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something-fanfiction-ie · 4 years

Text

24 Hours

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: You get buried alive and uhm... I think a curse word or two?

A/N: So, before you notice, yes this is largely based on season two episode nine of Bones, Aliens in the Spaceship. Also, yes this is a criminal minds imagine and yes I’ve hopelessly and irrevocably fallen in love with Matthew Gray Gubler. Please like, comment, reblog, and send me asks, I love that shit. Also, if you’ve never seen criminal minds, you should watch it. Even if only for Dr. Spencer Reid aka Matthew Gray Gubler. You’re welcome in advance.

___

“Hey Spenny, I’m going out to get some coffee. Do you want anything?” Your voice echoed around in Spencer’s head, the image of you waving at him from the door as you walked away imprinted into his mind. Would it be the last time he would ever see you?

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N) has been buried alive,” Hotchner stood in the front of the room with Spencer’s phone on speaker. The whole team sat around the table with varying degrees of horror displayed on their faces as the realization dawned on them, “Wire transfer five million dollars to the following Grand Cayman account.” Spencer buried his head in his hands, his fingers tangling into his hair.

Your eyes were on him as you waved over your shoulder, stepping through the door with just a glance and a smile. He kept playing it through his mind in slow motion. Now you were underground, running out of air and running out of time.

“Upon receipt of the wire transfer, I will provide you with Agent (Y/L/N)’s GPS coordinates. You have 24 hours. This will be my last communication.” The BAU jumped into action, people pulling the files from the previous abductions and swapping theories.

“Where in the hell are we going to get five million dollars? The FBI has a strict policy about not paying ransoms.” Morgan slammed a fist on the table, gritting his teeth as his mind raced.

“Her parents.” Spencer looked up, pulling himself out of his head. He needed to be actively helping. They had twenty four hours and sitting at the table with his head in his hands wouldn’t help anything.

Pushing away from the table, the young doctor stood up to look at Agent Hotchner.

“When her parents died they left everything to her. She’s never touched it, said it felt too much like blood money.” Hotchner nodded, looking across the room to Garcia who looked as shell shocked as Spencer felt. Not only had her dear friend been abducted and buried alive, but she had been telling secrets about her parents to Reid and not her?!

“Garcia I need you to find out who she banks with, JJ get them on the phone and see what you can do. If we can pay the ransom we will. If not, we’ll have to figure where she is.” Both women nodded, rushing back to Garcia’s office. The remaining agents started to map the location of every burial site.

“Well, at least we know she’s in Virginia.”

...

When you woke up, rolling into the leather backseat in you car, your brain felt like it was exploding. Your entire body ached, and for a minute, too focused on the pain, you didn’t realize where you were.

It hurt to sit up, to breathe, to look around, and when your brain connected every dot it hurt to think.

“I’ve been buried alive.” You said it aloud, staring at the rocks and dirt that pressed against every window. Thinking felt like walking through sludge, but why?

You’d been working on a case. Four victims in four months, all buried alive, all coming from wealthy backgrounds. Every victim varied in age, race, and sex. It appeared you were number five. There would be a call, maybe two hours after you’d been buried. It would be the only means of communication, there would be a high ransom.

None of this information could help you though. You were underground, what is around you, (Y/N)?

In your glove compartment was a small digital camera, a pen, and some napkins. In your center console was a bottle of water, a small tube of sunscreen, and some loose change. Your phone was on the floor but the battery had been taken out, and sitting in the backseat was a box with a book delicately placed inside.

A first edition copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese, the pages yellowed with age. To just anyone, it was an old book with some poems inside, but you knew that Spencer would understand the moment he opened the box. Elizabeth Barrett Browning had written the series of sonnets to her husband as they were courting. Inside was a poem you had confessed to Spencer was your absolute favorite.

“I’m kind of a cliche hopeless romantic,” you laughed, afraid to look at him for the fear that he would think you were just a silly girl. “But my favorite poem is How Do I Love Thee?”

“By Elizabeth Barrett Browning?” When you looked at him, his expression hadn’t changed from that of a simple curiosity. You relaxed a little, glad to reveal the intimate detail about yourself without backlash.

You had spent such a long time trying to bury the persona of a teenage hopeless romantic underneath the facade that you were only concerned for logic, knowledge, and psychology. You’d never understood why wanting to love and be loved made you any less intelligent.

“I’ve dedicated that poem to the man I hope to marry one day.” A small smile twitched at the edges of his lips as you looked down at your nails, picking at the dirt underneath them. Your face felt like it was on fire. Why had you told him that?

In an uncharacteristic display of affection, Spencer reached across the divide between your desks and put his hand over yours. He squeezed, his expression gentle when you met his gaze.

“He will be a lucky man.”

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes at the thought of Spencer. Would you ever see him again? Would you even be alive in twenty-four hours?

Panic seemed to take control, propelling forward. You screamed, crying hysterically as you pounded against the windows.

“Help me! I’m in here! Please!” You didn’t stop until your hands were bruised, not caring about the amount of oxygen it had taken from your already limited supply. After the panic came a numbness that spread through your body and mind. You weren’t sure how long you stayed staring into your hands, sitting cross-legged in the front seat, but when you finally came back to yourself you knew you had to truly fight.

Gathering everything you’d found in your car, you started to think of what you could do. A camera, a phone, a pen, a napkin, some change, a book, sunscreen, a bottle of water.

Think, (Y/N), think. What is around you?

“Dirt.” Then you gasped, scrambling back to the front of the car. Using the window crank, you let bits of the dirt fall inside before rolling the window back up and grabbing a handful.

Just by looking you could tell there was ash, a couple of sniffs told you there was nitrogen and sulfur. You spit into the dirt. Coal rich soil. But that was all of Virginia, that didn’t tell you anything.

Think, (Y/N), think.

A camera, a phone, a pen, a napkin, some change, a book, sunscreen, a bottle of water. A camera, a phone, a pen, a napkin, some change, a book, sunscreen, a bottle of water.

“That’s it!” Carefully, you shifted the dirt to the top of the center console. Mixing a dab of sunscreen into the dirt, you powered on the camera and grabbed the pen which, conveniently, had a laser on the end.

Just like that you knew where you were. You just had to find a way to tell the others.

...

“We can’t get the money from the bank, she has it completely closed off from anyone touching any of that money. They won’t even tell us how much she has.” JJ ran her fingers through her hair, turned in her chair to face the team that had gathered into Garcia’s office.

“It was a long shot anyways, you typically have to have your name on the bank account to be able to withdraw any money.” Hotchner looks to the rest of the agents clustered next to him, hoping that one of them would have something.

“Did we get anything from the geographic profile?” He made direct eye contact with Reid, watching as he stepped forward and nodded for Garcia to pull up a map. Red lines popped up at each of the four crime scenes, connecting to the location the victim lived. Salem to Lovingston. Stuart to Winchester. Boydton to Marion. Louisa to Yorktown.

“Each of the burial sites is two to four hours away from where the victims lived which would put (Y/N) in this general vicinity.” Using his finger, Reid circles an area on the map around Quantico. No one mentions the shaking of his hand.

“There’s nothing else to narrow down the search.” His voice cracks at the end and no one can meet his eyes. JJ flinches at the sound, tightening her hand around the edge of the desk. It isn’t until Hotch goes to send the team back to work that a chime breaks the silence in the room.

Reid scrambles for his phone, fishing it out of his pocket and flipping it open.

“Who is it from? The Gravedigger? What did he say?” Everyone crowds around him, trying to get a peak at the message.

“It’s from (Y/N).”

6 7 16 M1.4

“What the hell does that mean?” Penelope says.

...

You’re not sure how long its been, but you can feel the oxygen getting low. Your eyes feel heavy, like you’re tired, and if you move just a little too fast the world shifts and sways like you’re on a boat.

After hot wiring the phone to the car, you’d leaned against the horn and typed the shortest message you could as fast as possible. When the phone sparked and died, you weren’t even sure if the messsge had gone through. You could only hope.

For now, you’ve crawled into the back, opening the book to read through it. If you’re going to die, at least you can read your favorite poems one more time. With every sonnet comes a memory of Spencer.

“Actually,” Spencer begins, stepping forward to point out something no one had even thought of, gesturing between pictures and referencing something only he could see in his mind. You’d worked a couple of cases with the team at this point, getting to know each individual who sat at this table with you.

Spencer turned back to the group and there it was, for just a fraction of a second he looked at all the older people at the table like a little boy looking for acceptance and recognition. Looking for approval. Your heart flipped over itself and your crossed your arms, hoping this wasn’t the start of a silly crush.

You flip to the next sonnet, reading it in a whisper as another memory hits you.

“I’m scared, Spencer.” You met his eyes, heart hammering in your chest as JJ strapped a mic to your bra strap. You were going undercover in an attempt to lure out the unsub, and although you knew every single one of your team members would be ready to have your back at a moments notice, you couldn’t shake the fear.

“Why?” It wasn’t harsh the way he said it, looking at you from the desk he was sitting on as JJ stepped away and out of the room to give the two of you some privacy. You started to button up your shirt, trying to breathe away the shaking of your hands.

“I’m afraid something is going to go wrong. That I’ll say or do something that will tip him off and he’ll kill me.” Spencer stepped forward, not touching you but looking into your eyes as you smoothed your hands down your sides.

“I’ll be there before he has the chance. I’ll take that shot. But I don’t believe I’ll have to do that because I know you have the ability to do this without a hitch. You’ve got this.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to be okay. He wouldn’t let them send you in if you didn’t give him the okay. You could see that in the way he positioned himself between you and the door, ready to take the brunt of any frustration in order for you to feel safe.

“Okay. I trust you.”

And you did trust him. That’s why you were saving your last trick, waiting for him to put together the last of the puzzle piece he needed in order to save you. Spencer was going to find you, you had no doubt.

You just weren’t sure if you would survive the trick or not.

...

“Six, seven, sixteen, M, one point four.” Spencer stood staring at the board where they had copied the text, going over every possible meaning he could think of.

A book? No.

A math problem? No.

Coordinates? No.

Theories were being thrown across the room at rapid fire, everyone trying to think of the meaning to the cryptic message. They were all still huddled into Garcia’s office, so the voices echoed and bounced around the room.

“She’s been down there for fourteen hours, we’ve got nothing! She’s already running out of oxygen, I’m honestly starting to doubt it means anything.” Derek passed a hand over his face, patting at his cheeks as his eyes grew heavy.

“No. She’s highly intelligent and extremely resourceful, the message means something but wh-” Reid froze. In his mind he could see the periodic table.

“What is it, Reid?” Gideon looked at him, watching as his brain started to fly.

“Garcia pull up a map of Virginia.” She did as she was told, pulling up the map with one point in Quantico.

“Six on the periodic table is carbon, seven is nitrogen, sulfur is sixteen. She’s telling us the dirt she’s in.” Quick to catch on, Garcia zoomed the map onto coal rich soil in Virginia. It wasn’t enough.

“Coal can’t be distinguished by mineral composition, it’s all the same. However, macerals are unique in that they flouresce at different levels. In this case, 1.4, which is rare. It only occurs when there are high concentrations of inertinite.” The map zoomed, Penelope’s fingers flying across the keys as Spencer spoke.

“Got her.”

...

Settling your napkin letter atop the book, you nestled the lid to the gift box back on top. You tied the bow tight before tucking the whole thing into the waistband of your jeans. There was no guarantee it would make it, there was no guarantee you would make it, but you had waited long enough.

Grabbing both ends of the wires you’d stripped, you climbed into the back, hands shaking at the thought of what you were about to do.

“I’m scared.” You said. You heard Spencer, saw him leaning against a window seal in your mind. He looked at you from behind those glasses that always reminded you of a 60’s NASA engineer. His hair was pushed back, the ends curling around his ears in a way that made you itch to loop them around a finger.

Why?

“What if I never see you again?” Tears you hadn’t even known were in your eyes spilled over onto your cheeks, dripping onto the thighs of your pants. He changed now, taking on various Spencer’s from your past.

Spencer looking up from paperwork to listen to a question, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. His lips parted ever so slightly while a piece of his hair dangled out of place on his forehead.

Spencer leaned against the bar, waving down the bartender mid laugh. His tie is loose and his shirt is untucked, his hair is adorably disheveled and his eyes are crinkled around the edges.

Spencer asleep on the jet home, his cheek cradled in one hand, his elbow propped on the armrest. His long legs are stretched out, his other hand splayed on top of his chest which rose and fell with each breath.

Spencer standing in the elevator, the surprise of someone calling his name turning into a small smile when he recognizes you racing to the doors. He reaches out to press a button before using both hands to grab onto the strap of his bag. He looks down at you as you enter with a look in his eyes you’ve never been able to identify.

And the Spencer you’ve only ever dreamed about.

His eyes fluttering open after a long night spent proving his love, the sun filtering through the window and reflecting on him in such a way that it makes you wish you could paint. The sheets are bunched around his waist, his chest is bare, and his smile is so sleepy that it swells your heart to ten times it’s normal size.

We’ll see each other soon. You’ve got this.

“Okay,” you say it with conviction, forcing your hands to stop shaking, “I trust you.” And then without a moments hesitation, tears still running down your face, you touch the wires together.

The world explodes.

“There!” Spencer races for the place he saw the puff of dirt, nearly tripping over himself as he runs faster than he’s ever run before. Everyone follows, dropping to there knees with Spencer as he starts to push at the stone and sand at his feet.

“Please be here. Please be here.” He keeps saying, his heart climbing into his throat with every passing second he doesn’t find you. That is, until his fingers brush across an arm. He shoves down into the dirt, ignoring every instinct that tells him to stay clean. It’s you, it’s your arm. Then it’s your head, your shoulders and chest, your stomach, your legs, and then it’s you.

He pulls you on top of him, laying in the dirt with you pulled so close that you could meld into one person. You groan into his ear, pushing up just a little to get a better look at the man under you.

“I forgot your coffee.” He laughs, tears spilling onto the sides of his face as he wraps his arms back around you.

...

It’s late by the time you’ve been seen by what feels like every doctor and psychologist in the state. There’s bruises on your wrists and ankles you hadn’t noticed during your time underground and a cut on the back of your head where you’d been hit in order to be knocked unconscious. Not to mention the tiny cuts all over your arms and face from crawling through a shattered windshield and up through rocks and dirt.

You stood in the conference room, arms crossed as you leaned against the table and stared. Staring back at you was your own face, tacked to the evidence board with four other victims.

“I tried going to your apartment, but nobody answered the door.” Spencer is standing in the doorway of the conference room, holding a box in his hands. You look down at it before looking back at him. Try as you might, you can’t tell if he’s opened it or not, either you aren’t a good profiler or you were just really tired.

“You left this at the hospital. I figured it was important if you brought it up with you from the car.” Moving into the room, he holds the box out for you to take from him. The ribbon you tied around it is still tightly knotted, the ends shredded from being dragged above ground. There’s specks of dirt that you reach out to brush to the floor before looking back at Spencer.

“It’s yours.” You reply, scooting back to sit on the table, watching curiously as he looks back down. Pulling the box back to his chest, he slips the ribbon off in one fluid motion. The lid is next and you watch as he reaches in to pull out what you had believed to be your last words.

It isn’t much, and there’s a possibility you don’t feel the same way, but I’ve realized that I’m hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you. I trust you with my life and my heart. I’m only scared now of losing you. -(Y/I)

He doesn’t look up at you and he doesn’t set the napkin aside, only moves his hand so the note is out of his line of sight as he sees the book inside.

“‘I love thee with all the breath, smiles, tears of all my life.’” He says it almost in a whisper before setting the note back in the box, and the box on the table.

“How long have you been waiting to give this to me?” When he looks at you, finally, there is wonder in his eyes, amazement.

“I bought the book last month, but I’ve known how I felt about you for six months.” You pick at the edge of the table, swinging your legs ever so slightly. Spencer moves in front of you, blocking your view of the evidence board.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight. Robert Sternberg developed the theory that love is made of three components; intimacy, passion, and commitment. None of which can be present during a first meeting. But I think I knew that I would love you. I knew from the very first time you walked in those doors and you bumped into me.” He reaches his hand out, only hesitating for just a moment before he takes you cheek in his hand.

“Can I kiss you?” He leaned so close that if he were just a hair closer, you lips would brush together as he spoke. You’ve already closed your eyes, every nerve lit up like the Fourth of July in anticipation.

“Yes.” You barely get it out before his lips collide with yours, you can feel every emotion from the last twenty four hours being poured into this kiss; fear, anxiety, sadness, confusion, anger, relief, love, safety.

You reach out to loop your arms around his neck, the kiss deepening as he grabs your hips to slide you closer. When he finally breaks the kiss, his chest heaving and his cheeks flushed, it takes him a minute to open his eyes.

“Why aren’t you at home?”

“I’m scared.”

“Why?” You loop the hair that curls against his neck around your index finger, licking your lips before responding.

“Because I’m afraid this will all be a dream and I’ll wake up back in that car.” Your breath hitches in your throat, the panic grabbing at your heart and lungs and barely leaving you anytime to process the plethora of things that have happened to you in the last thirty minutes.

“Come sleep at my place, that way you wake up with me by your side.” He steps away from the table, reaching out a hand for you to take. It takes you no time at all to make your decision, grabbing his hand and sliding off the table.

“Okay, I trust you.”

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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 3 years

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Today I hit the mother load of treasures going through stuff in that leaking storeroom. First off, let me be clear that “treasures” has nothing to do with financial worth. Six months ago a neighbor, hearing of my financial woes, said that they were sure there were a lot of valuable things to sell in that house. Ignoring the fact that NONE of it belongs to me (it is Mom’s house), it proved they have never been in our house. Old stuff isn’t antiques roadshow condition, but battered and used, treated with no respect at all. And most of that stuff? Books. Silver fish and roach nibbled, well read and crumbling old books. My family has never been a jewels, art, and collectibles kind of people!

So my idea of treasures? Today’s haul of large cardboard boxes…

Box 1: Papers, booklets, catalogs, etc from when Pop and grandaddy were starting their fiberglassing business.

Box 2: A telescope and a collection of lenses and accessories.

Box 3: There were three sizable wooden boxes inside. The first was an oil painting set. The second was rocks, minerals, and the materials for Pop’s study of them. The third was a remarkable collection of things Pop had gathered as a child. An old pocket watch, a cub scout pin, a baseball, a pen from Quincy (Mass. where he was born actually), string tied and braided, a red dog keyring, a badge from the Boston Fire Department, one handcuff, little thumb sized bowls he’d made out of clay, a marble, a pocket knife, a pencil from Arizona, rocks, a wooden spoon, a small bottle of nails…

Box 4: Mom’s stuff from when she was a teen. I didn’t expect any of this to exist, so I was too overwhelmed to inventory it properly. It’s a bunch of mementos, papers, photographs, letters, and all the sorts of sentimental stuff she rarely kept later. A sketch and note from my father got to me. Most incredibly, there are two full diaries!!! I barely glanced at them yet, but I am absolutely going to read them. I did read the last page of one, and mentioned it specifically to Mom with her seeming okay with that, so I expect it’s alright. That last page told me it’s going to be emotional, and fascinating. Non-boxed bonus: A paper fell out of a book I was stacking, and it turned out to be a story my little brother wrote for me about a magical Easter basket. He was just learning to write, so it was maybe five sentences long. The “To: Stephanie From: Stephen” made me tear up. He really did love me until 2nd grade.

