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#i’m building a note in my phone of all the time stamps of the scenes i skip
paigesplatforms · 2 years
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btw skipping triggering scenes in your favourite shows/movies doesn’t make you less of a fan. there are still scenes in multiple of my favourite shows that i cannot/have never watched, but i still love those shows with all of my heart.
whether it triggers past experiences and trauma, your fears, your sensory issues, your migraines, or it just gives you really bad second hand embarrassment. YOU ARE ALLOWED TO SKIPS SCENES IN YOUR FAVOURITE MEDIA
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kamotoshi · 3 years
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reminders [fushiguro tōji x reader]
pairing: fushiguro tōji x fem reader
genre: fluff
warnings: a bit of swearing; brief mentions of past trauma, manipulation, and financial instability/struggles
word count: 2.3k
overview: a sunset picnic reminds him to stop for a moment and remind his wife how he truly feels about her
note: just another fic to serve as evidence for my obsession with making big, beefy 2d men with tough exteriors completely soft for their significant others (wives especially)
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“Aren’t we just the cutest couple ever?”
Tōji’s eyes move from the spread of food laid out across the patterned blanket beneath the two of you over to either side of him, where a few other couples and families have set up their picnic spots for the evening, then, to your phone. A glance at the screen displaying the timed photo you’d just spent the past five to ten minutes setting the scene for and perfecting brings a smirk to his face.
“Just the right amount of nauseating.”
“Like, to the point where people are a little envious, but they don’t think we’re being too over the top, right?”
“Right.”
You hum in understanding as you pop a piece of fruit into your mouth.
“But, I would say err on the side of caution and don’t post the super lovey-dovey ones. Actually, please don’t. That’s a request now.”
Your hand flies to your chest to match the look of feigned shock on your face at his words. He doesn’t miss how the diamond on your finger sparkles in the amber glow of the setting sun. The thought crosses his mind that he wants to buy you a bigger one when he has enough money to set aside—something that would shine just a bit brighter. Almost as brightly as that beautiful smile of yours he had the pleasure of seeing each day, if he was lucky.
“You mean… I can actually post a picture that I took with my notoriously elusive husband?”
With a nod, he shifts his gaze to the horizon—or whatever he can see of it peeking around the sides of each building—for a moment. “Just know it’ll probably end my job,” is his response given with a sigh, “Nobody’ll fear me after they see that I enjoy sunset picnics with my adorable wife, now, will they?”
“Or,” you offer with a grin, scooting closer to him so his arm can snake around your waist, “it could give you an advantage, people thinking you’re kinda sweet. Like, oh, he’s a cold-blooded killer who takes care of business, but he’s got a soft side, too. And then, bam! You swoop in and they’ll never even know what hit ‘em.” Sweeping a hand dramatically across the landscape in front of you, as if you want him to picture the scene in your head, you add, “Suddenly, you’re the talk of the town. Women want you. Men want to be you. Hell, they’d probably want you too.”
“And that’s the story of how I end up on the front covers of magazines, right?”
“Exactly. This is just the start of your success story, baby.” Tenderly, you place a hand on the side of his face to bring it closer to your lips. After pecking him on the cheek, you whisper, “Just try not to forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”
He turns to look directly at you, his eyebrow raised with incredulousness in an expression you’ve seen many times before. “You kidding me? I would never. Be famous, I mean.”
The teasing smack you land on his chest doesn’t deter him from leaning down towards you to press a kiss against your lips that you readily return in spite of your complaints at his devious comment. He relishes in the sweet taste lingering on his tongue when he pulls away, and the affection present in your half-lidded gaze brings a comforting warmth over him akin to the feeling of finally crawling into bed after a long day. In his moment of distraction, you’re able to sneak in another meeting of your lips before grabbing one of the snack boxes you’d meticulously crafted and dropping it into his lap.
“Since I’m nice, unlike you, I’ll still let you eat the food lovingly prepared by your loving wife.”
“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, giving your thigh an appreciative squeeze, “You know I love you.”
“I mean, I hope you do. You did marry me, and stick with me all these years, after all, you weirdo.”
He chuckles and pats your leg before shifting his attention to the delicious food you’d put together for the two of you, and you settle down beside him after collecting your own. His free hand plants on the ground beside your opposite hip, closing the gap between you.
Each day that he gets to spend with you he’s thankful for. But there’s something different about those where the sight of the sun slowly descending toward the horizon is beautiful enough to draw both of you out of the house to sit and watch it. He can’t quite explain it, but everything about these days feels different. The harshness of the city seems to fade away for a bit. The air smells sweeter. His breaths come a bit more deeply. The absence of your body against his in some way is felt more intensely.
In between gazing ahead at the sunset—allowing his eyes to flicker to his meal, the kids zipping past every now and then on their bikes, or other passersby—he finds his attention being drawn back to you. Each feature of your face bathed in the golden light of the sun’s last rays brings an unexpected flutter to his heart. He’s never surprised by how gorgeous you are, but, still finds himself in awe of just how lucky he is each time he stops to take it all in.
Lucky that he gets to wake up next to you and see you in those quiet moments of the morning when your eyes are still struggling to focus and your cheek is stamped with each wrinkle of your pillowcase, but you look beautiful all the same. Lucky that the arms and legs he has draped around him until you both wake up sweaty in the middle of the night are yours. Lucky to be offered a refuge wherever you are. Lucky you’re one he promised to love for the rest of his life.
In the busyness of your days, sometimes things are assumed rather than said. He assumes the parting kiss he presses to your lips each time he leaves the house translates into a small, “I love you, I’ll be back soon.” Just like he assumes the way he pulls you onto his lap while you’re sitting together, watching a movie, sends a small message of, “I need you here, close to me.” Or the pause he takes to gaze into your eyes after your more passionate displays of affection means, “I love you more than I know how to say.”
He realizes, given the risky nature of his work, that thought alone isn’t enough, though. Maybe he’s too afraid of saying something that’ll curse you for his lips to form the words he’s thinking as often as they should, but if he was one to let his life be ruled by fear, he wouldn’t be sitting with you in the first place. He would’ve let his family wreak havoc on him for the entirety of his life, weighing it down with constant reminders of his failures. He would’ve let his fear of being vulnerable keep him from getting close enough to you to fall in love with you.
Yet, here he is, making relaxed conversation with you—his wife—as the two of you sit together beneath a sea of brilliant oranges, candied pinks, and the gentlest hues of lavender. With the way you use your steadily built and strongly maintained trust in him to speak so freely and be so vulnerable without fear of judgment, he feels it’s only fair that he shows his trust in you by doing the same. That he reminds you of his feelings rather than lets the implications behind his actions speak for him.
When he decides to mention it, most of the sky has lost its fire and quite a few of the other picknickers have packed up and returned home. But the two of you choose to remain out just a bit longer in the warmth of the summer night, bathed in the sound of cicadas chirping incessantly. “Hey babe?” he calls, giving your hand resting in his a gentle squeeze as his cheek drops to the blanket so he can look at you.
“Mm?” You shift onto your side and scoot closer to him, moving your interlaced hands to your chest, holding the back of his against your gently beating heart. On instinct, your other set of fingers find his face to brush a few strands of dark hair away from his eyes, and he presses feathery kisses to your palm.
Sighing against your skin, he asks, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, you assure him, “I know you do.”
“Because I say it?”
You hum with uncertainty, fingers gliding from the scar at the side of his mouth down his neck, and to one of his broad shoulders. “More because I can see it in the way you look at me. But, then again, I also see you look at a really good meal the same way. Makes me kinda jealous sometimes,” is your answer given with a small, teasing smile, “Besides, I feel like I can safely assume that you’ve stayed with me all these years because you love me, right?”
“Of course,” he says, the strength in his voice contrasting the subtle, pained look behind his eyes, “But I don’t say it enough, do I?”
There’s a short pause before you murmur, “Not usually unless I say it first. But it tends to be more of a reflex for both of us, anyway. Like, ‘I’m heading out now, love you!’ or, ‘Goodnight, I love you,’ y’know?”
A gentle tug on your wrist pulls you towards him, until you’re propped up on both elbows, body leaning over his. Wrapping an arm around your waist brings your chests flush against one another and your faces mere centimeters apart. The way he’s regarding you as nothing else is as important as you are to him in this moment has you melting into the kiss he plants on your lips.
“You’re the love of my life.” Heat radiates from your chest all the way up to your face at his tenderly spoken words accompanied by his thumb skimming along your cheekbone. “And you deserve to hear me tell you how much I care about you more often because you’re the only person who’s made me feel deserving of love.”
The hand on your back slowly moves up and down, his fingers tracing along your spine. It was once deemed as a mindless behavior in your eyes, but after many years with him, you’ve come to learn that sometimes it’s a means of comforting himself or finding the courage to speak about something that’s been on his mind. To reassure him, you place a soft peck against the corner of his mouth and run your fingertips across his jaw.
He seems to find the strength he needs to speak the rest of his truth, since he continues, “I remember being terrified when I first realized how much I loved you. Because here I was, thinking I was only gonna marry someone as a way of erasing my connections to my family, and that falling in love would weaken me—make me easier to be manipulated—but you changed my mind. And I don’t think there’s a damn thing that could ever happen to make me wish I did things differently, even though we got married young, when we barely had enough money to our names to get ourselves through the week.”
A pang of somewhat bittersweet nostalgia ripples through you at the memories of sleeping on the floor, clinging to one another to keep warm during the cold, winter nights. Of how you’d both worked so tirelessly to make a living that sometimes all you’d do was cry into his shoulder when you got home. But soon, there was a couch. A bed. A table. A lamp that didn’t flicker. Then, a new place in a safer part of the city, filled with all the furniture and appliances you could need. Jobs that paid enough for the tears to subside.
The impulsiveness the two of you had displayed in your early twenties had gotten you into a lot of sometimes unbearable situations, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing had you somehow been granted the power to alter the past. While unpleasant, those events had helped the two of you get to where you are today, happier and more in love than ever.
“After all we’ve been through, and that you’ve stuck with me through, I at least owe it to you to remind you how much you mean to me instead of just assuming you know. Because you really do mean the world to me. So, this is me telling you that I love and appreciate you a lot more than I might feel capable of saying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”
With that same, bright smile of yours that he adores, you take your weight off your elbows to wrap your arms around him while he gives your body a tight squeeze in return. “I love you so much, Tōji,” you hum, heart swelling with joy.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
There’s a few moments of peaceful silence while the two of you remain wrapped up in a tight and much-needed embrace. Eventually, a deep exhale fans across your neck before he mentions, “That was pretty cheesy, huh?”
“Just a bit. But I promise not to tell anyone you’re secretly a bit of a sap, okay?” you comment, sending the two of you into a small fit of snickers. Your tone is more serious, however, when you mention, “It made me really happy to hear, though.”
“Good,” is his response as he moves his head so he can press his mouth to your temple. His next words are spoken quietly, as if just to himself, and nearly lost beneath the layers of environmental noise surrounding you, but you’re glad you hear them.
“That’s all that matters to me.”
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stevenbasic · 3 years
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“Hi Dr J, I’m glad we finally get to chat…”
Holy shit.
——
Earlier that day, I’d been told at the front desk that there was a lady from Evolution Pharmaceuticals on the line, and that she’d like to speak with me. Aubrey had always been good about screening out the sales pitches, the irate patients, the people with whom I really never needed to actually talk. So that she was pulling me aside for this call told me that this one might be something I should probably take...
But - ugh. No. I didn’t want to. This had been a long day, a long week so far - and it was only Tuesday! God, the past few months had been more and more exhausting, humiliating and emasculating with each passing hour. And the more I learned, the more it seemed that this company was at the heart of my troubles. Yes, it offered the opportunities of great financial rewards for the practice with this clinical study trial in which we were going to be participating. Since Jeanette, my previous Office Manager, had left, the mismanagement of the business had us in dire straits. Without the money from Evolution’s study and the “Lean In” grant from the women’s advancement group, I’m not sure we’d still be afloat. So, yeah, maybe I should have taken the call.
“I’ll call them later,” I told Aubrey, and grabbed the films I needed for my next patient.
That had been three hours ago, before my little hallway meeting with Melissa. Since then Gianna - some woman who’d wanted to speak to me about the trial - had called two more times. Left messages. Really wanted just fifteen minutes of my afternoon. Needed to speak with me. I refused each call.
Finally done with patients, sitting in my office at the end of the day as darkness crept in from outside, I sighed as Brittni from the desk buzzed me. She said that Gianna was on the line again. “Can I transfer her?”
“No,” I replied on the intercom, noticing that a little green light had blinked to life on the camera I had clipped to my monitor. I hadn’t seen it before, this light. In fact...when did I get a camera on this computer?
“Tell her I'll call tomorrow...” I finished.
I had set back to finishing some patient notes on my desktop when, suddenly, my screen flashed to black. For a quick moment I thought - oh no, a crash - but then a new, unfamiliar window appeared, and my mouse pointer began moving on its own accord. What the…? The window went full screen and next thing I knew I was in a video chat with-
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were avoiding my calls…” the woman onscreen spoke, laughing casually as she tossed her hair...
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“oh, uh…” I was immediately agape. This was who’d been trying to call me all day??
“Anyway...Hi Dr J, I’m glad we finally get to chat…”
Holy shit. This girl was gorgeous. Look at those tits.
As I stared, still shell-shocked and speechless from having my computer hijacked out from under me by a bosomy corporate careerist, she went on to introduce herself as Gianna Albertini, from the clinical trials department at Evolution Pharmaceuticals. She explained how excited she and her team was to get the study off the ground at the practice. Things had been fast tracked at the FDA, they were just waiting for some rubber stamps, and everything looked very promising for their product. She apologized for not being able to meet in person, at least for a while. “I’m on some new retroviral treatment, and they have me quarantined at home,” she explained with surprising nonchalance, “yadda yadda yadda…”
Finally, after a good several minutes of watching her talk - and she held my attention easily, her rack possibly rivaling Melissa’s - she let me get a word in edgewise. I was still confused by how in one moment I was working on my patient charts, and then in the next I was in a video chat. “H-how did you…?”
“Sorry,” Gianna laughed, casually waving away any privacy concerns I was currently about to voice, “I had to remote in, take over your desktop. I really needed to speak with you.” Beyond the blatant intrusions tactics she was obviously willing to employ, there was something in this woman’s eyes, her demeanor, that was making me more and more concerned as the conversation - such as it was - continued. She may have been acting relaxed and friendly, decidedly informal, but there was a seriousness just below the surface that even I could see, even through the screen, and even in the face of those enormous tits. “Plus, maybe it’s actually better we do it this way, rather than on the phone,” she said, as she sat up nice and straight, “So we can see one another’s...smiling faces.”
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Gahh...
As she got down to brass tacks, this young woman went on to describe to me some of the details of the new wings in our building into which the office would be expanding, how much more space we and Evolution be acquiring to fulfill the needs of the trial, and when it would all be ready. “Construction is ultra-fast tracked,” she said, “should be done within a few weeks.”
Weeks?? I marveled, silently incredulous. I’d seen the plans; it was a huge project. I’d figured months, if it ever really got done at all. But, the teams did seem motivated, and there were a lot of them, working day-in and day-out, all through the night. Maybe, perhaps? Could they pull it off in weeks?
We also talked about the structure of the trial, what it would involve day-to-day, and the long-term forecast. Evolution seemed ready to set up permanent shop with a clinic in the building, by taking over much of the lease of the new space, with the study just the first step in the door.
“You’ll be listed as the lead investigator,” Gianna explained, continuing on to detail the ins-and-outs of the trial, “but don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of people in place. You really won’t have to do too much, or deal with anyone at the main office. You’ll be reporting just to me...”
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“r-reporting to you?” I asked, trying to ignore the impressive bosom which filled the screen, cowed me. That had taken me back a bit...'reporting to her'? I had noticed something in this young woman’s tone, through our chat, that led me to believe that she and I possibly had different views as to the, uh, hierarchy of this whole thing. I was the doctor around this place, and had gotten used to expecting a little respect, being top of the food chain. She, on the other hand, maybe had other ideas.
“That's right,” she said, “we’ll do these chats once a week, more if I feel like we need it. I’ll expect a report from you every day, but again don’t worry. It’s basically something you just have to sign, the girls will do it all. Our other providers will be handling most of the work with the patients in the study, entering data, keeping the FDA happy, blah blah blah. Maybe we’ll ask you to go in and talk to, examine a few of the subjects, just to keep things interesting for you.”
If I hadn’t felt totally emasculated and marginalized, my authority crippled by the horde of women who’d apparently taken over my practice recently, this was the clincher. It would appear that for this study I was going to be not much more than a coddled figurehead, a token man of straw, expected to satisfy the whims of some half-rate pharm company and this woman, at her beck and call. No way!
“I’m going to have to insist on directing care for, uh, the trial subjects,” I asserted, finally getting a moment to exert my will, “they will, technically, be my patients.”
“Oh, of course!” Gianna replied, smiling and throwing her hair over her shoulder, “Allowing for some oversight from the other providers we’ll have in place, you’ll have lots of medical-decision-making to keep yourself busy!”
What did she mean, ‘oversight’?
“They’ll be different than your usual patients, the subjects that we’ll be bringing in for the study, but I think you’ll like them,” she continued, trying to reassure me, “maybe a younger crowd, and of course all female. But in general all you’ll have to do is sit back and watch the money coming in.” She sat, looked into the screen for a moment, in thought. “Though I guess we have some people there handling that for you, too, hm?”
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That gave me pause, made me rethink the litany of arguments that were beginning to boil up in my throat. I’d seen some of the paperwork, quickly, as it had moved past my desk for my signatures. It involved a lot of money for the practice. Like, a lot of money. I thought of my bills, my expenses, what I still somehow owed on my student loans. If Sheryl wasn’t going to be there to provide for me, help me pay these things…
If any of it remained, there was obviously some pride I was going to need to swallow.
“S-speaking of money,” I began, “what's my compensation going to look like?“
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Something about my question, something about how I was holding myself, made Gianna smile again and then sigh, a sigh that told me she knew something I didn’t, I couldn’t help but think. With that she leaned in, her eyes locked on mine through the camera, and a shiver went up my spine. “Oh don’t worry, Dr. J,” she spoke, “you’ll be well taken care of...“
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Muchos Gracias to long-time friend, supporter of the story and behind-the-scenes ninja Antares for helping me assemble these clips.
Newer posts and other goodies at my Patreon
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cheri-translates · 3 years
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[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - Glacier Navigation
🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Rumours & Secrets, 冰川行舟, which has not been released in EN! 🍒
This R&S features S2 Shaw
In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s first S2 R&S!
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[ Chapter One ]
On this rare break, a phone call from Shaw brings me to the entrance of Loveland University.
At the school gate, a huge “Welcome New Students" banner waves in the wind. The osmanthus petals at my feet exude the unique scent of late summer and early autumn.
I follow Shaw through the bustling crowd and towards the graduate student registration point.
MC: The registration office... this should be it.
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Shaw: Are you sure it's here? Just look at these registering students - how do they look like graduate students?
MC: You’re clearly the one who doesn’t look like a graduate student, okay?
Shaw glances at the long line outside the door of the office. Clicking his tongue, he eventually stands at the back properly.
Not having to wait for long, the both of us reach the head of the line.
MC: You don't need me to accompany you for the registration, do you?
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Shaw: What are you thinking? Are you treating me like a kid?
MC: Then why did you drag me along to school...
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Shaw: I just took you out for a breather after seeing you squatting at home for a few weeks.
He waves his hand at me in self-assurance, turning his head and entering the office.
I lean against the wall, waiting for him. As soon as I take out my phone, the tall figure walks out of the office fiercely.
MC: ...how did you settle it so quickly?
Shaw doesn’t respond. He suddenly leans forward, his eyes almost within reach. His half-squinting eyes contain slight irritation.
MC: W-what do you want... Ah! Don't touch my hair!
I raise my hand to protect my hair, but my cheek ends up getting pinched twice by two of his fingers.
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Shaw: This is your punishment for leading me to the wrong place.
MC: No way, we really went to the wrong place?
Shaw: This is the registration point for the Chinese Department. The Archaeology Department is in Zhi Hua Building.
MC: Zhi Hua Building... I remember now. I think we passed by it earlier.
Shaw: Really?
Knowing that I was in the wrong, I quickly lift both my hands up as a guarantee.
MC: Really, I definitely won’t be wrong this time!
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Shaw: Fine, I’ll reluctantly believe you this time. The last time.
-
[ Chapter Two ]
Since heading to the wrong place led to quite a delay, the door to the registration office of the Department of Archaeology is completely empty.
Shaw knocks on the office door. Inside, there’s only one middle-aged teacher who is currently reading the newspaper.
Teacher: A freshman? Come, fill in this form. Did you bring a copy of your ID card? If you didn’t bring it, give me the original. I'll make a copy for you.
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Shaw: I brought it.
Teacher: What about the one-inch photo?
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Shaw: Here.
Teacher: Oh, the boy's ID photo is so handsome! Sit for a while, I have to make a record.
Shaw: Mm, thanks for the hard work, teacher.
The teacher sits in front of the computer leisurely, then casts a curious glance at the door.
Teacher: Is that young lady outside your girlfriend?
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Shaw: No.
Shaw pauses, then adds on.
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Shaw: Just a friend.
Teacher: Oh... I understand~
The middle-aged man reveals a meaningful smile, and can’t help but gesture at the young man in front of him
Teacher: Young people have to be braver. How can a boy be so shy!
Shaw suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, squeezing out words one by one from between his teeth.
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Shaw: Teacher, are you done with the registration?
[Note] There are different ways of saying “you” in Chinese, depending on formality! When being polite and respectful, especially to an elder, 您 (“nin”) is used. When talking to friends or someone younger, 你 (“ni”) is used. SHAW USES 您 HERE BECAUSE HE IS A POLITE BOY
Teacher: Yes yes, sign here. There’s one more thing I have to tell you. Because you filled in your identity as an Evolver on the form, I’ll have to trouble you to submit a copy of the Evol inspection report.
Shaw: The notice didn’t mention that I had to bring it.
Teacher: It’s a new requirement. It conveniences the school in terms of management, so I hope you can understand. Last semester, an Evolver lost control of his ability and almost lifted the entire classroom. The STF were called down for a day, and it was very troublesome. 
When he hears the term “STF”, Shaw’s expression stirs slightly. Then, he clicks his tongue impatiently.
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Shaw: So troublesome...
Teacher: What did you say?
Shaw: Nothing. Can I hand it in another day?
Teacher: It's fine, just come back within five working days. Here, your notice.
Shaw: Thanks.
-
[ Chapter Three ]
Schoolmate A: Schoolmate, want to check out our e-sports club? We organise competitions every month, and you can receive exquisite merchandise!
Schoolmate B: Schoolmate, come take a look at our basketball club! Handsome guys and beautiful girls gather and keep fit...
Today happens to be the club recruitment day. When Shaw and I pass by the public square, students constantly stop us, asking if we wish to join their clubs.
I look at Shaw curiously, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in any clubs. He walks quickly, not even giving them a glance.
When we’re about to leave the public square, we are once again stopped by a student.
Schoolmate C: Schoolmates, I can tell at a glance that you’re both from the Arts Department, right? Tsk tsk, your outfits have such an artistic quality. I’m from the rock club of our school. Even though the club was only established this year, I believe we have great potential! Usually, the club will organise activities introducing various instruments and music appreciation for hobbyists. Our club president even formed a band himself! They’re performing over there. Do you two want to have a listen?
I initially thought that Shaw would once again ignore him and leave. Unexpectedly, he suddenly stops in his footsteps, then arches his eyebrows with interest.
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Shaw: Oh? You guys have a band?
Schoolmate C: Of course! We don't do covers. They’re all original songs!
Shaw: Let’s have a listen then.
MC: Do you actually want to join this rock club?
Shaw: We’ll talk after listening.
After saying this, he walks towards the area surrounded by a cluster of people.
The venue is simple, but there’s a sizeable number of audience members. The band members in the middle are wagging their heads while performing a song.
The vocals are discordant, and the sound quality is inferior. I’m unable to hear the lyrics clearly, but the melody is really catchy.
MC: I didn't expect them to look like an actual band... Shaw?
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Shaw: ...tch.
Shaw grabs my arm, leaving the scene without saying a word.
MC: What’s wrong?
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Shaw: Hearing plagiarised songs dirties my ears.
MC: That song from before was plagiarised?!
Shaw: They copied an unpopular old song from the 80s. No wonder these people didn’t realise it. You should also improve your musical literacy so you wouldn’t be confused by copied songs.
MC: So what you mean is... I should listen to your band’s songs more?
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Shaw: Of course.
I burst out laughing, and Shaw raises his eyebrows in dissatisfaction.
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Shaw: What are you laughing at?
MC: No, no, I just think that you’ve always been very serious about your band...
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Shaw: You seem pretty concerned about my band?
MC: Mm. I know that you really like this band.
Shaw glances at me, as though verifying the sincerity of my words.
Then, he turns his gaze away, and sunlight touches the corners of his sharp and slightly raised mouth.
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Shaw: Even if it’s just for fun, I’ll do even better than everyone else.
He says these words matter-of-factly, as though so long as he’s willing, every difficulty can be stamped out by him.
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Shaw takes a final look back at the noisy public square. Retrieving a pair of earphones from his pocket, he hands it to me.
Shaw: Wear it properly. I’ll let you listen to truly good music.
-
[ Chapter Four ]
Shaw: Let’s go. Also, we’ll stop by the supermarket along the way. I’m buying some daily necessities.
MC: I really couldn’t tell that you’d be willing to stay in a dormitory.
Shaw: Who said so? I don’t plan to stay in a dormitory.
MC: Huh?
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Shaw: I never stay with outsiders. 
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Shaw: Anyway, there’s a small room in Live House, and I plan to live there. Rehearsals will be convenient too.
MC: Oh... but your place is really too empty. Aside from a bed, it doesn't look liveable.
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Shaw: Hm? How’d you know that my place is empty?
MC: I...
I bite my tongue, hurriedly tossing out a reason to muddle through it.
MC: I don’t even have to think about it to know. Judging by your personality, your house definitely has nothing but bare walls.
Probably because of my self-assured tone, Shaw retracts his scrutinising gaze, pursing his lips. 
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Shaw: That’s not how you use “nothing but bare walls”. Did you even pay attention in school... Let’s go.”
[Note] The reason why Shaw says this is because what MC used was 家徒四壁 (“jia tou si bi”), which is an idiom literally translating to “nothing but bare walls”. However, this idiom is supposed to describe someone who is very poor!
Shaw has always been very proactive. When he finishes speaking, he quickly takes me to the nearest supermarket from school.
After a short while, the shopping cart is stuffed to the brim.
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Shaw: ...wait. I asked you to get a washbowl for me. Why’d you get me three? Do you need to use three washbasins to wash your face every day?
MC: These three washbasins have their respective uses! This one is for washing your face, this one is for washing your body, this one...”
Shaw: Washes what?
MC: Fruits!
Shaw: So troublesome. I might as well buy fruits that I can eat directly without washing.
MC: This is a refined life, okay? If you think it’s too much, then I'll reduce... Hey, what did you put into the cart?
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Shaw: Daily necessities.
Lowering my head to take a look, I see three boxes of animal-shaped clothes hangers. The chubby little animals have their cheeks puffed out, lying in the washbowls I’m buying.
MC: Wow, so cute! You’re quite good at picking things too! ...but why are you buying three boxes?
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Shaw: I learnt from you. One box for clipping towels, one box for clipping clothes, and one box...
MC: Huh?
Shaw doesn’t finish the second half of the sentence, and I subconsciously look up at him, meeting his sly eyes.
Shaw: Since you came out to run errands today, I’ll give it to you.
-
Shaw leans against the door of Live House, quietly watching the taxi drown in the neon glow. Suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrates slightly.
An unknown number appears on the screen. Shaw frowns, then lifts his hand to tap the answer button.
?: I heard you reported to school today?
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Shaw: Looks like you guys are really free. You even have to bother about my enrolment in school?
?: How is it? Is everything going smoothly?
Shaw: It’s fine. Some situations cropped up, but I’m still in a pretty good mood. Also, you guys have to help me with something. The school wants me to submit an Evol inspection report. Forge one for me.
?: No problem. You can collect it from the usual place. Is there anything unusual about Nox from BS recently?
Hearing this alias, Shaw subconsciously glances into the distance. However, all that is visible is the gorgeous night of the city.
Shaw: She's been very busy recently, and seems to keep working overtime. That's it.
?: You know that’s not what we’re asking about.
Shaw: ...what’s the rush? I haven't finished investigating what you guys want to know.
