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writingsbychlo · 3 years

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sun in the shadows (03)

word count; 12,706

summary; trying to make some headway on the study leads to an interesting revelation, and progress in your friendship with noah.

notes; if this part is a little sucky, I apologise. it was a last minute addition that I created because I realised I wanted to include some extras.

warnings; brief mentions of panic attacks/anxiety, but it’s very mild.

The weather was improving, the drizzle of the winter and the grey skies overhead were getting lighter, the showers of rain were getting less frequent and the winter was moving on. Spring was making itself known, bulbs of daffodils were finally taking root in the soil, and green was sprouting from the earth that had been frozen over and dead only a couple of weeks ago. The watery floors were drying up, limited ice was fading away, and graduation was sitting right on the horizon for you all.

Your fingers flexed around the strap of your bag, rooting through the contents to find a place to slip your file inside, all your notes for the class you’d be having were inside, and there was a blank page for your next session waiting to be filled out. Once it had its place, albeit getting a little bit crumbled against the other content, you removed your wallet, a few coins jingling in the bottom, and you hoped it was enough for two coffees.

There was a coffee stand not too far away, and you were hoping an extra shot of coffee before you went in might get your brain working a little faster. Only a couple of feet ahead of you was a face you recognised, a dark jumper to match dark denim jeans, a pair of boots for motorbike riding that were beginning to scuff along the edges and the toes. He was hanging over his money, a brown bag holding a pretzel and a tall cup, the tell-tale tag of a teabag hanging over the edge, and he walked away.

Joining the back of the line, you watched him go, sitting not far across the quarter with his headphones on, settling on one of the recently repainted memorial benches. He pulled the tab on eh coffee back, opening it up and a cloud of steam left the drink, curling up into the air that still held a slight chill, drifting away to disappear as he blew against the surface of the drink. In his other hand was his phone, scrolling aimlessly on it as a way to keep himself disconnected from everyone else around him and prompt nobody else to join him. His bag was out on the bench too, pushed a short distance from his body in an attempt to take up the rest of the space to deter company.

Ordering a simple set of black coffees, and finding you had just enough change for a muffin too, you waited patiently for your order, an assortment of condiments and the double-chocolate treat you’d paid for being handed to you first. There was a grinding, the slight screech of the machine as it crushed the beans to create two black coffees for you, plastic lids sealed on and two cardboard jackets fastened around them.

Balancing the load between them all, you headed over to him, using your knee to nudge the bag up the bench until it bumped his leg, and he jerked slightly, looking up to see you. Offering him a beam, his narrowed eyes lightened a little, and he sighed. Putting down his phone and moving his bag to the floor, he lifted the headphones away from his ears, and let them hang around his neck. Sitting yourself down, he slumped back into the wood, and you scooted up to sit closer to him, placing the spare coffee you’d bought for Stiles on the floor away from your feet.

“Hey, Noah!” He gave a short nod, still a little uncomfortable, and he turned to face you more. “So, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“How did you know I was here?”

You shrugged, opening up the bag of extras and searching through for a couple of sweetener packets, and a wooden stirrer. “I didn’t. I was just gonna’ grab a coffee before class and head to my hall early, because, y’know, studying at home is distracting.” Your hand waved off the statement, finding the packets you wanted, and clutching your cup between your knees for stability. “So, anyway I was going to text you when I got there, but then I saw you, so I figured I’d come and say ‘hey’!”

“Right.”

“So, hey!” You waved a little before taking the top from your coffee, and leaving it on the bench beside yourself. “I ask once again, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“Well, since I am the most popular guy at this college, I’m pretty busy.” He smiled a little at his own joke, particularly when you gave him a laugh, and your brow raised.

“Oh, he’s got jokes today, huh? I like it, I can roll with that.” Tipping the sugar into the cup, you added a couple of packets, before stirring it slowly. “I take it you’re free, then. I was hoping we could squeeze in some study stuff this afternoon. I have a class in a couple of minutes, but I wanted to see if you were free?”

“Well, I’m free all day. I had a six AM class.” His face screwed up at the idea, and you could feel his pain, having spent the entirety of your sophomore year with a teacher who held lectures at six AM so she could avoid her morning sickness before class, and rush home for it afterwards. Professor Anderson going off on her maternity leave was the best thing that had happened to your education that year.

“Great, I’ll sort it with Stiles, and we’ll text you the details.”

“Sounds like a thrill. I can hardly wait.” He smiles, the sarcasm just like his brothers as it came through, and you repaid him for the joke with a chuckle. While the two of you had made progress, you could tell he was still a little unsure around you. You were polar opposites and he didn’t take well to that, the atmosphere that you brought with you could be a little too much for him to handle sometimes, you couldn’t stop the guilt that was eating at you a little. “What’s wrong? You’ve got a look on your face like you want to talk about things. Just warning you, I’m not good at that heart-to-heart stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ve witnessed that.”

“Shut it.” He teased, sticking his tongue out at you childishly, and you grinned cheesily in reply to him. “You can tell me, though. Can’t promise I’ll help, but..”

“It’s nothing weighing me down. I just wanted to apologise. I clearly interrupted your free time. You got yourself a little pretzel to eat in silence, and everything.” He offers you a blank look at your slight dig, and you only winked, waving the muffin in a bag that you’d bought, and taking a sip of your coffee once the lid was sealed back on. “People usually like it when I stop by to see them, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, really.” His words were strained, the response bringing you no relief as he forced them out, and your frown remained. “I’m serious, okay? It’s alright.”

You were trying your best but learning the lines with Noah was different to you. Upon starting college you’d been thrown in at the deep end of socialisation and a whole world you’d never quite had access to before. Coming from a smaller town that had always limited your expectations was tough, and you’d taken it differently from the way Noah had. You’d had so many experiences, becoming legal to drink and venturing beyond your comfort zone, truly leaving home and facing the idea of having your life laid out before you, the first time truly having your heartbroken, and being too far to simply collapse into the arms of your mom or dad for support when things got messed up.

“When does your class start?” You jumped, lost in your thoughts as you slumped back into the bench, and you sat up straight again, turning to find that Noah was already looking at you, eyes scanning over you slowly. It was a good reminder, time had been slipping away from you and in the ease of his peaceful and quiet company, you could have sat there for hours.

Checking your watch, you sighed, lifting your bag strap back up onto your shoulder more securely, and packing everything you had with you inside, leaving you to hold a coffee cup in each hand. “In about ten minutes.”

“How about I walk you?” He picked up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder, and you nodded, a warmer feeling at his offer blooming where cold guilt had been. Standing up and making sure not to spill any of the scalding coffee onto your hand. Peering around the busy campus quarters that was more filled now than it had been for months, the lighter weather tempting groups to come out of their dormitories and the cafés to gather outside instead.

He fell into step beside you, toes scuffing occasionally on the slightly uneven stonework of the quad, before it fell away into smooth concrete pathways on the way to your lecture. The grass alongside each path was growing greener, dull colour fading away into something brighter. Paper crinkled beside you, the cup of tea in his hands being finished and the cardboard cup was crushed between string fingers, knuckles even paler than usual as he crumpled it up, and as you approach the closest bin, it was disposed of.

Your fingers flexed around your coffee cup, almost having forgotten that it was there as the heat from the two began to fade away a little. Taking a sip, the refreshing burst of sweetened caffeine was like a spark to your system, and you revelled in it. “How do you take your coffee?”

You lower the cup from your lips, swallowing your mouthful, and you couldn't stop the rise of your brows once you turned to look at him. “Creamer, usually. I like a caramel flavoured one. But, since I’m not big on creamer in packets or from street vendors, this one just has sweeteners.”

“Cool.” He nodded, and your lips pressed together tightly to try and contain the smile you wanted to let free, silence forming between you both for a moment, a further gathering of steps as the two of you went on, your building coming into sight again. “Did you watch the news last night?”

“Is this small talk?”

“It’s an attempt at small talk.” He winced, and you chuckled, a small smile on his features as the fear of judgement or humiliation washed away, and he gave a sigh.

“Okay, let's try this.” Your mind spun, searching for a track of something to talk about, and a thought clicked into space. “If you could watch one genre of movies for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Comedy. Like, comedy-action. You know, ones like ‘Jumanji’ or something?” He was quick with it, certain about his answer, and you nodded.

“Yeah? That was quick. How come you’re so sure?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, one hand coming up to hold his bag strap, swinging it to the side to be able to get inside, and fish out the paper bag with a pretzel inside. “I guess I just think they’re good for you. Good for the soul. They have action and it keeps you a little on the edge of your seat, but it’s funny. It's easy-going, when you’ve got anxiety, or you’re having a bad day, or you just want background noise, they’re perfect.”

“Alright. Fair enough. Okay, tricky one.” his eyes narrowed a little, but an amused look passed over his features while he waited. “If you had to choose specifically between comedy and action, which is it?”

“It’s got to be action. Because comedy usually means Adam Sandler or Seth Rogen, and some of their comedies are good, but some are jus-” He paused, jaw dropping a little, and his hand came out, pausing in front of your to bring you to a halt too. A smile curled on your lips, and he looked shocked. “Holy shit, you’re good!”

“Ask a basic question that people are passionate about, it always leads to more options, and everyone always wants to talk about something fun.” His head shook slowly, as though he was in disbelief, and you took a dramatic bow, trying not to spill the coffees in your hands as you giggled. “Give it a go, I bet you can do it.”

The paper in his hands crinkled, your footsteps taking up again, and the two of you were making your way towards the building once again. Taking a bite from his pretzel, a piece torn away with his teeth, he thought it over. “Does your family have any secret or ‘famous’ recipes?”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Kudos to you, Noah.”

“Thank you. I thought about it for, like, eight whole seconds.” He grinned, the joke moving away from you both as you left it behind, and you thought about his question.

“Maybe it’s not my family recipe, just a personal one, but I’m great at making lasagne.” He scoffed, and you nudged him with your elbow. “I’m serious! I make a great lasagne!”

“You don’t seem like a cook to me, is all! You seem like the sort of person who’d manage to burn a pit of water.”

“You can’t burn water, an.. oh, I just got it. You jerk.” It was a joke, your nose screwing up as you stuck your tongue out at him, thanking him a second later as he held the door open for him. The bright lights of the outside changed to artificial lights in the halls, not as much coming through the windows as trees outside managed to cast shade into the building. “Well, I can cook. I love to cook, and I’m good at it. Especially lasagne. My family are generally the only ones who have ever had it, and thanks to that insult, you’ll never have it.”

“Oh, woah, no! You have to let me try it now. Prove me wrong, or I’ll be forced to believe you’re bluffing.”

“You’re sneaky.” You scoffed, students filling the hall and filtering in from different sides of the building, lectures in different halls all waiting to take place, and you stepped to the side of the corridor once your doorway was within reach. “If you’re lucky.”

“I’m betting on that.”

Glancing back, Stiles was already inside, as expected. Stiles Stilinski had never once been on time, he was either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, and since he’d spent the night with Derek, who was an early bird, you’d figured which one today would be. His head was slumped on his hm half-asleep and on the verge of drooling as he sat there, and you chuckled, turning to Noah. “Thanks for walking me. Also, thanks for small-talking with me.”

“Thanks for the advice on small talk.”

“I’m gonna’ head inside, but, I’ll see you later, okay?” He nodded, confirming the times with you, and lingering a moment longer. It was quiet, but not so tense, and he rolled on the balls of his fete, the half-eaten pretzel in his hands was seemingly abandoned as one hand tucked into his jeans pockets, the other hanging limply while holding the delicacy by his side.

“Thanks for sitting with me. This wasn’t so bad. It was almost fun.”

“You know, one day, you’re gonna’ tell me you had fun with me. I look forward to that day.” He smirked, your head tipping to the side at the expression.

“If you’re lucky.” He was repeating your own words back to you, and you beamed at the chance. Backing away from him slightly, you fixed him with the cheekiest glance you could as you walked through the doorway.

“I’m betting on it.”

You could hear his laugh once you were gone, into the classroom and beginning to take the steps up to a seat beside Stiles that he’d reserved for you, his bag sitting on it. He’d already gotten his equipment out, notepads and pencil laid out in a somewhat organised mess on top of the desk.

Placing the two coffees down, you moved Stiles bag to the floor, tucking it behind his chair and a soft snore made itself known from him, the boy not doing well with early mornings but he never had, not once in your years of knowing him had he handled it very well, so it was no surprise.

“Opening up your bag, you dropped your notebook down onto the surface with a loud ‘slapping’ sound, and he jerked upwards, flailing as he did, and almost knocking the coffees over. Blinking quickly and shaking sleep away, he looked around, eyes wide as he finally focused on you.

“Jesus Christ, don’t do that.” He chastised you, leaning back in his seat and holding a hand over his heart. “I was dreaming about high school, I thought you were my lacrosse Coach waking me up for falling asleep in class again.”

“Maybe I am.” You winked, slamming a hand down on the counter. “Drop and give me twenty, Stilinski! Right now!”

“Don’t do that, it’s eerily accurate.” He cringed, shuddering a little, before a wide smile replaced the horrified expression that had morphed, and you pushed a coffee over to him. “You brought me a coffee?”

“Yes, I did. It’s bribery.”

“Oh? What am I being bribed for?” He was curious, rooting through the bag of condiments for it and taking the plastic lid from the cup, steam curling out into the air. Taking an ungodly and certainly unhealthy amount of sweetener and sugar packets to load into his coffee.

“Your free time this afternoon. I’m thinking about getting some of my study done, I can get all the work for the next couple of sessions sorted now, but how do you feel about being asked some later?” He tipped them in, a drop of coffee flying up over the edge and landing on the desk as he stirred his drink with vigour, that same hyper excitement that he always had.

“Can’t I just fill them out now?”

“It’d be better if I could get your responses with Noah.” He sighed, rolling his eyes and making a scene of it, but there was a smile that told you he already agreed.

“You should have brought me two coffees, but fine.”

You let out a victorious ‘aha!’, and shook the little brown paper bag that was still sitting on your half of the desk at him. “I also brought you half of a muffin!”

“Only half of a muffin?”

“Well, it was none, but since I didn’t eat it yet and I’d feel bad eating it in front of you, I decided to share it.” You tore it in half, pushing half across the scratched and vandalised wooden surface to him. Crumbs were left along the surface, and Stiles pressed the pad of his finger along them to gather them all up.

“Oh, right. Well, in that case, what I meant was; wow, a full half of a muffin!” He cheered, much more enthusiasm, and you nodded.

“Much better.” At the front of the classroom, your tutor entered, door slamming behind him as he kicked the wedge out from underneath, and his case was placed down on the desk. The room began a hushed quiet, save for the loud slurping of Stiles with his coffee beside you.

“You know,” Your best friend didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, everything he did was more like a dramatic stage whisper on a Broadway show, and a few dirty looks were sent his way. The professor was used to this, a year of experience and advice from previous tutors guiding him to ignore Stiles’ fidgeting and chatter. “You’re going to have to convince Noah to do this.”

Slumping down in your seat a little more, you turned your head to him, nibbling on your half of the muffin. “I already did.”

“What?” This time he was hushed, the man standing at the front near his desk, trying his best to give extra advice to everyone and answer any common questions that he’d been emailed. You’d have to catch the after-class notes in your emails. “When d’you do that?”

“This morning before class. I saw him while getting coffee for you and we walked over.”

Stiles huffed, his brows being pulled together slightly. “Okay. Damn, he was my last free shot at getting the afternoon off.” You grinned, pinching at your friend’s cheek, and he smacked your hand away. “Quit it, I’ve told you not to do that before.”

“In case I pinch your moles off?”

“That's where my power is. My funny is in my moles.” He hissed, only making you laugh more, and you covered your mouth with your hand over his silly superstitions.

“Whatever, freak.”

“Hoe.” He snarked back, and you grinned, punching at his shoulder as best you could from this angle, and he reached up a hand to rub at it. “So, if we’re doing this, I at least want to do it at my place. I’m going out this evening, I gotta’ be ready. Derek’s sisters are coming up to visit.”

“It won’t take long, don’t worry.” He hummed, pulling out his phone and keeping it ducked from view. He was texting his brother, letting him know to be ready, and at what time your class would be ending, giving him a little time to prepare. Opening your book up and flicking to the page you had marked, it was a journal written about the study of the ways that twins raised in different households could grow up similarly, and you were hoping to adopt some of the content for your study.

“So, what’ve you got done so far?”

Stile sighed, flicking open his notebook, and you were shocked by the fact that he was already at the end of it. There were pieces of paper stuck in, a list of book references on one of the tabs down the side of a page, and only a few blank pages left at the back.

“Oh, wow, okay.” You stared at your notebook, barely reaching a quarter of the way through with the notes you’d been making, and it looked like Stiles was ready to start making progress towards a conclusion for his hypothesis. “So, you’ve got a whole lot done, then.”

“Yeah, well, I want to spend as little time in a prison as I possibly can.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, the pages crammed full of information as he flicked through to find a blank one. “Plus, I didn’t want to go and interview inmates on my own, so I wait until Derek has free time to go with me, and I get as much done in those sessions as I can.”

“You’re gonna’ be done weeks before I am.” You pouted, your pen twirling at the top corner of a page, drawing a collation of pretty flowers to form a border, and he chuckled.

“I have easier test subjects than you do. They’re already guilty and behind bars, they’re more than happy to open up. You’ve gotta’ deal with Noah.”

“That’s true.” You grinned, thinking back on the conversation you’d had with the other twin that morning. When he was alone, it wasn’t so bad, he talked more and he wasn’t so worried about judgements, but as soon as there was someone else who might hear, he completely closed down.

“Hey, seriously, we have ages left. You’re gonna’ be just fine.”

“I’m just freaking out a little bit, because this is the last hurdle, y’know?” He nodded, and you could see whatever it was he was thinking practically swirling in his eyes, because Stiles’ emotions were open to read like a book.

“It’s terrifying. It’s, like, what the hell are we supposed to do when we finish?”

“I don’t know.” Your head dropped to your hands, fingers soothingly rubbing at your temples. A large hand landed on your back, rubbing in comforting circles. “What I do know, though, is that if I don’t get on with coming up with some more content, I’m never gonna’ finish this study in time.”

“Well, put your headphones on and come up with some questions.”

You did as told, plugging your earbuds in and choosing some classical music that would make it easier to concentrate. Opening one of your survey works back up to the page you’d left off at, your eyes began to flicker over the pages, picking out the useful information. Once you had a list built, you had a foundation to work from, questions to create and organise into groups, different sessions being able to come together.

Beside you, Stiles’ hand never seemed to stop rising, a constant dialogue with your tutor as he checked his work and ironed out any kinks in his study. He was also full of chatter and laughter, getting along with everyone around him and asking about their works, making you turn your music up several times just to be able to concentrate. But, by the end of the session, when Stiles was tugging your earbud out and telling you your class was over, you had a solid three pages worth of questions that had been split up into sessions, and ready to be worked through.

“Pack up and get ready to go. I have plans to get ready for.”

Stiles already had his bag in his arms, notebook tucked inside and pens and pencils put away, two empty coffee cups and a muffin wrapper sitting out, which he quickly gathered up, once his bag was on his shoulder. He was gone, walking past you and down to the waste bin at the front of the hall to dispose of them, his fingers tapping idly on his thigh once he was done.

You gathered your belongings, packing them away and curling the wire of your headphones back up neatly, making sure everything had its correct place in your bag, before following him down and out of the steps.

The halls were filled once again, the two of you navigating through crowds to the outside of the building, and you followed him in his diversion across the pathway, all the way to his car. Some students had already left, spaces beginning to empty out as a bottleneck effect took place at the only entrance and exit to this carpark.

“Where’s your car?” The dirty blue jeep was one of the only ones left in the parking lot, Stiles looking around for your vehicle, and you sighed.

“Don’t get me started on that hunk of junk.” You growled, stomping a foot on the floor as Stiles laughed. Opening the driver’s side door, he hopped up inside of it, legs dangling from the chair. “I’m trying not to use it as much. It splutters when it starts up and I have to try it a whole bunch of times, so the less I use it, the closer to graduation we can get before it eventually taps out.”

“You ever think about just getting it fixed?”

“Oh, big words from the man whose engine is held together with duct tape.” Your hand rubbed over the hood of the car, a slightly dusty layer that made you cringe, and you wiped your hand off on your jacket to stop it.

“Touché.” Stiles only smirked. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride to my place. I’ll be waiting for hours if you walk.”

He slammed his car door once his legs were inside, leaning over the centre console to pop open the passenger side door as you rounded the car, and he was sparking up the car before you were even fully inside. Slamming it shut, he was reversing from his spot as you clipped in your safety belt, swinging his car around, and you gripped onto the edge of the door. “Easy there, fast and furious.”

“Oh, relax. Nobody is around.”

“Except for me, and I’d like to live until graduation.” His eyes rolled, hitting the brakes and flicking on the indicators as he was leaving the parking lot, moving out onto the main roads. There weren’t so many other cars, the mid-afternoon meaning the other students were mostly in class, in bed, or eating their lunch. College was a weird time, and while you’d loved it, you couldn't wait to regain some kind of normality. “Can we swing by my place? I need to swap out my books. I don’t want to carry all these around.”

“Okay, but be quick! I have to be ready by six and out the door by six-thirty. Derek will kill me if I’m late for this.” His fingers were tapping on the steering wheel as he changed direction to head to your place instead of his own. The space between you both was filled with the radio, the simple tunes of classic 70s anthems, the songs Stiles had grown up with, his dad’s favourite records and he played them constantly. He knew all the words, mouthing along and banging his head, pausing occasionally to check the mirrors and the roads between dancing in his seat.

Rolling the window down as he slowed in his approach to the building, afresh air swept into the carbon of the car, the slightly musty smell of the older car was something you’d miss when it was gone. The shade of the concrete cover overhead was chillier than the sunny roads, and he swung himself haphazardly into a parking space.

“I’ll turn the car around and wait here, cool?”

“I won’t take long, promise!” Hopping from the car and closing the door, you leant on the open door frame, and Stiles slouched in his seat, as he usually did. “Lydia and Ally should both be out, so there’s nobody for me to even talk to.”

“Good, because you’re chatty.” He teased, and you flipped him off, a quick walk as you headed away from him to the stairs. Once you were there, you were taking a quick jog up the sets of stairs, headed for your floor, and balancing your books in your arms carefully. Rooting through your bag to find your keys, they were at the bottom, jingling tantalisingly for you to find.

Leaving your books on the countertop of the kitchen, you shifted through them, taking the notebook you needed and leaving the rest, piling them back up and taking them to your bedroom Abandoned on the desk, you rushed to change, throwing on a bigger and warmer jumper to get through the rest of the day, phone in your pocket and a bag on your arm. Passing back through the kitchen, you were ready to grab the notebook and bag you’d left there, keys hanging in the back of the door, and you eyed the freezer.

You’d made a bet, a point to prove, and you were certain that buried somewhere deep in the bottom, you had a frozen lasagne from the last time you’d made it for Allison and Lydia. You had a few spare moments, and so you moved over to the freezer, opening the door and crouching to scan over all the shelves.

Running your fingers over frozen plastic, you searched for the right one. Tinfoil crinkling in the back, behind a bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets and a tray of alcoholic ice cubes, was a tray of lasagne. Pulling it out, the cold chilled your arm, even through the layers of your hoodie, and you used your foot to close the freezer while wrapping the tray in the nearest tea towel for an extra layer.

Placing your notebook over it and holding it in both arms for security, you clicked the latch onto the door, keys in your pocket and bag on your shoulder to let it swing closed behind you.

Stiles saw you coming, his head snapping over to the metal door between the stairwell and the parking lot when it fell open, backing through it and his brows raised. Opening up the passenger side door, he took the lasagne from you when you handed it over, climbing back into the vehicle.

“This is cold. What is it?”

“Lasagne.” You settled it onto your lap once your safety belt was on, folding the towel underneath to keep your lap from getting chilled and painful, and he nodded. The engine was still running, and taking off the brakes, he was pulling out of the space again.

“So, not that I don’t love a home-cooked meal, but I’m going out for dinner. Why the traybake?”

“I have a point to prove to Noah.” You were looking out of the window, but you could feel his gaze on you, making you a little uncomfortable, and you turned to face him. His eyes were flicking between you and the road, brows furrowed, a stare like he was trying to figure you out, before he let it go. “He told me I looked like I couldn't cook, and it’s a battle I’m going to win.”

“Well, alright then. Save me leftovers?”

“We’ll see.” You winked, and he grinned, eyes flicking to the tray in your lap, before back to the road.

It was only a short journey, the distance between your place and Stiles’ building was short for a walk and even shorter in a car, on the edges of campus and conveniently placed, and it had been one of the building blocks of your friendship with him An easily accessible study partner, somewhere to hang out with, someone to walk home with you after a night out, someone to share a cab with, or simply knowing there was a friend so close to you.

“It’s going to be weird not living around the corner from you in just a few months.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He sighed, pulling into his one building sparking area and it didn’t have the luxury of being covered or underground, it was exposed each flat having allocated parking spaces, and Noah’s bike was parked underneath the shelter, you could see it from here, with a clamp around the wheel and covered from the impending and risky weather of the early months. “I have a feeling that you’ll end up living next door to me someday.”

“You do?”

He parked the car, arm behind your head as he reversed into it, ready to make a quick getaway on the next morning, or this evening, when he would invariably be late. In true Stiles Stilinski style. “Yeah. Especially after I rock whatever gown you want me to wear for being your maid of honour, someday.”

“Lydia is going to fight you for that role.”

“I will fistfight her for it.” He challenged, and you grinned, clambering down from the car as Stiles had parked a little too close to someone else on your side. With your bag on your shoulder and lasagne in one hand, you tried to squeeze around the door without scratching someone else’s paintwork.

Stiles’ arm was slung over your shoulder as you set off toward the building, the elevator being fully functional, and it was a refreshing change not need to take the stairs up to your place, or risk your life in a rickety elevator.

Throwing his keys down on the kitchen counter, they slid all the way across and to the other side, hitting the floor, and he grimaced when you turned to stare at him. “I’ll pick those up later.”

“Uh-huh.” The sounds of video games and music were coming from behind Noah’s door, though it wasn’t fully closed, only pushed halfway, and you hoped that was a sign that he was still in a good mood. Leaving your bag on the edge of the couch that was facing away from you, your hands rubbed together, glancing around at the environment you were still getting used to. “You should put this lasagne in now, so that it’s ready for after the study. Medium heat, leave the full-on tight.”

“Where are you going?”

“To say ‘hey’ to your brother.” Stiles’ face scrunched up, a mumble of ‘good luck’ as he picked up the tray, lifting it over his head to look in at it from underneath. Wandering toward the sounds coming from the hall, you knocked on the edge of the door, pushing it open a second later when you heard the game pause, and the music following it. Leaning on the doorframe, Noah turned to face you, brows raising slightly, and he shifted in his chair. “Hey.”

“Hi. It’s, uh, time for the study stuff, then?”

“Yeah. You okay?” He shrugged, turning back to his game and closing it off, leaning forwards from where he was sat on his bed enough to turn the console off.

“I didn’t realise we’d be doing it here. It feels more personal, somehow.” He had a large hoodie on, comfortable in his own clothes as he wore a baggy and warm outfit, the same way you often had when everything started to feel overwhelming.

“Well, this study is going to get pretty personal.”

“I know that. It’s just that right now, it feels a bit like I’m naked, y’know?” You chuckled, a momentary smile on his face flashing past, and you were glad to see it. “I just feel exposed.”

“This study is gonna’ do that, but I promise that I’ll try and make it as easy as I can. I’ll break it up, I’ll make it comfortable for you, and we’ll stop whenever you’re getting overwhelmed.”

“That’d be great, actually.” His hands rubbed together, sleeves hanging slightly down over his palms, and he looked a whole lot less terrifying right now than he did with the armour of a bike and a leather jacket. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good, because I need you in high spirits. I brought a lasagne and I have a point to prove.”

You backed out of the room as he advanced toward you, the door closing and leaving you both standing in the hall, and he smirked down at you a little, a disbelieving expression. “You really brought that?”

“You bet I did. It’ll be ready by the time we finish.”

“Then I guess we’d better get started, huh?” He hopped over the back of the couch, settling in beside his brother, who scowled at him as his drink spilt down his shirt from the impact. Taking a seat on the other side of them both, your legs folded underneath yourself in the armchair, finding a glass of water laid out for yourself on the table, courtesy of Stiles.

They looked so different and yet so similar in this moment. You could understand how people may have confused the two of them before their styles became so radically different. In the beginning, before Noah turned to leather and a sleeve tattoo, when they both wore hoodies and band tees and had clean pale skin. With the sleeve of tattoos covered, and the pair both wearing hoodies, one with an etching across the front and the other with a faded logo from being washed one too many times,

Laying out your books, it was more of a note you’d keep to yourself, and following from that was your recorder, coated in the front pocket of your bag so as not to get crushed. Switching it on at the side, the red light flashed on to green blinking once to let you know it was active. “Can you guys do your confirmations for me while I get set up?”

“Surely can.” Stiles sat forwards, leaning down a little with his forearms braced across his knees, as opposed to Noah, who slumped back into the cushion. “Stiles Stilinski, happy to be recorded.”