You see, to me treasures mean things that represent a chunk of someone’s life, fragments of insight into the mindsb of others. It’s funny. Some people find dark secrets going through their family’s stuff, but all I seem to find is how wonderful they were and how much love there was.

My parents seemed to love each other as much in their 70s as as teenagers. My father’s parents loved each other. My brother loved me. My parents, grandparents, great grandmothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all loved my brother and I. Pretty much the only case of someone outside this web of love is my mother’s father…but then I knew that. But the rest of us were wrapped in a cloud of love.

I miss that. I miss being loved. It’s a weird, sweet, melancholy evoked going through these belongings. As a little girl I saw on tv an adaptation of short story where folks in a post apocalyptic wasteland would gather to listen to records on a hand-crank player while remembering life before the fall. It impacted me deeply, making me a fan to this day of old fashioned tech you can use after the end of the world**, but I think I get it even more now. I feel like looking at my family’s things is looking back to before my world ended.

**The lp has the incredible advantage of just needing to something to spin it at a certain speed, a needle, and a speaker. Considering you can even get sound with a needle jabbed through a paper cup as a speaker, you can still dance away to to music after the zombie apocalypse.

#my day #family #belongings #stuff #old stuff

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doctorreids · 4 years

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folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER ONE - the 1

next chapter

summary: reader sees spencer on the opposite platform of her subway station and can’t help but reflect on two memories on why she believed he was the one.

a/n: send me an ask to be a part of my taglist!

word count: 2,270

“and if you wanted me, you really should’ve showed. and if you never bleed, you’re never going to grow.”

The apartment felt completely empty. It has been now for weeks. Despite the fact that they used to come and go in the mornings, the sound of the shower running and the coffee machine brewing did nothing to fill the void of his voice floating through the apartment.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to turn on the radio or television to drown out the silence that has been following her for months now.

3 months, 2 weeks and 3 days to be exact.

The cool, autumnal breeze swept through her hair as she walked to the subway. The leaves on the trees turn to fiery shades of red, orange and gold, brightening up the grey sky. The pavement shines with the remains of last night's rainfall, the hustle and bustle of early morning carrying her to the station. This time of year has always been her favourite, the transformation of each season amazes her but there is not feeling quite like crunching leaves beneath your feet, or watching them slowly fall from their trees in the breeze.

He loves this time of year too.

She’s been trying to convince herself that she’s alright without him, that she’s turning over a new leaf, but each day it gets harder and harder to fight the urge to call him. Then she reminds herself of all the times he failed to show that he truly wanted her, wanted her to listen and to hold his hand; all the times he failed to take down his walls, let himself open the floodgates and to grow with her. He failed to change with the seasons. Yet, she wants nothing more to hear the soft timbre of his voice, the tone he only ever used with her. Once again, she has to remind herself that that’s gone too.

Her stop was relatively empty for this time of the morning. Just a few early-risers like herself yawning into their to-go coffee cups, flicking through this morning's newspaper. The platform always echoed at this time of day, no sound other than soft conversations and the occasional announcement from the speaker.

She didn’t like mornings until she met him. Now she rises early, usually getting into work a while before everyone else. She tries to shake those thoughts from her head but lifting her head from the ground she looks to the other platform.

She looks right at him.

She knows it’s not him, he lives in the opposite direction, but her mind is telling her that the messy mop of brown hair, the suit jacket and cardigan combo, is really him on the other platform.

The rumbling vibrations of the approaching train snapped her out of her reverie. Shaking her head, she got onto the train knowing that her day was going to be filled with paperwork and fighting how much she yearned to give him a smile.

“roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool. and if my wishes had come true, it would have been you.”

It was very rarely that the two of them had time off from work but when they did, they spent it together. Walking around DC, going to the Smithsonian or visiting old bookshops across town. It was dusk by the time they got to the memorial. The sky swirled with pinks, reds and puffy white clouds. It reminded her of an old saying her Dad would tell her on the drive home from her Grandmother’s House.

‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.’ It had no significant meaning, he only said it to make her laugh and for some reason it always did.

They had been together for a few months by then, but it felt like forever to them.

The sun hit the pool opposite the memorial, the pink sky etched into the water as the sun made its daily descent. His cardigan was hooked over her shoulders and her hand wrapped up in his.

“Spencer?”

“Yes, my love.”

She smiled at the pet name. He never used them very often.

“Can we make a wish?”

“Always.” He began fishing in his pockets for loose change. Smiling, he handed her a quarter and kept one for himself.

“You know, throwing coins into fountains stems from the practice of presenting gifts to Gods to either appease the Gods, or as payment for a request or prayer. This can be seen as the earliest version of making a wish. European folklore, specifically Germanic and Celtic traditions, used the term wishing wells as offerings to their gods for water.”

She hummed in response, his lyrical voice calming her. She loved that he was an endless fountain of knowledge, she only wished she could give him something in return for all the little facts he gave her.

Closing her eyes, she tossed the quarter into the pool, wishing for the man beside her to remain there. Always. Watching her coin become smaller and smaller and sunk into the depths, she watched as he did the same. The ripples of his quarter disrupted the glass-like pool as it fell opposite to her coin.

Her laughter broke through the silence.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing, I’m just… really happy.”

He grinned, “Me too. Though, I must ask, what did you wish for?”

Smugly, she replied, “Now, if I tell you it won’t come true.” The twinkle in her eye told him all he needed to know.

The two walked on, arms intertwined as they walked to the music their laughs made mixed together.

She’d never admit to anyone but she wished he was the one.

Thinking back on that date, she now knows that wasn’t true.

“we were something, don’t you think so? rose flowing with your chosen family, and it would have been sweet.”

That night at Rossi’s was the last time she remembers being happy with him.

That was 4 months ago.

Pulling on that red dress that Spencer loved, she watched as JJ, Emily and Penelope got themselves ready. With Rossi’s dinner falling on the same night as their scheduled girl’s night, they had to compromise.

“Pen! You look beautiful!” Her friend truly was glowing, her dress a bright orange and her hair curled to perfection.

“Thank you, goddess divine, I must say red is truly your colour.”

“You’re too kind, Pen!”

She felt truly happy. Surrounded by her friends, they were more sisters than they would ever be work colleagues. They were each other’s biggest supporters, always there to lift each other up and help each other when things weren’t the best. Together they were one big chosen family. They were her safety blanket when things felt out of control.

Tonight is going to be good, she kept telling herself. She hadn’t seen Spence in a while, outside of work. They’ve been almost too busy to find a moment to just be with each other - no geographical profiling or paperwork. All they wanted was to be able to sit down and watch a movie, or an episode of Doctor Who without thinking of work or worrying about another urgent case.

Looking over at JJ, who looked radiant as ever, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming sense of belonging. JJ made everyone welcome, so did Pen. Something she never really found anywhere else, from school to her jobs before working for the BAU, and now she’s found that belonging she was so desperately searching for.

Emily was an enigma though. Her closest friend, they were both so similar. They failed to let most people in, but after years of holding those walls up they eventually have to come down or are broken down by someone else. They broke down each other’s walls. Emily was always there when she needed reassurance, and likewise although Emily rarely needed it.

She found all she dreamt of as a teenager; a chosen family. All of them were pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly together.

It was not secret by now that Rossi loved to cook, and that JJ would almost certainly go if there was a promise of wine. So dinner parties became a fixture every once and a while with Hotch at the helm of persuading and convincing Rossi to have another. It was always another opportunity to pick up a new recipe to try out at home for Jack.

Walking in, they were met with wolf whistles and compliments from Morgan (which was to be expected anyways) and a rare smile from Hotch. She was not anticipating Spencer to be there early but there he was.

He caught her eye as soon as she walked in, looking her up and down and giving her a shy smile.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself.” She replies, her eyes full of love and joy. “You look very handsome tonight.”

“Why, thank you. You look beautiful as always.”

Just a small compliment gives her butterflies. They’ve been together for over a year and have known each other for years yet it feels as though she’s a teenager every time he smiles; she’s taken back to the days of high school crushes, school dances and hearts in notebooks. She gives him a small thank you and her brightest smile as they wrap their arms around each other, taking in the other’s warmth. The only word she could use to describe the comfort of his embrace was home. She was home in his arms.

The night went on as it usually did; full of laughter, food and happiness. Memories they would all hold onto until they couldn’t anymore. It made their job easier to know that they could always find happiness within each other.

Out on the porch, everything was still, Spencer’s suit jacket was wrapped around her body. Everything about the night was perfect. To put it in the simplest terms, she was truly happy.

Falling asleep next to Spencer was the easiest part of her day, the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his soft breathing lulled her to sleep with the biggest smile on her face.

She had the one in her arms and she never intended to let him go. And neither did he.

Funny how life turns out.

“I persist and resist the temptation to ask you, if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?”

Throwing her work back down at the front door of her cold, lonely apartment was now routine. No more laughter walking into the threshold of her home, or the smell of freshly brewed coffee from his cup. Just loneliness.

Photos had been taken down, the memories too painful to walk by every day, and with nothing to replace them with, the tables, walls and fridge lay bare of any memory of what once was. Pulling out leftovers from last night’s dinner, she waits for the low ding of the microwave as she steps out of her shoes and jacket. Cooking, even three months on, is lonely now too since they used to do it together. But she supposes, they did everything else together too.

She opens another cheap bottle of wine. It’s Friday, Saturday can deal with her hangover.

Tucking her legs into her chest, she cradles the glass of wine in one hand. The orange glow of the streetlights below illuminate her living room. Staring out into the street, she feels it again. That aloneness. It comes and goes in waves, but like any wave when it hits you, it stuns you. It’s a cold and dark feeling. No longer does she feel the ghost of his arms wrapped around her at night, or the grip of his hand in hers. Now, there’s nothing.

Just her and what could have been.

She often asks herself that if things had been different, if they had just talked to one another, what would today have looked like. But then she thinks that’s no use, things would have stayed the same. She changed with the seasons, he didn’t.

Hindsight is a beautiful thing, but it can’t help her now.

She wonders about what he would change. If there was one thing that he would do differently. She also wonders about what he wouldn’t change and what he really wanted.

Did he ever dream of settling down someday? She was never one for a white picket fence life but he made her want it so desperately. Did he ever dream about seeing her in a white dress or running around a garden with a child? Did he ever think about what they would name their kids? Did he ever want any of that?

Sometimes she thought all he wanted was a constant until something better came along. Maybe, she thought, he believed that what they had was always going to be an end table. That one of them would give up and it would be over as soon as it started.

The red liquid swirled around the glass as she tried to resist the temptation to call him, to ask him these questions, to apologise. Finishing it off, she grabs her phone, unlocks it and clicks his contact.

She could never bring herself to change his contact photo. It was a picture of them back in August of last year. Sun-kissed with honeymoon love struck eyes, the photo still made her smile despite all the pain.

She let her finger hover over the button.

Maybe she would get her answers tonight.

#spencer reid #spencer #reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #reidxfolklore

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grandmother-goblin · 3 years

Text

Hangman’s Mercy

Chapter 1

Summary: After the war, Levi remembers how he fell in love with the executioner.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Canon-typical Violence, Decapitation, Suggestive Themes, Language, Period-typical Sexism.

On a summer morning, outside an oceanfront cafe, Levi longed for the executioner's embrace. Seagulls cawed on the distant beach and the gentle ocean breeze blew salty air over his steaming cup of tea. Chamomile; the executioner's favorite. Especially with a little honey after a stressful day. They spent countless nights together, sitting across a candlelit table when neither of them could sleep or in each other’s arms, with a hot pot of chamomile tea between them. God, he missed those days.

The chamomile tea at the Marelean cafe did not taste as sweet, even with honey. Maybe that was just because of the company. Not that Levi minded the overzealous journalist scribbling in his journal across from him. After all, he paid well, and it wasn’t like Levi had much to do after the war. Despite the massive loss of life, humanity trudged towards a new sense of normalcy only weeks later. Businesses had to continue, people needed a new sense of purpose or just a moment of peace, and society was never one to stay still. Levi still had to make a living in a world without titans, so when a fast-talking kid with a fire in his eyes offered to pay him for interviews he took the opportunity.

The young man, Marty Chase, tapped his pen against a pile of notes with a nervous energy. Levi took a few days to get to know Marty’s work before he agreed to a biography, and the kid checked out. Marty co-authored three bestsellers before the age of thirty, all biographies of Marelean warriors. Levi did not know any of the subjects, but he felt like he did after a few chapters into his works. How he wove together someone’s life with just interviews and notes, Levi did not know. Some sort of creative witchcraft he would never understand.

Marty flipped to a fresh page in his notebook and clicked his pen. “When I was listening back to our last session, you mentioned an executioner a couple of times. Tell me about that.”

“What about her?”

“Her?” Marty made a note and underlined the fact the executioner was a woman several times. He flipped back through his notes, finding some highlighted passages in the ink. “How did you know her?”

Steam rose from his teacup, and Levi watched as it disappeared into the wind. He hadn’t realized he mentioned the executioner enough during his interviews for Marty to take notice. In fact, he tried to leave the executioner out of it as much as he could. Those who read his biography wouldn’t give a damn about that. Why would they? They wanted to know about his military experience, his title of Humanity’s Strongest, about Eren Jaeger, the military coup, what he saw, and what he experienced. They wanted to know what his comrades could no longer share. Without bringing her into it, they could know all of that. Would she even want them to know?

Levi tasted the chamomile on his tongue and closed his eyes, wishing it was as sweet as he remembered on her lips. He could not ask her permission to share her part of the story. It was impossible. Levi turned the warm teacup in his hands and sighed.

“I almost asked her to marry me.”

The incessant pen clicking stopped. Marty stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape like a fish out of water. Marty dove into the fat briefcase he lugged around and retrieved that stupid little recording device. It was slightly bigger than a deck of cards with black casing and a roll of tape inside. “And you thought you could just leave out that teensy-weensy, tiny, detail?”

Levi shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d care about that.”

Marty rolled his eyes, as if Levi said something ridiculous, like cats could be herded or the moon didn’t exist. “This stuff is the heart of a good story, no pun intended,” he said. “You’re pretty extraordinary, Mr. Ackerman, no two ways about that. But, people like you seem so far out of reach to an average guy like me. What we need is something to reel you back in. Something to tell our audience, ‘hey, this guy is as human as he is amazing’, and what’s more human than romantic love?”

“Taking a shit?”

Marty set his pen on the table and eyed him like a disappointed teacher looking at the class clown. “If you really don’t think she’s important, you don’t have to tell me about her.”

“Don’t give me the guilt trip shit, Marty.” Levi finished his tea and set the empty cup at the edge of the iron bistro table. “You have plans today?”

“Not if you have a story to tell me.”

“Then get me another cup of tea. Lavender and bergamot, no sweetener.”

Marty beamed like Levi had offered a pot of gold instead of a day's worth of work. Though to Marty, those two were likely one and the same. His book about Reiner’s time in Paradis sold out in some of the biggest shops Marley offered. Well, Levi hoped the paycheck would be worth both of their time.

After Marty returned with the tea and a heart-attack inducing amount of coffee, he pressed the little red button on the side of his recording device. He leaned in close to the speaker and rattled off his typical prelude to the recording. “Levi Ackerman. Tape thirty-two. Who is the executioner?”

Levi sipped his fresh cup of tea, thankful for the bit of caffeine because he knew he’d be needing it. “Don’t turn my biography into a romance novel.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Ackerman,” Marty answered without missing a beat. He clicked his pen and tapped it against the first line in his notebook. “Now, tell me how you first met the executioner.”

Levi held his cup of tea just above the table, not sure if he was going to set it down or take another sip. He guessed he had nothing to lose by sharing their story. “Twenty-five years ago, I saw my first beheading. I was still just a kid scraping by in the Underground…”

Levi, a tiny, twelve-year-old piece of garbage, had only been on his own for a few weeks. Kenny taught him just enough to take care of himself and drop-kicked him from the relative safety of the nest to the dogs. With Kenny, awful as he was, Levi at least felt a sense of safety with an adult around. Once that was ripped from under him, it took him a while to regain his bearings.

The Sunday market was the perfect place to pick pockets and swipe valuables, whether they were from a vendor or a customer. The place was so crowded, a small kid like him could disappear in an instant. He just needed to find the right target. Ideally, someone who looked like they didn’t belong Underground. Someone who would be unused to the dim lighting, the stale air thick with the smell of smoke, and the echoing chatter of thousands of people crammed into one place. Few people from above ground went to the Sunday market, but there were enough to make them easy pickings.

On the outskirts of the market, right outside a general store where Kenny used to buy his liquor, sat a young girl atop some supply crates. One look at her, and Levi knew she was the perfect target. Clean clothes? Check. Shiny hair? Check. Dirt-free face? Check? Alone? Also check. The pretty, sun-kissed face was also a dead giveaway. The brown leather satchel on her lap, scratch-free with shiny copper buckles, would be a great steal. He just had to get a hold of it.

Levi smoothed his ratty, moth-bitten coat and checked his hair in a dusty shop window. Well, he did not look so bad that the girl would run away from him screaming. At least he hoped he didn’t. Not that he cared. Normally, he would go for a more covert approach, one where his target would never know he was there, but there was no way he could take the bag right off of her lap. He’d have to get her to put it down.

With his heart beating faster than a bat's wings, he approached the girl. When she smiled at him, his breath caught in his throat. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. He focused on the bag. Even if there was nothing good in there, the bag itself would be worth something, whether it be money or for his own use.

Unable to keep eye contact, he swallowed and looked at his shoes, restless fingers pulling at a loose thread in his pocket. “Hey,” he said, his voice breaking in a way that it hadn’t before. He cleared his throat and willed the heat from his face. What was wrong with him?

The girl leaned on her bag. “Hi,” she said with a pretty, white smile. “I like your haircut.”

His eyes widened at the unexpected compliment and the blush he swallowed before heat rushed right back to his face. Thank the walls the Underground was dark, because he was certain she would have laughed if she saw the color on his face. “Thanks, uhh—” he toyed with the thread in his pocket. “I, uh, like your face.” Stupid. Idiot. Maybe if he ran away right now, she would forget about the whole thing.

She covered her mouth when she giggled. It was the cutest thing he had ever heard. What the hell? Was this what Kenny meant when told Levi that girls would stop being gross one day? What a joke. A terrible, awful joke.

He needed to act fast. Plan A: get the girl to stand. Maybe she would put the bag down for a second, long enough for him to grab it and run. He scratched the back of his neck and eyed the crate she was sitting on. “I need to get to that box.”

“Oh.” The girl straightened, one hand still on her bag. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get in the way,” she said and pushed herself off the crates, her long green skirt billowing behind her. Unfortunately, she looped the handle around her forearm, keeping it close.

Well, that did not work. Time for Plan B. Levi looked over the crate and found a serial number. He pretended to examine it for a second before he turned back to the girl. “Can you help me move this?” he asked. “I think I need the one below it.”

Still smiling, the girl set her bag down and dusted her hands off on her skirt. “Sure. What should I do?”

Perfect. “Grab that side.” He pointed to the side of the crate furthest away from her bag. Without question, she tucked her fingers under one side of the crate while Levi lifted the other. Sure, he could have just snatched the bag while she had her back turned, but that was too risky. He wanted a little more of a head start before she followed him.

Levi lifted the top crate well off of the bottom one, and the little girl followed, shuffling her feet against the cobblestone. Her skinny arms strained and her cheeks colored with exertion. There was his chance.

