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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 3 years

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Okay, so the brain’s a bit caught up in one of my other writing projects, but I refuse to abandon this entirely. So I’m gonna just power through this and then get back to Vibing™.

Actually, it’s kinda cute that the hero Thirteen is introduced in chapter thirteen. I wonder if Hori did that on purpose or just managed it as a fun coincidence.

[No. 13 - Rescue Training]

So we start off on Wednesday morning (which would be April 12th/11th) at 7:35 AM. There’s a hostage situation by a villain who looks like a goddamned pokemon (my brain has made the ‘buff ditto’ comparison and now I am Shook) who is, according to Mt. Lady, a serial robber and murderer by the name of Habit Headgear. Kamui Woods, whose wood bindings have apparently been broken trying and failing to contain the guy, is tossed back on the ground as he notes the villain is strong and a quick strategist.

Seems like she and Kamui Woods have teamed up together! Or at least responded to the same villain attack again. Also, who’s this dude?

Random Mii Blaster escaped from Smash Ultimate and is now in BNHA, when will the madness end.

Naturally, the hostages are not handling this situation super well, though the crowds watching don’t seem as worried? IDK hard to tell from far away. The buff ditto villain uses double team, no wait I mean agility, actually his high speed to show how outclasses the heroes on the scene are.

As he announces his plans to escape, we see All Might rushing in loud enough for the stomps to be heard. He announces his arrival mere moments before he fucking snaps the villain’s neck with a handchop - or, well, not really, but damn that had to be a hard hit. All Might also managed to grab the family out of harm’s way in the process, announcing that he’s on his morning commute.

The crowds cheer for All Might, while Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods are somewhat put out - they appreciate the help, but also worry All Might will put them out of business.

(I guess this is where all those fics that do bring up how All Might cuts down the hero job market on his own pull from? Or just coincidence, who knows.)

The police thank All Might with salutes for the help, and All Might give his own quick responding salute before he declares he needs to head off so he won’t be late. Of course, that’s when he hears about a hit-and-run (that super hearing lol) and takes off, just so coincidentally in the direction of said trouble. Despite that fact that he needs to get to work. This man.

While he’s in the air, he considers how his speed has dropped, and that he’s been weakening since he passed on his power. Not to mention that after his rescue of Izuku and Katsuki from the sludge villain, his maximum time went down. Which is not at all referencing him about to overdo it again and lose more time, no siree.

We descend into a flashback to right where we left off after the battle trial, with All Might confronting Izuku about telling Katsuki about (some of) One For All. All Might is surprised and a bit nervous? Worried? Or that bead of sweat in the flashback might be from the strain of holding the form when he’s about to run out of time.

In any case, Izuku in the past apologizes and says he hasn’t even told his mom, but that he had to tell Katsuki something… All Might determines this might be a consequence of not being explicit enough about keeping the secret, since Izuku isn’t the type to brag or boast. Also calls Izuku too sincere, hah, isn’t that the truth. All Might says it’s lucky Katsuki thought he was joking, so All Might can forgive the slip this time, but that Izuku cannot tell another soul.

(Stares at this.) (Looks at recent manga events.) Whelp.

Anyways, All Might catches the car of the hit and run guy (and man, that face the dude is making) while thinking about how, suitable successor or not, Izuku’s still just fifteen, so All Might had to make things clear. Of course, then All Might overhears about a hostage crisis the next town over, and, well.

We transition to right after lunch (12:50) with Aizawa announcing that that day’s hero training plans - something supervised by himself, All Might, and one other teacher. Izuku realizes it has to be a special class, while Sero raises his hand to ask what they’re doing. Aziawa’s reply?

I swear this is exactly the same shit All Might did before the battle trial, gimme a second-

Bahahahaha incredible. Though then again, I wonder if those are security cards keys to certain locations. It would make sense, though then I wonder how Katsuki and Izuku were able to get into Training Ground Beta without one… hrm…

Anyways! Kaminari, Ashido, and Kirishima end up talking about it; Kaminari says it’ll be a rough day, with Ashido pumped as she agrees, and Kirishima also pumped as he says that it’s what being a hero is all about. Asui notes that she’ll be right as home in a flood. Aizawa silences them with a glare, saying he’s not done. He presses the button to unveil the costume lockers, telling the class that it’s their choice whether or not to wear their costumes, since some of them are ill-suited for this kind of activity.

Oh boy, will this put you on the path to the hero you’ll be come… but not for the reasons you think, buddy. The joke here is trauma.

It seems like most of the class does still choose to go in costume, barring Izuku - whose costume is still being repaired after the damage done to it in battle training. However, he still has his belt, gloves, knee pads, and mouth guard (with the mouth guard being new) on him.

Golly, I wonder why your costume needed to be replaced, Izuku.

(thonk.)

Also Tenya jkfdkjdgfkj Oh My God You Dramatic Egg. He’s got a whistle and he’s directing the class to line up by ID number so they can fill the seats in an orderly fashion.

I’m love this boy so much. And it’s even funnier because the bus has an open layout, meaning it was pointless. Poor Tenya is in Despair, with Ashido teasing him for his efforts being wasted.

Savage. But yeah, looks like it’s Sato, Izuku, Asui, Kirishima, Tenya, Ashido, Aoyama, and Kaminari in the front seats. And Asui - sorry, Tsuyu - just outright says she says what’s on her mind, which startles Izuku since he didn’t expect her to talk to him I guess? She tells Izuku to call her Tsuyu, then turns to him and just says his quirk resembles All Might’s.

Izuku, being the sincere boy he is, stutters and stumbles out something that almost looks like a denial, before Kirishima, bless his himbo soul, points out that All Might doesn’t get hurt by his own quirk, so they’re already different in that way. He then goes on to state that that kind of simple, strength enhancing quirk is awesome and that a lot of cool stuff can be done with it.

Kirishima then goes on to show off his hardening, saying that it’s good for a fight, but otherwise boring. Midoriya ‘holy fuck I love quirks’ Izuku thinks otherwise, actually sparkling as he proclaims the quirk to be neat and more than enough for going pro. Kaminari notes that heroes also have to worry about popular appeal. Aoyama says his navel laser quirk is both strong and cool, and thus perfect for heroics. Ashido then kneecaps him by adding in that that’s as long as he doesn’t blow up his own stomach.

Ashido’s Savagery: The Sequel.

In the next panel, we see Katsuki’s been paying attention to this convo, which has me wondering if this is when he was first starting to piece together OFA from Izuku’s mention of ‘getting the quirk from someone else’ and ‘like All Might’s’. However, when he is brought up in the conversation (alongside Shouto) as examples of ‘strong and cool quirks’, he feigns disinterest and looks away, trying to play cool.

(Also, he doesn’t seem to have his gauntlets on him here, though I know he’s brought one with him as seen a bit later. I wonder whether he chose to leave one of them behind or if he might have been restricted from bringing more than one by Aizawa… interesting either way.)

Tsuyu then brings up how Katsuki being so unhinged means he’ll never be popular. Katsuki, naturally, takes offence and slams his hands on the rail in front of him, demanding to know what she just said. Tsuyu sticks out her tongue as she points at him making her point. Poor Jirou, having to be seated next to someone so loud.

And the moment literally the whole discord was waiting for, Kaminari’s brutal vocabulary takedown of Katsuki, something cut entirely from the anime. Friendly reminder that Kaminari is, in fact, a major lit nerd! He’s Not Dumb! Stop Making Him Dumb In Fics! He not only has the most verbose vocabulary in the class that isn’t from the rich kids (and in some ways is even more so), he also has Katsuki absolutely pegged despite only knowing him for a few days. He Earned His UA Spot.

While Katsuki snaps back at Kaminari, Izuku is hunched over in disbelief that Katsuki’s the one getting bullied for once, but he supposes that that’s UA for you…

To the side, Yaomomo declares the conversation vulgar, while Ochako is laughing and saying it’s fun. Offscreen, I’m assuming that it’s Kaminari mock-marvelling at how he didn’t think Katsuki’s mouth could get any fouler.

The last panel on the page is Aizawa interrupting them to announce that they’ve arrived at the training grounds, and to look sharp. The whole class (I guess?) snaps to attention.

And that’s the halfway point, so I will leave the USJ proper for next time! This has been a Savage Mina and Smart Denki appreciation post, so appreciate them, or else.

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ahgastae · 4 years

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curiosity (wip) – bang chan x f!reader

➥ word count: 6.1k | spider-man au | action (?? idk) | fluff

➥ m.list

➥ a/n: alright,, let me explain myself lol. i started writing this like?? over a year ago? and eventually got to the point where i kind of just lost ALL of the ideas that i had for where i wanted this to go. SO, instead of letting it sit in my docs forever, i decided to go ahead and post it here for all of you! i hope you enjoy ♡

One thing you can say for sure is you really, really didn’t expect your life to go this way. Not that you have any idea as to how you actually want it to go, but barely hanging onto the edge of the tallest skyscraper in New York definitely isn’t on the top of your list. You feel your fingers start to cramp from the weight, and part of you realizes that this might be it. The end of the infamous Black Cat. Done in because you finally decided to do something good with your life.

Tch. Figures.

A bitter smile spreads across your lips. Of course, this would be the way you go. Ever so dramatic, but on your own damn terms. The thought is comforting, even if it only soothes your beating heart just a bit. You focus on that when your fingers finally start to give out, and you lose your grip on the edge of the rooftop.

When your eyes slowly slip closed, and you feel the wind rushing through your hair.

There’s a small voice in your head telling you to hold on, that it’s almost there. It’s weird. It almost sounds familiar. Almost like-

“Y/N!”

You jolt up in your bed, chest heaving as you struggle to regain your breath. Stars twinkle faintly outside a large window to your right, but your vision quickly adjusts to the rest of the darkened room. Your hands release their iron grip on your plush comforter, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. You’re in your bedroom. It was just another nightmare.

A scoff. ‘Just another nightmare.’ You’ve been plagued with the same stupid dream for weeks now, and you still can’t figure out why. It always starts and ends the same way. You’re hanging off the skyscraper, you try to hang on for as long as you can, you realize very quickly that you can’t hold on any longer, and then you fall. Presumably to your death. But you never seem to make it that far.

Not that you want to, but don’t most people not wake up until they hit the ground during those dreams? Why do you wake up gasping for air before you’re even halfway down? You suppose you should be lucky, but you can’t help feeling like there’s more to it than that. Especially with that voice, the one that calls your name? You always hear it calling out to you, every night, right before you wake up. Tonight wasn’t any different.

You sigh, swinging your legs over the edge of your bed and eyeing the clock on your night stand. 3:25AM.

….Shit.

Well, you’re probably not getting back to bed anytime soon, so you might as well put this wake up call to good use. Padding over to your closet, you carefully swing open the wooden door, cringing to yourself when a slight creak echoes off your bedroom walls. You wait a few seconds just to make sure you’re in the clear. But the apartment is completely silent, save for your roommate’s soft snores in her room next door.

The hidden panel in the back of your closet slides open with a click, and you can’t help the excited smile on your face. No matter how you’re feeling, the sight of that black catsuit never fails to brighten your mood. Your hands run along the smooth material, quickly changing into the familiar suit, and grinning when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window. You didn’t really plan on going out, but….

Looks like the Black Cat is going to have some fun tonight after all.

The museum is quiet when you drop through the skylight, landing softly on the balcony of the second floor. Your EMP seems to have done its job, as the security system is powered down and there doesn’t seem to be a guard in sight. They’re probably all back in their office, hurriedly trying to figure out what the hell went wrong. If only they knew about the small, catlike figurine hidden on the roof. Although, maybe not. You don’t mind leaving your adorably deceiving EMPs behind, but they’re not for some random night guard to find. No, you leave them behind for a specific someone. A certain web-headed hero, if you will.

Oh, who are you kidding? It’s no secret (at least, not to him) that you love to tease New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Everywhere you go, every heist you pull, you always make sure the hero knows it was you. Obsessed? You wouldn’t say so. Sure, you definitely get a little too excited at the thought of just barely slipping out of his fingers again, but you don’t spend every waking minute planning his demise like some of his other big, bad villains.

Really, if you were to rank yourself, you’d probably be somewhere between “Lovable Anti-Villain” and “Hero With an ‘F’ in Good”. Not super “evil,” more like just enough to keep the wallcrawler chasing your tail.

But that’s not the entire reason you’re here tonight, slipping into the museum’s new exhibit on fourteenth century Japan.

The law labels you a criminal, Spider-Man believes you’re misguided, but you know what you are. You’re the Black Cat, a thief notorious throughout the underground. Well, you say that, but of the people that actually believe you exist, very few have actually seen the Black Cat in person. Actually, it may just be Spider-Man, now that you think about it. Maybe that’s why you feel a weird connection with the wall-crawling hero.

Either way, bottom line is you’re a thief, and a damn good one at that. It’s definitely not the most noble profession (or legal one), but your very specific set of skills make you the best at it, so why not? Plus, it’s not like you’re entirely heartless.

No, you only steal from the wealthy of New York, the highest of elites, the ones who can stand to lose a few thousands (or millions, if you’re feeling pretty moody that night). You’ve tried to explain that to Spider-Man, that it’s okay for you to steal from them because they’re the ones who deserve it. It’s downright disgusting how many of them used dirty means to come into their wealth, methods ranging from less than savory to straight up nefarious.

You may be bad, but you’re definitely not worse than them.

That brings you back to the exhibit. Most of the artifacts in this room were already either stolen or bought from the black market, so what does it matter if you just continue that line?

The latch of the display case clicks as you open the lid, admiring the ancient Japanese tea set nestled inside. You don’t really know its value yet, but it’s going to earn you a pretty penny, that’s for sure. Your hand reaches into the case, hovering over the ceramic teapot when you hear it.

THWIP.

You drop to a crouch, glancing up at the webbing splattered across the lid of the display case. If you hadn’t moved, that would’ve been all over you. And you’d definitely be pissed, if you didn’t know exactly where it came from. A sly smile crosses your face as you stand and turn, locking eyes (or masks?) with your favorite hero perched atop one of the exhibit’s statues.

“I’m starting to think you like us meeting this way, Spider-Man.”

The playful lilt in your voice never fails to catch him off guard. His broad shoulders tense, and it takes everything in you to suppress the giggle from escaping your lips. But he’s quick to compose himself, like always, and you’re almost certain you can hear the smirk in his tone.

“What can I say? My mom always told me to follow my dreams.”

You laugh, trailing a hand along another case as you stroll towards him, “How did you know I’d be here?”

“New exhibit filled with priceless artifacts and no rooftop security,” He shrugs, jumping from the statue’s head and landing in front of you with a soft thud. “Figured it’d be a cat burglar’s dream come true.”

“You thought of me?” You step closer, resting your hands on the white spider emblazoned across his chest. The muscles tense underneath your fingers, and you smirk when his hands twitch in the corner of your eye. “Don’t worry, Spidey. I promise I’m on my best behavior. I just want a few teensy, tiny things and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Sorry, Cat, but I don’t think any of these artifacts are for sale.”