?: Let me remind you not to mix in unnecessary emotions. Don't forget your mission either.
Shaw: I know. I'm hanging up.
The streetlights lining the long street light up in succession, dyeing Shaw’s hair in a warm colour.
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He looks at the phone for a long time, and an untamed smile surfaces on the corners of his lips.
Shaw: I have the final say on how to deal with her.
He takes the long skateboard he had set by the side, lifts his ankle slightly, and skates into the night without hesitation.
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More from S2: here
68 notes · View notes
ichigo-daifuku · 3 years
Text
See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil [2]
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Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Pairing: Diavolo/F!Reader Genre: Soulmate AU, Fake Relationship (?), Misunderstandings, Fluff, Angst, Suggestive Themes
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Synopsis: During a confrontation between Diavolo and a certain witch who harbors unrequited feelings for him, he declares his intention to ask you to stand beside him in reigning over the Devildom someday. You conclude only one logical explanation for the insanity he uttered: this is his way of discouraging the witch from being so persistent. Although clueless, you play along and become ‘lovers’ with him.
Inevitably, your existing attraction for Diavolo grows, but the distinction between truth and lies, the crisscrossed lines of the right and the wrong, and the question of what’s real and what isn’t, begin to plague your mind and stir up trouble for your relationship with him with each passing day.
Entangled within the woven threads of soulmates and a royal prophecy, this is the story of the Demon Prince and his future Queen: you.
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1 | 2 | 3 Chapter 2: Hear No Evil Word Count: 6.5k
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To say your week was eventful would be an understatement.
It was no secret that wherever Diavolo went, eyes followed. Even if demons walked on eggshells with him, word about him spread from one mouth to another rapidly, both news and rumors alike. Now, your circumstances mimicked his own. When the two of you would be spotted together, all hell ensued. Once, Diavolo walked you to your classroom, and by the end of the day, everyone—including Belphegor, who had skipped classes—had knowledge of what happened. As the days passed, you slowly fell into the normalcy of such occurrences. The reason for it was when you were in Diavolo’s company, the last thing you cared about was the eyes trained on you, as strange as it sounded. On a positive note, it contributed to the fabrication of your relationship and made it more believable. No one had questioned either of you about it yet.
The most awaited day of the week arrived, Saturday.
You awoke in a good mood, undeniably filled with anticipation of the events today would bring. As you watered the Mirage Flower on your windowsill, the item resting beside it caught your eye: a note. You finished your task and took the crisp white envelope in your hands, flipping it over to see the crimson wax seal on its flap. While you were expecting the RAD logo to be stamped on it, the sigil was one you were positive you’d never seen before but felt strangely acquainted with.
With utmost care, you unsealed the envelope, and in the card, the sender had written:
Bewitched, I was, on the fateful day you and I met.
The familiar penmanship was all you needed to confirm it was, indeed, from none other than Diavolo.
You’d be lying if you claimed your heart didn’t flutter when you finished reading that single sentence, but that was a normal response, wasn’t it? Such a romantic sentiment was written in a note for you, and it was from an admirable man—of course, you’d be moved by it. As you breathed in and out to curb the initial surprise you felt due to the content of the envelope, you tapped behind the paper with your index finger, thinking.
Diavolo loved games, and he was entertained the most by being their mastermind.
This is a riddle, you thought. What a strange way to ask someone out.
You chuckled, both amused by his antics and by the way the gears in your head turned to figure out the meaning behind his words. Months ago, the demon brothers had insisted on coming with you to the Demon Lord’s Castle when you were invited there for tea. Perhaps, it was because, back then, Diavolo had requested for your company in the same manner that you found the answer in no time.
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Quietness ruled over the RAD campus on weekends, a stark contrast to the busy picture it painted on weekdays. The area remained open, though, permitting industrious students to hole up inside the library and club members to work on their extracurricular activities. 
Leisurely, you strolled along the garden and entered the building without bumping into anyone you knew. Once inside, you recognized a few demons and nodded to them as a greeting while navigating your way to the answer to the riddle: The Student Council Room.
The door let out a small creak as you pushed it open. Since Diavolo was nowhere to be found, you stepped inside and opted to look around for any signs of another envelope. Despite having a lot of papers and writing implements, Lucifer’s area was the tidiest. The square-shaped tube of the tinted lip balm Asmodeus had been frantically searching for yesterday was on his table. Meanwhile, a stack of overdue assignments Belphegor ‘forgot’ to bring home was on his desk.
You roamed around the room until you reached the space you had landed on when you were transported into this world. Standing still, you raised your head, your gaze meeting the podium Diavolo had occupied, the place where he greeted you. It was the very first time your eyes landed on him. In absolute clarity, you could picture the scene of your meeting and how he looked like back then. He was tall and proud, his eyebrows scrunched together in worry at your discomfort at being summoned so suddenly. Most of all, he was regal, as if the place he had been standing on was not a student council podium but a throne.
“This takes me back,” you commented, feeling nostalgic after realizing how far you’d come. You’d learned many things from your stay and met friends more precious to you than anyone else. In the past, if someone told you what kind of relationship you’d be sharing with the Demon Prince months later, you would’ve laughed and brushed them off. “Now, where could that envelope be?”
You stepped aside and moved forward. The stairs led you to where Diavolo had been on that ‘fateful’ day. Footsteps tentative but thrilled, you approached his seat, halting and pulling the chair out. You stood in the place where Diavolo belonged; high up, the sight offering a clear view of what was happening below. Your gaze zeroed in on the center of the room, the spot you stood at a while ago, where he first landed his eyes on you. It hit you that you were looking at that place from his perspective. What did he think of you back then?
“‘ Bewitched, I was, on the fateful day you and I met, ’” you uttered and caught yourself having thoughts you shouldn’t have. Sighing, you shook your head, picked up the envelope on Diavolo’s desk, and muttered, “Why is he so good at this?”
You unsealed the envelope and read the next riddle:
The greed and lust I harbor for you know no bounds.
How in the Devildom were you supposed to interpret that message? If you were surprised by the previous riddle, then you were flabbergasted now. You had to remind yourself multiple times: it was a riddle; nothing more, nothing less. Based on the emphasis he had given the sins in the message, the clue laid in the two members of the Seven Rulers of Hell: Mammon and Asmodeus. Intrigued by the events he had in store for you, you contemplated the riddle’s meaning further and descended on the stairs with the intent of going home. Before you could forget, you grabbed the missing lip balm Asmodeus left on his desk and decided to return it to him and ask him for any clues Diavolo might have given him.
Once you arrived back at the House of Lamentation, you went straight in the direction of Asmodeus’s room, but surprisingly, you met him along the hallway.
“Asmo! I found the tinted lip balm you’re looking for in the Student Council Room,” you stated, handing him the item.
He accepted it gratefully, his eyes wide. “Oh, my… I must have left it there a few days ago. Thanks for bringing it!”
“Sure thing,” you replied. “Where are you off to, by the way?”
“Glad you asked! The Into The Devildom collection I designed is going to be launched soon, so I’m meeting some partners for it.”
“Wow, congratulations! I’m looking forward to seeing your designs!”
“Oh, thank you, darling! As crazy as this sounds, the executives suggested Mammon as one of our models, so he’s going to attend the meeting, too.”
“Wait! What did you just say? Mammon?”
“I know, right?” His facial expression morphed into one full of disbelief and exasperation. “Well, I mean, even if he’s scummy off-cam, he does justice to clothing on-cam, so I have high hopes for this campaign... but don’t tell him I said that!”
“Yes, yes, of course…”
The request Asmodeus made barely registered in your mind as you figured out the place connected to both the Avatar of Greed and the Avatar of Lust: Majolish.
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The Majolish VIP Room lived up to its name; it was nothing short of glamorous.
After going to an AkuDonald’s drive-through, Mammon, Asmodeus, and you—or as you liked to refer to yourselves: TEAM PARTYYYYY—headed straight to Majolish while chatting about random topics and gossip. Once inside the rose-colored establishment, Mammon and Asmodeus parted ways with you to attend their meeting. You were about to search for clues from the racks and shelves when a staff member approached and escorted you to a sitting room to serve you tea and snacks.
Minutes after partaking of the refreshments, the head stylist welcomed you to the adjoining VIP Room, where, at the moment, you were sitting inside and waiting. You stared at your reflection in the grand vanity mirror. All its lights were turned on, and it was an image you’d only seen in Hollywood movies back in your world. After you were all glammed up with flawless makeup, a staff member under Asmodeus brought an ensemble from his unreleased Into The Devildom collection. You tried to refuse, but after a phone call from the designer himself, insisting he wanted the best clothing for you on your ‘momentous’ date, you relented and expressed your gratitude for his thoughtful gesture.
“My lady,” the head stylist called. Although everyone in this place had been referring to you using this title since earlier, you were still unused to it. The head stylist offered you the item in their hands. “Lord Diavolo asked us to give you this envelope after you’d chosen your outfit.”
You smiled and received it. “I see. Thank you so much.”
“I wish you both a wonderful time,” the head stylist replied and left to give you privacy.
You opened the envelope, wondering what the riddle would say. Since he led you here to prepare you for your date, this would be the last note, wouldn’t it?
Meet me at the place where we first shared dinner, my princess.
I will be waiting.
— Diavolo
‘My princess.’
He called you his princess.
Your heart did a complete somersault at that. 
Unexpectedly, the riddle—if you could even call it one—was more straightforward than the previous two you’d received. You placed the card back inside the envelope, putting it together with the other two inside your clutch. Clearing your throat and fixing your posture, you stood and adjusted your clothing. You were nervous again, but you were ready.
A sleek black car waited for you outside, ready to take you to your destination: Ristorante Six.
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“You look even more beautiful tonight,” Diavolo remarked.
He smiled at you from across the table, his appearance dashing though he was only in a plain dress shirt and slacks. He took the champagne flute in his long fingers, your eyes refusing to miss the way his arm flexed at the movement and how his throat bobbed as he took a sip of the beverage.
“I have you to thank for that,” you gulped and managed to reply. “The staff at Majolish were all so nice and accommodating.”
“That’s good to hear.” He placed his glass on the side and leaned back to his seat, his eyes trained on you. “Did you enjoy the riddles?”
You let out a laugh. “I can’t say I didn’t.”
“I’m glad,” he said, the smile on his lips shifting into a frown. “To tell you the truth, I initially planned for us to enjoy a day together in the human world… but when I asked Lucifer for advice, he told me it wouldn’t be pleasant if we were to run into a certain witch…”
Ah, you thought, wondering what that would’ve entailed. However, wouldn’t it be better for Maddi to see you and Diavolo together for her to be deterred? When you contemplated the matter further, you supposed that would be dangerous—for you, at least. Honestly, you would’ve been fine with a simple dinner, but knowing Diavolo, the fact that Ristorante Six was empty save for the two of you was his way of apologizing and making up for the breakfast Maddi ruined. “You don’t need to worry about that. I really enjoyed today. It’s my first time going on a date in the Devildom.”
“That makes me happy,” he stated, visibly relieved and pleased. “We can still go, next time.”
Next time. The implication he wanted to go out with you again made your chest thrum with anticipation. “Yes, you’re right. Next time.”
He reached across the table and took your hand in his, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “Thank you for agreeing to go out with me.”
The scent of roses swirled around the room. The romantic atmosphere enveloping the two of you was intoxicating—as if it was an invitation for you to give in to the thoughts and emotions looming over your mind and heart. Was it those riddles that got to you? Or was it Diavolo himself, whom you’d always admired from afar?
You smiled at him and let your fingers hold on to his own tighter, just for a moment.
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As you expected, Diavolo insisted on taking you home. You didn’t mind—no scratch that—it delighted you he’d offer, as your dinner with him felt strangely short. You’d spent a considerable amount of time during the day figuring out the riddles, a period longer than your two hours of dinner. While the five-course meal left you satisfied, your conversation with him was so enjoyable that it felt brief. It wouldn’t take that long to travel from Ristorante Six to the House of Lamentation, so you figured a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
Soon, you arrived at your home. Diavolo entered the gates of the House of Lamentation with you in comfortable silence. Once the two of you stepped on the porch, you offered, “Do you want to go in and say hi to everyone?”
“Hm?” Diavolo was lost in thought as he gave you an indecisive stare.
“Diavolo?”
As you stared back at him, it dawned on you. You’d witnessed this scene a thousand times in human world movies before, and with his interest in the pop culture of your realm, he had, too. You used to think it was nothing but a ridiculous cliché, but now, you weren’t so sure about that anymore.
“Can I kiss you good night?” Diavolo asked in a low, husky voice.
You had no way of concealing the surprise etched on your face. Even if you expected the question, the thought of kissing him was surreal. You never dared to dream of it, yet here he was, truly asking you if such a thing would be fine with you. The demon brothers would be watching somewhere from one of the tall windows, you had no doubt about it, burning with curiosity about the date between the human they shared a pact with and the Prince they swore their loyalty to. You had agreed to be a part of Diavolo’s charade, and your first date went well. This was natural.
You nodded. “Okay.”
Closing your eyes, you leaned into his warmth as his palm made its way to your cheek and curved at your jaw. The gentle pressure of his lips on your own lasted for a mere second, and the loss of contact prompted your eyes to open, the desire for more reflected in your eyes… and his.
In front of you, Diavolo revealed the rare sight of his vulnerability. You’d never known it before, but there was a limit to his seemingly perpetual composure. As you gazed at the undeniable flush on his cheeks and the hesitation painted all over his countenance, the longing to see more of this version of him led adrenaline to spike in your veins.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered, “Do you need me to do more?”
Diavolo’s eyes widened at your astute inquiry, but he made no move to deny it. “Will you?”
The question sounded like a challenge, but underneath that layer, it was a plea. He wanted this, and you did, too—even if it was only for show.
“I can,” you confirmed, “if you’d like me to.”
At your agreement, his hesitation dissipated. He leaned in and brushed your lower lip with his thumb. “If you continue to tempt me like that, you need to prepare yourself for the consequences.”
“I’ve been prepared for them. Ever since I said ‘yes’ to you.”
You closed your eyes as Diavolo bent his head and pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. It was a real one, this time, and you returned it enthusiastically, throwing caution to the wind. His palm moved past your cheek, down to your shoulder, pausing on the small of your back until it settled around your waist, fitting your bodies together. His warm tongue slid past the seam of your lips to meet yours, deepening the kiss and awakening a wave of desire inside of you.
Before it could get out of hand, you broke the contact of your lips on his. You caught your breath while Diavolo leaned his forehead against yours. Your lips stayed a hair’s breadth away from each other’s, sharing warm puffs of breath and brushing as you whispered, “Good night, Diavolo.”
“Good night, my princess.”
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The first kiss you shared with Diavolo had been the beginning of many.
A certain thrill hung in the atmosphere whenever the two of you were in the vicinity of each other. More often than not, your encounters would lead to the two of you leaving hand in hand to move to a more private setting as everyone watched. Although there was no reason for you to continue your charade behind closed doors, the moment your eyes met his, kisses followed. When your relationship with him took a physical turn through your heated kisses, your attraction to him inevitably grew stronger.
Being the heir to the Devildon’s throne, Diavolo was a busy demon. Despite this, he would still take you on dates. You’d gone to Ristorante Six a few more times. There was an instance when he wanted to go to AkuDonald’s, and you were more than happy to introduce him to your favorites. Your date at Hell’s Kitchen went well, too. How he managed to find the time for these things, you had no idea. The following dates you went with him were accompanied with gifts, and soon, across your bedroom’s shelves and beside your pillows, various plush toys from Cranesanity rested—all acquired personally by Diavolo. It was both amusing and endearing, his interest in that game.
On a Sunday afternoon, weeks after you began your dangerous affair with him, Diavolo invited you to come over for tea in the Demon Lord’s Castle. Much like how it began after your second date, he had asked you in a way you’d consider normal, this time, through a text message. Either way, if he was the one who invited you, you’d be delighted to accept.
With the inky view of the Devildom outside the sitting room window, you sat across Diavolo, a round ornate table full of pastries between the two of you. The freshly brewed Ceylon tea by none other than Barbatos, a culinary legend, was warm and fragrant in your teacups. One of the best things in the Demon Lord’s Castle was the food. Barbatos’s cooking was the best, truly fit for royalty, and worth every praise you’d heard about it. As Beelzebub would mention now and then, from being served such food alone, Diavolo was lucky to have Barbatos as his butler.
While eating, Diavolo brought up how the RAD Newspaper Club contacted him and asked for his approval for your photo in the academy’s courtyard to be published. Before giving them a response, he wanted to know if you had any objections or conditions for Mephistopheles to take into account.
“I have no problem with it, honestly. It would be better if the denizens knew, wouldn’t it?” you responded after giving it some thought, meaning every word you said.
Diavolo nodded, considering your answer.
“What about you? What do you think?” you asked.
“I’d like nothing more than to let everyone know about us. Not that they don’t know already, but officially, I mean.” Diavolo chuckled and handed you a printed copy of the photograph for your approval. “We look like quite the pair, don’t we?”
As you examined the picture, a smile made its way to your lips, a tiny, if not bittersweet, one. You, Diavolo, and the Mirage Flower were at the center of the frame. On the surface, the two of you looked like a couple in love; convincing, real. You knew better, though, and that reality left a pang in your chest. “We sure do.”
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A celebratory ball was going to be held at the Demon Lord’s Castle in honor of Diavolo’s prophesied ‘Queen.’ In other words, the ball was going to be held to honor you. The situation was similar to what happened some time ago when the demon brothers, through their gratitude, made you the guest of honor during Diavolo’s birthday. It lessened the nervousness you felt and replaced it with anticipation.
Still, it would be nice to thank Diavolo for everything he had done for you. You looked back on the facts you’d learned about him in the past few months and listed the arts, cute animals and items, and sweets as the things he was partial to. His tastes were eclectic. When you first met him, you wouldn’t have guessed he considered flowers and small animals to be comforting.
In the end, you decided to go for the ‘sweets’ option. Macarons and cupcakes would be nice, wouldn’t they? Both of them would be cute and sweet. You decided to experiment with a few trial batches before making a final one to give Diavolo as a gift on the day of the ball. 
Luke, who you were convinced was truly your guardian angel, was more than happy to assist you when you asked him for help.
Once your classes were dismissed, you returned to the House of Lamentation with Luke. After he demonstrated how to make macarons and cupcakes, you sat side by side and chatted as you waited for the pastries to bake.
“So,” Luke began out of the blue, “you’re really dating Lord Diavolo, huh? I couldn’t believe it when I first heard about it.”
While you had experienced telling white lies to children back in your world, at the moment, you found it difficult to believe how you were lying to an angel. “Haha, yeah. It’s been a while.” 
“I’m still not over the fact that a good human like you ended up being destined for a demon all along! Even if that demon is Lord Diavolo…” Luke frowned. He had always been like this, worrying about you, a human who was constantly surrounded by demons. To him, now that you were going to be Diavolo’s Queen, your entanglement with demons had become inexorable.
You couldn’t help but reach out to him and ruffle his hair. He was truly an angel, a good kid.
“H-Hey,” he complained but did nothing to move your hand away, “stop that!”
“Thanks for worrying about me, Luke.” You smiled at him reassuringly and patted his shoulder. “Everything will be fine. As you said, Diavolo and I… well, we are destined, after all.”
The sound of the timer prompted your heads to turn to its source. Luke’s face lit up as he excitedly grabbed his mittens and skipped to the corner of the room. The heavenly scent of pastries wafted all over the kitchen as he drew the oven’s door open.
You, however, stayed in place and merely watched, once again having difficulty believing how you lied to an angel.
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Diavolo’s trusted footmen fetched you from the House of Lamentation to the Demon Lord’s Castle. 
Over the last few months, you’d developed a sense of familiarity not only with Diavolo’s staff but also with the ins and outs of his grand home. You’d stayed over numerous times that the guest room you frequented in was now assigned as exclusively yours, with your personal effects in it, serving as your room. Aside from your possessions, brand new designer clothing purchased by Diavolo—which were, unexpectedly, all in your size—as well as makeup, accessories, toiletries, and everything you could need, occupied the walk-in closet.
“Is this really necessary?” you had asked him when you found out about his shopping spree, worry trumping the other mixed emotions you felt at the sight of more gifts.
“I want to give all the best things to you.”
“If you say things like that, I…”
“Don’t you think my future Queen deserves the best of the best?”
“...Right, of course.”
Diavolo’s Queen. That person was not you. You sighed and reminded yourself he was the Demon Prince. He had an eternity’s worth of money to spare, purchasing these items was nothing to him. He prepared this for the Queen in the prophecy, a partner deserving of such luxury. When you eventually had to use some of the items for attending events with Diavolo, you told yourself you were just borrowing them. You handled everything with care and returned them to their original place after use—as if your hands never touched them at all.
You arrived at the Demon Lord’s Castle and found yourself sitting on the plush sofa inside Diavolo’s study. After recently having a vision of Diavolo playing hooky, Barbatos requested for you to keep an eye on him, insisting his master would listen to you. Barbatos asked you to make sure Diavolo would finish his tasks before the two of them had to leave for a meeting with important figures of the nobility in the Devildom. You obliged, having nothing else to do on a Friday night, preferring Diavolo’s quiet company over the club music and neon lights in town, which would no doubt be full of demons unwinding tonight. While you scrolled through Devilgram, liked your friends’ photos, and laughed at funny videos, Diavolo went through his stack of papers diligently. As the pile grew smaller, he hummed to the tune of a song from Mononoke Land, which piqued your attention.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” you commented. 
“I am.” He nodded happily. “You’re here, after all.”
You smiled at him. “I’m glad.”
Diavolo signed his name at the bottom of the page he was working on and placed his seal on it. After the wax dried, he closed the folder and placed it to the side, leaning back against his seat with an exhausted sigh.
You glanced at him and asked, “You’re finished?”
“It seems so,” he replied, checking the grandfather’s clock in the corner of the room, “and with a few minutes to spare, too.”
“Barbatos will be pleased. Congratulations!”
He chuckled and shifted his gaze back to you, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”
“Maybe,” you played along coyly. “What kind of reward do you want?”
“Something only you can give me.”
“Such a thing exists?”
“Yes.” He gestured to you with his fingers, beckoning you over. “Come here.”
You locked your D.D.D. and left it on the sofa, standing up and stepping in front of his desk. “What can I do for you, Diavolo?”
“You can come closer.”
You circled the desk until you were beside him. “Here?”
“Not quite.” He took your wrist and encircled your waist with his arm, pulling you into his lap. “Right here.”
You shifted and found a more comfortable position with your legs hanging from the side of his knees. “That’s it?”
“No.” Diavolo brushed your hair aside and caressed your cheek. “Kiss me.”
Gladly, you thought but ultimately chose actions over words as a response.
Your lips had long been acquainted with his, but every single time remained as a sensual experience that left you wanting for more. Sometimes he’d be slow and gentle, taking his time to savor your taste, while other times had been quick pecks on your lips when either of you would be busy and in a rush to say goodbye.
But now, the kiss the two of you were sharing could only be described as passionate. Your palms rested on his shoulders, and slowly, you wrapped your arms around him, closing in your bodies toward each other. His lips moved against yours so greedily—lustfully—that you felt sinful as you reciprocated, drowning in his warmth.
When you pulled away to catch your breath, his arm tightened around your waist, and his mouth swept over your cheek, leaving a trail of kisses in its wake until his lips found your neck. He kissed you softly, his tongue darting out to dampen your skin before nipping and sucking at it.
“Diavolo,” you closed your eyes and whispered, not wanting to make noise but unable to hold it in.
“Let out your voice,” he said, moving his lips downward after leaving a lovebite on your skin. “I want to hear you.”
His long fingers unfastened the button of your blouse, giving him more access to your body. As he moved to the next button, however, a loud knock on the door caused the two of you to freeze.
“My Lord,” Barbatos called. “It is time for us to leave.”
Without waiting for an answer, the sound of footsteps echoed on the empty hallway and faded as Barbatos gave the two of you privacy.
He knows, doesn’t he? That Barbatos, you thought, internally panicking. You moved away from Diavolo and fixed your hair and clothes. Even though your mind was all muddled now, you managed to casually tell him, “I guess it’s time for you to go.”
Deep inside, you were anything but calm. Your head replayed the events that occurred minutes ago. That was a close call. Too close. What in the Devildom were you thinking? Seriously… 
It always irked you how times when, after sharing a kiss, Diavolo appeared to be unbothered existed. You preferred the vulnerable expression he had shown you during the first time you agreed to kiss him. Still, you were curious, and you turned your head to peek at the face he made tonight, but nothing could have prepared you when your eyes met his.
His gaze on you was full of desire, an emotion you’d only seen on him in flickers before; a speculation you doubted but was now a blatant truth. He stepped closer to you and pulled you in a tight embrace, letting you feel the extent of his arousal as he stroked your hair and inhaled your fragrance.
“We’ll finish this next time,” he whispered.
And then, he sealed his promise with a kiss.
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After seeing Diavolo and Barbatos off, you opted to go home instead of staying longer in the Demon Lord’s Castle. You needed time to think, and being in a place full of memories with Diavolo didn’t help in clearing your mind.
You’d long accepted your attraction to him. If you were to imagine what it would be like to be in a relationship with a soulmate, every detail would be the same as the romantic affair you shared with Diavolo, except it would be real. Tonight, you had to face the music and admit it to yourself: you wished it was.
The situation was getting out of your hands, and at a loss of what to do, you grabbed your D.D.D. from your pocket and dialed a reliable friend’s number, knowing this decision would change your life.
As insisted by the angels, Solomon went to town to order takeout for dinner instead of experimenting in the kitchen. That was when he received your call. The two of you agreed to meet up at Hell’s Kitchen, as you spontaneously decided to purchase food for the demon brothers as well. It had been a while since all eight of you had gone for a meal there. Solomon wasn’t in a rush and had time to spare, so he was more than happy to sit down with you for a chat as you waited for your orders to be processed.
“Shall we have a round of Demonus tonight?” he asked, leading you to a nice, secluded table in the corner of the room.
“Sounds good,” you replied with a nod and took the seat in front of him.
After some idle chat, a waiter brought two horns of Demonus for you and Solomon.
With his elbows on top of the table, Solomon rested his chin over his folded hands. He broached the subject with a smile, “So, what did you want to talk about? Spells? Pacts? Demons? Recipes?”
You took your time in replying, not having uttered this word in this world before. “I’d like to talk about… soulmates.”
“Soulmates? Well, that’s something I didn’t expect.”
“Yes, I… I wanted to know if there are demons who have soulmarks.”
“How come? By any chance, do you have a soulmark?”
It was difficult enough for you to acknowledge you had one, but if you wanted to acquire information from Solomon, your best bet at the moment, you had to come clean about your situation. “Yes, I do.”
“Does Lord Diavolo know?”
“No, this is a secret I’ve never revealed to anyone before.”
Solomon contemplated the situation you had given him. “That is certainly complicated.”
You sighed and took a sip of your Demonus. “I know.”
“I hate to be the one to break it to you. I’ve been around for a long time, but I’ve never met a demon with a soulmark.” 
“I see. That’s…” Sad? Unfortunate? Heartbreaking? What were you supposed to say when the disappointment clouding your mind felt so heavy?
“I’m sorry,” Solomon said sincerely.
“It’s… It’s nothing. I’m alright.”
He took a sip of his drink and allowed you to process the information he had given you. As you did, you couldn’t help but dwell on another matter that continued to plague your mind. After a few minutes, you decided this would be the best moment to ask.
“Solomon…”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Have you heard about Diavolo’s prophecy?”
A sly smile made its way to his lips. “Let’s just say having pacts with seventy-two demons has its perks.”
That caught your attention. He knew something about it. “Will you tell me?”
“Why not ask him yourself?” Solomon suggested. “It’s something that concerns you as well, doesn’t it?”
There had always been a sense of camaraderie between the two of you as the only humans in the exchange program. Revealing the fact you had a soulmark was one thing, but telling him about the secret you shared with Diavolo was another. Still, if you were to receive the answer your gut feeling told you that you would receive, there would be no need to worry about that any longer. 
“I’m going to tell you another secret.”
Solomon nodded encouragingly. “And it will remain as one.”
His quip made you laugh, but the amusement faded in the blink of an eye, the words you were about to utter weighing you down.
“The truth is, I’m just a stand-in for whoever is the one in the prophecy,” you confessed. “I’m sure you’ve heard of her, but Maddi… well, long story short, Diavolo had to drive her away, but she steered the conversation to the prophecy, and I happened to be there, so…”
Solomon peered at your face, his expression grave. “You’re sure about this?”
“Yes, I was there. That’s what happened.”