“Noah Stilinski, aware of being recorded.” Stiles rolled his eyes at his brother’s dead tone, clearly not having as much fun as Stiles was, but you didn’t blame him.

“Okay, so, why don’t you guys tell me what it’s like to live together at college.” There was a beat of silence, and then a set of matching laughs from both of them, the two starting at one another. There was a look between them, one you didn’t quite understand, and it seemed like some kind of twin-telepathy communication.

“It’s, like, exactly the same as when we were in high school.”

“Uh, what?” Stiles interjected, and Noah turned to look at him. “It’s nothing like high school!”

“Yes, it is!” Noah insisted, and you smirked, picking up your water and taking a sip as the two stared in shock at one another. “We lived together in high school, we played video games, I did all the cooking and you did all the cleaning while dad was at work. The only thing that is different is that we can’t cheat from one another’s homework anymore.”

“We don’t drive to school together anymore, we’re on opposite sides of campus!”

“That so doesn’t count.” Noah scoffed, and Stiles twisted on the couch, his hand gestures much more emphasised than that of his brother’s and you watched the debate go down. “You can’t name any more than that.”

“I take that as a challenge.” Stiles’ head rolled side to side. “Our schedules don’t match up anymore, and we haven’t had our usual movie nights in almost six months now. I can’t bring Derek over because your room is right across from mine-”

“My room was across the hall from you at home. You just didn’t date in high school or have anyone to bring home.”

“Low-blow. Unlike some people, I didn’t want to traumatise my brother in high school by bringing someone home, for that.” Stiles reached out mid-sentence, swatting at his brother’s shoulder, before continuing; “Uh, let's see. Oh! We don’t talk anymore, you didn’t ride your motorbike so much at home, you used to ride in the jeep with me. It’s like a totally different world now.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that.” There was a palpable kind of feeling in the air, something between them that was sizzling with electricity, before Stiles sighed.

“It’s no big deal. The difference is just that we’re both so busy now.”

“That was really good, actually. Thanks.” The two seemed to have forgotten you were there, both flinching and turning to face you again, matching sets of honey-coloured eyes in varying shades were fixing on you again. “Speaking of what you said, though, does it ever make it hard for you guys when your class times are so different?”

“Hard to do what?” Stiles squinted at you, face set in a frown that his twin normally wore.

“Hard to hang out, talk, have that whole brotherly bond going on.” Your clarification did little for Stiles, his brows still pulled tight and frown never moving, but Noah’s face smoothed out.

“Oh.. well, I g-”

“Totally.” Noah pressed, and once again, Stiles’ head whipped around to look at his brother. “Don’t look at me like that. You basically said it, anyway. We don’t talk so much anymore. We barely know each other. You don’t even tell me about your podcast, anymore.”

“You never listened!”

“You used to tell me your problems, not broadcast them to the world with jokes and humour! I missed two episodes, and you just stopped keeping me updated on it.” The moodier twin crossed his arms over his chest, and you swallowed thickly at the environment you had unwittingly created. “I don’t know. Just feels like we used to talk a lot more.”

They both went silent, and Noah shot you a pleading look, but there was something darker behind it. It almost felt venomous, angry or defensive, as though to say ‘I told you so’ about it being more personal now that they were home. Stiles was occupying himself with pulling a loose thread on their couch cushion out and making it that much worse, distracting himself from it all. “Well, how about something a little bit lighter. Just some questions about hobbies. Stiles, what inspired you to first start a podcast?”

“Well, as you know, I never stop talking.” He smirked, Noah laughing beside him, and just like that, the awkward air between them both was completely evaporated. “I had a lot to say, I had a lot to get off of my mind. At first, it was just to get my thoughts out there. It was kind of like a recorded journey for myself, and to share with my friends from back home. But, then other people started listening. I thought it was going to be the end of my college social life, a social life that I was developing for the first time ever, and they liked it. I was just talking into a mic and getting things off of my chest, making no sense while telling stories and bitching about my homework and suddenly I had friends. It got a whole lot of followers and I made new friends,”

He paused, offering you a wink for the comment, and you beamed.

“-and I was going to parties, I met my boyfriend at a pep rally, and everything just kinda.. blossomed. The more I got out of it, the more inspired I was to keep going. I ended up making multiple videos a week, all differently themed. Sometimes movie reviews, sometimes songs, sometimes just talking. That’s how ‘Mischief Mic’ was born.”

“Alright. That was awesome.” Stiles bowed as best he could from sitting on the couch, and reached over to take a sip of his drink. “Okay, Noah, have you got any hobbies that you didn’t have in high school that you found when you came to college.”

“Not really.”

“Not even one?” You pushed, and the arms folded over his chest tightened, his gaze going to the floor, socked toes pushing into the twist cable rug. He took his glass, swigging all of it, the water draining from the glass in nervousness, and you could hear the crickets inside your mind chirping to fill the silence that had formed.

“No. Not really. I’m going to get more water, feel free to continue.”

“Uh, okay.” You pressed your pen down into your paper, drawing a line through the question on your paper as you realised you’d have no answer to that question when you listened back on the tape at a later time. “Stiles, back to you, then.”

Your next question came, and went, and Stiles was more than happy to answer them. Occasionally, Noah would answer a question, you’d be able to pin him down long enough to get a straight answer out of him, but there seemed to always be something that he needed to mess with, or fix. Almost half of your questions for him had a line drawn through, and you would have to ask them another time, and get a whole extra session in without Stiles, dragging the study out.

It was going to take you twice as long to get through it all if every time you had to ask them separately, and had to spend your time trying to force him to sit and answer. You were missing half of the information that you needed to be able to compare to Stiles’ answers, you couldn’t answer without them.

The clock ticked by, leaving you with all of your questions for Stiles answered. On a blank page, while Noah had once again been tinkering with something in the kitchen, you’d rewritten up all over the crossed out questions that would still need answers. You had doodled on the corner again, waiting for him to come and sit back down, a collection of hearts and flowers, the occasional bee or ladybug, even a couple of misshaped stars, forming a banner across the top of the page.

When he finally came to sit back down, he huffed, eyes moving to the clock as though he was waiting for this to end just as much as Stiles was, and you gave up.

“Okay, how about we just finish this up?” You had reached the end of your tether, not even bothering with the rest of the questions that were written down for him. “We got almost two hours in, that’s perfect.”

Noah sighed, something like an apology in his look as your eyes met his and he shrugged lightly. Stiles only nodded, eyes flicking up to the clock on the wall, and he was grinning when he came back. Tearing a page out of your notebook for each of them, you passed it over, blank paper sitting before them, and you searched for a pen or pencil in the bottom of your bag for each of them. Placing your pen down before Stiles and a pencil in front of Noah, they both leaned forwards, picking them up. Switching off your recorder and packing it away, you were left with the two staring at you expectantly.

“Okay, Stiles, come fill yours out in the kitchen. You can’t discuss these ones.”

“Oh, some mystery. I like that.” He picked up his paper and pencil, heading over to the kitchen counter, folding the sheet in half as he did, and you nodded. Standing from your place behind the coffee table, your bag slumped a little more from where it had been propped against your leg.

“Okay, I want you both to try self-diagnosing yourself.” Stiles gasped, a little excitement lacing it, and his pencil was already moving over the paper. Noah, however, looked a little lost, looking to you for guidance. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to use professional terms, just, describe what you think, I’ll be able to figure it out, and if I can’t, I’ll ask you about it at some point.”

He nodded, pausing, not quite as eager to get into the activity as Stiles was, before the pencil finally met the paper, and the slow scratching of graphite over paper filled the silence.

Moving away to the kitchen, you searched for plates, and a dish, laying them out on the counter before moving to the oven. A wave of hot air into your face once you pulled the door open, and when it cleared, you search for the kitchen towel you’d brought with you. Wrapping it carefully around the edges of the tray inside, you pulled it out, resting it atop the oven and closing the door back up.

Flicking off the handles, the light inside went dead, and Stiles loomed up behind you. “Smells good!” He presented a piece of paper to you, your eyes flicking over what he’d written once you’d taken it from him, and everything that he’d written about himself seemed completely accurate. It wasn’t a surprising self-evaluation, Stiles had spent almost four years studying this, just like you had, and so it was bound to be accurate and professional. Even if his handwriting looked a little bit like chicken-scratch.

Noah was still working on his, and Stiles was picking at the edges of the tinfoil, trying not to touch the glass of the casserole dish and burn himself, and as soon as he had some foil pinched between his fingers, he was pulling it back. “Wait, Stiles, watch out for the-”

“Fucking steam! Oh, my God, that’s so fucking hot!”

His hand snapped back, half unpeeled as all the steam from inside clouded in the air, and his hand was clutched to his chest. He was glaring at the pot, before moving away and running his hands underneath the cold tap at the sink, his thumb rubbing over wet skin to soothe it.

A second later, Noah was appearing, placing his paper face down on top of Stiles, which now lay on the kitchen counter. “Well, now that I’ve been scalded by pasta, I’m going to go shower and get ready.”

“M’kay.” He backed away, and Noah leaned on the counter beside you.

“Looks good, but does it taste any good, is the question.” The twin you were left with was teasing you, your eyes finding him, and you raised a brow.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get me something to serve it up with, alright?”

He smirked, pulling open the drawer behind him and searching for a serving spoon. Slicing it into pieces, you dished it up for him, a large slab on a plate, still steaming with cheese that had only just stopped bubbling. He grabbed a fork, and one for you too, waiting patiently as you served yourself, and put whatever was left into a dish for Stiles, covering it back up and leaving it to cool.

“Okay, prepare for the best lasagne of your life.”

Picking up the papers and your plate, the two of you moved back to the couch, sitting opposite one another, and you waited with excitement. Taking a piece off of his plate with the edge of his fork, he raised it, blowing cold air over it for a few moments, before taking the bite. There was a tense few moments, while he chewed, face unreadable, before he was swallowing the mouthful.

“Well?”

You couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, a smile on his face at the desperation you showed for his answer, and he gave in. “Alright, alright. This may actually be the best lasagne I have ever had.”

“Yes!” Your hands went up in the air, cheering excitedly and he laughed at your reaction, holding his hand up when you forced him to, palms slamming together in a high-five. He was tucking in again, and you reached for your plate, excited for the meal you had made, Taking a large piece on the tip of your fork, you tucked in.

The sound of Stiles’ shower was running in the background, and he was singing loudly, a song that you were certain was a TV show intro but you’d never seen the show, and there was a chance it was something from Disney Channel. Picking up the pieces of paper again, you turned Noah’s around to face you.

You’d had an expectation, you knew what you thought he was going to write down, and yet you were somehow surprised and entirely not surprised at the same time. It was what you expected but with a twist. He had confidence in what he’d written about himself he was sure of it, and while there were definitely elements that you’d disagree with, there was a lot of truth to it, and you frowned, reading it again.

Noah was watching you do so, the scrape of forks over plates as the lull in chatter came back, and you place the two pieces of paper into the front of your notebook, making sure that it was all sealed tightly away. “Is it alright?”

“It’s just not what I expected from you. But, it’s perfect.”

“That feels like a backhanded compliment.” He smiled softly, but he looked nervous, and you shook your head.

“Not at all, it just means that you have a better grasp on this whole thing than I thought you did.” It was the truth, and while you didn’t want to reveal so much to him about it all without compromising your work, but it made sense. “It just feels like with the way today went, like you weren’t really so interested in it, so I didn’t expect such an accurate self-diagnosis from you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighed, pushing what was left of his food around the plate, and you copied him, appetite dwindling. “It’s just that when you’re here, in my apartment, and you’re asking questions about what changed and making me confront everything, it feels like real therapy. You said it was going to be casual, and this didn’t feel casual.”

“I get it. I really do, and it’s okay. I can just email you the questions you didn’t answer, and you can get around to them whenever you feel up to it, alright?” He nodded, shaking off the evening’s stress. He continued to eat, polishing off the meal that was laid out before him and settling his hands over his stomach once he was finished. There was a satisfied smile on his face, and your empty plate was soon stacking on top of his own. Leaning forwards a little, you caught Noah’s eye, and one of his brows arched up. “I can try to make it more informal, in the future.”

“That would be great, actually.”

You smiled, the consolidation made between the two of you, and your ears picked up on another sound. “Hold on, is Stiles blow-drying his hair?”

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, head turning to the closed bathroom door where his brother resided. “He thinks it makes his hair fluffy.”

“He gels his hair, though! Why does it matter if it’s fluffy?”

“He’s insane. Don’t you know this, yet?” Noah scoffed, and your giggles carried you back into the rest of the chair as you settled back into it. The evening was still waiting to come in fully. Comfortable quiet fell between you both again, and Noah moved away to take the plates to the kitchen. He left them in the sink, water running to wash them up, before storing Stiles’ lasagne in the fridge.

The aforementioned boy moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, skidding on the floors a little and clutching the towel to his waist as he hurried, making himself late with the extra-long shower and the blowdrying of his hair. Noah was washing up the plates, leaving them to dry on the draining rack, and you took that as your cue. The night was over, that much was clear, and you’d be willing to bet that he was more than eager to get back to his alone time.

Taking your bag and double-checking that you had everything, you swung it up onto your shoulder, and made your way toward the door. Hearing the shuffling of your feet, Noah turned, drying his hands on the towel beside him. “Are you going?”

“Feels like I should. Stiles will be going soon, anyway. I’m sure you have things to do, too.”

“I don’t have anything to do, if I’m being honest.” He cringed at his own words, pulling down the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie and making his way over to you. Undoing the catch on the door, he pulled it open, leaning against it and you linseed in the doorway.

“Since you’re not doing anything, do you wanna’ get a coffee with me?”

His eyes narrowed, just for a second, and his fingers tapped anxiously on the wood of the door. “As a study subject, or..?”

“As friends.” You confirmed, his lips a thin line for only a second, before pulling up at the sides in a smile.

“Then, yeah. I’d like that.” He looked down, sweatpants and mismatching socks on his lower half, and there was a tint on his cheeks when he looked up. “Just give me two seconds to go change, alright?”

He darted away before you had a chance to reply leaving you there with the words frozen in your throat. Stiles was clattering around behind his own door, and Noah’s door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the doorway. Your hands tapped against your thighs as you waited, bag swinging on your shoulder, and only a second later, one of the doors was opening.

To your surprise, it was Stiles, flapping the flannel on his body to shake out any creases, and he stood before you. Doing a little twirl from where he stood, he began to button it up down his front, looking somewhat smart. It was a nice black and white one, no rips or tears or stains like most of his other ones, and the black stood out prominently against the white, thick patterns with flecks of grey within it.

“How do I look, then?”

“You look great, Sti. I’ve never seen you wear anything so plain before. There’s no colour.”

“Yeah, well, this is a new flannel. It’s my best one, and the skinny jeans are Noah’s. All my skinny jeans are blue or red, it was this or khakis.” He was nervous, resisting the urge to mess with his freshly-styled hair. “The place we’re going to is kinda fancy, but I don’t feel fancy enough for it. I’m gonna’ do something stupid like drop my glass and smash it or make a joke about something dumb.”

“Haven’t you met his family before?” You teased, and he huffed, searching for his keys, and finding them under the counter where he’d never bothered to pick them up from.

“No, not really. I’ve met his mom because she comes to visit a lot, and of course, his little sister, because she’s a sophomore here. But, he has a lot of family. His extended family are coming to graduation, but this is his older sister and his dad, and his uncle, and I’ve never met them before.” His keys were tucked into his back pocket, and his phone followed, your gaze moving over him.

“You got a blazer, Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah. One that my dad made me promise to bring, I wore it to my senior prom.” He shrugged, hands smoothing over his front. “You think I should wear it?”

“Go get it, show me.” He nodded, moving back to his bedroom, and you were waiting for something with orange and blue stripes to come back out, which wouldn’t surprise you. In fact, you’d always imagined Stiles going to his senior prom in a Beetlejuice suit. Noah emerged from the other side of the hall, hangers scraping over their post in a wardrobe as Stiles searched for them. “Did Stiles go to prom in a Beetlejuice suit?”

Noah paused, rolling the edges of his hoodie up, charcoal grey skinny jeans that were only a few shades lighter than the ones Stiles had stolen from him on his legs, and a pair of his usual scuffled boots. “What?”

He was laughing, loudly, shaking his head to hide his grin. “It’s a legitimate question! I have this mental image of it!”

“Unfortunately, he did not. My dad made us both go in three-piece formal suits. He saved up to have them custom made. Said that every man should have a smart suit.” He shrugged, crouching to start tying the laces on his shoes and Stiles reappeared. Over his shoulders was a dark black suit, crisp collar and pressed edges, and it was a beautiful piece of tailoring.

“You look good, Sti. Very smart, but casual. Like a polished version of your usual self.”

“Yeah? Good enough to meet Derek’s family?” His voice shook, and you wished you could ease him more.

“Totally. You look great.” He thanked you both, and Noah grabbed his wallet from the side, and his house keys, letting them both hang in the front pocket of an oversized hoodie.

“You ready to go?” He offered, hand on the top of the door, and Stiles’ head snapped up again from where he’d been checking his phone, presumably looking for texts from Derek.

“Where are you two going?”

“We’re getting coffee!” You beamed, and Noah nodded, stepping a little further out of the door with you.

“Oh, well, have fun. I’ll text you updates about how it goes. I might need bathroom-break pep-talk during the night.” You waved to him as you went, wishing him ‘good luck’, before the two of you were wandering down the halls. Thumbing the button for the elevator, the doors popped open, and you were stepping inside along with Noah.

“So, you wanna’ show off those new small talk skills to me, then?”

“Okay, okay. Let me think of something.” He hummed under his breath, glancing up to the top of the elevator and looking around at the posters on the walls for inspiration, and he seemed to find one. Turning his attention quickly back to you, you prepared for what he’d found. “Have you listened to any of the student bands? There’s been a lot of them growing, lately.”

“I’ve noticed that, actually.” There were several posters up around the inside of the elevator, different coloured flyers, some on shiny paper and some on smooth matte, varying fonts and designs, it was dizzying. “I haven’t, I’ve never been to see a student band. I should do that before I graduate, though. Have you?”

“I’ve been to a couple.” The door clicked open, the two of you stepping through it. Out into the setting chill of the evening that was threatening to break its way in. He chose the direction you’d be going in, heading toward the coffee shop on the side of campus that had been the first the two of you had met at when beginning the study. “Some of them are good, some of them are kinda’ average. They usually play at the bars on the edges of campus or in the places in the city, the less well-known, kinda’ alternative places. They can be fun.”

“You going out optionally to a night on the town? I’m shocked.”

“Uh, no!” He protested, grinning at you. “I’ve never been for a ‘night on the town’, and I never will. However, going to one of the few small bars around here that aren’t practically a nightclub, to listen to covers of good songs and get a pint without worrying about anyone bothering me or mistaking me for my brother, that’s nice.”

“Okay, well, maybe I’ll go to one sometime.”

“You should, I think you’d have fun.” The two of you weaved between other students, the small talk keeping up between you both as he did his best, and while it was sometimes a little stuttered and stalled, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you had expected. It wasn’t until the two of you had entered the coffee shop that he fell into tight silence again. The crowds, the rush of chatter from other groups gathered around the tables, and the friendly greetings of baristas whose chit-chat diverted to him due to his allegiance with you.

“What are you drinking? My treat.”

“Uh, just a black coffee.” He choked out, eyes flicking over all the boards, so many options up there, and you chuckled.

“Really, just a black coffee?”

“I’ve never really experimented. I just ordered whatever was the quickest and the easiest.” He confessed, already glancing back over his shoulder at the queue that was forming behind you both. “What would you recommend?”

“Hm, well, do you have a sweet tooth?” He only nodded, scratching around his cuticles on one hand and staring down at the flesh growing red, and you took his hand. Lowering it back down to his side, the hand formed a fist, flexed nervously, and you let it go, squeezing comfortingly first. Turning to the barista, she was still waiting patiently, and your eyes moved over the boards overhead. “Two mint and dark chocolate hot cocoas.”

“That sounds really good, actually.” He leaned down, mumbling the words into your ear to make sure you heard the quiet tone over the talk in the small coffee house.

“And, two croissants, too.” She rang it up on the machine, and you leaned in a little closer to her. “Do you have any of the warm and fresh ones straight from the oven?”

“We made a fresh batch about twenty minutes ago, they’re cooling. I’ll get them from the back for you.” She finished it with a wink, passing the card machine over to you once you’d produced your card from your wallet. Swiping it across the reader, you moved to the end of the line, and she moved away to begin preparing your order as someone else took over at the counter.

She was working, creating two beautifully constructed hot chocolates for you both. Placing them down on the counter before you, once they were garnished with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, she disappeared into the back room. Taking one of the ceramic plates with her, you were happy to see her bypass the glass cabinet with the older ones in, and only a moment later, she was coming back. Two fresh croissants on a plate, still warm and soft to the touch, and she handed those over as well.

Noah had been scouting for a place to sit, choosing which was the best one, and he carried both of the drinks while you carried the pastries, guiding you to the seat he’d chosen. It was tucked away in the back, a small loveseat sofa with a low sitting coffee table in front of it, and as soon as the paper cups were down on the surface of the table, he was dropping down into the seat.

“It feels like rush hour on the highway, but with coffee.” He mumbled, and you settled onto the couch beside him passing him his drink over, and he stared at it curiously. “What about the whipped cream. Do I eat that first? Scrape it off? Mix it in?”

“Any of the above.” You grinned, taking a wooden stirrer from the condiments tray in the middle and beginning to stir the cream into your hot chocolate. He placed it down, copying your actions, stirring slowly and trying not to spill any over the edges, but it was an impossible feat to achieve. Sticky droplets left over the edges of your cups and his, creating rings on the table that you had to mop up with tissues. “Okay, try it. This is one of my favourite orders here. It’s bitter because of the dark chocolate, but also sweet. Reminds me of you.”

“Now, that one is a backhanded compliment.” He muttered, taking a sip of the drink, and your lips rubbed together.

“Not everything is a backhanded statement, you know. I didn’t intend for it to be mean, it’s just the truth. You’re all dark and moody, but I can already tell you’re sweet on the inside.” You sipped your drink to finish your statement, and he filled the time where he didn’t know what else to say by pulling a chunk off of his croissant. Chewing on it idly, he settled back into the cushions, and you lifted your legs up to fold underneath yourself as you turned to face him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve already asked me a lot of questions today.”

“You didn’t answer many, though. You kinda’ have to give me this one.” He scowled falsely, but nodded, licking a flake of pastry from his lower lip. “Not that I think you need it, because personally, I think you’re just fine, but why are you so scared about therapy? The idea of it, anything to do with it, it makes you so closed off. Even more than usual.”

His eyes moved over the room, nervously, before scanning both you and the table, and you put your drink down, holding open palms up to him.

“No recorder, no study. I’m just curious.”

“Okay.” He sighed shakily, and slumped back. “Well, after my mom died, my dad made me and Stiles have therapy when we started acting out. We had a therapist who came to the house, and she was great, don’t get me wrong, but I hated it. I didn’t want her to tell me how to grieve or mourn, and I didn’t want her to tell me how to move on. Stiles needed all the advice he could get, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to do it my own way. Now, the idea of therapy, brings back all those feelings of sadness and pressure and stress.”

“I’m sorry, Noah.” You reached out, rubbing a hand over his shoulder, and his gaze fell to the contact. “Genuine sympathy and sorrow, not just that thing girls do that you hate.”

“Stop hanging things I’ve said over me, I don’t remember half of them. I blackout in social situations.” He grinned, moving past the moment, and you withdrew your touch.

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, I understand the nervousness of being in a study.”

“Yeah?” He picked up the rest of his croissant, a large chunk of it being eaten, as he waited for you.

“Yeah. When I moved here, I was so nervous. I was beginning to take my course and I didn’t really have any friends, and there was a senior who needed freshmen for her study.” Noah grinned, settling in for the story and sipping his drink. “She was doing a study about the difference between kids who travelled far from home for college alone as opposed to those who were still close to home, and whether it impacted social clubs, grades, all that. To be fair, it was an awesome study.”

“It sounds like it.”

You smiled, swirling the cup in your hands to gather any loose powder that may have begun to separate and gather at the bottom. “Well, I got drawn into it. She was a senior, and she was nice. I had no friends yet, I was in a flat-share with Allison and Lydia and three other girls who were all too busy getting adjusted to college themselves. So, this senior, she invited me to a party, and then another one, and suddenly people started wanting to be my friend because I was the freshman who hung out with seniors. I figured it would all drop away when her study ended and she didn’t need me anymore, but by then the whole social hierarchy had done its thing, and there I was.”

You shrugged, and Noah was hiding a shit-eating grin behind his mug. “So, you were just a little freshman lab rat, then?”

You scoffed, your laughter mixing with his, and the two of you were left in subtle amusement. His laughter was cut short, though, brought a rapid halt when a set of legs bumped against your table on the other side, followed by two more behind them.

“Hey, girl!” One of the girls on the cheer team, a lacrosse player behind her and a girl who you recognised from your psychology class texting on her phone. “Saw you over here, wanted to know what your plans for the evening were. We’re going to do some karaoke and get some food, you wanna’ come?”

Your eyes moved to Noah, whose attention was fixed on the floor again, as though the splintering wood was of utmost interest. “Maybe another time. I think we’re good here for now.”

“Oh, you sure? I think it could be super fun, you should both come.” The invitation was now extended to you both, and you shook your head at her despite it.

“Seriously, you should go, if you want to,” Noah whispered, and when you turned back to him now, he’d dared to look up, chewing on a lower lip that would go raw, but he met your gaze.

“No, I’m sure. I’m having fun here.” You held his gaze for a second longer, before turning to her, and confirming your denial, and she smiled, promising to make plans with you soon, before she was walking away. Noah was fidgeting beside you, shuffling in his seat, and you could practically feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves. “I’m serious, Noah. I’m having fun, and I’m perfectly happy here with you, right now.”

He was trying not to grin, a smile that was being bitten back on the inside of his cheek. “Well, for the record, I’m having fun too.”

“What was that?” You cupped your ear, challenging him to repeat it, even though you had heard it perfectly, and by the look on his face, he knew the game you were playing.

“I said I’m having fun. I won’t deny it.”

“Two victories in one day, for this gal. I’m breaking down all your walls, Noah Stilinski.” You poked at his cheek, and he swatted your hand away, taking a bite from your croissant as punishment, and you tried to snatch it back from him.

“Two victories, one loss. You’re not getting this croissant back, now.”

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Radio Silence Chapter One: On the Other End

Poe Dameron has been assigned to work as an intel receiver to Acer, a Resistance recon agent. They’ve only ever talked through the comms, so when she’s captured by First Order troops he assumes she’s lost forever. When Poe accidentally rescues the absolutely infuriating Resistance spy Y/N L/N from a First Order Star Destroyer, he knows she’s got nothing do with with Acer. Right?

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Poe Dameron slides into a seat in front of a gleaming array of navicomputers and tech displays. He considers the many buttons and levers in front of him, then methodically enters a series of commands into a console. He waits one second, two, then it beeps at him. Correct password- well, he’d hope so. He’s done this so many times that he could enter in the digits in his sleep.

After that, it only takes a couple of seconds to call up the secure communications channel. There have only ever been two people with access to this channel: one sender and one receiver. Poe is the receiver, as always, recovering data sent to him by the Resistance recon agent they’ve got stationed out somewhere in the Outer Rim or the Unknown Regions. He doesn’t know anything about her, that’s stated in the Resistance regulations- no sharing information that could get your spies killed. That’s a must.

At exactly twenty standard hours, it is time for Poe to flip on the radio channel and receive the latest intel from his sender. He waits for a minute or two in silence, brow furrowing as he spends more time in solitude, and then his ears are greeted by the reassuringly familiar crackle of static across the console speakers. Poe grins. “Acer, that you?” He can practically hear her smile across the radio channel. “Who else would it be?”

Poe leans back in his chair, finally able to relax. “You were three minutes late, you know. That’s against protocol.” Acer sighs dramatically. “Oh come on, Bravo. You going to report me to the General for overwhelming tardiness in the line of duty?” Poe rolls his eyes. “I might, now that you mention it.” Acer laughs. “I’m sure you will. Honestly, I just think this means you care about me. Were you worried for me?”

Poe taps a few buttons on his console, adjusting the sound for perfect quality. “I’m not going to answer that. You got anything good for me?” He can hear the sound of Acer’s navicomputer as she loads in the data filed for transmission. “I don’t know, Bravo. I’m not sure it’s anything major.” A sudden whir from the console catches Poe’s attention, and he waits as the data files finish sending. There’s a final ding of completion and Poe grabs the readouts from a dataport.

He whistles as he takes in the preview on his console. “You got troop lists? How’d you manage that?” Poe can’t see her face, but he’s fairly sure Acer’s smirking. “I figured that if I was going to peek through the transparisteel to see the bucketheads shine their shoes, I might as well tally them down as well.” Poe shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s amazing. I don’t know how you manage it.”

Acer speaks through a slight flash of static. “Well, I’m not going to act like it was easy. My hands are still shaking.” Poe clicks his tongue. “Hey, that’s personal information. I’m not supposed to know about that.” Acer’s worried tone breaks up into laughter. “What, that I have hands? Did you think I was a droid?” Poe grins, pleased with himself for making her smile. “I wasn’t about to assume anything. You could be a very human-sounding droid.” Acer groans. “If you thought I was a droid throughout all of this, then I think I understand why the General doesn’t have you as a spy.”