“But they could be,” You shrug, turning away from him. Your fingers toy with the latch on a nearby display case. “See, I think I have a buyer who would love to add something like this to his collection…”

A gloved hand wraps around your wrist before you can open the case. Your eyes trail up his arm, blinking innocently at his white lenses.

“You know I can’t let you do this.”

You smile, leaning into him once more, “Can’t, or won’t?” He stays silent, and you reach your free hand up to cup his masked face. Your thumb softly traces back and forth on his cheek. “Isn’t it funny,” you whisper, “how something as simple as a piece of fabric can keep someone from knowing who you really are?”

“Cat…”

“Do you really think that you can save me, Spidey?” You tilt your head, eyes desperately scanning his face for any sign of his thoughts or feelings. “How do you know if I even want to be saved?”

He swiftly tugs you closer, and despite the white lenses shielding his eyes, you feel his gaze pierce into your own. When he speaks, his voice is soft but deep, and for the first time since you met him, you’re rendered speechless.

“Because you wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t.”

Before you can respond, the sound of footsteps down the hall startles you both. Spider-Man’s grip loosens as he quickly turns towards the exhibit entrance, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on. The guards must have finally figured out that someone is after the new exhibit, and they won’t be happy to find two intruders standing inside.

Your eyes shift between Spider-Man and the exhibit entrance. It won’t be hard for you two to escape together before the guards even set foot in this room, but what will you do then? Will you laugh and tell him that he’s wrong about you, that you really don’t want his help?

….Or is it that you don’t think you deserve it?

No, he’s just wrong. Spider-Man doesn’t know you, and it’s silly of you to even pretend that he does. You know you like your life just the way it is. That’s not going to change, no matter how much your chest tightens as you gently tug your wrist out of his grip.

It’s not going to change, no matter how much a part of you wishes he would notice you climbing up to the skylight in the center of the room. That he would stop you from slipping through it, and back into the starry night. That he wouldn’t let you fall through his fingertips yet again.

But you’ve never been particularly lucky. Especially not when you really want to be.

By the time you get back to your apartment and change out of your gear, it’s already well past dawn. Like usual, your roommate is still asleep, blissfully unaware that you were gone for a good portion of the night. Which is good, because you really don’t know how you would explain your “other life” to her if she ever found out.

With your suit safely stowed back in its hidden panel, you collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh. What a fucking night. You’re a little upset that you ended up leaving empty handed, but you knew that was going to happen as soon as you saw the wall-crawler. He really just guessed that you were going to be there tonight. Are you getting that predictable?

Ugh, no. You shake your head. The last thing you want to think about right now is what happened at the museum. How could such a simple sentence send all of your thoughts into a whirlwind of emotions?

“Because you wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t.”

His voice still echoes in your mind, and you stuff your face in your pillow with a groan. This is dumb. Why are you freaking out over this? It’s not like he meant anything by it, just his usual Spidey “I can help you!” stuff. Yeah, that’s it. He just gave you the same spiel he gives all his other enemies, nothing more, nothing less.

….But why does that hurt more?

You throw the pillow off your face as another sigh escapes your lips. Sometimes you really wish you could be one of those super evil villains. You know, those ones who never have to deal with their feelings and shit because they’re too busy taking over the world. Although, you guess you don’t really want to take over the world, at least not all of it. That’s way too much responsibility. You wonder if the people who actually do want to rule the world think of how much time and effort that’s going to require. How do they prepare for that? Is that mental preparation how they’re able to turn off all their feelings? Could you somehow learn to-

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

You shriek at the sudden whisper in your ear, instinctively rolling away from its source and tumbling off the end of your bed. Your butt hits the floor with a dull thud, and you glare at a giggling Sana over your mattress.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“S-Sorry!” She chokes out. “I didn’t think I’d scare you that bad!”

Crawling back onto your bed with a grumble, you eye Sana as she struggles to collect herself. She really shouldn’t have scared you that bad, but you guess the lack of sleep and your frazzled thoughts are finally starting to catch up with you. When Sana finally manages to contain her giggles, she plops down on the edge of your mattress with a small huff.

“I really am sorry for scaring you, Y/N,” She reaches out to squeeze your hand. “I thought you would have noticed me walk in.”

You shake your head, giving her a small squeeze in return, “It’s fine. I’ve just...been having some trouble sleeping lately. That’s all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her voice is so sincere and caring, you almost find yourself saying yes. You don’t, though, because you can’t tell her the real reason why you haven’t been sleeping, and you don’t think you can bear to lie to her about it, either. With that, your roommate leaves, going back to her room to get ready for her day while you try to muscle up the energy to start yours.

Throwing your legs over the side of your bed, you grab your phone from your nightstand to check the time. Oh, looks like you got a good number of texts during your daydreaming, too.

...And it looks like most of them are from your best friend.

changaroo 🦘 : hey, jinyoung’s in a bit of a mood today, so make sure you’re here on time, alright?

changaroo 🦘 : also i think i have an idea for your next article, i’ll tell you about it when you get in

changaroo 🦘 : y/n, you were supposed to be here 20 min ago, everything okay??

changaroo 🦘 : ….you fucking slept in again, didn’t you?

changaroo 🦘 : hold on i’m texting sana

Ah. So that’s why she was in your room. Chan’s texts are just what you need to get yourself out of bed, though, instantly motivated by both your best friend’s caring nature and the thought of your boss’s wrath hanging above your head. The last time Jinyoung was in a “mood”, you ended up covering the city’s sewer system for a whole month just because you left your dirty coffee mug sitting in the break room sink. That’s a mistake you only make once. Or four times, if you’re poor Hyunjin, who just can’t seem to stay on your boss’s good side, no matter how hard he tries.

Speaking of which, you really need to get your ass moving, or else you’ll wish you only had to cover rats and raw sewage.

Your chest heaves as you approach the Daily Bugle building, the red neon letters standing tall and proud atop its roof announcing the paper’s presence to all of New York City. Some tourists stand around here and there in front of the building’s entrance, and you have to push past them in order to make it inside. Once inside, you think you can take a brief moment of rest.

Until you notice the clock above the receptionist’s desk and realize you’re almost forty-five minutes late.

With a small cry, you take off in another mad dash towards the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and only almost faceplanting once before you finally burst onto your floor. Everyone immediately turns at the noise, and you avoid their probing eyes as you make your way to your desk.

You sit down, turn on your computer, and get yourself ready to act like you aren’t almost an hour late to start your day when you sense a familiar gaze still boring into your forehead. You can’t stop yourself from glancing up, finding his eyes staring at you over your monitor.

“Not. One. Word.”

Chan laughs, leaning back in his chair and giving you a view of his entire face. He mimes zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key, and a small smile crosses your face. Leave it to him to automatically brighten your day.

If you’re being completely honest, you were a little worried at first about the curly haired Australian your boss decided to place at the desk across from you. Not that you didn’t like him, but you didn’t exactly become the paper’s best investigative journalist by sitting around and making friends. Sure, you don’t necessarily need this job given your…”other” career, but it gives you something to do during the week and keeps your mind busy. That, and you really just like digging into people’’s deep, dark secrets.

Long story short, you weren’t exactly thrilled about some new guy coming in and taking your eye off the ball. At least, that’s what you thought, until the day Christopher Bang showed up and introduced himself as your new partner. Turns out, Jinyoung didn’t just hire a new photographer for the Bugle, he hired a new photographer specifically for your articles. You knew then that you just had to suck it up and deal, but you didn’t count on Christopher (or Chan, as he later insisted you call him) being literally the nicest, most charming guy you’ve ever met.

And despite your attempts to stop it, you and Chan quickly became “thick as thieves,” as he likes to call it. The phrase makes you cringe a little every time he says it, but you can’t deny its truth. If you were to trust anyone with your secret life, it would definitely be your best friend. Now, you’re never going to do that because what in the hell would you gain from it, but the sentiment is still there.

Actually, speaking of secrets….

You glance up at Chan again, except this time his attention is focused on his own computer screen. Part of you wants to just leave him be, but this has been eating at you since you talked to Sana this morning. Or, no, when you first woke up at 3AM today. You swallow your pride, clearing your throat just loud enough to get Chan’s attention. His brown eyes immediately find yours.

“Something wrong?”

“I, um…” You bite your lip. “I had another one of those dreams again.”

Chan’s brow furrows, and he leans forward in his seat, “The falling one? Isn’t that the fourth time this week?”

“It’s the twelfth time this month, Chan.”

“Shit…” He mumbles, running a hand through his blond hair. You try to ignore the way your heart speeds up at the small action, staring down at your keyboard to hide your face. You’re just...not used to trusting someone as much as you trust Chan. Yeah, that’s it. Absolutely nothing but that sole reason alone. “Y/N?”

“H-Hm?” You blink up at Chan, cheeks heating up even more when you realize you were caught daydreaming. Again.

“I just figured there must be a reason you keep having the same dream, you know? Like, maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

You think for a moment. Could that be the case? Is your subconscious really fucking up your sleep schedule for some important message that’s getting lost in translation? Are you just a dumbass who can’t understand your own brain?

Honestly, all valid possibilities.

Before you can respond, though, the phone on your desk rings loudly. Chan’s brow raises as you pick it up, but you both already know who it is. There’s really only one person who uses that line, and it’s the same person you were hoping not to hear from today.

“L/N, my office. Now.”

And then he hangs up. Your boss has always been a man of few words, but sometimes you really hate how such a short sentence can strike so much fear into your heart. Chan watches as you stand up and adjust your outfit with a heavy sigh.

“Tell him you haven’t been sleeping well lately,” He suggests, and for a minute you think he’s actually being earnest. But, of course, he just has to open his mouth again, “And if that doesn’t work, then at least we’ll be exploring the sewers of New York together!”

A laugh bubbles past your lips, “Are you serious?”

“Hey, I’ve always wanted to know if the Ninja Turtles were real,” Chan grins widely, chuckling when you just shake your head and walk away. He can still see the smile on your face, though, and it only grows when he shouts after you, “You know you wouldn’t mind being the April to my Casey!”

“In your dreams, Christopher!”

His loud laughter follows you all the way to the stairwell, and your chest feels light as you climb up to your boss’s office on the top floor. With Chan’s bright smile in the back of your mind, it’s hard to remember what you were so worried about in the first place. At least, until you’re standing right outside your boss’s door.

“Thank you for taking your sweet time, L/N. Please, sit down.”

Park Jinyoung is, for lack of better words, intimidating to some, and outright terrifying to others. You like to think you’re somewhere near the former, but the look on the twenty-four year old’s face right now is enough to send even the most despicable villains running for the hills. Really, who needs a Spider-Man when you’ve got a Jinyoung to just death glare the bad guys away?

You take a seat in the chair in front of his desk, nervously wringing your hands in your lap. He spends a few more seconds shuffling around the papers and files on his desk, then fixes you with a deadpan look.

“Do you know why I called you in here, L/N?”

“Because I was...late again?” Your shoulders hunch, automatically preparing for the verbal barrage of scolding to start, but it never comes. You glance up at Jinyoung cautiously, shocked to find his brows raised in amusement.

Much more to your surprise, he chuckles, leaning back in his office chair, “You look like you’re about to faint, L/N. I really think you need to loosen up a bit.”

“O-Okay, sir-”

“That’s why,” Jinyoung cuts you off, “I want you to take on a new side project for the paper.”

You blink. A side project…? What could he possibly mean by that? And how does giving you more work equate to you “loosening up”?!

“Let me explain.” You stay silent as your boss clears his throat, sitting up in his seat to look you in the eyes. “Truthfully, it would be less of a side project and more of an ongoing investigative piece. It’ll take the place of your other responsibilities for the Bugle, so you can divide and spread out your workload as you see fit. You don’t even have to report to me until the full piece is finished, if you’d like.”

...Is this a test? Because it feels like a test, doesn’t it? He gives you some too-good-to-be-true offer, and then fires you for being stupid enough to accept it. Or, maybe-

Oh, god, is this where the sewers come in?

“I’m sorry, sir,” You force out, steeling your nerves against his hard gaze, “but I think I’m going to decline.”

You hope that’s going to be the end of it, that Jinyoung will just nod and send you on your way, but of course that’s not the case. No, instead your boss surprises you for the second time, and he actually smiles.

“Are you sure, L/N?” He asks, and you get the strange feeling he’s getting some sick satisfaction from messing with you. “I haven’t even told you what the piece is about yet.”

A small sigh leaves your lips, “What...What is it about, sir?”

“Oh, it’s simple, L/N,” Jinyoung’s smirk grows, taking your question as an acceptance of his offer. His next words shock the objection right out of you, though, and leave only one thought in their place. “You’re just going to do this city and this paper a favor, and finally find out who New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man really is.”

...Fuck.

“He wants you to what?!”

You flinch, pulling your phone away from your ear as Sana’s voice screeches from the device. Honestly, she hadn’t been your first choice to tell about your new “project” (Jinyoung didn’t give you much choice, after all), but Chan was nowhere to be seen when you got back to your desk. You did, however, have one simple text waiting on your phone.

changaroo 🦘 : had to run out. meet you at the usual spot for lunch. my treat <3

So, here you are. Waiting at the pizzeria you and Chan regularly meet at with your roommate loudly screaming in your ear. You mumble something to Sana about needing to go and seeing her at home, and hang up the call. You love her, you really do, but right now you need someone who’s not going to blow out your eardrums without listening to what you actually want to say.

But it’s starting to look more and more like that won’t be Chan, either.

The blond boy has a habit of disappearing every now and again, both during and outside of work, and right now is starting to seem like one of those times. It doesn’t usually take him this long to respond to your texts, and he never likes to miss your little ‘lunch dates’ without any warning. Either something is seriously wrong, or…

“This just in, the NYPD advises all civilians to evacuate the east Harlem district. We’ve received reports of the Rhino attacking parts of the area, along with sightings of the masked vigilante, Spider-Man. That’s all we know for now, but we will continue to keep you posted as the story develops. Now, onto the…”

Ah, that makes a lot of sense. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Chan’s mysterious disappearances always line up with whatever villain of the day getting their ass kicked by everyone’s favorite “vigilante.” The news anchor’s choice of words makes you snicker, but you can’t help but worry for your friend. Most people run away from villain attacks, and it doesn’t sit well with you knowing Chan is regularly risking his life just to get a few good shots for his portfolio. His photos are amazing, there’s no denying that, but you always wonder how he gets his impossible close ups of villains and their destruction. It’s almost like he has to be right in the middle of–

The bell above the pizzeria’s door rings, jolting you out of your thoughts. You look up expectantly, but it’s still not your best friend. A quiet sigh escapes your lips. Another look at your phone tells you that you can’t wait here much longer; you need to get back to work sometime today. Still, it pains you a little bit to stand from your guys’ booth. Your usual tip is left on the table despite it being only one meal, and you head back to the Bugle with your best friend lingering in the back of your mind.

