, regroup and recover. Since the shootout things had been suspiciously quiet on the High Table’s end, no doubt they were planning too. Information was scarce too, it was if all their sources were scared to talk.

It was late, nearing midnight, and John was walking Y/n back to her room. As usual, the corridors were dark and moisture clung to walls and ceiling, a result of outdated plumbing. She hated this place, still Y/n had stuck it out for as long as she could, for John. As they approached her ‘room’, She broke the silence, “Sophia called today.” A little thrown that she felt the need to tell him this, John just stared it her. Until she explained, “She wanted to let me know that my stuff got here.”

“Oh.” Did that mean she was leaving? The thought of her being gone was a little upsetting. Without any competition, Y/n was the closest thing he had to a friend there. He had been working with everyone there because they had a common goal, a common enemy. But Y/n, she was different, he enjoyed her company, her sarcasm and dry humor. He liked her in the purest sense of the word. “Does that mean you’re leaving soon?”

“Well, yeah. Its all there, at my place in Upper East.” Slowly, the familiar, worn wooden door came into view. As they got closer, he noticed that she was wringing her hands together. Now actually standing at the door, John was going to bid her goodnight and walk away, but Y/n looked as if she wanted to say something. Chewing on her bottom lip, she actually seemed nervous- a feat he didn’t think she was capable of. Fearless, over-confident and all round badass? Yes. Nervous and shy? Not a chance. “I was just thinking, that maybe you’d want to come with me. You don’t have to, obviously. But if you want a bigger bed and nice coffee, you’re welcome to stay with me.” Shaking her head, “It’s your choice though.”

Leaving now might not have been the best idea considering his situation and the fact that they still had lots to figure out. Then again, this was an opportunity where he could do that and actually have a shower without the water smelling like rust. “Sure, why not?”

John smiled and Y/n returned it gladly with a private smile of her own. “Awesome. We’ll leave tomorrow, around ten.” He agreed and they parted ways for the night.

After about forty five minutes of driving thought pesky New York traffic, their cab came to a slow turn into the compound housing a collection of tall white structures, reflecting the peak of modern-contemporary architecture, with large planes of glass divided by strong concrete walls. The complex was gated, separated from the rest of the city and the driver dropped them off at the glass automated sliding doors of one of the buildings.

Once inside, Y/n paused to address a middle aged man behind the counter and then used a key card to access the elevator. The ride to the twenty-first floor was passed with comfortable silence and when the shiny elevator doors opened, it was to a set of large white double doors with silver handles which led foyer.

The first doorway to the left opened to an expansive living room. Sunlight filtered in through the floor to ceiling windows and the marble floors were so glossy that they almost seemed reflective. Grey marble walls featuring dark veins perfectly complimented white and pale grey designer furniture. Her place was undoubtedly huge, and they had only explored a fraction of it so far.

“You live here alone?” John looked around at the room. There was a large television mounted to the wall, below it an open fireplace installed into the wall. To the very back of the room was a set of stairs that he figured took one to the second floor. Around them, on end tables and chests lining the wall were expensive looking trinkets from around the world as well as a few pieces of artwork. No family pictures though. Nothing personal that would make the place identifiably hers.

Y/n waved her hand, encouraging John to follow her, “Used too, for a bit. My parents leased it for me when I started college. After I did my first job, I bought it.” Parents? College? There was so much more to her that didn’t meet the eye.

“You went to college? I thought you trained under the Director.” He questioned as walked around, Y/n pointing out different rooms.

“I did. But its complicated.” Next, they toured the upstairs next, where she showed him three different guest rooms, informing him that he could choose whichever he wanted.

“We have time.” John returned plainly. Coming to a sudden stop, Y/n turned to regard him, eyebrows raised. For a second he thought that she was mad that he asked, but then the corner of her lips twitched into a smirk.

It took a couple minutes of thinking, figuring out which bits of her life were really relevant, before she spoke again, “College was more of a condition than it was an option. I went because I had to.”

“How did you end up in the program?”

They circled back to the start white kitchen, “I went to a boarding school and I was into a lot of things, including ballet and martial arts. I met the Director when I was fifteen.” Abruptly, she turned away, going to the cabinet to retrieve a half filled bottle of Jack. “Want one?” She held up the bottle and two glasses, an unspoken signal that she was done talking about her life. “Or are you against celebratory day drinking?”

“Not particularly.” John smirked and Y/n poured him a drink and slid it across the island, “What are we celebrating?”

Looking upwards, she feigned dramatic thoughtfulness then held out her glass, “To new, but possibly temporary roommates and superior living quarters!” They clinked their glasses together in a toast.

Later that evening, they parted ways, John Y/n in watching television in the living room to go get settled into on of the spare rooms. Like the other guest rooms she had showed him, it was elegantly minimal, maintain the same air of contemporary luxury rest of the condo. A king-sized bed dominated the room, adorned simply with white Egyptian cotton sheets and a stormy grey comforter. At the foot of the bed, there was a white ottoman and against the wall, a wide dresser. Along with an ensuite bathroom following the same theme of the bedroom, was a walk in closet fit for one.

After a hot shower, he laid in bed, trying to will himself to sleep.

It was past midnight and Y/n couldn’t keep her eyes closed for more than a couple seconds. After about an hour of tossing and turning, she decided that maybe a nightcap- or rather, another nightcap, would help her fall asleep faster. Shaking the sheets off, Y/n got out of the bed, slipped a black silk robe on over her skimpy nightie, heading for the kitchen.

Equipped with a glass of wine, Y/n sat herself on one of the loveseats at the corner, pulling her legs to her chest as she admired the view of the city.“Couldn’t sleep?”

Y/n almost jumped at the sound of John’s voice coming from behind her. Placing the glass on the low table, “Nope.” Patting the spot next to her, Y/n invited him over. John sank down next to her, there was about six inches of space between him and her eyes swept his body. The arms of his t-shirt were tight around his biceps and she found herself tempted to squeeze them. And how were thighs allowed to look so good?

Neither of them spoke for a while, but when they did, John went first. Earlier, she had seemed reluctant to talk about her life, yet the nagging desire to know her better hadn’t left him. Since they had met, she was a mystery, not giving out more than necessary, unless she was ‘giving out’ violence. Maybe, just maybe, if he opened up to her, she would do the same. “I was an orphan.” He said simply, not really knowing how to being. Heart to heart conversations were never his strong point, but a man could try.

Y/n’s head snapped in John direction, a thrown by the sudden admittance that sounded more like a confession. “I’m.....sorry?” They had known each other for a few months now, still Y/n felt that something like that wasn’t just something you told someone.

“That’s how I ended up training with the Ruska Roma.” As Y/n listened, her expression softened and she found herself feeling bad for him. He told her little stories about his childhood and she realized that he never had a choice, from the minute they took him in, who he was became pre-determined, chosen by strangers. No innocence. No option to be anything but fighter.

“Why did you join the Marines?” She remembered when it had come up casually about a month ago.

John just shrugged, not really knowing how to explain, “It felt right. I was already a solider of sorts, so made sense.”

Frowning, Y/n tentatively placed her hand on his thigh, right above his knee, shifting so her whole body was facing him, “I’m so sorry.” The words would change none of it, but at least he might know that she cared. “You shouldn’t have had to grow up like that. No child should.” Though he was almost twice her age, in that moment, if it were possible, she would go back and change things for him. No one deserved to grow up like that. No one deserved any of what he had gone through. “Its not fair. You had no one, not really. Not until you met Helen and now she’s....”

“Gone.” He finished lowly. John placed his larger hand on top of Y/n’s and she smiled sympathetically. “The past can’t be changed. And I don’t think I would change it.”

That got her, “Why not?” Neither of them had noticed, but they had grown closer, the space between them slowly closing.

“Because, a lot of it was bad, but some of it was great.” So much wrong had turned him into the man he was. But there were some moments he wouldn’t trade for anything. Travelling around the world. Falling in love with Helen. And most recently, meeting Y/n. He didn’t need to say it though, it was probably written on his face.

John’s hand travelled to Y/n’s bare leg. Her skin was cool. Involuntarily, Y/n leaned in closer. They faces barely an inch apart. She could see the tiniest flecks of grey in his trimmed scruff and John could smell the wine on her breath. He wanted to taste it. Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat and just as their lips were about to touch, she pulled away, blinking rapidly, as if she were just waking herself up. Standing suddenly, “It’s late. I should go to bed.” Just before she re-enter the apartment, Y/n spared him a hurried goodnight, leaving him on the balcony, confused.

#John Wick #john wick x reader #john wick chapter 3 #john wick chapter three #john wick fanfic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Keanu Reeves #Keanu Reeves x Reader #Keanu Reeves fanfic #Reader insert #x reader

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waterchestnut123 · 5 years

Text

CH 3 | To Catch A Turtle Dove

Fandom: One Piece Setting: Victorian AU Genre: Action, Adventure, Humor, Friendship, Romance. Pairings: Law/Nami Rating: M - Mature (for language, drinking and alcohol, death and some moderate gore, other adult themes)

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Chapter 3: Friends Help Friends

She was nursing a mug of spiced mead beside the crackling fire at Baratie, her feet kicked up after several grueling hours of dance lessons with Sanji. He was an excellent teacher, all things considered; but she was proving a miserable student, despite giving it her sincerest effort all morning. She could hardly pass as an upper class lady at the ball if she couldn’t perform at least a basic waltz, on the off-chance she was cornered into dancing. Unfortunately, she’d just about waltzed herself to her limits, and so they had scheduled another time to finish polishing what little skill she possessed. Though the cook was encouraging and patient, she strongly suspected whatever mastery she attained in the coming days would have everything to do with his excellent form and tireless effort and nothing to do with her own talent.

It was barely mid-afternoon and already she was exhausted—and she still had several more errands to do before the day was over. But she at least had the benefit of an afternoon break here with Franky before heading off to see Brook.

As she downed the last of the flavorful mead, the very man she’d been waiting for entered through the front door, energetically rubbing calloused hands together to shake off the cold. He spotted her quickly in the empty tavern, awkwardly juggling an armful of rolled blueprints as he set his coat and hat on the hook before taking quick strides in her direction.

“Hey, Nami!” he greeted, slicking back mussed blue hair before taking the large wooden seat beside her own.

“’Bout time Franky. I was beginning to think you’d hit your head on a cross-beam again and forgotten you were supposed to meet me,” she teased, turning to him expectantly.

He brought a hand to his heart in mock-offense. “Oi, that hurts, sis! You’re talking to the best carpenter in the city, here!”

“And yet… it has happened enough times that I’ve lost count…” she commented wryly, setting her mug down on the table before her.

He leaned to the side where he’d propped his scrolls against the chair, picking a particularly old one and waggling it pointedly in front of her before haughtily propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Well I’d recommend changing your tune if I were you, because it just so happens that I don’t give mean women such valuable blueprints…”

She leaned forward eagerly, eyes wide and all teasing gone from her voice.

“You found it?!”

He gave her a brief consternated look before leaning forward and unrolling it onto the table.

“Well… sort of. I was able to find the blueprints from before the bombing. They claim to have rebuilt the castle exactly as it was, so with any luck there won’t be changes.”

She leaned forward to set gentle hands on the yellowed parchment, eyes roving the neatly etched lines before lifting the sheet and frowning.

“Where are the other floors?”

He nervously ran a hand through his hair.

“Well… I was only able to find the blueprints for the first floor. The archive is a mess and a bunch of stuff was water damaged or half-eaten by lice—”

“So… you got only the first floor, and even these are potentially outdated?” she inquired with distaste.

“Hey, these were damned hard to get my hands on! Besides, it was a long shot to think the Trafalgars would keep the blueprints to their castle at the city offices at all after they were attacked eight years ago. Give me some credit for getting this much at least!”

She bit her lip as she ran a hand gently over the weathered parchment. As much as she’d been hoping for more, he was right. It was pretty good that she’d been able to get this at all.

She’d have to make it work.

“Alright alright—credit where credit is due,” she conceded, turning to him with an appreciative smile. “Thanks Franky.”

He leaned back, mollified, eying her with a quirk of his brow.