His fingers released, and Levi’s end of the crate crashed into the ground. The girl faltered and Levi acted before the girl could even let go of her half of the crate. His deft hands swiped the bag as he darted past. Too easy. Way too easy. Levi couldn’t help but smile to himself as he swung the bag over his shoulder and the girl shouted after him. Levi circled around the edge of the market to put some distance between him and the girl before he ducked into the thick of the crowd.

In the bustling marketplace, Levi swung the bag onto his shoulder and blended in among the other patrons. No one gave him a second look, like he was just there for a bit of shopping, like everyone else. Easy, he thought to himself. Even if the bag had little in it, the bag itself was nice. Sturdy, with lots of pockets and a comfortable strap. Maybe he’d even keep it for himself instead of pawning it off.

When Levi ducked through a small crowd near a pastry stand, he felt a sudden tug at the back of his jacket. His collar caught his throat as he was yanked back, and a hand the size of his head gripped his shoulder like a vice.

“Say, my daughter has a bag just like that,” said a deep, gravelly voice as the grip on his shoulder tightened.

Levi felt like his heart had stopped. No. What were the fucking chances. The surrounding people started to take notice of the altercation and backed away. People in the Underground knew Levi through reputation alone, and he had taken on men twice his size more times than he could count. Too late not to cause a scene.

Levi grasped his knife and struck behind him, the blade making contact with the man’s flesh. The man groaned and Levi felt another hand on him as he was spun around. Levi’s heart jumped to his throat. This man wasn’t twice his size, he was even bigger. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought a titan had made it Underground.

Under a bushy red beard that surrounded his face like a lion’s mane, he smiled, a gold tooth front and center of his grin. Levi briefly wondered how much the tooth was worth before he felt his knife plucked from his hand.

“Get him, Ivor!” yelled someone in the crowd.

Another man shouted. “Teach that shit a lesson, hangman!”

The hangman. The fucking hangman. Levi felt his blood run cold as he stared up at the monstrous man. So he was the man Kenny would talk about when he got drunk. The one man that Kenny actually seemed to fear. Not because he thought Ivor would hunt him down, but because Ivor would be the one to carry out his sentence if he was ever tried for his crimes. Remembering the way Kenny described how the hangman would torture his victims before the execution made Levi’s stomach turn.

“I’m not going to fight a child,” Ivor called back to the crowd. “Piss off. You’re not getting a damn show, you buzzards.”

The crowd did not disperse as more insults and jeers were thrown the hangman’s way.

Ivor ignored the taunts. Instead, the hangman focused his pale blue eyes into Levi’s gray ones. “I made that bag for my daughter,” he said. “All it has in it is tea and bad handwritten poetry. I’d tell you to see for yourself, but she’d kill me if I let a stranger read her poems,” he added with a light chuckle.

“Let go of me.”

One hand tightened its grip while the other let go, giving Levi what was supposed to be a friendly pat. “Aye, can’t do that until I get that bag back, son.”

Levi tossed the bag on the ground. Whatever. He knew when to cut his losses. “Take it.”

Still not letting go of him, Ivor placed a boot on the bag strap, keeping it secure. “Thank you, my boy,” he boomed and ruffled Levi’s hair. Ivor knelt as close to Levi’s level as he could, his trench coat made of thick hide bunching up at his feet. He smelled of bergamot and lemon, like he had doused himself in perfumes. Something about Ivor contradicted all of Levi’s expectations: respected and ridiculed, fearsome and jovial, a killer with kind eyes. Despite the iron grip on his shoulder, the hangman seemed… almost nice? Much more tolerant than most of the folks Levi came across, and definitely more so than the ones who felt they were wronged. Blood soaked through Ivor’s pant leg where Levi had slashed his knife, but Ivor did not acknowledge it.

“Take this, boy,” he said in a rough voice barely above a whisper. Ivor reached into his pocket and pressed a small, yet heavy, bag of coins into Levi’s hands, doing his best to shield the transaction from the crowd. “Stay out of trouble. If you don’t, you’ll be seeing me again, boy. And next time, I won’t be so nice.”

Ivor picked up his daughter’s bag and finally released his hold on Levi, patting him on his certainly bruised shoulder. Levi stumbled back, reaching for the knife that was no longer there. Right. The hangman had tossed it aside. Levi pocketed the coins and stood his ground, waiting for an opening to grab his knife again.

Around them, the crowd booed. They hurled words not even Kenny would have used the hangman’s way, and he stood tall and proud, stoic as a statue. When a piece of rotten vegetable pelted Ivor’s coat, he brushed off with a laugh as people in the crowd continued to taunt and jeer. The hangman turned to look at Levi once more, before giving a subtle nod towards a break in the crowd. Levi swore he saw the man mouth the word ‘go’ from behind his massive beard.

“Thought you were going to give us a show, hangman!” a shrill woman shouted.

Ivor tossed the bag over his shoulder. “You’ll be getting a show tomorrow.” He spread his arms with all the showmanship of a magician. “Now stop gawking and do something with your miserable lives, you scabs!”

With a slight limp, Ivor turned into the crowd. Not really thinking, Levi picked his knife off the ground and ran the opposite direction. He did not know where he was going, just that he needed to get out of the marketplace and away from anyone who saw Ivor give him money. Maybe that was the man’s true intention: to put a target on Levi’s back with the cash rather than true altruism. Why else would he give a kid who just stabbed him a satchel full of coins?

The woman’s voice rang in his head. Give us a show, hangman! He was the fucking hangman, and Levi had robbed the hangman’s kid. Levi never felt so stupid in his life. The human embodiment of Death had Levi in his grip, at his mercy, and let him live.

With that gift, Levi ran and did not stop until he reached his lodgings. Levi locked the door behind him and slid to the floor to catch his breath.

When his breathing settled, he pulled the bag of coins out and counted them. More than he expected. A lot more. Enough to get him food for an entire month, or even longer if he planned right. Levi closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wooden door behind him. What the hell kind of person gave a piece of shit like him such a gift? Maybe Ivor had something wrong with him.

Despite how Levi never wanted to see the executioner again, Levi found himself drawn to the town square the following afternoon. He never watched an execution before, but he knew where they took place. The crowd made for good pickings, as those who came to watch were distracted by the morbid spectacle and alcohol. Levi always took his pickings and left before the cart with the condemned even made it to the podium.

There were no gallows for hanging, just a raised platform with a block of wood at the center. People gathered a healthy distance away from the platform. Out of the splash zone, as one man said. Levi did not want to think about how that distance was determined, and stood behind two larger men as a human shield. He could see the podium well enough between them, so long as they stood relatively still. It would have been so easy to swipe something right out of their pockets, but he resisted. It was a day for observation, and observation only. He didn’t know why, but he needed to see the executioner in action. He needed to know it was, in fact, the same man he met the day before.

Nothing he knew of the man, the little he did know, made any sense. Obviously respected, yet despised. A brute who didn’t flinch at a knife slicing his thigh and laughed off a jeering crowd. A man who made bags for his daughter, gave coins to a kid who stabbed him, and went off to kill a person the next day.

One man in front of him, with a stocky build and a mustache that looked like a push broom, puffed at his cigarette. “Any idea what this one did?”

His friend, a taller man with a ponytail, replied, “I heard she killed a few of her customers from the whore house. Poor bastards. Thought they were paying for a good time, then they’d get home and drop dead. Took them ages to find out why.”

“How many did she get?”

“At least twelve, from what I’ve heard.”

“Shit.” The mustached man tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boots. “Executioner will let us know.”

The man with a ponytail cocked his chin towards the main road. “Speak of the devil and he will come,” he said.

Far down the end of the main road, a draft horse pulled a rickety wagon fixed with a rusty iron cage. The giant, red-haired hangman sat at the front of the cart, his boxy gloved hands gripping the reins as he shouted at people to get out of the way. Beside him was the little girl from yesterday, hugging her precious bag.

“Can’t believe he’s training her,” Mustache Man muttered.

Ponytail shrugged. “Not like she has many other prospects,” he said. “Being the hangman’s kid, it’s not like men will be lining up for her. Hell, I don’t know if a whore house would take her.”

Mustache Man hummed thoughtfully and lit up another cigarette. “Poor kid.”

The wagon reached the podium and Ivor hauled himself down from the rider seat, the wagon creaking with the sudden loss of weight. Levi would not have been surprised if the ground shook when those massive boots hit the pavement like a fallen powder keg. Ivor turned back to the cart and gingerly lifted his daughter and set her down beside him. Without a word, the girl dug into her bag and passed a vial to her father before she went to the edge of the podium.

A man in a Military Police uniform lingered nearby. Probably acting as some sort of bailiff, Levi figured, judging by the official-looking documents clutched between his fingers. He ascended to the podium and shouted something to Ivor, who went to the back of the wagon.

A desperate wail echoed over the crowd when Ivor swung open the metal bars. A frail woman with her hands tied behind her back scrambled to the back of the wagon, sobbing and pleading. Her hair had been cut short, but Levi recognized her from the brothel as a woman his mother would sometimes talk to. Her name was Ada, if he remembered correctly, and she was almost unrecognizable between the haphazardly chopped hair and tear-stained face. Kicking at his meaty hands, squirming away from his vice-like grip, Ivor pulled her from the cart despite her best efforts.

Turning her away from the crowd, Ivor pinched her jaw and dumped the vial down her throat. He held her mouth shut until she swallowed as he whispered something in her ear. Sobbing, tears leaving salty streaks on her face and snot dripping from her nose, she stopped fighting him. Her shoulders slumped and her head hung like a rag doll, as if she had finally accepted what was coming to her. Guiding her by the back of the neck, Ivor led Ada up four wooden steps to the chopping block, his blocky hand grasping her arm when she tripped.

The crowd booed and jeered as Ivor pushed Ada to her knees in front of the block. She stared ahead, her eyes already dead and her body slumping to the side. Ivor righted her long enough to tie a blindfold over her eyes before she slumped over again. The man from the Military Police rang a bell to quiet the crowd. When the chatter and yelling subsided, he read the charges brought before Ada. Like the gentlemen in front of him had said, she had confessed to poisoning at least a dozen men, all of whom were prior customers of the brothel.

Once the charges had been read, Ivor pushed the woman down. With one massive hand on the back of her skull, he guided her neck, so it rested across the chopping block. The moment he let go, her head lolled to the side.

Releasing Ada to pick up the ax, Ivor watched as she slipped off the block completely. Her body curled up into itself like a frightened child, wetness seeping through her blindfold. He set the ax down on its head, holding it upright with one hand and motioning for his daughter with the other. The crowd grew quiet as the little girl joined him on the podium.

“Shit,” Ponytail drawled with more pity than Levi ever thought could fit into a curse word.

“Yeah,” Mustache Man agreed, forgetting the cigarette that burned between his finger tips.

Levi could not hear what Ivor said, but the girl nodded and knelt in front of Ada. Her small hands lifted Ada from beneath her jaw and pulled her back onto the chopping block. With Ada’s neck in place, the girl walked back on her knees as far away from the block as she could manage without letting go of Ada’s hair.

Ivor wrapped his bulking hands around the long handle of the ax and poised himself beside the block, waiting.

When the man from the Military Police gave the signal, Ivor hoisted the ax into the air and brought it down. Once, then once again, each strike accompanied by the thud of metal against flesh, wet plops of blood, and gasps of horror and cheers from the crowd. At least two people vomited at the sight and one man in the front row fainted.

Pale in the face and speckled with blood, the little girl detangled her fingers from Ada’s hair. Ada’s head rolled a few inches from where the girl had dropped it, blood staining the wooden podium in its path. The girl did not move until Ivor yanked her to her feet. Deaf to the audience, the little girl walked back to the cart as though she were drawn by a string and not of her own accord.

The man from the Military Police pronounced Ada dead as Ivor held up the still dripping head to the crowd. Levi’s stomach turned. For a moment, he thought he might join the people who lost their lunch at the sight, but he swallowed thickly and turned away. If he never saw either of them again, it would be too soon.

Twenty-five years later, and he still remembered that afternoon more clearly than he would have liked. It was not the most brutal death Levi had witnessed. Titans were plenty worse. Something else stood out about that one in particular, but Levi did not really know what. Even as he recounted the story to Marty, he could not say why the memory stuck with him so strongly.

Marty poured creamer into his coffee and paused the recording device. Quietly, he wrote a few notes while Levi finished his cup of tea. Even though Marty had listened to the very worst of Levi’s stories, it seemed the story about a little girl holding a severed head and struck him differently. The change in disposition only lasted long enough for Marty to finish writing his notes, the gears in his brain seemed to turn as he did so. Marty checked his recording device and looked up at Levi, intrigue written across his face.

Levi picked up one of the cranberry scones Marty ordered almost twenty minutes ago. “You’ve got questions.”

Marty tapped his pen. “I do,” he said. “But first, I want to hear what happened next.”

#attack on titan #aot #levi #levi ackerman #aot fanfiction

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krisdreaming · 5 years

Note

can i ask kuroo taking a drunk girl home (they don't know each other) and protecting her after seeing her being harassed by some guys in a bar or something? thanks! 💜 love your blog sm.

Yes, you totally can! I’m so weak for Kuroo if you haven’t already pieced that together, I’m writing this for me, too :’) Fem reader ahead!

“Leaving already?” Kuroo asks as Kai stands and grabs his coat from the back of his chair.

“Yup.” He shrugs apologetically. “The baby will be up at 6 am whether I’m ready to be or not, and I like to let Ikumi get as much sleep as she can. Maybe next time, we’ll have you guys over for dinner instead of meeting at a bar.” He grins. “We’re getting older, you know.”

Kuroo can’t deny that. At 25, it’s not much of a surprise to him or anyone else that Kai has been the first to settle down. Even so, they still find the time every few months to get together along with Yaku and hang out for the evening. It’s comfortable, and he really enjoys seeing his old friends.

He shakes his head. “Got that right. See ya around.” He lifts a hand in farewell.

“Yeah, Kuroo, I think I’m gonna head out too, actually.” Yaku stands up as well. “I promised Hinami I’d stop over at her place yet tonight, so…”

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” He waves his hand dismissively. “It was a great night, guys. We’ll plan something again soon.”

“For sure.” Kai grins. “Later!” He and Yaku leave the bar together, and Kuroo looks down at his half-full beer. It’s a Wednesday and there isn’t much going on around him, so he decides to take his time and finish his drink before heading back to his own apartment. There isn’t anyone waiting there for him, anyway.

It’s almost 11:00 when he finally steps outside, and the fall air definitely has a bite to it. He’s so focused on getting back to the warmth of his apartment that he almost doesn’t hear the conversation taking place a few feet away from him on the sidewalk.

“Hey, little lady. You got anything goin’ on tonight?” He freezes. It’s not hard to tell that the speaker is drunk. He’s leaning hard on his friend, who doesn’t look much better for wear. “We c’n show you a good time.”

“N-no. No thank you, I, no.” It’s pretty apparent that you’re drunk, too. They have you backed into a corner, and you’re shrinking into yourself. Your hands are lifted defensively in front of you.

“Aw, c’mon.” Now his friend speaks up. “We’re not far from here.” He reaches out and grabs your arm, and that’s when Kuroo finally shoves aside the voice that tells him to keep walking.

“‘Scuse me.” he draws to his full height, which is inches above either of your harassers, and turns in your direction. “I believe the lady said she’s not interested.”

“Back off.” One of the drunks hisses at him. “Mind yer own business.”

“Why don’t you let her mind hers?” Up close, he can see that you’re shaking. It dissolves some of his own fear. “Or your business might become my business.” He hopes the expression he’s making is menacing, because it feels more like a grimace.

“Alright, dude, just chill.” The first guy mutters, finally backing up and dragging his friend with him. When they’re finally gone, Kuroo turns his full attention to you.

“Are you alright?” At his words, you burst into tears, letting your face fall into your hands. “Ah.” He awkwardly pats your back. “Don’t worry. They’re gone.”

“I’m so sorry.” You blubber. “I should’ve never stayed this late.” It all starts to spill out. “I was supposed to meet this guy and he didn’t show, and so instead of going home like my roommate said I should, I decided to stay for a few more drinks anyway, cause like, why not?” You lift your hands in a helpless shrug, revealing your tear-stained face.

“Hey, it’s fine. Those guys were douche bags, but those types usually don’t put up too much of a fight.” For both of your sakes, Kuroo is glad that’s the case. “It’s over, so let’s just get you home. Lead the way.”

You open your mouth to protest, but something in his expression makes you close it again. For the first time, he realizes you’re only wearing a thin sweatshirt. “Didn’t you bring a jacket?”

You sniffle. “No.” You admit.

“Here.” He shrugs his off without a moment’s hesitation, wrapping it around your shoulders. The breeze finds its way quickly through the loose weave of his flannel shirt, but with your hands pulled up into the sleeves of his jacket, at least you will be a little warmer.

“I’m sorry. Thank you.” You whisper. “It’s… it’s just a few blocks this way.” You almost trip over your feet when you start walking, and immediately his hand is at your elbow. “Sorry.” You whisper again.

“Don’t worry about it.” For a few moments, the two of you walk in silence. At a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, he speaks up again. “That guy is a jerk.” You look up at him, confused. “The one who never showed up.”

“Ah.” You laugh weakly. “It was just some random tinder thing. I don’t even know why I’m on it, or why I even agreed to meet him.” You squeeze your fists around the fabric of his jacket. It has a nice smell to it. “Probably gonna go home and delete the app.” The light turns, and you make your way across the street.

“Probably a good plan.” Kuroo hums in agreement. For some reason, you feel your cheeks growing warmer than they’d been from the alcohol.

“Um, I’m just up here.” You gesture to your apartment building. A few more yards, and you’re there. “Th-thank you. Really. A lot.” You stutter, getting frustrated with yourself. You take a deep breath. “You didn’t have to help me, but I’m glad you did. I don’t know what I would have done-”

“It’s no big deal.” He cuts you off. You smile apologetically and shrug off his jacket, handing it back to him. “Um…” He rakes his hand through his hair, dipping his head. Suddenly, he feels a little bashful. “God, I hope this isn’t weird.” He fishes into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pen and his receipt from the bar, scribbling down his phone number before he can think better of it. “Give me a call if you ever need a body guard. Or coffee.”

“Okay.” You take the receipt and look down at his messy, firm script. The heat in your cheeks is definitely from more than the alcohol. “I will.” He turns to go before you can see the smile break across his face.

(I’ll die if someone requests a continuation……….. what who said that)

Part 2 is here

#Haikyuu #Haikyuu imagines #Kuroo Tetsurou #Kuroo Tetsurou x reader #Kuroo x reader #Haikyuu x reader #request #queued

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scribeofmorpheus · 4 years

Text

Chasing Tornadoes {2/6}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Series Warnings: poorly written medical procedural, mild delving into spirituality, language, overbearing egos, graphic descriptions of medical procedures. more warnings to be added. 18+ Generally, like my blog.

A/N: mention of/scenario depicting an anti-vaxxer situation.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Taglist is open -comment or send an ask!

<< Previously ○ Next >>

“Read ‘em and weep,” Marcy smacked her winning cards on the food tray for you to see. “Go fish!”

“Again?” you scrunched your nose as you gathered the cards on the tray and placed them onto the deck. “You sure you aren’t cheating?”

Marcy flashed her pearly whites at you through steady breaths. She was certainly enjoying the win, “Years of practice.”

She looked better today, less pasty, just as pale, but better. It was comforting to see her smile.