Back at your desk, you finally get a chance to mull over your new “assignment”. Jinyoung has tasked you, for whatever reason, with figuring out Spider-Man’s real identity. You remember now why you wanted to talk to Chan so badly. You thought, since he’s always running back and forth between villain attacks, that he would have some kind of idea where to start. That, and you really just wanted to rant about your asshole boss to your best friend. Chan ended up being a no show, though, and he’s still not answering any of your texts. You hate to admit it, but you’re a little lost.

Your first thought was to use the connection you already have with the spider to your advantage. You’ve “known” each other for a couple years now, and maybe, just maybe, you can convince him to actually take off the mask. It wouldn’t be that hard to just don the Black Cat suit and wait around one of your usual hang outs for him show up. Actually, that would probably be the easiest thing to do.

Except that you can’t.

As you stare at Chan’s vacant desk in front of you, you’re bitterly reminded that Y/N L/N has been assigned this job, not the Black Cat. And unfortunately for you, Y/N L/N does not have the same connection to Spider-Man as your alter ego. Looks like you’re starting this investigation from square one.

...Which is why you wanted to talk to Chan. He’s your partner, after all; he’s “technically” supposed to help you out with this stuff. That is, if he was actually fucking here. Maybe you should drop by his apartment on your way home, just to make sure he didn’t get trampled or something trying to get a snapshot of the Rhino’s rampage. You try to tell yourself you meant that as a joke, but it doesn’t stop the flash of worry in your chest. You’ve seen firsthand some of the destruction Spider-Man’s battles leave behind. Hell, you’ve even experienced it. And honestly? It doesn’t sit well knowing your best friend makes a hobby of putting himself right in the middle of it.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips, and you’re just starting to consider giving up and calling it a day when your phone lights up with a notification. You hastily snatch it off your desk, immediately perking up upon seeing the name on your screen.

changaroo 🦘 : sorry i missed lunch...take out at mine?

changaroo 🦘 : i’ll order from that korean place you love <3

The tension in your shoulders immediately melts away, tension that you didn’t even realize you were holding. You waste no time in responding, though; relieved to know that he’s okay, but wanting to mess with him a little bit for leaving you on radio silence for so long.

you : tsk tsk channie

you : don’t you know how rude it is to leave a lady waiting all by her lonesome??

you : frankly i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to trust you again (tear emoji or some bs idk)

Three little dots pop up seconds after you press send, and you bite your lip to stop the smile threatening to break through.

changaroo 🦘 : my apologies, princess!!

changaroo 🦘 : please, allow me to make it up to you with some of your fav ice cream from the convenience store down the road!

you : hmm…

you : with or without sprinkles?

changaroo 🦘 : uh, with ofc. just who do you think i am??

A small laugh bubbles up your throat, but you cover your mouth before it can escape. Woojin, head of the paper’s advice column, side-eyes you from his desk a few feet away. You don’t notice, though, happily typing out your reply to Chan with an eager grin on your face.

you : apology accepted. i’ll be there in 15

you : ...casey 😉

The train ride to Chan’s apartment is a familiar blur. You’ve taken it more times than you care to count, and it’s honestly become a bit of a habit to instinctively get off at his stop. You don’t have to stop yourself this time, though, putting your legs on auto-pilot and letting your mind wander as you walk. Today has been….a real doozy. From that stupid dream this morning to Jinyoung dumping a monster of an investigative piece on you with zero notice, you’re exhausted, to say the least. No wonder Chan’s front door is such a comforting sight.

You gently rap your knuckles against the wood before letting yourself in, like you always do. A relieved sigh escapes you as you drop your bag by the door, inhaling the light, summery scent of your friend’s home. That reminds you, you’ve really been meaning to ask him what air freshener he uses. Or maybe it’s his cologne, because it’s not just his house that smells this sweet; it’s Chan himself. Or who knows, maybe he’s like your coworker Minho and it’s really both. Actually, now that you think of it, isn’t it a little weird to have a specific smell you associate with your best friend?

…Which is something you can worry about later.

“Chan!” You call as you walk into the living room, eyes scanning around. There are various take out boxes scattered across the coffee table, but the blond is nowhere in sight. You try again, “Chan?”

A frown etches onto your face when there's still no response. That’s weird. It’s not like him to just leave when he knows you’re coming over, especially without telling you first. But the food on the table is still warm, meaning he had to have been here recently. Did you somehow miss his text? You pull your phone out of your back pocket, confirming that you did not, in fact, miss any “brb” texts from Chan. So, what the hell?

Your search takes you into the small kitchen next, but there’s no sign of your best friend there, either, unless the dirty dishes in the sink count. Oh, gross, you know for a fact some of those have been in there since last week. Your nose scrunches up in disgust and you quickly move on from the room, but not before making a mental note to tell Chan to do his fucking dishes.

However, the bathroom is empty, too, leaving the apartment’s one bedroom as your last stop. If you had more of a conscience, maybe you would think twice before barging into your friend’s bedroom unannounced. Then again, boundaries never really have been your strong suit.

The door swings open, and the first thing you see is abs. Nice, well toned abs that, as you soon find out, belong to your best friend. Said best friend is frozen, one of his signature black tees pulled halfway down his torso. After a few seconds of stunned silence, you force yourself to tear your eyes away from Chan’s stomach, only for your cheeks to immediately explode in pink when your gaze meets his.

A small squeak leaves your mouth, and you quickly mumble something about waiting for him in the living room before slamming the bedroom door shut. That could not have gone any worse.

#bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x reader #chan x you #skz chan x reader #chan #bang chan #skz bang chan #bang chan fic #bang chan fluff #skz x reader #skz x you #skz fluff #my writing #guess who still has no idea how to tag things lolol

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astro-break · 4 years

Text

Quick first thoughts on the first ep of the Hypmic Anime. Spoilers beware (and im writing this as I watch so :p)

Otome’s speech is.... questionable from a persuasive point of view. Manga did a great job of introducing her (which you can read here) but they really cut out the more terrifying parts of her speech and how she uses force to show people that she's not to be messed with

Its cool seeing everyone in their respective environments though. thats cool. Though they could have added Sasara and Kuuko (shhh i know why they didn’t let me dream)

I love how poppy the typography is. Its amazing how the visuals just leap out at you. The OP does a great job of this. The first few seconds before the title really gives me Persona 4 OG OP vibes with the influx of information given. The rest is a clear concise and streamlined way that still gives character. Animation is sparse but still carries across a general idea of each character and shows off each character object. Rendering is really nice and pays a bit of homage to the posing artwork thats done for the MVs. They also do their division hand signals and thats cute

Love how the OP has blatant HifuDoppo and DRB matchup foreshadowing

so far I really like what theyre going for. BB is about brotherly familial bonds and they show the goods and the bads. Jiro and Saburo bickering right out the gate really cements the fact that they get along like cats and dogs but you can still see that they love each other, working together when the situation calls for it

Now the 3d models. Theyre... not great but usable if you don’t look too hard. They serve their purpose and don’t actively detract from the viewing experience.

Visual typography in the rap itself are fun and poppy but they dont.... speak to me? like theyre there yes and I appreciate them but the only ones that got me excited were from Ichiro’s rap

I take my words back the group portion was kickass and I apologize

I love how they interpret the Hypnosis Speakers though. Esp. Saburo’s organs. That was super creative and I love it! If there was one thing that I felt was missing from the franchise was a deeper exploration of the speakers but the anime puts a new and fresh spin on it! Love it, especially with their attack patterns!

If the production team ever feels inclined to, Id love to see those info sheets on Otome’s desk released. There seems to be very interesting info and stats written out about each member (like capabilities, personal status etc.) They all seem unique too so I really really really hope they release images of those sheets

OOOOOOOOKAY MTC. I have such a big biased for them so Im very torn to see what unfolds

Rio striking out on his own is interesting. Out of everyone in MTC hes the biggest team player yet here he trusts his teammates to go ahead. This either displays Rio’s willingness to trust his teammates or it becomes very OOC if the anime wants to set him up as a lone wolf like character

I love how they specify its a drug deal. It means that Jyuto surely will show up and it also shows that Samatoki knows Jyuto’s motives and willingly gives black market info that he knows aligns with Jyuto’s goal. Thats A+ detail writing there and a great establishing characteristic for both of them

OOohhhhhhhhhhhhh man Asunama-san’s voice acting is god tier his work as Samatoki is phenomenal. He pulls of Samatoki’s threatening voice so well with those almost calm words before his voice becomes loud and confrontational. Those rolling syllables in contrast to Komada-san’s almost lyrical and airy speech and Kamio-san’s strict and enunciated words is such a delight to hear. It just speaks to how amazing and great these Seiyuu’s are in order to pull of such amazing work

Im so biased but MTC has such a better rap than BB im so sorry. Just by watching Samatoki’s part, the imagery is amazing. Even the arrival of his Hypnosis Speaker was awesome and sent a shiver down my spine. using the lyrics to form blades and blood was such a great thing to do. Theres so much more variety that just him standing there and shots of his hypnosis speaker. The old fashioned vignette shots, the four panel spread, the nods to old Kurosawa era films are great and I love these small details. Even the typography looks better.

Again, the interpretations with the speakers is fresh and new. Its great and I love the different imagery and attack patterns. Each one is so unique but carries across each different style of rap.

The 3d modles aren’t any better tho lol

(Hi this is Astro who is reading over their assessment again and making a note. Yeah I’m a bit harsh on BB’s rap. I’m not going to change it since I still stand by it and this post is supposed to be a documentation of my first impressions. I think one of the reasons why I’m so harsh on BB is because of their dynamic as a trio of brothers. They Have to have a more uniform approach than the other divisions. Which in of itself isn’t a terrible thing, it just doesn’t catch my eye as much as MTC did. Thats all! I definitely don’t hate BB, they’re maybe my 3rd favorite division out of the current lineup [not including TDD era teams like Kujaku Posse, MCD, and Naughty Busters] its just that their rap was pretty meh)

Samatoki crouching like a real gangstar and the cigarette kiss killed me

sadjkhfjkasdghsadjkcsdjhsdfsjhf im dying i love these trio of dumbasses so uch oh y fod someone save me aaaaaaaa (Astro note here! yeah i died when the jyuto and samatoki’s stomach growled im weak please. Samatoki’s face is just so precious and funny I might set it as a profile pic somewhere)

But also my initial assessment of Rio possibly being characterized as a lone wolf is very much jossed and im very thankful for that. It seems that Rio was simply trusting his teammates to carry out their part of the plan while he carried out his own. I like that, it really shows how much of a team these three are and that they genuinely trust each other. He’s also comfortable enough around them to invite them to dinners after work casually and not just for special occasions.

I really love MTC guys

Oooh! we get Ramuda on his design process which is really cute. the inside of his studio is super cute and retro and i love it. the poppy old music you would hear in a cafe or 90′s resturaunt is also really cute (astro note: yeah i know that in ARB you see the interior of Ramuda’s office but its kinda different seeing it animated)

the translation i have has gentaro speaking in early modern english (Shakespearian english for those who aren’t english nerds like me) but from what I can hear, he doesn’t speak in a particularly old fashioned way? Its more formal than old? and hes speaking without any of his character persona lying thing that he likes to do (as he refers to himself as “Shousei” throughout the segment where hes in Ramuda’s office which is kind of his default pronoun of choice). so its kinda odd for the translation to go in that direction but im not complaining

Gendice banter is gold but it feels... flat? a little? it doesn’t have the same impact as in the drama cds or in the manga? i feel? Also Ramuda using gratuitous english is??? idk how to feel about that

kjshf thats against the rules Ramuda omgggg,,,,,,,, (astro note again: while watching i was under the assumption that using your hypmic for monetary gain such a as buskering [which is what FP is doing] is against the rules. May not be the case but whatever)

FP’s rap might be my favorite in terms of tune and lyrics though. It’s a nice laid back bop and really gives of chill vibes. the integration of 3d and 2d is really nice and i love how they play off each other in the rap. The wordplay is so fun with little nods here and there and the beat is poppy too so it really energizes me.

Ramuda’s rap concerns me slightly since he makes very subtle and small nods towards his past (being created in a laboratory, warfare, and his overall very unpleasant life experiences) but spins it into something cutesy. It could be a coping mechanism, it could be me overthinking it. But it does make me worry a bit. Gentaro and Dice’s rap really play off each other with Gentaro sticking to stories and Dice taking up the baton by carrying on that same imagery but putting his own spin on it.

the self awareness of how scattered they are as a team is interesting though. It doesn’t seem like something you’d speak about in a rap? but i guess since its not really a do or die situation they can afford to be looser on things like this.

Right off the bat, i don’t like how they handled Hifumi and Doppo in relation to Hifumi’s fear of women. Slug made a post once talking about this and I echo many of his sentiments. Hypmic has never been very tactful about tackling this particular issue and while I didn’t have high hopes that the anime would be any better it hurts to see Doppo take away the one thing that allows Hifumi to function within society.

Doppo’s breakdown mirrors a lot of my own mental state when I spiral though its shown a lot quicker than what happens to me oof. that hits close to home. though Jakurai’s advice is. Questionable. Its not the best advice to give to someone but we have no idea what kind of doctor Jakurai is so ill let it slide

Jakurai’s pose looks like hes going to do a mahou shoujou transformation lmao

I don’t have many thoughts about the rap though again. How they visualize the rap is interesting. the different imagery is quite interesting for each of them and the typography is nice a distinct but im still on the fence about the visuals here

The sound is in the same boat. The sound effects either drown out the rap or are too quet but some parts are nice at least. When they talk about Tokyo’s beating heart, the heartbeat sound is a but distracting especially since its only played once. But the imagery is at least nice

I wonder if for the eds they’re going to take a similar approach to what Enstars did and have a four different endings, one for each division. I love the blend of styles here and it really accentuates that although they’re different they mesh well together.

Ramuda’s silhouette though is hilarious. Love it.

:p and thats it. Uh not bad for a first episode. Established all 12 characters really nicely and their dynamics. I had some problems with it but then again nothing is perfect. I look forward to what they show us next week

#hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypnosis mic rhyme anima #hypnosis mic rythme anima spoilers #hypmic spoilers #my post

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hopeless-nostalgiac · 5 years

Text

Blessing: Tiva Fic

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing. Summary: Tony was under the impression this was a courtesy. More courtesy than Eli deserved, at that. Nothing more. Established Tiva. A/N: Let me how you liked it, if you’re so inclined. :) Also, this is a stand alone for now, but maybe not forever.

Tags? Idk who wants one anymore. @classydepablo @loudlooks @youaresoooloved @coffeedepablo @mcgeekle

Ff.net

They started up the staircase, in sync as usual, but apart. Then Ziva reached for his hand. That half-second seeking him out, drawing him close, wanting him with her—well, it was everything. Their serendipitous first meeting to the phone call they were about to make, life snapped vividly to alignment with the simple gesture.