“Well, now that that’s settled… how ‘bout that payment?”

She smirked and rolled her eyes, turning for her bag and digging out a rolled up magazine of moderate thickness.

“As promised,” she replied, handing it to him. Eagerness etched in his posture he quickly reached for it, flipping it open and keenly eying the pages before turning the publication sideway with appreciation.

“OW! Nice!” he enthused, as Sanji made his way over from the bar balancing a tray with two fresh mugs of spiced mead. She watched with amusement as the cook caught sight of the magazine’s contents, eyes suddenly bulging as a boyish grin split his face.

“Beautiful ladies!!” he crooned, sloshing the drinks down his apron as he momentarily forgot himself. Rolling her eyes, she reached for one of the two messy mugs atop his tray and thanked her stars Robin’s store had such an… eclectic collection.

—:—:—:—

Hours later, with the sun having disappeared behind a bank of clouds, the temperature fell significantly and she found herself deeply wistful of the warmth from Sanji’s fireplace. She held her bag tighter to her chest along with her cloak as she hurried toward a dingy storefront, carefully crossing the pothole-filled street and nimbly dodging numerous piles of horse dung. Her lips quirked as she caught sight of the familiarly worn and broken letters above the store reading “Brook’s Paw Shop”, the wooden ‘n’ having long since fallen off.

His establishment was far from the trade district where Robin’s bookshop was located, far south in the part of the city she never traversed without a knife and a scowl. But there was nowhere else in town for a man like Brook to set up shop when he was what he was—the Capitol’s trade association made quite sure of that. After all, having a devil fruit using shop owner—let alone a skeletal one, was, as they proclaimed, “off-putting,” and, “bad for the health and welfare of neighboring businesses”.

And so, Brook’s Pawn Shop had moved to the only place left to go: the slums.

With a gentle push she opened the heavy wooden door, stepping into the cramped, dimly lit shop. Brook stood behind the scuffed wooden counter, a jeweler’s magnifier against his empty eye socket as he examined a diamond pendant hanging from his bony fingers. The tinkle of the bell above the door caught his attention and she smiled as he glanced up. She quickly looked around the shop with faux disinterest, cocking her head at him.

“I still don’t see any paws in here, Brook,” she commented lightly.

“Yohoho! Ah, Nami-san! Your wit is as sharp as ever,” he said with a posture she could best approximate as amusement, setting the pendent and jeweler’s glass upon the counter. “What delightful goods have you—ahem, acquired, of late?”

She approached the counter, pulling her bag from within her cloak and undoing the clasp before carefully extracting the valuables.

“Oh, the usual. Although, I have one I think you might have a particular interest in—” she sifted through the pile to pull out one of the necklaces, resting the pendant against her knuckles and tilting it to glimmer colorfully in the faint lamp light. “Alabastan Opal, if I’m not mistaken?”

If he had eyes, she imagined they would have widened as he reached for the piece in her hand.

“Oh, Nami-san that is a find indeed,” he enthused, picking up his jeweler’s glass and examining the pendant closely.

She grinned, cat-like, leaning against the counter. “Such a rare gemstone, I would say it’s worth at least… 25,000 Belli.”

Brook was quiet as he turned the piece carefully in his hand, and she frowned when he tutted softly.

“Ah, I’m afraid your estimate is too high. This is a common opal not a precious one, and it is surrounded by diamond chips, not cut diamond—though it disguises it well. While Alabastan opal is hard to come by in these parts, the best I can do is 10,000.”

Though inwardly she grimaced, outwardly she put on a flashy smile.

“Ah, but Brook—if it looks to be of higher value, I should think that alone would make it worth more—you could easily sell it for 50,000 to an unsuspecting tradesman’s wife,” she argued confidently. “20,000 would be more than reasonable.”

“Yohohoho, you drive a hard bargain Nami-san! Alright, for you… 15,000.”

“19,000.”

“14,000.”

“22,000!”

“17,000!”

She eyed him a moment, before letting out a quiet breath. It was probably the best she would get.

“17, then,” she agreed.

“Yohoho, agreed!”

They exchanged additional pleasantries as they reviewed the remainder of her goods, all rather cut and dry gold and silver pieces. Though he knew quite well where her “finds” came from, they never explicitly discussed her methods, and so as stolen goods were exchanged for a stack of bills, she was surprised by the words which followed.

“Ah, Nami-san, before you go, If I may?”

She tucked the bills into her skirt pocket beneath her cloak, opting to keep her bag empty in the event of a mugging on her way home before looking up, head cocked in curious surprise at the wary concern in his voice.

“Of course, Brook.”

“It’s about your new, ah, job… A week or so from now? The rather… risky one.”

Nami’s eyes narrowed fractionally and she nodded slowly. “Yes…”

Brook leaned forward over the counter, speaking low and conspiratorially.

“I know you have only been in Flevance a few years, but Lord Trafalgar has a reputation for being… exceptionally cold and cunning. He was quite vicious towards his opposition upon returning to Flevance to retake his title after his parents were killed. I know you always are, but… please be careful, Nami-san. I would be quite distressed should anything happen to you.”

Her eyes softened, touched at the concern he rarely expressed so openly. She smiled gently, placing her hand atop his on the counter.

“Of course, Brook. Always.”

—:—:—:—:—

Despite her words of assurance—and despite her commitment to the job (she had, after all, already invested a good deal of time, money, and effort preparing for it), Brook’s words haunted her all the way back to Robin’s small apartment above the bookshop. His concerns were an uncomfortable reflection of her own—concerns which she had taken strides to shove to the back of her mind. It was too good an opportunity to waste, she had repeatedly insisted to herself, concern over Nojiko’s deteriorating condition ever present. But deep down she knew this was a massive leap up from the comfortable routine of petty theft she had developed over the past two years. Her pickpocketing skills had grown a tad rusty, as had her acting, having not had to resort to such risky and involved means since Cocoyasi. She knew she was talented, she knew she was capable, subtle, and experienced. But was she overestimating herself? Was she biting off more than she could chew?

These concerns finally found voice later that evening as she and Robin sat comfortably in their small shared apartment, Robin reading by the fireplace while Nami finished stitching the hidden pockets beneath the pleats of her evening gown at the dining table.

Her hands stilled as his words played again in her mind, the soft crackle of the fire a stark contrast to her nagging worries. Finally she let out a sigh, sticking the needle in her pincushion and setting it atop the fabric before standing and making for the chair opposite Robin’s, plopping into it with a huff.

She sat in silence a moment, staring at the light of the flames flicker against the ashen brick, before speaking quietly.

“Robin? Can I ask you something?”

Robin looked up from her book, eying her companion with a gentle smile. “Of course, Nami.”

Nami looked away from the fire, holding Robin’s dark gaze as she worried her lip.

“Do you… think this job is too risky?”

Robin observed her critically a moment before carefully placing her bookmark and folding her book, setting it gently on her lap.

“What brings this on?”

“It’s… just something brook said to me today,” she confessed, “I know it’s a risk, but do you think its too much of a risk?”

Robin hummed thoughtfully, a knuckle rising to her chin. “Well… it is quite a bit riskier than normal, that is true. But you’re always quite careful, and you’ve been very thorough in your research and preparation. I think you can do it. I would advise getting into the habit of jobs like this, but… I’ve successfully done worse.”

She followed the assessment with a light shrug, and though the gesture was no hug or reassuring insistence, coming from Robin, it offered more comfort than either, and spoke volumes of the woman’s faith in her abilities. Feeling eased, Nami smiled.

“Thanks, Robin. And—by the way, when am I going to finally get those stories?” she teased.

Robin chuckled lightly, but did not answer the question; not that Nami expected she would. Despite their closeness, her past in Alabasta before moving to Flevance 5 years ago was a secret Robin kept close, and far be it from Nami to ardently demand she reopen old wounds for her sake. Instead, she moved her book the the small side table before standing.

“I think I’m going to head to bed. Could you take care of the fire tonight?”

Nami smiled and nodded. “Sure.”

“Goodnight Nami,” she said gently, turning for her bedroom.

“Goodnight Robin.”

The older woman’s door closed with a gentle thump. Stillness once more permeated the room, and Nami turned her attention back to the fire, its flames slowly shrinking as the wood gradually crumbled into glowing coals. She rather felt like that—like crumbling from weariness. She let out a tired sigh. It had been a long, busy day.

Though through no fault of his own, she had gotten less than she’d hoped for from Brook. He always gave her a fair price and asked no questions—for that she was eternally grateful; she had simply overestimated the value of her haul. She pulled out the wad of bills from her dress pocket, flipping through it. It would be enough to get Nojiko and Rebecca through the winter. Still, once again, she was left with little extra for herself or Nojiko’s medical fund.

Glancing at the clock on the mantle, she sighed again, making to stand. It was getting late, and she had to open the shop tomorrow, bright and early. Tucking the money back in her pocket, she reached for the fire poker and broke apart the rest of the log, spreading its coals around the fireplace. She blew out all of the lamps save for a candle, hiking up her dress and using it to guide her to her small bedroom opposite Robin’s.

Setting the candle on her rickety bedside table, she knelt to the floor, pulling back the ratty rug and carefully prying up a floorboard beneath it. Between the beams sat a small cigar box which she lifted with careful fingers, setting it on the floor and lifting its lid. A handful of expensive jewelry lay inside along with a small bag of coins—her ‘rainy day’ fund, should she ever need it, and soon, part of her disguise for the ball. She placed the wad of bills next to a glimmering diamond pendant necklace, closing the lid and placing it back beneath the floor.

Floorboard and rug replaced, corset and skirts removed, she shivered in her shift before slipping under her sheets, gritting her teeth against the chill fabric. It would warm to her body temperature soon enough. Settled, she reached over to the bedside for the candle, preparing to blow it out; but stopped when her eyes caught sight of the worn photograph in a cracked picture frame: of two young girls--one with persimmon hair, the other sky blue, and a woman with long auburn locks hugging them both tightly. She smiled softly, heart aching a little as it always did when she remembered better times—remembered why she took such risks.

Leaning forward she blew out the candle, rolling over in bed and willing herself to sleep.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

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veevvee · 5 years

Text

sorry it took so long @derelict-blade , and sorry if it's not what you expected >///<

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

- the date on this thing says "October, 13, 2287", and all the clues lead me to believe that... the prototype 0078-yh...

- one of the functions of this thing is a journal on which I can write and save in a flash drive similar to a mini-disk (who uses mini-disks anymore?).I've decided to take note of everything that may help me understand what happened and to sort things out; if it's true that it's been 270 years since the day of my test on myself... no, I don't want to think about "that" question, now it's of no use to me.

- I managed to get out of this "vault", finally, only to come back with my tail between my legs. The scenery presented to me outside makes me believe that, at some point, during my hibernation, that atomic war finally happened.The state of the surrounding vegetation suggests that at least 50 years have passed.

- I think I killed all the giant cockroaches that infested the vault and I was able to make some terminals work, at least those are still intact... The hacking was so outdated that it was literally the last card I played. I found the diary of one of the scientists who worked here, and with it the confirmation of a nuclear strike occurred in date October 23, 2077; so they brought me here with the prototype between 2017 and 2077 and they used us to develop other cryopods, in which they locked twelve people against their will... those people survived the bombs just to be imprisoned here, maybe forever… or at least until the reactor stops working.

- I've had enough for today, I'll try to sleep and continue tomorrow. It's so cold here, but it could be me...

- 10/16: I decided to try to explore the surroundings once more, at the first giant spider that I meet I'll shoot myself straight in the head. I brought with me the gun I found, 22 bullets, no, 21... I’ll keep one for myself.

- before I left I checked the vital signs of the twelve hibernates, they are fine, as long as you can feel fine in a cryogenic induced coma... I promised (to who?) that every once in a while I'll be back to check on their conditions. now let's see how I handle this shit…

- I stopped almost immediately, at a gas station (?) a few steps from the vault. From the hillside you could see a hamlet, very small, maybe ten houses, but for now I prefer to avoid - I was going to write "population centres". I… I'm too scared of who or what I could find there, but here I was lucky, I met a dog, an healthy and friendly-looking German Shepherd... REGULAR SIZE. Good boy.