“One more game?” She asked with keen interest. You could tell she hoped you’d say yes.

“I already broke the rules smuggling this contraband for you,” you shook the cards then sighed, disappointed in the fact you had to let her down, “Besides, you have to rest, little missy.” You put the deck of cards in its box and then sealed it inside a ziplock bag.

“Rest is boring,” she huffed. “It’s all I do anyway.”

After stashing the cards in your lab coat, you tucked the blanket around her, “Well you need to keep up your strength for the transplant.”

An announcement sounded off from the PA speakers outside the room: “Mike Weschler to Observation Three. Mike Weschler to Observation Three.”

As if summoned by the devil, Mike knocked on the door to Marcy’s room. He nudged his head for you to go out, undoubtedly in too much of a rush to go through decontamination.

You held up a finger and mouthed: “One minute.”

Mike tapped his wrist like his watch was on.

You turned your attention back to Marcy, “I’ve gotta get back out there, but if you need anything...”

Marcy breathed shallow, turning on her side to stare at the wall, “I know.”

Quietly, you walked away, feeling there was nothing more you could say. You tapped the sanitiser dispenser and worked the clear gel all over your hands once you left the sealed room.

Mike shoved his hands in his white coat, “You got a sec?”

“Hey to you too,” you folded your arms. “What is it?”

“Kids,” Mike’s eyes went large as if he’d seen a ghost, a comical shudder followed suit.

You rolled your eyes, “Lead the way.”

The hospital was calmer the day after the tornado struck. Still buzzing with adrenaline-fuelled fellows and tired residents, only now there were more white coats around. More senior staff relieved the stressful work load. Their presence had helped ease the minds of the younger staff members, allowing them more moments to sneak up to the roof for a smoke or time to themselves.

Even though the rooms were as full as the day the tornado struck, the brunt of the more serious cases were moved to the hospital in the town over.

Mike’s hair was dishevelled, a sign of poor sleep.

“Here we are,” he opened the door to Observation Three and waited for you to enter first before grabbing a clipboard.

There was a family of four all huddled together. Of the two children, the oldest –a teenager by the looks of it– was hunching over the edge of the examination bed. The mother was busying herself by wiping down every surface with disinfectant wipes. The father was less on edge.

“Hello, I’m Dr Mike Weschler, this here is my colleague,” Mike droned with no emotion in his voice. He flipped through the clipboard quickly before clearing his throat, not bothering to look up. “Persistent headache,” he mumbled to himself. Then he grabbed his pen and started filling in the form, “Any other symptoms?”

The father leaned closer, as if his voice would take less time to reach Mike if he closed in their distance. “He’s had a fever, and yesterday he threw up twice.”

“Did you try Paracetamol or Ibuprofen for the fever?” Mike said.

The mother eyed him coldly, “We gave him cold medicine, didn’t work. That’s why we’re here.”

Mike scratched his nose, picking up on the mother’s condescending tone. The nib of his pen pressing into the paper harder. The scratching noise of his writing more pronounced.

“What’s our patient’s name?” You interjected as you looked over the teenager’s features and instantly noticed the redness around his eyes, pale skin and shiny forehead. Though that last observation could simply be a dermatological issue like oily skin.

The teenager stayed silent, waiting for one of his parent’s to answer.

“His name’s Noah,” the mother said, a seriousness to her demeanour. From her attire, you assumed she’d be an academic or a teacher.

“Hello, Noah. I’m Dr Y/N. Do you mind if I take a look?”

He shook his head.

An introvert, you thought. You could relate.

You felt under his jaw for any swelling. Then you tilted his head side to side. He winced.

“Stiff?” You asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” He answered.

“Anyone you know exhibiting similar symptoms –maybe from school or around–?” Mike asked the room.

“Not that we know of,” the mother replied.

Mike inhaled, “Go anywhere outside your usual routine?”

The mother spoke more sharply, “No.”

You fished out your otoscope and looked into his ears. You sighed in thought. “We’re going to have to run bloodwork, check for cultures.”

The father stammered, “Y-you don’t think it’s…meningitis do you?”

Mike answered matter-of-factly, “Fever, headache and neck stiffness. It is a possibility.”

You put on your soft, calming voice, “But, it could also be a common cold. We’ll know more once the tests come back.”

The mother shuffled on her feet, nose high in the air, “And how long do we have to wait?” She wasn’t comfortable in the hospital.

Mike held the clipboard behind his back and plastered on a straight-lined smile, “I’ll get right on it.”

“Excuse us,” you dragged Mike out of the room by his lanyard, discretely. When you were both out of earshot you gave him a tongue lashing. “Show a bit more empathy, Mike. Those parents are probably worried sick.”

“It’s always the parents,” Mike scoffed. “Ironically, when I told my dad I was going into medicine, he suggested paediatrics,” He worked his jaw till it turned red.

Suddenly, Stephen appeared from behind a corner, hands in his pockets, seemingly with nothing to do. He picked up his pace when he saw you.

The clipboard was snatched out of Mike’s hands. Stephen read over the notes and asked: “Have you ordered a blood workup?”

Mike sighed, “It’s on my to-do list.”

“Must be a long list,” Stephen condescended.

“Longer than yours, by the looks of it,” Mike send behind clenched teeth.

Stephen rose a brow and tilted his head to the side. He handed the clipboard back.

The air between then was as prickly as the first time they’d met. Mike was trying his hardest to keep things civil between them. Stephen liked pushing that particular envelope. You imagined it gave him something to occupy his time. Being referee was going to grow old very quick. You could feel it.

Thankfully, Arlene jogged up to just in time to shift the mood. She handed you a tablet, “Hey…Uh, Dr Weisz put me in charge of doing the drive roster. I need at least two senior medical staff to supervise. I asked Dr Sanje and Dr Cho, but they’re swamped.”

Mike groaned, “Nope, I’ve had enough of kids for today.” He walked away.

“Mike, where are you going?” You called after him

He raised the clipboard in the air, “To exercise my empathetic muscles.”

“Drive?” Stephen looked over at Arlene, his height and hooded gaze made her wring her wrists anxiously.

Her voice went several octaves softer, “F-flu sh-shots. The hospital sends out a van to the school district each season.”

“Wow, you really do that?” Stephen sounded surprised. “And you guys sign up for this?”

You signed two names on the roster, “You’re not at Met Gen anymore, Stephen. We do things differently here.”

Arlene accepted the tablet with a nod and hurried on her way. You turned to Stephen and asked: “Do you have any patients?”

“Not many in need of brain surgery here,” he sounded almost wistful.

“Good,” you smirked. A mischievous twinkle in your eye. “How are you with kids?”

You started heading down the hallway.

“Terrible,” Stephen followed, looking particularly perplexed by the question. “Why?”

You held back your need to laugh.

“So this is why you asked,” Stephen folded his hands over his chest, looking down at you as though you were the devil himself. He wasn’t at all thrilled about the fact you had dragged him away from the hospital to give out flu shots at a school.

“The alternative would’ve been babysitting,” you poked fun at him. “And my Spike has a tendency to bite strange men.”

“You have a kid?” Stephen was taken aback.

You bit back a laugh, letting Stephen do a little mental gymnastics as you walked away.

He was ridged and out of his element around the kids. It was the first time his larger than life personality seemed grounded, awkward. You loved every moment of it.

“This is a seasonal occurrence?” Stephen asked with a hint of exasperation in his tone.

The two of you were seated on a bench in the cafeteria while you waited for the other Fellows and Interns to clear up the equipment. A small juice box was held between Stephen’s palms. His long fingers appeared cartoonishly large holding the small juice box.

“What Met Gen never ask you to give out shots?” you asked rhetorically.

His brow had been furrowed the entire time, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” You popped the lid off your yoghurt drink.

“Work here. Live here,” He shook his head, confounded by it all. “All those years of medical training to wind up here? In a town that’s so…predictable?”

You let out a slow breath, feeling somewhat insulted. “I used to work in the city. I was raised in the city, actually.”

“And you left, willingly?” Stephen guffawed.

“When I first got here, Dr Weisz said that this wasn’t a place for those who wanted to make a name for themselves –to spread their wings. She told me this is where we perch,” you took a long gulp of your drink.

Stephen ruffled his professionally styled hair, “And what’s that supposed to mean? That this is where your career comes to die?”

“That this isn’t a place that puts ambition before practice. Not everyone in this field is in it for the fame.” Your words came off accusatory.

Stephen picked up on the fact he had offended you. You closed the lid on your drink a little too tight. The ridges of the cap burning your palm. Stephen didn’t apologise, he just looked elsewhere as if pondering life’s mysteries. That annoyed you even further.

What did Christine see in him? You wondered.

“Help!” A teacher burst into the cafeteria in a panic, arm pointing behind her. “Earl–one of our staff members–he just collapsed!”

You and Stephen shot up, taking an emergency kit with you.

The man, Earl, was lying on the ground, unresponsive.

“Any medical history we should be aware of?” you asked the woman who led you to Earl.

“I- N-n… I don’t…” She shook.

Stephen got to him before you did. He checked his respiratory rate and pulse like it was second nature, counting the beats with the ticking of the second’s hand on his expensive watch.

“Unresponsive,” Stephen said. “Get the tube, I’ll begin chest compressions.”

You looked over at the unresponsive man, methodically weighing the options. The amount of time it would take you to unpack the tube, get it into his airways, attach the pump and begin to force air into his airways… You didn’t linger on it, it was best to get him breathing now.

Without warning, you leaned over, pinched the man’s nose and began mouth to mouth.

Stephen lost his cool, “What are you--?”

“Begin chest compressions,” you ordered, ignoring Stephen’s glare.

The two of you worked together, no need for extra words. In tandem, you were like a muscle unit. When you contracted he relaxed. And vice versa.

Finally, after more compressions than you would’ve liked to wait through, Earl coughed and groaned to consciousness.

“Wha- happ’n’d?” Earl slurred his words.

“Welcome back,” you flopped back onto the floor, wiping sweat from your brow. “Come on, buddy. You’re coming with us to get a check-up.”

The grey haired man gave no fuss, he got up on wobbly feet, aided by Stephen and said: “Yes, ma’am.”

A beeping sound went off as you helped Earl into the back of an ambulance. Stephen had been uncharacteristically quiet since the whole thing went down. You chalked it up to wounded pride.

The car ride had been uncomfortable. Neither of you said a word to one another. Even if it was wounded pride, he was blowing things way out of proportion.

You wheeled Earl into the hospital with the help of the paramedics, “Sixty-five-year-old male, collapsed from unknown reasons. Slurred speech and incoherence. Had to perform CPR on sight.”

“Earl?” Jan recognised the man.

You walked over to her desk, “Know him?”

“Yeah, my son’s history teacher. Think he has a heart problem,” Jan said.

“Possible heart failure!” You shouted after the residents. One of them nodded in response.

“Why’s he so sour?” Jan looked over at Stephen.

“That’s what I wanna know,” you huffed.

You pulled Stephen aside.

“What’s the matter with you?” you whispered.

He flexed his jaw muscles, eyes growing smaller and he leaned down to speak in a careful tone, “I specifically told you to use the tube.”

“It would have taken too long,” you protested.

“Do you know why I specifically asked you to use the tube?”

You bit your lip, “No, why?”

“Because of Mike’s patient. He’s a teenage kid exhibiting symptoms of either bacterial or viral infection, possibly contagious. There’s a high chance he goes to that school. You could have exposed yourself to a contagion,” he made sure to stress his words so they fell like bricks rather than cards. “But then again, what do I know, since I’m just in it for the fame. Right?”

He was right. Damn him, but he was right. You had thought only of the patient, not the environment.

You couldn’t find anything else to say. Stephen pinched his nose bridge and strode away. The temple on his forehead was throbbing.

And then the second wave hit as soon as you walked into the main wing.

“Do you know how irresponsible this is? It’s not just your kids that are put at risk by this,” Mike held his hands on his hips, stance wide. He was in a heated conversation with the parents from earlier. Noah’s parents.

Stephen caught wind of the commotion and butted in, “What’s the issue?–Observation Three, isn’t it?–I’m guessing you got the tests back?”

“Sure did,” Mike sucked in air through his teeth and handed the chart to Stephen.

“Type B…” Stephen sounded worried. “Why wasn’t he immunised?”

“They chose not to,” Mike waved his hand at the parents.

You were about to play referee again, only this time it seemed Stephen and Mike were both on the same offensive team while the parents held their defensive position.

Stephen straightened his back and somehow he appeared taller, intimidating. His professional face was on, and he instantly began barking orders, “Mike, there’s a patient we just brought in, elderly man, mid 60’s, possible heart condition. Make sure they run a blood screen on him too in case this isn’t an isolated incident. Has the CDC been informed?”

“Dr Weisz is making that call now,” Mike sounded defeated.

“Make sure the kid gets a chest x-ray and do cultures for the parents and younger sibling too. Oh, and inform the school,” Stephen grabbed your elbow and led you away from the crowd. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“An isolation unite. Noah tested positive for Influenza B.”

You swallowed.

The testing took a few hours and four Sudoku games before your results came back. Stephen walked into your isolated unit without taking the necessary precautions.

It was good news then.

You sighed in relief.

Stephen hadn’t cooled off yet.

“Lab work came back negative,” Stephen kept both hands in his pockets. “Turns out Earl had a pacemaker installed a year ago. It’s been giving him some trouble for a while. He didn’t come in due to insurance issues.”

“And Noah?” you asked.

“Antibiotics seem to be working. Caught it early enough. He’ll be fine. School only had one other case to report.”¨

There was a beat of silence. Then you decided to bite the bullet, guilt gnawing at your gut.

“Listen, Strange, I wanted to app—”

“You should get some rest,” Stephen cut you short.

You weren’t going to leave until you said your piece. Otherwise you’d toss and turn all night, “But first let me—”

He was avoiding your gaze, “I should go and check on Earl.”

“Stephen!”

He stopped.

You realised, just then, that that was the first time you’d called him by his first name. It felt…personal. No longer simply professional.

He turned to look at you, slowly.

“I—I’m sorr—”

“I was wrong,” he said suddenly. “This town. It’s not as predictable as I thought. It appears there are still some things that can surprise me.”

Did Strange –Stephen! – Just admit he was wrong?

You were stunned, pleasantly so.

Before you could think to say something else, he was gone.

To be continued...

#doctor strange #stephen strange #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x you #reader insert #benedict cumberbatch #marvel #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange/reader

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thegodshavehorns · 4 years

Text

A Study in Maltheism

Atheos: Greek. Meaning “Rejecting the gods, rejected by the gods, godforsaken.” From which we derive the modern “atheist.”

“This world could not have been the work of all-loving beings, but that of devils, who had brought creatures into existence in order to delight in the sight of their sufferings.”

- Freddie Mercury, probably

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are the most-hated student to ever blight the halls of Our Lady Who Is Without Mother or Father Academy for Girls—or Our Lady Without, for a title that’s less of a mouthful. Those less well-read in theology are sometimes confused by the school's name, since the Book of the Zodiac teaches that all the gods are motherless and fatherless. However, the Seer of Mind, patron goddess of the Academy, is considered an orphan in a more ecclesiastically profound way than the others, although you're not sure why. Regardless, you can safely say that you spend the majority of your time at this prestigious institution in the engaging study of just what it is that you have to do before the administration has no choice but to expel you.

As of yet all of your efforts have been fruitless. Your blasted mother is far too influential of a figure for anyone here at the school to want to cross her. She is an alumnus of the school herself, an orphan girl who went on to take her higher education at the Canon Order of She Who Measures, and now she is a high-ranking admin for SkaiaNet Laboratories, which everybody knows—but nobody says—carries out research for the gods.

She is, for all intents and purposes, untouchable, and she has made it clear on other occasions that she intends for you to finish out your education here no matter what you do. Even if you should manage to burn the whole campus down, you would no doubt spend the rest of your childhood in some solitary schoolfeeding cell but you would still get your education. This came much to the disappointment of the principal, who once slipped you a box of matches during a parent-teacher conference when your mother caught the action and told you both that it would do no good.

You and the principal don't exactly like each other, but common goals have a way of making allies out of the blackest enemies. Not that you’re actually black for her, of course. Even if you were so... affected by the gods, you’re sure that you wouldn’t be directing caliginous feelings in her direction. Or anyone’s, really. You think that you'd deny yourself a kismesis just to spite the gods.

That kind of attitude is exactly why you’re in detention, of course. You wrote an admittedly scathing essay, well-constructed and thoroughly-argued, that couldn’t have been more scandalous had you named it Ninety-Five Proofs that the Teachers Are Engaging in Lewd Acts with the Students, with Details of Their Exact Activities and nailed the pages to somebody’s door.

Actually, now that you think about it, that doesn’t sound half-bad for Round Two, and you get out your pen and paper to begin drafting an outline when there is a crackle over the intercom. You ignore it, more interested in your burgeoning next project—you’ll have to make some adaptations to account for the switched sexes, but you think that you’ll be able to draw on some material from your last creative piece, The Circle of the Sword, whose sleaziness was matched only by its blasphemousness. It was about an all-boys school, and one for wizards, but you can fix those details. It helps that you were inspired by some of your peers at Our Lady Without to begin with.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear your name through the speaker, spoken in a uncharacteristically tight and anxious tone, and look up.

"-TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. I REPEAT, MISS LALONDE, DO NOT KEEP HIM WAITING."

...Odd. You haven't done anything new that is worth calling you to the principal's office. And who is 'him?' Still, hope springs eternal, in this case hope of being expelled, so you sigh and pack your things up to go to visit the principal. You know the way there by heart.

The principal's door at the end of the well-trodden corridor is ornate and heavy, but it swings open while you are still several feet away, revealing Principal Garland, her forehead shiny with perspiration and her eyes looking half-crazed. "Finally, you're here. Come in, Lalonde." The principal reaches out for you, and lips curl into a fearful smile as she looks over her shoulder. "She's here, my Prince."

Prince? Curious, you peer around Principal Garland to see who it could possibly be, and your bookbag drops from your hands.

You are so, so dead.

You haven’t seen a god before in person, only a recording of a speech by the Mage at one of your mother's work functions, but you still don’t need to think about it to realize who’s standing in front of you. Despite your best efforts, the school’s theology lessons and your mother’s own drunken rants and recollections have sunk deep into your mind, and his names and titles start spilling into your awareness almost by reflex. Standing there, casually leaning against Principal Garland's desk, is The Stormcrow, He Who is the Evening and the Morning, The Aquatic, The White, Thrice-Formed Eridan Ampora.

And though your lizard brain wants to vault out the window and run for the hills, you manage to stay calm. You compose your face. You quiet your mind, as you learned to do in morning meditation. If you mess this up you won’t get a second chance. There’s a reason they call this one The Wrathful.

You stand there, bookbag at your feet, and keep your voice as steady as you can. “Hello, Prince of Hope. To what do I owe this honor?”

He scoffs in your face. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Rose Lalonde. That’s not you at all.”

He's not wearing his god-hood. You know from your mother that most of them hate that kind of formal and ritual attire. Instead he is dressed in the most ridiculous and ostentatious get-up that your eyes have ever suffered to behold. You know for a fact that he doesn’t need those glasses, much less a slightly-cracked set, and his yellow-and-white scarf is almost longer than he is. Emblazoned on his frilly purple shirt is the Aspect of three sets of stylized, curling wings, the symbol of his divinity.

You feel the blood drain out of your face, because you just noticed what he’s holding. It's a stapled sheaf of paper, and it has your name, signed in your distinctive loops, across the top.