Poe’s mouth drops open. “Are you insulting me, Acer? After all we’ve been through?” Her laugh sounds musical, even through the crackles of a radio line. “I don’t know. It might not be in my programming.” They chat for a while longer before Acer’s voice drops off. “It’s time already. The minutes fly by, don’t they? Well, that’s all the data I’ve got for today.” Poe smiles ruefully. “Well, there ain’t nobody like you. Bravo, over and out.” Acer calls out the same goodbye code before her end of the line goes dark. Poe waits a few minutes, as according to radio procedure, then shuts off the encrypted line.

It’s strange to think that at the end of the day, Poe doesn’t know anything more about Acer than he would a First Order lieutenant. Can you consider someone a friend if you’ve never seen them before? Whenever Poe’s sent on a mission to some planet under First Order command, he can’t help scanning the crowds of people as if he thinks he’ll see her somewhere. It makes no sense- he has no idea what Acer looks like, and she only knows him as Bravo, the voice across the air. Yet he still looks around as if hoping she’ll show up, like he’ll see someone and just intuitively know that they are the spy he’s been speaking to for so long.

Poe can still remember when he was first given the assignment. At first, he had chafed at the idea of being confined to a desk when he could be out in his X-Wing, taking down TIE fighters and rescuing Resistance officers like always. He’d plunked himself down at his assigned station, an empty room in a distant corner of the base. Poe had turned on the encrypted channel, readying himself for a boring half hour of talking to some dry business-as-usual intel agent. Yet instead of being forced to share comms with a watery old recon officer, he’d been greeted by Acer. Wild, laughing, ruthlessly clever Acer. He’d want no one else.

They’d become friends soon after that, it was practically inevitable. Poe doesn’t know much about the other spies the Resistance sent out, but he does know that Acer is one of the best there is. Poe feels some extension of pride whenever he gets to deliver the newly recovered data files to the General, like he had just as much of a role in their transmission as Acer. To be fair, he has talked her through a couple of bad scenarios, like when a First Order intercomms agent demanded to see her radio or when a shady Knights of Ren sympathizer nearly found her out. No matter how bad it got, they’d always found some way to make it through. They were a team, weren’t they? Acer and Bravo, the two ends of the comms.

Poe finds that he’s actually come to rely on his daily check-ins with Acer like he would a chat with a friend. He has no idea how it feels to be in her position, stuck in the middle of First Order space with nothing but a fragile lie to protect you. Sometimes, he can hear it in her voice- the fear, the knowledge that at any moment she could be found out and shipped off to a distant cell where she would rot for the rest of her days. Spies are risky operators, and oftentimes the Resistance can’t afford to bring them back, not if it would compromise the rest of their intel rings.

Poe remembers the instance when he was captured by the First Order and tortured on board their ship. He had known even then that the likelihood of him being brought back to the Resistance was low, almost negligible, yet he’d been fortunate enough to have been rescued by Finn. Renegade stormtroopers with hearts of gold, however, were hard to come by, and so Acer wouldn’t even be able to rely on that. It twists Poe’s stomach to think of her on her bad days, when she’s surrounded by the fear that she would disappear on those backwater city planets and never be found again. He’d look for her, he promises himself, but even Poe knows that one radio operator wouldn’t be enough to find Acer if she went missing. All he can do is hope that it won’t come to that.

A couple of weeks later, Poe is on the line with Acer again when he first hears something in the background. It’s a quiet noise, barely there, yet something about it feels strange. He speaks up. “Hey, Ace, you got a roommate there? I thought I heard something behind you.” There’s quiet for a moment, and then when Acer speaks again her voice is strained with panic. “I live alone. There should be nobody here with me.” Both of them stay silent for a moment as they realize the implications of this. If Acer should be alone, but somebody is there, then that means-

The explosions go off about half a second later. Distantly, Poe can hear the draw of a blaster from a holster and repeated fire. Acer bends close to the radio, speaking quietly so the attackers won’t hear. “There are First Order troops in my quarters. I repeat, there are First Order troops here. This is Acer, I am requesting sendoff. Bravo, do you copy?” Poe’s blood feels like ice in his veins. The sendoff code is one that he had hoped to never hear. It means that Acer is outnumbered, that she’s about to be captured. It means that the Resistance has to make a choice whether to save her or to damn her to end the rest of her life in First Order cells.

This is Poe’s greatest fear. When he speaks again, he has to force his voice to stay calm and never waver. If he sounds nervous, then it will only enhance her own fear. “This is Bravo, affirmative. I verify your sendoff.” He can hear a quiet sound, like a half-sob almost hidden in the din of the blaster fire. Poe feels sick to his stomach. He can’t do this, can’t abandon Acer like this. He knows in this moment that if he doesn’t do something he will never forgive himself, but what is there to do? It’s not like he can help fight the stormtroopers. He feels their separation like a knife. She is cut off from him in all ways but the radio, but what good can a comms channel do in a firefight?

Desperate, Poe clicks on his mic once more. “Acer, can you read me? Can you send your location?” This is his last hope- if she can send even a couple of coordinates they might be able to track her down, might be able to save her from the cells. Acer’s voice comes back over the air, and Poe feels his heart drop at her words. “That’s a negative, Bravo. I can’t risk any more transmissions.” Her voice breaks off, but it doesn’t sound like a tech difficulty. When she speaks once more, her voice is leaden, and it chills Poe to the bone.

“I’m not making it out, Bravo. It’s been good to know you. See you in the fall.” Poe’s jaw tightens when he hears the last phrase. ‘See you in the fall’ is a joke they have between them, that someday there will be a day when he and Acer will be able to leave their stations and find each other at the end of all of this- at the fall of the First Order, of the war and resistance effort itself, when everything is finally over. If she’s saying this, then she knows- Acer isn’t making it back.

Poe’s voice is seconds away from breaking. “I’ll see you in the fall, Acer. I promise.” He can hear her slight smile over the line, and it nearly kills him. Even now, she’s forcing herself to stay strong. “You have to end the channel, Bravo. Otherwise they’ll find you.” Poe shakes his head before forgetting that she can’t see him. “Don’t make me leave. I know I’m not here, but I can’t-” Poe forces himself to remain calm. He has to do this, it is his last job. He owes her this, at least. He owes it to her that the mission not fail completely.

Poe takes a moment to steady himself before continuing. “Affirmative, Acer. This is Bravo, over and out.” Poe drags his hand over to the buttons lining his console and robotically types in the command to permanently end the channel before the First Order can find them through it. Just before he severs the line, he hears her voice one last time. “I read you, Bravo. Acer, over and out.” Then there’s one last flurry of static, and everything goes quiet.

Poe sits for a second in the silence. His ears are ringing with the last remnants of the blasterfire. He stares at his hands, still hovering over the controls. Just like that, his friend is gone. Acer has been captured, and she knows that there’s no hope of her return. Poe has been fighting in the Resistance for a long time now, and he’s seen many friends and allies fall. This loss, however, is the hardest he has felt in a long time.

Poe’s footsteps echo through the halls until he comes to a stop in front of General Organa. She turns to him, expecting a proffered data file, but her smile fades when she sees the haunted look on his face. Poe’s voice registers dully in the room. “Recon Operator Acer has been cleared for sendoff.” And just like that, Poe has lost one of the best things in the fight.

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron series #star wars #star wars imagines #star wars x reader #star wars series #poe #poe imagines #poe x reader #poe series #star wars poe #star wars poe imagines #star wars poe x reader #star wars poe series

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sunflowergirl522 · 3 years

Text

Runaway: Their Journey Begins

Pairing: Tiefling!Bucky x Elf!Reader

Summary: Bucky takes a lot of jobs to make a living and this one was no different. Except for the fact that it’s for an elf prince and elves tend to avoid him in general. He accepts and with Sam and Steve they start their journey to find the elf prince’s runaway bride.

Word Count: 3355

Warnings: Language

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The tavern is crowded and full of life except for one dark corner where Steve and Bucky sit drinking from their mugs of beer. Sam had immediately joined everyone else instead of following his friends to their lifeless corner upon their arrival. They had all decided to celebrate the mission they just completed with a drink at their usual place.

“How mad do you think Sam is that we had to trade away his lute for the jewel?” Steve chuckles as he asks and takes another sip of his beer.

“I’m sure there’s still steam coming out of his little ears,” Bucky laughs. “Where is he anyway?” As the two of them look out into the crowd of people trying to spot their friend a table crashes to the ground drawing everyone's attention. Sam’s standing where it once was in front of an orc who looks like he’s trying to make sense of what just happened. Steve and Bucky look at each other before rolling their eyes at how drunk and angry Sam is. They know immediately that he had to have been the one to knock over the table and that he’s about to start a fight.

“Watch where you’re walking you big oaf! You almost trampled me!” Sam kicks at the orcs legs as he speaks. The orcs' eyes narrow in on Sam realizing that he had been the reason the table was knocked over and his drink now covering his lap instead of sitting in his mug.

“You spilled my drink on me. Who do you think you are halfling?” The orcs' voice booms through the tavern as he picks up Sam by his collar.

“It’s your turn.” Steve reminds Bucky as he nonchalantly takes another drink from his mug.

“I know, I know.” Bucky downs the rest of his drink before forcing his way through the crowd. “For such a half pint you sure cause a shit load of trouble Sam.” He grumbles to himself before addressing the orc in the room. “Hey buddy! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

“Get out of here helmet head, I have no issues with you.” Bucky snarls at the insult thrown at him and cracks his knuckles.

“Yeah, well now I got an issue with you.” He lands a punch in the orcs stomach causing him to drop Sam in shock, who immediately dashes over into the corner with Steve.

“Okay devil man, you asked for it.”

The orc swings for Bucky who dodges it while landing another blow to the orcs chest. The crowd in the tavern bursts into chaos and cheers as the fight begins. Bucky manages to dodge another punch just to catch a blow to the face from the orc's other fist. He stumbles back a bit from the force of it and can feel the tear in his lip from his fang. He growls at the smirking orc in front of him. He jumps at him, shoving him over onto a table before climbing on top of him and throwing punch after punch at the orcs face.

Then the doors swing open and everyone freezes as elven guards file into the tavern. The gold of their armor hints to the fact that they’re sun elves. It was rare to see elves in this area. And it was unheard of to ever see a sun elf anywhere other than their territory or in a war. So seeing all the guards fill in the perimeter of the tavern is enough to stop Bucky mid punch. A hush falls over the crowd as an elf prince walks in. He stops in the doorway and scans the place in disgust before his eyes land on Bucky. He makes his way over to him and stops in front of the table. He cringes at the bloodied orc before speaking.

“I’m in need of your services.” Bucky’s eyes go wide for just a second before the orc underneath him groans, drawing his attention back to him. He lands one final blow to his face before standing up and motioning for the prince to follow him over to Sam and Steve. The prince grimaces at the sight of Sam, so drunk he’s barely conscious, and very hesitantly takes a seat across from them while Bucky leans on the wall behind them crossing his arms.

“What can we do for you?”

“Find someone for me. My bride to be has disappeared under my watch. As of this morning she was missing from her room and she’s not in my kingdom. It’s preferable that you find her before her father realizes that she’s missing. I believe that she was kidnapped though any enemies we have wouldn’t have known that she was visiting.”

“What does she look like?”

“She’s a moon elf.”

“I assure you, your majesty, that we don’t see a lot of moon elves in our profession. We’re gonna need a description to find the right girl.” Bucky spits out and a moment of silence passes before something clicks in Bucky’s head. “You’ve never even seen her have you?” The annoyance in his voice isn’t hidden and Steve bursts in quickly so Bucky can have a moment to stew in whatever he’s thinking of saying.

“Where was she last?”

“The last any of my guards or her guards saw her was in the room she was using during her visit.”

“And you probably won’t even let us go there.” Sam hiccups break apart his slurred sentence as he picks his head up from the table just for it to fall back down when he finishes speaking.

“Your drunk friend would be correct. My kingdom is no place for creatures like yourselves.”

“So let me get this right.” Bucky pushes off of the wall and leans his hands on the table and brings his head down to the prince's height. “You expect me to find some lost princess with no description, no reason for someone to take her, and not even be able to try to track her from where she was last?”

“I can give you a piece of her clothing for a scent.” The prince nonchalantly removes his gaze from the nails he was boredly examining and makes eye contact while he speaks.

“I’m not a damned hound!” Bucky snarls and slams his hands on the table causing many guards to step forward. Steve quickly stands up effectively shoving Bucky back and stopping him from doing anything stupid.

“We’ll look for her. Do you have any suggestions on where we should start looking?”

“There’s a town called Tavin that I’ve heard she spends time in, it’s not far from the kingdom, I’d start there.” The prince then stands up and motions with a finger for a guard to step forward. He drops a bag of coins onto the table and Steve grabs them before Sam can open his eyes to get a glance of it and try to snag it. “You’ll get the rest of it after she’s returned safely to the outskirts of my kingdom.” The prince throws over his shoulder as he starts to walk out of the tavern.

“What an entitled fucking weed eater! How the fuck does he think we’re gonna find his precious fucking princess?” The noise Bucky’s fists make when they slam into the table cause heads to turn in their direction and also causes Sam to groan out something about trying to sleep.

“Are you the best at what you do?”

“Of course I am.” Bucky scoffs out, annoyed that Steve would even second guess that.

“Then we shouldn’t have any trouble finding her.” Steve smirks at his friend knowing he had won whatever argument they would have over this whole quest. “Now let's sober up Sam and get ready to go.” He tosses Sam over his shoulder with just a small protest from the halfling and starts to make his way out of the tavern. Bucky follows behind him grumbling to himself in Inferno and makes sure to kick the passed out orcs legs on his way out.

***

They had let Sam sleep for an hour in their room at the inn not far from the tavern while they repacked their belongings. Once they woke him up they gave him a meal and some water to get him more alert. It’s the system they use every time Sam gets drunk too soon before leaving for a quest. They had to create it because Sam always insists that he can drink just as much as them and not get drunk even though he does every single time.

“So what exactly are we doing again?” Sam asks from atop Steve’s shoulders. He had climbed up after not even twenty minutes of walking because he was tired. He shoves some bread into his mouth while he looks at Bucky for an answer.

“We have to find some elf broad for this dick of a prince.” Bucky’s fists haven't been unclenched since they left town. He stalks ahead of his friends in his annoyance without realizing it. His annoyance only amuses Steve because he knows that once they get to Tavin and pick up a trail he’s going to be on top of it.

“Bucky’s still upset that the prince didn’t give us a description or anything to work with.” Steve looks up at the halfling on his shoulders as he explains the hostility in their friend's voice.

“I’m annoyed because the guy seems like an ass!” Bucky yells back over his shoulder.

“An elf gal huh? I have the perfect song for this!”

“No!” Bucky doesn’t even need to turn around to know that Sam’s reaching behind him to grab the lute that he made them stop to buy on their way out.

“Fine but only because it’ll be tough to play on someone's shoulders.”

After a long time of walking the trio comes to a crossroads and according to the map they have, both paths will eventually lead them to Tavin.

“I’ve been to Tavin before, if we go right we’ll get there faster than if we go left.” Bucky looks at Steve and points his thumb over his shoulder at the path to the right of the sign.

“Buck, I’ve gone to Tavin a hundred times. If we go left it’ll take longer, yes, but there’s a small village in between us and Tavin that we could stop at to rest and pick up whatever we’ll need.”

“Steve, if I wanted to stop at a town I would’ve said we should go left. The prince said that we should find her before daddy dearest finds out so we should take the quicker path. And I don’t know about you but I want this over and done with already.”

Their bickering continues for a short while before Sam gets annoyed and looks at the map himself. He takes into consideration what bothe of his friends said and how much he would want to walk before he starts walking one way while bringing his lute around his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Steve calls out to Sam while Bucky smirks at him knowing that Sam’s just made their decision and went with his path.

“I’m gonna find me an elf lover!” After speaking Sam immediately starts to strum and sing a song about the love between an elf and a halfling. Steve shoots his own smirk at Bucky knowing that he’s gonna have to deal with his singing now. BUcky only groans before they both follow close behind Sam.

“Why did I have to befriend a bard?”

“Because said bard has saved your ass on more than one occasion.” Sam answers the rhetorical question still strumming along.

“Shut it shortstack, you were only able to help because no one can see you coming.”

“Can we just all agree that you’re both idiots and move on with our lives? I’d rather not spend the whole trip listening to the two of you argue the whole time.” Steve can’t speak without chuckling over how ridiculous his friends are.

“Alright.” Sam goes back to his song.

“Fine.”

The trio walks on for hours with Sam playing songs here and there and all of them cracking jokes at one another. They walk until after sundown and well into the night. Thanks to the stash of food Sam always has, they don’t even need to stop to hunt for some food.

“Can we stop walking now? It’s starting to get so dark we can’t see the path.” Sam asks as clouds begin to drape around the moon dimming their light source.

“Maybe for you but that’s why I’m here.”

“He’s right, Bucky. We should set up camp for the night, we could all use some sleep anyway.”

“Alright, c’mon, there’s a clearing off to the side of the path up ahead. We can set up there, I’ll start a fire.” Bucky leads his friends up the trail just a little farther before turning off of it and taking his pack off. He leaves Sam and Steve to set up the tent since the moon starts to peek through the clouds providing just enough light to work and goes off to search for wood for a fire. When he comes back he finds Steve sitting outside of the tent with Sam sleeping soundly inside.

“Do you think we really need a fire? I’m getting ready to head in to sleep too.”

“You’re telling me this now? After you let me go off to find the wood.” He drops all the wood at his feet before moving to sit next to Steve.

“I thought you could use some time to yourself to calm down a bit about this quest.” Bucky just nods at him and leans back on his hands.

“Do you really think we’re gonna find the girl Steve?” He asks after a moment of silence passes by.

“Of course I do Buck. As soon as we get a hint of where she is you’ll be able to find her in no time.”

“But what if she doesn’t want to be found?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking and the prince said that no one knew she was visiting right? So how would anyone of known to kidnap her from the kingdom? She could have just run away, I mean the prince doesn’t seem like he’s much of a catch, if I was being forced to marry him I would run away too.”

“I don’t know Buck, from what I’ve heard arranged marriages are rare even among elves. I’m sure if they were getting married they knew each other. I’m gonna head to bed, you should too.”

“Yeah, I will in a bit.” Steve nods and heads into the tent while Bucky looks up at the moon. He can’t help but believe that Steve’s wrong. It has to be an arranged marriage, why else would the prince not know what she looks like.He sits there thinking to himself and looking up at the moon for a while before making his way into the tent.

***

“Rise and shine sleepy head! It’s time to get this show on the road!” Sam bursts into the tent strumming wildly on his lute to get Bucky up. The tiefling groans and flicks Sam with his tail before sitting up. “Shit! You’re so fucking grumpy when you wake up.”

“Because it means another day of having to deal with you.”

“Yeah whatever, put a shirt on and come outside so we can pack up the tent already.”

“Morning Buck.” Steve greets from his spot on the ground where he’s looking at the map. “It looks like we’ll make it to Tavin by noon.” Bucky finishes pulling his shirt over his head as he walks over to his friends to take a look in the food pack.

“Morning.” A strand of his hair falls over his forehead and he runs a hand through his hair between his horns. “The pack’s almost empty, we’ll have to get more food when we get to Tavin.”

“Steve got up and caught some rabbits so that’s something.” Sam speaks in between bites of the roll he has in his hands. He nods his head towards the fire that the rabbits are cooking on.

“You’re not allowed to hold the pack anymore Sam.”

“What, why?”

“I know you’re the one eating all the food. You can be in charge of the tent pack from now on. Now come help me take it apart while Steve finishes packing everything else.”

Bucky and Sam get their gear out of the tent before starting to tear it down. Bucky throws his cloak on and packs up his leather armor while he leaves Sam to pack up each piece of the tent. When Sam starts to reach for the food pack Bucky grabs it before swinging it over his shoulder with his own stuff. And once more they start their journey to Tavin.

***

Tavin is a lively town with merchants and musicians littering the streets. The people loitering around seem happy as they laugh and talk amongst each other. Bucky brings his hood over his head as they reach the crowded town, hiding his horns the best he can. He never knows how people will react to seeing a tiefling walking among them so unless he’s normally in a town he’ll do this.

“You think we should try the tavern first?” Steve asks while motioning to the building with a sign reading ‘La Luna’.

“Yeah, if that doesn’t work we can start asking merchants.”

“Well, what are we waiting for, let’s go!” Sam speeds up thinking he’ll get some food and a drink while they’re there. Just outside of the tavern Bucky grabs onto the back of Sam's shirt successfully stopping him as he tries to keep walking.

“We’re not here to drink, got it?” Sam groans.

“Yeah, yeah, just here to get information. You’re no fun, you know that?” Bucky ignores his friend and follows Steve up to the bartender. Sam grumbles to himself but soon gets distracted by a pretty dwarf sitting in a corner of the place, packing up some food.

“Hey there newcomers, can I get you anything?” The barkeep greets Bucky and Steve as they approach the bar.

“No thanks,” Steve says as he leans against the counter, “we’re just wondering if you could help us find someone.”

“Barely a soul comes through here that I don’t know.”

“We’re looking for a moon elf princess, you seen her?”

“We don’t see a lot of royalty in these parts.” Bucky slides a few coins across the bar knowing how this process works. “Yeah, I’ve seen her. She’s a bit of a regular when she’s out adventuring. Pops actually named this place in honor of her.”

“Has she been here recently?”

“Was here just yesterday, met up with a clan of dwarves who’re here all the time. She left with them.”

“You know where we can find those dwarves?” Bucky leaves a few more coins on the counter.

“You got a map?”

Meanwhile Sam tries to shoot his shot with the dwarf maiden he had spotted.

“Hey sweet thing, my friends and I are in town looking for someone, but I think I might just be who you’re looking for.”

“Maybe you are.” She sends Sam a flirty smile. “But that might depend on who you’re looking for.” And boy is Sam weak to attractive women because he’s quick to spill the beans.

“Some elf princess, I’m sure she doesn’t match your beauty though.”

“Where are you friends now?”

“Over there, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind waiting around if I told them I was leaving with a pretty lady.” Sam points over at Steve and Bucky who’re talking to the bartender and the dwarf watches as Bucky slides coins across the counter with wide eyes.

“I actually have to go.” She leaves in a rush and Sam just shrugs.

“Her loss.” He makes his way over to his friends as the bartender points at the map in front of him.

“Sam, we’ve got a lead.”

Bucky Taglist: @puddinsqueen @koressecretidentity @stevieintheimpala @unmagically @peachytea01 @the-chocoholic-writer @perksofbeingatrex @99-cats @rachmmb @quokkatrash @vanillamaa @strawb3rrydr3ss @that-sarcastic-writer @spideyycents @mackycat11 @crystalsoul2 @rosiemotion @dissectiontime @lmf @jacelynenursalim @aiyanalevina @mooncaffeine @fanofalltheficsx @jewelsrocks99 @lharrietg @yoongisdumplingcheeks @clubcesspool @sailormajinmoon @girl-obsessed-with-things @corvusmorte @sophielovesbarnes @collywobbl @majo240820 @alina02 @toothhurtyam

Marvel Taglist: @its-the-autism-innit-luv @pogueslandia @obsessedwithbuckybarnes @rorysreallyrandom @sxtansqueen @myalupinblack @aya-fay @lieswithoutfairytales @kakakatey @sugarbutterbailey @1-800-ch3rry @amelia-song-pond @leyannrae @ficsnrec @slut-for-bucky-barnes @neenieweenie @officiallyunofficialperson

Everything Taglist: @florenceyelena @ninuffi @i-love-superhero @kolakube9 @lexy9716 @hehehehannahthings

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #fantasy au #runaway

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we-have-bangtan · 3 years

Text

BCO (Bulletproof Crime Org.)

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Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Theme: Mafia au, poly au, smut, gore

Warning: Swearing, smut, gore, Hobi and Jimin smooch.

VERY UN-EDITED

SO SO SO LONG

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Chapter 1 || chapter 2 ||

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She was tempted to smash the window with the tennis ball she had been given in order to stay entertained. She hadn’t realized how boring house arrest was in all these years, she vowed to never let any of her victims go through this.

She stood up, going to look out the window again, gang members littered the lawn, 2 to the right, 3 towards the corner of the building and 2 more directly across from the window. She’d have a tough time running away, not that she had any plan to do that.

She felt like Rapunzel in Mother Gothel’s castle, just that here she had 7 mother Gothels. She considered throwing the ball as hard as she could at the two men, one with pink hair and the other with black hair, to the right of the window; just to practice her aim. She decided against it, picking up an apple from the fruit basket Taehyung had delivered to her this morning, preferring to chuck an apple at them instead.

She leaned out of the window, aiming with one eye closed and threw it with all her might, the apple she had thrown meeting the head of the one with pink hair, “Heyyyy” the boy yelped in shock, looking all around to look for where the apple came from, he didn’t notice her in the window right behind him.

The boy with black hair seemed to convince the guy that he was imagining stuff. The two of them went back to their conversation as Yn smirked to herself, finally some entertainment, she thought as she grabbed the smaller basket on grapes, tossing one of them at the pink haired one again before quickly moving away from the window just as someone knocked on the door.

“Come in” she yelled, hurriedly moving away from the window as Jungkook peeked into the room before entering, “Supp” he asked, looking around her room, it was nice, comfortable and bright, it had a very comfortable bed and an arm chair that was a little squeaky, “Same ol’, bored, how long will I be under house arrest?” she asked making the youngest of the boys raise an eyebrow at her.

“You’ll be under house arrest till your injuries have healed, and the fuck you mean bored, I could literally see you throwing fruits at Yeonjun” he said, calling her out on her bullshit, “yah, what am I supposed to do when I’m bored” she defended, Jungkook walked over to the window as he spoke, “I didn’t say you had to stop, I actually came to join you” he admitted, his eyes fixed on the black haired fellow.

She quietly dragged a chair towards the window, taking the fruit basket with her as well, handing Jungkook an orange before taking a grape for herself. Jungkook aimed at the dude’s head with all the concentration that he had before throwing the fruit which met with the poor boy’s forehead.

“Aish, you blew my cover” Yn huffed as the guy looked up at them. “Ah, don’t worry about it, I can entertain you instead” he assured as he saw Soobin take Yeonjun away from the window to a place out of their range.

Soobin would have given anyone else a piece of his mind if they had done that to him but now that it was Jungkook and the boss lady, he would lose his life if he even looked at them wrongly. He’d complain about it to Jin hyung later he decided before going back to his conversation with Yeonjun.

Jungkook fell back on Yn’s bed as she too moved away from the window to join him, making sure not to put any pressure on her injuries. “I need clothes of my own don’t you think?” she said, looking down at the clothes one of the girls in the compound had lent her, they were nice but not exactly her style.

“Why, are the ones you have now not enough?” he question taking a moment to look over the shorts and t-shirt she was wearing, “It’s not they aren’t enough, it’s just that they aren’t my style” she admitted as she toyed with the hem of her sleeve.

She and Jungkook had come to a mutually understand each other in the past three days. He’d come to the room to check up on her and somehow managed to stay back to entertain her for a while before he’d have to go again. He was a few months older than her and was constantly bugging her about it, he’d whine and groan when ever she didn’t use any honorifics but he had come to the understanding that she was not going to use honorifics with him or anyone in the group.

He was comforting and entertaining and a dumbass at times, but he was nice, he wasn’t the 7th leader of Bulletproof crime org, the biggest criminal organisation in Korea. He was Jungkook, a goofy 24 year old with an addiction to banana milk.

“We’ll see, I’ll as Namjoon hyung if we can go to the mall, do you have money?” he asked as he got up from his spot to strecth his body a little. “Ayaaa, my card is at the compound back home, I need to sneak in to get it” she huffed, already devicing an action plan on how she would get it back.

“You can just open another account you know, no need to go back home, how much was in it anyway?” he asked, worried for her safety although he knew she could handle herself.

She really didn’t have to risk her life to get a dumb credit card, plus, cash was better than car, it didn’t leave tracks anywhere. Jungkook looked at the pretty girl in front of him, she looked like she was contemplating whether to go or not. He didn’t want her to go, honestly. It was a waste, what if she got caught by her old gang, they’d behead her themselves. “20 million won, and I need to end them anyway, might as well get some work done when I go to get my card” she answered leaving Jungkook’s jaw hanging.

“20 MILLION WON??????” he exclaimed, “does the bank not get suspicious? how did you even get that much money?” he questioned, eyes wide with concern for the 23 year old. “It’s a bank run by a close friend who will be relieved if I show up there, but I cna’t go to the bank yet, I’m wanted” she explained, popping a grape in her mouth before continuing, “And i get money the same way you do, through deals and private missions” she answered.

“Do you have private clients?” he asked, he had never been a private assaissin nor had he ever met anyone who was a private assassin, he was curious about it. “Yeah, most of them are politicians or other gang leaders” she answered, “anyway when is the earliest that I can get out of here?” she questioned, successfully diverting the topic.