- from here you can see what looks like a water supply, and if it’s telling the truth, we are (meaning the dog and I) near Concord, meaning, we are not too far from Cambridge... I wonder if it wouldn't be better to… all I had was there... I need to see with my own eyes that... now...

- a few hours after leaving the gas station (??) it started raining, the dog and I (yes, he’s following me, and I must admit that I feel safer now), we found a shelter in an abandoned tool shed. I set up a bed and I locked myself in, now I want to take advantage of this time available to learn how to use this... wrist-computer (?); "pip-boy 3000" is says here, yeah there's no way I'm saying that...

- 10/17: I fell asleep while "playing" with this minicomputer, I were fooled by the puppy's body heat, or maybe it was his smell… but if it keeps away the beasts then it's worth it. I had breakfast with some canned water, I found old boxes of processed food that I don't trust to eat, I keep them aside for when I have no other choice... that could be a matter of hours, since I have not eaten in four days... oh right, 269 years, 10 months and 6 days, thanks a lot brain.

- the dog (I wonder if I should give him a name) hunted down a couple of birds to feed himself, I got a good look at them, he's so lucky he’s not a fussy.

- The dog is much smarter than many people I've met, he helped me find some medicines and A RIFLE! 38 caliber, telescopic sight, silencer, and 34 cartridges in a hip bag. Now I'm less afraid of meeting a giant spider... or nearly... He also brought me a can of Cram, regardless of the expiration date, I never liked it, but if I want to keep going with this experiment I'll have to come to terms with it, sooner or later.

- 10/18: I had to stop my entries because, like an idiot, I attracted a dogs pack with that goddamned Cram and... I had to... I've never shot anything alive before yesterday... I had never killed voluntarily... but those dogs were... I've never seen them so aggressive, they looked like those birds with which the dog (the friendly one) feeds occasionally, spot baldness, purulent sores, I managed not to get bit by the skin of your teeth. Who knows from what kind of bacterial mutant disease they were infected... they were five and... I shot three of them in the head after the dog (the friendly one) broke the first two's necks... then we had to run, I feared that the shots could have attracted something, or someone, even worse. Now we are safely locked in a wrecked bus, I cried for an hour and slept for another.

- it's an oddly beautiful full moon night, I can see the silhouettes of the buildings in Cambridge, if I leave at the first lights I could get to my old apartment by nightfall, if it works for everyone…

- in order to get my shit together I made an inventory of my "equipment": the clothes I'm currently wearing - a scarf (now in the bag) - my glasses - other sunglasses (now in the bag) - my pager (broken) - wallet - money ($ 518 in cash, $ 11 and 57 cents in change) - my I.D. did not survive the freezing, the data is illegible - 10mm gun - 17 ammo of the abovementioned gun - caliber 38 sniper rifle - 34 cartridges of the abovementioned rifle - 6 units of canned water - 1 unit of half eaten Cram (it sucks, but edible) - 2 units of Pork n’ Beans – 2 units of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes – a blue jumpsuit, new, too big for me (now in the bag).

- the food preservation industry has made tremendous strides while I was sleeping ... bah, America.

- inside the vault it didn't work properly, but I noticed that the radio of this minicomputer has intercepted some frequencies; as soon as I find a shelter I'll try to tune in. It's surely an indication of post-apocalyptic civilization, I don't know yet whether to rejoice or not.

-oh, this minicomputer also has a built-in thermometer, according to it I've a bit of fever and I'm almost dehydrated.

- I would give my left arm for a hot bath...

- … and the right one for some not 300-year-old cigarettes.

- I can't get those dogs out of my head... among all that happened to me, those dogs...

- it becomes increasingly difficult to avoid thinking of "that question"...

- 10/19 part 2: while I was having breakfast with the leftover of that Cram (ugh) I saw a person pass by, a woman, along the way nearby: she was alone, if we don't count the naked cow loaded with stuff (it had two heads?? Perhaps my dehydration is more severe than I expected), and she was armed, if we can consider weapon a gun made out of twigs and scrap metal (???), the dog was not alarmed, I was about to go and talk to her, but I'm a coward and I missed my chance...

- I waited to see her disappear behind a distant corner, then I waited another twenty minutes to not hear gunshots, at that point I followed her steps, we are pretty close to Cambridge, and more houses can mean more people, people who could be hostile, that's why I took the safe off.

- I wonder if it's not the case to go to the police station... I'm not stupid enough to hope to find Edward there, but maybe there’s some stock that could turn useful, weapons, ammunition, ESPECIALLY ammunition, better yet body armour, anti-aggression equipment... yes, it's DEFINITELY the case to go to the police station.

- Edward… when the war broke out he should have been 95... who knows if no fuck no, I can't think of this now, I don't want to do the same calculation for those assholes, they are dead, they are dead they are dead they are all dead I’m sorry Edward

- 10/19 part 3: I have two hours of light, I'm wasting time on this fire escape, it wasn't easy to get the dog up, he didn't want to hear of it, but I thought it was safer to try to get in from the roof, I didn't even see the main entrance... if there were people inside... if those people were armed and hostile... if that woman, that of the two-headed cow, went around armed there must be a reason... if those people were trying to kill me, how much further could I claim self-defense? Would I be able to defend myself? Would I be able to ... kill them before they kill me? This is going to be the most difficult experiment that I must ever conduct.

-OK that’s new: there are signs of recent activity, someone tried to set up a shelter in here, there’s ammo but no weapon, makeshift mattresses, FOOD, but I didn't touch anything; whoever did this could come back and I need to be ready, perhaps to fight, perhaps for a peaceful dialogue... I hope for the latter.

-10/21 I'm absolutely the most idiotic and lucky person in the world: after my last entry two days ago, due to the dog's body heat and to my belly full of 200 year old treats, I fell asleep AGAIN... I'm such a dumb shit…! The first unregistered voice that I heard in eight days woke me up, under threat and pointing to me what I later realized was a weapon, who highly invited me to identify myself and to declare my intentions. I've never been so close to wet my pants, but luckily that man was open to dialogue, maybe I'll write something about him and his group later, they are four, they know what they’re doing, and they don't want to hurt me... apparently.

- and now the bad news: when I was woken up the dog was gone. Danse, I mean Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel (?), said there was no dog with me when he found me, I looked for him a bit nearby the others warned me not to go too far because Cambridge is Ghoul infested (???)... that dog can take care of himself, he'll be fine... please let him be fine...

-Haylen wait, Scribe Haylen (oh my fucking god), is teaching me how to use the latest technology, hardware and stuff, she was nothing short of enthusiastic about my minicomputer, and advised me not to keep it inside my duffle bag, but always on my wrist (shit, it's as comfortable as a wooden underwear). She also told me to wear the jumpsuit I found in the vault, the one that was too big for me, because the fabric is made of a radiation-resistant material, has the ability to regulate body heat according as necessary and, lo and behold, it's not too big, the suit fits your size, you wear it, you wiggle in it a little bit, and it fits perfectly. I'm wearing it under my clothes, it's definitely TOO tight for my liking.

- speaking of radiations, Haylen says that the medicines I found are safe, in small doses even that pre-war food, although fresh food would be better (fresh food here???).

- I like Haylen, we share very much and I can talk to her pretty quietly, she asks a lot of questions, but can't say I wouldn't have done the same myself. Paladin Danse is doing his best to make me feel comfortable, he doesn’t always succeed, however I appreciate the effort, and his "power armor" is the coolest thing I've ever seen! Sometimes I find Knight Keane looking away from me, he hasn’t spoke to me in two days, almost makes me think he hates me, he would not be the first. Knight Rhys is dickhe

- Paladin Danse called a meeting in ten minutes, this time my presence is requested, and now that I'm writing it, I'm afraid it's because they've finally decided what to do with me...

#may #brotherhood of steel oc #dogmeat?#paladin danse #scribe haylen #knight keane #knight rhys #expect some reblogs #I put a lot of work into this shit #sorry for my shitty english

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kates-sweet-escape · 5 years

Text

[WH] YOURS - The Series: Chapter One

pairing: Wonho X Reader (female)

genre: Angst / Suspense

word count: 4.8k

summary: It’s been two years since you’ve left everything behind. But a simple phone call brings you right back to everything you’ve been trying to forget

a/n: You are living with a fake identity. Whenever you read Y/F/N people call you by your fake first name.

cover: Made by me.

Picture credit: Official Monsta X

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

chapter index: Prologue | 01 | 02 | 03

“You know that he’s looking at you again, right?”

You let out a long sigh and stopped playing with your food that you hadn’t really touched for the last five minutes. Instead, you focused on your only and therefore best friend Yoo Kihyun. He was sitting on the edge of your desk, cross-legged as if the whole twentieth floor belonged to him. Which was definitely not the case since his own office was located on the eighth floor. But your best friend had always been extremely self-confident. Or he just had a huge ego. Whatever one preferred.

“Ki - Just ignore him.”

“I can’t. He just keeps looking over to us. He might think he’s sneaky with looking down at his papers but he sure as hell isn’t. And his gaze is just…” Kihyun frowned, apparently at a loss for words, which was quite understandable, since the behavior of your boss was anything but professional. “Does he do that every day?”

You spared a glance towards the desk that was standing opposite yours. Changkyun’s secretary, Bae Soojeon, was talking to somebody on the phone, her fingers hammering down on the keyboard as she made full use of her headset. She seemed preoccupied. But you knew better than that. She was like your company’s very own tabloid. If she overheard anything that she considered juicy gossip, the whole company would know about it in no time. So you never talked about anything personal in front of that woman. And your relationship to your boss definitely was one of those things. So you didn’t say a word. But apparently staying silent was enough of an answer for Kihyun.

“Are you for real?” His eyes widened and he leaned down towards you, lowering his voice as he kept on talking. “God, how do you even get anything done with him looking at you like this?”

You shook your head in annoyance before putting the lid back onto your salad. So much for your peaceful lunch break.

“I ignore him and just do my job.” You already regretted telling Kihyun when you’d be having lunch and asking him to tag along. But unfortunately, you still didn’t really fancy eating alone. “And I’m gonna start ignoring you too if you don’t stop talking about our boss.” You shoved him back a little but Kihyun seemed completely unfazed by it and leaned in again, his nose now almost touching yours. You could already imagine all the chatter being spread by Soojeon because of this. It would take three days to be completely blown out of proportion. By tomorrow you’d be dating Kihyun. By Thursday you’d be pregnant. And by Friday you were probably planning on eloping.

God. You hated that sort of stuff.

“Sorry, Y/F/N it’s just… It’s oddly distracting even for me.” Kihyun glanced towards the glass front of Changkyun’s office. Your boss was sitting at his desk, his eyes seemingly looking at the papers in his hand. But only a few seconds later he lifted his gaze and was looking at you again. When your eyes met, he smiled a little before refocusing on his work.

You immediately noticed the dark shadows under his eyes and that he was wearing the same suit he’d worn yesterday. Which meant he’d spent another night at the office. When you’d brought him his coffee this morning he’d seemed tired. But now - a few hours later - he looked completely exhausted.

Kihyun cleared his throat and shifted his attention back to you, a faint blush spreading on his cheeks. “Really, really distracting. And I am straight.”

You cocked up your eyebrow, pressing your lips together to avoid laughing. “Are you sure about that?”

“Bite me.” Kihyun scoffed before scooting in even closer. God, that guy really didn’t get the whole concept of personal space. Which was probably the reason why he even managed to become your friend just shortly after entering the company. He never got discouraged by your cold and aversive nature. He just kept on trying, ending your solitude with that sassy and slightly annoying nature of his.

“So,” You already knew trouble was headed your way when a sly smile tugged at the edge of Kihyun’s lips. “You never thought about hitting it off with him? It’s obvious that he is interested.”

Your eyes widened a little. “Ki, he’s my boss.”

“And it’s the 21st century.” Kihyun simply shrugged, as if dating a CEO wasn’t a big deal. “Nobody cares about stuff like that anymore.”