It made Tony feel like a total jerk.

For the past week, he’d been secretly hoping Gibbs or the director—heck, SecNav—would put the kibosh on the plan. Using government property for personal communications was against some NCIS rule, right? But Ziva had made the request, Vance had honored the strange position he occupied in the David family mosaic by approving it, and now—

Tony would have her six, his own doubts be damned. They were in this, every step, together.

Despite their joined hands, he jogged to keep up with her. “You ready?”

“Yes.” Her mouth sealed flat again after the rushed utterance. Open. “Are you?” Shut.

“I was born ready!”

An arched eyebrow broke rank with her guarded expression, questioning his enthusiasm.

“White Lightning. 1973. Gator McKlusky. ‘The good, they die young!’ Not Burt Reynolds’s best, but it--”

“Tony.”

“Right. Focus. Got it.”

Was her palm slick with nerves, or his? Probably both. The deserted office at their backs, they stepped onto the platform. Ziva unlocked the door with her eye. A technician dialed the Tel Aviv number. They were doing this. They were commandeering MTAC for a chat with the Director of Mossad.

“Abba?”

Oh, and Ziva’s father. One in the same guy.

Static hissed and popped on the wall-to-wall screen.

“Abba? Can you hear us—”

“Ziva, there is no need to shout. I am here.” Out of the snow, from across the world, emerged an old man. Older than two years should have aged him. More white than grey around the temples; deeper lines etched into sun-leathered skin. A milder gaze? Maybe it was the spotty satellite connection. A zebra didn’t change his stripes, especially if the zebra was Eli David.

“Shalom, Abba.”

“Shalom, my daughter. You look well.”

No thanks you!

Tony kept the snark to himself, despite the awkward pause—a clarion call to his defensive humor. The silence was punctuated only by beeps and whirs of technology on their side; the director seemed to be in a wood-paneled study, alone.

The corners of Ziva’s mouth twitched. Reflex, not sentiment. “Thank you.”

Eli nodded and did not force her hesitancy, instead shifted his focus. “I see Agent DiNozzo is joining us.”

Tony ignored the displeasure in the elder’s tone. “Eli, hi. It’s been awhile. Is that a new tan?”

Her fingers flexed and tightened within in his grip. Behave. “We apologize for the early hour there. I wished to speak to you before Shabbat.”

“How thoughtful of you, but it is no trouble. With age comes a new routine. I am up before the sun most days.”

“So that’s where Ziva gets it.” Tony released a reckless, nervous stream of chuckles. “For running, you know? She gets up early, too, t-to do that.” His eyes darted between the Davids. Neither seemed amused.

Eli coughed, clearing dust and gravel. Years of barking orders had caught up to him, if not the cigars. “Ziva owes her discipline to us. The Mossad’s training.”

Us?

So sharp was the scoff, it scored Tony’s throat on the way out. He’d tried to be civil, for Ziva. He really had. And it’d lasted a whopping two minutes. Who said miracles didn’t happen?

“Ah, I see how it is. You’re all about taking credit, Eli, but what about the blame? Where should that fall?”

There was no trick of the connection. Shadows sliced across the older man’s face. His mouth flattened. He leaned in, dominating the frame. “Tread carefully, Agent DiNozzo. You understand little of what you accuse me.”

“I understand plenty. What I don’t get is how you—her father, in case that’s somehow slipped your mind—couldn’t spare a few agents from your stable to rescue your only living child from that God-forsaken—”

“That does not concern you,” Eli roared.

“The hell is doesn’t!”

Ziva threw up her arms, as if keeping them from a physical fight. “Enough, both of you. Abba.” She regarded his looming figure with her spine tall, chin high. Ever the soldier. “Tony and I are engaged. That is why we have contacted you. We will be married in October.”

From Eli’s reaction, she might have given him the weather forecast. Mostly overcast, a chance of storms. His features, wrinkles, emotion smoothed banal. Even his words lacked feeling. “I suppose I should not be surprised.”

“Actually, it’s pronounced congratulations,” Tony gritted out, signalling to the technician. “Shalom, Eli.”

The oversized screen returned to static, and Ziva rounded on him. “Why did you do that?”

He gaped. “Seriously? You need me to explain?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Your dad was being an ass, babe.”

“You baited him,” she challenged, chin thrusting.

“And he took it.” Hazel eyes blazed into hers. “He knows what he did to you.”

Her gaze returned fire. “This was not about getting a confession. I knew he would not... I was only trying to—”

“What? What do you need?” Tony stepped closer, sliding his hand over the silk of her shirt to her waist. He was under the impression this was a courtesy. More courtesy than Eli deserved, at that. Nothing more.

Ziva glanced up at him—there and gone. A puff of her coconut and honey shampoo wafted in the draft. “It does not matter now.” Then she was striding, fast, for the door.

But he saw it. Glimpsed in that half-glance, before she tore herself away from him: the spring and run of a single, plump tear across her cheek.

The pang of guilt struck, silvery and cold like the remnants of adrenaline in his veins, as they left the Navy Yard. It festered in his gut, fed by her silence and straight stare on the drive north through the evening glow.

A console separated them, mere inches, yet Tony bit his tongue. Literally. Forcing a conversation would stoke the embers of her mood, or be cut off with monosyllabic rebukes. The therapist would approve of them “de-escalating” before talking it out, but all he wanted was to fix this. Peeks at his partner’s reflection in the car window fanned his frustration. The glare of passing streetlamps illuminated not anger in her face, that beautiful face he fell asleep gazing into each night, but a crater of desolate ache.

Eli, you bastard.

He fought the urge to swing the car toward Dulles, hop a plane to Israel, and challenge the spy puppeteer to a ‘conference room’ rematch. He had more than enough ammo—nightmares, anxiety, month-long funks—to go round after round with the heavyweight. And he’d win, too. Again.

“I can hear your teeth grinding, Tony.” Her warm fingers brushed his jaw, bumping along stubble and coiled tension. He unclenched.

“Your suffering in silence is pretty loud, too, Ziva.”

Her hand stilled at his neck, dropping away and folding with its pair in her lap. “I am not suffering. I simply do not have anything else to say.”

Like hell you don’t.

Tony allowed the thread to dangle. They were speaking to each other, though. Sort of. “Well, do you have an opinion on dinner? I’m starvin’ like Lee Marvin.” His upturned fist hovered above the gear shift.

They were in the middle of a rock-paper-scissors tournament, the ultimate loser of which would move his or her possessions across the city into one shared apartment prior to the wedding (he was confident it was going to be her doing the packing).

Smirking, Ziva set. They went three brisk rounds, his rock taking two. She growled; he whooped triumphantly.

“And that makes it DiNozzo 32, David 26.”

“You cheated.”

“I don’t need to cheat,” he countered, keeping an eye on the road. “You’re just a sore loser who’s having Thai tonight.”

A bounce of her shoulders made a noise against the leather seat. “I would have chosen that anyway.”

“How ‘bout you choose where we sleep?” Tony found her thigh in the dark, squeezed. Her muscles tightened in response.

“How about I let you sleep with me tonight?”

Moisture evacuated his mouth. “Your place it is.”

......

One by one, Tony toed off his dress loafers, shed his suit jacket, and loosened the tie knot from his throat. A couple stumbling steps and he collapsed onto the bed, releasing a gargantuan sigh that was part exhaustion, part pillowtop-induced bliss. He’d helped her pick it out, after Somalia, without knowing his future self would someday also reap its benefits.

He dragged his mouth from the duvet. “Ziva!”

Boots grazed the wood floor, closer and closer. Her left hip swerved into view, a sliver of thigh, bare knee, and—yes—all of her. Ziva owed the bedroom doorway, wine glass in hand, glossy ringlets pulled over one shoulder. He was a lucky man.

“Was shouting necessary, Tony?”

“Wherever we end up living, this bed is coming with us.”

Her throaty chuckles electrified the skin on the nape of his neck. “I believe that earns me a point.” She tipped the glass. Ruby liquid rushed forward, greedy for her mouth.

“You wish.” Transfixed, he bit his bottom lip. “That wine looks good.”

“It is.”

“Can I get a taste?”

Ziva set the empty glass on the nightstand, the last drops going down her throat with a deep, visible swallow.

Miffed, if a little turned on, Tony flopped back, tucking an arm under his head. “You need to repeat kindergarten, Da-veed.”

“I am fluent in nine languages—why would I need that?” The bed jostled; some part of her—a soft, yielding part—bumped his knee. Everything below his belt was now tingling.

“I meant you need to learn to, uh, share.” His stance lacked emphasis. Ziva stretched out alongside him, not unlike a Greek goddess on a daybed, plumping her lips, tinted and gently smiling. A lucky man, indeed.

“I do not like to share what I love.”

The brew of her languid words and sweet, heady breath overwhelmed the circuits in his brain that would have furthered their banter, supplied a witty comebacker. All that remained was primal wiring and a longing he often wondered about: how it started under his ribs and spread, a good poison, to the pads of his fingers, the base of his throat, the very bottom of his spine where it gave way to his derrière. His body on her drug.

“Ziva...” Her name danced within the parentheses of their bodies. She answered, leaning, her mouth dead-on aim with his mouth, an infernal latch sealing out air and thought.

His fingers dove through her hair, weaving strands into reigns, while her hands sought a lower destination on his form, eliciting arches and premature thrusts. Always so eager, his Ziva.

Tony said as much, gasped over her jaw, planting a kiss there, too; he wasn’t complaining.

Golden sparks of mischief permeated the midnight of her blown-out pupils. “We must hurry. The food will be here in 30 minutes or less.”

A bout of mutual chuckles overcame them like a rain shower, shocking and head-clearing. For him, at least. Made room for dangling threads...

“Hey, you know what I was thinking?”

Ziva hummed, unbuttoning his shirt and nibbling his neck simultaneously.

“Even if I hadn’t baited Eli—sorry about that, by the way—there was no excuse for how he reacted. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised’ or whatever? I mean, come on, what is that? Not father-of-the-bride material.”

Tony’s rambling had a cooling effect on his fiancée. Her ministrations stalled and she regarded him with a look he knew well. Seriously, now?

“Right. Sorry.” Using the hand tangled in her curls, he coaxed her back, double-kissed her parted lips. “But it’s just that—”

“Tony! I told you, it does not matter,” Ziva huffed, reclaiming her points of contact from his skin.

His grip merely shifted, molding to the side of her face. Keeping her with him. In this, together. “Well, it matters to me because it obviously upset you. We can try calling him again tomorrow, if you want.” Though his teeth might be ground-down stubs by the conversations’ end.

Ziva lapsed into the faraway stare from the ride home, narrowed in on the pattern of his tie, yet somewhere beyond him as well, beyond the bedroom and the apartment that might become theirs, beyond the city itself. Eventually she blinked and spoke toward his chest. “No. That would not change anything. Abba is...Abba.”

“Yeah.”

“He will not change, either.”

“But you still want his blessing,” Tony said, circling the rise of her cheekbone with his thumb.

The corners of her eyes creased as she met his gaze. “Why do you say that?”

“Because for two years you barely mention the guy’s name, unless it’s on the therapist’s couch or in a string of Hebrew I don’t understand. Then we get engaged, and after Gibbs and the team, Eli’s the next person you want to tell the good news.” He wrapped a ringlet around her ear, testing out a smile. “Plus, I am a highly-trained investigator trained to pick up on the subtleties of these things, after all.”

“Perhaps too well trained.” A rueful admission.

Tony preened. “Wow, I was just bluffing.”

Swatting his shoulder, Ziva released a noisy tumble of breath. The creases smoothed. Her lips lifted, as did her hands, sliding his face between the matching hollows of her palms. “You asked me what I need, yes?”

“I did.”

“I need to marry you, Tony DiNozzo, never mind what my father or anyone else thinks. I need you.”

Mingled determination and grace laid bare to him. Only him. He couldn’t look away. Even as his heartbeat took up, pounding out joy and relief where she rested her elbows, steadying herself by him, shuffling into the shadow of his body.

“I can definitely help you with that.” The promise whispered through his painful grin, into her hair—just as the doorbell chimed.

#tiva #tiva fanfiction #ziva david #blessing fic #tat fic #tony dinozzo #ncis #it's a wonder this came together #since i'm teaching summer school and it's bleeding all my time!

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heatherofthenight · 5 years

Note

Hi I would love that u do my deran/adrian fic idea and that when they‘re young and adrian meets the cody brothers for the first time and they tease deran about adrian being his first friend and the first one come to the house and he get embarrassed or something,they will play together and be rough like always,deran freaks out that adrian will leave him and get scared but he stick around and laugh with them idk but i like your fic so it will make my day if u write it and sorry for my bad English

Hi Nonie,

I’m not sure this is what you had in mind but I hope it hits your spot.

I don’t encourage 7 year olds cursing but I figure Deran grew up hearing the language so he uses it.

Fucking families.

Deran was practically bouncing on his toes and the teacher kept telling him to quit fidgeting. It was embarrassing because if it was one thing Deran could do it was be quiet but today he couldn’t contain his excitement: Today was the day Adrian was coming over to his house after school.

He was excited and worried; he’d never had anyone over before and his brothers would be there. Craig was okay but Baz and Pope might screw things up.

“Deran, if I have to ask you one more time to sit still, I’m going to send you to the principal’s office.” Mrs. Funk’s high voice made her sound like she should be a student in the second-grade class she taught but the look on her face told Deran she meant business. Smurf had a similar look with lips pressed into a line and Deran knew that was his sign to quit fucking around.

His face heated up as the other kids in his class turned and stared at him but he kept his head down. When he finally glanced up, he couldn’t help but look to his right where Adrian was sitting. He made eye contact and was surprised to find Adrian smiling at him.

Adrian was the coolest kid in their class. He could already surf and he was a strong swimmer and he was really smart and funny and Deran even liked the freckles on Adrian’s face.

He had to be careful at home because Pope and Baz liked to tease him about his ‘boy crush.’ Craig was nicer about it, telling Deran it was okay to have a best friend at school, but he still got a goofy grin on his face if Deran talked too much about his friend, Adrian.

Brothers really sucked sometimes; Deran wished Julia was still at home so he could talk to her about having a best friend but Deran knew better than to even mention his sister’s name around the house right now.

The bell finally–finally!–rang and Deran waited at the door for Adrian. His friend was kind of being poky as he got his stuff from the cubby and Deran wanted to tell him to hurry the fuck up but he wanted to play it cool. Adrian wasn’t allowed over at other people’s houses but Craig had somehow talked Adrian’s sister into letting come over today.

Maybe brothers didn’t suck after all.

Adrian finally made it to the door and Deran grabbed his shirt, towing him along. His friend went along with him, laughing as he stumbled along. Adrian was strangely good natured and usually let Deran have his way at school without argument.