“Probably in a few days” he answered, being vague on purpose. “Be more specific” she demanded making him chuckle, “Aish, so demanding” he teased, before continuing, “The day after tomorrow, if all your injuries heal properly” he finished, heading to the door,

“ Ynnnn holding Jungkook us again I see” Hobi playfully scolded as he brought a bag of snacks to the table, giving her a bag of shrimp crackers that she had asked for when he had told her that he was going to town for business and asked if she needed anything. “Thank you!” she said, grabbing the packet before ripping it apart, “Aish, I didn’t know you liked them that much or I would have bought more” Hobi said watching as the young assassin devoured the crackers two at a time. “You guys literally gave me fruits, which sane person would have fruit as a snack” she accused as Jungkook left the room quietly so he didn’t have the patience for her whining right now.

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2 DAYS LATER

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“I’m free, I’m free, I’m free” Yn yelled as she went into Namjoon’s office, Namjoon just groaned at how noisy she was before asking her to take a seat. “Do you have somewhere to be immediately?” he asked her as the rest of the boys filed in to join the discussion.

“No where important, but I need to get my money” she answered, Namjoon nodded, Jungkook had told him about it earlier. “Will you do that before or after your test? and when do you want to take your test?” he asked making her look at him with a raised eyebrow, “can I finish the test now and I can leave for a short while to get my shit done before I come back” she asked, he nodded.

A gunshot echoed through the compund as Yn moved out of the way, Jimin had fired a wax bullet at her, it wasn’t meant to hit her. Just to warn her. She quickly climbed onto the chair as Namjoon yelled the rules, she could run anywhere in the mansion at the count of three, but the moment she was hit with the bullet she was out, 30 men were out there to catch her, she had an hour and if she passed the test she was eligible to join the gang.

It was basically a game of tag except that it was 1 against 30 and she didn’t have any weapons either, “Do I get a gun too?” she asked, scanning the room frantically for a way out. “Sure, if you want but it will have only 5 bullets, anyone who gets hit cannot hunt you anymore” Namjoon said, laying out the conditions out for her, she nodded and was quickly tossed a revolver, she checked her ammo before tucking the gun away in her waist band. “Do I get to hurt anyone?” she asked again, gaining a nod from Namjoon.

She held her breath, hearing multiple guns being loaded, which way to go? should she make for the door? no. Taehyung was guarding it, what about the table? no again, Namjoon was staring at her with a revolver in hand, casually spinning it like it was a toy. She never thought a man with a revolver, ready to shoot her would look that sexyy.

She looked left and right, Jungkook and Yoongi were on one side waiting for Namjoon’s count and it was the same case for Jimin and Jin. “1!” Namjoon hollered as she looked all around the room, she should be prepared, “2!” he counted as her eyes landed on the window, her mouth curved into a smirk, she found her escape.

“3!” Namjoon yelled as she leaped out off the chair as high as she could, landing directly in front of the window before jumping over, “GET HER!!!!!!!” Hobi yelled as he barged out of the office chasing after her.

Yn’s thigh stung as she landed in the floor below the office, it looked like a sort of library with rows and rows of floor to ceiling shelves full of books, she quickly jamp atop a shelf, laying herself flat aginst it as she dragged herself by her hands to the end of the row noticing Beomgyu not very far away from her. She silently crept down, using the shelves as a ladder to climb down from the top, she clenched her teeth when a few books fell from the shelf she was holding on to.

Beomgyu turned around to see what the sound was, he looked down at the fallen books with confusion, ‘must have been the wind’ he thought with a shrug turning around when a sharp pain went through his head before blackness enveloped him.

‘Heh, weak boi” Yn thought as she rubbed her knuckles, despite how effective temple punches were, they were a bitch when it came to the pain to her knuckeles. Just as she was going to relax from this dumb game she heard Hobi’s voice outside. He was loudly talking to Jimin who was being just as loud.

She climed the shelves when she heard them some closer and almost lost her shit when she saw them enter the library, she didn’t want to hurt them or shoot them, yet. She peeped down at them watching as Hoseok went through the library never once looking up before he stop right under the shelf she was on.

“Yah, Hobi hyung, what do yout think of her?” Jimin asked as he leaned against the shelf, they didn’t seem to sense her presence in the room. “She’s nice, she’ll fit in well with us” Hobi admitted as he moved closer to him, pushing Jimin against the shelf, Yn almost popped an imaginary boner when she saw them roughly kiss each other. She wanted to look away, she really did, but she couldn’t tae her eyes away from the two of them.

She made the mistake of trying to get more comfortable, caying the shelf to creak making the two lovers move away from each other, she quickly grabbed her gun, moving as silently as she could as Hobi and Jimin looked around to find her, “Ynnieee, I know your here” Hobi sang as he walked into the row a little away from her, “click, aim, shoot” she whispered to herself as her hands followed the actions watching with glee as Hobi yelped attracting Jimin’s attention.

Yn quickly jumped out of the window again, climing up the water pipe to Namjoon’s office only to see Yoongi relaxing in Namjjon’s boss chair, a glass of bourbon in front of him, she hung by the window sill, trying her hardest not to be seen as but she felt someone grab onto her leg, pulling her down. She quickly kicked the hand off, looking down to see Jimin with a mischevious grin on his face,

“Yah, Jimin-ah let go!!” she yelled as she struggled to maintain her grip on the window sill, Yoongi heard her yell and grinned as he walked towards the window , he looked down at her with a sadistic grin on his face, he looked like Scar from the Lion ing for a moment there, with his hands on Yn’s, ready to push her off just like how Scar had done to Mufasa.

“Okayyy super villain, pull me up and I’ll give you like 2 million won” she bribed, kicking at JImin’s hands aggressively, “Make that 4 million and you have a deal” he countered, “how about 3 million instead?” she bargained, giving him an almost blinding grin when he pulled her up.

“You better keep that bargain up and don’t kill anyone” he said as he dusted his hands off before retaking his seat.”I swear I will! and I can’t promise that I won’t kill anyone” Yn yelled as she casually strolled out of the office only to come face to face with Taehyung, he gave her a naughty grin, “Gotcha” he said, grabbing her arm, she quickly jabbed at his neck and the unsuspecting fellow fell to the ground with a thud.

“I told you not to kill anyone” Yoongi said, peeking from a crack in the door. “He’s not dead” she assured as she made for the staircase, crawling up so no one can spot her. She checked the time in the fancy Rolex that she had stolen from an unconcious Tae, 30 minutes had passed, 30 more to go.

She snuck up the stairs when she saw Yeonjun on the other end of the sprawling corridor, quickly preparing her gun she set her aim, steadying her hand before she pulled the trigger, the gunshot was loud and echoed through the compund as the bullet hit Yeonjun in the side, he didn’t seem surprised infact, he tured towards her with a smirk before gesturing for her to look up.

She tilted her neck to look above her to see seventeen men staring down at her, their guns aimed straight at her, she held her breath as she jamp down thw stairs right as they all fired their guns, she almost got hit more than once but she was quick enough to get out of the way before they could touch her.

She huffed as she ran down the stairs, scolding herself for not hitting the gym as regularly as she could. She could feel how unfit she was, she was out of breath and panting, she was hungry from all the running around and she realized just how much of her stamina had gone down in the last few days.

She huffed and cursed as she ran downstairs, but hurriedly crept away when she heard footsteps, she cursed to herself as she hid, holding her gun out incase she might need it. She took a deep breath, waiting for the person to pass her when pain shot through her arm, Jungkook stood next to her, his grip tight on her elbow causing her great pain. She quickly jabbed at his stomach making him let go of her before she grabbed his gun from his pocket, he seemed to be unprepared to catch her explaining why his gun was still in the hollister.

She pointed her own gun at Jungkook’s head, a grin taking over her tired and sweaty face, Jungkook almost fell for her in that instand, seeing her hold a gun to his head, looking fucking gorgeous with at smile on her face. He steped closer, pressing his head against the nozzle of the gun, Yn instinctively took a step bac only for her back to hit the wall when a sudden yell made them junp away from each other.

“You’re supposed to shoot each other, not make out you know” Jin yelled looking down at them from the top of the stairs, he wasn’t gonna lie, he had felt thirsty when he had seen the two of them in that position. Yn pointed Jungkook’s gun at Seokjin and pulled the trigger only for Jin to duck away fromt he bullet, “Stay fucking still” Yn growled as she took aim again.

Jungkook almost went feral at the sound Yn made. Her gun still pressed to his head. The next shot rang out, hitting Jin in the chest and Jin dramatically fell to the ground holding his heart, “What a damsel,” Yn scoffed as she kicked Jungkook away from her before shooting him with his own gun.

Jungkook wasn’t even offended that he had lost the game, he happily hopped up the stairs to join Jin hyung who was going to the kitchen to make a snack for himself, the bright orange stains on their clothes, a batch of both honor and shame.

Yn looked around the mansion when she felt a tap on her shoulder, she turned around to see Soobin standing behind her with an unimpressed look on his face, “Supp” she said with a wave, “everyone is looking for you, Jimin hyung is convinced that you ran away” he said, rushing her to Namjoon’s mansion.

The boys were quiet surprised to see Yn being shoved into the office, her face puffy and her hair sticking out in every way, thry thought she had ran away. “Where were you,we’ve been lookig for you everywhere” Namjoon said as Seokjin walked towards her to take the revolvers from her, tossing the purple one to Jungkook and tucking the other one in his own holister.

“Taking a nap” she answered cheekily as Namjoon got behind his desk, “Did you hurt yourself anywhere?” he asked as he pulled out a box from one of the drawers, she shook her head, craning her neck to be able to see what was in the box.

“Good, because you have a mission” Namjoon said, pulling out a sleek dagger from the box, its handle had a snake design, making it look like the snake was coiling itself around the handle, the sharp blade, glinting in the light.

“Yahh, so pretty” Yn said as she reached for the dagger only for Namjoon to pull it back, “not for you, I’m supposed to take a blood oath of loyalty” he said, as he took a hold of her wrist, “Don’t cut too deep” she said as he placed the blade on her thumb, he pushed down on it causing it to bleed before letting a few drop trickle down her thumb onto the paper with the oath written on it, right next to her name.

“Congratulations Yn, you are now a member of the Bulletproof crime organisation, I’ll give you a week to settle all matters outside the organisation.” Namjoon said, putting the paper away.

“Can I still continue with my private assassinations?” she asked, sucking on her bleeding thumb, “Yes, on the condition that you give 10% of whatever you earn to the mafia and we have a say in which missions you accept” Yoongi said as he too got up to go have dinner.

“As long as you don’t push too much, we’re good.” she said, before following him to the dining room.

She needed to eat up, she had work to do tomorrow.

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A/n: Next chapter will be up whenever I find time to write. <3

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Taglist:

@thefreddieman

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dewykth · 4 years

Text

SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle and @dewykth collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj word count. 7.5k+ warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳 i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter.

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head.

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry.

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel.

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation.

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go? Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

#bangtanhq #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #btsguild #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic

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gallivantingheart · 4 years

Photo

Me, a Princess? Shut Up!

masterlist | previous | next

⏮️ chapter 4: amelia ⏭️

who?: jihoon/woozi x (f)reader

word count: 1522

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: coarse language

synopsis: Life’s pretty good for y/n. Easy, even. Until someone claiming to be her grandmother says she is the queen of a small island country - and y/n, a princess.

a/n: thank you so much for your patience! I’ve been pretty swamped with work, seeing as my hours have been upped. but I’m glad this is finally out - I hope you like it!

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

TAGLIST: @strykiss, @karrotkarrotkarrot, @3sriracha,

don’t hesitate to send an ask or dm to be added!

When you round the corner of the stairs for your art history lecture, you're still fussing over your hair, oddly put together and feeling better than you can remember. Your shoes are a bit stiff from the newness of it all. There is a strangled cry and your head snaps up. Two pairs of round eyes meet yours and you dash over as quiet as you can before Mingyu can make any more fuss.

"Shhhh, shhhhh shhhhut up!" You hiss.

Minghao squints, giving you the once over. "Oh that’s a new one."

You nod and roll your eyes, slumping against the curved window that walled the hallway. There is no grip on your shoes, so you have to stand back straight to save yourself from falling.

"Yes. The Queen Mother deemed my normal, twenty-something look unfit for the potential public eye. Even if I’m only going to class.” You grumble.

You rifle in your bag - the only thing you wouldn't give up - for a stray hair scrunchie. At least she deemed those within fashion, seeing as they didn't strain your hair too much.

Hao crosses his arms. "You obviously don't like it."

The lecturer opens the door and the three of you ease into the theatre, planting yourselves in your usual spot. You shrug, pulling out your stuff.

"No, I’ve told you guys. It's not like that. I liked the stuff I wore before and I like what I'm in now...most of it, anyway. But, it's all just a bit much."

Mingyu knocks your shoulder lightly with a grin. "You're just not used to the royal treatment. Imagine when you get to try on the really fancy stuff."

In retaliation you flick at one of his pens with your own, watching his lips quickly drop into a pout as Mingyu fumbles to catch it back.

“That’s if I even get that far. I can’t even remember my own great grandfather’s name.” You grumble.

There is a collective hiss of the class to be quiet as the lecture starts, attendance being passed up the rows. Your name still fascinates you as you write it on the roll, so innocuous yet in plain sight. How does no one know who you are?

As you head through the campus for lunch with the boys before splitting for your next lectures, you notice that a lot of heads are turning your way. You can’t help but tug at the lapels of your coat, examining your outfit again. None of it was obviously designer - no brands labelled, etc.. The conversations dying at the sight of you. You can’t help but shrink a little into Mingyu’s side, worry turning down your lips.

“Psst.” You hiss up at them. “Is it just me or are people looking?”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “Don't be silly. It’s just you being paranoid.”

Now someone was pointing at you, gesturing to their phone. The food court is no longer as hustle and bustle as before. A lull in noise before erupting into something a little more frantic, like the rising buzz of a beehive. It feels like a beehive too - the honey white paint and low dingy ceiling from the old part of the university buildings. It’s Mingyu’s shout for lunch today - serves him right - so you keep your head in your phone, scrolling through Amaide’s embassy twitter in case anything about your grandmother pops up. All you’re getting though is weird tabloid articles. You jump, almost flinging your phone from your hands when the embassy’s phone number shows up. This early and so suddenly - it can’t be good.

“H-Hello?” You say, cringing Minghao’s way.

When he frowns, you mouth Queen, and he instantly falls quiet.

“Y/n, come to the embassy immediately. We have an escort waiting at the west entry. An issue has arisen.” Soonhee’s voice is firm and louder than usual.

You stand up, shoving your stuff together, phone pinned to your shoulder. Covering the bottom mic you tell Hao, “gotta go. Royal Emergency.”

He nods. “We’ll talk later.”

You dash out, grabbing your sandwich roll out of Mingyu’s grasp on the way past and jamming it into your backpack for later. Your shoes aren’t gripping the worn brick that lines the pathways of your campus, so you resort to power walking as reasonably as you can.

“Grandma, what’s the matter?” You say breathless.

“Your position has been compromised. We will talk more when you arrive. Hurry.”

She hangs up as quickly as she rang and you swear harshly under your breath at her abruptness. Turning the corner, there is a car parked in a loading zone, flags snapping gently in the breeze.

You tumble in and before you even get a chance to right yourself, the envoy speeds off. The driver doesn’t say a word, so you know it's not Junwoo - that worries you even more. The Queen Mother had put him in charge of you, so why wasn’t he the one picking you up? The car crackles over the round gravel driveway and you spit yourself out as soon as you line up with the door, all sense of propriety out the window. You barely have a chance to settle your posture, reminding yourself of your grandmother’s expectations of arrival when the door flings open to an attendant. He takes your bag, gesturing down the long marble hall.

“Down the end and to the door on the right to the Conference Room, Miss.”

You give him a double take. You’ve never been in that part of the embassy before, unnecessary for your lessons. But you see a series of people rush in and out, phones glued to their ears.

The queen stands at the far end of the oval table, laptops and papers scattered. The screen behind her has a twitter feed up. Wood panelling makes the corporate room deceivingly warm, as does the lemon painting mirroring the tv. From the heavy air condition though, you know better.

“G-Grandma?” You mumble.

She straightens up to stare at you. “Y/n, come.”

“Wh-what’s the matter? Who are these people?”

You take a seat next to her. Junwoo is scanning a manila file, tipping his chin at you in greeting. People, places, numbers. They were looking for someone.

“Amaide Intelligence. But that isn’t your concern. Someone leaked that you are the heir. It’s blown up all over the media.”

You feel as if your stomach drops out of you, sinking and sickly. “When?”

“This morning.”

You think back to not even half an hour ago when it felt like the campus’s eyes were on you - now you know why. But the boys would never spill that kind of secret. You trusted them.

“So, why am I here? Could I not just have gone home?”

You’re feeling exceedingly small and naïve amongst the top secret hustle and bustle around you. Even the queen’s attention is not, for once, fully on you. Tucking a stray strand of grey behind her ear, she glances at you to shake her head.

“No. Not without an escort. You are to stay here for the day until we can find out who has done this. As a matter of safety. See if you can study while you’re here. Or help out if you can.” Dismissive, as usual.

You stand up, tempted to stomp and stalk out the room. Instead, you wait and listen, thinking. If your safety is in danger, therefore so is your family’s. And the boys. You decide to pick up a stray file - Mingyu’s, actually - to see if you can make out what the intelligence team is looking for. But not before sending a message to Mingyu and Minghao to summarise the situation.

It feels like hours of papers and google maps when the door to the room flings open.

“Antoni. Antoni leaked it to The Daily Mail.”

You look up to the unfamiliar voice. A young man with fluffy blonde hair and round cheeks grips a phone in one hand, a scrap of paper in the other. Kwon -

The Queen smiles. “Ah, Soonyoung. Thank goodness. Thank you very much. Junwoo, please call -”

He smiles. “Already did it. He’ll be over at seven.”

Soonhee stands up, hand clasped together. Junwoo is beginning to clean up the files, shutting down computers. You flop your own information closed, sighing in relief. You shoot to your feet though at the glare from the elderly woman, still severe in the dwindling natural light.

“Perfect timing as it is for tea.” Soonhee glides over to the young man, gesturing with a thin hand at you. “Soonyoung, this is the source of all this mess. My granddaughter, Y/n. Y/n, this is Soonyoung, our South Korean ambassador. Very good at his position, as you’ve just seen. A valuable member of your political team.”

He holds his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you!”

You shake firmly, smiling politely. “And you. Tea?”

Which you only offer because your grandmother is staring intently at you. It already feels like another lesson. But with the way he perks up at the mere mention of it, you don’t feel so sour.

“Absolutely!”

Bonus:

#caratwritersclub #seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen social media au #seventeen scenario #seventeen imagine #jihoon fic #jihoon imagine #jihoon scenario #seventeen smau #woozi fic #woozi imagine #woozi scenario #woozi x reader #mapsu fic #written

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jeromesxreader16 · 3 years

Text

Such a Joker (51)

Part 50 Here!

~o0o~

I scan through paint swatches, holding it up to the walls of the nursery contemplating the vast difference in the outcome. "I like this blue." Jeremiah picks up a swatch and tapes it to the wall. I smile as he narrows his hands focusing on the paint. He nods looking around the room. "We can put both the cribs against the wall here and place the changing station in the middle. Rocking chairs in either corner." He smiles with his accomplished plan.

"What do you think, boys?" He asks kneeling at my stomach. I scoff smiling, "How do you know these boys of yours aren't girls?" Jeremiah leans down pressing his ear on my swollen belly.

"Hmm. Yes. What was that? Of course, I'll let mommy know."

Jeremiah stands cupping my face. "You're children don't like the vitamin shake you drink." I roll my eyes walking away and taping a light pink swatch of paint on the wall.

Jeremiah raises a brow smirking. "Really, (Y/n)?" I shrug beaming. "You never know, Jer."

I look out the large window looking at the starved and rotten Gotham. I sigh sipping at my morning tea Ecco brought me.

"You're sighing again." I look over at her smiling. "You say that a lot." "It's because you sit there looking like a princess waiting for someone to come." I shake my head at Ecco laughing. "You're crazy, Ecco."

She hops in front of me smirking. "We could be bad, ya know? Sneak out. Just for a little." I narrow my eyes leaning in. "Keep talking."

Jeremiah POV:

Coming up the elevator into the late hours of the night to finally take rest next to my wife. "The tunnel is coming along nicely," Ecco says standing beside me. "Yes, there is much to do."

"Ecco, does my darling ever speak of life before this?" Ecco nods at me. "Mrs. Valeska always loves to spend time thinking of the good days." I hum reconnecting ways to make her happy. "I'll have to send her on a little trip out of our little Dark Zone."

I open the door to our room removing my tie and shirt and putting them away.

I walk over to my wife and rest my hands on her stomach holding my children. "We're not supposed to be here." I sigh resting my head against her. "I'm trying my best to get us out of here, loves."

She rolls to her side causing me to chuckle. I kiss her head cuddling into her in our sheets, dreaming of escaping Gotham with my family.

"Remember, love. Tonight is another graduation for the troops. It is still too dangerous. Care to take a trip to the Sirens today? I thought about sending you to have a full week of fun." Jeremiah asks as I cuddle into his side. "Yeah. I could use some girl time. If you're alright with having me away that long." Jeremiah holds my chin gazing into my eyes. "I love you so much, darling."

"I love you, Jeremiah." His smile warms my heart as he descends the elevator. "Behave yourself, loves."

I step out of the car smiling at the large buildings all so familiar. "Hello, Sirens." I grab the railing to step inside but am bumped by a force making me stumble.

"I - I'm so sorry, miss!" I look down at a little boy with bruises and scratches all over his body. I kneel gasping at his frame. "Oh, honey." He looks behind his shoulder gulping. "You have to help me, please."

I look up at the building thinking over my plans. Jeremiah told me to go here and only here, but it's not like he knew I was going to run into an abandoned child!

I nod at the small kid getting back in my car. "Come on, kid." He jumps in my car closing the door and gasping. "Thank you! Thank you so much, miss!" I smile sadly at the frightened little boy.

"Where are you going? Where can I take you?"

He looks at me with hopeful eyes. "The Haven."

I've heard whispers of the spot concealed in safety for a couple of weeks now. "I have an idea of where it is. I'll take you there."

He nods smiling, "My name is Will Thomas." He offers his hand.

"(Y/n) Valeska. It's good to meet you, Will." He smiles shaking my hand.

"Whoa." Will gasps as the large caged in the apartment corner appears. "Yeah," I say taking a look at all the people smiling. "Are you coming with me? I have to find someone who can help my brother and sister!" I nod turning off the car. "Yeah. I'm not sure who all lives here, but I can help you look around."

Walking in the small compound many of the people were friendly in this trying time.

I walk up holding Will's weak hand. "Excuse me, sir." He turns to me confused. "Yes?" "This boy needs your help." I try to usher him and scatter away but a hand reaches out grasping my wrist as I walk away from them.

I look up meeting my father's eyes through the shades. "(Y/n)?"

I smile removing the glasses. "Jim." he crumbles losing his balance. "Where have you been?" I shake my head tugging at my arm. "I-I can't be here."

I run away slipping out of the Haven untouched and back to my car as my father runs out screaming my name. I drive to the club again and entering as nothing happened.

"(Y/n)!" Babs screams running to me. "Oh, my! You've filled out!" I laugh pushing out my stomach. "Well, when you've got two fighting for space."

Jim POV:

That was her. My girl. My beautiful daughter walking right in and then scurried away faster than wildfire. "Jim, was that-" I turn to Harvey with a smile breaking my features. "Yeah. That was (Y/n)." Harvey pats my shoulder. "I know you're thinking you have to find her at this very second and trust me I do too, but we've got another pressing thing. Like this mystery kid." Harvey pulls me away from my thoughts.

"Right. What do we know?"

"His name is Will Thomas. Parents died in a home invasion a few weeks after the bridges came down. Guys that broke in took him to some sort of factory where he was held alongside dozens of other stolen kids, all chained together."

"God. Who are these guys?" "Call themselves The Soothsayers."

"You ever heard of them?" "No. But who can keep track these days?"

"Which district?" "Granton. Near the water, he said. Had them digging some sort of tunnel. Will broke free from his restraints last night and walked nine miles through the Dark Zone and found Mrs. Valeska in the Sirens block. She brought him here."

"What kind of tunnel?"

"Unclear."

"There's an abandoned waterworks by the old dock in Granton."

"Detective Gordon?" The small boy asks. "My friends. You'll save them, won't you?" I nod at him holding a smile. "I'll look into it."

"The Soothsayers won't be happy I escaped. They'll punish

the others for it. Please, Mr. Gordon. I promised them I'd bring help."

"Gosh, I can't wait until I can drink again." I laugh at Babara from behind the bar as she throws down a shot. "Oh, me and you both. Push those kids onto that pale freak and go wild!"

Feet away the crowd split and they still their ongoing conversations. None other than James Gordon walks over to Barbara. I duck under the bar hiding in plain sight.

"Barbara." She looks down at me before turning to ace my father. "Jim, what brings you crawling out into the open tonight? Come to join the party? One last hoorah before someone wastes you?" She smirks taking another shot before slamming it down.

"I'm here to ask a favor. Maybe some information if you have it."

"A favor plus info, right. Is this after you stood by and did nothing while my best friend on this Earth was stabbed through the heart?"

"I put him down."

"You restored his limp."

"HE SHOULD BE DEAD!"

Jim sighs, "Barbara." She cuts him off with her screams. "Everybody out! Now! I said move!"

As they file out and the music comes to a halt I shiver on my knees. Why am I doing this? Hiding from my blood.

"Planning revenge?" "Well, someone has to do something about that freak."

"He has an army. It would be suicide." "Look around, Jim. We're all slowly dying. Just some of us get to choose how."

"I'm sorry about what happened to Tabitha."

Babs brushes off the matter scoffing, "So, these favors?"

"I need transportation. Trucks, maybe."

"Where are you going?"

"It's a police matter," Jim says making me hold in a laugh. How could police exist nowadays?

"You know, they should really write that on your tombstone. They're downstairs in the basement lot. Knock yourself out. Drive right into this nightmare you created. You won't last a night."

He stays quiet for a moment before asking, "Have you seen (y/n)?" Barbara chuckles, "And if I did, what makes you think she wants to see her father who turned her own happiness away?" I peer over the bar watching my father's eyes drop and sadness fills his emotions. He turns away from the bar walking away. "Thank you for the trucks."

I pop up resting my elbows on the counter. "You didn't have to yell at him." Babs turns to me locking eyes. She breaks shaking her head with a sad smile. "No, I guess I didn't." I come around the bar sitting beside her. "You really think he won't last out there?" She turns to me smirking. "Not if he has some help. How long are you staying here?" I shrug, "Jeremiah doesn't need me around when the church graduates. He said the tension in the air is stressful for the babies." She scoffs laughing. "Right, because he's Mr. smartypants."

I sit on the couch watching TV as Babs strides through tossing my gun at me. "Load it and follow me." I stand following her. "Uh, why do I need a gun?" She turns back to me as walks into the garage.

"We're going to help Jimmy. You want to drive?"

I smile at her nodding. "Okay."

"Wait, slow down! I hear something." Barbara says causing me to stop the vehicle equipped with machine guns on the empty road. "I won't say it again, freak. Gordon comes with me."

I smile at her, "Jackpot!"

"I'll tell you what! I'll take his head, and you can have the rest of him!"

"NOW!" I scream as we whip around the corner and shoot down the punks. Barabra hops out fo the car walking towards my father.

"Hi, Jim. About our last chat... I may have been a little rash. This what got you all hot and bothered? They need a bath."

"Crazy bi-" I stand from my seat shooting the armed man aiming at Babs. As I hit the target, my father does as well.

He looks at me in shock. "(Y/n)?" I smile sitting back and cranking the car.

"Oh, lookie there. I found her. Not all square yet though. You're gonna help me do what we all know needs doing."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"Kill Penguin."

I gaze and smile a all the happy citizens in the Haven. "This is amazing."

"Citizens are heading here in droves. This place will be full

by sundown." Jim nods looking around. "Then we'll find another."

I look up at him. "I figured you left when the evacuation was called." My father puts an arm across my shoulder pulling me to him. "You were still here. I was never going to leave without you. Especially now with these two." He says placing a hand on my stomach.

A woman walks up with her younger ones grinning at Jim. "I just want to thank you, Captain Gordon. My family, we've been drifting from one place to the next ever since the blackout. You've delivered us." She walks away beaming with joy, leaving my father with a raised head and confidence and honor beaming from him.

His moment soon ruined by Barbara scoffing, "Seriously?" She rolls her eyes looking at me. "You know he'll be angry with you if he finds you here. You're staying with me so my ass will be burned."

I look back at Babs and my father. He grabs my wrist looking me in the eyes. "You can't go back, (Y/n). Look at what he's done!" I close my eyes gathering my emotions. "Jim, please let me go so I can go home to my husband. This will end ugly if you refuse." He looks at me with shock and shakes his head. "No, I found you and now I'm going to keep the three of you safe from him." I rip my arm out of his grip. "I came to you! I understand you're upset, I do. But... Daddy's little girl is gone, I married him, he is the father of my children, and that won't change. You can either fight it and our contact will end, or..." I take out his pen from his pocket and grab his hand, writing my phone number. "You can accept me for the person I have become, and call me."