That was a big fat lie. And you both knew it. Because people would always care about ridiculous bullsh*t like that. So you shook your head no. Almost violently. You lowered your voice, practically whispering by now to avoid Soojeon listening in. “I don’t want people talking about me. Or him. So no. I’ve never thought about dating him. Also–” You hesitated, struggling to come up with a believable lie why Changkyun wasn’t dating material apart from him being your boss– “I don’t date guys my age.”

“I see.” Kihyun nodded, patting you on the shoulder in empathy. “So you were also raised in a conservative family then?”

For a second you were back in your teenage days, where you had to attend countless debutante balls and celebrations for arranged marriages. Where dating was forbidden and where having a “lower-class” boyfriend was considered a huge scandal. Funny how the darkest depths of Seoul’s underworld were so outdated. Other memories started to resurface like the taste of rain, the sound of muffled laughter and the warmth of a body pressed closely against yours. And your bodyguard’s loud screams of anger when he’d found you and … him … sneaking in through the backdoor in the middle of the night.

You cast those memories aside just as fast as they had surfaced. They were too painful. And since the second anniversary of that dreadful night was drawing close you weren’t strong enough to face any of them without breaking down in tears.

“Don’t even get me started.”

“Ms. Lee?” Kihyun almost jumped off your table when the deep and raspy voice of Changkyun was suddenly coming from the intercom. “I need your help.”

You pressed the little button and leaned in towards the speaker, lowering your voice to make it sound soft and calm. “I’ll be right there, Sir.”

You let go of the button and got up from your seat, straightening your dress and rearranging your jewelry. You tried to ignore Kihyun’s stare as best as you possibly could before throwing away your empty can of diet coke.

“Of course he does.” Kihyun sneered as he got up from the table. “God, he’s being painfully obvious.”

“Helping him is my job.” You said, suddenly feeling the need to defend your boss. “I am his personal assistant after all.”

Kihyun grinned and as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively you already knew he was going to spout nonsense again. “I bet he wants you to assist him on an even more personal level.”

Your cheeks flushed with heat but you tried to play it cool by rolling your eyes and pushing Kihyun towards the elevator. “God - Get lost.”

Kihyun clutched his chest dramatically while slowly walking backwards. “You know, I don’t seem like it but I do have feelings.”

You laughed a little, your fingers already touching the cold metal of the doorknob. “I highly doubt that.” You flashed Kihyun one last smile and waved goodbye as he stepped into the elevator. “See you later, Ki.”

“See you later, Y/F/N.”

As soon as the doors of the elevator closed you opened the glass door to Changkyun’s office. It was still beyond you how one person needed such a large space just to himself, but apparently, that was some sort of CEO thing you’d never be able to understand.

“You called for me, CEO Im?”

“Yeah, I did.” Changkyun got up from his seat behind the desk that had been placed in front of the huge glass front that allowed a spectacular view over the bay. “Please, close the door behind you.”

You stepped into his office, the soft cotton white of the walls and the warm brown of the wooden floor immediately calmed you down. “What can I do for you, Sir?” You softly closed the door behind you, finally shutting out Soojeon’s voice who was still on the phone.

Changkyun’s face was stern and his lips, that often showcased a rather smug smile, were pressed together in a thin line. The dark circles under his eyes made his skin look even paler than it actually was. His slightly messy hair currently had a bluish-grey color which had cost him a fortune and countless of hours at the hairdresser but accentuated his dark eyes perfectly, making them look like they were pitch-black instead of dark brown. He looked a little bit older than you, but actually, the two of you were only a few months apart. But that was only natural, considering the stress he was under.

“I need your help.” Changkyun walked over towards you, unbuttoning his suit coat which had a rather classic cut. “Oh and, by the way–” Changkyun averted your eyes as he came closer, looking slightly displeased “-was that Yoo Kihyun from the marketing department? He visits you at your desk fairly often these days. Are you two a thing?”

You tried your hardest not to laugh. Kihyun was right. Changkyun really was being painfully obvious. “I thought you only needed my help, Sir.”

“The door is closed, Y/F/N.” Changkyun sounded a little annoyed and you tried your best to keep a straight face. “So drop the whole Sir bullsh*t and tell me honestly - are you two a thing?”

Honestly, this wasn’t even worth answering. But the way Changkyun looked at you let you know that your answer was meaningful to him. So you walked over to him, lifting your hands to rearrange his pocket square. You needed to keep yourself occupied with something as you started talking with that calm and unfazed voice of yours. “What are you gonna do if we are?”

“I don’t know.” Changkyun’s unique laugh filled the office but today it didn’t sound as cheerful as it usually did. “Maybe I should fire him. To lower the competition, you know?”

You stopped your little task and looked Changkyun straight in the eyes. Even though he wasn’t particularly tall only a few people dared to because of how rich and privileged he was as the very young CEO of a huge pharmaceutical company. But you had been raised to stare down people that were more powerful than him. And far more dangerous. So you weren’t afraid. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why? You don’t like it? Does it make me look like an idiot?”

“Kind of. Because if you’re serious about this you’d be a bloody fool.” You straightened his jacket, tucking at it a little stronger than necessary. “Ever since he joined the company, sales have dramatically increased. And by the way - these days women don’t like guys who abuse their power just to flirt with somebody.” You smiled as you heard him gasp in fake shock. “But also, no. We aren’t dating. We’re just friends.” Changkyun’s sudden and bright smile was almost contagious but you didn’t allow yourself to join in. This was stupid. “Kihyun isn’t really my type.”

You took a step back and crossed your arms over your chest as you watched that smile of his widen a little further, showing off a set of perfectly white teeth.

“Then...” Changkyun’s tone became playful and flirty, something you’d gotten used to over the past two years and were easily able to handle. “What is your type?”

Not you.

Your mind suddenly went foggy with memories again. A bright smile. A contagious laugh. A soft whisper in your ear and the loving and gentle touch of rough and large hands. Strong arms to hold you close at night, hot skin and the faint smell of pine and blood.

You snapped out of it by shaking your head, casting away all these memories that seemed to just randomly resurface these days.

Whenever that happened, you were in agony. Because the pain, which never really went away, intensified again, occupying every inch of your body and making it hard for you to breathe.

It was ridiculous. You should have gotten over him by now. It had been two years for Christ’s sake. You should have moved on already, forgotten all about him. Yet you still remembered everything in vivid detail.

His voice. His smile. His kiss.

And it still hurt.

But you were getting better. Slowly but steadily you were getting over him, even though it hardly felt like it at the moment. But at least you weren’t losing sleep anymore simply because he wasn’t lying next to you. You weren’t waking up with tears streaming down your face because he’d visited you in your dreams. And you also stopped hesitating when you covered your own tattoos with make-up in the morning.

So you were getting better. Your wounds were steadily healing. And soon enough only the scars would remain. They’d hurt occasionally, but sooner or later you’d forget you even had them.

So maybe, just maybe, it was time to move on.

And perhaps Changkyun was the right guy for the job. Since he was the complete opposite of… him.

So why not risk it? Why not flirt a little with the guy that was so obviously interested in you? Because you really liked Changkyun. He was a playful and funny guy with surprisingly deep thoughts and a sense of responsibility that was uncommon for guys his age. And you got along great. Talking to him was never boring and you’d had countless dinners with him where you’d forgotten the time, staying with him at a crowded restaurant until it was almost empty because you were so engaged in a conversation.

So why not go for it, right?

You cleared your throat a little and tried your best to sound as flirty as you possibly could. “It’s a secret.”

Changkyun’s eyes widened in surprise and you already knew that this had been a very bad idea. “Was that?” He let out a deep laugh before he took a step closer to you. Had he always smelled of sea salt and sage? “Wait. Did you just try to flirt with me?”

You could feel your cheeks flush with heat as Changkyun was looking at you with that lopsided smirk that you knew made a lot of girls weak in the knees. God, you shouldn’t have tried being coy. You weren’t good at that. Which didn’t come as much of a surprise considering the fact that you’d been in a relationship ever since you’d turned fourteen. You only ever had to flirt with guys in order to get what you wanted for the Clan. And that had been a completely different thing.

“No, I wasn’t.” you quickly replied before turning your back on Changkyun and walking towards the huge conference table that barely fit into his already large office. The shiny mahogany surface was completely covered with all sorts of paperwork.

With just one look you could already tell that this was a complete mess that had gotten out of hand. You stepped a little closer and narrowed your eyes. You knew those papers. Quite well actually since it had taken you days to properly organize them.

“Are those the papers for the merger?”

Changkyun hesitated for a second. “Yeah.”

“Changkyun! For Christ's sake!” You raised your voice in anger. You had worked for two days and one night straight in order to get this done. “The merger is supposed to happen next week! How are you still not done with the paperwork?” You looked at Changkyun who avoided your gaze and just scratched the back of his head like a schoolboy who was being scolded by his teacher. “You were only supposed to take another look at them and then sign the goddamn contract! How the hell did you make such a mess?”

“Don’t be so mad at me.” Changkyun pouted a bit. But then his face suddenly became stern. Dark even. “There was something fishy about their numbers so I went through all of it again.” He looked you straight in the eyes and you could see the worry and determination in his. “I can’t afford to fuck this up.”

Yeah. You knew he couldn’t. This was Changkyun’s first big project ever since he’d taken over CODA Pharmaceuticals from his sick father three years ago. Everybody's eyes were on the young CEO who’d been in charge of one of the biggest companies in the country ever since the young age of twenty. Everybody expected him to mess this up and the sharks were already ready to rip him to shreds once they were able to smell even the faintest drop of blood in the water. And you knew exactly what that felt like. All those expectations. All those enemies surrounding you, waiting for you to make a mistake. You really felt for him, which was exactly why you couldn’t stay mad.

You let out a sigh, accepting your fate of at least one more night shift. You took off your blazer and put it over the back of one of the fifteen chairs that had been arranged around the large table. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

Changkyun smiled brightly at you before he came closer again, his left hand settling on the chair right next to you while the other rested on top of the conference table, closing you in and causing your heart to beat a little faster when you felt his chest touching your back. “Help me find their last five tax declarations and their sale numbers from 2011 until now.”

You nodded before looking at the mess again. “You know that I would have been able to find them a lot faster if you didn’t go all crazy professor on this, right?” You reached out to loosely rearrange some of the documents. “This just screams overtime.”

“It’ll be faster if I just hel-”

“No. You stay away from this.” You glanced over your shoulder just to realize how close Changkyun actually was. “You know I think you’re a genius but you’re a mess when it comes to organizing. So let me do this and just focus on something else. Preferably something that doesn’t ruin two nights worth my work.”

Changkyun smiled softly, casting away some of the worry on his handsome face. “Thanks, Y/F/N. I owe you.”

“You can pay me back with a hefty raise.”

Changkyun’s gaze was shifting between your eyes and your lips and when he started speaking again his voice sounded a little lower than usual. “I was thinking about a nice dinner instead. Just the two of us. What do you say?”

Silence suddenly filled the room. You could hear Soojeon’s muffled voice from outside the office while the clock on the wall steadily kept ticking.

Your thoughts were a mess. Should you go out with him? Shouldn’t you? Were you ready? Weren’t you ready? Were you ever going to be ready? He probably had moved on a long time ago. Yet you still hesitated, not even daring to flirt back even a little bit whenever a guy had shown interest in you. So wasn’t it finally time? Maybe it would help you forget all about him. Even though you seriously doubted that you were ever able to do that. But you should at least try, right? You couldn’t live on with this constant pain in your chest. And there was also no way of ever going back. You’d lost him forever the night you’d walked out of the mansion. He was gone.

And it was time that you accepted that and moved on.

“I-” Your answer was cut short as the loud ringtone of your phone violently broke the silence. “Excuse me.” You moved back a little, forcing Changkyun to let go of the chair. You reached for the inner pocket of your blazer and frowned as you looked at the two phones you now held in your hand. You used the white one for work. Usually, it was ringing almost constantly. But now the display was pitch-black. Instead, the golden one, your private one, was ringing.

The phone that only two people had the number of. And one of them was standing right next to you, looking down at you in confusion.