Principal Garland drags you into the room, your mind reeling and your every instinct screaming to run, not to go closer. How did he get your essay? Did...did the school send it to him? Why, why would they—

"Lisa," he says, and it takes you a moment to realize he's addressing the principal. "You can go, now."

Principal Garland gapes at him, mouth flopping open like a fish. "I, this is... Yes, sir." She bows stiffly, then straightens and leaves, but before she shuts the door behind her she spares you a single look of pity.

You are now trapped in the principal's office with one of the most feared of the gods.

“I read your paper,” he says. "I liked it. Every last word.” And then he flips through the pages and begins to read from one of them. “As was well-said by John K. Roth, ‘Everythin' hinges on the proposition that the gods possess—but fail to use well enough—the power to intervene decisively at any moment to make history’s course less wasteful. Thus, in spite and because of their sovereignty, these gods are everlastingly guilty and the degrees run from gross negligence to mass murder.”

He smiles, teeth sharp, and you want to run away. Maybe...maybe if you throw something, if you distract him, you might be able to get past him, away from him and the school both. Run away, change your name, never think too hard when the gods are present in your mind… They’re not omniscient. You could do it.

But all your plans fall apart and you can only stare in horror as he continues to read, at first pacing back and forth, then walking behind Principal Garland's desk and sitting in her chair. “The gods, those Supreme Fascists, as Paul Erdos called them, are nothin' more than despots and liars. They are powerful, but Euthyphro demonstrated that power alone does not a god make. They made the universe, but like a clockwork device it now runs on its own, and by their own admission it would continue to function without their interference. They are landlords who charge too much rent, they are authors who don’t know that they should step back and let their work speak for itself. They are not inherently good, as anyone can realize after thirty seconds of meditation on the Dark Carnivale, and they are not worth worshippin'.”

Shit. The gods don’t make a habit of killing heretics, but…sometimes there are deaths. Sometimes they make exceptions to their unspoken rule.

You swallow, and glance around the room again for anything you could use as a weapon or distraction. Certificates of scholarly excellence? The landline phone? A lamp? At least you have the desk between you and him, but—

“Breathe,” he says, but you barely register the sounds. “I said to fuckin' breathe,” he says again, and your frantic thoughts are swept aside by violet. You’ve never heard the Tinge before, but you understand it now, how deeply it cuts to your core. The purple in his words is like nothing you have ever experienced, and all of a sudden you could not deny, even if you wanted to, that what is talking to you possesses a wholly different nature than your own. You take a deep, shuddering breath. “There you go. Much better, Rose. Your mother raised you wwell.”

You are such a mess. You would have liked to have at least died with dignity, but no. You sit down in one of the upholstered chairs reserved for prospective parents and turn away, hyperventilating.

“You seem to be missin' the part where I said that I liked this.”

“You are as c-capable of sarcasm as the rest of us,” you reply.

“You’re thinkin' a' Sollux. I guess I can dally in it once in a while too, but I don’t deal in lies.

You know that. I particularly liked the part where you deconstructed Richard Dawkins, by the way. Sometimes I wish we could pick our theologians, but we try not to interfere that much.”

“Then what d-do you want with me?”

“I want to take you under my thrice-formed wings,” Eridan says, opening his arms and gesturing grandly. “You’re a very special girl, Rose. I don’t make a big deal out of it, but people like you are my soldiers. There’s more to this game than you know, but you and I, our job is the same— we tell the gods when they’re fuckin' up.”

“So… I’m not going to die?” You're special? And not only is he not going to punish you for your heresy, but he's going to reward you? It seems too good to be true.

He smiles and shakes his head, steepling his fingers. “I’ll bet you’re tired a' this school. Am I right?” You nod vigorously, and he continues. “I can teach you more than these schoolmarms ever dreamed of, if you want.”

Ah, there's the catch. “You want me to be a disciple. Like my mother.”

“Consider it a partnership, more. Even the scientists and the teachers, they look up to me.” He stands and leans forward over the desk, suddenly taller than seems natural. He looks you square in the eyes, pink meeting purple. “But I want somebody to look at me. Keep me honest, as I do for the other gods. I’ll teach you everythin' I know, just as fast as you can take it in, and in return you promise to speak your mind about it all.”

Eridan looks away, and you blink. You hadn’t realized how hypnotic his gaze had been until he was no longer fixing you with it. You close your eyes and breathe, the deep violet afterimage still dancing behind your eyelids.

When you look back up, he's at the door. “Just consider it,” he says, and then he leaves you to your thoughts.

#rose lalonde #eridan ampora #first meetings #our lady without academy #homestuck #fanfiction #revised #godstuck fic

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txtdiaries · 5 years

Text

Momentum - Chapter Two

SUMMARY | You don’t know what to expect during your first ever date with the boy of your dreams, but as the night goes on and things start to fall into place almost effortlessly, you realize one thing and one thing only about Choi Soobin - he is perfect for you.

PAIRING | Soobin X Reader

CATEGORY | college au, crush, slow burn, sports, date night, etc.

WORD COUNT | 7.9k

WARNINGS | swearing, fluff galore

SONG REC | Two More Minutes - Jaymes Young

PLAYLIST | momentum playlist

Preview / Chapter One / Chapter Two

Your eyes scan the football field, searching for the only jersey with the number 8 etched into the back of it as your feet carry you across the damp turf. You notice the group of players huddled up a few yards away as you get closer, and you make sure to skew from the coach’s line of sight - not wanting to draw attention to yourself in the process.

Regardless of it being almost seven at night, the sun still hasn’t fully set, and the sky is radiating a slightly darkened blue color. You take a moment to skim over the players again, eyes finally focusing on one specifically when they find the tallest boy amid the group.

Soobin is always easy to find.

He’s adorning his black and white football uniform, paired with his cleats and black knee socks, and a checkered sweatband is wrapped around his wrist to finish off his practice attire. You take note of the way your chest squeezes once he grins at something another one of his teammates says, and quickly shake your head to somehow shake the feeling off.

You notice how Soobin’s helmet dangles from in between his fingers as you get closer - having been taken off only moments before - and how his black hair is matted down; clinging against his forehead and neck. His glasses are nowhere to be seen, and seeing him without them sends butterflies erupting in your stomach. The number on his back - Soobin’s famous number - beams proudly under the fluorescent lights dotted around the edges of the field, and you take a second to mull over the nickname he’s carried since freshman year to now. The unforgettable nickname that’s been his, and only his, since the first game of the season, two years ago.

The golden infinity, he had been labeled, since Soobin is supposedly the best in everyone’s eyes, and always will be. You can’t exactly blame them for thinking so. Soobin is the best of the best - you just can’t help but wonder if he sees himself this way too.

You know better than to think so.

After a few moments of shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you clear your throat; causing a few eyes to look your way. You don’t actually know that many of the boys on the football team. You only recognize a cute boy named Hyunjin, who has Math with you, and another boy named Mark.

You’re familiar with Mark. Not only because he’s popular and the football team’s star quarterback, but because he hit on you in English class last week. You avoid his burning stare instantly

“Yo, infinity,” Mark interrupts the coach’s light speal about the game-plan review for next week and looks over toward Soobin. He snaps his head in Mark’s direction at the mention of his name and his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Your girlfriend is here.”

Your heart lurches in your chest after the words are said, and you watch as Soobin’s cheeks burn suddenly when Mark motions towards you. He quickly looks over with a light chuckle before his gaze lands on you. Your eyes widen as they flash over Mark before meeting Soobin’s again. He only grins at this.

You don’t actually know how Mark knows you’re there for Soobin, but you quickly gather that he had to have told some of his friends he had a date. Teammates or not, word spreads fast amongst jocks. Soobin is clearly no exception.

The coach finishes his speech and the players all break, half of them barely paying attention anyway as he tries to keep everyone’s energy up for the next game. Soobin shoves Mark’s shoulder amidst the chaos, and then moves quickly to grab his bag and walk over to your spot near the bench, a shy grin adorning his face as he does so. You fight to hold one back as well.

“Hey, sorry for having you come all the way here. Practice ran over.”

You shrug lightheartedly, “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

His dimple carves it’s place into his cheek, and you feel yourself smile back at Soobin, heart rate accelerating.

“Alright. We can head back to my dorm just so I can get out of these clothes and then we can head out, sound good?”

You nod as if you aren’t spiked with anxiety, because you’re really about to go to the Choi Soobin’s dorm room. You try not to overthink the situation, and then follow him off the field and onto the sidewalk, walking towards the student housing buildings quickly.

Soobin keeps you both occupied as you make your way east of the football field - asking you about your classes, how your day was going, and just about everything in between. You can sense his nerves as you two speak, but try to relax. After all, it is just Soobin.

“My roommate shouldn’t be back yet, he had a test to study for.” Soobin explains once you two finally reach his dorm and stand in front of his room. He fishes a pair of keys from his black duffel bag and slides a small silver one into the lock, twisting lightly before pushing the door open. It’s one of the most mundane things ever - but it brings a blush to your cheeks.

Get it together, you tell yourself.

You walk in behind Soobin and watch as he carelessly tosses his items aside and onto the floor near his bed. You avert your eyes after he opens one of his dresser drawers, not wanting to seem nosy before your eyes start to wander around the room, studying it curiously.

Soobin’s roommate truly is nowhere to be seen, but his side of the room is so messy, you wouldn’t be surprised if he happened to be buried somewhere under all the laundry on the ground. His side of the room is far less organized, so you don’t pay much attention to it.

Soobin’s half, on the other hand, is practically spotless.

His bed is made, adorn with black bedsheets and matching pillows. He has a small bunny plushy propped up against one pillow, and you grin when you see it. Colorful throw pillows and even a small fluffy blanket are the only colorful items occupying the bed, making it look extremely comfortable along with welcoming. Your heart warms at Soobin’s possessions.

His laptop sits closed on his desk in the corner, and a pair of speakers sit on each side of it, turned off. Textbooks are lined up neatly on his long shelf just above, and his black backpack rests on the chair just next to it. Soobin doesn’t have a lot of space for his things, but from what you can see, everything on his side is just purely Soobin. From his bottled cologne resting on his shelf, or his glasses resting on the Algebra book laid open on his bed. Small details of him lie right in front of your eyes, and you take note of all of them.

The packet of unopened ramen noodles near his books, most likely for late night snacking. His pencil case shoved to the brim with different colored pens and highlighters for the hours he undoubtedly spends studying. Even the black journal you see peeking out from under his pillow, and the romance novel he strategically has shoved next to a science textbook on his desk, these small things hidden by others, almost as if he doesn’t want to be completely and fully exposed - even in his own bedroom. It all comes together perfectly.

You know right here and now - you really like Soobin.

“I’m sorry it’s kinda messy.” Soobin speaks up as he pulls out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, leaning over to swipe his glasses of the book before looking down at you bashfully.

You smile up at him, “You gotta stop apologizing so much. It’s not messy at all.”

He chuckles lowly at this before shaking his head.

“You can sit down if you want, I’ll just be a minute.”

You tuck some hair behind your ear and nod, moving to sit on his bed as he makes his way to the door again. Your stomach flips at the thought of being alone in Soobin’s room - almost like you shouldn’t be here at all. Like it’s his sacred place you shouldn’t have invaded in the first place. With your thoughts running and your eyes wandering again, Soobin steps out, closing the door behind him.

Your phone buzzes instantly - almost as if it was waiting for him to leave.

You pull it from your back pocket in confusion, eyes scanning over the text you see as soon as you do.

HOW’S IT GOING? - Junie

The text sent in all caps stares back at you in all its glory, and you laugh at Yeonjun’s excitement. You thumb back a reply easily.

I’m literally in his dorm room right now - send help.

You lock your screen and pocket the device again, fingers drumming against your knee in boredom. You don’t want to inspect every inch of the room, because that would be weird, so instead you stand and peer at Soobin’s book collection, trying to see if you have any of the same ones.

You can’t remember if Soobin is a literature major or a communication major, and your memory flashes as you swiftly recall that he had switched from one to the other. The only reason you know this is because Yeonjun, ironically, had a mutual friend with Soobin, and they had seen him leaving the Advising Center one sunny day last semester. After his friend Beomgyu, Yeonjun had later filled you in on his name, saw him, they chatted for a bit with Yeonjun right there. Although he couldn’t remember any of the most pressing details - you were lucky, and a little shocked, to get any at all. Besides, Soobin was just a casual crush you had - a boy you blushed and hid from whenever you saw him crossing campus - it almost felt weird to be informed of these things when you didn’t really know him in the first place.

Until now. Now, you were getting there.

After your eyes scan over his Digital Communication book and his Human Relations book, you safely decide that he was in fact a COMM major. You can’t help as your mind starts to wander, filling with questions and wondering why he switched in the first place. Clearly he loved literature - that was obvious given his extensive collection of literary classics and, surprisingly, modern romance and sci-fi novels, stacked on his shelf. Maybe he had simply switched because it wasn’t for him. Or maybe he switched for an entirely different reason. You can only wonder.

Soobin re-appears in no time, and you glance over as he walks in again, noticing how his hair is now styled and his outfit, changed. You smile at this before meeting his eyes.

“Ready?” He questions, a cute grin tugging at the corners of his lips. You nod swiftly and step forward, moving to walk out the doorway with him.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” You comment, noticing how Soobin’s shoulder brushes against yours as he reaches into his pocket for his keys again to lock the door, “You could be kidnapping me for all I know.”

Instead of giving you a clear answer, he chuckles and pulls you gently, excitedly by the wrist towards the exit, “Well it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

“You’re swinging too low!” You call to Soobin who stands behind a chain linked fence, baseball bat in hand and helmet on head, facing an automatic pitching machine.

Out of all the places Soobin could have taken you on a first date, he took you to a sports playground. And to make matters even better - he was losing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a jock?” You tease, watching as Soobin swings aggressively again, missing the ball by a longshot. His shoulders shake with laughter at your comment before he yells back, fixing his stance again.

“I’m out of practice and you’re making me nervous!”

You nod even though he can’t see and tug your own helmet on, laughing at his final swing. Soobin ticks the ball and sends it flying to the left of him, travelling a few feet away before crashing into the fence. His eyes meet yours as you walk up to the gate entrance.

“Well I could have done better than that.” You say.

Soobin laughs at you, and it warms something deep in the pit of your stomach, “I’ll school you at basketball later on, don’t worry. Just try getting a few swings in to warm up and then get ready to lose.”

He was overly enthusiastic when you two first arrived, hands covering your eyes so you wouldn’t peek and ruin the surprise. When he finally revealed the large sign outside reading Benny’s Sports Playground, he was grinning ear to ear. You should have known Soobin would take you to a place like this for your first date. It was perfect, and you were both eager to play some games.

First on the list was baseball, seeing as it was the first actual game to be seen as you both entered. It was secluded enough, through a small entrance and shielded by a chain fence linked around its perimeter. It was a good warm-up game, you and Soobin had both agreed on that. After baseball, though, it’s basketball. And after that, you don’t dare guess what Soobin has in mind.

“I won’t be the one losing.” You feign confidence, stepping onto the artificial field before making your way over.

“Okay,” He shrugs, voice raising a few octaves as he shrugs goofily, “Okay! Prove it then.”

You laugh at his tone, walking over to take the bat from him. Soobin pulls back gently as soon as you reach for it, lifting it back and up so it’s just out of reach, and smirks at you. You frown now and grab at it, pulling after your fingers wrap around the handle.

You realize, just then, that you two are acting like a couple. To a complete stranger, it could be interpreted as shameless flirting, and the thought alone almost makes you blush. Because Soobin is flirting, and you are actually letting him.

“Okay, okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” Soobin finally releases the bat after your shared moment, and steps back to lean against the fence enclosing the two of you a few feet away. You know he shouldn’t be the distance away that he is while you’re batting, but you don’t mention it. The workers took their break as soon as the two of you arrived anyway, not seeing the need to watch over two adults. You just hope they don’t arrive back anytime soon.

“You’re gonna regret making fun of me, watch.” You giggle, widening your stance before lifting the bat up, squaring your eyes on the machine a few yards away.

“Focus on the ball, not on me.” Soobin teases you back, but it makes your stomach flip anyway. You clear your throat after his words hang in the empty air, finally taking a deep breath before preparing to swing.

“I can do both.” You admit, far too quickly than you’d like, and you feel your cheeks heat up right after. You hear Soobin let out a laugh again before you laugh along, finally focusing the majority of your attention on the machine.

You only just let out a full breathe before the white ball is shooting out from the pitching square and flying rapidly towards you. You can feel yourself react a few seconds too late, and the ball goes rushing past you and clashes harshly into the fence just right of you as you swing, body spinning as you lose your footing from your uneven swing.

Soobin is right by your side now, trying to hold back his giggles as you stumble.

“Oh my- are you okay?” He beams, trying not to tease you.

“I’m fine.” You huff, shrugging his hands off your shoulders nonchalantly from where they touched your skin, feeling it tingle from where his fingers came in contact. You pretend not to notice. You feel a bit embarrassed.

“You gotta swing a little earlier,” Soobin encourages you, backing up swiftly before finding his spot against the fence again, “Focus on swinging as soon as it leaves the pitch so you’ll knock it as soon as it gets to you.”

You nod at his words, stabilizing your footing again before looking straight ahead again. You take another deep breath and grip the bat in your hands tightly, trying to do exactly as he told you. A beat passes and another ball is being shot towards you, causing your nerves to spike as soon as it gets closer.

You swing too soon.

You whine a bit as the fence behind you shakes, the force of the ball setting it out of balance as the sound echoes off it. Soobin is laughing now, finally moving back towards you before the next ball comes.

“Okay,” He starts, hands suddenly on your arms. Every nerve springs to attention where he touches, hyper aware of how he feels against you. You let out a soft sigh, hoping he can’t hear it.

“So you need to hold the bat up more.” He explains, fingers enclosing around yours as his front meets your back just slightly, helping you get your grip right. He gently taps your shoe with his, causing you to spread your stance again with a small, “Oh.”

“Now that your stance is good, twist your body. Not a lot, just slightly for your force.”

Soobin twists with you to the right, helping you stop just where you need to.

You wonder, suddenly, if he’s done this before. Not the baseball part, because obviously he has, but the flirting part. Helping other girls with their stances and so on. It’s a good move - practically a classic. You wouldn’t be that surprised if he’s done it before.

Soobin’s voice suddenly starts shaking, just slightly and almost unnoticed by you as his body comes in contact with yours a bit more when he speaks again, almost taken over by his nerves. The previous thought disappears instantly.

You realize now - he hasn’t.

“I- okay.” He says softly, “When the ball comes, wait until you know you’ll swing and hit it. You have to time it perfectly.” Soobin is patient with you, hands hesitating on yours longer than they need to before he steps back, taking all his warmth and scent with him. You miss him as soon as he steps away, before catching yourself. You remember that you need to focus.

“Okay.” You say, determined to hit the ball this time. You take another breath, your third ball is the final one, and you know you can’t miss now.

Mercilessly, the ball shoots from the machine with no time to spare, and you force yourself to wait - to time it and not swing too soon or too late. You force yourself to get it perfectly.

Crack!

The ball flies opposite from the direction it came. You’re barely able to focus on that though, because along with the metal in your hands sending a painful vibrating feeling through your hands from the force, your body still hasn’t registered that the ball is far gone. It still moves along with your arms, sending your feet out of balance again as you tip to the left as your balance falters.