“And the demon brothers don’t know, so you can’t ask them yourself.”
“That’s right.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”
Relief washed over you at his agreement. If Solomon ended up refusing, you didn’t know who else you could approach.
Solomon cleared his throat and divulged, “It was long ago, so the version of the story varied, but from what I’d gathered from the different sources I had, one thing was constant: a witch had a vision of the future when the Demon Prince was born. It was said that Diavolo’s Queen would be the bridge to his goals, and only when the Queen would rule by his side would he be able to see them into fulfillment.”
This was the revelation you needed, the answer you sought after. If the prophecy was made when Diavolo was born, it meant that he had been waiting for his Queen for millennia.
It must be lonely, you thought, but loneliness was something you never saw on him. 
While you never cared about finding nor ending up with your soulmate, it was a different matter with Diavolo. The Devildom would always be his number one priority. To figure out the dream the prophecy was referring to was easy: for the three worlds to live peacefully in coexistence. He’d expressed that many times before. The establishment of the exchange program was a stepping stone to actualize his vision, but he was still waiting for his Queen, a position vyed by many but was in your wrongful hands.
It would be fine to continue pretending to be his Queen if you weren’t in love with him… but you were. How could you continue kissing him and wishing every caress of his lips was sincere? It was as if you were a traveler with a parched throat who spotted an oasis from afar, only to discover it was a mirage once you reached it. Even now, a flicker of envy sparked within you for the nameless, faceless Queen of the Devildom he was bound to have by his side. At once, you discarded the thought and decided it wasn’t a good feeling to have, to covet him, who is destined for someone else. It would be wrong of you to continue pretending to be someone you weren’t, especially since someone who might be out there already existing, deserved this place. 
Solomon’s worried voice roused you from your reverie. “You seem shaken. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m fine,” you responded with a shaky voice. “It’s just… a lot to take in.”
“What do you plan to do now?”
“I’m going to break things off with him.”
“You say that, but will he let you?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” You let out a sardonic chuckle. “It’s not like there was anything going on between us, to begin with.”
“Hmm…”
“Solomon? What is it?”
“Oh, nothing.” He shook his head and smiled. “I’m curious to see how this unfolds. I wish you the best of luck.”
“Thank you.”
Yes, breaking things off with him would be the right thing to do. After all, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in Maddi’s shoes as Diavolo blatantly rejected your affection. The thought alone was painful enough. Before that could happen, you’d part ways with him in amicable terms and through your own will. The exchange program was going to end soon, anyway. Truly, there was no point in holding on to him any longer. This would be for the best.
You would set things straight and end your arrangement with him the next time you planned to meet each other: at the upcoming celebratory ball at the Demon Lord’s Castle.
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Notes: I went through a writing slump for a while, so I decided to work on a few shorter pieces before writing this chapter. Finally, it’s here! To those who had been waiting for this, I hope you enjoyed reading. Thank you for your patience! ♡
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See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil
Obey Me! Masterlist | Main Masterlist
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119 notes · View notes
basicjetsetter · 3 years
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Part I
♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader
▹ Warnings: Mild Language, Triggering Content
▹ Words: 4.6k
▹ A/N: Buckle in. This is going to be a long ride.
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“No way!” Your friend Manda squeals. “Those were the exact words?!”
You smoosh a frantic hand over Manda’s mouth and shush her, then slightly pop up from your seat to scope out the packed bus, making sure none of your schoolmates heard her outburst. To your relief, only a few close students glance over with little interest and barely anyone in a wider radius catches Manda’s words over the buzzing clammer of other conversations. Blowing out a satisfied exhale, you turn back to your friend, removing your hand from her mouth with a teasingly reproachful frown. 
“Tell the whole world, why don’t you?” 
She giggles, “My bad. But can you blame me? This is huge!”
Thrilled warmth floods into your cheeks from her enthusiasm. She’s right. This is huge, and you might have secretly sought this exact reaction because only Manda’s trademark, earsplitting squeal stamps news with the seal of authenticity. It’s real. You heard your Destined Words.
The same jitters from when you woke up this morning skitter up and down your spine, sharpening your senses to the max, making it easier to recall the words that floated into your subconscious—words from a bodiless voice. Your Soulmate.
I’ve got you.
Your mind handles the precious words like a porcelain tea set, carefully deciphering the voice pitch and attempting to match it to a face, knowing its efforts lie in vain because the words’ owner only becomes apparent when they speak them to you.
Some inner part of you distinctly translates the words into a comforting assurance, an assurance one might receive after coming home from a long day’s work and walking into the soft embrace of a lover. It weaves itself around your mind like a consoling safety net, painting an image of a lover better than you’ve ever imagined and everything you’ve ever hoped for.
You couldn’t have hand-picked a better day than today, Midtown High’s field trip to the MoMA, to gush over the words with Manda while admiring spectacular, thought-provoking art pieces. One of the perks of going to Midtown High is their fantastic field trips. You circled this Friday on your calendar at the start of the semester because while you loved being in a school centered around technological sciences, you were excited to study artists’ colorful, eclectic expressions and how their cultural personalities materialize in the stroke of a paintbrush.
“You’re so lucky,” Manda says, trying to pull off a pout. Her vibrant smile triumphs. “Only three days after you turn eighteen, and you hear your Destined Words. I’ve got four more months before I file a complaint.”
You sympathetically rub her shoulder, her oversized, long-sleeved denim jacket rough to the touch. “It’ll come. Just don’t wait for it.”
“Oh, I know it’s coming. I just want it to be something as cute as yours, you know.” She shudders, “My cousin Alonzo said his Destined Words were ‘Sure, whatever.’ Can you imagine that? Finally being mature enough for your Soulmate and that’s the first thing they say to you? I mean, sure, he and Tanya are super cute together, but ugh. Those words?”
You snicker, “Let me guess. You’re expecting a grand gesture?”
Manda nods with a dead serious face, though she could never truly pull it off with her full lips and Cabbage Patch Doll cheeks. She’d have a better chance at getting away with murder than intimidating someone with her cute little frown. “If I don’t hear the words ‘Where have you been all my life, you breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous goddess,’ then I’m demanding a full refund.”
You blankly stare at each other for a beat before you crack, both of you laughing until your sides ache and you’re gasping for air, not caring for the teachers' hushes from the front of the bus.
“I just can’t believe I finally hear the words, you know,” you say as the laughs fade. “It’s like a fairytale come true.” You lean your head against the cool glass window, watching the placid cerulean waves come into view as the bus drives onto a bridge. “I wonder what they’re like, if I know them. If they’re nice. My mom says she already had a mega crush on my dad, so when he said the words, it already felt like they were together.”
Manda sighs dreamily. “I bet they’re cute. And super smart. Those words seem kind of thoughtful, too, so that’s a bonus. And, hey, don’t worry so much.” She gently knocks her shoulder against yours. “They’re going to love you.”
You weren’t scared that they wouldn’t love you. Everyone who finds their Soulmate never doubts that that is their person. What pins a tiny knot of anxiety to the pit of your stomach is how it will happen.
As a young girl, you spent countless nights dreaming of the sequential events leading up to the day you finally met your Soulmate, orchestrating the moment like a scene from all the rom-coms you binged. Your person accidentally bumps into you either in a hallway or on the bus or in the lunch-line, gazes deep into your dazed eyes, then declares their love for you with some cliché phrase before scooping you into their arms and planting a kiss on your expectant lips.
I’ve got you.
The sweet words drifting in your head do their best to ease away the anxiety. You have nothing to worry about. The meeting will play out the way you fantasized, if not better. All because of those words.
“We’re all gonna die!” Ned Leeds shouts from the middle of the bus.
All heads snap to the right windows. In an instant, densely packed bodies swarm from the left side to the right, sandwiching together to search for what Ned was staring at, some opening the windows and craning their necks for a better look. You grunt as someone digs their elbow in your ribcage to see more, and you tensely shove them against the back of the seats in front of you before peering out of your window.
It’s a sight no eyes could miss. A large, metal donut levitates in the clear sky, an obstruction not there mere seconds ago. You gasp in wonder, but not fear. Surely, the Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes, will have this taken care of before the sun sets.
The bus driver, an old man with a smile as sly as a fox and pearly white hair, casually calls out, “What’s the matter with you kids?! You’ve never seen a spaceship before?”
“He’s got a point,” you shrug as Manda gapes at the driver with incredulous eyes, then rounds on you as you calmly sit back down. “We always get so worked up over these aliens, and nothing ever really happens. The Avengers got it handled.”
“You sure? Because that looks a little menacing.” Manda worries at her lower lip, anxiously sneaking peeks out the window. Many students stay plastered to the scene.
“Positive.”
✦ ✧✦ ✧
The appearance of the metal donut effectively sullies your experience of the MoMA. None of the tour guides thoroughly explain the paintings' and sculptures' meanings or historical relevance. Instead, they string together incoherent sentences about person, place, and time as they gape at the video feeds live-streamed to their phones. Even Manda stays glued to her screen, chewing on her lower lip so hard you're surprised she hasn't punctured it.
Fifteen minutes into the tour, aggravation chafes into you like sandpaper, rubbing your skin raw. You waited months for this trip. Months! You'd be damned if a few pesky aliens took this special day away from you. You weren’t afraid. You had no reason to be.
Fed up, you take matters into your own hands and stealthily break away from the group, tip-toeing back to an intriguing wall of paintings and observe it by yourself. 
One painting catches your eye early, drawing you to the middle of the wall to study it further. Its tag reads The Lovers, René Magritte, Paris, 1928, Surrealism, Oil Painting. There are two people, a man and a woman, painted with white cloths shrouding their faces as they share a seemingly intimate kiss. You lean in closer, noting the almost murky atmosphere and how it lends to the mystery of the kiss. What did Magritte want you to think when you analyzed this piece? What questions did she want you to ask? 
You derive two: Is love mysterious and complicated as the atmosphere suggests, or is it intuitive and straightforward as the veiled lovers suggest? And, would the love still be the same once they lift the veils?
Beep. Beep. Beep. All the phones in hearing range chime out three urgent trills, nearly ejecting your soul out of your body. Clearing your head with a shake, you pull your phone out of your back pocket. You don't even have to unlock it. The news alert flashes up like a hazard light. Tony Stark Missing.
You blink. What the hell is going on?
"Are you seeing this?" Manda whispers, sidling up to your side.
You nod, at a loss for words. Iron Man is missing? How? What happened? Did it have something to do with the metal donut? 
You blink harder and take another long look at the notification, hoping it was a typo or missing a few words, words like Tony Stark Missing Iron Man Suit. Hell, even Tony Stark Missing Cheeseburgers. Anything but what's on your screen.
Somewhere in the background, Mrs. Kramer, your Art teacher, roll-calls the students to the front entrance. "Okay, guys, time to cut the field trip short."
Your shoulders sag. This can't be happening. Is it really that serious?
"Peter? Peter?" Mr. Dell calls out, clenching onto a clipboard with shaking hands. "Has anybody seen Parker? Peter Parker?" he inquired, looking over the students' heads. A bead of sweat gathers on his forehead, even though there is virtually no heat in the building, and it's a breezy, 72-degree late-spring afternoon in New York City. "Where does this kid always sneak off to?"
Ned stuttered out, "He, uhm, Pe-Peter left early, sir. Family emergency."
"An emergency? Was it so important he couldn't at least notify the supervisors?" Ned bobbed his head up and down, keeping his eyes stapled to the floor in a manner that hinted at no further comment. Mr. Dell huffs, "Alright. But he's getting detention, and I have half a mind to put you in there with him, Leeds."
Ned's face screws up in a chastised grimace. "Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again."
Your eyes linger on Ned as he pulls out his phone and rapidly taps at the screen, probably sending a strongly worded text to his best friend, rebuking Peter for roping him into his antics and nearly earning him a week's detention. You don't know much about their friendship, but they appear tied to the hip at school. 
Ned's a nice guy. Reliant to a tee. You had the pleasure of partnering with him on an art project in Kramer's class a few weeks back, spending a considerable amount of time joking while diligently rendering an interpretation of Van Gogh's A Starry Night on a five-by-five foot canvass. During that time, he often complimented your paint-smeared overalls and your hair's ever-changing up-dos. He seemed like such a great friend to have.
Peter, on the other hand, is a tough nut to crack.
You only ever shared one class with Peter Parker. Spanish last semester. You remember him being too antsy for your liking, always checking his watch impatiently, answering questions too fast, bouncing his leg up and down, acting like he had someplace better to be and better things to do. His impatience never made sense to you until you heard some girls in the locker-room whispering about his Stark internship and how lucky he was to be working for the Tony Stark. 
When the internship suddenly halted, and Peter landed himself in the longest detention sentence you'd ever heard of, you started to take more notice of him only because he was around more often. He was sort of cute in a boy-next-door kind of way with his science pun tee-shirts and smooth, tousled brown hair. For a brief time, you fleetingly considered asking him to Homecoming, but the futility of such a question wasn't lost on you. He noticeably crushed on Liz Toomes, and you were confident Peter's pining for her meant destiny twined their paths.
But Liz is gone now, and there's a growing 90 percent chance Peter's set his sights on MJ. Brooding quirky girl ending up with boy-next-door, now that match made perfect sense, just like a rom-com, or even better, an 80's teen romance.
Manda tugs on your arm, her hands forming a shackle around your wrist. "Come on. They're getting back on the bus without us."
Sure enough, you two were nearly the last ones in the entrance, the remaining students filing out of the door. You rush after them and reach the bus doors right before they shut, huffing in unison. Manda doubles over and grasps her knees, heaving.
"Here," you gasp. "We're here."
Your driver tuts, swinging the doors back open. "Good thing you two made it in time. This bus waits for no one, not even me. Come on," he says, waving you inside. "Let's get this show on the road."
You trudge back to your designated seats, collapsing against the plastic covering as the adrenaline subsides, replaced with the forgotten dread of the trip's abrupt end. You lean over and peer out the left side windows when the bus rolls over the bridge again, surprise rattling ominously over your bones as you find the metal donut gone from the sky.
Where did it go? Did the Avengers get rid of it?
Your hand still clamps your phone. An annoying, slight tremble in your hands trips up your fingers as they try to type in your passcode, but you succeed on the fourth try. You scroll through your social media, hoping beyond hope that someone captured the Avengers' victory or something close to a victory, something that proves the news headline wrong. Stark's probably lying low, too beat down to show his face to the press.
The far-fetched lie makes you internally flinch. You don't know much about the guy, but you're more than a thousand percent sure Stark wouldn't hide from the press if he won anything.
A sinking horror clogs your chest as you obsessively watch clip after clip, onlookers recording some unconscious guy in a red cape being invisibly bound and trailing after the commanding hand of an elongated, greyish-blue alien. Spider-Man tries to get the red-caped guy back, swinging through the city and dodging billboards, his webs clinging to the departing ship's underside, Iron Man flying into the sky after them.
It’s bad. Oh, sweet heavens, it’s bad.
Maybe it’s not that much of a big deal. Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably nothing. The end of the videos suggested the Avengers gained the upper hand on the fight, so maybe, just maybe, the alien was fleeing—fleeing… with a captive. Hurtling off into God knows where with Iron Man and Spider-Man onboard.
It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. 
Your back flattens to your seat and your unseeing eyes meld to your phone, the thunderous beats of your heart stifling the rest of the world into silence. The air is thinning. 
Your ears are buzzing. 
A vice clenches your chest.
It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. 
The dubious mantra and vague words of your Soulmate blend into an all-consuming cacophony of words, gelling together in a chant of solace. 
It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine.
By the time the bus drops off the students at Midtown and you and Manda quietly walk in the direction of home, the mixture of affirmations fans away the panic settling around your chest, bringing back a semblance of your earlier confidence, or rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.
Outside the apartment complex, an overwhelming amount of residents’ windows glow, most of them probably stuck to their couch, replaying the recent events on any major news network and speculating the whereabouts of our mightiest heroes.
It takes a while to dawn on you that you and Manda are the only ones standing outside. On the entire block.
Nothing stirs. Even the bodega on the corner appears closed for the day.
It's five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and there’s plenty of light left.
Emptiness pours out of every alley like ink spilling from a broken bottle, blotting the whole surface of the street with the absence of human activity. A tree's rustling leaves are so startling your breath locks up and you jump. Manda doesn't say anything, recovering from the sudden noise herself.
Leaving the deserted streets behind, you and Manda glumly walk up the steps of your apartment complex and up to your residence on the third floor. The apartment is eerily silent as you toss your keys on the kitchen counter and lock the door behind Manda.
"When are your folks getting back from their honeymoon again?" asks Manda, shrugging out of her jacket and toeing off her sneakers, leaving them propped against the wall by the door.
Habit controls your body as you open the fridge, grab two Sprites, set them down on the counter, then reach for the half-finished bucket of Red Vines from the top cabinet shelf. "Sunday morning, I think. They only have the weekend off. Want some pizza? I can call up Joe's."
"Please and thank you," she says, plopping down on the couch. The old thing croaks, its springs wheezing under the unwelcomed weight.
The maroon monstrosity is a family heirloom, dating back to your grandparents' time. Mom loves it, claiming it adds the right amount of character to the drab living space, knowing fully well that anyone with fashion sense would never describe any space she inhabits as drab. Dad is adamant that it's one spill away from handing in its resignation.
Picking up your house phone, you confirm, "Extra-large cheese and olives?"
You don't know why you ask. Ever since the inception of your infamous best friend "crash-overs," cheese and olive pizza starred as the staple meal: that, and a bucket of Red Vines your dad occasionally steals from. Maybe you asked for normalcy or maybe to confirm Manda's plan to stay for the rest of the night. What you do know is you don’t want to be alone.
She hums a distracted yes, turning on the TV and upping the volume to listen to Channel 10's news reporter recount the fight between Iron Man and the alien.
Though already burned in your memory, the images douse your body in bone-chilling fear.
You turn your back and dial in the order, not at all surprised that Joe's is still up and running. Once the employee confirms your order and promises a speedy delivery, you grab the drinks and candy and place them on the coffee table, ignoring the TV.
"C-can you turn it to something else?" you quickly pipe up as you sit next to Manda, unsuccessfully hiding the tremor in your words. "I don't think I can stomach the news right now."
"Yeah, sure." Slow and reluctant, Manda switches the input and goes into Netflix. "Anything you wanna watch?"
"Teen Wolf."
Manda groans, "Again? We've seen that a million times."
"Oh, come on," you groan back, playfulness strained in your words. "It's a classic. You can't say no to a classic."
She gives you a dour frown, one that still couldn't land an inch of seriousness on her amber-colored cherub cheeks, until she relents from the weight of your puppy dog eyes.
"Fine, but only because of Michael J. Fox. Next time, I'm picking."
Neither of you really pay attention to the movie or touch the pizza when it arrives. In fact, for most of the night, Manda scrolls through her social media, watching what you can only assume are today’s events. Sometimes she’d put the phone down when you politely asked, but it unfailingly ended up right back in her hands, so after a while, you stop asking. When the movie’s end credits roll around, and you dress into your pajamas, put away the remaining slices of pizza, and call it a night, both of you climb into your bed. She is still scrolling.
You try and force yourself into REM sleep, keeping your eyes shut until you hear Manda’s heavy breathing beside you. The clock on your nightstand reads 9:53 p.m.
Yawning, you curl up into a tight ball on your side of the bed and wish your mom and dad were here to help you get out of your head. Manda can’t do it when she’s so caught up in hers, and you don’t think you’d be able to tell her how scared you are. It’d only scare her more.
Tony Stark is missing. Manda would have screeched her head off by now if anything changed.
I’ve got you.
Yeah, but Tony Stark, the freaking Iron Man, is missing.
I’ve got you.
You can’t possibly understand how bad this is.
I’ve got you.
You audibly huff against the reassuring words, but they eventually do the trick in temporarily pushing the worry away, allowing you to fitfully slip into dreamless oblivion.
Seven hours later, you wake to a text from your mom. The sunlight is so bright in your room you lower your phone’s brightness all the way down, squinting at the small letters.
-Coming home early bbygrl. Dad says hi and he misses you lots hunny bun. xx
A titanic-sized weight lifts off of your shoulders—something you hadn’t even known was there until you re-read your mom’s text and verify the timestamp.
They’re on their way home, where it’s safe and you can all keep an eye on each other. Niagara Falls is just a six and a half-hour drive from here and Mom texted two hours ago, so they’ve got a couple hundred miles left. You don’t care about the distance. As long as they’re coming home, you’re fine. You can wait.
The morning’s activities in your residence pass into a weird déjà vu of last night. Manda is awake before you, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in her lap and the TV turned on to Channel 10, the volume slightly lower from last night. A bit peeved, you ask her to switch it to some cartoons while you pour yourself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.
She goes back to scrolling on her phone, sparingly taking bites of her soon-turned soggy cereal. You perch on the arm of the couch, far away from Manda's screen, and munch on your cereal in silence. This whole situation sucks enough without Manda’s constant doom-scrolling, but her utter silence is wearing your nerves thin.
Three full episodes of SpongeBob play on before you heave tempered sigh and set your finished bowl of cereal on the table and face Manda.
“Do you have to do that?”
She doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Do what?”
Unbidden anger flows through you like magma spewing from a freshly erupted volcano, flaming into your veins and flaring your heart rate as you yank her phone away and toss it behind the couch.
Manda stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. She may be partially right.
“Why the hell did you do that?”
You scoff, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I like talking to my friend once in a while. Maybe it’s mentally damaging to watch the same thing over and over and over again, and I was just trying to save you from brain rot.” You stand up and cross your arms over your chest, letting the rage propel your words. “Seriously Manda, give it a damn rest.”
“Why?” Manda crosses her arms too, glowering up at you, close to achieving a convincing frown. “Because you’re ‘positive’ nothing’s going to happen, right? It’s just aliens. No prob.”
You hold your tongue, waiting for her to air out all her frustrations because she’s right. She’s right to throw your words back at you. Yesterday morning you were totally sure of the Avengers, and not much has changed. You still firmly believe they’ll win whatever this fight is with the aliens, but you know scrolling through your phone for updates won’t do anything but boost your anxiety, like it’s doing to Manda.
When you think the coast is clear to speak, you lowly say, “I get it.”
“You get it? You get it? No, mama, you don’t get it. Because, see, if you got it, my phone wouldn’t be collecting dust behind your couch!”
“You needed a break, Amanda!” You shout back at her. “That phone’s never left your hand since you got here.”
She snaps her fingers as if she reached an epiphany. “Attention. That’s what it is. I haven’t given you enough attention today and you’re feeling left out of the spotlight. Newsflash, hon, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Other things are happening besides you hearing your Destined Words.”
“Wh-what?” you balk. “That… no, that’s not what this is about.” You’re not even sure where she even came up with the conclusion that you needed something as stupid as attention right now. Did she think you were that self-centered?
She cocks her eyebrow challengingly, “Alright, then tell me what it is. I’m all ears.”
“Me hearing my freaking soulmate has nothing to do with this! Nothing! And I’m not some attention-starved lunatic. Christ, Manda,” you roll your eyes, letting your hands fall with a slap against your sides. “It’s about you watching the news all day like… like this is the end of the world or something. We’ve gone through this. New York has gone through this. Alien attacks are nothing new, and I’m tired so sick and tired of you…”
You slow down, raising a soft hand to your chest—strange, tugging sensations sprout somewhere deep, deep down within you. So deep you're not sure it's actually there.
“Sick and tired of me what? What?” Manda pressed, the almost-frown lessening as your head tilts. “What’s wrong?”
You gradually shake your head. There’s no conceivable way to articulate what’s happening to you because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You feel… tingly, like every single hair follicle on your arms and legs rise, standing on high alert.
“Something’s not right.”
The tugging intensifies dully. You gasp against it, desperately clawing at the front of your shirt with the pads of your fingers, seeking to protect something tangibly nonexistent. It’s like someone’s fingers pinch a taut guitar string inside your chest, pulling on it with increasing pressure, pulling it further and further until it can’t move an inch, holding it the apex in a deathly promise that, with one final tug, the string will give.
I’ve got you.
Everything happens within a second.
You whimper out an anguished yelp as the string abruptly snaps.
Manda leaps to her feet and grasps your shoulders, begging to help.
Then, right before your eyes, Manda’s body begins to dissolve.
“M-Manda...? Amanda, wait! NO!”
She falls away into a pile of ash on your floor.
You drop to your knees, screaming.
And so does the rest of the world.
...
Part II
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effieduan · 3 years
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Peskipiksi Pesternomi || Morgan & Effie (& Friends!)
TIMING: Present
LOCATION: Vulpine Voltage Repairs
PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems & @effieduan & pixies
SUMMARY: Morgan needs to get her phone fixed and stumbles upon an unsettling scene in Effie’s shop.
CONTENT: karen :///
“I’m just saying there’s grease on my screen.” The blonde said slowly, as if Effie couldn’t understand her. Truthfully, Effie didn’t understand her, but only because this woman was an idiot.
Effie let out a sigh, finally putting down the teeny tools she was using to replace some teenagers' cracked phone screen. She thought she was done with this particular customer -- she had even let herself hope she was done with this particularly customer. This woman’s laptop had a bad run in with a llama (apparently) and wanted it back in perfect condition. Effie obliged after she was screamed at for telling her that it would be cheaper to buy a new computer. Do I look poor? Perfect condition meant a deep cleaning of all the grime that was caked onto the poor machine.
“Ma’am,”Effie said flatly. “Your screen is just clean.”
“No! It feels slippery! Look!”
Effie watched, face blank as Karen dragged her finger across the smooth surface of the laptop screen, leaving behind a fingerprinted smudge.
“Yes,” Effie said. “Because it’s clean.” The door opened, her telltale jingling bells sounding through the small store front. Effie looked over Karen’s shoulder. “I’ll be right with you.”
“You most certainly will not!” The woman was outraged now, and Effie sucked in a deep breath, wishing that the other customer hadn’t walked in so she could just go lock herself in her workshop in the back. “You will take my laptop back and clean all this grease off it this instant! I didn’t pay all that money for you to be lazy - I wanted this in mint condition so i wouldn’t have to buy a new computer, and you’ve made it all...All… shiny! It’s slippery and I’ll drop it again and just have to come back - is this how you scam people? How dare you!”
Effie stared at the woman for a long moment, before stooping behind the counter and picking up a sign she only used on particularly irritating customers.
THE TECHNICIAN HAS THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYONE. THIS MEANS YOU! GOOD-BYE!!!
After all the terrible things over the last two weeks, especially the thing with Erin and Betty, Morgan tried to kill her newly freed up time with Sundew and the pixies. Sometimes this led to impromptu spelling quizzes about the names of flowers. Sometimes this led to Sundew and Willowbud dropping her phone in the pool after trying to use it as a palanquin. Today was Actions Speak Louder Than Words, so the two tiny culprits joined her on the trip to the repair shop for ‘emotional support’ and to determine what they could do to make things better once Morgan found out just how bad the situation was. The rice trick hadn’t helped, so her hopes weren’t all that high.
Inside the shop, however, someone was having a much worse day.
“Her face looks like a balloon,” Willowbud giggled, hiding on Morgan’s shoulder.
“We should make it pop!” Sundew said, peeking out next to her. “And then make her get stuck on the ceiling so she can’t come down. Then she really really will be a balloon.”
“That’s cruel,” Morgan chastised softly, looking at the complaining woman. “Also, very conspicuous. And it’s...” She winced. “...human, in a bad way, to hurt someone just because you feel like it.”
“Does not,” Sundew hissed.
But the woman was being pretty human-bad too, and Morgan found herself wishing she’d put off teaching Sundew manners for another week. She had worked too many shitty jobs to have compassion for people who took off the edge off their existential powerlessness by yelling at service workers. Maybe this woman would look better stuck to the ceiling.
When the girl at the counter came to her, Morgan made a point of smiling extra bright as she brought out the phone. “I just have a uh...phone problem. Swimming pool accident. You can let me know if it’s not worth bringing her back to life.” She side eyed the woman, who was rapidly taking personal offense to everything Morgan said by the look on her face. “I can also wait a while, if you need to take care of other stuff.”
The sunny smile of the other customer was oddly disconcerting, though Effie knew it was just because the other was being such a bitch. “Your phone?” Effie managed to ask. She even managed to register her saying swimming pool accident - which happened to be her least favorite repairs, but at that moment she’d take anything. At least this woman looked like she would even get a thank you. “I’ll take a --”
Effie didn’t get to finish her sentence when her bitch of a customer interjected. “You most certainly will wait!” she snarled at Morgan. If Effie believed in God, she would pray for the strength not to strangle this woman. Thankfully, she did believe in the law, and murder was currently illegal, despite picturing this woman’s head exploding. “And you don’t want to get your shitty phone repaired here anyway, she’ll just make it greasy -- honestly, I want my money back, and I want my computer back to the way it was!”