Jim nods sadly. He places his hand on mine. "I love you, (Y/n)." I nod smiling at my father. "I hope so." I back up walking next to Barbara.

"I'll see you around, killer. We have some unfinished business, you and I." She nods to him as we exit the gates.

"How was the day, darling? Have my twins kicked you anymore? I talked with them the other night." I giggle over the line laying on the big bed in the guest room of Barbara's home. "They've been fine, Jer. How was the first day of the graduates?" He sighs over the phone. "10 go in and only 4 complete the trial. It's quite disappointing." "I bet you'll have more tomorrow. It is a new day after all." "Indeed, love."

I snuggle in my covers rubbing my belly. "Get some rest, Jeremiah. I'll see you soon." He hums in the line. "I do hope so, darling. I love you." I smile feeling complete. "I love you too, Jeremiah."

As the call ends it suddenly rings again. I pick it up figuring it to be Jeremiah, once more. "Did you forget something?" I giggle over the line. "(Y/n)?" Jim's shaky voice comes through. "Dad."

He sighs and speaks, "Hi honey. H-How are you?"

At this time I talk to my father and open the door that has been shut so long.

"Hey! How about we meet up for lunch when we can?" I laugh at him, "You're going to act like everything's normal and grab a sub?" "Why not? I've got my family back."

A piercing giggle springs from the bathroom. Jerome walks out with sunglasses and posing in the mirror. "I'm going to tell."

I shake my head at him as my father talks. Jerome cackles and runs to the door making me chase after him tripping him. "OW! Workers comp!" He cries.

He stands up giggling. "Ole Jimmy. Always slithering around and shitting on our lives. Brother will be mad, (Y/n), you know that."

"Goodnight, Dad."

I hang up rolling on my side and cuddling into the sheets. "He won't find out, Jerome." He scoffs cuddling close to me. "Lying to your husband? You naughty girl."

I laugh into the pillow. "Goodnight, Jerome."

#jerome #jerome x reader #jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x reader #jerome valeska smut #Gotham City #Gotham #jeremiah valeska

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imaginetonyandbucky · 3 years

Text

Keeping Me Alive

Chapter 11: Heathens

by @dracusfyre

They made it to the long-term cruise liner parking lot where Tony had staged an SUV for their escape when James stopped and said, “Tracking devices.”

“Shit.” Of course Hydra would have some way of tracking him; he was an expensive tool, after all, not a person. Tony had Jarvis scan him and found two transmitters, one in the metal arm and one in the back of his neck close to the spine. “I can jam them both until we are in a safe place to remove them,” Tony said, “but I can’t get the one out of the arm without tools. And the one in your neck…” Tony trailed off when James pulled a knife out of the sheath on his thigh and held it out.

“Get rid of it.”

Tony wanted to protest but he bit his tongue when he saw the look on James’ face. He would want it out of him as soon as possible as well; he was lucky that Stane hadn’t thought to put one in him too. He climbed laboriously out of his suit and took the knife as James turned around and bent his head. Guess I get to stick a knife in the Winter Soldier after all, Tony thought with a grim smile. Years of working on circuit boards had given him a steady hand, so even though he grimaced as blood welled to the surface when he sliced through James’ skin, he was quick and efficient. “What should we do with it?” Tony asked when it was on his palm, tiny and shaped like a pill capsule. James took it from him and crushed it with his metal hand, letting it fall to the ground before grinding them into the pavement with his boot.

James helped him pack the suit in the back of the SUV and then they both went for the driver’s seat. “I have the key,” Tony said, pulling it out of his pocket and closing his hand around it when he saw James eyeing it. “Also, you don’t know where we’re going.”

“If Hydra comes, I should be driving,” James said with a scowl.

“If Hydra comes, you should be shooting,” Tony countered, and James considered that for a second before going around to the passenger seat. He’d already stashed one of the duffle bags of arms and ammunition that they’d taken from the lab in the floorboard, and as Tony pulled out of the parking lot he began methodically loading all of the rifles and spare magazines. It was a funny thing to find relaxing, but it made him feel safer to think that all of the Soldier’s lethality was on his side for once.

By the time they got onto the 5, the car had fallen into a strained silence, so Tony turned on the radio. The news of his demise had made headlines about an hour into their drive, though the police being interviewed were very careful not to officially declare Tony dead. The radio was the only sound in the car until they were four hours north of LA, when James finally spoke again. “Why?” He asked, his voice low and gruff and barely audible over the radio, even though Tony had the volume low.

Tony, who had been waiting for the question since he first took his helmet off in the lab, glanced over to see James studying him. “Do you recognize me at all?” After a moment of hesitation, James shook his head and Tony turned his eyes back to the road. “You and I have a long history,” Tony said finally. “None of it good. I don’t blame you for it,” Tony added hurriedly when he saw James stiffen. “I mean, I did, but I don’t now, because...Well, the point is, I realized recently that we are – were – both prisoners of Hydra. So I figure that means we have a common enemy, and that we should work together."

"You want me to help you take down Hydra?"

"Well, yeah." Tony glanced back over; James' expression didn't say what he thought of that. "Unless you don't want to, I guess. But we should still stick together until it's safe. I don't know about you, but I'm not going back."

James snorted at that. “So where’re we going?”

“Safe house.” There was silence in the car again as Tony pulled off the next exit to get gas. After he started the pump, he climbed back into the car and opened the center console. It was filled with protein bars, candy, chips, and drinks. “Pick your poison,” Tony said as he grabbed a bottle of water and a candy bar. James eyed Tony and then the stash of snacks before picking out a protein bar and bottle of Gatorade.

“What’s this?” He asked as he eyed the unnaturally blue drink.

“Sugar water, mostly.” Tony chugged his water as James took an experimental sip. “Your file says after you, uh, wake up you need a lot of protein and electrolytes and stuff. So drink up, it’s good for you.”

James grimaced at the taste but drank it steadily like a person that is used to taking medicine. When he was done he started making his way through the stack of protein bars with a grim determination that was almost impressive, if Tony hadn’t started to worry that he should have packed more food for the drive. They weren’t even a quarter of the way to their destination and James had eaten more than half the food. Finally the pump turned off with a thunk, so Tony finished paying and climbed back into the driver’s seat.

“If you've read my file,” James said as they got back onto the highway, “then you know a lot more about me than I know about you.”

“That’s not a high bar,” Tony said with a ghost of a smile. “I know more about you than you know about yourself.” James shot him an unamused look and Tony shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“You said your name was Tony Stark,” James said. He pointed to the radio. “If that’s true, why do the police think you’re dead?”

Tony’s eyebrows climbed. He didn’t realize James had been paying attention to the radio; he’d spent the entire drive so far staring out the window and checking the rearview mirror, presumably looking for Hydra. “Because I want them to think I’m dead,” Tony said. “That way I can be free to do what needs to be done.”

“What did Hydra want you for?”

“I make weapons. Made,” Tony corrected. “Their little pet engineer, cranking out planes and tanks and bombs for them,” he added bitterly, gesturing to the weapons in the bag at James’ feet. “I have also been fixing your arm for the past few years.”

That made James’ eyebrows draw together. “Music,” he said after a long moment. “I remember loud music.”

“Yeah, that was me. You remember that?”

“Hydra doesn’t exactly play me tunes on a regular basis,” James said dryly. “It stood out.”

Tony barked out a surprised laugh and turned the radio away from the news to classic rock. They switched vehicles a few hours later, then again at the border with Oregon. When they finally pulled in to Tony's cabin - one left to him by Ana and Edwin, and significantly renovated over the past month - Tony turned off the car and sagged against the seat. It wasn't until he felt his shoulders and jaw relaxed that he'd realized how tense he'd been the whole drive; he was suddenly acutely aware that he had been awake for almost 24 hours. "Home sweet home," he said unnecessarily as the engine ticked and cooled.

"I'll be the judge of that," James said. He climbed out of the car then proceeded to fit an unlikely number of firearms on his person before he disappeared into the woods. Tony shrugged and started to lug the suit piece by piece into the house, and when he took a moment to fire up the surveillance system he could see James evaluating the perimeter, pausing each time he noticed one of Tony's cameras. "I may not be an expert, but I am paranoid," Tony said to the monitors, then went back to the SUV for another load. By the time he had the suit in the gantry and ready for the next time he needed to put it on, James had finished his patrol and was standing in the middle of the living room. "Does my security meet your standards?" Tony asked as he headed for the freezer. For now, the cabin was stocked with shelf-stable food and the freezer was packed with instant meals, enough that they could avoid leaving for a few weeks as long as they didn't want things like milk or eggs or fresh fruit and vegetables.

"I have some suggestions," James said, following Tony into the kitchen. "Mostly involving explosives."

"Then you must not have checked around the foundation," Tony said. He picked out a frozen pizza and, checking the instructions, turned on the oven. He turned around to see James still standing there, looking uncertain, and he cursed internally. He wasn't used to having someone else in his space; it was going to take a while for him to get used to having a roommate. "Come on, I'll show you around."

James' room was in the top of the house, in a renovated attic space. Tony had picked it because the windows gave it excellent views on all sides of the house, and since James' files said he was a sniper he thought James would appreciate it. But as they stood there, Tony realized he had underestimated how tall James was, because if he stood anywhere other than the middle of the room he would have to duck. He'd also have to sleep diagonally on the queen size bed, but from the way James had gone all still and quiet when he'd looked at the room, Tony thought it might be good enough. There was one bathroom and it was on the ground floor, next to another bedroom. That was supposed to have been Tony's, but when he'd tried to sleep there he had woken up multiple times with panic attacks, feeling exposed and vulnerable, so his room was now in the basement. The basement had started life as a cellar but Tony had expanded it and reinforced it until it could probably now be classified as a bunker instead. "And this is HQ," Tony said as the lights came on to the main room. He'd moved everything important out of the LA home before he'd sent it into the Pacific, including his computers, JARVIS's servers, and all of the tools and machinery he would need to design and build new suits. What drew James' attention, though, was the murder board that took up one wall of the room. It was pretty sparse at the moment because Tony had only just started to dig through the Hydra files he'd downloaded, but there was Stane, Pierce, and Stern, as well as some of their more prominent hangers-on.

There were also the people that Tony had seen last time he was in the lab with Stane. Tony picked up a marker and put an X on all the faces he remembered. James pointed to one that he'd missed and then Tony hesitated, fidgeting with the marker before he finally said, “I was there the last time they…” Tony blew out a breath, unable to finish his sentence. "With the.."

“The chair,” James finished for him.

“Yeah. And I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Why? You weren’t one of…” James made an aborted gesture towards his head. “I knew them. I didn’t remember them, but…I knew them.”

“Because I didn’t stop it earlier. I mean, I didn’t know about it, but it was because I didn’t want to know. I was scared and…” Tony swallowed thickly and forced himself to keep going. “Weak. I let Hydra break me down for so long and they didn’t even need the chair to do it.”

“How long?”

“Over twenty years. Since I was sixteen.”

“Sixteen? Christ, you were a child,” James said with disgust. “Where were your parents?”

“Um…” Tony glanced over at him and grimaced. “They died. When I was eighteen.”

“Died?” James caught the look on his face and cursed long and low under his breath. “It was me, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Tony fidgeted with the marker in his hand. “I told them what was happening, and Hydra had them killed.”

“Ah, fuck. When you said we had a bad history you weren’t fucking kidding.” James ran a hand over his mouth and crossed his arms. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Well, it’s not like it was your idea,” Tony started, and then got cut off when James snorted. “What?”

“Look at us idiots, apologizing for shit that was Hydra’s fault,” he said. “I’m sorry Hydra made me pull the trigger on your parents. You’re sorry Hydra tortured and brainwashed me. I hope you got me out because you have a plan to make Hydra sorry I killed your parents and they brainwashed me,” he said, pointing to the murder board.

Tony met his eyes and felt a smile tug on his lips. He pulled out the picture of Ana, Edwin, and Maria from Christmas out of his pocket and propped it up on his desk. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

#Tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #winteriron

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dovechim · 4 years

Text

a remedy for mondays 03 (m)

01 | 02 | 03

➾ 8k words

➾ summary: all you wanted was just one day off work. but for that to happen, you need to invent a plausible reason. and then somehow, somewhere along the way, things get out of hand, and now people think you’re having a baby with your co-worker Park Jimin after a one-night stand. confused? join the club.

tl,dr: the part where things start unraveling until they fall apart completely.

➾ warnings: romantic sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, slight dom jimin, shit really hits the fan in this one

➾ a/n: well well well... look who’s back :”) I struggled for months on where to take this, had a breakthrough in the last couple of days and speed wrote this. inspiration is unpredictable! here’s to the first update of 2020, and more to come!

“Is that all you’re having?” Granny asks with a frown as you finish your second bowl of rice after much cajoling from her. “You need to eat more for the baby! Jimin puppy, go get more from the kitchen.”

You stop Jimin with a meaningful frown. All weekend Granny has been feeding you so well that you feel like you’ve already gained weight. If you’re not careful, you’ll be returning to work with a food baby at this rate.

“Oh Granny, no, we’re already late. We need to catch the train back or else we’ll get back too late today,” Jimin grabs your hand in his as he rises from the table, prompting you to follow his lead. “We should get going now. Our stuff’s already by the doorway.”

Granny only lets you go by making Jimin promise to buy you something else to eat at the train station. Just as Jimin’s mother and father are offering to drive you back home themselves, Granny comes bustling toward the front door in a hurry.

“_____ dear, you forgot this!” Granny is holding a small pink pouch that you recognise as your own, containing all your sanitary pads and tampons that you keep with you at all times as a matter of habit.

Your heart skips a beat because you remember that you most definitely didn’t zip it up this morning, and Granny might have gotten a peek into its contents. You scan Granny’s face for any sign of suspicion or even accusation. If you really are pregnant, then you wouldn’t be carrying around sanitary products like this. Could Granny have already caught on that this is entirely a scam?

But the kind old woman merely smiles as she pats your hand warmly.

“You have to come back soon. It was so nice to have you here with us,” is all she says as she envelopes you into a hug. “I’ll send you some food I made later on in the week. You take care of yourself now.”

Strangely enough, Granny doesn’t mention the baby like you thought she would, but before you can think too much about it, Jimin’s father ushers the both of you into his car, and just like that, the weekend spent with Jimin’s family is over.

When you walk into office on Monday morning to find your desk significantly smaller, it’s not because the Monday blues are playing tricks on you. Your things have been shifted to a makeshift desk half the size of your original one, files and papers strewn haphazardly across its surface.

You look around for an explanation, but everyone has their heads down; typing, clicking and scrolling away. No one looks up for a second, not even when you clear your throat. You sort through the mess to find your laptop under it. Previously with your larger desktop screen to work with while poring over spreadsheets and word documents, you already experienced some eye strain, but now with only your laptop, it’s definitely going to get much worse.

Finally, you decide to approach Jung Hoseok, who is part of the Office Facilities Management team.

“Hey, um… Hoseok? What happened to my desk? Was there a reorganisation that I wasn’t informed of?” Your voice is hesitant and small amidst the austere silence of the office.

The bespectacled man takes his time finishing his email before he turns around. His desk is cluttered with all sorts of paraphernalia, from anime figurines to a mini fan and an assortment of snacks. It makes his regular sized table look tiny, not a single inch of bare space can be seen on it. When he finally faces you, he has a bored look on his face.

“Wh- oh. Your table? We had to make some space for some new joiners next month,” he says as he clicks open the floor plan that details everyone’s seating arrangement. He doesn’t let you look at it for long, though, and as cluttered as it is, you only manage to get a fleeting glimpse before he closes the document again. “A few other people’s desks have been shifted too. Count yourself lucky that you’re still in the same spot.”

“But I need more space. For my files, and I need my desktop screen too,” you try in vain to protest, but you can already see Hoseok’s attention drifting away.

“We figured since you’d be going on maternity leave soon, that it made the most sense to shift your desk…” Hoseok glances back at you, his eyes falling very briefly to your still normal sized belly. For a moment, you can see a flicker of curiosity pass over his features, but then it disappears.

And there’s nothing you can really say about that. You can’t say that this entire thing is a ruse that you made up just to get some time off for a concert. When they say life always finds a way, they were damn right. Life always finds a way to bite you in the ass.

Now your desk is the same size as an intern’s. It might sound stupid to anyone else but having a desk in the office is like having a place to call your own. Where you can put up all your decorations, pictures of you and your friends, cards and notes from your friends that helps to make the day a little better.

But you can’t have any of that now, because your new, smaller desk also means that you don’t have a partition on which to put all the decorations anymore. You swallow back the nausea that suddenly rises in your throat. Your new desk is only a few seats away from your previous one, so if you look over, you can still see Jimin’s head over the partition. He seems to sense that you are looking in his direction, as his eyes peek over the partition and meet yours. You don’t have to see the rest of his face to know that he is currently pouting on your behalf.

You try to ignore how cramped your workspace is and sit down to check your emails, throwing yourself into your work. Your back is facing the aisle, and when people walk up and down, you can feel their curious glances on your back.

Nevertheless, the weekend spent with Jimin’s family has reenergised you somewhat, and you’re able to work for two hours without getting distracted or feeling tired. In the middle of the morning, you suddenly hear a commotion from one of the other teams.

“Oh my god, this year’s bonus is great!! Thank you!!” The Finance team’s newest joiner, Kim Soo-Jung, squeals as she hugs her phone to her chest. “It’s the most I’ve ever had!”

“You all deserve your performance bonus,” the leader of the Finance team, Min Yoonji, says with a proud smile. “You’ve been the best team so far. It’s just an incentive!”

Upon hearing their conversation, you pick up your phone to log in and check your pay slip in a hurry, wondering just how much of a performance bonus you’ll get. Thinking back to all the late nights you spent, weekends burnt and lunches wasted at work, you begin to feel optimistic for the first time in a long while.

But when you scroll down to see the number at the bottom of the page, it remains the same as usual. No increments. No bonus at all. You check that you have the correct month’s payslip loaded, and there’s no mistake.

All around you, people are checking their payslips with excitement on their faces, huddling around with their teams and comparing amounts.

Jeongguk leaps out of his chair, fists raised to the ceiling as he grins uncontrollably. “Yes!!! Best day ever!!!”

“You got a bonus too?” You can’t help but question, seeing as he seems to be the most relaxed one out of your team when it comes to work. He goes home on time every day, takes a long lunch every day, and probably doesn’t even know what overtime is. If even Jeon Jeongguk can get a bonus and you can’t…

“Yeah, didn’t you get one?” He says nonchalantly.

“I did,” you mumble as you turn back to your computer, putting away your phone and ending the conversation in a hurry in case he asks how much bonus you got.

The rest of the morning passes in a slight blur as you try to distract yourself from the burning unfairness of the whole situation. When your stomach reminds you that it’s time for lunch, you glance up to see Jimin walking towards your table with a smile.

“Lunch?” He asks, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

You blink out of a slight daze, realising that you were lost in your thoughts for the past few minutes. Your eyes focus back on the email pulled up on your screen, reading the title hastily.

FREE HEALTH CHECKUP FOR ALL STAFF

“Did you see this email?” You ask, and Jimin places one hand on your desk, leaning in so that his chin hovers directly above your head. The whole proximity of his body is giving you butterflies as he casually drops a kiss on the top of your head before replying.

“Yeah, I did. Wanna sign up for the same day together?”

“You sure you wanna go for it?” You can’t help but have a weird feeling about this as you scroll through the email, reading through all the details. It’s a free health checkup for all staff provided through a mobile health clinic, for selected days and times only.

“Yeah, why not?” Jimin shrugs as he straightens up again. “It’s free. Health checkups like this would normally cost a bomb.”

“I’m afraid they might… you know. Find out about this,” you voice lowers to a whisper towards the end of your sentence, but from the way your gaze drops to your middle, Jimin’s face dawns with recognition.

“Baby, healthcare professionals are obligated to maintain individual privacy. They can’t divulge anything about your health to anyone,” Jimin reassures in a whisper, bending down beside you so that you can look at him more comfortably, stroking your hand in your lap.

You’re still new to this public display of affection, but luckily, the office is pretty empty since everyone has left for lunch. You’re not entirely convinced about this health checkup thing, but then again, it could just be your paranoia from all the bad things that have already occurred this morning. After all, you firmly believe that bad things happen in threes. And right now, you’re on strike two.

Taking a deep breath, you smile at him, pushing away any other thoughts. “You’re right. This is perfectly fine. Which slot should we go for?”

A few clicks later, you close your laptop and reach for your wallet, taking Jimin’s hand as you walk out of office with a few of your colleagues’ admiring gazes on your backs.

“Deep breath please… one, two, three… and out…”

You can feel the cold metal of the stethoscope through your thin blouse as the doctor listens to your breathing. While he does this, you’re left staring at the medical information that you filled out on the form at the beginning of the session, your heart rate speeding up when it comes to the question:

Are you currently pregnant, or expecting? Yes/ No

Your hands start to sweat, and the doctor seems to notice. Dr Cha Eun Woo withdraws the stethoscope and places it back around his neck.

“Is everything going okay for you? You seem a little stressed. Problems at work?” He smiles jovially as he records something down on his clipboard.

“Um… yeah, kind of. The usual stress, you know,” you gesture vaguely, wanting this entire thing to be over as soon as possible. You add in a laugh for good measure.

Dr Cha makes an understanding noise in the back of his throat as he reaches for your medical form, scanning through it briefly. “Let’s see… no health problems, you’re exercising often, you don’t smoke, only the occasional drink here and there. Sexual history is… active, but you’re not pregnant, nor planning to become in the near future, am I right?”

You visibly tense up at his question, and the lack of a response causes him to look up at you.

“Did I say something wrong?” His smile turns into a concerned frown. “I apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable. It’s just the standard questions that we ask all who come in for a checkup.”

You shake your head and attempt to unclench your fists. Jimin is right. This is a medical healthcare professional who is just doing his job. He isn’t asking you because he wants to report you to the company or anything.

“No, definitely not pregnant,” you answer him confidently, conveniently leaving out the answer to the second part of his question.

But Dr Cha seems satisfied, and he reaches to unwrap the blood pressure cuff from your arm. “Alright then. I guess we’re done here. I’ll just let the nurse take a blood sample from you, and we’ll have the results sent to you over text message in about a week or so.”

You were just about to get up from your seat, but you freeze in your tracks. “Bl-blood sample?”

“To check your cholesterol levels, blood count, and generally things that we can’t detect through a physical check-up alone. Is there… is there a problem?”

You almost say that you’re scared of needles, but then how childish would that sound?

Dr Cha is still looking at you expectantly, and there’s really no good reason for you to refuse. So you paste on a smile and let the nurse draw some blood from the crook of your elbow, and then you are out of the mobile health clinic.

As you come down the stairs of the van, Jimin is waiting outside for you, having had his turn just before. You stumble a little on the last step, and he rushes forward to catch you.

“Are you okay?” Jimin’s grasp around you is tight as he sets you down carefully on the ground, pulling back to examine your face.

“I’m fine, just got a little excited for it to be over,” you squeeze his arm lightly, overly aware of your colleagues waiting in the vicinity of the mobile health clinic. Of one pair of eyes in particular, as she walks up to the two of you.

“You should really be more careful, ______! Especially in your condition,” Jihyo from Communications tsks as she appraises the both of you with admiration in her eyes. “Isn’t it great that we have this though? I’m sure having an extra health check wouldn’t hurt for the baby!”

Her probing eyes then travel down to your midriff, and you can see that she is just bursting with curiosity. Before she gets the chance to ask any more questions, however, Jimin puts an arm around you and gives her a polite smile.

“Thank you for your concern, but we should be getting back to work now,” Jimin gives her a small bow. “I hope your health check-up goes well. See you back in the office.”

He turns you around and you are all too glad to follow, leaving the whispers and curious glances behind.

“_____? Could I have a quick minute please?” Kim Namjoon from HR smiles pleasantly, as you look up to find him at your desk.

You save the spreadsheet you’d been working on and give him a nod, getting up to follow him to one of the meeting rooms. On the way in, you make eye contact with Jimin, seeing his curious head pop up from behind his partition.

“How’s everything been going for you lately?” Kim Namjoon smiles stiffly as he sits down, lacing his fingers together. “Pregnancy going okay?”

“Um…” You hesitantly take a seat across him, wondering what this could be about. It definitely isn’t one of those ‘how-are-you’ conversations between two colleagues. The very fact that Kim Namjoon is part of HR makes you wary.

He’s still waiting for an answer though, so you give him a weak smile and nod.

“Thanks for your concern… was that all you wanted to ask me today?”

Kim Namjoon looks down for a second, the expression on his face wavering, before he clears his throat. “Actually, no. There is one more thing. It’s about the medical check-up we did last week.”

At the mention of the medical check-up, your heart begins racing, and you consciously force yourself to breathe.

“We received some information from one of the employees about your medical check-up. While having their medical check-up, they happened to see the medical form that you filled up, and the information that they came across seems to be indicating that you are not otherwise pregnant.”

Strike. Three.

The room suddenly feels like all the air has been sucked out of it. It’s hard to breathe, let alone form a conscious thought.

Kim Namjoon continues, “as you may realise, even though this concerns your private medical information, because there is a rumour that you are engaging in fraud, we are required for audit purposes to investigate this. But I wanted to give you a chance to come clean about it before we request a court order for your medical information to be released to the company officially. I trust that you understand that it would be labourious for all parties involved to go through a lawsuit like that.”

The seconds drag out, and you realise that he is waiting for your response. Your eyes dart around the room, and it occurs to you that you are trapped. There is no way to escape, no way to get out of this situation unscathed.

The jig is up, your secret is out.

“But I… the doctor…” you are tripping over your own words in an attempt to make a coherent argument against him. Something that will explain away everything.

“Give it up, Ms ______. You aren’t really pregnant, are you? You should be further along by now, but you clearly aren’t. Are you aware that you are committing fraud?” Kim Namjoon stands up and leans over the table, his stern eyes fixed on you.

“My medical records should not have been exposed like that,” you argue back, suddenly finding courage from somewhere within you. You’re not going down without a fight. “Anything that I discuss with my doctor is private and confidential. That doctor is in the wrong in the first place for just leaving my information out in the open!”

Kim Namjoon sighs deeply and massages his temples. He sits down with a heavy thud, remaining silent for a moment.

“Fine. I guess we’re doing it the difficult way then.” He pushes his chair back slightly and crosses his legs. “Let’s just say that we received a report that you may be committing fraud. In the name of the law, we are authorised to access your medical records, for investigation purposes. If you really have nothing to hide, you would have no problem letting us see those records, wouldn’t you?”

This asshole is just backing you into a corner. There are a thousand reasons why you might want to keep your medical records private, but he’s using it to accuse you of fraud.

Which you technically are committing, but still…

“Do you really want to drag this to court?” He asks quietly, mistaking your silence for fear instead of anger. “If we do that, then everyone in the company will know that you committed fraud. Your reputation will be ruined. It’ll be on your permanent record. No company will ever employ you after that, you realise?”

He leans forward again, his stare intense as his mouth sets in a firm line. “But if you just admit that you aren’t really pregnant now, and that you made it all up, we won’t have to go there. We can settle this between you and the company, reach an agreement through negotiation. It’s a win-win arrangement for both of us.”

Wait a minute. Is he really…

“Think about it for a second. Do you really want everyone to know about this?”

Well, if he puts it like that… then…

You find it hard to talk past the lump in your throat. “I…”

“All you have to say is: ‘I faked my pregnancy’. That’s all, Ms _______,” Kim Namjoon cajoles. “It’s really that simple.”

Even though you know he is manipulating you, backing you into a corner and giving you a choice between a rock and a hard place… there’s just no other way out of it. Finally, your shoulders deflate and you sink back against the chair in defeat.

“I faked my pregnancy. I’m not pregnant at all.” Your voice is smaller than it has ever been. In all your years working at this company, you don’t think any other moment will ever top this one in terms of humiliation.

“Thank you, Ms _______. You may go now. I will be in touch with you regarding the next steps.” Kim Namjoon smiles, a pointy, satisfied little smile as he stands up to show you the door. Just as you are gathering your composure and getting ready to step outside again, he hits you with another blow. “I think you should take the rest of the week off.”

“The- rest of the week?” You turn to him in surprise. “Am I… is this a suspension?”

“You could think of it as one, yes.” He clears his throat and pushes his glasses to sit higher up on his nose. “We need some time to discuss the appropriate disciplinary measures. Meanwhile, you should enjoy your time off. It was the whole reason why you invented this story, isn’t it?”

The nerve of him. You can’t even hit him, because now he has opened the door and the rest of the office would bear witness to you trying to murder Kim Namjoon. All you can do is smile tightly at him, try to keep the tears from being too obvious as you walk to your workstation, hastily pack up your things, and leave with your tail in between your legs.

“Everyone is talking about me at work, aren’t they?” You pace back and forth in the kitchen, wringing your hands as Jimin prepares dinner at your stove. “They will all know by now. Fucking Park Jihyo. She would have told everyone the second she left that clinic.”

“People aren’t talking about you,” Jimin says calmly, stirring the simmering beef stew.