The bat falls to the ground with a repeated clanking sound, but you barely notice. You notice Soobin’s presence again, only just a second too late as you trip over your footing, sending him down with you as your body throws his balance off as well.

“Oh shi-”

You’re unable to finish your sentence as you both slip, knees burning underneath you as your bodies come in contact with the artificial flooring and then each other, Soobin’s body already taking more of the impact than yours.

You can still feel his hands gripping your hips when the world stills, pain shooting through your left side intently.

It all happens so fast it’s almost impossible to know it even happened until it’s over, your body throbbing in pain as you realize what happened. Both your helmets lay next to the two of you, flipped upside down.

“Oh god.” Soobin suddenly groans from underneath you, taking a shaky breath.

“I’m so so-”

You finally meet his eyes, heart dropping at your current position.

Soobin is underneath you, eyes no longer covered by his glasses but closed tightly as his head rests against the floor, only inches from yours. Your bodies are pressed against eachother’s, limbs intertwined messily due to your fall.

You’re level when he finally opens his eyes, meeting yours.

All the words you had planned on saying are wiped from your mind when Soobin looks up at you.

“I...” You try again, finally realizing the intensity of all of this.

You see emotion flash in Soobin’s eyes when he realizes too - but he doesn’t move. His hands keep their place on your hips as you both breathe heavily, staring into the other’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Soobin says softly, even though it wasn’t his fault. Your eyebrows furrow as his soft breaths splay over your cheeks in light puffs. Soobin smells of mint, and your stomach flips at the softness of his tone.

“It was my fault.” You retort, aware of the feeling of his large body against yours. Every single cell in your body is screaming at the feeling, but you try and act unaffected. Soobin, on the other hand, doesn’t try as hard.

His eyes trail down from your eyes to your lips before moving back up, head tilting just slightly. It’s almost like Soobin is curious - just to see how you react to him like this. You feel the crackle of excitement and nerves find place in your stomach, and your cheeks heat up with a blush you know Soobin sees.

It’s all on him, you think. It’s his move.

After all, you aren’t bold enough to make the first move with Soobin. You think he knows this.

“Maybe we...” Soobin hesitates, eyes flashing with emotion, “Um- maybe we should move on from baseball. We both suck at it.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

“Ah, yeah.” You cut through the silence, clearing your throat before your hands plant themselves on his shoulders, lifting yourself up and off of him. Soobin lets out a sigh as you move farther away, almost looking less nervous, and you pretend you don’t notice. Your knee burns at it comes in contact with the floor, but you ignore it and push up off it, regain your footing steadily again.

Your nerves die down, the feeling of hope stamped down in a cloud of smoke as Soobin stands up, brushing his hands on his jeans lightly before he leans to grab the bat abandoned a few feet away along with his, luckily, unharmed glasses. You know that the machine times out after three balls each so theres no need to worry about it going off again. The only worry in your mind is Soobin and how the two of you will interact after what just happened.

You don’t want to make it awkward, so you try your hardest not to.

“I hit it.” You speak up, hoping Soobin accepts the transition easily.

Relief floods your veins when he smiles over at you from the bat rack.

“I know, you hit it pretty hard too. You should try out for softball next season.”

Things slip back into their own rhythm as you two laugh, the moment gone but not forgotten as you meet back up near the exit and leave the batting cages after putting everything away, walking back into the main junction of the building to choose a new game. Your heart feels better when Soobin gives you his best smile, calming you down.

“So, basketball?” He asks, reaching in his back pocket for the small map provided when you two first came in displaying the location of every activity the company provides.

“Ooh, yes. I’m actually decent at basketball.” You nod, skipping slightly out of excitement as Soobin maneuvers you both around other people, holding onto your wrist gently again as he does so, not wanting to lose you in the process.

“We’ll see about that,” The corners of Soobin’s lips tilt up, “I was the captain of the basketball team last season.”

“You were also one of the best baseball players last season, but look what happened there,” You tease, reffering to him barely hitting the ball.

Soobin presses a hand to his chest to feign offense as you two finally step onto the joined court surrounded by slightly padded high walls and beams, and it makes you laugh. After a moment, you look around at your surroundings. Dozens of basketballs occupy each rack set up near the entrance, all in different colors, and the baskets are high on their beams on each side of the court. You aren’t that confident in your sport abilities, but you hope you are actually decent when it comes to this. You can only imagine how cocky Soobin will be if he wins. The thought itself makes you want to laugh again.

“So should we have a fair game, or just do free throws?” Soobin questions softly, already grabbing a bright green ball from the rack.

“You realize you’re like six fucking feet tall, right?” You ask Soobin incredulously. He snorts and then covers his mouth at your small outburst.

You laugh and continue, “We aren’t playing against each other. Let’s just see who gets to three points first and then go eat something?”

Your suggestion is met with a competitive Soobin speaking up suddenly.

“Okay, loser buys dinner.”

“This is a date, Soobin”

Soobin pouts at your words, and you have to hold back from smiling too wide.

“I mean if you want me to pay for dinner,” You backtrack, watching as Soobin retracts the idea immediately.

“Okay, nevermind, loser has to do rockclimbing and climb to the very top.”

You think about this for a moment before agreeing.

“Fine, loser rock climbs.”

Soobin is happy with this as he starts dribbling the ball excitedly, standing in place as he warms up a bit. You follow suit.

“How long have you played basketball for?” You ask him, not only wanting to know what you’re up against but also being curious about Soobin in general. The small talk up until now has been fairly basic, and you were ready to be a bit bold and ask Soobin some questions that have been on your mind.

“Around ten years.” He answers honestly, lifting the ball to spin it on one finger.

“Jesus, I played for one.” You say back, trying to do the same but failing miserably. Soobin blushes as he watches you scramble to grab the ball again, dimple showing.

“I’ll go easy on you, then.” He says. The words register deep in your stomach and you scoff at him, trying to appear normal. Soobin moves back to finally start the game, gesturing to the basket with his free hand.

“You can go first.” He says. You nod and bend your knees a bit, rolling your shoulders slightly to loosen up before raising the ball, preparing to shoot.

Soobin’s hand flashes in front of your view, acting like he is going to stop the ball before it even leaves your hands

“No cheating!” You laugh at him, moving farther away.

Soobin laughs loudly and it echoes off the gym walls, making you shake your head. You take a deep breath and sush him, going again.

The ball soars through the air and slams noisily against the backboard after you throw it with all the strength you can muster, but instead of going through the hoop it knocks off the rim and meets the court again, bouncing towards you. You grab it easily as a groan leaves your lips.

“I’m scared of heights.” You say to Soobin, hoping this gives him the idea to go easy on you. He shakes his head and hides the permanent grin that has been on his lips all night.

“Better get over that fear real soon, sweetheart.” Soobin throws the ball towards the basket, and it falls in easily after he does so. Soobin yells out what sounds like a mix of ‘woah’ and ‘yeah’, and raises his arms in triumph, almost as if he didn’t even expect himself to make it, before you’re protesting and moving to shove his arms down jokingly.

“That’s not even fair!” You’re laughing, shoving him with your shoulder as he pokes his finger against your ribcage. Soobin runs forward to grab his ball after it bounces closer, jogging over to be by your side again once he grabs it.

“This is a fair game.” Soobin chuckles before quieting himself down again.

You’re focusing on aiming when Soobin speaks up again.

“So can I ask you a question?” His voice is slightly more serious, and you shoot before answering, actually making a basket. You cheer loudly for yourself and run to get the ball, beaming at Soobin before you reply, “Yeah, what is it?”

“How come you’ve never talked to me before, except for that night in the library?” He asks carefully, curiosity lacing his words.

You ponder this as Soobin shoots, the ball bouncing off the backboard and across the hoop, not going in. He sweeps it into his hand as it bounces back easily, starting to dribble it again. You step back up to shoot, deciding to just be honest with him.

“Well, I obviously had seen you around and wanted to talk to you, but the situation never really called for it.”

“Until your friend left us alone together?” He asks with a knowing smile.

“Until my friend left us alone together.” You agree without meaning to, shaking your head and throwing the ball to the basket again. It bounces against the rim and miraculously goes in, earning an excited yell from you. When you look back at Soobin he’s already looking at you.

“What about you?” You ask him, “How come you never talked to me?”

Soobin blinks at you, tilting his head gently.

“I didn’t think you’d like someone like me.” He answers without hesitation before blindly throwing his shot, the ball going nowhere near the basket as it bounces off in the distance, loud against the wooden gym floor.

You open your mouth to speak as your brows furrow in confusion, but no words come out.

Soobin just gives you a soft smile, eyes never leaving yours.

“Looks like you win.”

Your leg bounces up and down anxiously as you sit at a small table in the food court, phone in hands as you await Yeonjun’s reply to the text you previously sent.

You know Soobin will be back with the food the he promised any minute now, and you took the chance to text Yeonjun as soon as he left, your nerves getting the better of you as soon as you had been left alone.

CALL ME ASAP. 911.

You’ll admit that your text is fairly on the dramatic side, but this was an emegency. You needed your best friend’s advice.

You jump in your seat slightly as soon as your phone vibrates and a selfie you took with Yeonjun appears on your screen, signifying his call. You slide your thumb over the answer button and press it to your ear quickly.

“Who’s ass do I have to kick?” Yeonjun says before even saying hello, calming your nerves immediately.

“No, dude, it’s nothing like that.” You speak down the speaker, looking around cautiously for Soobin. Yeonjun listens as you go on after a moment.

“We had a moment.” You explain, brushing some hair behind your ear with your finger slightly, “Like, a moment moment.”

“Well yeah,” Yeonjun says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “You two have insane chemistry. I’d be worried if you didn’t have a moment.”

You roll your eyes, “Junie, I’m serious.”

“So am I!” He goes on, “You two are soulmates after all, what more can I say?”

You groan and cover your face with your hands, “I just feel like I’m fucking it all up, especially because we almost kissed-”

“Woah, back the fuck up?” Yeonjun stops you, “You two almost kissed? Like, actually almost kissed?”

“What do you think a moment is, dumbass?” You ask him.

“Like a holding hands moment or a cute flirty moment, I didn’t think he would try fucking making out with you on date number one!”

“It wasn’t like he meant to- oh my god I can’t explain this right now. Problem is, what if I ruin it all?”

“You won’t. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

This shuts you up.

“In the library he couldn’t stop staring at you. And on campus when you think he isn’t looking at you because you’re too busy hiding? Yeah, he is.”

“So you didn’t think to tell me this, oh I don’t know, before I was a complete blubbering idiot in front of him?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference, if anything it would have made you even worse in front of him.” You can hear your friend cackling.

Soobin rounds the corner a few feet away, food in hands, and your heart suddenly leaps up in your throat.

“Oh fuck, I gotta go, he’s coming back.”

“Wait, Y/N,-”

“Bye!” You snap, ending the call and shoving your phone back into your pocket, trying to look natural as Soobin finally reaches the table you’re at.

“So,” He says instead of a greeting, “They had these really cool drinks with food in these small trays in the lid? I’ve never seen it before and thought you’d like it. Anyway, I got us some. I think they’re chicken nuggets.” You make an impressed face as Soobin sets your meal in front of you, noticing that he got you one of each sauce since he didn’t know your favorite yet. You hold back a full blown smile as he settles into the seat across from you.

“Very cool, thank you.” You say, giving him a grateful smile. He smiles back and tears open his own sauce packet, starting to eat. You do the same.

“Is this the part of our date where we ask our deep questions?” Soobin asks around a mouthful of chicken, cheeks full. You take a sip of your drink before raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, is it?” Soobin scrunches his nose up at your reply before giggling, and you swear it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“I think it’s gonna happen eventually. It may as well be now, since we have food here to comfort us if we make complete idiots out of ourselves.”

“You’re pretty confident in your idiocy.” You joke before taking a bite of your food, “But how do you know I’m the same?”

“You blush at a lot of the things I say.” Soobin answers, watching as your cheeks go red right after, “I know I’m able to make you nervous. And you’re like me, so when you get nervous you start rambling things out.”

You roll your eyes as if he’s wrong, but you know he’s spot on.

“Yeah well your lisp gets worse when you’re nervous.” You say back, trying to one up him. His eyes widen in surprise at you.

“So does yours.”

“Shut up.” You laugh, “I barely have one anymore.”

“You have one, and it’s adorable.” He answers before dipping his head down to take another bite of his food, hiding from you. You want to compliment his back, but instead decide to change the subject.

“Okay okay, let’s get into these deep questions you had in mind. You start.”

“It was my idea.” Soobin pouts, making you whine playfully at him. You laugh and then speak again.

“Fine, I’ll start. Ummm...” You take second to think before a question pops into your head, “What’s your major and why?”

Soobin perks up, “Not that deep but getting there. Was English but is now Communications. What’s yours?”

You were right about your assumption back in his dorm room and smile at his answer.

“Communications. Why’d you change from English?” You shoot back.

“Copycat,” He teases even though you had the major before him, “And I loved it, I just wanted a different type of job after awhile. I felt like English kind of restricted me to just one type of writing job, and I wanted to have a more creative career options in the future.”

You nod at his answer, agreeing completely. It seems you two were more alike than you thought.

“Okay your turn,” He says before taking another drink, awaiting your question. You make a face at him, “Uhhh no I already asked you.”

He shakes his head, “And I asked you your major.”

You glare, “You can’t bounce off my question and act like it’s yours too. Be creative, Soobin! Use those critical thinking skills of yours. Come on, wow me.” You’re teasing him, and he knows it. He’s shaking his head and chuckling as he thinks.

“Okay, fine. Tell me about one of your passions.”

You think about this for a second, eyes looking down at the table in thought before you answer, “Writing, probably. Reading doesn’t really count as a passion - it’s more of a hobby.”

Soobin looks pleased with your answer, nodding gently as you speak up again.

“Yours?”

“Nope, no bouncing off my question.” He says back smugly. You cover your face and laugh loudly, not even realizing your mistake.

“God, okay, tell me one of your hobbies.”

Soobin takes a drink and thinks about it for a few seconds.

“Maybe academics? I don’t know... I just... I like school,” He explains as he talks to you, “I just kind of do good because I’m a perfectionist. I have no choice there.”

You nod, urgining him to continue. He adds to this quickly.

“My passion is dancing, I think.” He says this quietly, almost like he’s shy about it. You’re surprised at this.

“Dancing?” You ask, unsure if you actually heard him right.

He nods silently, a deep crimson powdering over his cheeks as he does. You’re surprised, but somehow, it totally makes sense.

Soobin, although a jock, could be very unpredictable at times - and this was definitely one of those times. Dancing, you think. It’s impressive.

“You didn’t strike me as a dancer.” You say honestly, “Considering you do sports most of the time.”

Soobin nods, “I’m not the only guy on the football team who does dance, which is really great and, like, super progressive, but I’m the only one who does it as a hobby and not seriously. I don’t know if I could do it seriously, or even professionally.”

The only other dancer on the team you know is Mark, but you don’t say anything. You keep on listening as he speaks, fully interested.

“I dance with my friend Beomgyu who’s, like, killer at it. We use the practice studio late at night when our classes are all done. He’s a dance major so he gets to practice whenever he wants which is really convenient for us.”

You nod, “So how long have you been dancing?”

“Not long,” He answers honestly, “Maybe just over a year now. I don’t know, I’ve wanted to start for awhile but never did until just this year when I got the chance.”

“I think that’s really cool.” You smile at him finally, watching as his face lights up.

“Thank you, I try.”

You both talk for a little while longer, sharing dreams and hopes, and things you never thought you’d even tell eachother before finally finish your food and standing to throw away your trash. You can’t help but yawn a bit once you’re finally done, tiredness finally hitting you once you realize it’s well past 9 at night.

“Are you tired?” Soobin asks, hand suddenly running up and down your arm soothingly. You lean into him, nodding a bit, “It is getting late, but I still want to watch you do rock climbing.”

Soobin laughs, “I think it’s probably closed by now, but for one of our next dates we can come back and you can watch me break my leg while rock climbing.”

You ignore the way hope crawls up your body, knowing that Soobin wants a next time. You blush and nod softly, letting Soobin see that you’re fine with it before he leads you both to the exit, finally taking you back home.

The sky is clear as you both walk the short distance from Benny’s back to campus, and somehow, Soobin’s hand has entangled itself in yours as you two walk, gently rubbing circles on the outside of your palm as you two make small conversation. It feels so right - all of it. Your heart beats steadily in your chest as you walk through the cool night air with Soobin.

“-And that’s why I chose to move so far for college, I guess.” You finish what you were previously explaining, glancing over at a nodding Soobin.

“I think it’s brave that you moved so far away to achieve your goals. It’s admirable, really.”

You laugh gently at this, appreciating his words.

“I feel like-” Soobin hesitates, “Well... I don’t know, I feel comfortable like this.” He speaks up, looking at you as you two walk. A slight breeze blows, sending your hair in front of your face gently.

Soobin doesn’t hesitate to reach up and brush the few strands behind your ear, lips tugging up at the corners after.

“Me too.” You agree softly, finally spotting your dorms a few yards away, “I’ll be honest, I was really nervous for tonight.”

Soobin laughs, almost not believing you.

“So was I, but you shouldn’t have been, it’s just me.”

“I know,” You nod as the two of you reach the dorm’s entrance, “I just couldn’t help it, I guess.”

Soobin nods a final time, showing he understands before stopping in front of you. Even though the two of you are done walking, his hand still holds yours lightly, causing goosebumps to spread over your skin. You try to shake the feeling but can’t.

“So next time I’ll kick your butt at baseball.” Soobin jokes, eyes crinkling up cutely as you laugh.

“Okay, we’ll see about that.” You hide your face behind one hand, trying to cover up as you laugh at him. You don’t notice Soobin moving until your other hand is being pulled down away from your face, and is entwined in his.

“You’re pretty when you laugh.” Soobin says softly, sending butterflies loose in your stomach.

“I-,” He corrects himself, “I mean you’re pretty all the time, not just when you laugh.”

You giggle, “You’re pretty too.”

Soobin’s cheeks redden, like he’s never been praised for his looks before, and then his grin drops a bit.

His eyes are back to flashing down your face, to your lips, and you feel the tension start to rise again; the same feelings from earlier hitting you in what can only be described as a whirlwind of emotion.

You tilt your head just slightly, watching him. You don’t know what he’ll do next - or if he’ll even do anything - but part of you hope he does.

“I...” You start but your word hangs in the air as soon as Soobin steps closer, one hand loosening from yours to move up and cradle your face gently. His fingers are soft on your skin as you gaze into his soft eyes, breathing erratic.

“Is this... is this okay?” Soobin whispers, words almost lost in the nighttime breeze as he dips his head down, moving that much closer to you. His lips are inches from yours now, and your senses are heightened.

You just manage to nod before Soobin does the same, his other hand which is holding yours starting to shake. You glance down to make sure it’s not just you shaking, but your eyes flash back up when you realize it’s not.

You make it a rule to not kiss guys on the first date - but for the first time ever, you think it would be okay to break that rule.

Soobin’s breath is gentle on your skin as he lets out a soft sigh, voice coming out a few octaves deeper when he speaks again.

“Can I- would it be okay if I did something I should have done earlier?”

You’re nodding before you realize you are, and it’s like the whole world around you stops as Soobin nods in affirmation before slowly leaning in.

You feel the way your breath catches in your throat as soon as Soobin’s mouth slots against yours, and his soft lips press lightly against slightly parted ones. The kiss is gentle, and you two hardly move the whole time, scared that if one person does, the spell will be broken and real life will come crashing down around the two of you.