They went outside to find the usual procession of soccer moms picking up kids. The sea of minivans was broken up by the God-awful yellow Volkswagen Cabriolet convertible Baz had parked front and center. Craig sat on top of where the convertible folded up and waved as though they wouldn’t spot them. Deran just towed Adrian along.

Baz and Pope completely ignored them as they talked in the front seat but Craig yanked Adrian into the back seat and started talking about surfing. Deran pouted on the way home because Craig was monopolizing his best friend but when they pulled into the driveway, he coaxed Adrian out of the car and dragged him to the pool.

Deran was not happy when not only Craig, but Pope and Baz, followed them to the pool. He showed Adrian inside to the bathroom where he could change into his swim trunks before he grabbed his own from his bedroom and slid into them. He stepped back outside only to be met with his oldest brothers.

“So, it’s a pretty big day for you,” Baz smiled at Deran; he didn’t trust it one little bit.

He grabbed towels, carrying them over to some lounge chairs and dropping them. Maybe if he ignored Baz, he’d go away.

“Hey, he’s talking to you,” Pope chimed in. “Is this little pipsqueak like, more important than your brothers?”

Privately Deran thought that was true but he was smart enough not to voice it. If Pope or Baz sensed any weakness in him, they wouldn’t let up until they got to him. At least that’s what Smurf said. Deran was grateful Smurf was away; there’s no way he’d expose Adrian to her.

Baz grabbed his arm and whirled him around. His arm was going to bruise from the force of his brother’s grip but he pressed his mouth into a straight line and stared back at Baz.

Adrian emerged from the house with Craig close behind him. “Hey, thanks for letting me come over. This looks like a great pool.” His words were aimed at all of the Codys but his smile was just for Deran.

Pope rolled his eyes but Baz got that look in his eyes. “Oh yeah, the pool is great.” As soon as Adrian walked up, Baz grabbed him around him the middle, carried him over to the edge, and dropped him into the water.

His friend emerged from the water, bobbing on the surface, shock on his pale face.

Craig shoved Baz. “What the fuck, man?”

Baz just smiled. “He’s got to be tough if he’s going to hang out here.”

Deran turned his attention back to Adrian who treaded water. His friend bit his lip and looked like he might cry but then he tipped his head back and laughed. It was a sound of pure enjoyment, a laugh similar to Julia’s when she wasn’t being moody.

Pope whipped his head around scowling at Adrian. He stepped to the edge of the pool and he looked like he was going to jump in and give his friend a dunking or something. Deran clenched his fists so hard he could feel his nails digging into his palms.

What if Adrian hated it here and decided he didn’t want to spend time with Deran anymore because of his stupid brothers?

What if his brothers hurt his friend?

Adrian slid beneath the surface, only to launch himself upward into the air before diving headfirst beneath the water. He disappeared from view again although Deran could see bubbles on the surface moving across the pool.

“Did he just do a fucking dolphin dive?” Pope didn’t sound angry; more like shocked.

Deran stepped up next Pope. “I told you he likes to swim.”

Craig got between Baz and the pool, screening his view from Adrian. Even though Craig was only 12, he was already taller than his brothers who were four years older.

Adrian’s head poked above the surface on the other side of the pool and he laughed. That seemed to break up the scary atmosphere.

Pope turned away, heading back toward the house, bumping his shoulder into Baz’s. Both guys went into the house leaving Craig, Deran and Adrian outside.

Craig looked at Deran and then at Adrian who hung onto the far side of the pool, smiling. “Whoa, that was intense.”

Deran fidgeted in place. “Do you think it’s safe?” He kept his voice low because he didn’t want Adrian to hear him.

“Oh, yeah, I think Pope likes Adrian.” Craig took a running start and did a cannon ball, splashing water all over the place, including onto Deran.

His heart still pumped hard in his chest but Deran wanted to hang out with his friend. This could be the last time Adrian came over.

Or talked to Deran.

His fucking family.

Except Craig. Although Craig was dunking his friend beneath the water. Fortunately, Adrian found it funny and laughed in his face before slipping away like an eel.

Deran shrugged before diving into the pool. He just wanted to have some fun.

-0-

Later that evening, after Adrian had gone home saying he’d had a blast and wanted to do it again, someone dropped by the house. The intercom on the gate buzzed and Craig stepped outside to get a quick look.

“Who the fuck drives a station wagon?” Craig scratched the back of his neck.

“Why don’t you go outside and find out, fart-knocker?” Baz rolled his eyes as he went into the kitchen.

Deran squared his shoulders. “I’ll go with you.”

Craig didn’t look thrilled but he nodded.

They stepped outside and Craig was right; it was one of those wood panel station wagons. Holy shit, it was Adrian!

“Holy shit, that’s Jess Dolan.” Craig sounded worried.

This was Adrian’s sister? She got out of the wagon and glided over, Adrian at her back. She had long blond hair and freckles and looked a lot like her brother. She had to be 9 years older than Adrian since she could drive but she only had a few inches on him.

“Craig Cody, I thought you said you’d watch over Adrian if I let him come over. What the hell happened to my little brother?” She might be tiny but she was feisty as she glared at Craig.

“Jess, I’m fine.” Adrian grabbed her arm.

She shook him off, folding her arms, huffing. “You’re bruised around your waist! That’s not fine.”

Shit. That’s where Baz had grabbed Adrian when he’d dumped him into the pool.

“Jesus, Jess, would you chill? We were just rough housing.” Adrian got between Craig and his sister. Deran wasn’t sure but he thought Adrian rolled his eyes at her.

These Dolans were badasses. Jess wasn’t backing down from the much bigger Craig and Adrian was staring her down.

“Come on, Jess, let’s go home.” Adrian grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the car.

She relented although she turned around and pointed a finger at Craig. “If something happens to my brother, you’ll have to deal with me.” She turned her attention to Deran. “You, too, short stuff.”

Adrian tugged her along although he turned around and mouthed I’m sorry before he shoved his sister into the driver’s seat.

The wagon rocketed off in a plume of smoke.

Deran looked at Craig; Craig looked back, his face blank.

His brother finally cleared his throat. “I guess Adrian can handle himself.”

Biting his lip, Deran stifled the urge to laugh. He supposed if Adrian was used to dealing with that then he could hold his own with Deran’s brothers.

Although Deran would be on his guard the next time he invited Adrian over.

Both because of his older brothers and Adrian’s sister.

Fucking families.

Finis

#deran and adrian #kidficlet #bamf jess dolan #craig cody #pope cody #baz #deran cody #adrian dolan

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gillytweed · 6 years

Text

Synecdoche Chapter 1

After basically a year, here it is. My unfinished Clexa shit. I am a trash person.

To be 100% clear, while I have quite a few of these chapters on backlog from literal years ago, these won’t ever be finished. I haven’t changed much beyond some mild editing, so enjoy my writing from way back when I was a fetus writer in 2016.

This one specifically takes place in an ABO universe (although it doesn’t focus on boning, so idk what that says), if that isn’t your cup of tea just move along please.

She coughed harshly as she pulled herself out of the pod. Smoke had billowed out from under the control panel, filling the cockpit with an acrid, choking smog. She stumbled from her seat, foot catching on the pods edge, sending her sprawling on the forest floor. Everything was so bright, the harsh light and glaring colours assaulted her senses. She felt the strong urge to sleep, to rest for a moment and let the aches of the descent ease away, but she still had duties to fulfill and a mission to complete.

Pushing herself onto her hands and knees, her muscles felt weak and shaky. She coughed, gagging as stomach acid and bile filled her mouth. Heaving for a few moments, she let her head hang, pressing her forehead to the cool metal of the vitals sensor around her wrist. A pounding beat took up residence in her temples. They’d warned her about the effects reentry might have on her, but she hadn’t thought they would be so bad. She was an Alpha, a strong Alpha at that. It seemed she needed to tone down her arrogance.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted to ten, breathing deeply with hopes that her churning stomach would settle. Slowly, the pounding in her head eased, and the threat of her stomach rebelling lessened. Breathing a sigh, she allowed herself a small smile. She was on the ground. With dirt and grass under her feet and the clean, non recycled air tasting sweeter than anything she’d ever experienced.

Pushing herself up, she sat on her heels, blinking away the harsh spots that dotted her vision. She stretched out the stiffness in her shoulders, groaning in pleasure when several satisfying pops sounded.

It was time to get to work.

Stumbling to her feet, she took stock of herself. Ensuring there were no rips or tears in her uniform, that her gun and knife were still strapped securely to her waist. The padded knees of her pants had been scuffed, but nothing that particularly warranted worry. Taking another steadying breath, she pulled her hair back into a messy blonde tail before tying it off. She was much too tired and sore to try and look particularly presentable at the moment. Rolling her neck to stretch out the last of the kinks, she made her way carefully to the pod.

The vessel had six visible compartments plus the cockpit, each a closed glass bubble fogged over with condensation. Sighing, she rubbed one of the pods with her sleeve, revealing a sleeping, dark haired girl. A patch on the breast of her uniform read ‘Reyes.’ The blonde smiled, relieved that the other girl looked uninjured.

Before she could move on to the next pod, a banging caught her attention. The sound echoed from the back of the ship, frantic and loud. She pulled out her knife, gripping it tightly as she stalked low around to the back. The metal of the ship was still warm to the touch, but had cooled significantly, allowing her to press up against the hull. As she drew nearer, the sounds of yelling and coughing were added to the banging of flesh on metal. The door to one of the supply caches moved, the vacuum seal breaking to let out a rush of smoke.

Eyes widening in shock, she flung open the door, stepping back with her knife at the ready. Smoke streamed from the opening, and a pair of hands flailed, scrabbling to find purchase on the doors edge. Clarke stepped back, brow furrowed in confusion, as a body tumbled out, coughing and whimpering.

The body was a small slip of a girl, thin and gangly, dressed in a tattered tank top and pants much too big for her frame. The girl coughed and retched on her knees, much as Clarke had done earlier. She circled warily, the urge to help and the need to be cautious battling within her mind. The mission was to only have seven people, and, seeing as this girl had come from a supply cache and not a proper pod, she was undoubtedly a stowaway.

“Bellamy?” The girl whimpered, blinking against the harshness of the natural light. Clarke stiffened, a shock of anger going through her. The girl did look rather similar. She shook her head, suppressing her irritation. The girl didn’t deserve her anger, but Bellamy would definitely hear from her later. Stepping forward, she grabbed the girl under an arm, knife still in hand, and pushed her against the pods slowly cooling metal.

“Who are you?” The girl cried out at the sudden rough treatment, still disoriented from the descent from the Ark. Clarke felt her eyes widen as the sweet scent of an Omega filled her nose. Omega’s were few and far between on the Ark, and she knew every single one of them, being the daughter of the Head Doctor. She knew that she’d never seen this particular Omega before in her life because all the Omegas on the Ark were at least middle age.

The sharp scent of distress and pain filling her nose broke her from her shock. Her Alpha roared protectively as she sheathed her knife quickly, and bundled the girl into her arms. Even if she wasn’t supposed to be there, the girl was still one of her people and deserved her protection and help.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. The girl smelled far too much like Bellamy for them not to be related, and she was much too old to be his daughter. It must have taken some serious bribing and trickery to get his sister in the ship along with himself. But she had to give him credit. The girl looked to be at least sixteen, and to keep an entire human hidden for that long in the cramped, and generally communal, spaces on the Ark must have taken some serious skill.

The girl in her arms squirmed, attempting to get away all while calling for her brother. Clarke held her tightly, wrapping strong arms around a thin waist and chest. She could feel the grooves of ribs through the worn fabric of the tank top, making her frown. This girl was obviously undernourished, most likely due to having to share Bellamy’s single ration, unless he’d managed to steal food somehow.

The Omega’s distress mounted and a flailing elbow knocked Clarke in the face. Wincing, she released a burst of calming pheromones, all while trying to keep her own confusion and shock out of her scent.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Bellamy’s just in the pod over there.” She tried her best to get the wriggling girl under control, all while grimacing at the turn of events. The girl must have expected her brother to find and release her from the cache, not some random Alpha. However, Bellamy hadn’t known about the knockout gas set up in each pod. It had been something the council had put in without informing the rest of the crew, other than her, the commanding officer.

The knockout gas had been deemed a mercy, should something go wrong during re-entry or if the scans about the radiation levels had been inaccurate. It was to make any death they would experience as painless as possible. Clarke wasn’t granted said ‘mercy,’ being the commanding officer and the one responsible for cutting off the gas and waking her crew.

The Omega in her arms eventually began to calm as time passed, allowing Clarke to move them over to the treeline. She eased her way down, back against a tree, and cradled the girl in her lap. She held the girl firmly, a soft, hopefully soothing, purr rumbling in her chest. Slowly, the Omega fully relaxed, slumping against her chest. Clarke breathed a sigh and rested her head against the rough bark. Flicking her eyes down, she sent the girl a small, hopefully reassuring, smile.

“My name is Clarke. What’s yours?” The girl stiffened slightly, eyes going wide before they shot down to her lap. The scent of distress came back in full force as the Omega began shaking. Clarke forced her purr louder, knowing that the girl, who most likely had been told to never reveal who she was on the pain of death, would find the question distressing. To be a second child was rare, but always a death sentence.

While the Omega sat wringing her hands, Clarke kicked her mind into overdrive. There was no use getting angry about the extra passenger. What was done, was done. Now she needed to figure out how to keep everyone alive without jeopardizing the mission. The girl had come from the left side container, the container where most of the water and food rations would have been. Surprisingly, it wouldn’t be the greatest set back in the world. They had water filters designed to filter out radiation along with any harmful bacteria, so water wouldn’t be an issue so long as they found a river or stream relatively soon. There was also at least a day's worth of food for each team member kept within their individual pods, so they wouldn’t start starving straight off the bat. They also had guns and the materials to make animal traps, so, overall, the Omega wasn’t a large inconvenience. A surprise, yes, but not something that could be considered particularly damning.

The Omega continued to shake, curling in on herself, trying to be as small as possible in the Alpha’s lap. Clarke suppressed another sigh, rubbing a gentle hand along the girl’s back. It seemed she needed a new tactic, something that would at least calm her down, if not gain her trust.

“Well, since you don’t seem comfortable giving me your name, I’ll call you O, for Omega. How’s that sound?” Surprisingly, the girl snorted, her stress induced shaking mixing with suppressed laughter. Clarke raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. Laughter, for whatever reason, was better than a stressed Omega ready to bolt. Relaxing a bit more against the tree, she continued to rub the girl’s back.

“Well, I guess O it is.” O nodded, a hand over her mouth as she tried to quiet her giggles. Now, no longer fighting against the girl, Clarke took a better look at her.

She did look a lot like Bellamy. The same hair, the same eyes, similar facial structure. There were a few differences but the relation was obvious. However, O was clearly underfed, and, along with a small trickle of blood running from a cut on her cheek, she looked battered. If she’d been hiding for over a decade, it could be assumed that she’d never been to a doctor, let alone had any tests for genetic illness. She made a mental note to give the girl a physical at the next opportunity, but for now, she needed to get back to the mission.