“Smashed and hardly usable because of a llama accident?” Effie asked. “I’ve already informed you that I’ll no longer be servicing you. You can leave now. Uh --” Effie glanced over at Morgan. “Ma’am, if you’d like you can go towards the counter. This will only take a --”
“I demand you --”
“And I demand you shut up!” Effie had never been great at customer service and was born with the shortest fuse of all her sisters. “I’m running a business here and if you’re going to act like a child without a brain you can stick your head and your laptop into a pot of boiling water. Leave so I can look at this woman’s phone.”
Sundew and Willowbud thought this was hilarious. Morgan had to pretend to scratch her shoulder in order to keep them quiet. “If we’re the h-word for only supposing to make her a balloon, how many is she? Do you think she ate them?” Sundew said.
“At least four,” Morgan muttered.
This made them laugh harder. Morgan coughed to cover up the noise. “Excuse me, sorry,” she said, clearing her throat for good measure. “See, that’s what you do when you interrupt someone trying to peacefully go about their day. And then, if you’re trying to get someone to do you a favor and be nice to you, you get a little more specific and acknowledge they’re actually a person and not a text bot in a bodysuit.” Her voice was gentle, but her smile cut sharp. “Like: you look really distressed, ma’am. I can only imagine what horrible things must be happening for you right now, or how badly you’ve been hurt, that you feel like you need to be like this. But you really don’t. And this young woman has made herself really clear just now. So maybe if this is that urgent, you should try calling tomorrow.”
“I don’t think that’s gonna wo-oork,” Willowbud sing-songed.
Effie coughed, at least having the sense to hide her building laughter at her customers words. Oh, Morgan was so her new favorite customer, she would be getting a discount on her phone if she could fix the water damage. And if she couldn’t, maybe she’d toss in a free pair of headphones along with the cellphone recommendation pamphlet she’d give her. What confused her, though, was the soft sing-songing voice coming from the woman’s… hair?
Facetime, maybe? Or - wait, her phone was why she was here. Unless she had two? Effie was far more interested in the voice than she was her bitchy customer.
“I don’t think you have any involvement in this!” Karen snapped at Morgan, and Effie raised her eyes to the ceiling. Was this punishment for being an atheist? She made a mental note to tell that one to Eva the next time they spoke, she’d laugh.
“Actually --” Effie said, cutting off her tirade, “You are. She’s here to get a service done and you -- a person that will no longer be served -- are getting in the way of that. I guarantee she could have been out of here faster than this whole ordeal.” Effie paused, looking back at Morgan apologetically. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you, of course.”
Karen stamped her foot. “I just want what I’ve paid for!! This is highway robbery! I’ll sue you!”
Sundew and Willowbud were doing that thing where they whispered and giggled and cackled at each other at the same time, and their already shrill voices were literally in Morgan’s ear and it was all she could do not to swat them away or laugh from how their wings tickled her neck. As they started scuttling down her sweater, she finally barked with laughter. “Sorry, sorry, uh. You’re very scary, ma’am. Truly.” Sundew’s feet were tickling her side and Morgan covered her mouth, snorting. “And uh, you really don’t have to worry about me,” she said to the girl at the counter. “I worked retail in Texas.”
As she spoke, the two pixies were writing on one of her post its and shoved their creation into Morgan’s hand. Morgan took one look at what they’d written (for writing in the dark, the penmanship was kind of impressive) and nearly choked on her voice. Maybe being on her own was making her lose her grip on her principles. Maybe she should stop spending so much time with pixies. Maybe a lot of things. But fuck it.
“Uh, but you know what, since all three of us seem to not want you here, why don’t you give me your name and contact info right here. I have some lawyer friends, and I’ll put you in touch. Sound fair?” She flipped the post-it as she handed it to the woman, obscuring the writing on the front.
Retail in Texas? Effie raised an eyebrow. “I… don’t think I want to know what that means,” she said. Truthfully she couldn’t think of a place she wanted to go to less than Texas. Except maybe Arizona… Or, really, anywhere in the south. Effie watched as Morgan produced a sticky note from out of nowhere. Who carried sticky notes on them like that? Effie wondered if Morgan really intended on passing Karen’s information onto a lawyer -- though even if she did, she was certain that this blonde woman would be laughed right out of a lawyers office. Greasy computer her left butt cheek.
“Ma’am, I suggest you do as she says,” Effie said. “Before I decide to call someone to escort you off my property.”
The blonde woman looked at her in astonishment, “Excuse me?” she asked like she couldn’t believe the words that just left Effie’s mouth.
Effie just reached into her back pocket, pulling out her phone and waving it threateningly. Of course, Effie would do no such thing. She was particularly fond of the police, nor did she feel like having more people crowded in her store. Even two was starting to make her a little nervous, if only because one of them was overtly hostile.
The blonde huffed in annoyance. “Well fine, then.” And she snatched the sticky note out of Morgan’s hand, looking Effie up and down as she did so, eyes lingering on the pair of bright blue gloves. “And I hope you choose a better wardrobe when I see you in court!!”
As soon as the woman signed the note, Sundew and Willowbud flew out of Morgan’s bag, tiny hands drawn into finger-guns. “Stick 'em up!” Sundew cried. “This here is a robbery! And you owe us big time!”
“Yeah!” Willowbud piped. “Highway robbery, missy!”
Sundew cackled. “Pew, pew!” Two bullets the size of melons shot out from her tiny fingers and zoomed straight for the woman’s face. She screamed, shielding herself, but on supposed impact, the bullets made a farting noise and erupted into a spray of rainbow fireworks.
“Sundew!” Morgan squeaked. In retrospect, she should have seen this coming. They had written When u rob me I will give all my money $$. Of course they would want to do the hold up themselves, supernatural secrecy be damned. She looked over to the girl at the counter, smiling through her panic. Please don’t freak out, please don’t freak out, please don’t freak out.
The woman, meanwhile, was wriggling in place as her arms forced themselves into her own purse for her wallet. Out came the credit cards, debit cards, store cards, wadded up bills, loose change, even a checkbook. Morgan didn’t even know people still carried checkbooks. The more the woman fought, the more her face turned a little purple, and for a second Morgan worried that she might actually burst like a human gore balloon.
As Sundew and Willowbud fluttered to the counter to surf and dance on their spoils, Morgan’s look at the girl at the counter turned desperate. “Those...drone robots the kids are making sure….look realistic, huh? I can...uh...make them give those back, if you want. Because, you know, the drones. Probably have...microphone...things. To listen with.”
Effie stared in utter disbelief. The little things with wings were cackling and shooting finger guns while this woman was making it rain the contents of her purse on the ground. Suddenly, the singsongy voice coming out of this other woman’s hair was making sense. Effie looked at her panicked smile and looked back at Karen, who was… Well, now she wasn’t very happy.
“Drones,” Effie repeated, eyeing the dancing creatures doubtfully. Drones her ass. Still, the look on the bitch’s face was really something to look at, and Effie let out a low laugh, shaking her head. “Drones! Right. Drones!” Effie was not the best actor in the world, but she was trying her best. “Well, it seems like maybe we should give the lady back her checkbook and cards. And I’ll take this --” Effie slide a wadded up ten dollar bill towards the little creatures, “-- as a fee for disturbing the peace. For the … Children, of course.”
“Maybe we should make her give up the rest!” Sundew said. She flew up to the woman, flitting this way and that, closer to her eyes. “What do you think, human? Do you think anything? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? DO YOU?” Sundew flicked her on the forehead. “Should we keep playing robber? Or maybe we should play tie ‘em to the train tracks instead.”
The woman, still a little purple and now definitely terrified for her sanity, took out a roll of bills from her cleavage and threw it on the ground. Finally freed from the request, she stumbled back and left the shop, too horrified to scream.
Morgan deflated, bending down to pick up the most conspicuous items off the floor and push them over the counter. “You should definitely take the checkbook and plastic,” she mumbled. “They’ve learned to type, and I really don’t want to learn what their taste in online shopping is.” She put her head over her arms and stayed there, looking sidelong at the girl. Sundew and Willowbud were too pleased with themselves to care much. Like many fae, they assigned value by shininess and aesthetic more than anything else. For now, at least. “You’re taking all of this really well. Tiny ‘drones’ flying out of a woman’s purse the middle of your store, harassing your customer, playing--” she looked back at them and shook her head, despairing. “I don’t even want to know. But, I appreciate it, and if you can handle mailing that harpy of a woman her sensitive stuff back, I can compensate you extra for the...mess.”
The woman fled from the shop, forgetting all about her greasy laptop and all of her personal belongings now scattered about the store. Effie stared after her in somewhat impressed astonishment. She looked at the woman bending to pick up the checkbook and plastic, and nodded as she grabbed it and the computer, automatically going to the safe. “I can ship it out tonight,” she said simply with a shrug. “She left her address on file, and I think her license is somewhere in that mess too.”
“Uh --” Effie looked down at the two little creatures. “Well, uh…” Actually, it was probably a good idea to check in to see how she actually felt about the existence of … these things. Fae. Had to be. Her grandmother’s warnings echoed in her head along with the insistence that she eat more dinner. “I’ve been around,” was all she said. “And I don’t particularly… ask questions unless I need to know.” It was simpler that way, anyway, and it kept people at arm's length, which is what she liked.
She stooped under the counter and pulled out paperwork -- the ones to start a ticket. “Your phone’s been waterlogged, right? Just fill this stuff out for me and I’ll take a look to see if there’s anything I can do. And you two…” she looked down at the two creatures. She looked back at Morgan. “Uh. I have candy??”
Morgan’s tired face brightened with relief. Slowly, she smiled. “Wow. I think that might actually be a first. I’m guessing that’s how you and this place are still standing.” She grabbed the paperwork and filled it out, writing a little ‘no promises’ in the corner, punctuated with a smiley face as a warning.
At the mention of candy, Morgan checked back in on the two pixies, who paused in their frolicking to proclaim, “We accept your tribute!” before going back to making the dollar bills roll like a mini ocean. “You really do know what you’re doing. I had to ask an expert to figure that one out,” she marvelled, sliding the pad over. “I know these aren’t the most auspicious circumstances, but my name is Morgan Beck and you just became my new favorite person in town.”
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talltales · 4 years
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            —EVIL, I'VE COME TO TELL YOU THAT SHE'S EVIL, MOST DEFINITELY              EVIL, ORNERY, SCANDALOUS AND EVIL, MOST DEFINITELY              THE TENSION, IT'S GETTING HOTTER. I'D LIKE TO HOLD HER HEAD UNDERWATER                                                            anonymous request!!
the slip of paper is worth its weight in gold.
“make sure to come out of there alive, alright?”
she turns it over in her hand, reading the scrawled address on one side for what feels like the thousandth time. on the other, a bolded warning is underlined twice—for extra emphasis, she supposes.
come alone.
“i will,” she affirms and jackson, torn between tired and a little drunk, cuffs her on the shoulder before tilting dangerously toward the edge of the couch. absently, she pats the thick cast covering the majority of his left leg before she rises to her feet, “worry about yourself. i don’t want to find you laying in a pool of your own vomit.”
unruffled, jackson shifts onto his back and throws his leg over the arm of the couch. any other time, she might’ve welcomed this sight: the perilously cocky man getting his just desserts for baiting the wrong idiot, left hobbling on a broken leg for his troubles. but any humor to be found in the situation comes more sour than sweet.
your timing is horrible, she almost says. but if she gives him a taste of guilt, jackson will drown himself in it.
“o ye,” his voice is low, exhausted in a way that she tries not to let herself feel. he rests his temple against a half-fluffed pillow and closes his eyes, “of little faith.”
her tongue flicks over her teeth before she huffs; a sound that might’ve passed for a laugh any other day. instead, it is a wispy and hollow thing that sinks into the walls.
though her back is turned when he breaks the soft, uncertain silence, she can hear his fear—caught in his throat, “we’ll find him, alright? just be careful.”
she nods, makes her way to the door and slips her boots on—pretends she doesn’t hear him say anything more.
i can’t lose you, too.
the paper disappears into her pocket as she closes the door behind her.
“so what brings a pretty lady like you to a place like this, hmm?” her latest tail—burly, heavily tattooed and smelling of gunpowder—whispers somewhere over her shoulder, bending at the waist until she feels his breath fan across her nape. too warm, too close, too loud even over the cacophony of curses and laughter. “surely you’re not here for a drink.”
he isn’t wrong. most people didn’t make a habit of walking into a bar notorious for housing the most dangerous gang in the country for a cocktail. the man laughs, as if enjoying his own private joke and the sound is punctuated with a distant wolf-whistle.
fresh meat in the lion’s den.
“i’m not, really.” she calls back to him, her voice soft but steady. the slip of paper is cradled between her fingertips, folded in half twice over in her unease. the crowd, to their credit, shifts to grant her movement through to the half-cracked door in the back of the building, “i’m here to meet someone.”
“and who would that be?”
“your boss, i’m guessing.” casting a significant look at the marking stamped to the inside of his wrist, she remains all-too-aware of the odd assortment of criminals and outcasts circling the perimeter. they’ve made a home of the bar. most laze about on leather armchairs, shouting at the tv. the more suspicious ones follow her with their eyes.
out of place doesn’t begin to describe the feeling. it is more and less than a physical sensation; than the belief that she is, in many ways, descending to the underworld to make a deal with hades himself.
“can’t say that’s a wise move, lass.” the pressure of his hand settles on her shoulder—sweaty palms and fat fingertips—and she bites back a soft curse. for the love of god.
and like a talisman, she presents the scrawled note to him, poised for him to inspect until his grip lightens and his hand falls away.
“well, you could’ve just said so.”
only an unnerving awareness of her surroundings keeps her from rolling her eyes, “now i have.”
“let’s go.”
before her, the crowd parts like the red sea.
youngjae goes missing on a wednesday.
her first thought it is that of course, he would choose the night right before her latest deadline to skip town. the anger gets caught beneath her collarbones any time she tries to talk, so jackson alternates between balancing on his crutches and giving the bored officer all of the necessary information.
it isn’t until the gambling holes in the neighboring towns come up empty that she starts to worry.
his rap sheet, they find, reads like a checklist for every petty crime a person can be arrested for. and that’s that. the police stop looking after a day—the sun is barely over the horizon when they turn in; squad cars making wide turns back onto the highway and disappearing out of sight.
from the passenger seat, jackson swears.
they comb the streets until dawn, though she isn’t sure what they’re looking for—
doesn’t want to think about what they might find.
by friday, she’s spending her evenings thumbing through old cases with retired journalists; old fogies she’d dreamed of working with, once upon a time. when they stop laughing at her—what advice columnist goes sniffing around for underground contacts—they provide mountains of paperwork and few promises.
saturday morning, she has a name and a number.
an address, when she bargains with the woman that picks up the phone.
a slip of paper worth its weight in gold.
the first thing she notices is him—a quiet figure clad in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt; young, with shoulder-length hair tied back into a loose ponytail. he’s as unassuming as the average college student, but the glint in his eyes holds nothing but vicious intelligence.
i can’t lose you, too.
“a guest?” he intonates, more statement than question. the way that the room settles around him speaks volumes; the tension held in the stillness says even more as the remaining men in the room either line the walls or make for the exit. it feels like a movie scene, but the dread settling low in her stomach serves as a brutal reminder of how real it is.
“sir. she was poking around out front, had an invitation.” says the gruff fellow, with none of the casual mockery she’d endured from the front door onward. it would’ve been funny if it wasn’t terrifying, “i can take her out.“
before she can argue, the stranger clears his throat—exhales—and focuses his attention on her as he addresses the man behind her, “i’ve told you not to call me sir. you’re not speaking to my uncle, you’re speaking to me. leave her here and go.”
“right, jaebeom.”
he stumbles over the name, hesitates from the first syllable to the last before he backs out of the room and closes the door behind him. her fingers curl ever-tighter around the paper, dig deeper into her pocket to ease her own nerves. because jaebeom, the man she’s looking to ask a favor of, takes perverse pleasure in making his men trip over their own feet.
the humored tilt of his lips is a cruel thing, emphasized only by the idle tapping of his fingers against the table top, “so to what do i owe this pleasure?”
when she opens her mouth, she finds all of her carefully-chosen words gone, “i—“
fuck.
“money? men?” jaebeom turns to wave away the stragglers; men who look all too eager to remove themselves from the room, “women? i don’t judge.” his head tilts then, hair falling in pieces to cover his eyes. he sweeps the stray strands aside and folds his hands together in front of his chin, steepled—“or do you have a problem you want to get rid of?”
the amused gleam in his eyes never quite fades, but he is patient.
she crumples the paper in her fist and bites back the urge to retreat under the intensity of his attention. no matter how harmless he appears to be—im jaebeom has a reputation for brutality that he simultaneously confirms and contradicts.
her tongue feels heavy; weighted by dread, “i heard that you were good at finding people.”
we’ll find him, alright?
“my friend is missing.”
there’s a long moment of silence; she watches as jaebeom leans back in his seat, regarding her with a raised brow and reignited interest. he clicks his tongue, tone wry when he finally speaks, “so call the police.”
“they won’t look. he has history.”
desperation creeps into her words before she can check herself—this, she thinks, is why jackson was supposed to be here. to handle the messy parts and keep her from spilling her fury like lava down a mountain side.
jaebeom is unaffected; unmoving as she swallows her fear and closes the distance between herself and the opposite edge of the table. her palms press into the wood, hard enough to obscure the way her hands shake, “if you can put a hit out on a man, surely you can find one.”
“i’m not search and rescue.”
it’s a true enough sentence, though the way that he says it leaves room for question. an opening. by now, it’s clear that a trap is being laid at her feet—that she can either leave empty-handed, or be ensnared by a vicious man with a penchant for psychological warfare. he isn’t smiling, but he is positively thrumming. pleased.
knowing she won’t get another chance, she takes it, “what do you want?”
somewhere in the back of her mind, she imagines the sound of a shackle snapping shut.
jaebeom merely hums, rising from his seat in a smooth motion. any retreat she can make is halted by the pressure of his thumb and forefinger cradling her jaw. she remains still as he leans in, inspecting her changing expressions with bemusement and something unnamed.
something darker.
“we’ll worry about that later. what’s your friend’s name?”
when they find youngjae the next wednesday, outrunning loan sharks on the west coast, she barely refrains from drowning him in the tub he’s washing his clothes in.
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fanfics-only-for-me · 4 years
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Call of the Void (Part 2)
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Word Count: 3208
How are the Titans going to handle the reluctant new stray Dick picked up and what exactly is she running from? 
 Rose doesn't exist and Jeremiah is dead. Everything in the show is the same up to when they find Rose on the telly. Imma just swap her with y/n cause I'm a narcissist. Y/N is 18 nearly 19.  Don't @ me cause i know this is hella shite. Readers bi but I’m not certain if she’s gonna be romantically involved with anyone yet.
Discovery 
Leaving the training area, Dick walked down the corridor towards the tech room.  He might have quelled Jason's rampant mind but his own was still trying to make sense of what he saw that morning.  It was a puzzle missing half the pieces,  he had an idea of the picture: he knew someone was injured and he knew where they were at some point during the night, but how they were injured and where they went next was still a mystery.
Dick entered the room, not bothering to close the door behind him and, using Bruce's definitely illegal system, found three different CCTV camera's from last night all capturing the stained spot on the pavement giving him multiple views of the scene.  Dick began watching the drunken night-life of San Francisco expecting to see perhaps a small fight between some drunks before a taxi was called to take them away to a nearby hospital.  It was the most plausible explanation.
As Dick was watching the footage, Rachel and Gar came into the room.
"Is this about whatever was by the car earlier?" asked Rachel looking up at the footage.
"What?" Gar asked Rachel confused, "What was by the car?"
"Blood." Dick answered not once breaking his focus from the monitors.
"Blood?" asked a confused Gar, "What happened?  Who's blood?"
"I don't know yet." replied Dick furrowing his brow as he watched the crowds of people thinning. 
The time stamp on the footage read 03:47:04, due to California's 2 am 'last call' law, only a few stragglers were still out as they waited for Taxis or swayed themselves home on foot. The untouched pavement was beginning to bother Dick, a feeling like when a horror movie goes silent before a cheap jumpscare leaving the audience aware of an imminent fright but the specifics of said 'fright' remain unknown.  He was waiting for the scare and every second the silence extended pushed him further to the edge of his seat.
"A bit of blood on a street doesn't really concern us," Jason commented as he sluggishly moved into the now crowded room cradling a bowl of cinnamon puffs to his chest.
"I never said it did, Jason." Dick replied, looking at him over his shoulder, "I'm only satisfying my own curiosity."
"Uh guys," Gar interrupted, gesturing towards the screen.
Turning back towards the monitors' Dick saw the figure on the ground, right where the stain was due to appear.  The time was stamped at 04:07:08.  By this time the streets were emptied leaving the slouched figure undisturbed.
"They just appeared." chimed Rachel.
"What do you mean?" Dick asked staring at the figure. 
The cameras weren't the best, extremely glitchy and unfocused not to mention the person's head was facing away from all three cameras.  Despite this, Dick could clearly tell this person was in pain; if them on their hands and knees weren't enough, tomorrows bloodstain would be.
"Like, out of thin air." Gar explained a bit too excitedly, "One second nothing then poof! Someones there."
"Shit, really?" Jason asked eagerly, everything's been stagnant since he got to the tower and if what Gar said was true, something interesting is finally happening and he'd be damned if he wasn't involved.
Dick, was watching the figure as though they'd vanish if he lost concentration, the talking of the kids became white noise as more questions plagued his mind.  He only checked the CCTV to fill in some missing pieces to the puzzle he gave himself, albeit he did get some new pieces; he found out the puzzle was much bigger than initially thought.  He was looking over the footage for anything that may give him a few more pieces.  Their clothes looked comfortable, although a bit too cold to wear outside.  A pair of white shorts with a loose t-shirt,  untamed hair, and no shoes.  It wasn't the absence of footwear that raised the red flags in Dick's mind, but the blood coating them which he mistook for socks at first glance.
It took about 20 seconds for the figure to move from their curled position.  They reached backwards with one hand as the other stayed planted in front of them, hand sliding in the small puddle near their feet as they pattered around in search of something before hitting and grasping the pole in an attempt to steady and lift themself up into a more kneeled position.  They looked around themself frantically for a while reminding Dick of a meerkat searching for predators.  As they leant on the pole, they finally faced one of the cameras briefly, barely a second but Dick caught it.  Dick had seen that same look on so many others; she was running from someone, a one-track mind to get away, but from what?  Despite the grainy quality, Dick guessed they had to be around Jason's age.  His mind was immediately drawn back to Rachel when they first met, back when he tried to distance himself from helping thus invertedly leaving her defenceless to those chasing her.  Maybe it's due to his hero complex, but he really couldn't resist a stray, especially a scared one.
"What the fuck's wrong with her legs?" Jason blurted out, finally getting a better look at the feet. 
Rachel, Gar, and Jason were now standing right by Dick at the computers all waiting to see what the injured stranger would do next.  About a minute after she appeared, she stopped looking around, another few seconds and she disappeared.  No smoke, no magical sparks: just gone.  It was silent for a bit in the room as they all tried to process what they just witnessed.  Dick began checking the other cameras in the area to see if he could find her again.  The screens were filled with multiple different views of the general area, a few minutes of silence and searching eyes and Rachel finally spotted her.
"There!" she shouted pointing to a screen showing a figure half lying on a dumpster barely holding themself up, the camera only just catching her half down an alleyway nearly 20 meters from the initial appearance spot.  The girl followed the same pattern of behaviour as before: a mini rest before looking around and disappearing once again.  
Dick was determined to find out where they turned up so as soon as she disappeared he brought up more CCTV footage.  This time around he didn't find her as easily, and it took him close to an hour to find her again.  Although it was an hour for him, only a few minutes past in the footage.  She was obviously trying to avoid the cameras and Dick had to rely on her slip-ups to catch her.  The girl was moving sporadically and would often cross her own path, he wasn't sure if it was a tactic to lose whoever she was running from or if she really had no idea where she was going.  While Dick stayed in the room searching the cities cameras, the younger three, with admittedly much shorter attention spans, would cycle in and out of the place, at one point Dick ordered them to go back to training.  By the time the footage was nearing 6 am, Dick had spent the entire day in front of the computers and, to his relief, it seemed to of paid off. 
The last sighting of her was near the pier close to the warehouses and if he was lucky she'd still be in one of them.  Judging by her clear exhaustion, it was plausible she hadn't moved yet.  Checking the time on his watch, Dick noted that the sun had long since set as it neared 10 pm.  He'd spent over 12 hours searching, he'd be damned to allow his efforts to result in nothing.  Dick swiftly left the room and headed to the exit passing the team in the living area as he did so.
"I'll be back." he told the three as the elevator doors closed behind him.
"Guess he found her then" muttered Gar staring at the closed door.
"Guess so" replied Rachel.
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Once Dick got to the pier he realised just how hard it would be to find her.  There had to be hundreds of different hiding spots in multiple different buildings, the search could take all night.  Thankfully the workers had gone home by this point but it wasn't them he was really worried about but whoever she was running from.  He did a survey of the area before entering any of the buildings, checking if she was hiding outside or if someone else was here also.  Satisfied that no one was outside, Dick pulled his hood up to avoid any cameras and entered the first building that night. 
He checked every nook and cranny of the first few buildings looking for any blood or even a body, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure he was still alone.  The fourth warehouse was where he struck gold.  He found a few more drops of blood, a lot less than at the coffee shop but blood none-the-less.  Natural he thought she might of disappeared again but after the neighbouring buildings proved fruitless, he returned.  There were no upper or lower floors and he already upturned everything inside yet this was his only lead.  The roof had poles and infrastructure to hold it up but nothing big enough to hide a person and everything else inside was either too small or locked tight.  
Heat signatures.  He should've checked for heat signatures.  He couldn't access it from the warehouse and he definitely wasn't going to head back to the tower to use it so he grabbed his phone and began dialling Gar.  Once he picked up, Dick got him to check for any heat signatures near him, he'd been teaching the group on how to use the system in case of situations like this thus it only took Gar a few minutes before Dick got the picture of the warehouse.  There was someone in here with him. 
Dick walked towards the other person, double-checking the image before he stood still.  In front of him were sealed storage containers.  He already searched this area and found nothing, the locks on the storage containers were old and rusted shut, definitely not used this year let alone this morning, and yet the orange dot said otherwise.  Then again, it would make sense if she could teleport through it.  Dick looked around searching for something to help get it open, finding nothing he realised he had to rely on his strength alone.  A few harsh kicks to the lock and he got it open.  Grabbing the handles of the container, Dick wrenched the doors open filling the warehouse with a metallic screech.  He found her.
As Dick looked at her curled figure a wave of worry overcame him, what if he was too late?  Stepping into the container and kneeling next to her figure, he searched for a pulse.  Only after finding one, albeit weak, did he take a moment to look at her: y/h/c hair, y/s/c skin, and bar her feet, healthy-looking.  The CCTV gave him an idea of her injury but looking at her now, he realised how serious it was.  She was leaving small puddles of blood all over the city and the fact she hadn't passed out sooner was a miracle.  The bottom of her t-shirt was ripped and wrapped around both her feet standing in for a bandage, it was tight enough to stop the bleeding.  The once light grey shirt was now died a deep red, slighting brown at places due it drying.  If she hadn't done this before passing out, there was no doubt she'd be dead now.  The body can only take so much blood loss before permanently shutting down, she wasn't dead but she was close to it.  He scooped her up as carefully as he could and slowly made his way out of the building. 
The strange girl lay limp in Dick's arms, undisturbed as she was slightly swayed with his every step.  Reaching his car, Dick slowly lowered her to lie down in the back not dissimilar to a parent lowering their sleeping child into their bed.  As he straightened up, he took one last look at her before rolling up his jacket and propping it under her calves in order to take the pressure off her feet.  Sliding into the drivers' side, he glanced once more at her still face in the rearview mirror and turned on the engine.
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Once Dick arrived at the Tower he delicately picked the girl up and headed inside.  Gar was pacing back and forth near the elevator door when Dick stepped out cradling the unconscious stranger.
"Dick!," he shouted once he noticed him enter, "You found her, what- wait is she okay?"
"Hopefully," Dick replied stepping past him and towards the med bay, "Grab my jacket, I left it in the car."
"Going," Gar said before disappearing inside the elevator.