“Sorry.” You lifted your phone a little before pointing towards the office door. “May I?”

Changkyun took a huge step backwards, making some room for you to properly move. “Sure thing.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right back.” You went out of the office and turned to your left, still looking down at the phone in your hand that just kept on ringing. A landline number. And judging by the fact that it started with a 51 it had to be a caller from Busan. But nobody knew your private cell number except for Changkyun and Kihyun. You’d made sure of that, not wanting to take any risks.

So who the hell was calling you?

You sped up your footsteps, almost running down the hallway that led you towards the fire escape which was often used by Changkyun for a quick smoke. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest and your hands were starting to sweat as your brain was already going through all the possibilities. And all of them were terrifying.

You knew you shouldn’t answer this call. Everything inside you screamed and begged of you not to accept it. To just ignore it and pretend this never happened. But you knew that ignorance isn't bliss. It was dangerous. And in your case, it could even be deadly. If they found you, you needed to know so you could at least try to get away. Even though you knew that it would probably be impossible. Especially if Hyunwoo had sent… him.

There was no escaping him. At least not for you.

And your brother was very well aware of that.

You shoved open the exit door and stepped out onto the landing. You tried not to focus on the fact that you were on the twentieth floor or that the wind was howling in your ears.

Instead, you forced yourself to finally answer the call.

“Hello?” You tried to sound strong and daring, not giving away the fact that you were shaking with fear. But you failed. Your voice was high pitched and completely out of tune.

“Hello.” You frowned. Not at all what you’d expected. This was the voice of a young woman. And she sounded stressed out and even a little agitated. “This is the Emergency Room of Busan General Hospital speaking.”

The ER? Did Kihyun have an accident? But you talked to him a little over fifteen minutes ago. And Busan General was on the other side of town. No way he–

“Hello!” The nurse said again, now sounding mildly anxious. “Are you there?”

“Sorry.” God, you had to snap out of it. “Yes. Yes, I’m listening.”

“I asked you what your name was.”

“My name is Lee Y/F/N.” You tried to calm down so that your brain could start to make sense of what was actually going on. “I’m sorry but I am a little confused as to why the ER is calling me.

The woman started speaking again. “We have an unidentified male in our trauma ward with a stab wound to his lower abdomen. He had nothing on him except for 50 million Won and a cellphone with only one number saved in it.” She seemed to carefully arrange her words before she kept going. “And that number was yours.”

Stab wound. Lower abdomen.

Thank God - it’s not him.

After spending years in the inner circle of the Clan you knew all the signature killing methods. Especially his. And he had always been the type to break bones instead of dealing with a huge pool of blood at his feet.

No, this wasn’t him. But that didn’t make this whole thing less dangerous. Because a stab wound like that was Jooheon’s specialty. Your brother’s very own assassin and one of the sickest bastards you’d ever met. He always went for a stab wound, making his victims suffer and slowly but steadily bleed to death at his feet. He enjoyed hearing them scream and beg for mercy. But all of them pleaded in vain. You’d never heard of a life speared by Lee Jooheon.

Which meant that your brother had sent you a warning in form of a dead body. Quite theatrical. Especially for somebody like Hyunwoo.

But apparently, things changed.

“Are you sure about that?” you said, your voice a bit calmer now. “He didn’t have any note on him? Or something written across his chest or something?”

“What?” The nurse must have been under the impression that you were insane, but you didn’t have the time to care about stuff like that.

“I asked if he had something written on him. In ink or in blood?” You thought about how your father had relayed messages like that to his enemies. “Or does he have a tattoo?”

“Who the hell are you?”

God, you’d almost forgot how bothersome it was to deal with mere civilians in situations like that. They were always too nosy for their own good, resulting in a lot of them being killed for absolutely no reason but their own curiosity.

You let out a long and drawn-out sigh, your brain already formulating an escape plan instead of trying to be empathetic towards the woman that was probably absolutely terrified by all your questions. “Just check.”

Getting out of Busan would cost you a fortune. Especially if you wanted to be gone without a trace. And you definitely needed to if Jooheon was close by. Maybe this time you should really consider getting yourself a fake passport and escaping to the United States. But your brother had a lot of business partners there so Europe or Australia might be the better alternative. But both were pricey. And it wasn’t like Changkyun was paying you a lot of money. You were just a personal assistant for Christ’s sake. You could consider yourself lucky because you were able to pay the bloody rent.

Good thing you knew how to make money fast. Maybe you should–

“Are you kidding? He’s covered in tattoos! And I really shouldn’t get too close to him if he’s unconscious. That’s considered sexual harassment! And he isn’t just some piece of meat!”

Your thoughts came to a sudden halt. What did she just say? You must have been mistaken, right?

Jooheon never spared a life. Never.

“Wait - He isn’t dead?”

“No, he isn’t!” The nurse sounded hysterical by now. “And what kind of question is that?”

You couldn’t care less. You needed her to be absolutely sure about this. “Are you sure he is alive and breathing?”

“Well, I am only a mere nurse so why don’t you come down here and tell me?” She huffed. “We need him to be identified. The police will arrive shortly and– Wait…”

“Did you find something?” Maybe your brother had actually left a message for you. Something that would give you a hint as to how close he truly was.

“Not really. I just noticed this tattoo on his neck.”

You closed your eyes. Hoping. Praying. But the rational part of you already started to paint the picture for you. And it sure as hell wasn’t a pretty one.

Your heart started to rapidly beat in your chest while your stomach clenched. Suddenly, you felt like drowning. As if your lungs were filling up with water and making it unable for you to take one steady breath after the other. You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t. Because you knew that your worst fears would come to life the moment you did. Yet your mouth started to move on it’s own, making the words fall off your tongue in a frenzy.

“What does it say?”

You could hear the ruffling of clothes. The steady beeping of the ECG. The nurse who cursed under her breath as she probably leaned in a little closer to the patient to get a proper look at the tattoo.

You knew that it must have been only a matter of seconds until she started speaking again but to you, it felt like minutes. And when she finally did, she shattered your peaceful world into a million little pieces.

“Yours.”

to be continued...

#monbebe net #wonho #shin hoseok #lee hoseok #monsta x #monsta x fanfiction #monsta x scenario #wonho fanfiction #wonho scenario #wonho angst #yours - the series #angst #scenario #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #shin wonho #yours #monsta x angst #katesfanfictions

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otakuprincess15 · 6 years

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Does Anybody Have A Map? Chapter 3: Did That Really Just Happen?

A/N: So... I suck and I am so totally sorry! I tried super hard to get this written in time to post on Monday but life got in the way. I will work harder! But in the mean time, please enjoy the next chapter. Also, this story does need a trigger warning for mild discussions/emotional stuff having to do with a character who is unable to have kids. It won't come up for a while and it will not be a continuous thing talked about. I will give a warning on the chapter when we get to it too.

Anyways, thanks for reading! Love you guys!

~marauderluverz

Index: 1, 2, 3, 4 or read on ff.net

Chapter 3: Did That Really Just Happen?

"Did Marinette really used to have a crush on me?" Adrien asked.

Alya choked on a sip of her fresh cup of coffee. "I never said that."

"You might not have, but I'm pretty sure that's what it sounded like Marinette said," he countered.

"Oh god, she is going to kill me," she sighed, setting her cup down on the counter. She looked at him over the top of her glasses, "But seriously, how did you never notice?"

Adrien blushed, "What do you mean? It's not like it was obvious."

She laughed at that. "How can someone really be this oblivious? Think back on all of our school years."

He did as instructed. His mind thought back to all of the awkward stuttering, the inability to hold a conversation with him for many years, all the pictures she had of him… He let out a groan. "How did I never notice?"

"Simple, you were a teenage boy."

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. "Does she still have a crush on me?"

Alya picked up her coffee and shook a finger at him. "Nuh uh. You would have to ask her that yourself. And honestly," she looked back at him over her shoulder. "I don't know what she feels anymore. She hasn't seen you in six years, but she also hasn't really dated anyone since getting Hugo." She gave him a knowing look. "So, you might have a chance."

"No, that's not why I was-" he watched hopelessly as she headed to the living room, ignoring him, "Asking."

The next morning, Adrien ate breakfast before heading to his childhood home. He had had most of his belongings shipped there over the last few weeks to store until he got his own place. Now that he had arrived in Paris himself he had discovered there was enough room in his bedroom at Alya and Nino's to bring some more of his things.

He pressed the buzzer on the front gate and waited for the security camera to come to life.

"Who's there?" Nathalie's voice came through the speaker. The camera moved until it was directed at his face. He raised his hand to wave.

"Hi, Nathalie."

There was no response aside from the camera returning to its place and the buzz of the gate being opened. He walked up the drive, unsure if he should be enjoying the nostalgia he was feeling. His home held many bad memories but there were still quite a few good ones as well. By the time he reached the front door, Nathalie was standing in front of it. The six years had treated her well. She still stood tall and stern, though her hair had begun to gray in some spots.

"Good morning, Adrien. I didn't realize you would be stopping by this morning," she greeted.

Adrien grinned. "Good morning, Nathalie."

She allowed a controlled smile to grace her features before leading Adrien inside the house.

He took in the foyer which still held an air of familiarity. Not much had changed. Some of the pictures that hung along the walls had been replaced with ones from his most recent photo shoots, though even those were outdated by several years. Even the portrait hanging at the top of the stairs was the same. He wondered if he could convince his father to take a new one seeing as this one was more than ten years old.

"Your father is very busy today. I'll check if he has a few minutes to speak with you in between meetings."

Adrien turned to look at Nathalie. He nodded, he hadn't expected his dad to drop everything when he arrived. Maybe that's why he hadn't bothered calling ahead. It certainly lessened the disappointment.

"Sounds good. Thanks, Nathalie. I'll be in my old room." He didn't wait for an answer before heading up the stairs.

Inside his room was much the same as the rest of the house. It felt like stepping back in time. It still held his foosball table and CD collection. There was still the skateboard ramp, rock climbing wall, and basketball hoop- all still in close to pristine condition. Boxes lined the room now, and he began to search through them for some things he wanted.

He found some clothes he had packed away that he still liked because they were part of his "I bought these myself" collection. As well as, some framed pictures of him and his friends, his mom, and him in special places on his travels. He picked up one that was beneath the others and saw a picture of him standing next to a pretty young woman with long dark brown hair. They were standing together in front of a tree full of flowers and he had his arms wrapped around her.

Adrien winced and shoved the picture back down into the box. Still not ready to deal with that then.

Several more minutes passed before there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" he called.

The door opened and Nathalie stepped inside, tablet in hand. "Adrien, your father would like to talk to you." She held out the tablet to him and he saw his father was already present on the screen.

"Good morning, Father," Adrien said.

Gabriel Agreste gave him a once over as he sat behind his desk. "You look well, son."

Adrien fought back a smile. His time abroad had helped to ease the resentment toward his father and now that he had the freedom he had always craved, he found his father's coldness a little amusing. "Thank you. You do too."

"Have you reconsidered your decision to live with your… friends yet?" Gabriel asked coolly.

"I'm happy at their apartment. It's very nice," he answered.

His father had not been happy when Adrien had said he was coming back to Paris but would not be returning home, but Adrien had not left the decision up to discussion. He had gained independence while away and would not lose it now. "That reminds me, when am I scheduled to photograph my first shoot?"

Gabriel sighed, "If you are certain you would rather do photography than modeling, you can assist with a shoot this afternoon. It's a group shoot and the photographer's assistant is unavailable. Meet at the Place des Vosges at one o'clock."

Adrien beamed. "Of course! I won't be late. Thank you, Father."

"And I'll have Nathalie send your bodyguard to pick you up beforehand."

"Father, I can take a taxi or an uber-"

"This isn't about transportation, Adrien. It's about your safety."

It was Adrien's turn to sigh. "I don't need my bodyguard any more. I'll be perfectly safe."

Gabriel opened his mouth to argue but Adrien didn't give him time.

"I have to get going now. I'll set up with Nathalie for us to have dinner. Bye," he said before clicking the end call button at the bottom of the screen.