“I assume Bellamy told you about our mission?” O, her laughter having subsided, ducked her head shyly.

“Sorta. He said we were going to the ground to find a new home.” Clarke smiled. Talking was good. It meant that the girl trusted her enough to actually say something.

“That’s the gist of it, yeah. The Council sent us down ahead of everyone so we could scout around, find a good place for them to set down and build somewhere we can all live without being cramped. It would mean no more rationing, no more strict curfews, no more one child rule.” O nodded stiffly, licking her lips as tension returned to her scent. It seemed the Alpha was correct in assuming she was a second child. She felt a tinge of anger, not because the girl was a second child, but because Bellamy had never thought her trustworthy enough to tell her about his sister.

“Well, wanna help me wake everyone up? I think they’ve gotten enough beautyrest.” The Omega nodded, moving to get up. Once standing, Clarke noticed with surprise that they were the same height. O had seemed so small curled in her lap.

With slow, careful movements, she took O’s hand, giving the girl every chance to object before guiding her over to the ship. Going along each pod, she rubbed away the condensation on the pods glass, revealing each occupant.

“This is Harper. She does tests on stuff to make sure we don’t eat or drink anything that we shouldn’t so we don’t die. She’s also the one who knows all the requirements for a good landing site.” She moved to the next pod, O giggling at her description.

“This is Monty. He’s our communications officer. He’s adorable right?” And the next.

“This is Raven. She’s our mechanic/engineer/ can probably build complex machines out of gum and toothpicks kinda person. Simple explanation, she’s really smart and knows it.” They rounded to the other side of the pod. The blonde couldn’t help but smile as the O stayed close to her back. The thought of the girl trusting her made her Alpha purr.

“These three are basically our indentured servants. They do all the heavy lifting like setting up the tents, moving equipment, etc etc. They’re also the guards who keep us alive, so please don’t tell them I called them servants.” O laughed lightly as they worked together to clear the glass.

“This is Nathan, although we call him Miller. This is Zoe, referred to as Monroe, and I’m pretty sure you’ve met Bellamy.” Letting O’s hand go for a moment, Clarke popped open a panel on the side of the ship, revealing a diagnostics screen and a keypad. Tapping at a few keys, she brought up the settings for the knockout gas.

“So, to wake them up, we first shut off the gas. Like so.” She demonstrated the motions, O watching enraptured. “Then once the system is fully shut off, we pop the hatches so they can breath regular air. To do that we’ll have to climb up and pull the lever in front of the hatch.”

She stepped back, pointing to the red and yellow painted handles. The Omega nodded, looking fascinated by everything she’d been told. Clarke reasoned that if she was hidden for the majority of her life, she probably didn’t have a very diverse education.

Letting O examine the ship as she pleased, the blonde turned to scan the tree line. The ship had landed in a decent sized clearing surrounded by tall trees and thick scrub plants. As she looked around, she figured that the location would make for as good a starting camp as any.

She paused in her observations when movement caught her eye. In a flash, her pistol was in one hand and O was dragged bodily behind her. The Omega squeaked, but for the most part remained silent pressed up against Clarke’s back. She scanned the trees with laser focus, gun sweeping as she did so.

Something had been out there. Something humanoid.

“O, can you climb up and start popping the hatches. I think it would be a good idea to have everyone awake.” She felt the girl nod into her shoulder before moving away, her warmth disappearing as she climbed the side of the ship. Clarke narrowed her eyes, never taking them off the trees and underbrush. She only lowered her weapon when the sounds of vacuum seals releasing and the groans of her crew reached her ears.

a link to Chapter two will be here when it’s available

#my writing #clexa #clarke x lexa #clarke griffin #commander lexa

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authoressskr · 7 years

Text

Engaged in Frivolity

Written for: @mamaredd123 Mama’s 100 Quotes of Supernatural Challenge

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Characters: Reader (Hey, that’s you!), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Gabriel, Balthazar, Mary Winchester (mentioned), Memphis (OFC), Holly (OFC), Mera (OFC)

Quote: “You look like you got attacked by some PCP crazed strippers.” (Bolded below in text)

Warnings: Language, Drinking, Idk…maybe subpar writing and no beta.

Summary: When you get some down time, Gabriel and Balthazar know just how to fill it.

Tagging: @mamaredd123 @lyndsay88 @sdavid09 @thewhiterabbit42

*No posting on other platforms without my permission*

“Come on! Dancing, drinking, mischief - what more could a human want for the autumn equinox? All on a Friday, which will surely lead well into Saturday and/or Sunday. It’s very hard to keep track of time when one is -”

“Hammered?” You supply, putting the book on mass hauntings back on the shelf as you shoot Balthazar a look.

“Engaged in frivolity.”

“Oooh. Frivolity.” Dean mocks as he pushes away from the library table. “I don’t think you should be taking her to a giant party where everyone will mistake her for an entrée.” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up at his brother’s words, but then he gives a little half shrug and nod combo that strengthens your resolve not to go.

On the other hand…

“Oh pluu-ease! Like me and Balthy would let anything happen to our favorite human.” Gabriel held up his forefinger. “Also, Balthazar invited you goons simply to be nice. We don’t want to see you dancing or carousing around with beautiful nymphs, goddesses, demi-gods, spirits - let alone embarrassing me.”

“Us embarrass you?” You snicker at Dean’s words before the thought of super-drunk Dean attempting to shuffle out a dance is suddenly filling your head. You had only seen him do dramatic hand gestures while driving Baby so you weren’t too clear on his actual abilities, but seeing how adamant he was about not dancing - dude was practically the preacher from Footloose - the image just got funnier until you had to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop the unruly giggles. Gabriel just quirks an eyebrow at you before looking at Balthazar with a smirk. They’d promised long ago not to snoop on your thoughts.

You quickly project the image to the angels, watching carefully as Cas’s forehead wrinkled at the awkward dance number you’d conjured up. Dean glares at you and you turn quickly back towards the bookcase, shelving another book on necromancy.

“All I’m saying is it seems like I know how this is gonna pan out. Kinda like Indiana?” Dean brings up the last time they were surrounded by pagan gods, gesturing wide with both his hands and his own raised eyebrows.

“One, Lucifer isn’t hunting you two down. Two, none of the gods - except Kali - survived that night. So no one knows I’m me. And Kali isn’t a party person.”

“Unless it’s in an underground cave over a fiery pit with some glowing stones.” You offer, moving to stand beside Dean who raises his hand for a high five.

“A plus Indy reference.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Gabriel rolls his eyes at the exchange between you two as Balthazar rises from the wingback chair by the liquor cart to stand beside the archangel.

“As I was saying… three, equinoxes and other pagan celebratory dates are usually no-kill instances. The gods eat beforehand and then we party for a few days then, ya know, everything goes back to normal.”

“And we’d be there to watch over her.” Balthazar assures the room, flashing you a big smile.

“Think of it as an autumn weekend in Las Vegas. Except no gambling. Just music, booze, all you can eat desserts, dancing and an occasional wild animal running through the festivities.” Dean’s mouth downturns and he nods, like this has happened to him before and you stare at him bewildered and curious.

“What the hell do you do in Vegas?” Dean chuckles and is about to answer when Sam shakes his shaggy head and assures you that you do not want to know. You turn to Gabriel, who is giving you his version of puppy eyes, goldenrod orbs wide and beckoning. Shit.

“Not the eyes, Gabe.” You sigh out, a small smile worming itself onto your face.

“YES!” He shouts triumphantly. “Don’t worry, sweetness. This is going to be fantastic!”

“No. No. Noooo. No. NO.” Dean turns, taking your shoulders in his grip, meeting your gaze. “Come on, you don’t gotta do this. Don’t succumb to peer pressure.” When you just keep smiling at him he drops his hands, huffing out an irritated breath. “Fine. But we aren’t going to have fun. Me and Sam and Cas are going to watch out for Y/N.”

“Okay.” Gabriel replies brightly.

“Dress to move.” Balthazar orders before gently pushing you towards the archway, his eyes dancing with excitement already.

Ten minutes later, you’re dressed in your best skinny jeans, a loose fitting silky black tank and your trusty old vans, maroon hoodie in hand.

“Is this okay?”

“Isn’t that what you were just wearing?” Cas asks as Dean looks you up and down.

“No.” You look at Gabriel. “Does it look like what I just had on?” Gabe shrugs.

“Looks like you just changed your top, cupcake.”

“Well how am I supposed to know how to dress for an equinox celebration?” Balthazar chuckles at your tone.

“We’ll just let the nymphs, naiads and such dress her once we get there.”

“I still want clothes, Balthazar.”

“And you shall have them, darling.”

“Alrighty!” Gabriel rubs his hands together once Sam returns, his whole face alight. “Does everyone have their exit buddies?!” Balthazar appears beside you, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist. “No fair! She was my exit buddy.”

“Guess you are stuck with Samantha.”

“Boys.” You warn. “Are we going or not?”

When the tug by your belly button and a sharp sense of momentary motion sickness passed, you were on the edge of a huge clearing with towering evergreen trees acting as sentinel guards for the celebration.

“Loki!” A handful of women and men shouted merrily, rushing forward.

“Hiya! Now, sugar cube, this is Memphis. She’ll help dress you more appropriately.” He motions a beautiful woman forward with the most gorgeous black tight black curls, so black it was blue in the starlight.

“Bitchin’ name. Is that because you are the naiad of the river Memphis?”

“Ooh, our dear Trickster has found a smart one. Come on.” Her bright white smile was so welcoming and when she held her hand out, you took it with little hesitation. “See you in a few!”

Memphis led you across the clearing, her mahogany skin - you swear to whatever gods are in the clearing - is giving off this soft glow that you can’t help but be draw to. You fully understood the lure of naiads, nymphs and others now. You would gladly camp out by her river to hope to catch a glimpse again. She stopped abruptly in front of a white and blue fabric tent, pulling a white panel back.

“Go ahead.” She encourages you with a nod, letting you ease into the tent. “Loki didn’t mention your name.” She utters as she heads to the far side of the brightly lit tent, shooting you a reassuring smile.

“It’s Y/N.” You answer, looking at the scraps - emphasis on scraps - of fabric she was picking up and examining on a long table. A loud bout of giggles erupted from behind an opaque blue panel before a tiny woman stepped into the main room, her bright peridot eyes taking you in as if you were the most interesting thing she’d encountered in the last century or so.

“Y/N, this is Holly. She’s a Gaelic pixie. Y/N is Loki’s wife.”

“Oh, no - uh, Loki and I - uh, we aren’t married.” Memphis looks from the tiny yellow band of fabric to you.

“She just assumed cause you smell like him and you are wearing his favors.” The petite brunette points to the bracelet and then to the necklace you wore. “So, the dark haired one in the coat? He single?” Her accent is soft and alluring as she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yes. And awkward.”

“Just how I like ‘em! Ooh, darlin’ I like you. So, Memp, what are we doin’ to her?”

“Dressing her more for the festivities.”

“I love me a sexy makeover! I’ll help.” Memphis rolls her sand colored eyes good-naturedly before holding up a soft pink halter top that looked like something from a pirate film. “Look at her face! Dontcha wear pink out there, with the other humans?” You shake your head no before shuffling from one foot to the other nervously.

“And I’d like it to cover my stomach.” Both women stop to stare at you, perplexed.

“All women’s shapes and sizes, colors and creeds are beautiful.” Memphis’s words feel like a soft spoken battle cry.

“I know. I know! And I totally am all for that. But, uh…”

“She’s self-conscious, not lookin’ fer a lecture.”

“No, no! It’s fine! Just wanted to give you a basis, ya know?”

“We will cover where you have asked but other areas must now compensate for that.” Memphis’s smooth voice is full of promise and you realize it’s like bargaining with Gabe. Damnit. A look at Holly tells you how much trouble you’re in when she holds up a dark green tank top with a pair of black stretchy shorts with golden thread. So screwed. So very, very screwed.

—

Dean is watching the tent like a hawk, nodding at Sam’s ramblings but not paying attention. Which they both know.

“We’re so boned. Uber-boned.” Gabriel mutters to Balthazar as a gaggle of women approach. Dean’s head snaps to the group, Sam stopping mid-sentence to watch.

They part, revealing Memphis and Holly, who step forward with giant, knowing smiles plastered on their gorgeous faces. The paused a second, relishing the wait before stepping to the side to reveal Y/N.

All five men’s jaws dropped.

The dark green tank scooped low to reveal a healthy amount of décolletage, while the black short shorts revealed her smooth, long legs. Her hair is decorated with purple myrtle flowers and baby’s breath woven throughout and she is smiling nervously at the ground. When her eyes did flicker up, darting from Dean to Sam to Cas, finally pausing on Balthazar before meeting Gabriel’s gaze.

“So, uh, what do we do now?” Y/N asks brightly, before Memphis leans forward to whisper something then glides away towards a small group of dancers.

“Drink!” Holly shout triumphantly, dragging her towards a few giant wine barrels while the men all still stared.

“You can keep repeating ‘She’s a little sister to me’ all you want, Sam. Isn’t going to change much.” Balthazar teases, taking a healthy sip from his whiskey.

“Don’t read my mind.” Sam hisses, his cheeks a faint pink.

“You’re projecting.” Cas replies easily, moving from their group to join Y/N, Balthazar right behind him.

“What’re we drinking ladies?” Balthazar questions, a bright mischievous smile spread out on his face.

—

Four hours, two cups of mead and half a dozen jello shots later, you are feeling awesome. Whoever organized this knew their music, weaving lilting tunes that fireflies bobbed in time with to Journey to EDM then back to those intoxicating songs of old.

Memphis, Holly, and an apsaras (A Cambodian dance nymph) named Mera all guided you around the open space, dancing as you all saw fit, following whichever beat called to you. You knew the boys were still around, they stopped you ever so often to make sure you nibbled at something or drank some water - okay that was mostly Sam and Cas - but you didn’t want to stop dancing. So, you would worm your way out of wherever they happened to be sat - table, mound of cushions, giant plush couch - and rejoin the dancing group, relishing in the feeling of letting go.

The world of hunting was draining. Find monster, stop it from killing more people, kill monster, repeat. Very little down time, long days and nights of research, travel, crap motel rooms, and crap food.

But tonight, oh tonight, you could be free. At least for a little while. To dance and drink and eat, watching the tree tops sway along gently when a softer song echoed out and then blur as a faster song came on, letting the nymphs and deities twirl you around.

No matter where you went though, you could always feel them.

Those honey colored eyes that chased you around also provided you with the safety you only felt in his presence.

You shook your head to clear any of those thought away. Gabriel was Gabriel. And you were human; small, temporary, boring. But now wasn’t the time to think about that! Now was the time to shake, roll, shimmy, sway, twirl and leap away all the burdens you had been carrying around since you were 19 years old.