Once he made it to the med bay, he placed her stomach down onto one of the beds, tilting her head to the side, and began rooting through the cupboards and drawers.  He took out some antiseptic and bandages and placed them near the bed.  Quickly washing and drying his hands, Dick pulled a chair next to the foot of the bed and began carefully unwrapping the dirty cloth filling the room with the strong scent of iron.  Once he removed the fabric from her left foot he took note of the deep, yet disturbingly precise slice along the back of her heel, taking some antiseptic, he began cleaning the wound.  Dick could see deep into her foot, and what caught his attention was the pale tendon cut clean in half and her still intact artery.  Whoever did this had medical training.  As he was finishing bandaging up the first wound, Gar came in with Dick's Jacket.  
"Put it on the counter," Dick told him before Gar could say anything, "And go grab two black foot braces from the closet behind you." 
As he finished wrapping up her first foot, Gar placed the braces onto an empty spot on the bed.  Hovering near Dick, Gar remained silent trying his best not to disturb him.  He was use to helping The Chief back at the Manor and thus instinctively fell back into the silent helper role, ready to do what the doctor asked.  Gar's eyes flickered between the girl's unconscious face and the way Dick meticulously worked on bandaging up her ankles.  He noticed the neatness of the wound and was certain it was expertly done, but by who and why?  As Dick was working away securing the final brace, Gar headed towards the Vital Sign Monitor in the corner of the room and began getting it ready.  
"You know how to do that?" Dick asked him.
"Yeah," Gar answered, "I've done it hundreds of times."
Dick stood up and flipped the girl onto her back conscious of her feet as he did so, before heading to another cupboard and getting some spare blankets.  
"Hook her up," Dick said gesturing to the machine, "And put a few more blankets on her, she's lost a lot of blood so she needs to be kept warm."
"Got it," Gar said wheeling the monitor closer to her.
"I'm going to make a call," continued Dick, "See if we can get her a surgeon to re-attach the tendons." 
Gar nodded in acknowledgement as he placed the finger probe on her index finger, his eye's glued to the monitor making sure it was working.  Grabbing the phone from out of his pocket, Dick left the room and walked out into the hallway already dialling the number of a surgeon that he's relied on before.  Gar continued setting up the machine, double and triple-checking making sure everything was working correctly.  Once it was all set up, Gar repositioned the girl, making sure the pressure was off her feat.  As he was pulled the blanket over her body he took note of the orange stain the antiseptic left on the bandages and the pungent distinct smell it had that filled the air, he reached out towards the spare blankets Dick took out and layered her up.  Gar wasn't the best at looking after patients but he wasn't a complete stranger to it.  He looked around the room for a bit and found a few foldable wheelchairs in an attached storage room.  Taking one out, he began opening it up, in case she might not know how, and wheeled in near the head of the bed in case she woke up. 
Gar felt extremely bad for the girl, he remembered her scared face on the CCTV cameras and now, seeing her in person, he only felt more sympathy.  There was something inherently disturbing in deliberately taking away someones ability to walk.  Something dehumanizing and upsetting.  He remembered The Chief and how adamant he was on being able to walk.  Sitting on the chair where Dick was previously, he gazed at the girl's face and began reminiscing his past, he thought of his family, his biological, his old ones at the manor, and his new one here in the Tower.  He wondered what everyone was doing, what his life would be like if his mum and dad chose to live somewhere else, and he wondered what his new 'Titans' family would lead to.  His mind was drawn back to the girl at this point, and he wondered what her family was like, where they were, and if they loved her.  Gar sat there for the next twenty minutes thinking about families and all the meanings that word held.
When Dick came into the room holding a pile of clothes, Gar's concentration broke.  Dick walked over to the bedside table and placed the pile down before turning to look at Gar taking in the reminiscent look on his face.
"A few people are coming over tomorrow to help her out," Dick told him walking around the bed towards him, "a quick surgery to re-connect the tendons.  She'll be fine." Dick placed a hand on Gar's shoulder and giving him a reassuring smile continued, "I'm glad you were here to help, I really appreciate it.  Now, get to sleep, it's late and you still have training tomorrow." he finished nodding towards the door.
Dick watched Gar leave the room before sitting down and looking at the sleeping figure.  He assumed she was an adult, albeit on the young side, and he didn't want to force her into anything, but, on the other hand, she was a meta-human, and people were definitely looking for her.  In his experience, nothing good happens when someone with powers falls into the wrong hands.  Hopefully, she'll choose to stay here, but if she doesn't... he doesn't know what he'll do.  Looking at the Vital Signs Monitor one last time, Dick stood up and headed towards the door.  He might as well get a few hours sleep, she won't be waking up anytime soon.    
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songtoyou · 3 years
Text
Chapter Five: Whole Lotta Woman
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Would You Call That Love
Pairing: Chris Evans x Raina Morrison (OC)
Rating: PG to PG-13 (Might be 18+ for some chapters)
Description: There was always one person Chris Evans tended to turn to when he was not in a committed relationship, Raina Morrison. He could confide in her about things going on in his life that he did not feel comfortable talking to his family or close friends about. Chris and Raina were able to establish a way to communicate with one another openly but also being respectful of the other’s time and needs. It was the only constant “relationship” he had, but without all the nonsense of trying to build a life together. A “friends with benefits” situation. However, what happens when Chris starts rethinking his “relationship” with Raina and if either is willing to pursue something more?
Chapter Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,536
Author’s Note: We are back in the present time. There are major confessions in this chapter. 
Feedback is always welcomed. If you want to be tagged, please let me know.
Sadly, I do not know Chris Evans or anyone in his family and this is just a fictional take on his life. I do not permit this fic to be reposted on other platforms.
Updated for grammar and punctuation edits.
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To say that Raina did an amazing job as Satine at the opening night of Moulin Rouge on Broadway would be an understatement. According to the reviews, she was fabulous, outstanding, mesmerizing, and captivating in the role. However, Raina could not bask too much in the glory of her rave reviews since she was too preoccupied with what happened at last night’s afterparty.
“Oh sweetheart, you were perfection. Absolutely stunning. I cried so many times throughout the show,” Lisa admitted as she hugged Raina.
“I cried too. It took everything in me to not shout, ‘That’s my boo!’” Scott revealed and added, “Fabulous job. It is going to be hard for others to live up to role after you have put your stamp on it.”
“Thank you both so much for coming. It really means a lot,” Raina expressed her gratitude to both Scott and Lisa. “Where’s Chris? He didn’t leave yet, did he?”
“No, he just had to make a pit stop to the bathroom,” Scott reassured her.
 After making the rounds and taking pictures with the cast, Raina finally found Chris. He was hanging off to the side in a corner, preoccupied with his phone. 
“Hey, you,” Raina spoke to get his attention. “Why are you hiding out over here?”
“Hey. I’m not hiding,” Chris answered as he put his phone back in his pocket. He immediately pulled Raina in for a hug and kissed her on her cheek. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Chris. I am so happy you are here,” Raina replied. Neither pulled from each other’s embrace. He knew it was what Raina needed to help her relax and be present in the moment. 
As Chris continued to hold Raina, he came to the full realization that this is what he wanted for the rest of his life: to be with Raina. “I love you,” Chris whispered in her ear and turned his head to look into her eyes. “I’m in love with you, Raina. I have been for a long time.”
Raina was at a loss for words. She could not believe Chris admitted something personal at that moment. But she could not deny her feelings as well. She embraced Chris tightly and leaned into his ear. “I love you to Christopher. Like, in wholeheartedly in love with you. I have been for a long time,” Raina expressed honestly. She could not hide the smile on her face, and neither could Chris. He leaned in to give Raina a soft kiss on the lips. He did not care if anyone saw. He was no longer going to suppress his love for the woman before him. 
Before Raina could return the kiss, a loud voice interrupted the moment. 
“Oh my God!” Scott yelled and immediately walked over to Chris and Raina. “I saw the whole thing. It was beautiful. I might cry, but I’ll hold it together. Is this for real?”
“You were over there,” Raina said as she pointed to the other side of the room. “There is no way you could have known what Chris and I were talking about. Let alone hear us.”
“Uh…hello, I can read lips pretty damn well. Plus, you two are so wound up for each other that one of you would explode and reveal everything. It just sucks Ma missed the moment. Speaking of Ma…she now owes me twenty bucks,” Scott replied as he looked around for Lisa.
“What? You and Ma had a bet going on?” Chris asked, baffled by the possibility. 
“Yeah. We had a bet on when during the trip which one would say I love you first. I bet on Chris saying it tonight. Ma put her money on when you went to Raina’s apartment after dinner last night,” Scott shared.
“Well, technically, that happened,” Raina said, but then clarified when Scott raised his eyebrow at her, “I mean when he left, I said to myself, ‘I love you too, Chris. More than you realize’. So, if that is acceptable, then Lisa won the bet.”
“No! That isn’t acceptable. The bet was to say it face-to-face. Not after the person left the room,” Scott clarified while stomping his foot in annoyance. 
Chris sighed at his little brother’s antics. “Okay, Scott, you win. Just cool your jets when telling Ma, alright? Don’t create a scene.”
Scott scoffed at his brother and made a turn to leave but caught sight of Lisa. “Ma! You owe me twenty bucks! It finally happened!” he exclaimed, rushing over to her.
“Jesus Christ. Do you want to get out of here?” Chris asked.
“Yes. Just let me say my goodbyes, then we can head out and go back to my place.”
Before Raina walked away, he softly grabbed hold of her arm and brought her back to him for a kiss on the lips. Again, Chris did not care who saw it. Heck, he did not even care if spectators posted about it on social media. He was on such a euphoric high that he was ready for the world to know he was in love with Raina Morrison. 
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The intimacy between Chris and Raina went beyond sexual interactions. Their intimacy was about closeness. The two understood that being together was establishing a strong foundation and maintaining it. If Chris wanted his relationship with Raina to succeed, he understood that his past relationship habits would not work. It would be all in or nothing. Chris also knew that he would have to step up and protect Raina from scrutiny, either from his fans or media. He could no longer sit by and allow the person he was with handle any negative attention on her own. Chris promised Raina that he would commit to being by her side and defend her from any naysayers. Raina made the same promise to Chris. 
While Raina’s fans could be respectful of her relationships, they often got a little bit too protective over her wellbeing. In the early stages of her relationship with Tom, her fans were ecstatic and rooted for the newly formed couple. Many of Raina’s fans supported the couple and helped combat any negative on Twitter or Tumblr with positivity. Unfortunately, no good thing lasts forever. That was one of Raina’s biggest fear from now on; being in a relationship with Chris could end in the ultimate demise of their relationship and friendship. 
As Chris and Raina said their goodnights to Jerry, Scott, and Lisa, the two quietly left the afterparty. During the taxi drive to Raina’s apartment, where the two would settle in for the night, Chris spotted that his companion was noticeably quiet. He looked over to see Raina with her eyes close as her head rested on his arm. It was a wonderful image that the only thing stopping Chris from snapping a picture was his thoughtfulness not to disturb the peaceful woman next to him. He was happy. He felt content. He felt at ease. 
When the taxi driver finally pulled up to Raina’s apartment building, Chris gently nudge Raina awake. “We’re home. Let’s get you to bed,” said Chris as he helped Raina out of the cab and proceeded to pay the driver.
“I don’t want to go to bed yet. That cat nap helped me get my second wind for the night,” admitted Raina as she wrapped her arms around Chris and leaned in for a kiss.
“A second wind, huh?”
“And possibly a third, fourth…might even have some energy for a fifth,” Raina teased.
Chris chuckled and dipped his head to place a kiss on Raina’s cheek, then grazed her lips. 
“Well then, we better not waste any more time,” he said and walked with Raina towards the apartment building. 
While the elevator ride to Raina’s penthouse felt longer than usual, it was the excitement of finally having everything out in the open that helped ease any impatience from the two. However, the longer the elevator ride felt, the bubbling feeling of doubt started to creep its way into Chris’s mind. Now he was starting to worry about things he had no control over. This caused his anxiety to surface.
“Stop it,” Raina said to Chris.
“What?”
“I have been around you long enough to know when you are at the beginning of an anxiety attack,” she noted. There is a little voice of doubt in your head about us, isn’t there?”
Chris merely sighed and nodded. “I’m trying not to, but I can’t help but worry a little. There is so much at stake with us getting into a real relationship.”
“You’re right. There is a lot at stake, but I am willing to take those risks. You’re worth it to me, and I would kick myself if I didn’t let you know how I really feel about you. However, I would understand if you are having second thoughts…”
“I’m not!” Chris immediately interjected. “Trust me; I’m not. I want this just as much as you do.”
When the elevator finally reached the penthouse floor, Raina held out her hand for Chris. The gesture was to indicate: Are you in…or are you out?
Chris took her hand and walked with her into the apartment. He was all in.
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themissingmarvel · 4 years
Text
Kind Regards, Detective [Part 5] -Prelude to Deepest Sympathies
(I don’t usually trigger warn or content warn, but this might be a triggering chapter. I’m including the Reader’s Drabble I wrote a little while back as recommended reading prior to this, [Drabble 2] but if it’s hard to read about family death then maybe avoid it. This chapter was hard, but important. And I think sets up a truly important dynamic. I’m a slow-burn romantic kind of lady, and I wanted their relationship to be powerful and important, not just one of lust. Or even basic attraction. I needed it to be human. Anyway I liked writing it, and feedback is always appreciated and loved and treasured ((i seriously reread any feedback and comments)) and as always, ask to be tagged or removed from tagging.
Pairing: Detective Loki x fbi!Reader
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: Death, emotional anguish, PTSD flashbacks, language)
Catch up: [Part 1] // [Part 2] // [Drabble] // [Part 3] // [Part 4] // [Drabble2]
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She didn’t sleep last night, which was no surprise. She had spent much of the night awake and poring over documents and cataloged pieces. Her own theories had been spun and while some might have felt outlandish in her head, she understood that this was an outlandish case. It had been hard enough to put on those headphones and let herself fall into a trance. Remember her sister. But not directly. She remembered remembering. Buying that damn CD she would play over and over. Peter Gabriel was her sister’s favorite, not that she’d ever tell anyone. Neither would. Her sister touted her love for System of a Down and Trust Company back when those bands made you cool.
For years after her sister passed she had found the only thing that felt vaguely satisfying was leaving that CD on her sister’s grave. And when CDs started becoming scarce, she had spent a few hundred dollars on Amazon buying all of the CDs she could find with that song on it. She’d be damned if she ever missed a single anniversary. Never went on the day of her passing, though. No. That felt sacrilegious. She went on her sister’s birthday, played the song on her headphones, along with a few others, but Heroes was the one that she played most. It was the one she’d leave behind after telling her how her parents had finally divorced, or how her dad had been ‘thinking’ about retiring again. For the hundredth time. Or how she’d been accepted as an Agent and two weeks ago, about how she was feeling so fucking lost.
But memories of memories are easier to put away, and much like her locker that held Detective Loki, her sister’s, much more ornate and much larger, she put those memories of memories away.
Her bag was hanging off her form lazily and her hair was done just enough to be presentable. By no means was she falling apart, but she was working. Working hard meant she lost focus on other parts of herself. It meant she had zeroed in on certain aspects of the case. Like how all of the individuals abducted had been on the same phone carrier, Radius, or how the TV was a model made by the company Source that had been discontinued three years ago, but at the time had been beyond revolutionary. Even now it was considered brilliant. She had found no traces of the nerve agent were discovered at the scene which meant they were probably injected with the pure form. Which meant someone had a lot of it.
Her theories meant that this man was not just dangerous but he had resources. He had access to things that people shouldn’t have access to and maybe he worked with Radius? Had access to their systems? The generator powering the church had been a Source item as well, meaning both were connected. Who used Source and Radius?
The precinct was still somewhat quiet, at 8am, slightly later than yesterday. Shift change had taken place and the detectives were still filtering in. Except for Detective Loki who was hunched at his desk, a long sleeved, form fitting black shirt on his form and black pants hanging off his hips. He looked sleek. Dangerous, even. She could see how someone might fall for someone like him.
Placing her bag down in the conference room, having actually remembered her coffee traveler this time, she glanced up as one of the cops walked in with a box, “Agent Y/L/N, this was left here about an hour ago for you. UPS dropped it off.”
The 2-PAM. She smiled and took it, “Thanks. Kind of nice when things work out like they’re supposed to for once,” she chuckled, curious why the box was so damn light.
The officer left and Y/N looked down, noticing that the label wasn’t stamped ‘FBI’ and in fact the sender name was absent, save for an address in Pennsylvania that didn’t look familiar. Maybe not the FBI?
Her heart suddenly began to race, carefully putting the box down as she looked to the side, seeing Detective Loki still hunched over. The man was on a mission.
Reaching behind herself she withdrew the small switchblade she kept tucked into her waist line, the one that no one ever saw. That was small. Cold and awkward at times but useful. Like now.
Why did this feel like defusing a bomb?
The blade clicked and she carefully began to open the box. She was aware it didn’t matter anymore who touched it, or if she damaged it. She knew whatever was inside the box was key. And with a final tug, the lid opened and she peered inside.
Time stopping had always felt like kind of an exaggeration to Y/N. How does time even ‘stop’? What, does the world freeze? Well, it did.
Staring inside the box she could see the face of a man she knew well, a man who cradled her soul and her heart and sang brilliant love songs to her, who had kept her connected to her sister, even in death. The black CD cover with two red forms on it, her sister claimed them red blood cells but said they looked like rose petals.
Her hand was surprisingly steady as she picked up the note inside, reading the immaculate cursive written on some kind of specialty papyrus paper, “My deepest sympathies, Agent. Your triumph through tragedy only enhances your beauty.”
And with that, she ran for the plastic trash bin nearby and fell to it, retching hard as she threw up the entire contents of her breakfast, causing the box, the note, and the Peter Gabriel CD with Heroes on it to tumble to the floor.
Immediately David heard the noise and jumped, running inside the room as the precinct suddenly jumped to life, turning to take in the scene. The note, CD, and box were on the floor and Y/N was kneeling by the small, cheap plastic trash bin puking.
“What the fu-” David was almost able to spit the words out before a strangely animalistic sound came from her lips, screaming into the bin that she had already emptied the contents of her stomach into.
The world grew quiet as the scream died down, leaving Y/N on her knees with her eyes closed, knuckles white as she gripped the bin as though it were the only thing keeping her alive right now. Stable. Present. Here.
“Get me gloves and bags for the items, now!” David yelled out, to no one in particular as he knelt by the woman in a kind of distress he didn’t know a person could experience from a simple box, “Hey, talk to me, what happened? Are you OK?”
Her face snapped, wiping her lips as she glared, “Do I look OK to you, Detective? Do I fucking look OK?” Her voice was raised, though not yelling.
Snapping back David glared, “Do we need to decontaminate the room? Is there anything infectious?” He looked at her seriously.
Taking a breath her eyes pulled away, “No. No chemicals. But it’s toxic none the less.”
Her voice was quiet as she spoke the words, closing her eyes and trying to forget what she had just seen. Experienced. Felt in her gut. Her soul had been torn forth in that moment and the timing of the CD was so tragically horrifying. For a brief moment of paranoia she wondered if perhaps someone had been able to access her personal phone, heard what she was listening to. The artist. The song.
Getting up rather quickly, Y/N stumbled slightly as she made her way through the people that had clustered, watching as two other detectives came rushing forward with evidence collecting items. Forensics would get it. They’d dust it for fingerprints and they would come up with hers, the delivery driver’s, the handlers at the warehouse… maybe a dozen people. And none would be the culprits. David would direct people to track the package and they would. They’d track it to some nondescript location where cameras weren’t installed and it’d been paid for with cash. She knew it like she knew the songlist on that CD.
Heading for the door of the precinct her head felt light, woozy, and she was struggling for something stable. Something to keep her grounded. Even as she threw open the doors of the building, those glass doors lined with metal, solid as hell, heavy as fuck, she ran out into the bitter air, feeling the cold devour her skin.
More.
She didn’t realize it but she was running now, into the parking lot, David not far behind, though he didn’t exist right now. Her sister’s smile was there, a true memory in its purest form, the smile she had wanted to see last night but didn’t want tainted and tied to this psychopath now.
Unthinking and perhaps uncaring, her hands grabbed at the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head, tossing it to the ground of the parking lot filled only with cars, otherwise without a soul. The air was frigid as it enveloped her and tore her from reality. She gasped as the item fell, leaving her in her form-fitted white t-shirt and jeans alone, able to see her breath as she felt it stopping her from hyperventilating, the cold burning her skin, tearing at her and pulling her out of this other reality.
Once, during training, she had been shot. Not with a real bullet, of course, but shot none the less. A rubber bullet the academy insisted they feel the impact of to know what they might use in certain circumstances. And, perhaps, be prepared for since it’d be similar to a bullet hitting a bulletproof vest. The bullet had been fired by some complete and utter asshole Thomas Engleson, a man who didn’t think women could hack it. He shot her in the ribcage, instead of the stomach. He hit her directly. Not indirectly. And of course he was excused for it.
The pain of the shot had been incredible but she had gritted her teeth and taken it in. A cracked rib meant she was out for a bit, but it didn’t actually stop her. She kept training. Moving. Not exacerbating the damage but doing just enough to keep going. But the pain of that moment had been etched into her body’s memory.
This hurt worse.
Her skin was covered in goosebumps from the cold, beginning to shiver as she stood, perhaps for ten minutes, David standing behind her as he looked at her. This woman unshaken by so much, who had taken in twelve dead bodies and kept going, who took information meant to terrify and had kept pushing. Whatever had been in that note, in that box, had been meant just for her on a level those notes for David never touched.
It felt like an ache, standing in the cold as he watched the woman he had found himself so fond of suddenly pushing out the entire world as though it might infect her. He wanted to grab her sweater, wrap her in it, and pull her close. He’d swear to god he’d get the guy. And he would, even if he didn’t tell her that. He swore as he watched her, that finding this man would be his only task. He wouldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t eat. This was Dover and Birch, but now he was the onve involved. His own life was on the line.
“Do you ever wonder what it feels like to die, David?” The words were loud enough for him to hear, the wind suddenly picking up as she stared ahead to the road leading into the precinct, fairly empty though cars scattered about, the day cloudy and bitter.
He took a moment to consider it. He had. He had wondered once, when the kid in his backseat was frothing at the mouth, if maybe he prayed hard enough her poison would go into his body. He could take it, he thought. Better let the child live. He had seen enough, “Yes.” He answered simply. Now was not the time for banter.
A sort of dark chuckle left her lips, “I used to wonder what it might be like to die. After my sister was killed, I thought it was the only thing left that could actually scare me. The world couldn’t hurt me any more than it did when I was seventeen. I didn’t want to die, I still don’t, but I knew I could face that fear.
“But now? God, David… I wish I was fucking dead.” She fell to her knees so suddenly it caught David by surprise, running to her as he grabbed her sweater, saying ‘fuck it’ to the world as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her body to his as he tried to finagle a way to keep her sweater on her as well.
No sobs or cries escaped her lips as her body went lax, falling against him as she wondered, perhaps, if maybe just giving in to this would be best. This felt so goddamn dramatic, and maybe it was, but for good reason. This man had found out one of her most intimate details of her life and sent it to her in a box. He had delivered to her a piece of her, and what scared her most was the fact that this man, this murderer, thought he was showing some sort of deranged compassion.
Time seemed to stop and David was grateful for the fact that they were far enough away, and behind most of the cars in the lot, that the world wouldn’t see them like this. He could smell the free, nondescript shampoo offered by the hotel, unsurprised that she wasn’t doused in perfume. But she did smell of something. Her own personal brand of herself. Pushing back some of her hair he spoke, “You can’t go anywhere yet. You can’t possibly trust me to finish this case by myself,” he grinned, stopping himself from pressing his lips against her head.
Chuckling, despite her desire not to, she shook her head, “I sure as hell don’t expect you to solve this alone. You need my theories, Detective Loki. I came up with a bunch last night.” It was tragic in a way, how fast she was working to compartmentalize. Whoever it was that had sent her the letter had done a bang-up job scaring the shit out of her. He had opened the locker that held her sister and emptied the contents without permission. But Y/N was cleaning it up. She was fixing it. In her mind she was already putting herself and all those pieces back together.
Looking confused David pulled away slightly, “Don’t you think you should go get coffee or something? Take a- Ah, fuck, who am I kidding. You’re not listening to me, are you?”
The ghost of a smile crept onto her lips as she raised an eyebrow, looking at David now, “Not really. And I mean, what’s stopping going to do? We both know I’m invested. He… he may have targeted you and those other detectives, and honed onto you, but with me… I’m a happy accident. He picked me. I don’t want to be another body in a church, David,” her eyes changed as she looked at him, suddenly fragile and vulnerable, opening her heart to this man. Detective. The one holding her in the parking lot of the precinct while both tried to put together what they just went through.
Stroking her cheek lightly David whispered, “And you won’t be. You’re gonna get up, put your sweater on, and go back inside. And when everyone looks at you, or asks if you’re OK, you’re not gonna smile or fake it, you stare at them. Through them. None of them matter now. Not a single soul inside. We’re gonna find this asshole, and we’re gonna stop him. Now get up.”
He pulled away, nothing truly romantic in the gesture but one that broke her just the same. They were words that felt charged with something more than a pep talk, but instead felt like a true demand. David understood she wasn’t some person who just fell over because they were pushed. She’d stumble. She’d fall. And he knew she could get right back up and go back to bat. And as she stood, David doing the same, he watched her eyes as she put the sweater on. Something had changed, briefly, something else. Something oddly dark that he couldn’t put his finger on, but understood she perhaps needed. The same thing he had needed in his time.
Turning her back to him, Y/N made her way back towards the precinct, her feet marching with purpose, her eyes focused, laser focused, as she understood what this was. This man chose people. Always. He had a reason and a purpose and it was never an accident. He had found the CD she brought to her sister’s grave (though she suspected it wasn’t the same one), he had written a detailed note, and he had found the one thing in this world she was still so very vulnerable to.
Now she was going to find him.
( @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @is-it-madness @detecellie @oscarflysaac @peccobagnaia @fgtakbrjbdl​ @doritosandavocados​ @miss-missing-patd​
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girls-scenarios · 4 years
Text
Anything It Takes
Idol: Irene (Red Velvet)
Prompt: i love your writing so much! could you please do a detective! irene au where her s/o (female) gets caught up in a case and irene has to work hard to get her back and make sure shes safe but also get the job done without too much emotion? angst to fluff please! thank you 💖💖
Writer: Admin Kiwi
A/N: So I’ve been binge-watching Miss Fishers Murder Mysteries and that might have been my inspiration while writing this piece. Also, I’m so sorry this took so long for me to write. I have this thing where, when I’m really passionate or I put a lot of work into a scenario, I get scared to post it. Mostly because I desperately want people to like it and I’m scared they wont. Ah, the perils of being a writer. But I hope you all enjoy!
Warnings: Blood, fighting, weapons, cursing.
♡ Tip Jar♡
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Irene knew how dangerous her job was. Almost every single day of her life, she was in some sort of danger, especially because of the types of cases she took. As a detective, and especially as a female detective, she had plenty of enemies. The mafia, local gangs, relatives and friends of criminals with a penchant for revenge, and even fellow detectives: they could all be a threat. She knew this and she knew it well, but she also knew that she could hold her own against all of them. Their threats never scared her off a case: she’d see everything through to the end even if it killed her.
Somehow, though, she’d never thought that the criminals would go this far. She’d never thought they’d target you; not until she came home and opened the door to find the apartment destroyed, ransacked.
Immediately, her heart fell into her stomach and her hands began to shake as she called your name, only to get silence in return. Dropping her bag at the doorway, she didn’t even bother to take off her shoes as she raced further inside. Chairs were knocked over and surrounded by broken glasses in the kitchen, and as she turned towards the bedroom, once again yelling your name, she noticed the blood.
“Oh god no!” She stumbled through the mess from the kitchen and found an even worse scenario waiting for her in the bedroom. The entire mattress had been shoved off the bed, showing a struggle, and a broken lamp laid shattered next to the doorway. The curtains and curtain rod had been yanked from the window, and on the ground, a trail of blood led to the side of the bed near the window. Irene held her breath as she rounded the bed, then stood still.
You weren’t there, but the carpet was stained dark with blood that was dragged to the open window. She choked out a sob as she stared at the blood, then slowly dropped to her knees.
You were gone. And she had no idea if you were alive or dead.
As she took deep breaths, trying to keep herself together, she noticed something gleam under the mattress. When she pulled it up to check, she saw a blood-covered knife laying there and realized that you must have kicked it under the mattress when you were struggling with your captors. The sight reminded her that she was a detective, and she pushed her emotions to the back of her throat as she put the mattress back and pulled out her phone before heading out of the apartment.