Nathalie stared at him with wide eyes. He held the tablet out to her. "If you could set up that dinner? As of right now, I'm available all week."

"Of course, Adrien." Nathalie took the tablet, giving him an approving nod. "I'll let you know once I've arranged it." She made her way to the door, pausing just before exiting. "I don't think I've ever seen someone hang up on Gabriel Agreste."

When the door closed behind Nathalie, Adrien stared after her for several moments trying to determine if her comment had been a compliment or not.

As Marinette rode the metro from her home, she thought over her and Alya's conversation from earlier that morning.

The doorbell rang announcing that Alya had arrived to pick up Hugo. Marinette hurried across the room and pulled open the door. "Hey, Alya!" she called behind her as she hurried back down the hall. The apartment was a mess and she knew it. Clothes and toys strewn everywhere. Plates were still set out on the dining table from breakfast and the sink in the kitchen was running.

"Why are you still rushing around?" Alya asked, raising her voice so Marinette could hear her.

Marinette leaned out of her bedroom. "My mom surprised us with breakfast. She only just left." She hurried back down the hall, tucking a white button up shirt into her navy skirt.

"Girl, don't you think you should just tell them you're a tour guide? It's been seven months." Alya beckoned to Hugo who had just stepped into the hall from his room. "Come on, Half-pint. Let's get your shoes on."

He skipped to where Alya was and gave her a hug.

"You know why I can't tell them. It's too embarrassing. Things were going so well with my commissions before, that's why I moved here. They'd want to help, and I can't take anymore of their money." Marinette pulled on her navy vest and began to fix her red ascot into place. She sighed and turned to look at Alya. "I know it's ridiculous to not tell them, but I don't want them to know yet."

Alya shrugged. "It's up to you. But if they knew, I'm sure they'd babysit so you could pick up some more shifts."

Marinette rolled her eyes as she placed the red beret atop her head. "The goal is to work there less, Alya. Not more."

Marinette stepped off the train when she reached her stop. Alya had pestered her constantly to tell her parents when she'd had to take a new job to make ends meet, but she knew she couldn't. It was bad enough she'd been living off of her parents until she was twenty-two. She couldn't go back to asking them for help.

When she entered the guided tours office, Marinette saw her supervisor, M. Legrand, speaking with some of the other guides. He looked up at her entrance. "Ah, Marinette! Just the girl I wanted to see."

"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked.

He held out a plastic button to her. "Please fix this to your vest before today's tours. We just got these in last night."

She took it and read the bright red writing across the white background. Ask me anything! I'm here to help! She forced a smile. "Of course, sir. Looks great!"

He grinned and turned to speak with another guide. Marinette walked to the backroom where the schedule would be posted, the smile sliding off her face as she attached the button. She read her assignments. First one of the day was a full tour of students from the states. She groaned, I hate my job.

Adrien was pretty sure he loved his new job. Sure, he had done some photography assisting while traveling and he had taken some jobs while finishing school, but this – this was a full on Gabriel Agreste fashion shoot. There were eight models and this was the first official fall shoot. However, no one was too excited because today was still the middle of June which meant it was far too warm to be wearing sweaters and long sleeves.

He tried to make the best of it though by being friendly when meeting the models, none of whom he'd met before since they were all about eight to ten years younger than him. The real problems started when he met the photographer.

Bastian DeFranc was in his late thirties to early forties, he was short with thinning black hair and a permanent scowl attached to his face. He had looked less than interested in Adrien when they'd been introduced but Adrien at first assumed he was just all-business. He was wrong.

Thirty minutes after set-up, the first problem appeared. Adrien was fixing the shades to make sure they had the proper tone of a fall afternoon, when he heard the photographer yell, "You have got to be kidding me!"

He set down the shade and hurried over to where the photographer was glaring at one of the female models. She was staring up at him, eyes wide with confusion.

"What? What did I do? I'm not even modeling yet," she asked. She glanced at another model she had been talking to. "We were just waiting for our turn."

The photographer scoffed and grabbed hold of her wrist. She let out a cry of surprise as he held out her arm. "You rolled the sleeves of a Gabriel sweater. What did you think you were doing? It will wrinkle."

Adrien jumped in then, placing a hand on Bastian's upper arm. "M. DeFranc, please."

Bastian huffed and released her arm. "I apologize," he muttered, though his tone conveyed he was anything but apologetic . "I did not realize you were an amateur and didn't know not to do something so stupid."

The other model standing nearby spoke up. "Hey! You know she's only been modelling for a few months. It's not like she did it on purpose." The girl put her arm around the amateur model and led her away while fixing the sleeves.

Bastian rolled his eyes and stomped back to his camera, where he had left a model waiting. Adrien rubbed at his temples. Hopefully, things would cool down from here. He may have been out of Paris for several years, but according the Ladyblog, Hawkmoth was still as active as ever.

They were two hours into the photo shoot and Adrien couldn't wait for it to be over. So far, he'd heard Bastian berate a model for being too tall – calling him an awkward baby giraffe, demanded make up artists to conceal even the slightest freckles across one of the model's arms, ordered a model to go get his hair cut before they could photograph him, and told the design assistant to stuff the top of a sweater dress to "show off the design" better.

There was only an hour left to the shoot and then they'd be out of here. He was debating on offering to buy the models some smoothies after to combat any negative emotions, when the final straw landed.

The models had all lined up for some group shots and Bastian had asked each of them for a different type of look. However, Maya (the amateur model) seemed to be having trouble perfecting her look and posture.

"No! You are too stiff. You are supposed to look happy and carefree. If you keep frowning you will give yourself wrinkles before you're twenty," Bastian lectured.

Maya stared at the ground fists clenched at her sides. It was impossible to miss the tears that began to fall and splash the ground.

Bastian let out a cry of frustration. "And now we will have to do more make up! Kristin, if you please?"

A sob erupted from Maya's throat and she ran to one of the changing tents. Adrien prepared to follow after her, to ensure she wouldn't be akumatized when someone else grabbed the photographer's arm.

"You can't talk to her like that!" it was one of the male models, named Sean. "We're people too. You can't just yell at her. How can she fake being happy if she's trying not to cry because you're a jerk."

The photographer glared up at the teen before brushing away his hand. "Get off the shoot. I'll be letting Gabriel know we don't need unprofessional teens who can't control their emotions."

Sean turned and stormed away, leaving everyone else in shock.

Adrien stepped away a little and looked into his messenger bag. "Hey, Plagg." He waited a moment and then poked the black cat kwami. "Hey, wake up."

Plagg stretched before opening an eye. "What is it?"

"I think someone's going to get akumatized. What do you think I should do?" he asked.

Plagg groaned. "I don't know. I've been out of practice for a while. Either way, if someone is gonna be akumatized, there's nothing we can do about it."

Adrien ran a hand through his hair. "I guess that's true. But maybe I can transform and head it off."

"And it won't be at all suspicious that Adrien Agreste just got back to Paris last night and today Chat Noir is out saving the city?" Plagg asked.

Adrien paused, Plagg's words washing over him. "You're right. I can't even do anything. I'm useless."

Plagg pinched Adrien's hand.

"Ow! What was that for?" Adrien rubbed at the red mark on his hand.

"Just because you can't transform, doesn't mean you can't help keep people safe. You should know that by now."

Adrien smiled, "Right again. Thanks, Plagg." Just then screams broke out on the other side of the park. "Looks like that's my signal. Come on, Plagg!"

Marinette dropped into a chair in the break room of the tour guide office. She had just finished her fourth tour of the day and her feet were aching. Finally, a chance to relax and get off my feet. She pulled off a Mary Jane and rubbed her foot through the stocking.

Just as she leaned her head back against the chair, an alarm went off on her phone. She picked it up.

AKUMA ALERT: NEAR PLACE DES VOSGES. MAINTAIN DISTANCE UNTIL LADYBUG ARRIVES.

She groaned and slid her foot back into her shoe. "Of course. Right when I get a break." She grabbed her purse out of the locker and peered inside. "You ready, Tikki?"

Tikki pushed the last bit of a macaroon into her mouth. "Ready as always, Marinette!"

It only took a few minutes to swing from the guided tours office near the Eiffel Tower to the park and even less time to locate the akuma. Ladybug spotted him shrinking people all across the park and the nearby streets and businesses.

"Wonder what his problem is?" she muttered aloud. Over the years without Chat Noir by her side, she had taken to voicing her thoughts out loud to make up for the silence.

She swung towards the akuma when she caught sight of some civilians hiding behind some cars. Good, at least no one's trying to record it and putting themselves in danger.

Just as she let out a breath of relief, her eyes landed on a man crouching and running back into the park. Straight towards the akuma.

Ladybug dropped to a nearby lamppost and somersaulted through the air to land near him. "It's dangerous over here," she said sternly. Then her eyes took in the man before her: blond hair, green eyes, dashing good looks. Adrien?

He looked just as startled by her sudden appearance. "M- Ladybug?! What're you doing here?" he blurted out.

Ladybug bit her lip to hold back a laugh. "Um, there's an akuma." She pointed to the akuma that was attacking people a few hundred feet away.

He blushed. She had made Adrien Agreste blush! "Right. But what are you doing over here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Removing civilians from danger," she replied matter-of-factly. Then in one swift movement, she picked him up in her arms and carried him to safety.

He was fighting a smile when she dropped him off a block away from the danger. "Thank you, Ladybug, but I was trying to find one of the model's from my father's photo shoot. She was in one of the dressing tents last I saw her."

Ladybug nodded as she backed away. "All right, then I'll go check for her. And next time, M. Agreste, leave the saving to the heroes." She gave him a flirty wink and threw her yo-yo behind her without looking before being pulled away into the sky.

When she landed on a building across from the park she felt as if her face was on fire. Oh my gosh, she thought, when did I turn into Chat?

#miraculousladybug #fanfiction #marauderluverz #wip #adrienette #adrinette #LadyNoir #ladrien #marichat

23 notes · View notes

jimlingss · 6 years

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Brass & Strings [10]

Episode 9 - Episode 10 - Episode 10.5 OR Episode 11 Words: 5.2k Genre: Fluff, Humour (?), Slice of Life, Music!Au, College!Au Summary: Have you ever wondered what happens to the mean girl after high school? Where do they go, where do they end up? More importantly, what happens when they get mixed up with the classic nerd that's always too nervous to answer 'no'? Things become a lot more complicated when Kim Namjoon encounters you. They dub you as 'bat-shit insane' and you're not ashamed.

Cr.

Taehyung runs up to the pair, startling Jimin who has no idea who he is. “Namjoon! Namjoon!”

The harpist takes the saxophonist’s hands. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He sobs out, “the euphoniums really left! They’re refusing to play at the competition until they get better treatment but the conductor isn’t budging. I don’t know what to do! It’s in three weeks!”

Jimin stares back between the musicians, a little amused by the situation that’s growing at hand. “I’m Jimin.” He shakes the delirious boy’s hand. “Namjoon’s roommate.”

Taehyung wipes his tears. “I’m Taehyung, I-I play saxophone. Or at least I used to! At this rate it’s all going to fall apart!” Jimin makes an ‘o’ shape with his lips and slowly nods. “The scholarships! The opportunities! If we can’t play...it’s all gone! What do I do, Namjoon?”

The boy in question doesn’t say anything in spite of Taehyung’s cracking voice. Jimin turns his head and waves his hand in front of Namjoon’s blank face. “Uh….hello?”

Jimin and Taehyung follow his line of sight, across the courtyard...darted onto you.

A light bulb sparks inside his brain. “I have an idea of what to do.” Namjoon runs off, leaving the two university students in the dust to watch his backside disappear with yours.

“Isn’t that Namjoon’s girlfriend?”

The saxophonists become startled. “What? Y/N? No way. She’s super scary. Oh god….I hope he’s not doing what I think he’s doing. There’s no way in hell Y/N would agree.”

Jimin hums. “Whelp. Good luck.”

Taehyung tearfully whimpers in response.

You laugh. You laugh and laugh until it hurts your stomach, squeezing onto your internal organs. Saltwater droplets have filled your eyes and you brush them away, standing straight again after having bended over in hysterics. “That’s a really funny joke, Nams. You got me. Nice one.”