“And I only just found out now?” Your voice rises in hysteria, hands tangled in your hair as you groan in frustration. “I’ve been walking around like a clown for the past week. They must have had a good laugh about me. I can only imagine the things they’re saying about me now-“

“______, no one has said anything about this-“

“And don’t even get me started on that fucker Kim Namjoon,” you grab the radish sitting on the counter, just because you need something to wave around for emphasis. “He practically manipulated me into making a confession. I’m pretty sure that’s called blackmailing, especially when he doesn’t even have concrete proof. You know, I should have sued that piece of sh-“

“Hey, try this piece of carrot. Is it soft enough for you?” Jimin turns to you with a ladle, expression totally calm, and it only infuriates you even more. His reaction to all of this is entirely unprecedented. You expected him to spring to your defence and storm into the office and beat that fucker to a pulp.

“How are you so calm about this?” You demand, pushing his arm away from you. “Do you not understand the gravity of the situation right now?”

“I do, and I’m anything but calm, trust me,” Jimin sighs as he puts the ladle back into the pot. “But if I freak out too, then there won’t be anyone to help you get through this. You need to stay strong to get through this. And to do that, you need to eat. You’re stressing yourself out and it’s taking a toll on you.”

He insistently offers the piece of carrot to you again, and you reluctantly open your mouth. The carrot is soft and savoury, the taste of gravy melting on your tongue. Jimin raises an eyebrow, watching you chew.

“It’s good,” you say reluctantly, feeling your aggravation slowly calm down as Jimin smiles serenely.

It’s only then that you realise how long it has been since you last ate. After leaving early, all you did was searching the internet for various HR policies, doctor-patient confidentiality laws, and even job sites. A wave of fatigue washes over you as you slowly sink into a chair, feeling lightheaded.

“You need to eat,” Jimin says again, plating up the stew in a bowl and serving rice to go with it. “You’re going to worry yourself sick at this rate.”

He sits down opposite you, hair ruffled from the long day at work, and top buttons on his white dress shirt undone. His glasses are perched on his nose, and they fog up adorably when he leans forward to take a whiff of the stew. He picks up his spoon, looking up at you with an expectant gaze, and you follow suit.

Satisfied, Jimin begins to dig in ravenously, but all you can do is watch. Your shoulders feel heavy, the nausea is back again, and the last thing you want to do is eat.

“Jimin… I can’t,” you say, setting your spoon down. But your voice is no longer angry. “I can’t stop thinking, what’s going to happen now? Am I going to lose my job? Will they sue me? I can’t- I can’t afford to lose this job, the economy is really bad now, and- “

The anxiety has you at a breaking point, and you are nearly in tears.

“Just look at me, okay?” Jimin abandons his food in favour of holding your hand. “Nothing is for sure yet. We don’t know anything. And until we hear from them, there’s no point in thinking about it. Worrying about it now means that you suffer twice. And no matter what, I’ll be by your side. Okay?”

When you don’t say anything, it prompts Jimin to get out of his seat and get on his knees beside your chair, turning you around to face him. When he sees that his words aren’t getting through to you at all, he scrambles around for something else to say. Anything that would make things better.

“What can I do? What do you need?” Jimin can only see your pain as you close your eyes, trying in vain not to cry, again. “Tell me what I need to do to make things better.”

For a moment, you can’t think of anything. But amidst all the racing possibilities of you losing your job, getting sued, and possibly never finding another job again, you just want one thing.

“I just want to stop thinking. All these what ifs… I just want them to go away,” your vision becomes blurry with tears.

“I can do that,” Jimin stands and brushes a strand of hair away from your face. He pauses for a moment so that you can see how plush his lips look, the way his lidded eyes are focused only on you, before all you know is the feeling of his lips on yours. “Just focus on me.”

He breaks the kiss a little sooner than you would have liked, only to kiss your forehead, and you stretch out your arms to him. You cling to him like a koala as he continues to kiss down your neck, swirling his tongue against your skin and wetting it with his saliva, sucking bruises into your skin as he does so. He blindly walks the two of you into the bedroom, setting you down gently before he continues to kiss down your body, pushing your shirt up so that he can see your bare breasts.

“You’re so beautiful, always so pretty for me,” he says as he cups both breasts in his hands, flicking at your nipples. This elicits a whine from you. “I love how you’re so sensitive when I play with your nipples just like this. Even better when I suckle on them.”

He wraps his plump lips around your right nipple and starts to suck, and it feels as if you’ve never had another man treat your breasts with such reverence before. Park Jimin is suckling from you as if it’s the last meal he’ll ever get, switching sides to ensure that both breasts receive equal attention.

“And I love this waist, just the perfect size for me to wrap my arms around,” Jimin drags his tongue down to your belly button, kissing and sucking your skin. “Even better to hold on to when I fuck your pretty little pussy.”

“Jimin, I-“

“I’m getting there, sweetheart. Just let me take care of you.” He smiles against your skin as he kisses lower and lower, till he is at the hem of your shorts. He pulls it down in one motion, and your thighs fall open almost immediately, desperate for his attention.

“I love the sounds you make when I eat you out. How are you this wet when I haven’t even touched you here yet?” Jimin makes it a point to let you know just how wet you are by sliding two fingers through your core, then pulling them apart to show you the strings between his two fingers. “You want me to eat your pussy?”

“Yes, fuck, I want you to eat me out,” your thighs are quivering in his grasp, and he needs no further prompting.

He starts with a flat lick against your clit, feeling you gasp and sob above him. Then he dips down for a taste of your core, alternating between licking and sucking to make sure he gets every drop of your sweetness. Two fingers spread your lips to open you up even more for him.

“That’s it, baby, look at me. Just focus on me,” he directs your attention to him, holding eye contact as he starts to eat you out again, plump lips against your pussy as he devours every inch of you. The tension in your belly heightens, and it’s all you can do to keep your eyes on him. It’s sinful to watch him eating you out like this, between your legs like a man starved. The only thoughts in your mind right now are of Park Jimin, and nothing else.

“I’m so close, please,” you plead with him. “Fingers. I need you to-“

“Shhh, I got you,” Jimin switches his attention on your clit while he buries two fingers in your cunt, and the burn feels good. “Shit, that’s tight, baby. How are you gonna take my cock?”

“Make it fit,” you widen your thighs and grind on his fingers, almost riding his tongue in the process.

“You bet I will,” he says with a dark look that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and then the rest of his efforts are dedicated to sending you over the edge. The combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers expertly reaching your sweet spot effectively snaps the knot in your lower belly, and you clench around him with a moan, hips rising off the bed.

Jimin does not let up on your clit, he helps you to ride out your orgasm as you pant and gasp, until your legs feel boneless and the aftershocks are making them twitch.

“There we go, it’s okay… you did so well,” Jimin withdraws his fingers and sucks on them, stroking your inner thigh with his other hand. “You always look pretty when you cum.”

You close your thighs for a moment to catch your breath, feeling his soothing touch still reminding you that he’s always by your side. You know that you are far from satisfied, though, and a few seconds later, you open your eyes and sit up, glancing at the tell-tale bulge in his pants.

“Can I ride you?” You ask directly, and if Jimin is taken aback, he doesn’t show it.

“Shit, it would be my pleasure,” Jimin is all too glad to push his dress pants down, lying down with his thick thighs spread. With your help, he gets rid of his boxer briefs, and you immediately seize his cock, pumping it a few times and feeling your mouth water. When you lower your mouth towards it, he reprimands you with a tap on your ass.

“What did you ask for?” He raises an eyebrow, and though you are dying to taste him on your tongue, you can tell that he is one of his dominant moods, and it would be best not to cross him right now. “I want to see you bouncing on my cock. Now.”

You line him up with your entrance, feeling his precum make things even wetter than they already are. Jimin has his hands on your hips, not being able to resist grabbing handfuls of your ass as you lower yourself down on him. He enjoys the cute little grimace you always make when he enters you for the first time, always needing a while to get used to his girth no matter how many times you fuck.

He mostly lets you set the pace but applies a subtle pressure with his hands to guide you down on his cock. Once you reach the base, he rewards you with a kiss to the forehead before lying back down again.

“Shit, you take my cock so fucking well,” he says with pride, leaning back as he watches you start to grind your hips. Your pace gets faster very quickly, and soon you are bouncing on him sinfully, giving him the front row seat of his life.

Your cheeks are flushed, breasts bouncing as you fuck yourself on him, desperate little whines escaping your throat as you try to get him as deep as possible.

“Tell me how much you love my cock,” he demands, hands around your waist to guide your movements.

“I- I fucking love it,” you say immediately, knowing all too well his need for validation. “I love your cock so much- it feels so fucking good. Oh god, fuck, I can’t-“

“Just keep riding, baby, you can do it,” Jimin starts to thrust up into you at the same time, sensing your dipping energy levels. “My baby always does so well on my cock.”

But the previous orgasm has sucked everything out of you. You can feel it so close, but yet so far at the same time. You need this release so badly, but it’s just not enough.

“Look at me, eyes on me baby,” Jimin commands your attention, making you open your eyes as he sits up, his hand on your chin. “Just focus on me. I got you, I promise.”

And you know he’s not just referring to this moment alone.

He flips the both of you over, your hands are pinned to the bed by your head as he maintains eye contact with you, taking over and fucking into your pussy with incredible stamina and speed. He brings both of your hands above your head and secures them down with one hand, and the other slides down to rub your clit.

You can feel every inch of his cock as he pounds you into the mattress, so deep that it feels like it might even hit your womb. Jimin draws back a little so that he can wrap his hands tenderly around your waist, subconsciously stroking your lower belly gently as he fucks into you. Your legs are wrapped tight around his waist because you don’t ever want this to stop. Letting go of all control, surrendering every thought, every worry to him so that he can take care of you like this, that’s what makes everything better.

“Can you cum for me? Wanna feel you, one more time,” his voice his soft now, any edge of dominance gone now as he pushes your legs back. “Cum around me before I fill your sweet pussy.”

“Yes, please, I want you to cum inside,” you wrap your arms around him, wanting to please him so badly. His fingers on your clit are pinching and stroking as he fucks deep into your cunt, and with a shout, you are spasming around him, ecstasy singing through your veins as you let the feeling of his cock filling you full of his cum wash away any other thoughts. The feeling of his cock pulsing as your walls become sticky and warm, his gentle thrusts as he milks his orgasm for all its worth, till the last spurt of cum deep inside your pussy where it belongs.

“Oh shit, that’s my baby, taking all my cum like a good girl,” Jimin kisses your forehead fondly, pulling out of you carefully to admire his handiwork. You would tease him for his cum obsession, except that it’s grown on you too. Spreading your lips with two fingers, you clench your muscles to push out his cum, and you can feel it slowly dripping down to your entrance, until it seeps out in a thick stream.

“Fuck, looks good enough to eat,” Jimin licks his lips as he glances at you, before diving down to catch the cum on his tongue before it can hit the bedsheets under you. And he cleans your sore and swollen pussy up gently, lapping his own cum with every lick.

“Jimin…” your whine makes him stop, giving you a final kiss on the inside of your thigh. “Come to bed. I’m tired.”

Jimin can get carried away sometimes, especially when it comes to eating you out, or tasting himself on you. But at your reminder, he leaves his position between your legs and snuggles beside you, giving a cute little grin before he claps twice, and then the lights are out.

And you sink into the best sleep you’ve had in ages.

But good things never last, and when you next wake up, the bed is cold and empty.

Jimin must have left for work already. A single glance at the clock tells you that it is past 10am, and you sit up slowly, feeling the ache from last night. The bed is cold, the room is empty as you make the lonely tread to the bathroom. But a last-minute wave of nausea quickens your steps, and soon you are kneeling at the porcelain altar.

When you finish, wiping the back of your mouth with your hand, you are lightheaded and can barely think. Everything feels like a blur, but you didn’t even drink last night, haven’t been since you and Jimin agreed that you would let fate take its course when it comes to putting a bun in your oven.

The very thought of it makes you retch again. It’s the entire reason why you’re home and not at work in the first place, and you can’t stop feeling like a fucking fool about all this. Flushing the toilet, you force yourself onto your feet, make some attempt at washing up.

The doorbell rings, and the unprecedented visitor catches you off-guard. But it’s just the delivery man with a hefty package, and he when he sees your sick complexion and raccoon eyes, he offers to come inside and set it down on your kitchen counter.

When he leaves, you tear the box open, curious because you don’t remember ordering anything from Amazon. God, you really hope this isn’t the result of one of your drunken online shopping sessions. If you’re about to lose your job, you really don’t need another hefty bill on your shoulders.

But it’s not anything from Amazon. It’s Granny’s side dishes, from the delicious cucumber kimchi you fell in love with during your visit, to the savoury japchae that makes your mouth water as soon as you smell the sesame fragrance. There’s even a note with instructions telling you how to store everything and how to heat it up when you want to eat it.

You don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve Granny’s kindness, when all you’re doing is just scamming her and giving her the false hope of a grandchild. Tears are brimming, and you push the box away, unable to deal with your lies at this moment.

You head to your desk and sit down.

Because you can’t stop yourself, you click on your email- both personal and work. The first thing you see in your work email makes your nausea threaten to blur your vision.

From: Kim Namjoon (HR)

Cc: All Departments

NOTICE FOR IMMEDIATE DISMISSAL

Dear ______,

I am writing with regard to your disciplinary action regarding your act of fraud. After much discussion, we have decided that the transgression you have committed against this company have been deemed unforgivable. As a result, we have no choice but to request your immediate dismissal.

As for your one-month notice, we have decided that the monetary cost that your fraud has incurred has surpassed any compensation that you might be entitled to.

Your termination is effective immediately.

We thank you for your service thus far.

Best regards,

Kim Namjoon

That piece of-

He cc’ed the entire company. Even though he very clearly said you could work something out with them. It was a lie all along, he never had the intention of this being a win-win arrangement. You stare at the last line of the email with growing derisiveness. Thank you for your service? What kind of bullshit-

The nausea rises up in your throat again, and you have to run to make it to the bathroom. It’s not a nice feeling to be dry heaving when you have absolutely nothing in your system, but the whole act of it takes more out of you than you realised. This is it. This is your lowest point; nothing could ever surpass it.

Your phone is ringing somewhere in your bedroom, and right now the distance between the bathroom and your bed seems insurmountable. It’s probably Jimin. God, how badly you want this to be him, so you drag yourself on all fours until your hands are scrabbling in the mess of blankets to find your phone.

But when you pick up, it’s not Jimin’s honeyed voice that greets you. It’s a cold, sterile, clinical one.

“Ms _______?”

Thrown off guard, you confirm your identity to the stranger. Your heart leaps in your chest as you think that it might be someone from the company, calling to tell you that there’s been a mistake.

It’s due time for a lucky break in your life, right?

But no chance.

“I’m calling with your blood test results from the mobile health clinic about a week or so ago.”

The health check-up that effectively ended your life? Alright.

“Um, okay. What about it?”

“Miss, did you know that you are currently pregnant?”

The world screeches to a stop. But the train of bad news crashes on.

“You indicated on your form that you weren’t pregnant. But your blood test results indicate that you are about two, nearly three weeks along now. Is this a concern that you might need to come in for?”

The white of the tiles in your bedroom suddenly look too bright. The room is spinning, and everything is moving too fast for you to catch up.

“Hello? Miss? Are you still there?”

The ringing tone of another incoming call interrupts her, and Jimin’s picture lights up on your screen.

“I… I have to go.” You press the end call button before staring at Jimin’s bright, happy smile on your phone.

The irony of the situation is the story of your life. It’s just a little too late. It’s always a little too late.

"He-hello? Jimin?”

“Baby! Are you okay? You didn’t pick up, and I was worried-”

You can’t sit here at your desk anymore, with the email just mocking you, the reminder of your fraud hanging in the balance. So you press the phone to your ear and get up, pacing to the kitchen. But then you see Granny’s side dishes waiting on the table, and you feel even sicker.

“How bad is it right now?” You get straight to the point.

Judging from the way he stutters, you know he is trying to scrape together a lie. And then it suddenly hits you. You involved him in this mess, and all this while you’ve only been thinking about yourself. While you were busy freaking out yesterday and needing him to calm you down, you neglected to be there for him at all. You didn’t even think if HR would have their own consequences for him.

Because you swear if Kim Namjoon touches a hair on Park Jimin’s head, you’ll kill him.

He is saying something about some announcement made this morning that didn’t mention you specifically. You stop him before he can sweat any further about how to soften the blow.

“Jimin, listen to me. Did they- did they do anything to you?”

“Me?” Jimin sounds taken aback for a moment. “Why would they-? No! I’m fine. Listen, baby. I thought of a way you can get out of this. We’ll just tell them it was a miscarriage. That’ll explain why you’re not pregnant, but you technically were before, so it’s not a lie, and-”

Even in times like this, all Park Jimin can think about is you. He is selfless, and you don’t deserve him either. He sounds so hopeful about this, as if he believes it will really work. But most of all, you are reminded of how happy he looked that night at his parent’s house, when you and him decided that you would commit to having a baby together. How happy he would be if he knew that you were really...

“-or if you want me to say it for you, I will. I’ll just set up a meeting with Kim Namjoon, and you don’t even have to come in. I just wanted to run this by you first, and-“

“No!” The knee jerk response results in you yelling over the phone. You can’t let him drag himself further into your mess any longer, you refuse to implicate him any further. But your desperation makes your voice come out harsher than you intended to, and the words just slip out. “Jimin- just… stay out of my shit, alright? You’ve done enough. I need to handle this alone.”

There is a stunned silence over the end of the line. “We need to… we need to end this. This whole relationship is a fraud, anyway, now everyone knows and… you better go. Before they find out you’re talking to me.” You wince even as you say the words, knowing that they are not in the slightest bit true. But you need to do this, you need to separate yourself from him before the selflessness of his heart gets him into trouble trying to clean up a mess that isn’t even his.

“I… yeah. I think I should go too.” His voice is nothing like the soft, warm kindness that you have come to associate with Park Jimin. It is cold, formal and it feels like ice shoots straight through your heart as you listen to him say the next words. “Uh, good luck with everything, then.”

And then the line goes dead.

#bts smut #bts #park jimin #bts jimin smut #ksmutclub

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black-king-white-knight · 4 years

Text

Cyber Files AU - Chapter One:

A/N: Okay, here’s Chapter One. I have no idea when other chapters will be coming, but I hope you enjoy and if anyone has any question, feel free to hit me up.

Warnings: Swearing, Death mentions, Medical mentions... I think that’s all for this chapter? But please let me know if anyone wants anything else tagged or if I missed anything.

“In steel as in flesh. Corpses leave clues.”

Dear You,

The body you are currently wearing used to be mine. The scar on the inner left thigh is there because you fell out of a window and impaled your leg running away from Badges at the age of nine. The four fillings are a result of you avoiding the dentist for most of your life. But the physical past of our shared body isn’t important to you right now.

I’m writing this letter for you to read in the future. Wondering why anyone would do such a thing? The answer is… both simple and complicated. The simple answer is because I knew it would be necessary.

The complicated answer is… rather twisted.

Do you know the name of the body you are in? It’s Remy. Remy Saros. It was my name, but it comes with the body, so I suppose it’s yours now. Changing it would be… unwise. But we’ll get to that later.

Before I tell you the story, there are a few things I need you to be aware of. First, you’re deathly allergic to bee stings. If you get stung and do not take quick action, you will die. I’ve always hoarded all the epi-pens I could find. Check all the glove compartments of cars, backpacks and jacket pockets you now own. If you get stung, flick the lid off, orange to the thigh, blue to the sky, wait for the click, hold for three seconds and remove. You’ll feel like shit, but you’ll survive.

Apart from that, you’re a non-photosensitive epileptic. There should be a sleeve of meds in the front right pocket of your trousers. Repeat scripts are loaded onto your Eye and spare meds will be available later when you need them.

Now, hopefully, you still retain your right hand, and everything it provides.

The fuck? Someone would have stolen my hand!? They thought to themselves, glancing down at their right hand and clenched it in relief before turning their attention back to the words hanging in the rain in front of them.

In your immediate future, the three most important are a Social Identity Card, Bank Chit, Medi-Sys Card, all of them belonging to Remy Saros. Except for four. Those physical cards in your wallet are, right now, the most important. Tucked away in there are a Chit linked to a different bank, a driver’s licence, a Medi-Sys Card and a Social Identity Card belonging to Alexandyr Morgan, a name that will not be linked to you.

The personal identification number for all of them is 160100. That’s my birthday, followed by how old you are. You’re a newborn! Get somewhere dry and safe, find a secure hotel, and check in. The AM accounts will have more than enough to cover.

You are doubtless aware of the next part already, since if you’re reading this you’ve already survived several immediate threats, but you are in danger. Just because you are not me does not make you safe. Along with this body, you have inherited certain problems and responsibilities. Go find a safe place, and the second letter will be waiting for you when you arrive.

Sincerely,

Remy Saros.

They stood shivering in the rain, watching the words on the holographic display dissolve into the downpour. Their hair was dripping, licking their lips under the face mask gave a burst of saltiness, and everything ached. Under the lights of reflected neon, the figure had automatically flicked their right hand out in a muscle-memory gesture to bring up the main menu on their Eyeformer Operation System, looking for some clue as to… anything.

When the Eye booted up a message simply titled To You had been sitting there in the main menu, blinking gently, waiting to be opened.

They shook their head angrily, but the spike in throbbing quickly diffused their anger. They looked up at the sky, watching the rain come down and lightning fork across the sky. Rummaging through the other pockets of their outfit turned up nothing other than a long, thin plastic box with medical instructions, chemical information, and a label printed on it. REMY SAROS.

The Epi-Pen, they thought, staring at it before returning it to the interior jacket pocket it had come from, patting it a couple of times for reassurance. Then they dropped a hand into their front right pocket and pulled out a fresh packet of red and white capsules in a standard plastic and foil medical sleeve. Epilepsy meds, I guess.

So this is who I am, they thought, unsure of how they felt. I don’t get the uncertainty of not knowing what my name is, but I’m not being given control over my own life. Whoever Remy Saros was, they managed to get me in a whole lot of trouble. They sniffed and brushed a dark lump out of their left eye. Wet hair slapped against their skin and Remy cringed slightly.

Ugh, okay, rain first. Get out of the rain, then… get a car, I guess. Yeah, find a car, find a hotel.

Remy looked around, searching for shelter, but since they were standing on a bridge, nothing was immediately available. Just expansive, smoke filled blackness all around, only broken by strings of indistinct neon in all directions and the sounds of sky-borne cargo lifters. Finally spotting an undercover shop doorway at the end of the bridge, Remy stepped out of the slight crater in the middle of the road, and over the ring of bodies that ringed it. They were all motionless, and wearing latex gloves.

They darted from shelter to shelter, staying in the dark wherever they could, contact lenses glowing due to the low-level night vision function built into the Eyes’ Pathfinder app. The only sounds in the smoke-filled night were the gradually fading sounds of main street traffic around the bridge, and the ever-present sounds of cargo lifters and the occasional Fire Bird.

Remy was hugging themself and shivering by the time they got off the main roads, and spent a minute shaking off as best as their throbbing head would allow. Reactivating the Eye, they opened one of the ride call apps and scrolled through. If the accounts contained as much money as the mysterious message said, Remy would gladly pay for the quiet and convenience of an automated cab.

Opening a new tab and selecting the bank account under Alexandyr Morgan’s name, Remy used the login details stored in an in-Eye app to log in, and looked at the account total and withdrawal amount. Both numbers almost short-circuited Remy’s newly born brain. There was… five million in the account. Even given the inflation of various economic crashes, that was a lot of money. Whoever Remy had been in that previous life… they clearly had a lot of cash to splash around.

Recalling the letter’s multiple warnings about finding somewhere safe, Remy kept scanning both ends of the street, as well as all the doorways and windows they could make out while waiting for the summoned car to appear. When it did, they scrambled inside, shut the door, and scanned their hand on the Chit reader built into the back of the “driver’s” seat. Remy then selected “Evasive Mode” from the drop-down menu in the app, clicked the seat belt in and sprawled as much as they could across plush seats that automatically warmed up in response to Remy’s wet frame.

They briefly considered not sprawling like this, since it would give Future!Remy all sorts of aches, but Present!Remy was too comfy, so they just shut their eyes and let the swinging turns and passing neon lull them into a fitful, exhaustion-driven doze.

Remy’s Eye suddenly came to life and started to ping with alerts that they’d arrived at the marked destination, the messages dislodging the slew of automated ads from the earlier apps. They jerked upright then hissed in pain. The journey had been nearly half an hour to the other side and a deeper level of the city, bordering on one of the old mine shafts, turned closed off corporate enclaves when the mine was turned into a city.

Remy’s decision to sprawl all over the back of the car meant that climbing out was a flurry of spasms, aches and pins and needles. Mumbling in irritation as they got out of the car and wishing Past!Remy hadn’t been such a selfish asshole, they stumbled towards the five-star hotel.

The hotel management students who had been unlucky enough to get saddled with door-duty on the graveyard shift stared at Remy’s face without moving a muscle as they opened the doors for Remy, who passed through with an exhausted nod at them both and walked through the gorgeous foyer.

The impeccably dressed and coiffed desk clerk (at three in the morning?! What. The. Fuck. Are you some kind of hideous automaton, man?) politely stifled a yawn and barely widened his eyes at the soaking wet person on the other side of the desk who had just left a wide trail of dirty water across the marble tiles and was now checking in as Alexandyr Morgan.

The hotel porter who appeared did a poor job of appearing awake, but still managed to guide Remy to the appointed room without incident. By now, especially after a heated nap in the taxi, Remy was so sleepy that they’d practically given up on all vigilance, barely remembering to thank and tip the porter before entering the room and searching for the bed. Having found something large and soft, Remy dropped, content to sleep on it until…

Remy was asleep too quickly to even finish the thought.

Notes: That’s all there is for now. I just wanna say a huge thanks to @milomeepit, and @pipapatton for helping me work out ideas and acting as soundboards, and @lucifer-in-my-head for designing artwork for it, which I’ll add next chapter as the art becomes relevant to the story.

#tw: Death mention #tw: Swearing #tw: Medicine mentions #Bkwk Writes #Cyber Files AU #Sanders Shorts fanfic #Sanders Sides fanfic #Remy Sanders #So here's Chapter One #Btw this rate of updates does not in any way inform about a schedule #The fact that it came out within a week of the Teaser #Means NOTHING #Remy's practically a warning all by themself #Swearing sluttiness and sunglasses

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libsterslobsters · 3 years

Text

What Is And What Should Never Be Pt 4

Summary: After what was supposed to be a week-long mission (but stretched on for over a month), during which she found out more about their "little stranger", the reader is more than happy to welcome Bucky home.

Also, I suck at summaries.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Super-soldier Reader

(Reader can see pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Language, pregnancy, smut, fluff

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Series masterlist

--------------------------‐----------

“They should be calling me back soon.”

It’s not the ideal way of communicating with your husband while you’re waiting impatiently for an ultrasound in your OB-GYN’s office, but texting is all she has, so it’ll have to do. A week long mission has stretched into four and a half weeks, and although they can’t share phone calls (anyone could be listening in), texting has received the all-clear. She’s grateful that, for the sake of this doctor’s appointment, it’s nighttime in his part of the world, so he’s tucked safely away and can at least somewhat experience this with her.

“I’m gonna give these guys hell for making me miss the chance to spy on our girl.” She chuckles at the message on her screen before typing back her own.

“What are you going to do if it turns out we’re having a boy?” Since the day she told him she was pregnant, Bucky’s been convinced this baby is a girl, but they don’t know for sure. Despite trying her best to concentrate on anything her visions can tell her, she’s come up blank. For all they know, the “little miss” they’ve been talking to for the past few months is really a little mister.

“Teach him how to treat a lady instead of teaching her how to throw a punch.” She snickers. It’s a good response. Still-

“You do realize she’s the child of two super soldiers. She could have the worst right hook in the world, and the other person would still walk away with a black eye.”

“Barnes?” That jerks her attention away from her phone. The nurse is standing just outside the waiting area, eyes searching the room. On instinct, she glances around her, making sure no one has reacted to her last name. She’s not the most recognizable of the Avengers, but still, she’d rather not have the world know she visited the obstetrician today. If anyone has put two and two together, they’re doing a good job of hiding it so, readjusting her shirt in an attempt to hide her bump, she stands and follows the nurse out of the room.

For what feels like the millionth time, she gives her full name and date of birth. The nurse’s eyes widen in recognition, but other than that, she keeps it professional.

“Just wait in here, hon. Someone will be right with you, okay?”

“Thank you.”

The ultrasound room is small, barely more than a broom closet, but at least she’s away from prying eyes. So, she hops up on the table in preparation and takes advantage of the time alone to read the latest message.

“It’s still a valuable life skill. If she takes after her Mom, she’ll be a looker. I want her to be able to make people think twice before they forget their manners around her.” The message brings a smile to her face, but also makes tears prick at her vision.

“I wish you were here.” As quickly as she types the sentence, she erases it. He’s simply not able to be here, and that’s all there is to it. No need to make him feel bad about something he’s already beating himself up over.