She needed to check the outside too, after all.
“I need backup,” she said as soon as her captain Jessica picked up the phone.
“What’s going on?”
“Someone broke into the apartment and (Y/N) is gone. There’s blood, a weapon, the window was busted open, and the apartment is destroyed. Someone abducted her.”
“Oh god. I’ll get backup there immediately. Don’t do anything stupid, okay? If you run off and get yourself hurt, it’ll only put (Y/N) in more danger.”
“Yes, Captain.” Irene was only half listening. Outside the window, there were tire marks in the alleyway, as well as blood, broken glass, and a watch. As she hung up the phone, she cursed herself for renting a first-floor apartment. How could she be so stupid? She hadn’t thought things through, and now you were gone and hurt, and she didn’t know if she could get to you in time.
Feeling herself begin to hyperventilate, she leaned against the building and closed her eyes, trying to think. Who would have taken you? Who had she pissed off recently? Well, that was quite the list to narrow down. She’d pissed off most major and minor crime organizations in the town. Any one of them could have done it. But was this for revenge? Or for leverage?
Her current case came to mind: a drug smuggling ring at the docks. She knew so far that a few wealthy and well-liked businessmen were in on the deal, and that the smuggling was making them a pretty penny. She also knew that it was likely to be cocaine that they were smuggling, and that it was coming in on a specific merchant ship owned by one of the businessmen, disguised under produce and other imported goods from South America. They stood a lot to lose if Irene succeeded in busting them, including their positions of power. Was that reason enough to kidnap you?
She opened her eyes and reached into the inside pocket of her blazer, pulling out the pair of gloves that she kept on her for cases. After pulling them on, she picked up the watch and examined it closely. It wasn’t yours.
It was a man’s watch, rather old from the looks of it, with an engraved stamp on the back. It was some sort of symbol....
Sirens alerted her to the backup and she breathed a sigh of relief, going out to meet them. Her head was still too muddled with worry to make good decisions. She needed the help.
“Irene!” It was Seulgi, her fellow detective, who stepped out of the first car and walked over to her. She looked worried as well, but Irene was relieved. She knew Seulgi could do the job well. “Are you okay?” The other woman asked as she grabbed Irene’s shoulders. Slowly, Irene shook her head.
“To be honest with you, no. I’m really worried and shaken up and I’m really glad you’re here.”
Seulgi frowned and gave Irene a quick hug before pulling away with a stern look. “We’ll take it over from here. You go down to the station and get some coffee and take a breather. I’ll meet you there after we do a thorough search and we’ll talk. Okay?”
As much as Irene wanted to stay, she knew she wouldn’t be able to help. She was much too upset. “Okay,” she said, giving in and holding out the watch in her hand. “Here’s a piece of evidence I found outside the window. There’s also a knife under the mattress in the bedroom. I did my best not to disturb the crime scene.”
“Thank you, Irene.” Seulgi took the button and gave her a tight-lipped smile. “We’ll find (Y/N). I swear.”
“Thank you.” For a moment, Irene watched as Seulgi walked away and called to the officers to follow her. Then, she let out a sigh and ran her hand over her face. She really did need some strong coffee. And maybe a drink.
-
“We found a witness upstairs who says they heard a loud sound and looked outside to see a car speeding away from the alley,” Seulgi said a few hours later, talking to a calmed down Irene. “The time frame matches the estimated abduction time, but unfortunately the license plate was marked out. However, the witness did say that it was a beat up old Cadillac and that there was a bumper sticker on the back window.”
“A bumper sticker?” Irene sipped her coffee and tried not to think about what you might be going through. “That could be a clue.”
“According to the witness, the sticker seemed to be a smoking gun. They can’t say for sure, but they thought it looked like a pistol, and there was some wording under it. They said they’d never seen anything like it before.”
“Hmm. Could help. At least that’s something. Did you find anything else?”
Seulgi sighed and flipped through her note pad. “We found the knife and the watch and sent them through for fingerprint testing. It seems like (Y/N) put up one hell of a fight.”
“They wouldn’t go easy.”
“I don’t think the abductors were expecting it though. They were kind of messy. We found what we think is some of their blood on the broken lamp as well, so we sent it all through for testing. All we got from the security cameras was that one of the guys threw a rock at it as they drove in. Busted the screen completely so that nothing else was visible.”
“Damn it.”
“But we have quite a bit. Once we run those prints and take a closer look at the watch, we might be able to narrow down some suspects.”
“Thank you, Seulgi.” Irene put her glass down and sighed, shaking her head. “But I think I know who did it.”
“Who?”
“I’ve been investigating a cocaine smuggling ring, and I was getting close to busting it. I believe the boss is one Mr. Park, the same Mr. Park who owns a shipping business. I think his merchant ships are bringing in cocaine and disguising the operation by also shipping products and produce from South America to local stores and clientele. I just need proof so that I can raid the warehouse I’m suspecting.”
“What makes you think they did it?”
“First of all, the watch. On the back of it in an engraved symbol. I thought it seemed familiar, so I went through my notes and sure enough, it’s the logo for the shipping company: Park and Co.”
“What a lucky find,” Seulgi said, leaning over to look at the note Irene pulled from her pocket.
“I think (Y/N) had something to do with it.”
“I think you’re right. They’ve been leaving us clues.”
“Do you think this is enough for a search warrant?”
Seulgi sighed and sat back into her chair. “I doubt it. Mr. Park is a rich man, and it’s always hard to get permission to ‘trouble’ rich men. But I’m going to go check on those fingerprints. A lot of sailors have a record, and if they’ve ever been arrested, we’ll have their finger prints. If we have that, we should be able to get a warrant.”
Irene bit her lip and clasped her hands together. “Can I not at least go have a look around?” She asked, and Seulgi shook her head.
“I wouldn’t advise it. It’s late, Irene. If you need a place to stay, my house is always open.”
The older woman sighed and shook her head, turning back to her desk. “No, but thank you. I’m going to stay here and do some work.”
Seulgi frowned, but didn’t comment, instead standing up and patting Irene’s shoulder. “Don’t overwork yourself and get some sleep. I’ll see you again in the morning.”
“Have a good night.” Irene watched Seulgi walk away once again, then turned back to her desk and sighed, running her fingers through her hair. You where out there somewhere and the clock was ticking. And she couldn’t do anything.
-
Irene was not used to being a mess. Even before she was promoted to be a detective, she was cool and level headed, known for being the detective no one wanted to mess with. She had cracked cases no one else could and could get criminals to confess with her cold eyes. And yet now, she was a mess, dark circles under her eyes and her hair a mess, sleeping at her desk because she couldn’t go home knowing you were out there, hurt and needing help.
When morning finally came, Irene decided that she couldn’t wait anymore. After washing her face in the bathroom and making herself presentable again, she walked out onto the streets, searching for strong coffee and something to disguise herself in.
When she came back an hour later, fully caffeinated with shopping bags in hand, Seulgi stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“We ran those prints and found a match. It’s a guy named Gus White, he’s a deckhand for Park and Co.”
For the first time, hope surged in Irene’s chest. “Good, is that enough for a search warrant?”
Seulgi sighed, and the hope dropped away. “The Captain wants us to bring him in for an interview first. She said that’s the best way to go about doing this. I know you’re worried, Seulgi, but orders are orders.”
“Yeah.” Irene frowned. “Orders are orders.”
“You’re planning on going over there in disguise.” Seulgi looked down at the bags, then back at Irene, looking right through her.
“How did you know?”
“We’ve been on the force together how long?” She gave her a wry smile. “I know you, Irene.”
“Then you know that I can’t just stand here and do nothing.”
“I know. Just be careful. Please.” With that, Seulgi walked away, and Irene headed for the bathroom, her jaw clenched. She was going to get you back, no matter what it took.
-
For once, Irene was glad the was short. In her disguise, she almost looked like a local boy, and she smiled, satisfied as she checked her gun and placed it in a concealed holster around her stomach. Like this, she could walk near the docks without anyone suspecting her, although she’d still have to be careful. She slipped out the back doors of the office so that no one would see her and set off down the road, keeping her head down and her mind on one thing: you.
Once she got to the docks, she hunched her shoulders over and slipped closer to the warehouse she suspected was being used for smuggling. Thankfully, the docks were easy to slip around in: they were full of giant boxes and shipping containers that she could easily hide behind, and the loud noises from the boats as they loaded and unloaded made it easier for her to go unheard. She watched, blending in with the shadows, as groups of men left the surrounding warehouses and left for lunch, leaving the docks almost empty.
As she crept closer to the warehouse, she noticed a beat up black Cadillac parked next to the back entrance. Underneath and around it, she could see dark spots that lead to the door, and her gut twisted. Blood. Taking a deep breath, she looked around, making sure that her coast was clear, before slipping over to take a closer look at the car. She walked like she thought a boy might, nonchalantly swaggering over to the car to look at the back window.
A bumper sticker with a smoking pistol and the words “leave none behind” underneath it stared back at her, and she swallowed. This was the bumper sticker, meaning her hunch was correct. They were holding you here, if you were still alive. Trying not to think of the other option, she quickly went back to a safe hiding spot behind a stack of shipping containers near another warehouse and pulled out her phone.
When Seulgi answered, she sounded nervous. “Irene? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I found the Cadillac. It has the bumper sticker,” Irene whispered, her eyes darting out to the road. “It’s parked near the back entrance of the warehouse, and there’s blood.”
“That should convince Jessica for a search warrant.”
“Did you get anywhere with the Gus guy?”
“He was all clawed up and he had a cut on his arm. Once we told him that we had his fingerprints and his DNA from blood at the crime scene, he cracked. He just now confessed and said they took (Y/N) because Mr. Park was going to use her to make you stop investigating, and that they’re holding (Y/N) inside the warehouse.”
“I thought as much.” Hope once again soared. “Does that mean they’re still alive?”
“Seems like it, although we need to be fast. I’m going to talk to Jessica now, and Joy has gone to round up some backup. Don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”
“No promises,” Irene whispered, “I know Mr. Park. If he knows we found him, he’ll kill them. I’m going in.”
“Wait for me,” Seulgi begged, “Please, it’s too dangerous.”
“No one’s around right now,” Irene argued. “Everyone has gone on lunch. I’m going to go in and try to secure the area. Hurry.”
“God damn it, Irene, you-.” Before Seulgi could finish her sentence, Irene hung up. She felt bad, but she slipped the phone into her pocket and clenched her teeth. You were in there, in danger, and she was going to get to you before Mr. Park or any of his goons did. Standing up, she picked up a nearby rock and placed it in the pocket of her baggy hoodie before she slipped out from her hiding spot and headed back for the warehouse.
She wasn’t going to try the back door: if there was anyone guarding you, that was where they were going to be. Despite her lack of sleep, she was alert as she slipped around the side and noticed a small side door. That would be her entrance.
Carefully, she tried the handle and raised her eyebrows in surprise. Unlocked. As it creaked open, she peeked inside. There was a single, unoccupied chair and another door in the otherwise bare room, and when she noticed the camera in the corner, she froze and listened.
No one seemed to be moving beyond the next door, so she crept in, breathless and sticking to the wall, and reached up to cut the cord to the camera with her knife. The little red light blinked out, and she stopped to listen once again. No one. So had the person watching the security cameras gone out to lunch too? Bad security for a drug lord, but she thanked her luck and slipped over to the next door. It was locked, but no locked door had ever been able to keep her out before. Using a small lock pick she’d grabbed from her blazer, she studied the lock for a moment before picking it and slowly opening the door.
A huge room opened up in front of her, and she raised her eyebrows in surprise. So this was the base of operations. The warehouse ceiling reached up towards the sky and every sound echoed in the cavernous space. Stacks of boxes she could only assume were filled with cocaine lined the walls, and she stopped as she listened closely.
Footsteps could be heard from somewhere inside the huge room, and she held her breath, deciphering where they were coming from. They weren’t coming closer. Instead, they seemed to be... Pacing. Near the back door. Ah, so that was the guard. No other evidence of life could be heard, so she slipped from the door to her right instead of towards the footsteps in order to get a better view of the room. In front of her on the other side of the warehouse, she saw a room with one window and no ceiling, just walls and a door. From the window, she could see lights from a computer.
On the other side of the warehouse, a large metal box-like room caught her eye. It had a door and what seemed to be a moving slab at the bottom to slide things into the room without opening the door. If she had to bet, she would bet that you were inside. Her first instinct was to run to you, but she knew that she had to take out the guard before she did anything rash.
No one had been in the security room, as she’d been able to cut the camera and get away with it, so she crept over to the small room and checked the door. Locked. However, without the ceiling.... An idea struck her and she pulled the rock from her pocket, carefully tossing it over the wall before hiding herself behind a pile of boxes.
The footsteps stopped, then muttering began. She made out that the man was talking about rats and Frank taking long bathroom breaks. Then the footsteps began to walk towards the security room.
“That you, Frank? Come on, man, you know the boss doesn’t like it when you take breaks like this. What did you break this time?” The man came into view a moment later and checked the handle, then frowned. “Huh, just rats?” He looked around, and Irene held her breath, afraid he might not open the door. Then, finally, he pulled the keys from his pocket, and she wrapped her fingers around a thick piece of wood near her feet. It should do the job.
As soon as he stepped inside, scratching his head and looking around, she sprung up and raised the plank. Despite her small frame, she was strong from years of training, and when she brought the wood down, it hit hard and the man slumped to the ground with a short groan. After standing still to make sure he was out and no one else was alerted, Irene darted inside and grabbed his keys and her rock, then slashed the cords to the cameras and stepped back over his body. He was still breathing, and she didn’t know how much time she had before he woke up. Still, to buy her some time, she locked and closed the door on her way out before running as quietly as she possibly could to the metal box on the other side of the warehouse.
Shuffling echoed from the box as she approached, and her heart pounded in her chest at the sight of blood near the door. Despite her calculated take down, her hands her shaking, and so the keys took her longer than they usually would. She tried key after key, listening to the shuffling inside and hoping that you were okay. Finally, a key fit, and she threw open the door, her breath caught in her throat.
She saw you immediately. You were tied to a chair in the corner of the room and your eyes widened as she stepped inside and let out a sigh of relief. Rushing to you, she pulled out your gag, and you immediately burst into tears, trying to stay quiet despite the obvious distress you were in. As she reached back to cut away the ropes, the sight of your bloodied arm, wrapped crudely in an old rag, made her boil inside. She slashed the ropes off and then embraced you, holding you close and cradling your head.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, “I’m here now, you’re going to be okay.”
“I was so scared,” you whispered back, desperately trying not to sob. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Can you walk?”
“I don’t know. I’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I’ll support you.” Irene slipped her arm under yours to help you up, supporting you with her small frame. You were unstable on your feet, your limbs asleep from being tied up for almost two days, but you managed to walk after a moment, wincing with every step as you stepped out of the box and towards the back doors.. “We just have to get outside, I have help on the way, we can-.”
A sound echoed through the warehouse, and Irene’s hand immediately went to her gun, pulling it from its holster. Your eyes were wide again, full of fear and tears, and she swallowed, pulling you back behind a pile of boxes and listening.
Footsteps. Lots of them. People were coming towards the middle of the warehouse.
“I told you fools to watch the place!” Mr. Park’s voice boomed through the room. “Then I see that the security cameras have been cut out, and where are you? On the fucking toilet!”
“S-sorry boss,” stuttered the security guard, who Irene guessed was Frank, his voice strangled. “I was only gone for a moment, I swear-.”
“A moment is all it takes, you moron!” Mr. Park bellowed, then the footsteps stopped at the large doors leading into the main room. “You pieces of shit, look! The prison door is open!”
“There’s no way,” another voice said, “we have people stationed outside, there’s no way someone got out.”
“Where were those people when she got in?” Mr. Park snarled.
“Um,” the voice was meeker this time. “At lunch.”
“Morons!” The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the room, and Irene winced. “If you want something done, you have to do it yourself.” He then chuckled. “Isn’t that right, Irene?”
You whimpered, but Irene stayed silent, holding her gun at the ready and listening closely. Judging from the murmuring and the footsteps, there seemed to be at least five people, although the one who had gotten slapped might be out of action. Mr. Park had big hands. Then if the man in the security office woke up, it would be six. She had no doubt that she could out-shoot Mr. Park, but a shoot-out with six people, with you wounded behind her? The odds were not in her favor, to say the least.
“I know you’re still here, Detective. Did you enjoy our little game? You know, I’m glad you showed. Because now that you’re here, I can kill you both.”
Irene’s phone vibrated in her pocket, and her eyes widened. Seulgi. She pulled it out as quietly as possible and looked at the message.
-We’re almost to the warehouse now. Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid
-I did. Hurry. Guard outside, at least six inside.
-God damn it. Be there in two.
“There!” Someone had heard the phone buzz, and a shot echoed, piercing through one of the boxes to Irene’s right. White powder fell out and she rolled her eyes. There was the cocaine, at least.
“Don’t shoot until we know where she is, dumbass. We don’t know if she’s alone. Split up, Thomas and Frank search the right and Cho and Mike search the left. We’ll flush them out.”
An idea struck Irene then, and she looked down at her phone, licking her lips. It might work, if....
“Alright, you got me, I ran off alone and it’s just me. But It’ll take more than six of you to flush me out.” With her words, she threw the rock against the opposite side of the warehouse, and guns exploded, firing into the boxes and sending a smoke of white powder into the air. A few of the men began to cough, and with the powder as a distraction, she turned her body, peeked over the box behind her, aimed, and fired.
The man closest to her true hiding place dropped, and more gunfire erupted. Beside her, you whimpered and she turned to help you move back, further behind the metal box. Unless the bullets ricocheted, they wouldn’t reach you there.
“Shit, where is she? I can hardly see through all this-.”
“You dumb asses, she’s playing with you. Give me that.” Mr. Park growled as he cocked his gun, and she swallowed. God, this was going to be so much paperwork. If she got out of this. “Where else could they be hiding? They’re over by the prison!”
You closed your eyes and curled into a ball, and she took a deep breath, covering you with her body and keeping her pistol aimed for the small opening as his steps got closer. She might die, but she’d die protecting you. Just as she was moving her finger towards the trigger, sirens screeched through the afternoon air, and the footsteps stopped.
“Fuck, I thought she said that she came alone?” One of the men yelled.
“Let’s just kill these two and-.”
“Police! Hands in the air where I can see them, we’ve got you all surrounded.” Seulgi’s voice echoed loud and clear, and Irene jumped to her feet, pressing her pistol into one Mr. Park’s’ back.
“That means you too, sir,” she said sweetly, despite the fact that she truly wanted to throttle him right then and there. He glared at her, his hands still clutching at the gun, but as his men surrendered all around him and cops came pouring in, he dropped his weapon. “Thank you.”
“Fuck you,” he muttered, slowly putting his hands in the air. “You were trespassing on my property, I won’t let you-.”
“I had a warrant,” Irene said, her eyes twinkling, and Seulgi grinned as she walked up with handcuffs.
“That we do. Mr. Park, you are under arrest for attempted murder, kidnapping, and the possession, production, and sell of illegal substances. You have the right to remain silent.” As the other woman cuffed Mr. Park’s hands, Irene turned back to you. You looked pale as she rushed to your side, and she checked your forehead.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” she said, and you nodded slowly.
“Yeah. But I can’t move. I think I’m gonna....” And with that, you slumped forward into Irene’s arms. Her heart pounded and she turned back to Seulgi, her eyes wild.
“I need help, (Y/N) just passed out and they’ve lost a lot of blood!”
“Get the ambulance,” Seulgi barked, shoving Mr. Park forward and gesturing at the cops under her. “Hurry, or we might lose them!”
“Yes ma’am!”
As the chaos continued around her, Irene looked down at you and tried not to cry, kissing your forehead and holding you close while applying pressure to your wound in hopes that the blood would stop.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, even though she wasn’t sure you could hear. “I’m so, so sorry.”
-
Time had never seemed to go by so slowly. Irene was still in her disguise clothes as she sat in the chair next to your hospital bed, gazing down at you. The doctors had said that you would be okay: that you had just lost a lot of blood and needed to sleep and recover after your blood transfusion, but she couldn’t help but stay worried. The only time she’d left your side was to help Seulgi with paperwork over the case. Thankfully, with the cameras cut, there was no proof of Irene going in before the warrant was issued, and Seulgi had explained that she had asked Irene to go in to secure the scene early. The man Irene had shot had lived, and so there was thankfully less paperwork to deal with. Her case had wrapped up in a little bow, and now she was back in the bedside seat, waiting for you to wake up.
She was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep, rotating between watching you and watching the clock. How could she even face you now? Everything was her fault. She hadn’t thought ahead, and she hadn’t been able to protect you. She’d been naive, and you’d paid the price. If she wasn’t a detective, or if you weren’t dating her, this would have never happened to you. She wasn’t sure if the guilt hanging over her shoulders would ever go away, and the silence of the sterile hospital room did nothing to ease her worries.
Just as she was about to get up to grab coffee, you opened your eyes, and she froze. After a moment, you coughed and blinked, turning your head.
“Irene?”
“I’m here, baby,” she said softly, coming to your side and taking your hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Awful,” you croaked, and she frowned. “My whole body hurts and I feel so tired. I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Oh, (Y/N), I’m so sorry.” She squeezed your hand and shook her head, her tears finally spilling from her eyes. “I was so worried about you.”
You gave her a small smile and reached up to weakly wipe away her tears. “Well, now you know how I feel when you’re at work.”
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, not knowing what else to say. “I couldn’t protect you. This was all my fault.”
“Irene, no, I don’t blame you. There are bad people in the world, and you work to stop those people. I chose to date you even though I knew the risks. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”
“I should have known better.” She pressed her forehead to your hand. “I never wanted you to get involved in any of this. I never thought this would happen. I couldn’t sleep just thinking about you. I know you must have gone through hell, all because of me.”
You fell silent for a moment. “It was scary,” you finally said, voice soft. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop having nightmares. I tried to fight them off but they were too strong, and it was the scariest moment of my life. Even scarier than being locked in that awful room. But I knew you’d find me.”
Irene looked up at you, her eyebrows raised. “You did?”
“I did. Because you’re a good detective, I knew you’d see the clues I left you. When I realized that the were going to take me away, I fought with them and got them to drop the knife so I could kick it away and hide it. I knew that, even if I died, they’d be able to get fingerprints from the weapon.”
“I don’t even want to think about that,” she whispered with a shiver, and you nodded, shaking a bit as well.
“I know, but that was what was going through my mind. Then I managed to get one of their watch’s off and I dropped it outside the window as they carried me over their shoulder. I also knew that, since I was bleeding, there would be a trail of blood everywhere I went. They wrapped my arm up in the car because they said their boss wanted me alive, but I loosened it enough to drop blood when we got out of the car and walked to the room. I knew you’d be looking for me, and I wanted you to help find me.”
“It was all a help. Seriously. The watch told me who had taken you, the knife got the fingerprints of one of the kidnappers who confessed and got us the warrant, and because of the blood, I was able to know you were in that room. Without those, I might have been too late.” The two of you shivered again, and Irene sighed. “I’m going to get us a new place. With all new security. I’ll do anything it takes to make sure that you’re always safe from now on. But if you want to break up with me, I’d understand.”
“Irene. Listen to me.” You touched her face and smiled. “I love you. Yes, I’m really shaken up by all of this, but I don’t blame you. You saved me, and I knew you would. It’s going to take a lot more than a rich man with a bunch of dumb goons to scare me away from you.”
Relief settled over her shoulders and she found herself smiling as well. “I love you too (Y/N). So much. And I am more relieved right now than you will ever know.” She knew that it would take time for the both of you to recover. She knew that this was something the two of you would never forget, and she knew that the future was going to be different now. She knew the guilt she felt was going to linger for a long time. But right now, you were alive, you were safe, and you loved her. And that was all she cared about.
110 notes · View notes
azritesx3 · 4 years
Text
“A Devil’s Love” Chapter 1: All Bad Things, I Promise
Description: Chloe's best friend is back, and Lucifer's charm can't seem to affect her either. Is she also a miracle child? Or something...more? [Story starts during S2 Ep4, Female Reader Insert]
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AN: Updated March 14, 2020 - Grammar AN: Updated July 14, 2020 - Grammar
Rating: G Warnings: None
Show Timeline: Season 2 episode 4
Spotify Playlist /// AO3 Fanfiction Net Wattpad DeviantArt
Tag List: @ayanna-wild​, @anushay1998, @emiwrites3reads​, @i-am-canada-13​, @heart-of-pots-and-pans​, @tinyybiceps, @jessicarene99​, @lucifersnipnips​, @givemebooksorgivemedeath​, @sailor-earth-1
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“Ladies and Gentlemen! We have arrived at our destination at the Los Angeles International Airport. We hope you enjoyed your flight and hope you ride with us again!” A smack to your chest wakes you from a deep slumber.
“Ms. Earth! We've landed. Can we please hurry off this plane?” your assistant, Alice Green, pleads to you.
“Geez, Ali,” you groan while stretching in your very comfy first-class seat, “The whole reason I got us first class was so you'd be more comfortable.”
“Over 6 hours, Ms.”
You yawn, “Alright, alright. Let's get off. I'm eager to go too, actually.” You give Alice the shooing motion and she's more than happy to oblige.
After grabbing your luggage from the always too fast conveyor belt, you treat Alice to the most elegant airport food you can imagine: McDonald's. As she went to town on her banquet you call a cab to pick you up in thirty minutes, then stare at a blank text message screen.
“You ok?” Alice asks after swallowing a mouth full of chicken nuggets.
“You know, it amazes me how you can eat like a potbelly pig and still be a size three,” Alice raises an eyebrow at you while stuffing more in her mouth. You sigh, “Should I text her now? Or just surprise her at work?”
“You've told me before that she usually doesn't like to be interrupted when on duty.”
“Yeah, you're right.” You start to form a devilish grin on your face and place your phone back in your purse, “Her job it is then!”
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“Seriously, Detective! Name three friends you could have drinks with right now,” Lucifer Morningstar pokes at Detective Chloe Decker.
“Well, I can't name three,” replies Chloe rolling her eyes, “I can name one, but she's on the other side of the country.” She pulls the car up to the crime scene and parks.
“Wait, you actually have a friend?” Lucifer smiles cockily. Chloe gives him an annoyance stare then gets out of the car, walking quickly inside the crime circle.
“Well, you need to make more friends! Especially since now I know it seems you're capable of doing so." Lucifer, very easily with his long legs, strides right next to her, “Stress is a terrible ager, Detective. Go to a bar, get drunk, and talk about your woes to the patrons! I promise it'll make you feel better.”
“Talk about my impending divorce and possible homelessness with an eight-year-old daughter to complete strangers? Yeah. Sounds super relaxing.”
“Doesn't it?” Lucifer smiles that grin again and Chloe responds with a pissed-off expression. Thankfully, Detective Dan Espinoza cuts in with the crime details.
“We've got a young female. COD unknown.” Dan looks back and forth between Lucifer and Chloe before settling on her.
“ID?”
“None,” Dan says with a sigh, “No personal belongings. Only thing of note is a triangular ink stamp on the inside of her wrist.”
“Oh wait, I think I can actually help here!” Lucifer stops the men carrying the woman's body and points to the stamp, “This is a very common thing you'd see at a nightclub. You know,” Lucifer looks at Chloe and raises his brows, “where people go to have fun.”
“And then get killed. Yeah, mhm.” Chloe shakes her head at her partner.
“Well, that part usually doesn't happen.” Lucifer pulls his phone out, all attention now on the tiny device.
“We did find an abandoned vehicle registered as an Uber.” Dan steps in, “No driver.”
Chloe nods in thought, then grabs Lucifer's phone and starts searching, “I was searching safe nightclubs for you Detective! Other than my own, of course.”
“Uber IDs are usually linked to the driver's phone,” Chloe says, ignoring Lucifer, “not the car, and now we've got his number...Looks like our guy is on the corner of Crescent & Third.”
“Impressive.” Lucifer smiles down at his partner.
“Yeah, it's called police work,” Chloe replies, hiding a smile as she hands him back his phone.
Lucifer places the phone in front of his mouth, “Let's solve a murder!” “I can assist you with that.” “Ha! You have to love these things!”
“Lucifer-” but before Chloe could scold him one of the K9s on scene starts to bark. The three of them look over in that direction and see an officer having trouble controlling the dog.
“I thought those things were supposed to be trained.” Lucifer cringes.
“That's Buster. Just turned a year old and still training.” Dan answers. The poor officer can't control Buster any longer, and the dog snaps free and runs to an approaching party.
“Oh my-” Chloe's eyes go wide.