“I’m not kidding.”

Your face erases. Like a light switch, the emotions wash away and is replaced with complete seriousness and disdain.

“No.”

He matches your quick steps, trying to plead with you. “Why not? This would be a great opportunity and it would be a lot of fun. Aren’t you always looking for more chances to play? You told me yourself that tuba doesn’t get the spotlight but this is it!”

Your feet stop at your tiny locker and you grab your textbooks, snickering under your breath. “You must not understand something since you’re new here…” The locker door slams louder than necessary and you spin on your heel, poking your fingernail at his chest. “Orchestra kids and band kids,” you enunciate each title sharply, “don’t go together. Never have and never will. It’s like oil and water. Fire and ice or whatever shitty metaphor you want to use.”

In the institute you attended, there was the university orchestra, the symphonic band, the university chorus and chamber choir. Of all the groups, the orchestra and band were sworn mortal enemies in the same way the chorus and choir were rivals. If you had to use a comparison, it was much like Gryffindor versus Slytherin and Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff.

In simpler terms, the symphonic band could suck your invisible dic-

“Why does it matter?” The boy sighs, trying to comprehend you as he picks up his strides to equal yours.

“It’s simple. The orchestra is better than the band. Playing with them would downgrade my own skills.”

“They’re not that bad, Y/N.” Namjoon stares at the profile of your face, attempting to penetrate through the concrete facade.

“They march.”

“Not always. They’re sitting for this competition.”

“They play things like pop music and jazz which is terrible. Jazz is interpretation. Essentially, they’re making up shit on the spot and no one even listens to that kind of outdated music anymore. It’s bland and boring. Don’t even get me started on mainstream pop.”

“You just opened up a whole new can of worms.” He smiles and shakes his head, “they say the same thing about classical being outdated when you know it’s not true. And for this event, they’ll be playing plenty of classical pieces too. Isn’t it good to become versatile in the types of style and genres you can play in, Y/N?”

“They’re noisy and loud.”

“You and I both know that that is just a stereotype.”

As you begin stomping up the stairs, you know you’re running out of things to argue. Namjoon keeps retorting back and it seems like he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Look.” You twist around on the last step, almost causing him to bump into you and tumble down the steps. You’re looking down at the boy, the fluorescent light hitting your backside and making you glow like an angel (ironically enough). “I’m treading on very thin ice as it is. I screamed at the concertmistress in front of all our peers. If they find out I’m playing with the band, even if it’s just for one occasion, it’ll be a complete fucking witch hunt.”

The dimpled man in his bright yellow hoodie smiles up at you, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “I’ll protect you.”

You pause, breath hitching. Then a scoff leaves your mouth and you flick his forehead. Namjoon lets out an ‘ow’ and a pout, following as you continue treading up the stairs to the second floor.

When you look at Namjoon, he gives you the saddest and biggest puppy dog eyes in the world. You know it’s already making your heart weak. The innocent boy says nothing, trailing after you and dragging his legs in dejection. After a full minute of utter silence, you let out a groan and a whine.

“Y/N?”

“Fine!”

You have no idea what in hell you’re doing. It kind of amazes you that the harpist is able to convince you of anything. If he told you the sky was really lavender, maybe you'd believe him too.

“Only because it’s you. You helped me out with all that science stuff and I feel guilty, got it? So stop looking at me like that-!” A yelp leaves your mouth as Namjoon suddenly wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up in the air and swinging you around in a circle. “Nams!”

He sets you down and his grin is infectious. “Thank you.”

It’s a bad idea. A very bad idea. If anyone sees you, they’d without a doubt make a huge scene.

“They don’t bite.” Namjoon teases and you glare at him sharply, ready to knock on the door but fist still hovering in the air. “Don’t worry. I’m going to be at the back of the room working on your science paper. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Uh-huh.”

There’s no turning back. This could become the worst mistake of your life. You might get scratched, kicked or your instrument might become dented if they decide to attack you.

Dammit. You should’ve brought pepper spray or something.

You look towards Namjoon, your only companion and somehow it’s enough to muster up the courage to finally knock on the door.

It swings open.

“Namjoon! Y/N!” A massive boxy grin greets you and the harpist acknowledges him back. “Come in, come in!”

You’re dragged into the small practice room packed with kids your age. Rather than the seventy students that you typically rehearse with, there are only forty people, tightly knitted together. There’s an astounding number of clarinetists and flutists, holding their instruments and staring at you. The saxophone players that you’ve never encountered before have stopped mid-step and their own brass instruments are slung around their necks like Taehyung’s. There aren’t any violin players or strings for that matter.

No one moves.

For one skipped heartbeat, you’re afraid of being attacked. But you feel relieved that Namjoon’s with you. The clumsy harpist seems like he could body slam a few folks and give you enough time to make your escape.

“This is Y/N!” Taehyung introduces you to his apprehensive classmates. They look at you like you’re a foreign, wild animal that’s wandered its way into the room. “Y/N plays tuba and she’s here to help us, everyone! Don’t be afraid!”

Some of them exchange glances and others swallow hard but everyone continues nonetheless, warming up and preparing for practice. Namjoon smiles, settling himself down in the back of the room. Taehyung brings you over to become acquainted with the others, despite your protests that you don’t care nor want to meet new people.

“Kelly! Y/N, this is Kelly. She plays baritone sax.” The girl in the sweater nods to you with tight lips and you mimic the gesture awkwardly. You can tell Taehyung’s trying his best to make you comfortable and you can appreciate his efforts. “Oh! In case you didn’t know, I play the tenor saxophone which is like the medium size. The alto sax is the smallest-”

“Yes.” You quietly interject. In the university orchestra, there aren’t any saxophone players but you at least know what the instrument is. “I’m aware.”

“Good. And Kelly, this is Y/N. She plays the-”

“You just announced it to everyone, Tae.” Kelly rolls her eyes and laughs lightly. “Plays the tuba. Hi, nice to meet you.” You shake her hand and it’s only then that you realize how many people are eavesdropping in on the conversation. They’re supposed to be warming up for the session but not one note is in the air. “You’re part of the orchestra here at school?”

“Yes. I’m the solo tubist.”

“Cool. You agreed to help us?”

You hum, “Taehyung’s a friend of an important friend so….I don’t mind.”

“Cool.” She coughs tensely, realizing how she’s overusing the same word out of nervousness. “I mean that’s...awesome. I never thought you orchestral people would want to help us. Sinceyouguysalwaysactlikeyou’rebetterthanus.” The girl says the last part in a rush and laughs it off but you catch every single word.

Taehyung intercepts before something can happen. “Why won’t you meet Hana? She plays flute!”

You resist contorting your face after hearing that particular instrument which reminds you of someone unpleasant. But when the petite girl turns around, her kind face surprisingly wipes away any bad, personal connotations. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

She speaks placidly, “you’re going to be playing for the euphoniums?”

“The tuba and euphonium aren’t the same but they’re fairly similar.”

Taehyung grins and he pulls out some paper from his folder that’s sandwiched in his armpit. “I’ve already got the sheet music for it. You think you’ll be okay?”

You take it from him, giving it a quick glance to see if you’ll be able to sight-read. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Let’s get started then!”

The mischievous and playful boy introduces you to a few more people until your brain throbs with the amount of names. He finally lets you go and while you’re preparing, out of the corner of your eye, you can catch a handful marvelling at the shiny brass in your lap.

In a way, there’s not many differences between the orchestra and band. The trombonists beside you don’t speak a word and are on constant edge. Most of the people around fear you and you’re isolated at the back of the room. The only true comfort you feel is Kim Namjoon. The boy in glasses holds his calculator, scribbling onto his notebook in his lap. Each and every time you look back, he always grins and shoots you an encouraging thumbs up.

“Idiot.”

The mutter leaves your lips and he looks at you in confusion, unable to hear. He makes a motion for you to repeat yourself. You shake your head with a tiny smile, “nevermind.”

You begin to play with the group to the best of your abilities, reading the notes and interpreting the score as it comes. You’re startled at how fun it is. It’s spontaneous. You don’t have to fret over every single detail and flaw. The music also has modern twists, unlike the ancient classical that you’re used to. At first, your ears catch a few murmurs, suspicions that you’re here to sabotage them but when they realize that you’re legitimately trying, the pressure alleviates from the room.

It also helps that the symphonic band students are quite kind. They’re nice people when the orchestral kids aren’t being condescending towards them. They give you a round of applause after a solo, impressed with your abilities and techniques considering that you’re looking at this music for the first time. In between pieces, some turn around to chat with you and they even joke around freely with each other.

It’s a nice atmosphere, not serious or full of strain. It’s a stark contrast to the orchestra. The band conductor is friendly as well, cracking jokes and bantering with his students.

You feel like you’ve transported into another world.

“How was it? You played really well. It sounded pretty good.”

“It was surprisingly fun.” Your irises flicker to catch a glimpse of the clumsy boy pushing up his spectacles. “They’re good people.”

He smiles proudly, “I told you so.”

“Maybe I should listen to you more often.”

From your teasing tone, he lowers himself to meet your height and to lock your eyes with his while cutely tipping his head to one side. “You should.”

“I only said maybe.” Your stomach growls and in your chipper mood, you lightly bump into him with a giggle. “Wanna go eat some crab?”

The harpist thinks about the science lecture that he really shouldn’t miss. That professor is scary enough and Namjoon suspects that he’s wary of the whole ‘Namjoon-takes-your-classes-for-you’ scheme. But then again….

Would he really want to miss an opportunity to go out and share a meal with you? “Okay. Let’s go!”

“Is it true?”

Two weeks have passed and you should be exhausted. In between practicing with the orchestra, you’re off to rehearsals with the band and honing your skills on your own time. You’re playing twice as much as usual, ten hours a day and whenever you’re not resting, you’re out with a suitor or two, trying to make conversation on dates. You should be tried.

Should - because you’re not.

The only reason or rather, person, you can credit that to is Namjoon. He keeps you energized, along every step of the way, by your side whenever you look to your left or right. He waits for you outside your apartment in the mornings, works on the science projects and homework in the back of the practice room. He still keeps up with his own music, studying and plucking the harp’s strings and at night, you meet up again. After shared dinner, you would both take the bus back, occasionally to his apartment to sleepover at.

If your mind were in the gutter, you would think that it’s almost like the two of you are a married couple.

“What are you talking about? I don’t have time nor the patience for your bullshit.”

“You’re playing with the symphonic band.”

Everyone stops and when people ask what’s going on, the words are reiterated in a ripple effect.

“What?”, “What did Rose just say?”, “Did she-”, “YN’s playing for the band?”, “What the hell?”, “She’s really gone crazy.”, “What the actual fuck?”.

“I am.” You stand up amongst your peers and your sharp eyes glare back at them. “So what?”

“What is wrong with you?” The flutist spits out. “We have to compete with them at the regional competition! Don’t you want to go to Nationals? You’re a traitor.”

“Stop being dramatic. I’m helping them for this occasion and it’s not even applicable to you. In fact, I don’t see how my actions matter to any of you!”

The murmuring quiets down and Rose snickers in disbelief. “Why don’t you join them then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave.” She twists. “No one wants you here anyways. You’ve done more bad than good anyways. Do you even know the amount of problems you’ve caused us? No one likes your bitchy attitude. We can easily find another…” The girl makes a wild gesture to your bulky brass instrument. “...tuba.”

“You guys!” Jennie stands up, interfering as the concertmistress. “Stop it right this instant. Rose, you’re acting immaturely. What Y/N does outside of this room is none of our business.”

You cross your arms. “She’s right.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever agreed with the first chair violinist. You’d usually spite her, tell her to fuck off and back out of your argument but you finally realized it. This entire time, Jennie has been trying harder than anyone. She’s pissed you off in the past, being a timid goodie two shoes like every annoying heroine character that believes in the good of people. But her goal as the concertmistress has always been to unite the orchestra.

She wants to create a friendly atmosphere like that of the band’s. It’s impossible.

The air here is too suffocating. It’s too serious with the over looming pressure to do well in order to build a career in the music industry for the future. You can understand why Yoongi left.