The door opens, this time revealing the same ultrasound tech she met at her first appointment. There’s another round of name and date of birth, then settling onto her stool next to the machine, the tech asks,

“Did you want to know the gender if we’re able to tell today?” When they discussed it, she spent a solid fifteen minutes convincing Bucky that yes, this is a thing they can tell just from those black and white pictures, no she’s not pulling a prank on him, they can find out if they’re having a boy or a girl before the baby’s born. Ultimately they decided-

“Yes.”

It’s only the second time she’s been in this position, so everything is still relatively new. A warning about the gel being cold, the pressure of the ultrasound wand against her, and then the screen coming to life. This time around, the baby actually looks more like a baby instead of a blob, and as she watches, she sees a hand go up.

“You’re feeling movements at this point, right?” She nods. “Good.”

Starting at the head that still looks far too large, they work their way down the body, different images being captured over every organ. Then-

“Are you ready to find out if you’ve got a little boy or a little girl in there?”

She pulls up her phone and rapidly types, “About to find out he or she.” then answers.

“Yes.”

There’s a momentary pause, then-

“Congratulations. Looks like you have a little girl.” This time there’s no stopping it. The tears spill over.

“Sorry.” She swipes at her cheeks. The tech offers her a sympathetic smile and offers her a few tissues, which she readily accepts.

The scan goes on for a few more minutes, picture after picture being filed away. Finally, the wand is removed and the tech informs her,

“I’ll have to confirm with the doctor, but everything looks good. Did you want some pictures to take with you?”

“Yes, thank you. That would be great.”

The machine spits out a few images which are torn off and handed to her.

“I’ll give you some privacy to get cleaned up. Someone will be with you shortly to take you to an exam room, okay?”

“Thanks.”

The tech stands and starts towards the door. Hesitating just outside it, she turns.

“By the way, I couldn’t help but recognize the name on the file.” Oh. Here it goes. “I just wanted to say we really appreciate all you’ve done. The other Avengers too. My little girl loves to pretend that she’s the Soothsayer and runs around telling me, “Mom, I had a vision.” “

She laughs, a mental picture forming in her mind of a smaller version of the woman in front of her wearing a Halloween costume version of the Soothsayer uniform.

“That’s good to hear. I’ll pass the word along to the team.”

The tech disappears down the hall and she cleans herself up. Holding up the clearest ultrasound image, she snaps a picture and attaching it, texts, “It’s a girl.”

__________________________________________________________________________________

He’s been staring at his phone for the better part of the last four hours but still, Bucky can’t bear to look away. The picture isn’t the best, a little blurry around the edges, but it still has his full attention. That, and the text attached: “It’s a girl.”

“That thing’s gonna die on you if you don’t put it away soon.” He chuckles in response to Sam’s words.

“We’re only half an hour out. Somehow, I think I’ll make it.”

“What’re you staring at anyway?” He hesitates for a moment. Sam knows their big secret, as does Wanda, but so far no one else has caught on. Is it okay for him to share this? His gut tells him that it is, so he holds up his phone, careful to tip the screen so that only Sam can see it.

“Oh.” Immediate recognition blooms on his partner’s face. “That a recent one?”

“Yesterday.”

Not looking away, Sam continues.

“You know, I sorta thought you were joking before, trying to throw me off what’s really going on, but I guess it’s true.” His eyes narrow, and it’s obvious when he reads the text on the bottom. “A girl?”

Bucky couldn’t hold back his smile if he tried.

“A girl.” He would’ve been okay if his hunch turned out to be wrong, but now that he knows for sure that they have a daughter on the way, he’s excited. Excited… and terrified.

“Damn.” Sam chuckles. “It’s too bad you got rid of the long seventies hair. She could’ve put flowers in it when you play tea party with her.” He snickers. If this baby, his daughter, does indeed want him to have a tea party with her in a few years’ time, he’ll do it, and do it gladly. Hell, he’ll even wear a feather boa and funny hat if that’s what she wants. The world may think that his job is to be an Avenger, but he knows that his real job is at home, taking care of his two girls.

Eventually the never-ending flight home does indeed end and, after bidding Sam and the rest of their squad goodbye, he climbs into his car and starts the engine. He thinks about shooting her a text letting her know he’s on his way, but the clock on the dash reads four a.m., and he decides it’s best to let her sleep. She’ll more than likely wake up when he crawls into bed next to her anyway since she’s such a light sleeper.

As the miles pass, his weariness from the mission fades with them, quickly replaced with anticipation. During the war, when his buddies would hang onto the hope of receiving a letter from their sweethearts or wives and once the letter did arrive, keep it close to them, often inside their jacket pressed close against their hearts, he didn’t get it. Sure, there were people at home he missed, and even a few girls he’d had dates with who sent the occasional note, but these guys were so attached to that scrap of paper and the words scrawled across it that they’d read so often, they could recite them at the drop of a hat, and that it just didn’t make sense to him. Well, now it does. Instead of letters, he has texts and voicemails, a few pictures taken over the years of them together (or the occasional snapshot he’s sneaked when she wasn’t paying attention because really, it would be a crime not to capture how perfect she looked right then for all eternity), and most recently, the image of his unborn daughter. Whatever he’s had to do that day, whatever is weighing him down, he knows that it’s all for them, and that makes the load seem bearable.

Finally, he pulls into his driveway. Killing the engine, he climbs out, leaving his duffle bag full of dirty (and smelly) clothes to be dealt with tomorrow. Right now, he’s on a mission; infiltrate the house quietly, shower covertly, and then crawl into bed with his two girls.

Parts one and two of his plan go easily enough. He removes his shoes at the door to decrease the chances that she’ll hear his footsteps and takes the stairs agonizingly slowly. The guest bathroom is missing a few key items (like razors; god, he needs a shave), but it has soap and shampoo, so he’s able to shower. The one key element he forgot about is that he doesn’t have any clothes located in this part of the house but, as he tiptoes into their bedroom, he realizes he’s in luck. The closet door is open and- he stifles a chuckle- a pair of his pajamas is laid out on his side of the bed. Looks like she had a vision that he’d be coming home tonight. At least she didn’t wait up.

After tugging on the bottoms (he disregards the shirt; somehow, they always end up migrating towards the center of the bed, and with her so close to him, he’ll be more than warm enough), he pulls back the covers and eases into bed. Sure enough, she immediately snuggles closer, pressing her back against his chest. He’s not sure if she’s awake until-

“Welcome home, stranger.” Her voice is rough with sleep, but he can still hear the smile in it.

“Thanks, Doll. It’s good to be back.” He readjusts his flesh arm to wrap around her waist, his hand instinctively falling to caress the swell of her middle (much larger now than it was four weeks ago), and he’s just about to close his eyes in hopes of getting a few winks when he feels it.

At first, he thinks he’s imagining things it’s so soft, but then it happens again. A nudge against his palm, harder this time. It takes a moment for him to realize what’s happening, and when he does, he can’t help the shaky breath he exhales against her neck.

“You okay?” He means to reassure her that he’s fine, but instead what comes out is-

“She’s moving.” As if in response, he receives another kick.

“Yeah. She’s saying hello to her dad.” He knew that she was feeling the baby move thanks to a text sent two weeks back, but this is the first time he’s been able to feel it himself. And it’s… unbelievable.

“Does it hurt you at all, sweetheart? Is it uncomfortable?” She chuckles softly.

“No, it doesn’t hurt. The only time it’s uncomfortable is if she gets my kidneys, or if I’m trying to sleep.” Which is what she should be doing now.

Without thinking, he sits up and, leaning over so that his cheek is pressed against the bump, he murmurs,

“Hey, little miss. This is your Dad. I can’t wait to meet you.” Her hand comes down to cart through his still-damp hair. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk again and you can kick me some more, but right now you need to calm down so your Mom can get some rest. She’s got a big job, looking after me and growing you all at the same time. So why don’t you settle back in and go to sleep, and me and Mom will try to do that too?” He receives one more kick for his efforts and then… stillness.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this am I? How she already listens to you?”

He chuckles and eases back down on the bed, pulling her against him once more.

“Never.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“… Mom told me to run, and then took off. Didn’t know if she was crazy or an enemy agent or what, so I ran after her.” The words are barely above a whisper, so quiet that she wonders if she’s still dreaming. However, a stirring in her middle settles the matter. She’s awake. This is real.

“I know. Looking back on it, I probably didn’t make the best first impression, but cut me some slack. It’s not every day the woman you just walked into thirty seconds ago tells you there’s an ambush waiting for you on the next street up. And you should be glad I chased her down. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.” Is he-

“Not that I’d recommend going up to strange men and saving their lives, Little Miss. It’s a good way for someone to get hurt. Probably not you if Banner’s right about the serum being passed down from parent to child, but still. Not a smart idea.” Yes, it’s exactly what she thought. He’s talking to the baby. “Of course, if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’ll kick their ass. Or Mom will. One of us. The other one will stage the scene so it looks like an accident. And, that’s probably something I shouldn’t be telling you on the off chance you’re hearing any of this.”

“She has ears now.” Her voice is hoarse from disuse, and she grimaces at the sound of it. “Week eighteen’s when they start to work. She can hear us.”

Blue eyes peer up at her, startled, before melting into the familiar, soft expression he usually wears around her. “Hey, Doll. Did I wake you up?”

Shaking her head, she reaches out, covering his metal hand still resting on her middle, with her own. “No. She did.” As if in reply, there’s a bump against their palms, and a smile spreads across his face.

“Yeah. I felt her kicking when I woke up, so I thought I’d try to calm her down for you. Looks like it did just the opposite.”

“No, you succeeded.” With a yawn, she stretches. “Usually she’s ready to rumble at six a.m. This is an improvement.”

A mock frown crosses Bucky’s face. “Now listen here, Little Miss. There’s a limited amount of driving your mom crazy that can happen in a twenty-four hour period, and since I’ve known her longer, I’ve got seniority. You’re gonna have to dial it back by an hour, thirty minutes at least in the mornings. It’s not a smart idea to piss off your landlady.” Apparently, their little one doesn’t agree. His eyes go wide at the sudden, strong movement. “What-”

“She rolled over.” And, that brilliant, genuinely happy smile is back

“That’s…” He searches for the right word. “...amazing.” It is, but if she focuses on it, she’ll start tearing up, and now’s not the time for a hormone-fueled crying jag.

“She’s usually active in the morning. Settles down after breakfast.”

He chuckles. “Is that your way of saying you’d like me to get you something to eat?” Oh, that sounds good. She has some fresh fruit in the refrigerator, but there’s also mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer, and then there’s ramen noodles, which she kind of wants to eat raw for some reason… but no.

“I’ve got it.” She starts to sit up, but doesn’t get very far before he’s easing her back down.

“No you don’t. I’m home now, so I can get back to my real job.” Pecking her forehead, he stands. “Taking care of my girls.”

“Get back here.” It comes out more petulant than she meant it to, which is probably why he pauses just outside the doorway and turns back around to look at her. He didn’t bother with a shirt last night, did he? And those sweatpants… she shakes her head to clear it. “You need your rest.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s my line, Doll.”

How many days worth of scruff is that, she wonders. The last time he’d let it grow out that long was when they were on that mission in Siberia. It was cold as fuck, and even with their enhancements making them more resilient to the weather, when they finally got back to their hotel room that night, they were nearly frozen solid. The heat wasn’t doing a great job, and so the only logical way to stay warm was to completely undress and lie as close as humanly possible in bed under all the blankets they could get their hands on. Of course, naked cuddling usually leads to naked making out, which lead to what is now a very vivid memory of exactly how that stubble felt between her thighs-

“Which one of us is growing a human right now?” The question snaps her out of her lecherous daydreams. The hormones. That has to be what’s causing this sudden boost in libido.

Clearing her throat, she shoots back, “Which one of us just spent a month getting shot at?” A month. It’s been a whole month since the last time they did anything in this bed other than sleep. She’s fully capable of getting off by herself, but her fingers are a poor replacement for-

“Forget it, solnyshka. You’re not gonna win this one. You’re staying in bed. That’s final.” She’d have something to say about him telling her what to do, but that commanding voice… it’s probably best that she stay in bed. At this point, she’s not sure her legs would hold her up.

“Fine.” It comes out shaky, but it doesn’t appear that he notices.

“Anything in particular you want?” Yeah, she can think of a few things. “Are you still having food aversions-” Oh. He’s talking about food. “-or has that cleared up?”

Grabbing hold of her last shred of sanity, she gasps out, “Anything’s fine.”

He smirks. “Great. Sauerkraut and pickled pig’s feet it is.”

She’s not sure if she manages a laugh, too busy staring as he walks away. Dammit. She needs to take a few deep breaths, get a hold of herself. With a frustrated groan, she pushes back the covers and climbs out of bed. She needs to splash some cold water on her face. Oh, and pee. She’s constantly peeing.

The vision hits her just as she’s dabbing her face with a hand towel. He’s leaning over the stove, cooking… are those pancakes? It’s domestic and sweet and infuriatingly, it riles her up even more. Muttering curses in several languages under her breath, she returns to bed and pulls the covers over her head. Maybe if she concentrates on her slight annoyance that he’s cooking shirtless, which is a damn good way to get yourself burned (of course, they heal fast, so it’s not a huge concern), it’ll help her ignore the ache between her thighs.

Fifteen minutes later when she hears his footsteps on the stairs, she feels like she’s about to spontaneously combust. With a huff, she sits up and attempts to appear normal. As soon as the door opens, she knows it’s a lost cause.

“Here you go. Pancakes, bacon, and tea.” Setting the tray on the nightstand, he climbs back in bed next to her.

“Thanks.” It’s nothing out of the ordinary, him leaning towards her, cradling the back of her head with one hand as he kisses her. It’s not unusual for her to wrap her arms around him, nearly pulling him on top of her as she probes his lips with her tongue, begging for entrance. It’s not even odd for the kiss to go from innocent to filthy, his teeth teasing her bottom lip, making her gasp and tug at his hair. What is odd is that, with a chuckle, he pulls away.

“You’d better eat before it goes cold.”

Smirking, she hooks the chain holding his dog tags (and his wedding ring, still hidden safely from his mission) around her finger and gives a tug. “You know, there’s this amazing new device called a microwave…”

His lips curl up into a knowing smirk. “Oh, so that’s what you’re after, huh?” She feels heat rise to her cheeks as she nods. Luckily, she doesn’t have long to feel embarrassed before his lips are on hers once more.

She can’t contain her gasp as he pushes aside her panties, fingers trailing over her heat. “Sweetheart, you’re drenched.” A moan escapes her as the tip of one cool, metal finger enters her. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed this earlier? I’d be more than happy to help you out.” His palm grinds against her clit as, slowly, he begins to thrust his fingers into her.

Her hand clamps down on his wrist. “Fuck! Bucky-”

He shushes her, lips trailing wet kisses across her jaw. “Just relax. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

That’s all well and good, but as he eases a second finger into her, the thin, cotton tshirt that’s covering her upper half feels far too restraining. “Please-” She gasps out. “-don’t tease.”

“I’m not.” A peck to her nose. “I’m not teasing you.”

“Yes you-” A shudder passes through her as his fingers nudge against her g-spot. “-you are.”

A sigh fans over her exposed collar bone. “I don’t want to hurt you, Doll.”

Gathering all her willpower, she tugs his head down to her level. “James Buchanan Barnes, I am not made of glass. If you don’t get inside of me right now-” A particularly well-aimed thrust of his fingers makes her gasp.

“Alright.” She suppresses a whimper at the sudden emptiness. “How do you want it?”

Her gut screams to tell him, “Anything! Just get on with it!” but a lazy movement in her middle jogs her memory. She can’t comfortably be on her back at this point, and it’s been a month, so she wants to see him…

“I could ride you.” His eyes turn a shade darker at her words, pupils blown with lust.

“Well, I’m not gonna say no to that.”

She’s briefly apprehensive as, after kicking off his bottoms, he eases the t-shirt from her body. She looks a lot different than the last time they did this. What if he doesn’t like-

“Fuck.” His bottom lip slips between his teeth. “Yeah, you’re definitely on top so I can look at you.” And just like that, any residual fear melts away and she can’t push the final offending garment from her body fast enough.

Once he’s resting propped up against the headboard, she takes him in her hand, making him hiss, and slowly, carefully, settles on top of him.

“Oh, fuck.” She’s not sure which one of them moans, too overwhelmed by the sensation of once again, having him inside of her. Finally. Getting used to the feeling, she circles her hips.

“Shit.” At any other time, she’d make a joke about how desperate he sounds, but right now… grasping his shoulders for leverage, she gives an experimental rock against him… she’s beyond teasing.

In the beginning, she sets an easy pace, but with one of his hands grasping her hips, the other one trailing over her middle towards her breasts to tease at the swollen flesh, it doesn’t take long until she’s completely lost, moving against him like her life depends on it.

“That’s it. Take what you need.” She’s not sure if it’s the words or his thump passing over one sensitive nipple that drives her over the edge, but before she can so much as utter a warning, her orgasm crashes over her.

When she opens her eyes, she realizes that he’s staring at her, awestruck. “That’s the first time you’ve been able to cum without-” Oh. She didn’t realize, but neither of them have so much as brushed a thumb against her clit. Her surprise must show on her face, because he grins. “Oh, we’re definitely gonna have fun with this.”

After that, she loses count of how many times she hits her peak, too lost in the feeling of their bodies moving together. One of the advantages of the serum is that they both have incredible endurance, but this is different. It’s something primal, a need she didn’t realize she had being met. Finally, after coming down once again, she wilts against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Tired, solnyshka?” She nods, not lifting her head. His chest rumbles with a quiet chuckle, one she doesn’t have time to understand before she’s being lifted off of his cock and placed gently on her side. A whine escapes her at the momentary loss of contact. “Don’t worry, Doll. I’m not going anywhere.” His body curled around her, he eases back into her, making her hum contentedly.

After doing all the work so far, she can’t help but think to herself that it’s nice to just lay back and let him take her, his hips snapping against hers as his cock nudges against her g-spot.

“Do you think you’ve got one more for me, Doll?” His voice is gruff with effort. He’s close, she can tell.

No sooner has she murmured a quiet “yes” than his hand is between her thighs, fingers toying with the bundle of nerves. Her walls contract, and with a strangled cry, he follows her over the edge.

It takes a few minutes for her to come back to herself, for the murmured words of approval and “I love you”s to have any meaning, but eventually she does recover and, offering him a lazy smile, she whispers, “Welcome home, Barnes.”

#bucky barnes #marvel #the avengers #the winter soldier #captain america #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #smut #fluff #bucky x reader #bucky fic

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cutelittlestar · 4 years

Text

Maniac: Chapter 4 || Peter Parker x Detective!Reader

Summary: As you and Peter investigate an abandoned warehouse, you come to find something shocking and terrifying, paralyzing you with fear.

Note: Hello lovelies! I am so sorry this took FOREVER to post - I’ve been extremely busy with college and never had the time to write - but here it is :) Also, I know the image above is of Taskmaster, but this is how I pictured the villain to look like!

Warning(s): topics of death and murder, prostitution, violence, stalking, blood, angst, cursing. MATURE CONTENT, 18+

Word Count: 6.1k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

You sat in front of your desk, rubbing your eyes as you tried your best to remain awake. Your eyes scanned over the various sheets of paper scattered around your desk, and you let out a sigh of frustration. There was no resourceful information discovered on Elizabeth’s devices.

Despite the setback, you thought it would be a good idea to search the streets. Since Elizabeth was committing the same activities as the previous victims, you went to the same location Glimmer and Amanda were usually at. You knew that it was a big stretch, but you hoped that the other workers would tell you what they knew. However, once you arrived, none of the workers were willing to talk to you. You could see in their eyes how much they wanted to speak, but just as they were about to open their mouths, they remained silent. They knew of something but decided it was better to not involve themselves. You were disappointed, but you couldn’t blame them; they were terrified of becoming the next victim.

It’s almost been a week since Elizabeth was murdered, and you have yet to find any new information about the killer. You started to become convinced that the killer was never going to be caught.

No, you think to yourself. I can’t think like this, not when so many people are counting on me.

You stand up and walk away. Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough. Maybe you missed a crucial detail in the files, so you decided to check once more, hoping you would discover something new. You head towards the evidence room and scavenge through various boxes. As you grab the files and walk out of the room, you begin to read. Your eyes scanned over the paper, but everything that was written down was information you already knew. Just as you’re about to close the file, your fingers stop moving as you come across a photo.

You sharply inhale as you stare at the photo of Glimmer, her bright smile causing immense pain to course throughout your body. Your fingers lightly trace her face, and you began to remember the memories you shared with her. A soft smile makes its way onto your face, but then it quickly disappears as you notice another photo attached to the file.

The autopsy photo of Glimmer.

“I’m sorry,” you softly whisper, hoping no one heard your voice.

It felt as if you stood in the middle of the room for an eternity, but you’re immediately pulled out of your thoughts as you hear a loud cough come from behind. You rapidly close the file, holding them to your side before turning around to greet the citizen. Instead, you’re met with Peter, who awkwardly stands a few feet away from you.

“Oh. Peter,” you say, surprised to see him. “Is everything alright?”

You expect him to respond, but he doesn’t. Then, you notice how his lips form a firm, straight line like he’s distraught on what to say. You furrow your eyebrows, worried about Peter’s silence, but before you could say anything else, your eyes land on the clock behind Peter. Your shift ended two hours ago.

“Shit,” you said, thinking that Peter was upset you didn’t come home when you were supposed to. “Peter,” you began to explain, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you, I was just-”

“It’s alright, Y/N,” Peter confesses, offering you a genuine smile. You close your mouth, a bit puzzled that he was so calm, but then you nod your head, happy that he wasn’t angry. However, Peter’s smile is immediately gone and is now replaced with a serious expression.

“Can we talk? In private?” Peter whispers, stepping closer to you. Peter’s hand delicately rests on your forearm, and he softly squeezes it.

You stare at where his hand lays, ignoring how your heart accelerated, but then you looked into his eyes, nodding your head. “Sure.”

You placed the files on your desk, giving Michael a short response when he asked where you were going. As you head towards Peter, you didn’t realize how Michael eyed you until you were out of his sight. He was a bit jealous - jealous because when Peter arrived, you immediately dropped everything.

Peter directed you towards the supply closest, to which you were a bit confused about, but you decided to not question it. Instead, you grab the doorknob and open the door, flicking on the light switch. You watch Peter linger behind, making sure no one was watching nor following before he entered and locked the door.

“Pete, you’re kinda freaking me out.” You stare at his cold expression, wondering what was on his mind. If he had to come all the way to your work, it had to be something important.

“I’ve been searching every possible location with high levels of vibranium,” Peter finally manages to reveal, gaining your fully devoted attention. “But there were no traces of anyone recently there.”

Peter watches your face contort to disappointment, but no words come out of your mouth.

“There’s only one more place left that I need to check out, and I wanted to come to you and let you know of my plan before I go tonight,” Peter adds.

There’s a short moment of silence, and you place your arms across your chest. Peter waits for your response, but you merely take in a big, deep breath before releasing it.

“Okay,” you say a few seconds later, nodding your head. “But I’m coming with you.”

“What?” Peter said, not liking what you suggested. “There’s no way you’re coming with me. It’s too dangerous.”

A scowl appears on your face and you felt your blood boil as you listened to Peter’s words. Of course you knew that it was dangerous, but you’re a fucking detective. You knew of the risks, but that wasn’t going to deter you away from danger.

“Peter,” you loudly exasperate. Peter could see your anger, it was apparent, and just as you’re about to scold him, you bite your tongue. You needed to go. After everything that the person has done to you, you felt it was only right if you came along. It was your case.

“I’ve been chasing this prick for weeks,” you reveal to Peter, your voice as smooth as silk. “I need to come. I need to catch him. Please, Peter,” you beg, hoping that he would understand your request.

Peter stayed quiet, a bit conflicted about what to do. But, after a while, Peter let out a sigh, nodding his head. “Alright, but we need to leave now.”

“I’ll go grab my jacket.”

- - - - - - - - -

The abandoned warehouse was tightly nestled between other desolated buildings. The stillness of the area was ominous, causing you to become a bit worried, but you brushed your fear aside and raised your head high- ready to investigate the area.

“The frequency of the vibranium is a lot stronger than the other places I’ve been to,” Peter confesses, standing right beside you. Both of you stared at the tall, wrecked, and stretched-out warehouse but neither of you move; if you wanted to cover the whole building, you would have to split up, so you needed to come up with a plan. Before you could suggest your idea, Peter interrupts you.

“Stay here,” Peter declared. You whip your head to face him, giving him a disbelief expression.

“What? There’s no way I’m staying put. I’m coming with you,” you argued, once again, becoming bothered that Peter wasn’t giving you the chance to speak for yourself. You weren’t some damsel in distress, you were perfectly capable of investigating with him.

“I thought we were supposed to be partners, Peter. I’m not you’re fucking sidekick,” you spat. Your patience was running thin, and Peter’s comment was making you more aggravated by the second.

“Damnit Y/N!” Peter yelled, causing you to take one step back. Peter’s breathing was more noticeable than before, and you knew that he was angry with you, but you didn’t give up. You continued to stare him down, despite being unable to look into his eyes. It looked as if Peter wanted to argue, but he remained quiet. Instead, Peter steps back.

“You don’t get it,” Peter whispered, thinking you were unable to hear him, but you heard him perfectly clear.

Within a mere second, your fury returned. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a cop, Peter. I risk my life just as many times as you do.” Peter rubs his hands over his face, feeling his body turn hot from irritation.

Suddenly, Peter drops his hands and furiously walks over to you until he’s only a few centimeters away from your face. You expect Peter to continue yelling, but instead, Peter reaches down, tightly grasping your hand. You take a sharp inhale.

“What if something horrible happens and I’m not there to protect you?” Peter weakly states, his voice slightly cracking as he begins to imagine the worst. “What if -god forbid- you die? I can’t have that on my conscious, Y/N. I can’t lose you, not like-”

Peter bites his lip, unable to continue speaking; he hangs his head low as if he’s ashamed of mentioning his name. The frustration you once felt was completely gone as you watched Peter stand still. Although Peter’s face was covered by his mask, you recognized that he was trying his hardest to hold back the tears. You knew who he was speaking of, but you were also scared to mention his name out loud.

At that moment, you understood Peter’s behavior. He wasn’t holding you back because he doesn’t think you’re strong enough.

He was holding you back because he’s afraid he’s going to lose you.

You never thought that anyone cared about you, but as you continued to stare at Peter, you learned that you were wrong. A heavy load sits on your chest, making it hard for you to properly breathe.

Peter cares.

By instinct, you reach your hands out until they rested on Peter’s cheeks; you hoped he had the strength to look into your eyes, but he continued to stare at the ground. He was petrified, and so were you, but you needed to remain strong.

“I know you’re scared, but I can take care of myself,” you remarked, gingerly rubbing his face with your thumbs. “You have nothing to worry about, Pete, but you have to trust me.”

Peter slightly moves his body from side to side, and you feel your hands turn clammy as you were met with silence.

“Do you?” you asked.

You stared into his suit goggles, hoping he would say something, but Peter simply nods his head before stepping back. A sharp pain settles itself in your chest as your hands fall to your sides, but you swallow your emotions and put on a poker face, hoping he didn’t detect your slight change of behavior.

Peter digs his hand into his pocket. “C-can you just wear this? Please?” Peter said, extending his arm out and grabbing your hand, placing something in your palm.

“It’s an earpiece, so we can communicate. Press the center if you’re in danger; I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Peter remarked. You twirled the device laying on your hand before placing it in your ear. Soon after that, you and Peter began to form ideas until you were both satisfied with the plan.

“Be safe,” you tell Peter as you now stand in the middle of the main floor. You barely entered the abandoned warehouse, but you were already entirely swallowed by the darkness.

Peter strides forward, ready to part ways, and just as you’re about to think that Peter isn’t going to say anything else, he stops walking. There’s a long pause, but then he speaks.

“You too.” He was gone in an instant.

The sounds of the wind brought you back to reality, and you now diverted your attention back to your environment. You tightly clutched your gun as you stared into the darkness before walking down the hallway.

The wallpaper was utterly decaying, moss was beginning to grow from the cracks of the cement, and the items left behind were being covered by nature. The flashlight you held in your other hand provided some assistance, but as you walked down the hallway, you felt your stomach twist. You turned the corner, softly stepping, hoping you remained undetected, but as you look further down the path, nothing appears to look out of place. The hallway stretched itself for so long, it felt as if you were going down an endless path. You continued to tightly grip your gun, still uncertain if the area was completely abandoned.

“Everything alright?” Peter’s voice echoed through the coms. You’re a bit startled by his unexpected voice, but you quickly recover, responding to his question.

“All good. You?”

Despite Peter’s attempts on being discreet, you could hear Peter’s footsteps through the ear device. “Everything is clear. Looks like no one’s been here in a long time,” Peter said.

“I doubt that,” you responded. “In fact, it feels as if something is pulling me towards the gloom.”

You wait for Peter to reply, but then you’re swallowed by the silence once again. There’s a burning sensation brewing in the center of your chest, yearning to hear Peter’s voice again, but you don’t even hear the faintness of noise.

“Peter?” you anxiously whispered. “Hello, can you hear me?” Suddenly your ears perked up in delight as you hear a noise, but then it’s immediately covered by static.