You feel yourself sigh when he momentarily pulls away, but his hand pulls you closer afterwards, surprising you by looping around your waist and bringing you firmly against him.

This kiss is better than the first.

Soobin’s hand is steady against your hip, and his thumb strokes your jaw lightly as he kisses you, teeth grazing your bottom lip as it deepens, evoking a deep sigh from you. You want to be closer to him - ironically, since you’re already as close as you can get - and you know he feels the same. His chest is rising and falling when you two finally detach, and his cheeks are pink. Soobin’s hands are still shaking.

You laugh lightly, unable to do anything else. Soobin does the same, both of you buzzing with nerves.

“I... okay.” He struggles for words, stepping back slightly, giving you space.

“Thank you... for tonight.” You clarify, moving to grab your keys from your jacket pocket. Soobin is already nodding.

“It’s no problem. Thank you for going.” You nod back, smiling again.

“I’ll call you, I promise.” Soobin adds, dimples appearing on both of his cheeks. Your heart warms at the sight.

“I’m looking forward to it.” You say, biting your lip as Soobin steps even farther away.

“Okay, I’ll see you, Y/N.” Soobin says sweetly, hands burying in his hoodie pockets before he walks backwards towards the sidewalk again.

“See you, Soobin.” You smile before finally going inside, heart pounding.

You close the door behind you, and with your heart soaring and one of the brightest smiles ever adorning your face, you make your way to your bedroom, unable to hide the excitement you have for the next time you’ll be able to see him.

Because that’s what Soobin does - you suddenly realize.

He gets under people’s skin, and he brings light into them.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as you finally enter your room, closing the door behind you.

Soobin had gotten in just a little bit tonight, and had started to let some of the light into you. And after everything that had happened - you were letting him.

#SooBin #choi soobin #soobin scenarios #choi soobin imagine #choi soobin au #choi soobin blurb #soobin blurbs #tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together au #tomorrow x together imagines #tomorrow x together drabbles #kpop #kpop imagine #kpop drabbles #kpop moodboard #kpop au

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wantstoflyafraidtofall · 4 years

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Chapter 1: Afternoon Shadows

Send an ask if you want to be in the tag list for this fic!

---

The car rolled up the crunchy gravel driveway and came to a slow stop in front of the house. Dean took the keys out of the ignition and turned off the radio before getting out of the car and grabbing his bags from the trunk.

The house was old and relatively large with 4 bedrooms, each with its own full bathroom. Large stone steps led up to a set polished dark oak doors, set with intricate stained glass windows. On either side of the door stretched a porch with an overhang held up by thick, sandstone composite pillars.

The wood of the porch creaked as Dean walked across it. The key easily slid into and turned the lock in the handleset knob. The door gracefully swung open to reveal a large open atrium with a library off to the left through a set of glass paned french doors and a living room to the right through a large arch.

Stairs were set in the center back of the atrium that rose to a landing before splitting in separate directions. A large crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, lighting both the entryway and hall balconies above.

Two doors were on either side of the stairs. One led down a hallway with 3 rooms--a half bath, laundry and mudroom that had a door to the back yard, and the door to the cellar. The other door led into the kitchen. The kitchen had yet another door that led into a bright sunroom with skylights and shelves set into the walls.

None of the lights in the house were on but it was beautifully lit by the natural light seeping through the windows.

Dean picked up his duffles from where he set them on the porch while unlocking the door and carried them up the stairs. He went up the right staircase and chose the room at the end of the hall.

There was already a bed in the room but other than kitchen appliances, beds, and laundry machines, the house was unfurnished. The moving truck was on its way with the rest of the furniture Dean bought for the house when he first visited it.

A rumble and crunch of gravel alerted Dean that the moving truck(speak of the devil) was here. A few young men hopped out of the truck and began pulling out the furniture. After about 20 minutes, everything had been moved into the house and placed where Dean had directed.

Boxes were stacked up in messy towers in most rooms. Dean walked into the library and opened one of the larger boxes. It was filled with books given to him throughout the years by friends and family but mostly Sam.

Dean would never admit to it, but he enjoyed a good book. Sam saw right through his lies and brought him all sorts of books.

Dean left the box open and walked over to the walnut book shelves set into the walls. He ran his fingers over the polished wood, leaving trails in the dust that had accumulated on the shelves in the absence of books.

He wiped his hand on his jeans and walked to the kitchen. Smaller brown boxes were scattered around the room on the counters and floor. He grabbed the one labeled ‘fridge’ and pulled off the tape holding it shut.

Inside the box were some magnets and a few pictures. He pulled them out one at a time. First a picture of his brother, Sammy, and his wife, Jess, sitting in the yard with their dog, Bones. A picture of Mary smiling in the afternoon sun. Pictures of His father, Bobby, Sammy, and Dean himself laughing together or fishing or fixing up a car.

After pinning all the pictures to the fridge with some magnets, he reached what he was looking for. He pulled out the pad of sticky notes and a pen-- both had magnets attached to them so they would hang on the refrigerator-- and started his To-Do list.

Dust

Unpack boxes

Groceries

Call Bobby

Dean fished his phone out of his pocket and found Bobby in his contacts, pressing the call button.

After Dean's mother died, John drowned his sorrows in alcohol. He would release Hell’s fury on Dean and Dean took it to keep Sammy safe. When Bobby found out he became his and Sam's father figure, having them move into his house and help with the cars in his shop.

Bobby picked up after 3 rings

“Hello?”

“Hey Bobby. I'm at the house, gonna start unpacking tomorrow.”

“Is everything fine down there?”

“Yup. Tell Ellen thanks for me will ya? She’s too good to me.”

“Of course and we will do anything for ya idjits.”

“You said she got this house from a relative in their will right?”

“Sure did. Her great aunt left a little somethin’ to all her great nieces and nephews. She really loved Ellen so she gave her the house but only bits of her money to the rest.”

“Well it's damn lucky she has such a good family and that you and her got each other. I've gotta head out and get some food before I starve to death in this place. Thanks again, Bobby.”

“No problem, and Dean, take care of yourself.”

Dean ended the call, placing his phone on the counter with a sigh. As soon as he moved to go get his keys, his phone began to ring again. He looked at the screen name and answered.

“Hiya Sammy. Calling to check up on me?”

“Yes and No. I actually have a… favor to ask.”

Dean paused for a moment, wondering what kind of favor was making his brother so nervous to ask him about before replying. “Whatcha need?”

“I have a friend who just finished college and is out of a house. He is near your area and that house is big enough to fit the both of you so would it be ok if he stayed there till he finds a decent apartment?”

Dean never keeps people close in fear of becoming too attached and losing them or being hurt by them. He has such a burden -- courtesy of his father -- that people who become too close to him have to help bear. But it's not like this friend of Sams is going to be staying that long and Sams right, the house is big. If Deans being honest, the house was a bit lonely and it would be nice to not be alone. Maybe it won't be so bad to have another warm body in the house.

“Sure thing, Sammy. Can you, uh, tell me who he is and when he’s coming?”

“That's great! His name is Castiel Novak and he will be coming in about three days. He’s nice and quiet and won’t bother you much. You need some more people in that big house anyway you will get lonely and depre-”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, don’t make me take back my choice.” Dean grumbled.

“Ok, I'll tell him. Make sure you clean up a bit before he gets there.”

“Don't worry mom, I can take care of myself.”

Dean hung up the phone for a second time and decided to put it in his pocket in case anyone else wants to bother him on his grocery run. He should get extra food for this Castiel guy. Odd name, huh?

He grabs the keys of a box sitting in the entryway and locks the large doors behind him before almost bouncing down the steps to his car.

Deans Black 1967 Chevy Impala had been left with Bobby at his shop while Dean moved. Baby is Dean's pride and joy. They way her engine purrs when he rides down the street and Led Zeppelin blasting through her speakers filled him with joy.

The ride to the store was short and there weren't any people in the small building other than himself and a rather bored looking cashier. He grabbed all of the food he needed for the next few days and a six-pack of beer and put them in his cart.

The cashier began to scan his items, glancing up at his face a few times before asking, “I've never seen you around before, are you moving into the old Fletcher house?”

“Uh, yeah. I am.”

The kashier -- kevin according to his nametag -- nodded as he finished scanning the items.

“Im Kevin, by the way,” The cashier looked back up at Dean and held out his hand.

“Dean,” He said before shaking his hand, “You look a bit young to be a year round employee, are you in school?”

“I'm in advanced placement at the college a few towns over.”

“Well nice to meetcha Kevin.”

“Uh huh, yup. Have a nice night, here’s your card.” He handed back Dean’s card before going back to looking extremely bored.

Dean loaded the groceries in the trunk and drove back to the Fletcher House, as Kevin had called it, the gravel crackling under Baby’s tires.

By the time Dean finished unloading the groceries and eating his extravagant dinner consisting of cereal and some beer when he was done, it was already 9:30. He sighed and went upstairs to his room to get ready for bed.

He changed his shirt and boxers for a clean pair and threw his dirty clothes over in the corner by a dresser Sam got him when he decided to get his own house. He had been living with Sam and his girlfriend Jess ever since he got his knee shot and was deemed “unfit for duty”.

Dean was in the military for 5 years as a Marine, just like his father, until he got hit with a bullet right in his knee while deployed. It never healed properly causing him to have a weak knee and enough reason to be sent home.

The bathroom was large with a white tiled floor and shower. The sink was set in the center of the granite counter top in front of a large, frameless, mirror.

Dean turned the water on and wetted his toothbrush before putting a decent sized glob of toothpaste on it. He brushed his teeth and spit out the minty foam. He turned the water back on and watched as the water washed the used toothpaste down the drain.

He looked up at the mirror, still bent over the sink. Standing in the doorway was a dark, shadowy figure. Dean whipped around to face the shadow but the door was empty. He turned back to the mirror, the doorway still empty, and rinsed of his toothbrush and set it on the counter.

Dean walked over to his bed and curled up under the duvet. He really needs to sleep more, he needs to get himself together before his housemate gets here. Castiel . This guy sounds like he’s going to be a little stuck up but it’s only temporary and even bad company is better than none.

He fell asleep. Unaware of the shadow watching him from the corner of the room.

#pieces of heaven and hell

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tracingdreams · 5 years

Text

Daiya no Ace: The Dramas #7: Dirty Fingernails

An explanation… To keep my brain from rusting I started a project to translate the drama tracks that came with the character song CDs and other stuff relating to Daiya no Ace (because I love them and they’re all hilarious). My disclaimer - I am not a native speaker of Japanese, but I will do my best!

Character Song CD 11: Kawakami Norifumi Drama 02 Featuring Nori, Sawamura, Miyuki.

Scene: It’s some time following the end of the summer tournament. Miyuki has just been helping Sawamura warm up, and he and Nori are heading into the bull pen to practice. Miyuki wants Nori to help Sawamura to improve his pitching control, and Nori leads by example. Sort of.

Sawamura: Nori-senpai! Good morning!

Nori: Ah!

Miyuki: You’re sure taking your time, aren’t you, Nori?

Nori: I’ve just been completing my warm up.

Sawamura: I’ve also finished my warm up! Perfectly! Just like Nori-senpai taught me! Wearing a tire!

Nori: Er, the tire is unnecessary…I thought I told you that warming up is literally just to warm up your body?

Sawamura: It’s my routine!

Nori: Well, if you’re okay with it, I guess it’s fine. Have you at least done your stretches?

Sawamura: Yes sir!

Miyuki: I’ve been overseeing him doing them.

Nori: If Miyuki was with you, then there’s probably no problem.

Sawamura: What am I, a kindergarten student?

Miyuki: (laughs).

Nori: However, Sawamura, even though you spend so much time doing training runs, your control pitching is still a bit inaccurate.

Miyuki: Yeah, right. He’s not able to pitch very specifically yet.

Sawamura: What? I can properly pitch to inside and to the outside!

Miyuki: But if it goes down the middle, it might get hit, or if it goes out, it’s a no-ball, right?

Sawamura: *stiffens*

Miyuki: You should take a leaf out of Nori’s book and learn from his skill here. Right now! (Translator’s note – to understand what comes next, I should explain that Miyuki actually said tsume no aka o nomasete, which idiomatically means to absorb/learn from the decency/skill of someone, but literally means…to consume the dirt from under their fingernails. Yes. You see where this is going).

Sawamura: (taking the advice literally, of course): Fine! Nori-senpai! Please give me the dirt from under your nails!

(he grabs Nori’s hands, and, erm, starts licking them).

Nori: (Not happy) Hey, stop licking my fingers! Miyuki, stop saying strange things to him!

Miyuki: (laughing): He’s such an idiot.

Sawamura: Don’t call me an idiot! Nori-senpai! Please, teach me to control my pitching like you do! Please! Initiate me!

Nori: Initiate..? But we basically pitch using different form styles.

Sawamura: But please, do something to help!

Nori: Something?

Miyuki: He’s persistent, you know. He will keep bugging you until you make him happy.

Nori: Mm, Miyuki, can’t you do something about him? You are the Captain.

Miyuki: More than my advice, isn’t there something that pitchers can learn from each other? At the very least hear him out?

Sawamura: Nori-senpai, please, listen to me! That megane is so mean!

(Megane is of course, Japanese for glasses. He means Miyuki).

Nori: Ah, well, he’s been mean from the start, pretty much.

Miyuki: Hey, hey, stop changing the subject.

Nori: But you know more about baseball. You’re better at teaching things than I am, so you teach him?

Miyuki: Mm…that’s a point, at this rate we’ll be interrupting your pitching practice as well. Well, at the very least, whether as his superior or as an equal, if you can give him a hint about stuff you have in common, then that would help.

Nori: In common, huh. Well, obviously there’s the strengthening of the lower body as a factor.

Sawamura: I understand! I will increase the number of tires immediately!

Nori: But you can’t just strengthen your bottom half. It’s just as important to work the upper body to create a balance between them.

Miyuki: And even if you build muscles you can’t use, you’re more likely to lose that balance and throw your form off…a whole slew of bad things could come from it. Also, if you try and rush, you won’t get any results from it. At the very least you should be looking ahead to the winter training camp as a target by which you properly build your body.

Nori: Ah, the winter training camp (dread in his voice). When I remember that, I feel like it would be lovely to live in a world where winter training camps didn’t exist.

Miyuki: The senpai cried, after all…

Sawamura: Huhh? Those brawny third year personages shed tears??!! Who on earth was it? Was it Tanba-senpai? Or Spitz-senpai? No, no. Was it Masuko-senpai? It couldn’t possibly have been Captain Yuuki, could it?

Miyuki: I won’t tell you. You’ll quickly gossip, after all.

Sawamura: Waaah! Nori-senpai, please tell me!

Nori: Not a chance. I’ll just be lectured for it afterwards. And right now we were talking about pitch control, weren’t we? Building the strength in your lower body to act as a launch pad for your pitching is important, but what’s really vital is practicing how to pitch with the same form and in the same position, to achieve the same ball release each time.

Miyuki: You can perfect your form thoroughly using shadow pitching drills. That would be the best idea. Sawamura, you were taught how to do that by the coach, right? The thing using the towel.

Sawamura: Argh, don’t dig up those bad memories!

Nori: What on earth happened?

Sawamura: Erm…well, I accidentally hit Coach Sunglasses over the head with the towel…

Nori: Ahh….

Sawamura: But it’s that form and the same release point, right?

Miyuki: However, if you don’t manage to throw with the same form, there’s no way your control will be able to improve.

Sawamura: Dammit. It would be so nice if this ball would listen to what I said.

Nori: But that’s just it. It’s not that the ball is doing anything wrong, but rather that there’s something wrong with how you’re using your body? If I change my throw even just a little bit, the ball doesn’t go to the place I want it to. I need to be able to throw my winning shot, the sinker, to the right spot every time.

Miyuki: The sinker isn’t your only winning shot, Nori. Your slider, when you throw it properly, is also really difficult to hit. Well, if you can throw it properly, that is.

Nori: Somehow there’s a thorn on the end of that compliment.

Sawamura: That’s right! That catcher is covered in thorns! He’s a porcupine fish, you know, a porcupine fish!

Nori: Or just a porcupine in general, come to think of it.

Sawamura: It would have been so much better if he had been an armadillo, though.

Miyuki: Hey, hey, now the discussion’s gone in a direction as weird as your moving pitches.

Sawamura: In that case, catch that pitch for me! I need to absorb the information from Nori-senpai’s initiation, get it clear in my head and try throwing with it in mind!

Miyuki: Make sure you throw it forward on the tips of your toes! The position of your feet is also very important!

Sawamura: Forward?

Nori: Yes. The positioning of the leg you bring forward to make the step with in relation to the one you leave behind. It’s a basic tenet of catchball, right?

Sawamura: Basic tenet?

Nori: Didn’t you even learn that before you came here? At middle school or something?

Sawamura: Well…it was a bit more…going in my own style I guess?

Nori: Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll look at your form for you, so you should try throwing.

Sawamura: Please do so!

Miyuki: (gets in position): All right. Go!

(Sawamura pitches).

Sawamura: How was that?

Nori: Your energy was good, but your finger tips were too far apart.

Miyuki: It went in a weird direction, so keep in mind what you’re doing with your fingers, okay!

Sawamura: All right! Okay, one more throw!

(Sawamura pitches again).

Sawamura: How was it this time?

Nori: Your form looked okay to me, but…

Miyuki: You’re too focused on control, it’s not coming to me quite right. This kind of pitch, you’re basically saying to a batter, ‘come hit me’.

Sawamura: Gah!

Miyuki: If this practice is just your pitching classroom, too, Nori won’t get to practice at all himself. Sawamura, switch with Nori! Watch Nori’s form carefully!

Sawamura: Allow me to learn from you! Nori-senpai!

Nori: When you say it like that, you make me nervous. Hrm. Ok, I’m going to pitch, Miyuki.

Miyuki: Ok! Bring it!

(Nori pitches).

Miyuki: Nice ball, Nori!

Nori: Thank you!

Sawamura: Amazing! This is the man they call the King of Controlled Pitching, the rumoured Side-arm Pitcher…

Nori: Nobody says that at all, though…right?

Miyuki: See, his arm came down completely? Because he has that form ingrained into his body, I know the ball will come to where I crouch for it.

Nori: But, in a game, there’s also a batter, and the conditions can be different, so there are times it doesn’t go so well.

Miyuki: You need to build your mental attitude as well, after all.

Nori: Well, I’m trying to do that, bit by bit. But, the practice you put in doesn’t deceive. The stuff I practice here in the bullpen gives me confidence when I’m out on the mound.

Sawamura: So cool! Nori-senpai, you’re so cool!

Nori: Even if you praise me, I’m not going to give you my karaage, you know!

Miyuki: (throwing back the ball). Nori! One more good ball, please!

Nori: Sure! Here I go!

(he prepares to pitch).

Sawamura: Ah! Azuma-senpai!

(Nori misthrows and the ball bounces across the bullpen).

Sawamura:…is not here.

Nori (angry): SAWAMURA!!

Miyuki: Yep, Nori’s weak point is his mental control.

Nori: (sighs)

#Daiya no Ace #Ace of Diamond #Kawakami Norifumi #Nori #Sawamura Eijun #Miyuki Kazuya #Drama CD #Character Song CD #Drama Translation #Translation #Finger-licking good..?