“Rose. Sit down.” Jennie’s eyes glisten but you recognize the underlying gleam, an appreciative nod that translates to how thankful she is for you taking her side.

“You think you’re all that special?” The flutist ignores her friend, smirks and shoves your shoulder. “No one cares about your instrument.”

You grasp at her oncoming hand before she can slap you. The discomfort of the entire room elevates and a few watch in amusement, others in horror and a handful sneering. “If you think a few insults will make me leave then you’re wrong. I’m going nowhere.”

The girl lets out a screech and Namjoon pulls you back before she can swing.

The gentle hands on the dips of your waist startle you but there’s no change in your expression. Namjoon would never intercept, not when he hated to draw attention and was too timid to be aggressive like you but he’s made a promise to support you.

He was the reason why you were aiding the band anyways.

“Is there something the matter?”

His timbre is low and with the two of you challenging back at her, in addition to the rest of the class. Rose is helpless. No one steps up, not when they’re intimidated by your aura and Namjoon’s height and large build. The pair of you could belong to a gang for all they knew.

“Ugh! You’re a bitch. A traitorous bitch!”

Jennie tugs her back. Namjoon lets you go. You cross your arms again with a smirk.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You know what? You’re right, Namjoon. I think I’ve judged Y/N falsely.”

“How so?”

Taehyung shrugs, “she really isn’t that bad. If you aren’t mean to her, she isn’t mean to you. I can see why you like her. But I’ll admit Y/N’s still a bit scary.”

“Yeah.” Then Namjoon’s mind reels. “Wait. What? What did you say about me liking her?”

There’s radio silence on the other end of the phone call and the saxophonist quickly switches the subject, rambling about something else.

The harpist replays the same conversation over and over again in his head but he still can’t quite wrap his mind around it. If Taehyung was suggesting that he harbored a crush for you, then his friend is wrong. Sure, Namjoon likes you but not in the romantic aspect. It’s platonic.

You’re overbearing. You’re spoiled. You have to get your way and you always do, either through manipulation or threats. You are the absolute epitome of the mean girls within the movie or the villain in fairytales but those are all surface level things. You’re sensitive, passionate and driven, funny and witty….cute.

It’s platonic. He simply sees you for who you are. There’s nothing more.

Right?

This is the best day of his life. Hands down.

As Kim Seokjin hauls the art supplies he stole from school, he is bustling with excitement. However, the poster paper, markers and paints, rolling brushes and crayons are a bit much. He tottles from one side of the sidewalk to the other, apologizing to the people he bumps into, cursing his meager strength and short height.

“Jin?”

The middle schooler peeks his head out and gasps. “Predator!”

“It’s Namjoon!” He protests with a shrill voice, appalled to be even called such a name. “What are you doing?”

“None of your business- Hey!” The kid protests when the much taller man takes his paints and maker packs. It doesn’t occur to him that he can see forward now. “Give it back!”

“Where are you going? I can help you.”

“I-” Jin grumbles, sporting the same yellow backpack on his shoulders. He seems to debate with himself before he concedes the honest truth to Namjoon. “I’m going to the park to make a poster. A sign.”

“For?”

“Y/N.” The short boy grins. “She’s performing this evening, right?”

Namjoon had dropped you off of the venue an hour ago. There were last minute tweaks and preparations to be done. He, on the other hand, had to go submit a biochemistry paper and was planning to go right back - until he bumped into Jin. “How did you know about that?”

Jin is bubbling with pride as he walks alongside Namjoon, proud that he’s in the loop with everyone else. “It’s on your university website!”

“You’re very informative.”

“Of course! It’s Y/N after all and she’s my idol.”

They make it to the park, setting down the items on the picnic table. “Is it okay if I work with you? Two hands are faster than one.”

The middle schooler takes off his backpack and blinks upwards, contemplating for a long second. “Okay. I already have an outline! There are stickers that I got too and only use neon colours! Y/N’s name is going right at the center of the poster.”

Namjoon giggles, sitting down across from the boy and the two of them begin on the artwork masterpiece, surprisingly having an enjoyable time. Jin loosens up and banters back and forth with the harpist, teasing the poor and timid college student.

“Hey, you! Suck-jin.” A horde of taller middle schooler delinquents begins to approach, popping gum in their mouth and kicking rocks on the ground. “What are you doing, dork? Are you doing an elementary kid’s work? They bullied you into it or did the teachers finally hold you back because of your height?”

They childishly laugh together, coming closer and closer. A girl simpers, “where’s your milk?” Another demands for their lunch money and one of the guys grabs onto the sunny backpack.

Jin stops ignoring them and stands up from his spot. “Hey! Give that back!”

The boy holds his arm high in the air. “Try to take it away from me, shortie.”

The bag that is as bright as the sunshine itself is suddenly ripped away from the ruffian’s grasps. He inhales and looks up, the light piercing the looming man’s backside. Namjoon grins, one that mimics the Chester’s cat and is as intimidating as the Grim Reaper himself. “That’s not very nice.”

The children scramble back and Jin grins. Namjoon steps forward. “Don’t you know this kid has an older sister who is really psychotic? If she catches you doing things like this to him, I’m not sure you'll live to tell the tale.”

“Oh my god.” The girl mutters out. “Is he talking about that girl? The one who beat us up?”

They screech at the top of their lungs, dispersing. Namjoon sets down the backpack and Jin sits back on the bench, continuing to scribble away. “Thanks….for that.”

The harpist wonders why they ran so quickly. “No problem.”

“I miss Y/N.” Jin confesses with full sincerity. “I haven’t seen her in awhile.”

“Yeah.” Namjoon’s not sure why since it’s only been two hours but- “I miss Y/N too.”

He’s arranged it very well. In the dark auditorium, Seokjin has reserved the front seat on top of the balcony, dressed in bright pink and a flashing headband. The kid is clearly visible in the entire concert hall. He holds the massive sign with your name and a picture of you in the corner, unsympathetic to how he’s obstructing the view of the people behind him. “Woo! Y/N! LET’S GO!”

Jin chants your name like the true fan he is but the stage is empty and after five minutes, he sits back to reserve energy. “You’re very dedicated.”

“Only to the best.” Jin snaps his fingers and does finger guns. “Because I am the best.”

“Namjoon?” The two of them turn around, met with a different pair in casual clothes. “So, it is you!”

“Jennie! Yoongi!” He smiles and they take their seats next to him.

“I came here to support Y/N.” The concertmistress smooths out her floral skirt. “And of course the band. I think it’s very kind of Y/N to help them out. I heard about the problems they were having.”

“I came with her.” Yoongi coughs and when Jennie side-eyes him, he sighs. “Oh, and to see my dear cousin as well. My very dear, blood relative that loves to ask me for cash and terrorizes my coworkers.”

Jennie seems somewhat satisfied with the answer and leans over, amused with Jin and his colourful attire and poster. “This is…?”

“I’m Y/N’s boyfriend!”

“You are?” She smiles and her brows furrow, pupils redirected to the harpist. “But I thought you were, Namjoon.”

“N-no. I’m not. We’re both here to show our support. Y/N’s not really dating him...or me! She’s dating no one...well...not really...I- uh...He’s Jin, by the way. They met on another occasion.” Namjoon doesn’t know why he’s flustered by the mere thought of dating you.

Dating which means holding hands...hugging...kissing...becoming intimate-

Stop thinking about it! He slaps his cheek to snap out of it and Jennie is taken back. A second later, she laughs to herself.

Yoongi stares at Jin without an expression. “You did a whole poster, kid?”

“I sure did and don’t call me kid! I’m a man.”

“Sure, kid.” Yoongi smiles softly. “Wow. It seems like Y/N has some serious admirers.”

For a plain moment, your cousin’s eyes flicker to Namjoon’s face which is still reddened and steaming. Yoongi smirks.

There’s a bit of a mutual silence as all four listen to the introduction by one of the judges and one rather good band performance. It’s only until they hear a shallow exhale that they all turn to their left by the staircase. “Jin?!”

“Hoseok!” He giggles nervously. “What a coincidence!”

The trumpet player marches, unfazed by the staring eyes of the people around. “Are you skipping class?”

The middle-schooler struggles to find an answer and copies the one that Namjoon and Jennie said earlier. “I came to show my support for you!”

“That’s a poster with Y/N’s name.”

“I can explain.”

Hoseok exhales again but dramatically this time, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t try to. And you again? Namjoon?”

“It’s not his fault.” Jin rushes to defend and his older brother answers with ‘yeah, yeah, I know’. Namjoon is too timid and kind to be the type to corrupt Jin, drag him into a cult or kidnap him. At least Hoseok feels comforted that his younger brother isn’t running around with total strangers.

Namjoon smiles as the trumpet player collapses into the chair. “You’re competing?”

“Yep. I’m part of both the orchestra and band in my university.” A smirk reaches up his lips and he pretends to whip back his non-existent long hair. “Impressive. I know.”

Jin puts a hand to his mouth, leaning over to Namjoon and whispering, “he doesn’t have a life outside of music. Not a social one and not a girlfriend. It’s sad.”

“You’re the one to speak, twerp!” He hits the younger man’s head, making Jin let out a whimper and a cry. The rows of people behind them are no longer eavesdropping or paying attention, waiting as the judges finish up with their decision. Meanwhile, Hoseok’s eyes land three chairs down. “Oh my god. Is that who I think it is?!”

“Hoseok.” Yoongi waves and smiles. “Hey. It’s been awhile.”

The middle schooler is absolutely bewildered. “You know each other? What the heck?! How do you know these people and I don’t?!”

“Band camp.” Hoseok reminisces with his eyes glossed over. “Yoongi was in senior year and he snuck in fireworks. They caught the entire grounds on fire. Everyone knows him.”

Yoongi chuckles, “good times.’

Jennie nudges him, “I’ve never heard of that story.”

Hoseok notices her immediately and takes interest. “Who is this beautiful lady?”

“Jennie.” They awkwardly shake hands and she smiles. “I play violin, concertmistress of the university orchestra with Y/N.”

“Impressive...smart. And pretty.”

Yoongi’s pupils sharpen. “Uh-huh.”

“Well I’ve got to get backstage but it was nice seeing all of you...” Hoseok grits his teeth at his brother who only sheepishly smiles. “....even if you’re not here to support me specifically.

Namjoon wishes him luck. “Break a leg!”

“Thanks.”

The performance continues with intermediate breaks, judges discussing the credentials and techniques of each band. Hoseok’s plays rather decently, causing all four to be astounded. Jennie takes mental notes while Namjoon makes comments, the both of them critiquing the groups and guessing what the panelists will comment on. When they’re unable to decide what is excellent or merely acceptable, Yoongi interjects and he always brings a brighter perspective with obvious points. Jin just claps.

Taehyung hollers as he steps out on stage.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Jin chants your name, holding up the poster. When they find you humiliated, everyone’s eyes suddenly on you, Yoongi joins in with the fun and screams along. Jennie laughs, clapping her hands and Namjoon smiles, calling your name out softly - “Y/N.”

Before the four of them can be thrown out, they settle down.

The playing is impeccable, a high standard to back up the university's name. Jennie is able to discern why despite the arrogant nature of her peers, they still find the symphonic band a threat. Yoongi nods along and Namjoon listens, spending his entire time gazing at you.

“It’s part of the top ten so far.” Your cousin murmurs, following the flute and baseline’s melting harmonics. “They’ll at least win second place and maybe a supreme award.”

The performance ends with a roar, thunderous applause and everyone stands and bows. Jin screams your name, waving his poster. Yoongi grins and claps with Jennie who smiles brightly.

The corner of Namjoon’s mouth draws up high into his cheeks and as he leans over the ledge with Jin, shouting your name and being completely noisy, his glasses slide down his nose. The spectacles nearly drop from fifty feet from the balcony but the clumsy boy manages to catch it with both his hands. He sighs out in relief and smiles embarrassingly to you.

As you stare up at him, that’s enough to make you laugh and feel content.

#bts scenario #bts fanfic #sfwbangtan stories #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfic #muhahahha

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