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“Well hey there little guy!” You smile as Buster jumps on you and licks your face. Alice smiles and softly laughs, “You completely ruined my cover, dude! I was planning on sneaking up on my old BFF.” Buster whines softly, “Aw, it's not a problem bud. Now go back to your officer.” You point towards the officer, who looks completely embarrassed, and Buster follows your command.
You look to Chloe, smile and wave, “Hey Chlo-Chlo! Long time no see, huh?”
“Earth?!” Chloe gets the biggest smile on her face and rushes over to you. The two of you have what looks to be the biggest, and tightest, hug in the world.
“Well I'll be damned,” Dan says softly, then smiles and walks towards the trio of women. Leaving behind a very confused Devil.
“What are you doing here, Earth?!” Chloe smiles and holds onto your hands.
“Business over in New York is in good hands now. So I figured, why not open up a vet on the other side of the country too?” You smile and squeeze Chloe's hands, “Plus I get to be back home, work on my K9s again, oh yeah! And be with my BFF.” Chloe smiles and embraces you once more.
“Hey, Earth,” Dan comes up and holds out his hand, “It's good to see you back.”
“Daniel,” you accept his handshake and respond coolly, “You're lucky you brought Trixie into the world. Otherwise, I'd be living up to the threat I gave you at the wedding.”
“Yeah…”
Lucifer coughs.
“Oh, right,” Chloe composes herself, “Earth, this is Lucifer Morningstar the LAPD civilian consultant.”
“And her partner,” Lucifer smiles at you and holds out his hand.
“Ah, so you're the weirdo who thinks he's the Devil!” You smile back and accept his handshake, “Chloe's told me a lot about you. All bad things, I promise.”
“Is that so?” Lucifer's smile grows, “Well I wish I could say the same about you my dear, but I'm afraid the Detective has never mentioned you. Well,” Lucifer side glances to Chloe, “not until the ride over here.”
“Perfect timing then,” you reply, “and I'm not surprised she hasn't talked about me. She's very hush-hush about her childhood.”
“Yes, I've noticed that.”
“Earth!” Chloe eagerly moves the conversation in another direction, “Who's your friend?”
“This is my rising prodigy and assistant, Alice Green!” You properly introduce her to everyone.
“It's nice to meet you all!” Alice shakes everyone's hand, lingering longer on Lucifer.
“Nice to meet you too, darling.” Lucifer smiles seductively at your assistant, and you can see her blush.
“So!” You clap your hands together loudly, knocking Alice out of her daze, “I just came to say I'm back. Go on, go back to your investigation.” You make the shooing motion once more, “We're going to head to our hotel and get some rest. Going back in time is sooo draining. Text me when you're done and free to hang out, Chloe!” You wave your goodbyes then push Alice back to the cab.
“Well, Detective,” Lucifer smiles down at her, “Looks like you've got no excuse now not to go have fun.”
“Looks like it.” Chloe smiles back.
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The music's popping in Lux. People dancing, talking, and making-out all around the place. Everyone looks to be having the time of their life.
All except for a certain Detective who has yet to de-stress.
“...there was tissue damage to Daria's stomach lining caused by liquid nitrogen, the stuff that makes those fancy cocktails smoke. It's probably how she ingested the poison-”
“Amazing work as always Detective,” Lucifer interrupts her, “but you just made my trio sha-bang run away.” Lucifer looks longingly at the trio of beautiful women who are no longer in his arms.
“Second,” Chloe continues like she hasn't even heard him, “I assumed that Daria was at a club on Gower and we found an abandoned building on the corner. The place looked like it had a party recently.” Chloe moves over to one of the small tables by the bar as she talks, looking over the paperwork.
“Fascinating,” Lucifer says sarcastically, following her.
“I was wondering if you could make some phone calls to help me out?” Chloe looks to Lucifer, “You know, since you seem to have your fingers on the pulse.”
“I'd much rather be pulsing-”
“I know that hood.” Mazikeen Smith, Lucifer's demon bodyguard, was listening in from the bar, “There's a great tiki bar across the street from that building. I know the bartender.” Maze downs her drink.
“I'm not surprised.” Chloe shakes her head.
“Let's go have a drink there. Ask about the dead girls.” Maze pushes.
“That sounds like a very good lead, Detective!” Lucifer's smile practically covers his entire face.
“Did I just hear you guys talk about that tiki bar on Gower?” Ella Lopez, an LAPD forensic scientist, comes back from dehydrating in the bathroom, “I love their pina coladas!”
“See that Detective?” Lucifer smiles at Chloe as he takes a swing of a drink a waiter just gave him, “Why don't you text that lovely friend of yours too?”
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“Got to say, I'm surprised you guys didn't realize that this was Chloe's idea of a ‘girls night'.” You sit next to Maze and Ella, who Chloe briefly introduced you to before she ran off to ask questions of the patrons about her case.
Maze's eye roll was practically a growl, and Ella just smiles and shrugs her shoulders while she finishes her second pina colada.
“Well, I did manage to gain some new info.” Chloe finally returns to the bar and sits next to you. She opens up her case file and starts to go through the papers again, “The bartender said something was going on in that building. I put a call in for a warrant to the judge. Just waiting to hear back.”
“Great,” Maze forces a smile and shoves Chloe's abandoned drink into her hand, “have a drink!”
“Uh, no. I think I'm going to call it a night,” Chloe starts to pack up her paperwork, but you grab her left wrist to stop her.
“But I just got here!”
“Sorry, Earth...look we can-”
“Hey ladies.” Dr. Linda Martin, the Devil's therapist, gives a concerned smile as she sits next to Chloe.
“Linda?” Chloe looks shocked, “What are you doing here?”
“Maze texted me saying it's girls night.” Chloe looks over at Maze who just shrugs and motions again to the abandoned drink.
“Sorry Linda, but-”
“Oh no no no, now I'm stepping in!” You snap and Chloe looks at you, “Look Chloe, you've done all you can for tonight, and I know you've got a lot on your mind right now. Your weird partner is right.” You put a hand on Chloe's shoulder and squeeze, “You need to have fun and relax.”
“I agree.” Linda nods and you two formally introduce each other while Maze and Ella both share their agreement. Defeated, Chloe sighs, sits down, and slowly starts to sip her drink.
For a first night out since being back in LA, you aren't surprised that it turned into a bar fight. First it started slow, with the group sharing something about themselves or what was on their mind, and that seemed to make Chloe more comfortable. Then two drinks became four, and you find yourself singing terrible karaoke with the girls even though you only drank water. Maze tried to make you drink and you responded with, “You're here to get Chloe drunk, not me. I saw that phone picture to him.” Which seemed to shut her up, but she glared at you the rest of the night.
The fight broke loose when the detective in Chloe came back in full force. She noticed some slum of a guy with the same triangular stamp on the wrist and brought him over to question with Ella. Then, the slum's girlfriend comes up and just punches Chloe. You and Maze didn't stand for that and started fighting the people in the bar, while Linda hid under the bar table and Ella splashed water on people. When everything finally calmed down Maze stopped glaring at you and instead gave you a look of approval for your fighting skills.
Chloe got even more info on her case from the slum. He said the place he got the stamp was a sex club party that always moves to different places each night.
As the group dispersed, Chloe stopped you and said she will text you to meet at her mom's when she's officially over with the case.
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“I can't believe it was all a setup!” Chloe complains while she pours you and her a glass of water. You take a sip of the water and continue to listen to her ranting, “‘You need to go make friends, Detective’,” Chloe mocks Lucifer's voice, “‘Go get drunk and forget about your woes’,” Chloe sighs and slumps into the couch next to you, “Now, thanks to that drunkenness, I'm going to have Maze as a roommate.”
“I don't think it's so bad.”
“You've only known Maze for a night, and you can basically grasp her personality from that.”
“Aw, come on Chlo!” You nudge her leg with your own, “Yeah she seems kind of...scary, but she's an amazing fighter. Good protection for you and Trixie,” you take another sip of water, “and besides,” you wrap an arm around Chloe's shoulder, “Lucifer may have set it up, but you did have fun and de-stressed right?”
Chloe sighs and lays her head on your shoulder, “Yeah, I did.”
“See?” You smile and rest your head on hers, “And now you have a good group of girls to have drinks with on your own. You know…” You swirl your water in the glass, “I was scared when you told me about your new partner. I thought, ‘How could a guy who calls himself the Devil be good for my Chlo?’” You sit up and look Chloe in the eyes, “But I think...he's actually a good guy. A nice guy.”
“Yeah,” Chloe smiles warmly at you, “he is.”
“Good.” You cough, “So,” you place your water on the coffee table, “is it more than just partnership?” You wiggle your eyebrows.
Chloe laughs at you and smacks your arm, “No! Absolutely not!” You both have a good laugh before settling down.
You two talk for an hour before Chloe informs you she has to go pick up Trixie from school. You both say your goodbyes at the door, but Chloe stops you:
“Hey, Earth?” She looks and sounds concerned.
“Yeah?” You look back at her through the doorway.
“You sure you'll be alright coming back here? I mean…”
“Don't worry, Chloe."  You give her a reassuring smile, “I've dealt with my demons.”
“Okay, good, but you know if you ever need someone to talk to come to me.” Chloe smiles then looks like a light bulb clicked on in her head, “Or if you need a new therapist, I do recommend Linda. It may not seem like she's good since she's his therapist and he still insists on being the ‘Devil’, but she has helped Lucifer with other problems.”
“Thanks, Chlo. I'll think about it.” You smile and wave before you head to your rental and she to her own car.
“Yeah,” you say to yourself as you start up the engine, “it's good to be back.”
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cheri-translates · 3 years
Text
[CN] S2 Gavin and MC in Chapter 2 - Part Three
🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for Season 2🍒
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Be sure to read Part 1 and Part 2 first!
With the help of STF, the iron shutters are open and they escape
After getting simple bandages, Gavin continues with work
Eli tells Gavin to rest for a few days but of course he doesn’t lol
Gavin: I’ll send you back.
MC: The patient should go lie down.
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Gavin: The doctor in the team said that I can continue with my normal activities.
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MC: Considering the way you were glaring at him, would he dare to say no?
I recollect the scene just now when Gavin was being bandaged, and how he had glared at the doctor, and also glared at me.
[ flashback ]
Doctor: ...this wound needs to recuperate for at least...
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Gavin: I should be able to continue with my activities.
Doctor: But you...
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Gavin: Can begin with my activities.
Doctor: At the very least, you can’t engage in any strenuous activities...
Gavin: I’ll take note.
In the end, the doctor releases a heavy sigh, stamping his feet and leaving.
[ end of flashback ]
Gavin seems to be very concerned that his negligence would result in me getting dragged into danger, so he insists on sending me back.
I can’t win against him, so I trail behind him. Tang Chao looks at us from the side with a half-smile, walking us to the entrance of STF.
-
There’s a crowd outside consisting of media personnel and citizens
The reporters bombard her with questions on whether her company has been circulating the drugs, while citizens outrightly accuse her
Someone even calls her a murderer
Eggs get thrown at her, but a wall of wind causes the eggs to hover mid-air before they crack... on Tang Chao LOL
Tang Chao: Captain Gavin, this is a little too much.
I almost fail to suppress my laughter.
Gavin and I exchange a glance. I give him a light nod. He furrows his brows but doesn’t stop me. However, the wall of wind continues remaining in front of me subtly.
I stand before the crowd, straighten my shoulders, then bow deeply.
MC: Hello everyone. I’m the person in charge of [MC’s Company Name]. My name is MC.
MC: I’m sorry that everyone has been troubled by the [MC’s Company Name] incident.
MC: But [MC’s Company Name] has never been involved in any prohibited drug circulation or distribution.
MC: The STF has verified that [MC’s Company Name] is not guilty.
MC: I’m just like all of you. From the bottom of my heart, I despise the existence of the prohibited drugs.
MC: The so-called “hope” they bring to too many people only results in pain.
MC: As a person in charge of a media company, every job I take up, and every image I capture...
MC: Can present the reality of this world. I want to capture every trivial, normal “hope” in life.
MC: It could be a cup of coffee, a word of greeting, a hug.
MC: I think real hope has no relations to whether one has “Evol”.
MC: If there is an answer to this question of “Evol” in the future, I think it’s definitely unrelated to the drugs.
MC: It’s completely unrelated to anyone who snatches, poisons, forces, and lies in order to get them.
MC: That’s all I wish to say. Thank you.
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I bow deeply again. When I lift my head, my shoulders remain straightened. Gavin stands by my side.
Gavin: Let’s go.
-
As we walk along the small road and the night breeze, I deliberately slow my pace, worrying about Gavin’s wound.
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MC: I didn’t stutter just now, right?
Gavin: You didn’t. You spoke very well just now.
MC: That’s good.
The gentle moonlight illuminates the path home. The world is tranquil, and it makes it difficult to believe that we just stepped out of imminent peril.
Gavin’s phone suddenly rings. After answering it, he responds with a few short sounds of agreement.
It’s a pretty long phone call, so I take a few steps to the side, lowering my head and staring at the tips of my shoes.
Gavin: All right, I’ve got it.
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He hangs up. Seeing me standing a few metres away, he smiles.
Light refracts into his amber coloured eyes, sparkling and flickering.
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Gavin: What are you doing so far away?
MC: I was worried you might think I’m eavesdropping.
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Gavin: If I didn’t want you to know, I wouldn’t have answered it in front of you.
MC: Really?
I scamper over to Gavin, looking at him expectantly. 
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Gavin: You’re that happy?
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MC: Just a little bit more than my usual happiness.
He releases a soft sigh, walking towards the direction of my home.
Gavin: The results of the drugs are out. To Evolvers, the drug does cause a segment of them to have heightened abilities, and its results vary depending on the individual. But after a certain period of time, it’d damage the structure of one’s genes, and become like a virus, spreading to other organs. At the end, it results in death.
As for humans, the “Small Syringes” don’t seem to stimulate Evol, though taking a large quantity may result in a small chance of Evol awakening - 0.0002%
But the confirmed results are still subject to research
MC mulls over what Gavin said, and thinks that perhaps many people are wiling to risk their lives for that 0.0002%
She doesn’t blame them though. The person she’s angry with is the person behind the prohibited medicine
MC: Gavin, if you had a choice, would you want to have Evol?
Just like in my memory, Gavin doesn’t hesitate. He nods.
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Gavin: I would. because I have someone I want to protect.
-
The path home is much shorter than I imagined. Without realising it, we’ve already reached the first floor of the building.
MC: You have to walk slowly on your way back.
Gavin: I know.
MC: ...don’t force yourself to use your abilities.
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Gavin smiles. Just as he plans to turn around, he suddenly pauses.
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Gavin: MC, erm, do you know about the secret experiment by Black Swan 17 years ago?
I freeze, an image of how Gavin looked back then flashing across my mind.
MC: Are you referring to that experiment in the orphanage?
Gavin nods, then shakes his head. He doesn’t speak. For a moment, I have no idea what I should say.
MC: ...is this the reason why you’re back in Loveland City?
Gavin: There is a very important investigation here. But to me, what’s more important is that it’s a verification.
MC: Verification?
Gavin’s smile gradually fades. The dim lights from the streetlamp are on his face, casting his expression into darkness and gloom.
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Gavin: Don’t think about it too much. Rest early. If you really get arrested by STF next time, you won’t be let off so easily again.
After saying this, he gives me a wave, then turns around, walking into the night.
I release a soft sigh, standing in place as I watch his receding back get swallowed by the moonlight.
-
💙 MOMENTS 💙
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Gavin’s Post: For the photoshoot this time, why did the collaborative partner give a carton of water as a present? 
MC: It’s to wish everyone a healthy life of course~
Gavin: That’s actually very practical. 
-
Gavin’s Post: For the photoshoot this time, why did the collaborative partner give a carton of water as a present?
MC: In that case, may I ask this fortunate collaborative partner what present he wants?
Gavin: Nothing much. The current gift isn’t bad.
-
Gavin’s Post: For the photoshoot this time, why did the collaborative partner give a carton of water as a present?
MC: You could also get an exchangeable ticket for a serving of home-cooked stewed dishes.
Gavin: That sounds a little better. How do I make the exchange?
-
Phone call: here
91 notes · View notes
momentofmemory · 4 years
Text
fictober - day twenty
Prompt #20: “You could talk about it, you know.”
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe - Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Netflix Marvel (Daredevil)
Warnings: Religious Imagery
Characters: Peter Parker & Matt Murdock, Quentin Beck (mentioned)
Words: 2177
Author’s Note: set immediately post the spider-man: far from home mid credits scene (so, spoilers). this is a stand alone, but assumes peter & matt have met before and so could live in the same universe as my day 16 fill.
>>Heartbeats on Pier 81
Peter’s face is broadcasted over all of New York, and losing his secret must feel a lot like dying to his mind because Peter sees his life flash before his eyes. Unlike death—and he would know—it’s not the past that he sees, but all the futures he’d hoped for disappearing.
He doesn’t remember much of what happens next. MJ tells him to run, so he does; Happy texts him that May is safe, so she is; a man throws a rotten tomato at his face, so he swings higher. He keeps swinging, as fast and as high as he can, until he leaves Queens and its familiarity behind. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the edge of Hell’s Kitchen, and only then because when he drops onto Pier 81 he runs out of buildings to leap on.
Peter walks all the way to the end, anyway, then hops over the chain rope fence that separates the walking area from the edge. With nowhere further to go, Peter slumps down and lets his legs trail over the side, greyish water snapping at his feet.
The pier’s not in the shape it once was, thanks to the Blip. The wood creaks ominously under the force of the river’s tides, chains hang limply on the deck instead of around cargo or attached to moored boats, and warehouse-sized shipping containers sit in various stages of rust and disrepair. The important feature in Peter’s mind, however, is that there’s no one around.
He hasn’t had a chance to install Karen in his new suit yet, so it’s quiet as he checks his phone and discovers seventy-three missed calls, one of which is from the New York Times, and a notification informing him that #SpideyParker is trending on Twitter.
Peter looks out over the Hudson and drops his phone into his lap without unlocking it. After a moment, he pulls his mask off and breathes in the unique smell of algae, salt, and diesel oil that only a river running through New York can create.
The tide is high, so the river is flowing out to the north. In a couple of hours the tide will lower and start flowing south, and then a few hours after that, back to the north again. The Hudson’s weird like that: consistent only in that you know it will change.
Peter’s always identified with it in that respect.
He’s not sure how long he stares at the water, thinking about everything and nothing, but it’s still not quite dusk when a lithe shadow drops down behind him. His Peter Tingle doesn’t so much as fizzle, so he doesn’t bother turning around or reaching for his mask.
Not that the last part matters anymore.
It’s probably not healthy, but after Mysterio he’s started relying on sight less and less, so he knows who his visitor is from the sound alone.
“I didn’t know it was legal for Daredevil to be out in the daytime,” he says, the crinkle of leather in Matt’s costume instantly recognizable. “There goes the internet conspiracy that you’re actually a vampire.”
Daredevil hums noncommittally, then lowers himself to the ground beside Peter.
“Spider-Man’s in Hell’s Kitchen, so it seems like a lot of theories are being broken today.” He drops one leg over the edge, bending the other in front of him and resting his elbow against it. “Thought I’d join in on the fun.”
“If you’re looking for fun, you could definitely do better.”
“True, but I’m guessing you can’t.” Matt hesitates. “If you want, I thought you could… Talk. About it.”
Peter leans his head back against a wooden post and closes his eyes. “You know?”
“I’m blind, not deaf.”
It’s stupid, because he knows the news is everywhere by now, but hearing it from another super hero makes it feel so impossibly real.
Matt shifts beside him. “Even if I were both, though, Foggy contacted me the second the broadcast went live. He’s pretty determined we’re going to be your legal team.”
Peter huffs out a laugh, running his hands through his hair. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
“His best friend’s a lawyer that spends his nights bloodying his fists on criminals’ faces. I think our firm crossed that line long before you came along.” Matt tilts his head, probably listening to something seven blocks away or something, then carefully takes off his own mask. “But legally speaking, no. None of us have any reason to oppose your case. If anything, you could argue I have a vested interest.”
“Oh.” Peter bites his lip. “Even after…”
He trails off, looking at Matt’s face. He’s seen it before, of course, during the many times he dragged Ned down to the firm to get help with civics homework, but there’s something different about seeing him fully suited up without mask.
It feels honest, somehow—like all of him is on display, but in a good way.
Peter’s own exposure doesn’t feel so good.
He doesn’t know if Matt can tell he’s been staring, but the other man clears his throat. “After what, Peter?”
There are so many things Peter could say about what he means by after. The all-consuming terror he feels for the safety of his family and friends, now that his identity is exposed. How he’d thought he finally had his life back together, only for it to be ripped away so completely and utterly he no longer knows whether he can even go home anymore. The way people looked at him with naked fear or unbridled anger, and how he’s so afraid he’ll never be their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man ever again. That he never asked for it, but he technically really does have access to a billion dollar surveillance network, and it’s probably super illegal and wildly unethical.
But it’s Daredevil he’s talking to, not May or Ned or Happy or even Tony, so he says the one thing that’s been eating away at him for days: the one thing only another vigilante could understand.
“I killed him.”
The words feel disgusting sliding out of his mouth, like his throat and lungs are coated in tar instead of air.
“I didn’t mean to,” he adds, suddenly desperate to let Matt know he didn’t, he didn’t, “but the drones were firing everywhere and I had to stop them, and I—I wasn’t paying attention to where the blasts were going as long as they weren’t hitting me.”
He chokes off, unable to continue. He’s terrified to look at Matt’s face now, afraid of the horror he’ll see.
But Matt just turns the Daredevil mask over in his hands, fingers running almost reverently across the seams. “I think it would be helpful if you started over from the beginning.”
It feels like sucking mud out of his chest at first, but slowly Peter reveals everything that had happened in Europe: Nick Fury showing up in his hotel room, the glasses and Stark’s legacy, the mind screw he’d gone through in Berlin. The train, the fight in London, the fake story Mysterio had created—the one he’d told to Peter, and then the one he’d told to Times Square. Quentin Beck’s body lying on the bridge, pupils constricted and lungs frozen and heart silent.
“…I can’t even bring myself be sad that he’s gone,” Peter finishes, staring into the lens of the mask in his hands so he doesn’t have to look at Matt. “I just feel guilty it had to be me.”
Daredevil doesn’t say anything at first, and Peter thinks he might drown in shame.
Finally, the other man clears his throat.
“As a lawyer,” Matt says, placing his mask on the pier between them, “I can say unquestionably that what you’re describing would be considered self-defense in a court of law. Any jury worth its salt would clear you of charges in under an hour.”
Peter swallows. “And as a fellow vigilante?”
Matt turns his head towards the river, tongue darting out briefly as if to taste it. “Did I ever tell you about the time I threw myself into the Hudson?”
Peter blinks at the apparent non sequitur. “You went in there willingly?”
Matt snorts. “Not exactly. It was early in my career, before I even had a suit. It was the first time I took on Fisk.”
Peter stills—Matt didn’t usually like talking about anything to do with the ex-mob boss.
“I was… angry. Stupid,” Matt says. “Fisk killed someone I cared about, but I wasn’t really interested in justice. I just wanted something to punch. So I tore through a bunch of his men until I found one that knew something; got directions to a pier where he might be at. Pier 81.”
Peter starts in surprise, and suddenly the abandoned shipping containers he’d passed seemed to have a lot more weight to them.
“It was a trap, of course.” Matt’s fingers ghost across his lower abdomen, so lightly Peter thinks he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
“And that’s when you jumped in the river?”
“No.” A sigh, and Matt’s hand drifts back down to the wooden slats. “No, that’s when I killed Nobu.”
Peter—Peter doesn’t understand.
Everyone in the New York super hero circle knows that Daredevil doesn’t kill, and Spider-Man more than most. It’s the one thing Matt’s warned him about constantly; always telling him to be wary of his strength and his temper, of the immense importance of giving someone a second chance, and that no matter how evil a person may seem, there’s still a spark of hope in there that he has no right to stamp out.
It’s one of the reasons Peter looks up to Matt so much, despite his brutality, because it’s a mindset none of the other vigilantes or even Avengers share.
“No—no who?” he says, voice strangled.
“Nobu. Nobu Yoshioka.” Matt ran his teeth over his lower lip. “He was a member of Murakami’s faction of the Hand. He also had a kyoketsu-shoge that he was very good at using. …I should probably be dead because of it.”
Peter pales, thinking of all the scars he’d seen on Matt’s torso in the past. He doesn’t like where this is going. “…Why aren’t you?”
“It was a lot like what happened with you and Mysterio, actually.” Peter flinches and looks down at his hands, red in the light of the sunset. “We were fighting; well, at that point I was mostly just trying to survive. I deflected one of his blades without paying attention to where it would ricochet, and it shattered a lamp above him. The sparks caught his robes on fire.”
A shudder runs through Peter, equal parts sympathy and horror. “You couldn’t have known.”
“No, I couldn’t have,” Matt agrees. “I also found out later that he came back to life, making it a moot point.”
Peter’s stomach attempts to turn itself inside out at the thought of having to face Mysterio again, but Matt seems to notice his discomfort.
“Don’t worry. My priest says I can’t recommend that method as a standard way of finding absolution.”
Peter offers him a shaky laugh, and Matt continues.
“I didn’t murder Nobu by any legal definition that night,” he says, “but I went into the situation with a lot of hate, and with the intention of killing someone else. I think that made me more of a murderer than any physical action I could’ve taken.”
He turns towards Peter, his eyes staring vacantly just over Peter’s shoulder. “I don’t think that’s a sin you’re carrying.”
Peter bites his lip, wanting to believe him but unsure how. “But I didn’t try to save him.”
“Clinton Church has confession hours right about now if you’re seeking penance.” There’s a smirk in Matt’s voice, and Peter can’t help but roll his eyes at the man’s persistence. “But if not…”
Peter looks up expectantly.
“If not, then I would ask you this: why don’t you want to kill?”
“Because that’s not my call.” Peter doesn’t have to think about it. “And because I think there’s always the possibility of redemption, for anyone.”
“Anyone, huh?” Matt tilts his head, then smiles. “Your heartbeat is steady.”
Peter frowns, then his mouth widens into an oh.
Anyone means him, too.
Peter pulls his legs up and rests his head on his knees. “Is using your human lie detector skills to make a point really all that ethical?”
“Foggy’s not here to stop me, so yes.” Matt picks his mask up. “But I don’t need it to prove your heart’s in the right place.”
Peter stares at him, expression suddenly so fishlike he’d blend right in with the Hudson.
Then he rapidly yanks his own mask over his face to hide the blush creeping up his neck. He coughs and blinks as the eye lenses readjust to the fading light. “Is that uh, is that your advice as a lawyer or as a vigilante?”
Matt laughs and shakes his head, sliding his mask into place. He stands and offers Peter his hand.
“It’s as a friend.”