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phonaesthemes · 4 years

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a list of asks

@padawanyugi tagged me in this, but Tumblr decided to eat any notification that I got tagged, so I’m glad I saw it on my dash because I like filling these things out. Thanks for tagging me! I may have typed A Lot.

Favorites: What types of books do you enjoy? Tell about what you’ve read recently (Or maybe about a book you hated recently!)I like spec-fic and sci-fi, although less “hard” science fiction, and I also enjoy fantasy. I read a lot of YA even though I’m in my 30s just because it seems easy to find a story I want to read and I’m not usually in the mood for dense prose.

I’ve been rereading the Wheel of Time series since it’s getting an Amazon TV show; it was my first non-LOTR fantasy series and I love it to death, warts and all, although I love joking about the weak points with other people who’ve read it. I think the last other thing I read was A Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue, which was a queer YA historical fiction, and it was a lot of fun. I wish I’d had access to all these queer stories when I was an actual teenager, but better late than never.

What types of music do you like to listen to? Share five songs from your music library. I really do like a bit of everything, although I gravitate towards certain genres more often depending on the season or time of day, so I’m going to cheat and pick 5 per season. Summer for me is lots of peppy pop (pride playlists!), punk and rock and punk-adjacent stuff, just upbeat stuff in general. -Weekender, by The Royal They -Break My Heart, by Dua Lipa -Toutes les femmes savent danser, by Loud -Ruby Soho, by Rancid -Womanarchist, by Bad Cop, Bad Cop

In the fall, my inner goth kid craves darkwave, goth rock, dramatic folk, roots rock, and also anything that reminds me of Halloween. -Iuka, by the Secret Sisters -Bela Lugosi’s Dead, by Bauhaus -How’s It Gonna End, by Tom Waits -Under the Milky Way, by The Church -I Put a Spell on You, by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins I could go on about the Christmas music I like at length (Boney M’s Christmas album slaps, ngl) but I’ll just skip that and say that I listen to more classical and piano pieces in the winter. I’m terrible at remembering names, so artists only: -Ludovico Einaudi -Chopin -Debussy -Saint-Saëns -Dvořák And in spring I’m usually just depressed af and listen to whatever. -FML, by K.Flay -Weird Part of the Night, by Louis Cole -Juodaan Viinaa, by Korpiklaani -P.O.H.U.I., by Carla’s Dreams -Marryuna, by Baker Boy

Do you have a show or movie that you can just put on anytime and it’s your comfort? Definitely Star Trek. I’ve rewatched the various iterations (except TOS) so many times. Also Mean Girls and Bring It On, idk why.

Do you have a favorite dessert? Tiramisu or creme brulée! Or macarons. I don’t eat dessert really unless I’m at a restaurant.

Do you have a favorite cold drink? Sparkling water, hands down.

Do you have a favorite game? The hours I have put into the SIms in my lifetime is probably shameful, although I haven’t played in a while. Don’t Starve is another contender for hours played, but I am also really fond everything by Amanita Design

Do you have a favorite part of your self care/beauty/health routine? I haven’t been doing it much lately since I’ve been dealing with some uncertain health issues with my joints (actually have a rheumatologist appointment later today), but savasana after a long yoga workout is borderline ecstasy.

Do you have a favorite type of take-out food? Indian for sure.

What’s your favorite type of exercise/physical activity? I have a love-hate relationship with running. I don’t actually love it but I love how I feel after. I really enjoy yoga. I love playing in the water at the beach, bodyboarding and swimming.

Pick between: (you choose the context)

Cook or bake? (I love cooking A Lot)

Space or ocean? (Hard to pick, but I grew up by the ocean and it’s 100% my happy place)

Chocolate or vanilla?

City or suburb or rural? (I grew up in an isolated rural village and I miss the quiet and the slower pace of life, but I do not miss the lack of amenities and opportunities, or the smalltown gossip. I also don’t drive bc of epilepsy, so I’m fucked as far as transport in rural settings.)

Past or future?

Shower in the morning or evening?

Mac/Apple or PC/Android? (Linux in general!)

Sing or dance? (I don’t have an amazing voice but I can carry a tune without it being painful, and I love singing along with songs.)

Get up early or sleep in? (I actually love sleeping in but with two kids, early morning is my only time to myself, so I wake up before 6 most days AGGH.)

Shoes, socks, or bare feet? (Hate socks. I’m barefoot at home all year round.)

Marker, crayon, or pencil? Pen!

Tea, coffee, or hot chocolate? (Coffee in the morning, tea later on.)

Random questions:

Have you ever had any pets? (Had dogs and a cat as a kid, and as an adult I’ve had betta fish and cats, and I have a cat currently.)

What is your academic background/job field? I did my undergrad in linguistics, and I am currently a stay-at-home dad lol. I do freelance editing and transcription on the side. I don’t think I’ll ever work in my field bc I really don’t have the energy to go to grad school.

What’s something random that you’re into (even if you aren’t good at it)? I signed up for a Cape Breton step dancing class in university and I loved it.

Are you good at putting away your clean laundry right away? It depends on the day, but generally yes. Mine and everyone else’s. When I lived alone? Absolutely not.

What’s one of your pet peeves? Someone trying to have a conversation with me when they have the radio or TV on. I can’t follow what you’re saying if someone else is speaking! I hate having that stuff on as background noise in general.

What’s something you’re pretty good at? I’m a great cook.

What’s the most recent nice thing you bought for yourself? A new conditioner ig? lol

Can you sew? I can mend a small tear or sew on a button, but it’s been years since I did more than that.

What’s a chore you hate (or a chore you enjoy)? I hate vacuuming so much. So much. Maybe if I had a better vaccuum cleaner I wouldn’t mind it, but I just feel like I’m fighting with the stupid thing, getting caught up on its own cords, caught on furniture, can’t quiiiite reach a spot... HATE IT. I like shoveling snow sometimes, though.

Tell us a fun fact about yourself. I am 20 years older than my youngest sibling, and five minutes younger than my “oldest” sibling.

Never have I ever... Gone fishing, even though I’m from a fishing community.

What extracurriculars did/do you do in school? In high school, I played trumpet in band until the band got dissolved from lack of funding. I played soccer one year, was in a play another year. We had an art club for like a semester that I was in. In university the first time round, I did step dancing and intramural hide and seek Second time around, I was in the linguistics club to help with assignments. (We were very much encouraged to work in pairs or groups for a lot of different classes. The only thing was that you did need to list your group members on the assignment so the prof knew who you worked with. My first morphology class in particular, we had a whole homework club where a huge portion of the class got together to work through assignments and help each other understand, and the prof would quite often show up. </tangent>

Deeper questions:

How’s your quarantine/last few months been? The cabin fever was really bad before the weather warmed up. I struggle with seasonal depression every spring, and it’s gotten much worse since we moved to Edmonton because of how long the winters are. (Snow from September to May/June? Fucccck.) It’s frankly horrifying to look at what’s going on in the US, but even though we have far fewer cases here, I’m really anxious that we’ll see another wave soon. Otherwise, I think I’ve adjusted. Home-schooling, hand-sanitizing, social distancing, masks...All feels kind of normal now, which should maybe concern me.

What do you think of human nature/society/etc.? I am like the least philosophical person you will meet so I don’t think I really have many thoughts.

What’s something you are insecure about? Writing my L2 if a native speaker is gonna read it.

What do you think is the meaning of life/reason that humans exist in the universe? I don’t think there is one, and that doesn’t bother me.

Do you think you’re better (whatever that means to you) than you used to be? Definitely. My adolescence and early adulthood was rough. I was dealing with a lot of trauma, untreated bipolar disorder, and I self-harmed for a very long time. I could not imagine making it to 30, let alone being stable and happy. I actively avoided thinking about the future because it made me spiral. But I was lucky enough to get help, consistent help from a doctor I clicked with, and it made a world of difference. I think younger me would be disappointed at how mundane my life is, but I’m thrilled to be boring because boring means no life-upending mood episodes. I have a happy partnership and two delightful kids and I couldn’t ask for more.

What are your thoughts on religion? I’m not religious and my own experience being raised in the Catholic church was frankly traumatic, but I know that it’s a source of comfort and community for many others and I think that’s awesome for them.

Do you think that there are aliens out there? I think so, although I think that we may not even know what other kinds of life to look for and may not recognize it even if we find it.

What’s something that’s been on your mind recently? We’re moving cross-country in less than a month (driving, no less, nearly 5000 km) and I still have so much to do to get ready aosjdoajdoasijdoaijsd

#personal #long post #in which i ramble about myself a great deal #@padawanyugi

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writtingsofspn · 5 years

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Anthropology Student

Request: Sam x reader where the reader is an anthropology student and helps them with a case.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: I kind of just learned what anthropology actually was so I apologize for any inaccuracies or if this just sucks in general I tried my best. Also I know I promised a different Sam fic but as mentioned my computer deleted it and I honestly would rather write something knew then try and write the same thing again so that is being pushed back.

You hummed softly as you typed away on your computer, putting the finishing touches on the report due at the end of the week, getting more and more excited of the thought of finally being able to go home and crash.

Taking care to save your work, having learned the hard way more than once what not doing so would do to you. You reached for your bag, shoving various textbooks and notebooks into it, watching the screen load as you carefully backed up your work.

Throwing it over your shoulder you finally shut down the computer and headed out of your office, pausing slightly at the scene in the reception area that unfolded before you. Two very attractive men in suits were talking to the receptionist Laura, explaining something about being FBI agents.

You made eye contact with the taller of the two, sending him a shy smile before fixing your gaze on the door, more than ready to put the office behind you for the night when you heard it.

“I’m sorry but Professor Morrison isn’t here today, but I could connect you with someone who works closely with him”

You froze on the spot, turning on your heel to glare at Laura, rapidly moving your hand in front of your neck, signaling that you did not want to be a part of this right now.

She just laughed slightly as the shorter one agreed to meeting you. You just hardened your glare, making a gun shape with your fingers and bringing it up to your temple.

“Excellent she’s right behind you”

The two men spun on their heels quickly to face you, barley giving you time to drop your hand just making her laugh louder. “Hi I’m Y/N Y/L/N” You planted on your best fake smile, holding out your hand to the man closest to you, the taller one “I’m a grad student under Professor Morrison”

“Sam Winchester” The man introduced himself, the shorter one immediately elbowing him in the ribs as he shook your hand.

You choose not to question it, turning to the other man who introduced himself as Dean, before he sent a look up to the other man. “we’re with the FBI we were just hoping to get some help with a case”

“Of course my office is just down that hallway” You pointed over their shoulders, ushering them towards it but making sure to send another glare back at Laura behind their backs who just teasingly waved at you.

“What is it I can do for you Agents?” You asked as you led them into your office, ushering them into the two chairs you had in front of your desk, taking your seat behind it.

“We’re here investigating the disappearance of several children in the area” Sam started to explain as Dean fished his phone out of his pocket.

“Yes I heard about those” You nodded sympathetically “but forgive me I don’t know how I can help”

“Well one of the mothers happened to be on the phone with one of the kids when he disappeared, and we were able to secure this” Dean explained before pressing play on his phone. Immediately the sound of a soft, eerie song filled the air. Sweet, quiet lyrics in a language you couldn’t put your finger on played for a bit before all of a sudden it went dead silent, three quick knocks on some surface sounding before a deafening crack and the beeping of a call dropping.

“You don’t happen to recognize that song do you?”

You shook your head, doing your best to rack your brain “I can’t say that I do”

“We think it could be important to cracking this case” Sam explained, sitting forward in his chair “so anything you can find out for us about this would be helpful”

“Of course” You nodded, reaching across your desk towards a business card, grabbing a pen and scribbling your cell number on the back of it, “here’s my card just go ahead and send me the audio file and I’ll do me best”

Sam sent you a thankful smile as he took the card from you, the two standing up to take their leave as you did the same. Dean gave you a curt nod, heading for the door and showing himself out, Sam pausing in the doorway for a bit longer.

“It was-uh-nice meeting you” He reached out to shake your hand again, making a point to make eye contact with you, and truth be told you couldn’t help but blush beneath his gaze, trying your best to remain as professional as possible.

“You too agent”

His smile faltered ever so slightly at your words though you couldn’t imagine why. He regained it so quickly, however, it made you almost question if you had seen it in the first place.

Giving you the same nod he headed out of your office, following his partner back out of the building as you locked your door behind you.

“You know whenever someone makes that motion” You called down to Laura as you exited the office “it usually means stop whatever you’re doing”

“oh come on” she laughed brushing you off “they were cute and needed help”

“and I wanted to go home” You grumbled.

“Until your eyes landed on that tall FBI agent” She teased, putting a few things into her bag to follow you out, the two of you being the last two in the office.

“oh shut up” You rolled your eyes, holding the door open for her before locking it behind the two of you.

You pulled into the usual parking space the next morning, doing your best to balance all the notes, books, and a cup of coffee you had brought with you in your arms.

Setting the coffee on the roof of your car you reached into the back seat, pulling on your backpack and piling your arm up with folders and notebooks, balancing a stray pencil on top of your ear, reaching for the coffee and bumping the door closed with your hip. Barely paying enough attention to your surroundings to stop yourself from crashing into the large body standing behind you.

You came to a screeching halt, the carefully balanced paperwork in your arms threatening to spill over as you tried to catch your balance.

“Agent” You squeaked in surprise, nodding a hello to him.

“Please call me Sam” He shook his head, instinctively reaching forward to help you “here let me”

Gratefully you unloaded some of the papers onto his open arms, “thanks…Sam”

He smiled down at you at the use of his name, falling into step behind you as you walked back into the office it felt like you had left no more than a few hours ago.

“I’m sorry to say I don’t have any information for you yet” You began, dropping the load in your arms on your desktop, grabbing the work from his arms to do the same with it “I haven’t had the file for long enough yet”

“Oh no rush” He quickly assured you, taking a seat in the same chair as last night, before correcting himself “well some rush, children are disappearing. But that’s not why I’m here”

“Oh?” You asked him, occupying yourself with logging onto the computer and sorting through the work in front of you.

“I just-uh-wanted to see if you needed any help” He stuttered out.

“Surly you have better things to do than babysit me” You chuckled, waving him off “I’m fine”

“This is just our biggest lead so far” He began to explain, almost seeming to not believe his own words as he said them “so I figured I’d make myself useful if possible”

“Well I’d never say no to another pair of eyes” You shrugged, “so you’re more than welcome to stick around but certainly don’t feel like you have to”

“Good” He smiled, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair making it clear he was planning to stick around “where do we start?”

You chuckled at his eagerness, turning your attention back to your computer “I’m thinking we start by identifying the language used in the song”

“And how do we do that?”

“super technical process” You explained with a half smirk, scrolling to the audio file on your phone “hold the phone speaker up to google translate and hope for the best”

You played with a piece of broccoli with your chopsticks, your feet propped up on the edge of your desk as you tried raking your tired brain again of what to do now.

Sam sat across from you in the same chair as he had been in for the past several hours, a takeout container in his hand and tie long since abandoned. You had to admit he perfectly filled the role of hot, passionate, hard-working FBI agent. Button up shirt no tie or suit jacket, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. God could it be distracting sometimes.

“The song sounds like a children’s song of sorts” Sam’s words broke through your thoughts, you shaking your head slightly as you forced yourself to turn your attention back to the case “it follows that classic rhythm almost”

You nodded in agreement “not to mention it’s surrounded by missing children but I haven’t been able to match the song or the lyrics to any old children’s songs”

Sam sighed, shoving another piece of chicken into his mouth.

“Do you know where the children go missing from?”

“Different places” He shrugged, “some unknown some not.” He dug through his pad of paper, listing off a few streets where children were last scene.

You thought for a moment, doing your best to visualize the town in your mind “those are all near bodies of water”

Sam set his takeout container down on the floor and dug through his bag and pulled out a map, spreading it out on your desk and marking off the locations of the last known whereabouts of the children. “I mean somewhat”

“but these are just last known locations right” You explained, “they could’ve wandered closer to bodies of water later, point is they’re all at least within a half a mile of some body of water”

“Alright” He agreed “how does that help us”

“the-uh-“ You sat up quickly, the name on the tip of your tongue, flipping through the book on the desk in front of you quickly, searching for a page you had glossed over before “the Qalupalik”

“The Qualupalik?”

“Yeah” You flipped the book over to Sam, showing him the page “a myth told to Inuit children in the arctic to keep them away from the waters edge. This creature would sing a song to lure children in and once close enough would sink its claws into them and pull them beneath the water.”

“Lovely” Sam groaned, his eyes skimming over the text “and you think this song could be the one on the phone call”

“it could” You nodded “but it’s also known that if the Qalupalik was feeling impatient it would tap its fingers on the ice beneath the child’s feet”

“The knocking sound on the call” Sam finished your thought, jumping up to his feet quickly, excitement growing within him as he thought through it.

“and the crashing could be the thing springing up through the ice” You finished almost proudly.

“That’s brilliant” He laughed, not hesitating before walking around your desk and throwing his arms around you.

You chuckled as he pulled you into his chest, taking a moment before realizing what he had just done before pulling away quickly, awkwardly clearing his throat. “uh sorry”

“no worries” You brushed him off, doing your best to hide your crimson cheeks “hope that helps with your case”

“Oh more than you know” He laughed, slowly stepping back from behind your desk.

“good” You smiled, wrapping your arms around you almost missing the way his felt around you.

“well I should-uh-“ He made a motion to exit, gathering his coat.

“Of course” You nodded “you’ve got a bad guy to catch”

He laughed in response, putting back on his tie “I do”

A silence fell over the two of you as Sam made his way to the door, hesitating as he reached for the knob.

“Hey Sam”

He spun around to face you eagerly, listening intently.

“You still have my number right?”

“I do”

“Good. Don’t be a stranger”

He grinned back at you, shoving his hands into his pockets “I won’t”

You smiled back at him, giving him a small nod as he left your office, neither of you all to happy to see the other leave. But you forced yourself back into work, making yourself busy with cleaning up your desk.

All too soon, however, you heard the familiar sound of Sam clearing his throat, looking up to see the tall man standing awkwardly in your doorway.

“Would you like to get dinner with me tomorrow?” His words came out in a rush, all in one breath, making you giggle.

“I’d love to”

You watched his smile grow at your words, biting his lip to do his best to keep it from getting to big before nodding, at you, turning again to walk down the hallway before he paused again. You watched with a giggle as he gave you a sheepish smile and reached into your office and pulled the door shut behind him.

You all but collapsed in your chair as soon as the door closed, your grin growing bigger and bigger by the second as you thought about your date, spinning around in your chair fighting the urge to scream.

There was a knock at your door drawing you back to reality, forcing you to try and regain your composure, putting on your professional face as you walked over to the door and pulled it open.

You barely had time to process who was standing in front of you before a hand was cupping your cheek and pulling your face up to meet his, your lips crashing for a brief moment before he pulled back much too soon.

You stared up at him in shock, your eyes wide as you stood practically frozen on the spot. He started to open his mouth again, about to say something, before you cut him off, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him back down to you, meeting him for a much more passionate kiss, the two of you moving in sync, separating only when your lungs started to scream for air.

“Don’t you dare apologize for that”

He chuckled softly as you disconnected yourself from him, not letting you stray too far with his hands on your hips, keeping you pressed against him.

#sam x reader #Sam Winchester #sam imagine #sam one shot #Sam Oneshot #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester one shot #sam winchester oneshot #SPN #spn imagine #spn fanfic #spn fan fiction #spn oneshot

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