Holly cupped your face in her hands, almost sensing your overthinking, rubbing her nose against your own before releasing you with a loud drunken giggle and flitting off towards a tall blonde man who was wearing a blue sparkly speedo.

It was nearly an hour later before your legs were screaming for a break that you stumbled over to where Gabriel was lounging in the middle of an array of dark red plush cushions, Cas sat beside him at a little table lining up shots to outdo Balthazar.

“She returns!” Balthazar calls out merrily before you ease yourself down onto a pillow between the three angels. Your grin is wide before you look over your shoulder to Gabriel.

“What do you have?” Gabriel moves the cup from your reach.

“No, no, no, no, no, little cumquat. This isn’t for you. You’re proving to be a lightweight.” Gabriel tuts at you before taking a sip and moving it once again from your reach.

“You said I could have a good time. That should mean you share. And I’m not a lightweight, I am pacing myself!” Balthazar snickers behind you as he finishes his line of shots.

“Y/N does not have the alcohol tolerance that Dean does. Do not give her -” But you had launched yourself at Gabriel, straddling his chest in order to reach the cup he held aloft.

“Sugar.” Gabriel growled, the feeling reverberating through your thighs and core as the sweet liquid passed over your lips. The world shifted inhumanly fast, you blinked and suddenly you were sitting where Gabriel had just been with him kneeling beside you, his fingertips digging slightly into your left thigh. His touch lightened, just resting there against your skin. His free hand snapped fingers before your eyes, yanking you from the nice floaty place you were descending into.

“Huh?”

“I said, that was made to waste gods. Your pretty little mortal self isn’t made for it, cupcake.”

“Humm. But I feel reaaaally nice now.” You move to rise, but your limbs aren’t quite cooperating now. Balthazar snorts into his drink, trying to hide his laughter as Cas leans over to place two fingers against your forehead to heal you. The foggy, floating feeling disappears and you’re both relieved and upset. Dean is suddenly in your bubble, his handsome face so close to your own.

“Are you alright? Is she alright?” His hand is on the back of your neck, tilting it back so he can look in your eyes.

“She’s fine. She was warned not to drink from my cup, but she did it anyways. Toasted her in a handful of milliseconds.” Gabriel knocks Dean’s hands away, helping you up before swatting your ass playfully. “Get back out there!” You stick your tongue out but turn and run into Memphis’s arms, letting her draw you back into the ever-growing dance group.

—

By the early morning hours, the rising sun filtering through the dense trees surrounding the clearing, Gabriel’s favorite human was so beyond drunk it wasn’t funny. Well that wasn’t exactly true, he thought it was hilarious. Dean and Sam were sitting slumped slightly at the table Cas and Balthazar had occupied earlier when Y/N came bouncing up, looking good enough to eat. Her eyes were glassy and her smile was easy, with something just behind it he couldn’t place immediately. She tossed her sexy, scantily clad body down face-first onto the pile of cushions, before propping herself up on her elbows, looking up at the Winchesters.

“Tired?” She sighed the question, before rolling onto her back and letting her eyes flutter closed, one hand flung up by her head, fingertips brushing against his knee.

“Yes, I need my four hours.” Dean muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Sam nodded his agreement, before smiling down at your relaxed form.

“Mmmhmm. I’m sure that Cas or Balthazar would drop you back at the bunker.”

“We aren’t leaving you.”

“Loki and Balthazar, maybe Cas if Holly has her way, will be here to watch after me.”

“Breakfast!” Mera calls, appearing beside you to drag you up from the cushy resting place and over to a massive dark wood table laden with every sort of breakfast food anyone could imagine. Gabriel looked from where Mera dragged you to Dean and Sam, Cas appearing beside him.

“Your mother has found a pair of poltergeists a few towns over. She asked if you would help.” Dean reluctantly nods, rising in tandem with his brother. “Ga-Loki and Balthazar are more than capable of watching over Y/N.” Dean pulls a face before pointing at Gabe.

“If anything happens to her -”

“She’s my favorite human. I’m not going to let anything happen to her, you asshat.” He sassed, rolling his eyes as Cas clapped a hand onto each brother’s shoulder and disappeared.

“Thank whoever that they’re gone. They were really killing the mood.”

“That seems to be a Winchester superpower.” He watches as you sit cross-legged on the pillow, popping a grape into your mouth as one of the Sumerian demi-goddesses add a few small braids to your hair, entwining more purple myrtle flowers into the strands.

“I’m more than a little surprised you didn’t smite Sam or Dean with all those projected thoughts.”

If they would have made a move, I would have. Balthazar nods at his brother’s words.

You should just tell her.

Tell her what?

Really, Gabriel? That you want to screw her over any available surface. Give her more expensive gifts. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Preferably while thrusting into her as hard as her little human body can handle. Gabriel didn’t answer, but shot his little brother a scathing look before Y/N joined them.

“Nap?” She asked with a sleepy smile, her eyes clearer but tired.

“Come to my parlor.” Balthazar quoted, gesturing at the small dark green tent a few dozen feet away. Y/N padded after Balthazar, Gabriel’s hand a whispered touch at her back. She stretched tall and let out a heavy sigh, seeing the plush mattress on the floor with silky gray sheets, missing the deep breath that Gabriel sucked in.

“Go ahead, sweet pea.” Gabriel watched as she dragged herself to the left side of the bed, pulling the covers back before slipping under. A little contented moan left her lips before she closed her eyes and smiled wide at the two of them.

“You know,” She yawned and shuffled down more in the bed, “They all think I’m your girlfriend. Or wife. Some things get lost in translation. One of the sprites told me these,” She waves her left arm, the gold bracelet he’d given her nearly seven months ago sliding up and down her wrist as she yawns again. “Are like a declaration. Is that -” Another yawn. “Is that why you said I should wear them often? So you could keep track and no one would hurt me?” She hasn’t opened her eyes this entire time, sleep tugging harder at her subconscious.

“Yeah, sweetness, it’s to keep you as safe as possible.”

“Mmmm. So pretty.” Neither angel knows what she’s saying is so pretty, but it’s the last words she gets out before sleep consumes her.

—

By the time Sam, Dean, Mary and Cas finish with the poltergiests - Jesus, that took forever - and return to the Bunker, Dean is sleepy, bruised and on-edge. Y/N had texted nearly seven hours before, saying she’d woken up and she hoped the hunt was going well and a “No need to worry, Mom. I’m having fun at camp.” All three hunters showered and ate, Mary heading off to bed while Sam sat with his laptop in front of him while Dean nursed his second beer and waited like the overprotective dad of a teenager. Cas joined them a few hours later, informing the brothers that they should be prepared to wait. Gabriel and Balthazar were in no hurry now that Y/N was enjoying herself.

Sunday passed with a few texts from Y/N, none of which mentioned what time she’d be coming home, which just frustrated Dean further, sending the elder Winchester brother to the gun range a couple times that day.

Monday, three am.

That’s when Balthazar and Gabriel appeared, each with an arm around Y/N.

”You look like you got attacked by some PCP crazed strippers.” Dean snorted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips minutely. Y/N pulled her arm from around Balthazar’s shoulder, a big, bright, drunken smile plastered on her face.

“Dean! Dean! Sam! Cassiiiiie! Happy Autumn!” She leaned more into Gabriel as she wobbles slightly. “I celebrated the equinox! Hard. Like, real hard. We switched from the pretty flowers to leaves!” She gestured to her hair, the red and orange leaves mixed into the yellow-green ivy tangled in her hair. “You missed - Gabriel, he got me some apple mead - it was delirious.”

“Delicious.” Sam corrected, chuckling at the carefree air around her.

“That’s what I said, Sam. And then they body painted me in red and gold, but Holly said I needed more colors. So then we were,” She starts giggling uncontrollably. “We were - uhh, we were throwing the paint powder stuff at each other like it was Holi!”

“Like what was holy?” Dean asks, looking at the grinning angels for help.

“Not holy!” She waved her free hand at Balthazar first then Gabriel. “Holi, with an I. The Hindu spring festival of colors and love?” She looked at Gabriel, her little eye roll at Dean forgotten, pulling her arm away from him, reaching for something just behind his shoulder. “They’re so pretty. Always want to tell you. Almost match my bracelet and gold body dust - uh powder. Paint. Stuff.” Gabriel had time to tilt his head before her fingers slipped into his feathers, before she mumbled “So pretty” once more before slumping forward into his arms, her hand sliding down the rest of his plumage.

“Holy shit.” Balthazar breaths out, looking at the passed out girl wrapped tightly in Gabriel’s arms. “Your fake wife is your mate.” Gabriel just grins, adjusting Y/N so he held her bridal style, before heading for her bedroom at a leisurely pace, whistling lightly.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Dean hollers after the archangel before exchanging a look with Sam.

“That’s a pretty short list, Dean.”

“Shut up.”

—

Gabriel settled you into bed, snapping to clean you up and change you into pajamas before tucking the blankets in.

“Don’t go.” Y/N whispered, freeing her arm from the covers to grasp his forearm.

“Oh ho. You aren’t getting rid of me now, sweet cheeks.” He shrugged off his jacket, toed off his shoes and slipped into bed. She slid closer, moving her head to rest on his chest while his arm wrapped around her tightly. Gabriel sighed contentedly before dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

“Good. I am, after all, your fake wife and mate.”

“We’ll talk about it when your sober.” Gabriel chuckles.

“Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“When’s the next equinox?”

The four men in the Bunker could hear Gabriel’s laughter echoing down the hallway.

#mamaredd123 #mama's 100 quotes challenge #Gabriel x reader #Gabriel x you #archangel x reader #the archangel gabriel #reader insert #Supernatural #spn #spn fanfiction #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #balthazar #mary winchester #authoressskr writes

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dunbarimagines · 7 years

Text

Assassin (Stiles Stilinski)

Ummm idk if anon wanted the same seeing color idea as Scott, but I love that, so i just went with it // I haven’t written in a while, so I decided to get this out for you guys// enjoy!! I’ve never written an AU, so let me know if you like it x

warnings: a few words

ps. I am writing for the first time without first person POV !! (so many new things with this lol)

pps. this is a normal world they live in, no supernatural creatures

You are sitting on your couch with the glass-panelled door to the balcony open, the breeze shifting the thin white curtain and pushing the hair against your cheekbone back and over your shoulder. You let your eyelids flutter closed and put the cigarette to your blush lips, taking a long drag. With the high level of stress your job puts on your shoulders and in your heart, this seems to be the only relief. Well, this and tequila.

You let your mind wander and as you are finally drifting off, head against your silk throw, there is a single ring of your flip phone that abruptly ends. Knowing what is coming next, you sit up and wait for the phone to ring again. The second it does, you answer and recite a series of numbers that you know better than the back of your hand. When you finish, a gruff voice on the other end lays out coordinates and you hang up without another word, recognizing them as the public library only a few blocks from your apartment. You unlock the small metal safe in the kitchen and grab your gun, slipping it into the waistband of your pants, tucked under your top. Then you lift your arms and shrug on a double holster that holds your hunting knives. To conceal this, you put a jacket on and head out the door in a hurry. Better safe than sorry.

When you arrive, you immediately notice a book in the display case. The reason it stands out is that the title is a codeword your boss uses to signify a new target. You slide the glass open and grab the book, slipping it under your arm and heading out. You don’t risk opening it until you are back in the safety of your building and once you sit, you pull out the file from between the pages and spread it over your coffee table to assess your next target. The name is impossible to pronounce, but the nickname sticks.

Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.

It has been about a week since you acquired Stiles’s file and you have been trailing him; trying to learn his schedule, habits, who he is friends with and who his enemies are. This is the way you always operate. This is how you keep yourself in check - by understanding who they are and how they live before you end their lives. You never want to forget that these are people, no matter how evil or for what reason they have a target on their back. They have families, friends, lives. Still, it is your job to end all of that, to end them and today is that day for Stiles.

You have set up your intel and weapons in an empty house across the street. It is a lot less suspicious than being parked in a car and from the upstairs window, you can get a good vantage point to take your shot.

While you wait for him to come outside, you review everything you know. He has two children with his wife, his soulmate. Her name is Lydia and she works as a principal at the local elementary school both the children attend. This leaves Stiles alone for a good chunk of the day. He mostly putts around doing nothing in particular, but sometimes he sits down at his computer and writes. A man you assume is his best friend, Scott McCall, has been around a few times with his daughter Allison to play and chat. You have tapped his home phone. You also cloned his cell and learned he is supposed to go out for drinks to catch up with someone named Liam Dunbar. This only leaves you a few hours to get everything together and packed before he is supposed to leave, so after the deed is done, you can slip away, undetected. You clean and assemble your sniper rifle, pack your other instruments in a duffle bag and set it by the front door to make a quick escape.

There is one thing you didn’t account for when you first opened that library book and it has been bothering you for the past few days. You didn’t see what was so bad about Stiles. You were a generally cold and unempathetic person, hence the job choice, but you still found it troubling that you were ending this man’s life. Because of this, you had tried extremely hard to keep as much distance between you both as was possible, while still watching his every move. Hell, the only reason you knew what he looked like was because of the candid photo clipped to the front inside of the folder. Even with that, you were left mostly in the dark since every aspect of his face and body was black and white. Not so surprisingly, you hadn’t found the person who would spark a colorful world, which you suppose is a good thing. You didn’t have the time or the emotional capacity to be attached to another for love and companionship. You had been on your own since you were a young child and growing up hadn’t changed that.

You shook your head and your train of thought was interrupted as Stiles left his house. He was early. Shit, you though. Your deadline was coming and you had to wrap this case up and move on or your boss wouldn’t be too happy. Without thinking about the consequences or the fact that Stiles would recognize the mark of a bullet, you fired shots at his two back tires, so he would have no way to leave. He immediately ducked and swung a hand up to cover his head and neck, scrambling back into the house. Double shit.

You threw down your rifle and grabbed a lighter, more compact weapon and flew the door open, running across the street and barreling his door down. Following the sound of hyperventilating and quick whispers, you silently snuck into his room and saw he was on the phone. You kicked his hand and the phone flew into the air and landed by your boot. He didn’t turn around, a tactic he learned from his father to keep the assailant calm, so you kept the gun trained on his head and looked at the phone. 911.

“Alright, don’t make this hard.” You grabbed his shoulder and put the gun to his temple. “Slowly make your way to the living room. This will be painless and clean. I promise you that much.” You stop yourself from saying anything more, confused as to why you were comforting him. You were hired to kill him, for Christ’s sake.

“Oh, jeez. Thanks. I’m glad you, a CRIMINAL, are making sure I am comfortable. You’re a real saint.” This guy really had a mouth on him. Quite unexpected of someone with a Smith & Wesson pressed to his head.

“Shut your mouth and keep moving.” As you were shoving him forward, you glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and saw he is supposed to meet his friend in 15 minutes. Too bad he won’t be keeping that promise. As you turned your attention back to Stiles, you saw a quick movement of his hand and put your forearm up just in time. Pain shot from your wrist to your shoulder that felt like you were the one being held at gunpoint. You let out a grunt as you saw his figure leaving the room and attempting to exit through the back patio door.