29 notes · View notes
jksmoongf · 5 years
Text
Kissing Fire [pt. 7]
Pairing: Jungkook x reader x girlfriend (oc) Genre: cheater!AU, angst, smut Wordcount: 6.7k Warning: smut, lies, heartbreak and more lies and maybe fluff if you squint
Summary: It always feels like there is only one person in the world to love. And then you find somebody else.
a/n: I don’t condone cheating on your s.o., so please don’t read if you have a problem with this! (also I’m not saying this is something Jungkook would actually do!) Warning chapter 7: drama, baby!, light smut (thigh riding, oral (male receiving), cum play (kinda? If you squint really hard?)), mentions of masturbation 
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Senses numbed from the alcohol; she awkwardly climbed out of the taxi, not caring that the short party dress had ridden up, exposing her panties not only to the driver but also to a couple passing by on the sidewalk. The last bit of decency she had left, she lost five soju bombs ago when her coworker paid for another round. Her legs were unsteady as she walked up to the little booth where the night shift security guard was watching a drama on a small monitor to keep himself awake at this time of night. “You’re out late.” He commented matter of factly. “It was my coworkers’ birthday so we went out.” Her tongue felt heavy as she tried to form a coherent sentence; the clear liquor slurring her speech every so slightly. A grin plastered all over his face, the guard jotted down her name on the visitors' list for the protocol. “Can you even sign your name?” He handed her a pen, scooting the sheet of paper through the small window. Rolling her eyes; she quickly signed next to her name; drawing a little heart after the last letter. “If I didn’t know you, I would say this isn’t you.” His eyes scanning her terrible attempt. “Lucky for me that you do know me. Don’t let them know I’m here, it’s a surprise.” She warbled, trying to walk away in a straight line to the apartment building. Halfway, she decided it would be easier if she took her heels off; carrying them, she made progress quickly, her legs feeling wobbly as she climbed up the stairs that never seemed to end. In the elevator, she fished her phone from her bra, and as soon as the doors slid open she tapped on Jungkook’s name. Steadying herself on the wall, she impatiently waited for him to pick up. “Hello?” His sleepy voice mumbled. “Baby.” She giggled. “Y/n? It’s 2 am, is everything okay?” The rustling of the duvet told her that he was sitting up in bed, a lot more awake than before. “Yeah, come open the door for me, will you?” Slowly, still guiding herself on the concrete wall, she walked towards the door. “What?” “Kookie, the door.” She whined, stamping her foot, the noise echoing loudly in the empty hallway. “Okay, wait.” With her back against the wall, she slid down until she was sitting on the cold floor. Stroppily she ran her fingers through her hair and adjusted her breasts in the low cut dress while singing Party in the USA quietly to herself. The clicking of the lock made her head spin around. “Noona?” Jungkook whispered until his eyes landed on her, scrambling to get up. Quickly he reached for her waist, lifting her onto her feet. “What were you doing on the floor?” “I was waiting for you.” Clumsily she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing sticky lipgloss kisses to his cheek. “You took so long to come get me.” “Only Two minutes.” “Two minutes can be very, very, veeeerrrrryyyy long.” She pouted, the tips of their noses touching. “Did you drink?” His lips curled into a smile. “Yeah but don’t tell on me, I have gum.” Her arms unwrapped from around his neck before scurrying to open her bag to look for the gum. “I won’t, I promise.” “Here…” Holding up the gum, she looked at him as if she had forgotten why she was looking for it, to begin with.  “Let’s go to my room.” He suggested, not wanting to get caught by one of his members. “My shoes!” She stumbled forward as she bent down to pick them up. Chuckling to himself he wrapped his arm around her tummy. “Be careful, baby.” As quietly as possible Jungkook closed the door behind them, listening for any sign of someone being out of their bedroom. “You have to be very quiet, noona.” “Got it.” Giving him a thumbs up after throwing her heels with a loud thump on the floor, next to an array of sneakers from the day before. Lacing his fingers with hers, he led the way to his room, cautious not to make any noise that would cause his older brothers to enter the scene. Only a few steps away from their destination, he suddenly heard a bump when she walked into a small sideboard mounted to the wall. “Noona…” He hissed through gritted teeth but she just started laughing, letting go of his hand as she hopped in place on one foot causing her to lose balance, crashing into the wall on the other side. Panic shot through his body; she would wake everyone up if he didn’t stop the giggles. He kneeled down next to her, cupping her face to seal her lips with a kiss but she pushed him away. “Ssssshhhhh Kookie, we’re supposed to be quiet.” Tilting his head a little, he let out a sarcastic chuckle before picking her up to carry her the rest of the way - controlling the damage her drunk state would get them in if he let her walk on her own. “Wow, you’re really strong. Do you work out?” Her hand squeezing his biceps in awe, as he pushed the door open with his foot. “You know I do.” Carefully he sat her down on the bed, watching as she crawled to the middle of the mattress. After locking the door, he sat down next to her, his leg dangling off the side, toes grazing against the hardwood flooring. Gently he brushed her hair from her face. “Did you have fun tonight, baby?” “Yeah, I did. I had…” She trailed off, using her fingers to count. “Seven Soju bombs.” “Seven?” His dark doe eyes were wide in shock. “Baby that’s a lot. You’ll need medicine so you don’t feel sick in the morning…I’ll g-..” “No, I need you that’s why I came here…” Interrupting him mid-sentence. “I missed you.��� She whaled, throwing herself at him, pushing him down into the pillows. Lips greedily attacking his, tongue licking into his mouth instantly. He caved in; making a mental note to get the medicine before she would fall asleep. Jungkook could still taste the last remnants of alcohol, eyes falling shut as he fell victim to her lips. Trying to help her take her jacket off while she was intoxicated, as well as being trapped underneath her, proved to be a lot more difficult than he had expected when she was hellbent on not breaking the kiss. Like a baby deer in headlights, he looked at her, his movements stopping momentarily, only having freed one of her arms from the denim, he felt her clothed heat rubbing against his thigh. Groaning into her mouth, he pried his lips away to look at her. As if she was in a trance; she rocked her hips back and forth, making his gym shorts ride up. Her brows knitted together, eyes shut tightly - she focused on getting the friction she needed from him. Jungkook was holding his breath; his member pulsating uncomfortably against his leg, growing harder as he softly followed the curvature of her body in the scraps of fabric she called a dress, pulling it up over the rounds of her ass. Senses beginning to tingle as his fingertips traced the lace pattern until his hand was down far enough between their bodies. Breaking the point of contact for a split second she allowed him to pull the thin fabric to the side. She buried her face in the crevasse of his neck, breathing heavily against his skin, setting it on fire. With hands firmly placed on her hips, he helped her keep a steady rhythm. “Kookie…” The needy moan startled him, feeling her arousal coating his skin as she sank her teeth into his clavicle, trying to muffle the sounds leaving her. Not once had he imagined that her humping his thigh would make all the blood rush to his dick, straining hard against the polyester. Unsure of what to do, he flexed his muscle in hopes of helping her chase down her orgasm. In between moans and his name falling from her lips, she placed wet open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone. No longer able to resist the urge to touch himself; Jungkook palmed himself through his shorts, desperately in the need of some friction that would relieve the pressure forming a tight knot in his stomach. Trying to keep up the intervals of tensing up and relaxing his femoris, the slick melody of her folds grinding against his skin fogged up his mind; eliciting staggered whines from her. “Fuck…” She cried out and without warning, she sat up. Rolling her hips faster than before, her nails digging into his chest for support. Jungkook’s eyes were glued to her; her head thrown back in ecstasy, moans echoing in the dimly lit room as her hips were maniacally grinding against him. He was mesmerized; she looked so beautiful while using him- his thigh to get herself off. With her mouth in an o-shape, his name rolled so easily off her tongue even though she was drunk. There was nothing he could do; he just stared at her feeling her legs beginning to shake and that’s when he knew the volcano inside her was about to erupt. “Baby..I’m…” She fell forward, collapsing on his chest, muffling the scream of her orgasm washing over her against his burning skin.  
She was panting; gently he caressed her back wanting to say something but he came up short; embarrassment hindering him of telling her how much she turned him on, how badly he wanted her; feeling bad for not being responsible for her high. Her soft lips were leaving a trail of kisses down his stomach; snapping him out of his thoughts, evoking a groan from him when she pressed them onto the outline of his hard cock. “It’s your turn now.” She hummed gingerly, the vibrations making his member twitch in anticipation. He propped himself up in his elbows, not wanting to miss the view. A shudder ran down his spine when her tongue licked up her own juices; wanting nothing more than to taste the sweet remnants himself. “Let me taste…” He exhaled shakily, not realizing he had been holding his breath. She sat up between his legs, as did he, cupping her cheek, pulling her closer. His tongue darting into her mouth, eager to relish at least one drop of her sweetness. He leaned back against the headboard, there was not a chance in hell, he was going to lay back without watching her get to work. After throwing her jacket on the floor, she peeled off the top of her dress, pushing it down her ribs exposing her bra. Jungkook swallowed hard at the sight, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Peppering an array of kisses across his chest and down his torso, she found herself back between his thighs; cautiously she hooked her fingers under the waistband, pulling down the black gym shorts. “Baby, you made a mess.” She giggled, slurping up the precum that had slowly trickled down his right thigh, some of it soaking the fitted sheet. “Your fault, noona…” His breath hitched when her pouty lips brushed against the sensitive head, blowing on it; covering his body in goosebumps. Her hand wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, moving it out of the way to have better access, letting her tongue play with his scrotum before taking it in her mouth. He gulped down the saliva that had gathered in his mouth, perspiration beginning to form on his forehead, his dick twitching pathetically against his tummy. With a loud plop, she pulled away, making him groan in disappointment, the pleasurable feeling subsiding quickly. The blade of her tongue slowly licked a wet stripe from the base to the engorged tip. His chest rising and falling rapidly; he didn’t dare to blink, afraid he might miss the moment he had been waiting for but she was in charge and decided to torture him some more before giving him what he wanted. Assiduously she busied herself with covering every inch of his member with kisses, avoiding the tip. “N-noona…please…” He whined, legs stirring impatiently as her nails softly scratched over the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen. “Hm?” She innocently looked up at him, batting her lashes as if she didn’t know what he wanted from her, sucking on the protruding vein on his shaft. “Please…” His mouth felt dry, cheeks flushed as he mustered up the courage to tell her what he wanted from her. “U-use your mouth properly…” He wanted to close his eyes in shame for the words that left his mouth but he knew that if he broke eye contact, she would keep up the game. He loved and hated being at her mercy, “I am using it properly…” She trailed off, her tongue dancing on the fine line between his shaft and the tip making him whine in response immediately. 
“Aaahh n-no…please…”A giggle filled the air before the tip of her tongue gave his head tiny kitten licks, his fingers gripping the sheets tightly as he felt more precum dripping down. He watched her as she coated her lips in it. “Does it look like lipgloss?” Throwing his head back, he let out an irritated chuckle. “Baby…please, I can’t take it anymore.” Jungkook was about to lose it, he was so desperate to find his release; wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of her mouth swallowing him. “You’re no fun.” She pinched the inside of thigh at the same time as she finally wrapped her lips around the tip; her hand moving up and down his length in a slow rhythm. She lazily sucked on it, like she would a lollipop, hallowing her cheeks to increase the pressure. Taking deep breaths; Jungkook tried to hold it together as she suddenly pulled away. As he was about to groan in annoyance, she adjusted her position to let spit dribble down his cock, before taking him back into her mouth as far as she could, the head hitting the back of her throat easily. Pulling away, she licked her lips only to sink back down again, even further this time. Almost lovingly he brushed her hair from her face; he wanted to see his length disappear in her mouth and down her throat. Her face was close to his stomach, his pubic hair tickling her nose; bobbing her head up and down a few times. While his left hand was still fisting the sheets; his right hand had an iron grip on her head. Eyes glossed over with lust, he bucked his hips up into her mouth just as she was letting his length slide down the back of her tongue. Gently pushing her head down, making her swallow around him, her nails were digging into his thighs resisting the strength of his hand. Choking and gasping for air, she pulled away - a string of saliva still connecting her lips to his cock. “Y/n, I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have..” Guilt laced in his voice as a single tear ran down her cheek from the unexpected intrusion. “No, no! It’s okay. Just warn me next time. I wasn’t prepared.” Giving him no time to apologize again, her tongue was pressed flat against the underside of the shaft, licking its way up to the tip. “Do it again, baby.” She smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip. Burying his hand in her hair; Jungkook let her take a few deep breaths before the moist warmth of her mouth engulfed him once again. Sweat dripping down his temples as his breathing picked up, stifling his moans; lewdly she sucked on the tip, her hand working the shaft, spreading the mixture of spit and precum.  “Noona-ahhh, wanna…” Slowly she wrapped her mouth around him, inhaling through her nose, before he pushed her head down, his hips pistoning upward to eagerly meet the depth of her throat. The feeling of utter bliss washed over him, his balls contracting from the tightness of her throat. If this was what heaven was like then he was ready to die. Allowing her to breathe for a moment, he thrust his cock right back in; her face pressed up against his stomach; tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Taking his hand between his teeth to muffle the flurry of curse words falling from his lips. Both of her hands wrapped around his length, pumping up and down quickly while she sucked on the engorged head like there was no tomorrow. “Shit…fuckkk…baby…” He whined, as he finally erupted in her mouth. Hot streams of cum coating her tongue, filling her mouth. But she didn’t stop, sucking every last drop of the liquid gold out of him. His thigh muscles were twitching from the buildup, when she lifted her head up, his slowly softening dick slapping against his skin. “That was a lot.” She smiled, using the back of her hand to wipe away the few droplets of semen from her chin that she had not managed to swallow. Clumsily she laid down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “How do you feel?” His voice was low and husky, he could tell by the look on her face that the alcohol was still poisoning her bloodstream. “Hmm…good? A little dizzy.” She slurred sleepily, wrapping her arm tightly around his chest, pulling herself closer to him. “You need to rest. I’m going to get you some water and medicine.” He tried sitting up, but she wouldn’t move, clinging to him like a koala bear. “No, don’t go. I wanna cuddle.” The needy tone made a smile tug on his lips; she was so cute even when she wasn’t sober. “We can cuddle when I’m back.”  “Ugh, fine.” She rolled onto her back, finally allowing him to sit up and pull his gym shorts over his ass.  “Let’s get you ready for bed first.” She shook her head no but he pulled her up. “Arms up.” He instructed as he rolled the dress up her body before freeing her from her bra. Quickly he grabbed one of his black t-shirts for her to wear but she had laid back down again. “Noona, come on at least put the shirt on.”  “No, don’t wanna…” She rolled onto her side, pulling the duvet up to her chin, looking like a little burrito in her cocoon of blankets and pillows.  “Okay, I’ll be right back” He walked around the bed, bending down to softly press his lips to her cheek. But as he turned to leave his room, she grabbed his hand. 
“Be my boyfriend.” She mumbled, her eyes emptily fixated on the floor. “But I am your boyfriend, baby.” He said, chuckling softly; the crinkles around his eyes showing. “No, you’re not. You’re Yina’s boyfriend, not mine. Why don’t you wanna be my boyfriend, Kookie?” The girl he loved looked up at him; eyes swimming in tears, her lips trembling. “You’ll never be mine.” The moment she let go of his hand, he could feel his heart crack. It seemed like she had lost all hope that he would actually break things off with Yina. Burying her face in the pillow; she sobbed as if she was in physical pain. He didn’t know what to do; wishing that one of his brothers would magically appear to give him advice but he was on his own. Guilt and shame shot through his veins; she was right. No matter how many times he told her that he was hers; he really wasn’t - not fully. He wasn’t leading her on, he truly loved her, he really did. He was so in love with her that he would do anything for her; even jump off a bridge if that was what she wanted from him to prove his love. He would do anything but he couldn’t muster up the courage to end his old relationship. He knew, he should’ve done it months ago but the deep-rooted fear inside him stopped him; only prolonging the inevitable - he would have to hurt Yina. There was no way around it and if he couldn’t find the guts to do it soon, he would end up losing y/n too. How much longer would she stay if he kept breaking his promise over and over again? He laid down beside her sob-ridden body, wrapping his arm around her; pulling her to his chest. “I am yours, baby.” He whispered, his lips brushing against her hair. “I love you so much, you have to believe me.” “You’re not mine…” Her voice was so tiny, so fragile that it ripped his heart right out of his chest. He hated himself for doing this to her; he hated that made her cry so much when he just wanted her to be happy. Letting her cry, he rubbed reassuring circles on her back; Jungkook closed his eyes, tears silently falling down his cheeks. He was causing her so much pain that it was killing him on the inside; making a pact with himself that this was the last time he would have to carry the burden of being the one responsible for making her cry. In a few days, everything would be different; in a few days, everything would be okay. He held her until the tears stopped and she had fallen asleep in his arms; not daring to move, hoping her dreams were better than reality. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I will make this right…for you.” Jungkook whispered, gingerly his lips brushed against her forehead. “I love you so much, you don’t even know…” * “Thank you.” Jimin ran his fingers through his hair, as he eyed his new hair color attentively in the mirror on the wall. “You’re welcome.” The staff member smiled, gathering up the supplies to clean them and put them away. Excitedly he got up, leaving the little in-house salon of the company building; pulling out his phone when he was alone in the corridor to snap a few selfies to post to his family group chat; keeping his promise to his mother that he would keep them updated on everything. Casually he strolled down the hallways looking for his members; Hoseok, Namjoon, and Yoongi were all cooped up in the latter’s studio and there was no way he’d try to interrupt their workflow, not with a comeback around the corner. Jin was going to get his hair cut too; since he had been complaining for weeks on end that it was getting too long. Quickly he sent a text to Taehyung, hoping that he could hang out with him and Ha-na for a little bit before it was time for his physical therapy session, his neck and back muscles feeling tense from practice. Passing by Jungkook’s studio, he noticed a weird flickering light through the milky glass from the door. The youngest member had told him that he wanted to get some work done but he never worked with pretty much all the lights off. Intrigued by the odd scenery, Jimin knocked on the door but got no answer, even after trying a couple more times. Quietly he pushed down the handle; his eyes needing a moment to adjust to the darkness; the room only being illuminated by the small scented candle on the desk and the light of the computer screen, soft music reaching his ears from the speaker on the shelf next to him, blending oddly with an unidentifiable sound. “Jungkookie…” He said, announcing himself when his eyes could finally make out the youngest hair peeking over the back part of the gaming chair but he didn’t move nor did he say something. Panic stirred up in his stomach and he took a few steps towards the desk, simply wanting to check if everything was okay. “Fuck…” Jungkook whimpered, making Jimin stop in his tracks, finally able to recognize the odd slick sound that he kept hearing. Heat rushed to his cheeks, eyes darting to the bottle of lotion next to the candle; this would get really awkward if his brother turned around but he just couldn’t let this opportunity slide; this was the perfect chance to find a new way of teasing him later on and getting back to him for the countless times he had teased him.  Stepping a little to the right, now able to look at the screen Jimin’s eyes grew bigger and bigger, hands flying to his mouth in shock. His heart was hammering against his ribs as if he had just danced the hardest choreography of his life. Expecting to see some illegally downloaded porn, the smile on his face vanished into nothingness when he saw the shaky phone quality video. The blood in his veins froze when he realized who the girl on the screen was when she turned her head; he had seen that side-profile many a times before. Pinching himself - just to make sure he was actually awake and not in a hair-dye infused dream that he actually just saw Jungkook’s name on her lips; wincing from the sharp pain shooting through his arm. It took all of his willpower to get his legs moving; the slick sound intensifying in his ears, wishing he would momentarily go deaf. Slowly he backed away, bumping into the shelf next to the door, catching the speaker in his sweaty hands before it hit the floor. Trying not to make a sound, he placed it back on its designated spot; blindly reaching for the door handle, eyes still glued to the screen as the video started over again, eliciting a moan from Jungkook. Shutting the door behind him; he started running to the nearest bathroom, locking himself in there. Confusion fogging up his brain; he propped himself up on the sink; looking into the mirror. “What the fuck was that?” He whispered in bewilderment; the sinking feeling in his stomach making him want to throw up. Desperately clinging to the tiny spark of hope that this was all a dream. * Ha-na’s head was resting on her boyfriend’s shoulder, while his hand innocently played with her hair, both attentively watching the movie Hoseok had picked; who was now just scrolling on his phone instead of paying attention. Her gaze shifting to the other side of the couch; Jimin was sitting in the corner of the L-shaped sofa, legs pulled up to his chest, brooding expression on his face. It was almost like his eyes were piercing through Jungkook’s skull, who had propped up his laptop on a pillow, y/n sitting next to him, watching as he edited her pictures. “Kookie, what if you turn the saturation up just a smidge?” “Hm, I don't know. I like it with the soft filter better, look!” He tapped the trackpad a couple of times before pointing at the screen. “See, it kind of casts this shadow on your face when I do that…” Her eyes darted back to Jimin, his lips were tightly pressed together as his shaking hand balled up into a fist. Ever since she had met him he had been terrible at hiding his emotions, his face always giving him away. “And if I use the soft one, it …you just look really pretty, noona.” “You think?” Y/n beamed at him; Jungkook’s cheeks turning pink and he shyly smiled at her. Jimin shifted in his spot, anxiously tapping his fingers on a pillow; she could tell he was getting more and more agitated by the second but she didn’t know what was bothering him.  “Oh Tae look, I just got this email…” Hoseok held out his phone for the younger one to see, causing him to lean to the side. “It’s their new summer collection.” “What? Really?” Her boyfriend scooted closer to Hobi so they could look at the pictures together. “Alright, I’m getting us some snacks and drinks.” After patting her legs, she stood up. “Jimin, help?” At the sound of his name, he looked at her in confusion, not expecting to be addressed by anyone in the room, too consumed with trying to kill the youngest with his glares. “Come on, move.” She grinned and he followed her to the kitchen like a lost puppy trailing behind its owner. Casually she opened one of the cupboards pretending to look for some chips before snapping around; trying to catch him off guard but Jimin was just leaning against the counter, too deep in thought to even notice. “What’s up with you?” “Nothing.” He muttered under his breath, tracing the marble pattern of the countertop with his fingertips. “You’ve been acting strange ever since we got in the car to go home.” “Oh no, I’m just tired. It was a long day.” She raised her brows. “You know, I was just wondering…” “Yes?” “Is it normal for friends to be sitting that close together?” His voice was shaking when he asked the question; he was scared of her answer but she knew what he was getting at. “Who? Jk and y/n?” He nodded, not daring to make eye contact with her. “No, it’s totally not!” “So you’re seeing what I’m seeing?” Finally looking at her; he swallowed hard, his palms feeling clammy again. “Yeah, I’ve been seeing it for a while now.” 
Suddenly he reached for her hand, clutching it tightly. “I have to tell you something but I can’t do it here.” He started walking, pulling her behind him to his room. She had trouble keeping up with his long strides, stumbling ever so often. Closing the door behind him, he rested his back against the wooden surface. “I have to tell someone or I’ll explode.” Nervous anticipation flared up inside her; was this the moment she had been waiting for for months now? “Ha-na promise me, you won’t tell a soul about what I’m going to tell you!” He made his way over to her; grabbing her shoulders his fingers clawing into her shirt. “I promise.” “You can’t even tell Taehyungie! I don’t want him to get upset.” Jimin held out his pinky and she wrapped hers around his. “Pinky promise, I won’t tell anyone.” “Okay, so I went to Jungkook’s studio and I-…” “Ah here you are, we wanted to order…” Hoseok opened the door to his and Jimin’s room; both of their heads snapping in the older one's direction. “GET OUT!” They both yelled in unison causing the older one’s eyes to almost pop out of his head. “You brats! You’re not getting any tiramisu!” Hobi said in this best dad voice, swinging the door shut, muffling his chuckle.  “Go on Jiminie, I’m dying here…” As if to prepare herself for what he was about to say, she covered her mouth, her teeth sinking hard into her bottom lip. “So I walk inside, it’s dark and I hear that weird noise and at first I didn’t know what it was… Ha-na he was…” He trailed off, deciding on making a gesture with his hand, instead of saying the actual words. “He was beating the meat? Charming the snake? Cleaning his snorkel?” “OHMYGOD! Don’t call it that.” He screeched, flailing his arms to get her to stop using weird analogies. “So you walked in on him masturbating? What’s the big deal? You’ve all lived together for so long, even sharing one room and beds, I’m sure it has happened before…” Disappointment was swinging in her voice; her hopes of something exciting happening crushed into pieces.  “Yeah but that is not the point that threw me off, he was watching a video…” Taking deep breaths to muster up the courage, he finally said the words she was dying to hear. “It was a video of y/n having sex and I’m pretty sure it was Jungkook who was fucking her, I could see his hand and his arm, I know it was him. I couldn’t hear any of the audio because he was wearing headphones but I could read his name from her lips.” 
“Finally, thank you.” She threw her arms around him in relief to finally have the proof she needed, hugging him so tightly he thought she was going to break his ribs before letting him go. “What do you mean?” “I knew there was something going on between them. I just knew it! I was right the whole time! I’ve walked in on them in his studio and she was on his lap when there was a perfectly good chair for her to sit on.” “Are you saying it’s not a one-time thing?” Jimin’s eyes grew bigger, not able to grasp the concept of this happening for longer than he had originally thought.  “Trust me, it’s been months. A couple of days ago, after our game night, I saw them making out in the kitchen when everyone was asleep. I just wasn’t sure if it was just that or if they were having sex.”  “Well, I saw it with my own two eyes.” He cried out, throwing his head back dramatically. “The images still flash before my eyes every time I close them. I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”
Tapping her chin with her index finger, she sat down on Hobi’s bed, crossing her legs. “It explains a lot, like why he sometimes disappears and doesn’t come home overnight or why he’s so eager to please her all the time.” “I never really thought much of any of those things.” Jimin sat down across from her on his own bed. “I just assumed he went to Yina’s apartment or he was being really nice to her because she’s Tae’s best friend and he wanted to show Tae that he cares.” 
She was kneading her bottom lip between her fingers; suddenly everything seemed to make sense. All the times she had seen them together coming from an empty break room or dance studio in the company building, how he always made snide remarks about her as a coverup, the way he had acted out of character when they had tried to set up y/n with Hyungsik, trying way too hard to force information out of them on where the date was. “Do you remember y/n coming here after her date and she walked in on Jungkook and Yina and then she cried her eyes out?” Jimin nodded his head; it was like she had switched on a lightbulb above his head. “Hyungsik mentioned to Tae that she was seeing a guy. I’m telling, you there is no mystery guy, it has always been Jk.” “No, Ha-na! I don’t think that’s true.”  “Jimin, it’s so obvious, isn’t it? All the evidence points to Jungkook cheating on Yina with her for months, if you want to believe it or not!” “Jungkookie would never.” Switching places; she sat down next to him to wrap her arm around his shoulders, trying to comfort him. She knew how fond he was of the youngest, he adored him just like the others did. They all raised him although they had been so young themselves. “We taught him better than that, he would never do that.”  “Don’t start blaming yourself; you did nothing wrong. He made the decision to cheat on his girlfriend all by himself! He decided to get his dick wet somewhere else.” 
“Poor Yina. Do you think she knows already or should we tell her?” “She told me that Jungkook has been distancing himself from her but I don’t think she suspects that he’s sleeping with someone. And no, I’m not doing his dirty work for him. If he thinks it’s okay to cheat then he should man up and tell her the truth.” Jimin’s eyes were swimming in tears. “But we have to do something. She deserves to know!” Gently she ruffled his hair. “I know but we don’t have any evidence, we just saw things. We would need actual proof and I’m not going to snoop through anyone’s phone or computer to get it.” The boy groaned, flopping back onto the mattress, rubbing his eyes. “Ha-na, I’m just so confused. I don’t understand why he did it.” Unsure of whether Jimin could handle the harsh truth; she rested her hand on his knee, giving it a light squeeze. “We will never know unless we ask him or both of them.” “No, looking at them makes me so angry. I can’t stand being in the same room with them, being all over each other when they know what they’re doing is wrong.”
Ha-na laid down beside him, staring at the white ceiling. “I really want to know for how long they have been sneaking around, it’s been two months at least.” “Must be a while…” Jimin mumbled. “Haven’t you noticed that they are wearing the same bracelet?” “What?” She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her arm. “Are you sure?” “Yeah, I noticed it while trying to murder both of them with my stares. It’s this black leather bracelet with the silver plate.”  “So if they’re wearing couple bracelets then it’s more serious than I initially thought.” With a big sigh, she rolled back onto her back.  “I guess so.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, tears still threatening to spill.  “All this time, I thought that maybe they were just fucking around but what if they are serious-serious?” 
Jimin turned around to lie on his stomach, crossing his arms in front of him to rest his head on them. “I hope they are not, they can’t be. Jungkook wouldn’t throw everything away he has with Yina for someone else.” A grim smile tugged at Ha-na’s lips; if this situation wasn’t so fucked up, she would have deemed it adorable that Jimin held on to Jungkook’s innocence so tightly. All of his members just loved him so much that the thought of him doing one of the worst things one could possibly do to the person they love, was too much to bear. She had made it her mission to find out the truth but now that she knew, the feeling of satisfaction faded quickly. For a moment she closed her eyes; Taehyung’s face appearing in front of her mind's eye; no matter what they were going to do, she had to protect him from finding out. It would break his heart to know that two of the people he loved so deeply were capable of the ultimate betrayal. “Jimin! I want answers, we’re going to talk to Jungkook!” “Now?” He sat up, panic straining his voice. He wasn’t prepared to talk to his little brother; let alone look him in the eyes after everything he had found out today. Remembering the old days, when he had been too shy to even take his shirt off in front of them, let alone talk to girls. But everything was different now -Jungkook had grown up, he would never be able to look at him the same way again. It felt like someone had punched him in the stomach; the queasy feeling never subsiding fully. His little brother, his Jungkookie, the one he treasured so much and who could never do anything wrong in his eyes, was not the person he thought he was. When did he change? Was it all y/n’s fault? Did she trick him into cheating on his girlfriend? His face pulled into a grimace; they were both at fault, after all, it takes two to tango. There were no words to describe how disappointed he was, it felt like it was about to crush him. They all had failed at teaching Jungkook right from wrong when he so blindly ran into the arms of disaster.  “Ha-na, I can’t talk to him. I’m sorry.” He mumbled, feeling hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he finally caved under the overwhelming pressure of emotions. 
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