“Not on my fucking watch.” With your jaw tense, you ran after him and jumped on his back, knocking him into the dining room table and crashing to the floor. He was on his stomach, squirming and flailing in order to shake you from your position on top of him. To get him to stop, you pulled a small knife from the bottom of your shoe and poked the middle of his back and quietly threatened to push it far enough to cause more pain than imaginable without killing him. He immediately stilled. “Stiles, this is going to be painless if you cooperate. Keep in mind, I am trained to torture. Is that really the way you want to go? Think about your family, your soulmate Lydia. Your children.”

He opened his mouth, “Lydia isn’t my-” You pushed the knife further and he let out a small whimper and laid his head on the carpet, eyes closed in defeat. Your shoulders sank, tired from the unexpected outburst and you shifted, so he could turn on his back.

He kept his eyes closed and a few tears escaped, wetting his long dark lashes. Your first close look at Stiles left you a little breathless. He was beautiful. You cleared my throat and put your metaphorical professional mask on as you got ready to do what you were here to do, what you were getting paid to do.

“Open your eyes and face me. Die with honor.” His lids fluttered and finally opened to reveal the most beautiful whiskey eyes I had ever seen. Scratch that. The first. Your breath caught in your throat and tears filled your eyes in wonder at everything you were seeing. The light green paint on the walls, the rosy tint of Stiles’s cheeks, the ruby red shade you had painted your nails yesterday when you were bored waiting for someone to get home. Everything was more incredible than you had imagined and it was all due to…

Stiles.

You looked down at him and he had the expression you imagine mirrored your own. Disbelief clouded your thoughts and for a second, you forgot that you were hired to kill this man. Thinking of the opportunities you had throughout the past days where you could have ended his life and you waited until now. It is a miracle the both of you met. You could have killed him from the window across the street and never have known that he was the one you were meant to be with.

You both were broken out of the trance by the sound of a car door slamming and muffled voices heading towards the house. You looked at Stiles and a tear escaped, running down your neck. You leaned to the side and wrapped your fingers around the grip of your gun. Raising it above your head, you swiped your thumb across Stiles’s cheekbone to wipe away some tears and swung down, the butt hitting his forehead and knocking him out. You winced at how painful it was for you to do, but you knew you had to. You placed a kiss on each of his eyelids and jumped up, quickly messing some of the items in the room to stage a robbery. You heard a key slide into the lock and you silently left the room, slipping out the back door and into the woods lining the back of their yard.

Once in deep enough, you turned around and watched, wishing you could go back. As Lydia began to frantically understand the scene in front of her, rushing to her husband’s aid, you broke down for the first time in years.

Your stoic facade crumbled as you understood you could never come back here. Stiles would be safer this way. You didn’t know what you’d tell your boss, but you knew that this was the best option. You fell to your knees and buried your head in your hands as you felt your heart break.

this was longer than expected, but I loved writing such a badass character // third person POV was hard omg, i kept reverting back to “I” and “me”, so editing was a helluva ride hahaha

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinksi imagine #teen wolf imagines #Scott mccall #Lydia Martin

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samjooncreations · 7 years

Text

Scent Of You

Namjoon x OC

Description: the allure of a scent can draw people toward what they desire most. Sexy Fluff if thats a thing. Kinda like the gif.

Rating: PG13 (some sexual content but…idk not M. haha)

Words: 2667

Namjoon was on the hunt for the perfect gift. What could he get you that would make it clear you were the only one for him? That no matter the distance, when he came home, he was all yours. He knew you would say he didn’t need to get you anything, but he knew you also secretly liked the small little gifts, no matter what they were.

Scouring up and down the busy streets, nothing was catching his eye. He was ready to give up, planning to sadly show up empty handed to your apartment begging for forgiveness for not only being late, but not having anything to show for it. He turned down an empty alleyway to take a shortcut to the station, when he realized there wasn’t the the same hustle and bustle as other streets. He lifted his head from its hooded shell to see it looked abandoned.

The street was so desolate, but in the far corner he saw a small, dimly lit shop sign swaying in the wind. Looking around to make sure no one was watching him, he pulled his mask down under his chin, and made his way towards the store.

“Placé. Bo. Parfume”

He read the sign intrigued, and pulled open the door.

Inside was relatively bare. The walls were light wood paneling, narrow, short, shelves were lined with glass bottles all different shapes and sizes, holding liquids of different hues. For a perfume shop, the place lacked the usual, eye watering, cough inducing, overpowering mix of scents. When he walked further in, an older woman lifted her head from reading behind the counter, to greet him with a bright smile.

“Hello young man, what can I help you find today?” she stood to help him.

“Oh…um…I’m looking for something to get my girlfriend,” he explained nervously.

“Of course, for any reason in particular? Anniversary? Birthday?” She walked one of the lines of bottles.

“Well…um…”

“Ah…one of those kinds of gifts,” she nodded, understanding exactly what it was he was trying to say, “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it that you need to apologize for?”

“It’s complicated,” it really wasn’t something he wanted to discuss with a total stranger.

“I understand, however it would help me help you find the right fragrance. Sometimes what you did can’t be solved by a pretty gift,” she gave him a once over, and he realized what she was trying to imply.

“I would never cheat on her if that’s what you’re thinking! My work requires me to be gone for long periods of time. And when I do get to be home, it’s only for one or two nights before I’m off again. I know she is feeling lonely and to be honest, even in the crowds of people I’m with, I feel just as lonely as if I was in fact alone because she’s not there,” his heart filled with ache as he thought about being away from you. How all he wanted was for you to be by his side.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment. I’m sorry for making the assumption,” she bowed in apology and started to pull things off the shelves, “Alright, tell me things about her.”

“Like what?” He walked over to try and take mental notes of what the woman was doing.

“What’s she like when she’s happy? When she’s sad? Mad?”

“She shows her emotions. She’s never afraid to say how she feels. When she’s mad she will scream, when she’s upset she will cry, and when she’s happy the whole world gets brighter. She makes one feel the way she feels. No matter how strongly you want to fight it, it’s impossible,” he laughed thinking about everything you had been through in the last year and a half.

“I think I know just the mix. Give me a few minutes and I will have the perfect gift for your girlfriend,” she walked away, to the backroom and he was left alone.

His phone buzzed. Grabbing it quickly he saw you were texting him and it was definitely not a happy tone.

Where are you?! You were supposed to be here a half hour ago? Did you get caught up in another meeting with the boys? If so, please just let me know.

Sighing, feeling his guilt sink his stomach even more, he replied.

I’m not with the boys. I’ll be there in 20 min. Sorry.

No response after that. He knew exactly what that meant. You were pissed and this bottle of special perfume was definitely not going to do the trick.

The woman walked out after only about five minutes and had a gorgeously decorated box she placed on the counter.

“It’s all done,” she smiled, “It is a perfect blend to have a one of a kind scent for your lovey lady. This will help her de-stress and remind her of you every time she puts in so she will feel less alone. And when you smell her wearing it, your heart will fill knowing how much she cares about you.”

“Thank you ma’am. I hope it works,” he went to hand her the credit card and she pushed it back toward him. He squinted baffled at her unwillingness to let him pay.

“It’s my way of apologizing for assuming the worst of a male idol such as yourself,” she bowed continuing to push the card back towards him.

“Ma’am-“

“No. I refuse to take your money. Now go, she’s waiting for you,” she pushed the box closer to him and began to shoo him out the door.

“Thank you. I will be back again. I will tell all my friends to come by as well,” he continued to bow as he left.

Buzzing several times at the entrance of your apartment building, your voice rang through the intercom.

“Hello?”

“It’s me, can you let me up?” he whispered.

“I’m not sure who you are. If you’re my boyfriend, you should’ve been here an hour ago…”

“Come on Y/N, I’m sorry. I told you I was running late. Please, can you let me up?” he whispered.

“While you were already late and I had to mention it to get any sort of response,” you argued.

“If you want to have an argument, could we at least do it while I’m inside, face to face?” he argued knowing you would much rather have the conversation looking right at him to make him feel even worse for yet again disappointing you.

Bzzzz.

He pulled the door and made his way up the several flights of stairs to get to your door, here you were already waiting, with the door open. Arms crossed in front of your chest, he knew he was about to get chewed out the second you both walked in the door.

His head down, like a guilty puppy, he walked over to you and simply entered the apartment.

“Namjoon, I don’t want to be mad. But I was worried something happened to you. And when I got such a cold response I thought you just didn’t care. You never show up late without at least texting me,” you weren’t speaking in a harsh tone like he had expected and so he looked up to see the table had been set for a romantic dinner, that had, at that point, gone cold.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. You have no idea how sorry I am. I was looking for something to get you to apologize for always having to be away from you and then I just ended up screwing up even more by being late” he dropped to his knees pleading for forgiveness.

“Namjoon…” you cut him off, falling to your knees in front of him, “I’ve told you every time you come home, I’m just happy you come home to me. The distance, I’ve been ok with since the beginning, I knew it would be something hard to deal with, but you’re living your dream, and I will never stop you from that,” you reached out to cup his cheek, and the warmth of your hand was enough to bring him to tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he wept, unable to control himself. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him against your chest, his tears soaking into your blouse, which made him feel even more guilty for ruining your clothing. Suddenly he felt dampness on top of his head. You were crying as well.

You sat there for awhile. He wasn’t sure how long, but the tears had stopped falling, from both of your eyes. He pulled away to look up at you and saw even with the puffy eyes, red nose, you were still beautiful and the only girl he wanted to be with. He leaned up and gently kissed you.

You leaned into it, causing him to lean in more to show how much he missed everything about you. His hand wrapped around your neck so your mouth couldn’t leave his when the box with your gift landed with a thud on the floor next to you.

“What’s this?” you asked pulling away from him

“A gift for you,” he grabbed it handing it to you.

“You don’t have to get me things like this babe,” even as you said it, your eyes lit up with excitement of what could possibly be in the box. Just like he knew it would.

You undid the large bow, peeled away the wrapping paper to reveal a box with the company name. You traced the letters, like they were some of the most important words ever written, and then pulled the box open.

A small bottle sat in the middle of the extremely large box, overkill he thought, but also a letter.

A letter? He thought

“Dear Madam,” She began to read aloud, “This perfume bottle is filled with love from your significant other. A small dab will do the trick to bring your special someone to their knees. Enjoy your one of a kind scent from Placé. Bo. Parfume.”

You smiled and opened the bottle to take a sniff but your face squinted, confused as to what you should be smelling.

“Does it smell bad,” Namjoon asked reaching for the bottle angrily. Not that he paid for it but he still expected it to be mind-blowingly amazing, with everything the woman asked and did to try and make the perfect blend.

“It doesn’t smell at all…” you looked baffled grabbing the bottle back placing a small drop on your wrist, rubbing your wrists together then bringing them up to your neck. Leaning your neck over to him you asked, “Now does it smell? I’ve read about perfumes that work with your pheromones and stuff.”

He wasn’t concerned what smell you were wearing when one of his favorite parts of your body was being thrust into his face. He loved the moans that you let out when he gently placed his lips below your ear, and the arch of your back when he took your lobe into his mouth as he nipped at it. Before he knew what he was doing, his thoughts were being turned into actions.

Your body instantly arched into the touch of his lips, and begged for more contact, which he willingly gave, wrapping and arm around your waist pulling you onto his lap as your hands skimmed his buzzed uncut, tangling into the hair on top if his head. Leaning back his back hit the wall as you moved to straddle his hips.

“I’ve missed you so much,” you moaned on his lips.

“There is no way it’s more than I’ve missed you,” his hands went down to your ass, grinding you against his hardening cock. Your body took over, repeating the motion over and over, slowly so that you both showed just how much you each missed each other.

Your hands went to pull his oversized hoodie over his head, revealing his bare chest, and your favorite little mole by his belly button. You dipped your head down to attack his neck, knowing you couldn’t leave any visible marks caused you to dip even down his chest as his hands roamed all over your body, pulling at your blouse, making your lips pull away for a short time to remove the clothing.

When he looked at your half naked frame, a smile grew looking at the thin lace bra barely even covering your breasts. When he let out a small chuckle you looked to him to see what he thought was so funny.

Instead of saying anything he reached out to cup one of your breasts, his thumb grazing the thin fabric to feel your nipple rise below the constricting cloth.

“We should move somewhere more comfortable,” you whispered leaning into his touch, pressing your lips to his, one last time before jumping off the floor and pulling him up towards the living room. You both stood in the middle of the living room staring kindly at each other. It had been so long since he was able to touch you.

He missed every inch of your body. He missed all the small squeaks, the deep moans, and the swaying of your body with every touch he laid along your body. His fingers traced your hips, up your torso, down your arms and back up. Repeating the touch on every finger, you reached over to copy his movements along his chest.

“Did you have a good time on tour?” you asked as you began to sway into his touches.

“Of course. It was tiring, but worth every second,” his hand gripped at your waist to pull you close to him once again.

“Are you sure you’re not too tired? I would understand…” you asked nervously stepping away looking towards the bedroom for him to take his leave from you.

Always concerned for my well being.

He smiled as he leaned in to kiss you making it clear what he wanted, and it wasn’t sleep.

Tumbling onto the couch, both ridding yourself of clothing, and falling into each other and your desires to be together, you rode out your highs of longing and love.

Laying on top of his naked, slightly sweaty form, you looked up to him with a small chuckle, “I guess that perfume did work.”

He saw the box on the floor by the front door and smiled, “I wonder what the hell it was made out of?”

You jumped off him, running naked to grab everything the box contained and running back over to him.

Sitting up you both began to tear apart the box to find the list of ingredients fascinated at the quick work it had been able to accomplish.

“Found it!” You shouted grabbing the small paper at the bottom of the box. You quickly skimmed the paper and started to chuckle.

“What? What’s so funny?” he tried to get a look at the ingredients.

“How much did you pay for this?” you asked.

“Nothing. The woman refused to let me pay,” he explained.

That’s when she handed him the ingredient list.

Placé. Bo. Parfume.

Ingredients: Water. Nothing else. The scent of the one you love is enough to fall in love over and over again with no added help from us. Sometimes it takes a little push to realize you’re with the right or possibly the wrong person. We hope our placebo effect worked to help you figure out the truth.

“So…”

“That’s why it didn’t smell like anything. It’s nothing,” you were now laughing uncontrollably.

It was contagious as he soon joined in on the laughter as he cuddled you against him, “I already knew I had the right person. I love you Y/N”

“I love you too Namjoonie,” you leaned in to kiss him, his lips quickly took over yours and lifting you both off the couch as he carried you to the bedroom to continue showing you how much he missed you.

Hope you enjoyed the first Samjoon Creation. If you did please hit that heart...or even reblog. :)

#Namjoon #Kim Namjoon #BTS #Bangtan #Bangtan Boys #Fan fiction #Rap Monster

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