You let out a cry as a loud siren powerfully burns your ear. You take off the earpiece and whimper in pain; there’s a long ringing echoing itself into your head, and it won’t go away. You glance down, staring at the earpiece on the floor, and bend down to pick it up. Peter guaranteed it was new tech, so why did it malfunction so quickly? Your mind formulated reasonable explanations as to why it didn’t work, but it seemed very unlikely given the fact that Peter ran various tests beforehand.

Unless...

Was there something interfering with the signal?

As you stand pondering, you immediately hear a noise come from a distance. You whip your head towards the direction of the sound, quickly disregarding the earpiece you were so focused on seconds ago. The noise sounded as if something had fallen, so you hastily head down the path, determined to know where the sound was coming from. You raised your flashlight, scanning your radius until your eyes landed on something that seemed strange.

A pile of boxes hidden by worn-out and moldy sheets caught your attention, and you began to examine the cardboard. The damage done to the cardboard was horrible, but it stood out from the rest of the boxes. It didn’t look old enough to be there. You moved the boxes out of the way, hoping to find a piece of evidence, but then you begin to see an outline of a basement door. You stopped moving, staring at the now visible entrance, uncertain on what to do. Your first instinct was to inform Peter, but since the earpiece was no longer working, you were on your own. Without a second thought, you reached the handle and opened the door.

Once you reached the lower level, you lifted your hand out in front of you. With the flashlight, you were able to see how narrow and uneven the hallway was; there were more boxes scattered down the hallway, but you managed to push them out of your path with ease. As you began to walk further down, your flashlight began to flicker, causing you to stop moving.

“Shit, shit,” you whispered to yourself as the light eventually gave out. You tapped the flashlight, hoping it was just a slight malfunction, but that couldn’t be it. You put new batteries not too long ago. As you stood in the darkness, your breathing began to grow heavier; you didn’t feel like you were alone. Then, something catches your attention as you stare off into the void.

A faint light at the end of the hallway.

It was warm and soft, projecting the same amount of light a candle would, and if you squinted your eyes hard enough, you could make out a door at the end of the hallway. You slowly placed the flashlight on the floor, now using both of your hands to hold your gun.

Once you arrived at the end of the hallway, you leaned against the wall, taking a sharp inhale before raising your foot and kicking the door down. The hinges of the door immediately came off, and within a second, you entered the tiny room, scanning the premise. Noticing that no one was no one there waiting for you, you lowered your gun. Rather, there was a candle on a table which was situated in the middle of the room. You came closer to the table, noticing an envelope was there, waiting for you to open it.

You felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach as you realized the handwriting looked familiar.

To Detective Y/L/N

The killer was here.

Your eyes flickered back to the light, watching the wax slowly drip onto the candle holder. Your blood began to boil as it dawned on you that you were so close to catching them, but now they’re gone. Ignoring the shivers running down your body, you moved closer, grabbing the envelope and tearing it open. You pulled a paper out, tightly clutching it as you read the words over and over again until your hands began to shake.

So close yet so far away. Better luck next time, Detective.

You slammed the paper and envelope on the desk, your chest rapidly heaving as you took a step back. The wrath you were feeling was more powerful than you’ve ever undergone before—but instead of kicking the table, crumpling up the paper, or storming out of the room—you began to sob. An uncontrollable wail took over your body, making it harder for you to breathe. Every emotion you suppressed since the death of Amanda began to crawl its way out of you, and you didn’t know how to stop it. Your legs felt like jello, and the tears streaming down your face made it harder for you to see.

You failed them.

Amanda.

Glimmer.

Elizabeth.

All of them dead, all because of you.

You roughly wiped the tears away, biting your lip in hopes that your sobs would crumble, but it was hopeless; there was nothing you could do. Numbness was what you felt after—a feeling too familiar—but despite your desire to be with Peter again, your feet remained planted on the ground. Your red-sunken eyes landed on the letter once again, but before you could reach down to grab the paper, you felt an unsettling presence stand behind you.

Within an instance, you grabbed your gun from the side grip and spun around. As your finger was about to pull the trigger, the dark figure grabs your wrist, twisting it in the process, causing you to lose your grip. You panted in distress, and within a mere second, the figure ripped the gun away, leaving you vulnerable. You step back in fear, your eyes glued to the figure as it walks out of the darkness.

“If you make a sound, I’ll fucking kill you.” The figure morbidly muttered, powerfully standing over your shriveled body. Your breathing became jagged, but you try your hardest to remain quiet, fearfully complying. Your body shook from terror, and you break eye-contact with the assailant, feeling that if you stared any longer, he would violently react.

Man, roughly around six feet tall, slender yet well-built, voice dark and raspy, race and age still unknown. Has a black skull mask, where the prominent features of the face are outlined with stainless, grey metal. Wearing a black cowl and a well-armored suit. You constantly repeated this to yourself, hoping you would remember every detail of their appearance, but a part of you felt like you weren’t going to make it out alive.

Peter, where are you? you said to yourself. Your mind twisted horrific scenarios, and your eyes started to water as you imagined the worst.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings, Y/N,” the dark voice spoke again, twirling the gun in his hand. The calmness of his voice brought instant rage, and you narrowed your eyes.

“What the hell do you want?” you angrily asked, gripping the frame of the table with such intensity.

He swiftly took a bullet out of the chamber and tossed it to the floor. Then, he detached the magazine body from the gun and crumbled the body in his hand as if he was crumpling up a piece of paper. He has superstrength abilities, just like Peter.

“You’re asking the wrong question,” he replied. “As usual.” The killer stepped closer until he stood inches away from you, but you remained frozen.

“What you should be asking is if that little boyfriend of yours is still alive.” Your breathing came to a sudden halt as you processed his words.

“What did you do to him?!” you yelled, tears gushing down your face. Your fear and anger got the best of you, but you didn’t care if your voice disobeyed his threat. Peter can’t be dead, he can’t...

He didn’t move an inch as he continued to stare. “Still breathing, but if he lives or not, that’s on you.” You bit your lip to muffle your cries, but they easily slipped out; there was nothing you could do. You were useless. Defenseless. Weak.

The immensely cold silence brought anguish and sorrow, and no matter how much you wanted to hurt him, you needed to stay alive. “Why did you kill those women?” you softly questioned.

“For you, of course,” he deadpanned.

Your hands began to tremble. “Wh-”

The killer slightly leaned backward, as if he was surprised you didn’t understand what he was saying. He shook his head from side to side, clearly disappointed that you were so far behind. “Oh, Y/N. You still have so much to learn.”

“If you’re doing this for me, then stop!” you snapped. “Stop killing innocent people, they had nothing to do with this!”

“But Y/N, they have everything to do this with.” He reached out and placed his hand on your shoulder, slowly rubbing circles on your jacket. Your skin turned cold as he continued to massage your shoulder, and you felt sick to your stomach. You heard him take a deep breath before speaking, “I won’t stop, not until you learn the truth, but don’t worry, I have something in store for you.”

His grip loosened, and you watched as he created a significant amount of distance between you and him; you quickly looked at the door, but you knew it would be impossible to try and escape. Something in store for me? you pondered to yourself, but then everything immediately clicked.

You shift your direction back to the masked assailant, shaking of rage. “I swear, if you kill another person, I’ll-”

“Your threats are meaningless to me, Y/N.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

As you’re about to respond, a piercing scream echoes throughout the abandoned warehouse. You whip your heads towards the door, immediate relief washing over you.

“Y/N!” Peter frantically yelled. “Y/N WHERE ARE YOU?! PLEASE! ANSWER ME!”

“If you want to save him and Luna, then I suggest you leave.” His voice was faint and dark, and if your senses hadn’t been dialed to eleven, you would’ve missed what he said. You glance at the door once more before looking at the killer, unable to register his words. Luna? You didn’t move an inch, uncertain if you could believe his words. There was no way he would let you go, just like that.

“Go,” the killer hummed, “run as fast as you can.” Without a second hesitation, you bolt towards the door, using all the strength you could muster to sprint to Peter. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you began to assume you were safe, but then the killer’s words flooded your mind. Save them from what? Various ideas immediately came to mind, and your fear of not finding Peter in time began to grow stronger. You needed to find him before it was too late.

“Y/N!” you overheard Peter’s voice echo throughout the warehouse. You stopped in your tracks, hoping you could pinpoint his location, and when you heard another shriek, you immediately ran towards the sound of his voice. I’m coming, Peter. Please be okay, please be okay...

Peter’s eyes began to cloud with tears as the silence grew stronger. His heart started to frantically pound, and if he didn’t find you soon, he was certain his heart was going to stop. He knew it was a horrible idea to split up, and he should’ve fought harder—but you were so stubborn you didn’t want to listen—God, if you would’ve just listened to him, none of this would’ve happened. As he continued to scream your name, Peter was unable to focus due to a constant noise echoing around him; the beeping grew stronger and stronger, causing Peter to become more anxious and fearful.

“Peter!” you shouted, but you regretted screaming, notwithstanding how much your throat burned.

Peter’s feet stopped moving and turned his head towards your angelic voice, immediate relief engulfing him as he sees your face. Without hesitation, Peter picks up his feet until he’s sprinting down the hallway. You roughly collide with one another, but you ignore the pain as you tightly hold onto him; Peter takes a deep breath in, inhaling your scent, already feeling safer. You briefly close your eyes, glad that he was alright, but the moment had to over. You pull away from the hug, and Peter instantly noticed something was wrong; your clothes were disheveled, and the fright settled in your eyes caused Peter to panic.

“We have to go,” was all you could muster out.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Peter worriedly inquired, but you shook your head, ignoring his questions.

“He’s here, Peter. We have to go now.” His spider senses hit him like a truck the moment you finished your sentence, and Peter stared into your eyes once again before nodding his head. Suddenly, the beeping noise gets louder and faster, and Peter’s eyes widened, knowing what was about to come. He grabbed you by the arms, pulling you into his chest before ducking to the ground.

A loud explosion erupts throughout the east side of the building, causing the whole floor to shake. You scream in shock and horror, but you feel Peter’s grip get tighter. Before Peter could run, another explosion erupted fifteen feet away; you open your mouth to scream again, but no words are able to come out as the entire ceiling collapses on you and Peter.

Within a blink of an eye, everything went dark and silent.

- - - - - - - - -

When Peter opened his eyes, it felt like he slept for eternity; his head achingly throbbed but when he tried to shake the pain away, he came to realize that he couldn’t move freely. With every slight movement, his body contorted and Peter let out distressed groans and grunts, trying his hardest to remain calm. Peter began to loudly cough, and he was having a difficult time properly breathing. Slowly, he began to raise his arm, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain coursing throughout his body. Luckily, he was able to take off his mask, but the debris was still dense. For a short moment, Peter’s memory was a bit foggy, but then everything came surging back. He remembered the reason why he was surrounded by rubble and darkness.

The explosion.

Y/N....

Peter’s eyes widened once he thought of your name. Oh god, Peter thought to himself, what have I done? Just as Peter was about to start losing his mind—wondering where you could’ve been—he felt something move underneath him.

His eyes dart down, his breath making contact with your skin. “Y/N? Can you hear me?” he softly called out, hoping you would respond. Moments of silence pass by, but before the panic can settle in, he hears a tiny groan depart your lips. Peter slowly moved his hand upwards until he touched your cheek. The air was becoming more crowded, and Peter was taking shorter breaths.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get us out of here,” Peter promised, leaning his forehead against yours for a brief second before forcing himself to sit up as much as he can.

While Peter was being crushed by the heavy concrete, there was still enough space for him to move. Sweat, blood, and dirt trickled down his forehead, and Peter took a deep breath before raising his arms up. The pain was intolerable but he continued to persist; he had to make sure you were okay, that was his first priority. His hands landed on the concrete—and before taking another deep breath—Peter mustered up all of his strength and pushed as hard as he could. As the distance between you and the concrete started to get further, Peter was able to rise up to his knees before quickly standing up and pushing the rubble off of his body; the concrete fell a few feet away from where Peter stood. He was no longer surrounded by the darkness; rather, he felt the slight coolness of the moonlight settle upon his skin, causing chills to run down his spine. Peter felt comfort in knowing that he successfully managed to pull the rubble off him, but as he shifted his attention to you, he noticed you weren’t moving.

Peter’s legs shook with such intensity that he dropped to the floor; his knees made a rough impact with the ground, but he ignored the burning sensation—instead, his eyes were settled on your lifeless body.

“Y/N,” Peter’s voice cracked, “wake up. We’re okay.” Peter leaned forward, his shaky hands reaching out for you. He gingerly held your head with one hand and wrapped his other around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. Peter was unable to register how your skin was colder than his or how you remained unresponsive to his voice—he didn’t want to belive. No, this couldn’t be happening.

He pushed your hair away from your face, and as he delicately rested his hand on the side of your head, he felt something drench his suit. Peter slowly pulled his hand back and stared at his trembling hand. It took him a while to notice the crimson liquid running down his fingers.

“No, no,” Peter whispered, “please wake up.” Peter’s world began to shatter as his worst fear unraveled into a real nightmare.

Tears began to slide down his face, and Peter cried out, pleading for anybody to hear him. It was futile; he was all alone. Peter couldn’t stop himself from shaking. “You’re going to be fine,” Peter said out loud, wiping his tears with his shoulder. Peter didn’t know if he was lying to you or himself. A sob rippled through his body, and an excruciating scream broke out of him.

“Don’t go...” Peter wailed, tightly clutching your body, “don’t leave me.”

Peter began to hyperventilate; his body uncontrollably heaved and his eyes remained shut, unable to accept reality, but Peter was so lost in his mind that he failed to see how your eyes slowly opened.

The sound of cries was the first thing you heard; it was faint, at first, but as you continued to concentrate on the noise, it grew louder and louder, causing you to open your eyes. The thought of even moving your body brought such immense pain, so you decided to remain still; however, you quickly forgot about your own injuries once your eyes landed on Peter. His face was filled with bloody cuts, dark bruises, and moist dirt; a smile appeared on your face—knowing fully well that he was safe, but then your smile disappeared as you realized tears were pouring down his face. Your hands found it way to his face, but Peter continued to cry; he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

“Peter,” you weakly murmured, causing Peter to stop breathing.

At first, Peter was unable to believe he heard your voice, but once he opened his eyes and looked down, Peter let out a cry of relief as he stared into your beautiful eyes. They were so soft, and he loved how they melted in the moonlight. Peter brought you closer to his body, carefully resting his forehead on yours, fearing that if he let you go, you would be gone again. You instantly melted into his touch, feeling immediate warmth. You didn’t care that he was bloody, dirty, or sweaty; you didn’t mind at all.

Peter slowly moved his head back, and you stared into his sweet, chocolate eyes.

“I thought you were gone.” Peter softly whispered, his voice uneven.

“I would never leave you,” you heartedly confessed as you rubbed his beaten cheek with your thumb. “I’m right here.”

“Y/N,” Peter breathed out. You smiled once you heard your name roll off his tongue, and your heart fluttered. You never thought your name could sound so beautiful, but you were wrong. Before you could register what was happening, you felt Peter delicately place his lips on yours. Your breathing came to a sudden stop, but as Peter cradled your face with his smooth hands, you breathed once again. This was real, you said to yourself; you never would’ve imagined this was how your first kiss would’ve gone. Nevertheless, it was just as wonderful. Your hands worked their way around his face, and you felt every line along with his beautiful physique. It felt right, and you didn’t want this moment to end. A strange feeling began to brew in the pit of your stomach, but then you remembered what this feeling was.

Love.

You love Peter so much—so much that you would do anything to save his life.

Meanwhile, Peter felt his body shake from excitement; he was afraid—afraid you were going to pull away, but once he felt your hands travel down his chest and tug at his suit, he was no longer terrified. Peter pulled apart and took shallow, shaky breaths, still unable to process that you returned the kiss. You deeply stared into each other’s eyes—eyes filled with hope and love; neither of you said a word, but there was no need to. He knew, and you knew, and it was enough for you. Peter could feel the beating of your heart against his chest, and it brought so much happiness.

Before Peter could press his lips on yours once again, he paused. The sounds of sirens came closer, and a frown settled on his face, knowing he couldn’t kiss you anymore.

“You need to leave.” Peter turns his head to look at you, furrowing his eyebrows. You gave him a reassuring smile, knowing it was best if he left before the cops arrived, but Peter shook his head in protest; he wasn’t fond of leaving you alone—not after what just happened.

“No, I’m not leaving,” Peter sternly stated.

Your heart fluttered once again; you didn’t like the idea either, you wanted him to stay, but he had a responsibility. No one can know he’s Spider-Man. Without hesitation, you lift your hand up and touch his bruised skin, hoping he would understand. His heartbeat slowed down as your skin touched his, and he instinctively nestled his face into your palm.

“I’ll be fine, Peter. You need to keep your identity a secret.”

Peter let out a sigh, knowing you were right. “Okay.” Peter reluctantly agreed.

Peter gently helped you stand up, and as he led you down the path of rubble, he noticed the blue and red lights were coming closer. After a few minutes, they would be here. Once he made sure you were in a safe location, he knew he had to go, yet his body didn’t move. You stared at Peter, wondering what was on his mind, but before you could ask, Peter grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer. He rested his forehead on yours, and for a few seconds, he closed his eyes, sulking that the moment was coming to an end.

You closed your eyes as well, a genuine smile resting on your face. “I’ll see you soon, don’t worry,” you reassured him. Peter slowly opened his eyes, blissfully staring at your face before leaning down and softly kissing your forehead. Your body went rigid with surprise, but then you ultimately relaxed.

“See you soon, Angel,” Peter said; you slowly opened your eyes and gazed into his once more before he drew away and left without a trace.

- - - - - - - - -

yay :)

Taglist: @whatthefuckimbisexual @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts @caitsymichelle13 @averyfosterthoughts @lukesbabylon @spideylovin @juliebean247 @fangirling12566

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braveclxrke · 4 years

Text

Michael Guerin week 2020

Ao3: Day One prompt - “You don’t have to stay”

Title: Maybe, our ‘someday’ is almost here.

Summary: Michael and Alex look for information about Mr Jones and Michael contemplates his relationship with Alex after gaining some advice from his sister.

Preview:

Michael just stared at Alex, it must be around 4am at this point, Michael hadn’t checked but he knew it was late. And yet, instead of climbing into bed and having some well-deserved rest, Alex had come back to the bunker to help, bringing food because he knew Michael wouldn’t leave and was hungry. Michael gave a small smile, “You don’t have to stay,” He quietly said.

Alex looked up at Michael, that soft smile he wore so well on his face, “I know,” He said, he leaned closer on the table, his arms crossed on the table, “I want to,” He said, his voice strong, yet somehow still kind and soft; quintessential Alex. Michael felt the smile grow on his face. Alex pushed some of the food towards Michael, before grabbing his own.

*Keep reading for full fic*

Michael flicked through the folders on the desk, his eyes scanning the page for anything relevant for their search. Across the table was Alex, who was doing the same thing, his eyes darting around the page looking for any references to Mr Jones. It had been a few months since Max 2.0 had been around, he had told the group he’d been locked away in the cave when they landed and had no idea how or why, but Michael didn’t believe it. So here he sat in the bunker at god knows what time with Alex Manes looking over every file they had to see if they missed something. Michael closed the file tossing it into the dead-end pile in the middle of the room.

Alex leaned back on his chair, “Nothing?” he asked, clearly already knowing the answer to his question.

Michael shook his head, “Nope, just your usual alien genocide propaganda,” Michael sighed, running his hand through his hair, “You?” Michael asked.

Alex gave a small shake with his head, Michael reached up and rubbed his eyes, losing track of how many files they had looked at tonight. “Maybe Jones is right, maybe he doesn’t know why he was locked away? Or by who?” Alex asked, leaning his arms on the table.

Michael had wanted to believe that, wanted to believe that this time the fourth Alien they found wasn’t a homicidal psychopath, but something didn’t feel right. Max had been immediately taken in by Jones, needing a distraction after Liz had left. Jones was cagey and had a deep mistrust of the humans, especially the military. Michael could understand that he could, but it seemed more than that with Jones. Michael leaned back on his chair, his hands resting behind his head, “I just-he has to know more, there’s something he’s not telling us I can feel it,” Michael explained, he wasn’t sure how or why, but something felt off.

Michael looked up at Alex who was just watching him, he gave a small nod, “Okay…” He reached forward and grabbed another file, smiling up at Michael, “Then we’ll keep looking,”.

Michael couldn’t help but smile back, as he felt some of the tension leave his body.

Michael had brought up his mistrust of Jones to Alex a few weeks ago, and since then Alex had been helping Michael to investigate, going through his old files, searching databases. At first, Michael was sure it was because Alex needed a distract after breaking up with Forrest, but that had been weeks ago and yet here Alex sat in the middle of the night helping Michael.

Michael felt some guilt course through him, he had told himself that he wouldn’t drag Alex into the Alien drama, that he’d give him space to live his life normally. Michael glanced up at Alex, he was staring intensely down at the page, blinking quickly every now and again, he reached up and rubbed his eyes; he was tired.

“Look there’s a load of these to go through still and there probably dead ends,” Michael started, causing Alex to look up at him, “Why don’t you go home, I can finish up,” Michael said.

Alex sat up straighter, clearly trying to make himself look more awake, “No no it's fine,”

Michael tilted his head to the side, “Alex you can hardly keep your eyes open, you’ve been here hours,” Michael said, they had arrived around 5pm that evening so by Michael’s guess they’d been here around 10 hours.

Alex raised his eyes brow, “So have you,” He remarked.

Michael gave a half-smile, “Yeah well this is my alien problem, not yours,” He said. Alex went to speak when the large computer at the top of the room made a noise. Alex stood up, pausing and rubbing his leg for a moment before heading up to the screen. Michael followed behind.

Alex sat down in the seat, typing before letting out a long breath, Michael knew what that meant, leaning back against the railings. They had run a search for any of their online documents that included the word Jones, but nothing. Alex leaned forward typing something, focusing as he spoke, “I’ll re-programme it, allow for anagrams and other part phrases,” Alex said, looking up at the screen as the large coded text disappeared and its search began again. Alex leaned back on the chair, running his hand through his hair before wiping it down his face.

Michael pushed himself off the railing, “Look that’s going to run through its search I can handle this pile, go home,” Michael said again, he could handle this he told himself, it wasn’t Alex’s problem.

Alex looked up at him, seemingly thinking it over, finally, he gave a small nod, pushing himself up from the chair, stretching his arms as he did. “You should sleep too,” Alex said, giving Michael a pointed look.

Michael help his hands up, “Alright alright, I’ll finish the ones in front of me then go home?” Alex seemed to study him for a moment, before giving a nod and heading down the steps. Alex gathered his bag and jacket as Michael sat down on the seat, his back already protesting. Alex paused by the table looking at the pile and Michael could practically hear his thoughts. “I’m fine Alex,” Michael repeated.

“You need to eat, and rest,” Alex said, leaning against the table.

“And I will but I’m currently in the middle of a riveting military report,” Michael joked, wanting to make sure Alex knew he was okay, Michael nodded his head towards the door. Alex sighed, giving Michael a smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow Michael,” Alex said, walking out of the bunker. Michael heard Alex leave, the large vault doors closing behind him. Michael exhaled, looking at the large pile in front of him. If Michael was honest; he didn’t want Alex to leave, having him around just made things easier.

It had been around an hour since Alex had left, none of the files had provided Michael with any new intel. He could feel his stomach twisting with hunger but knew if he left the bunker to get food the chance he would return was low to non-existent. He wanted to finish the pile before he left. He heard the door to the bunker open, the sound of heels walking down the hallway.

“We’ll this is looks healthy,” Isobel said as he walked into the large room. Michael looked up to see his sister walking over to the table, her eyes scanning over all the documents scattered across the table. Michael gave her a playful glare; it was then he noticed what was in her hands. Michael’s face must have lit up because Isobel grabbed the coffee cup from the tray and passed it over to Michael.

“Through you might need this,” She smiled, sitting down where Alex had been pushing some of the files out the way on the table, drinking her own coffee. Isobel had popped in a few times over the week, normally stopping by after leaving planet 7 on her way home. “When did Alex leave?” She asked, sipping her coffee.

Michael chugged almost half his coffee, ignoring how hot it was. Michael set the drink back down, “About an hour ago,” He said, going to pick up another file when he looked back up at his sister. “Wait how’d you know Alex was here?” He asked. Isobel tilted her head up to the large screen, the code on the screen scanning through thousands of files. Michael nodded looking back down at his file.

“Plus, every time I’ve popped in over the last week he’s been here,” She remarked. Michael read the words on the paper but found his mind drifting, feelings Isobel’s gaze on him from across the table.

Michael sighed, “What?” he mumbled.

“Nothing just…” Isobel trailed off. Michael reluctantly looked up, seeing his sister playfully smiling at him, “You two are working together a lot” She said, the sentence somewhere between a question and a statement.

“He’s helping me to find out more about Jones” Michael defended, not sure why he was defending spending time with Alex; they were just friends, right? Isobel tilted her head to the side, the smile growing on her face, Michael copied her motion, tilting his own head to the side, giving up on trying to focus on this report. “What?” He asked.

Isobel leaned forward on the desk, “You really think Alex is staying in this dingy bunker all night and day because he wants to know about Jones?” She asked, giving a small laugh at the end.

“Alex doesn’t trust him either-“ Isobel shook her head, holding her hand up to stop Michael.

“I’m not saying Alex isn’t curious about Jones, we all are,” She said, the smile on her face as she spoke, “I’m saying he’s staying here because he wants to help you,”

Michael closed his eyes, letting out a breath. He was too tired to have this conversation; not sure he would be able to keep up with his sisters’ logical arguments. “Isobel,” Michael said, leaning back on his chair.

“Look I don’t want to meddle,” Michael gave a small laugh, earning a glare from Iz. “But…you guys have gotten close these last couple months, you said it wasn’t your time because Alex was trying something with Forrest and you needed time to work on yourself,” Isobel spoke Michael’s words back to him, “Well Alex and Forrest broke up, over a month ago.” She said, holding her hands out to the side, “And you, you’re doing good; you’re not drinking, not fighting” She finished. It was true,

Alex and Forrest had been over for a while after they had broken up Iz had tried to have this exact conversation with him but Michael had told her it was too soon, that Alex needed time to process. As for Michael; he had been doing better. Not relying on acetone and drinking to solve his problems had been tough, having been his default for 10 years. Communication had also been something new to Michael. The last few months had been hard but rewarding, Michael being able to mend relationships he thought were damaged beyond repair. One of those relationships being his and Alex’s. Being just friends with Alex had never been Michael’s speciality but over the last couple of months, the men had been able to start anew, getting to know each other again without the weight of decades of hard feelings and broken hearts.

Michael pulled himself out of his thoughts. While Isobel was right it wasn’t that simple. “We currently have another fourth Alien, who we know nothing about, and we still don’t know anything about deep-sky-“

Isobel stood up from her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Michael, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last year is…” She let out a breath, walking over to where Michael was sat, perching on the table next to him. “There is always going to be something going on, always some weird Alien drama or government conspiracies.” She said, waving her hand off to the side, “If you wait till there’s none, you’ll never stop waiting,” She plainly said.

Deep down Michael knew that he’d know it for a while. He guessed that was the price they paid for being aliens on a human planet; someone was always going to be after you. This realisation had opened up another problem for Michael.

“I don’t wanna drag him into this Iz,” Michael admitted, looking up at his sister, “He got kidnapped because of us, because he was trying to help us,” Michael said, the fear and panic he’d felt when he realised Alex had been taken had never really left his chest since that day. It returning every time Alex took a little too long to answer his door or phone.

Isobel gave her brother a soft smile, leaning forward to place her hand on his, “I know you don’t wanna hear this but…Alex is already involved,” She softly said. “And he would have been even if he hadn’t met you,” Michael looked away for a moment, she had a point. Alex’s family had been entwined with the Alien long before Alex had been born and Michael was sure that eventually, Jesse would have dragged Alex in, or Alex would have worked it out himself. “Plus, don’t you think its Alex’s decision? And from that song we both heard, I’d say he’d already made it,” Michael felt his heartbeat a little faster as he thought about Alex’s song, while only hearing it once he could recall each and every word.

“It’s not that simple,” Michael said, trying to find a reason in his mind as too why it wasn’t that simple but was coming up empty. Isobel paused, taking her hand from Michaels. She leaned forward a little, “You once told me that you would always love Alex and that you needed to walk away so you could start a new story someday,” She sat back, a smile appearing on her face, “Well maybe it’s time to start that story?” Michael went to say something when he heard the bunker door open. Michael frowned, looking up at Iz as she slipped off the table. No one else came to the bunker beside the three of them. Michael quietly stepped in front of his sister as he heard the person walk down the hall. The siblings held their hands out ready to confront whoever it was.

The door pushed open to reveal Alex stood in the doorway. He’d changed his outfit, wearing his black sweater instead of a shirt. Michael dropped his hands, “Alex,” He breathed.

Alex smiled, stepping into the bunker, “Hey,” he said back, looking over at Isobel nodding at her, “Isobel,” he said.

“I thought you went home?” Michael said, stepping forward.

Alex peaked over Michael’s shoulder, looking at the table. He looked back at Michael, raising his eyebrow. “And I thought you were only going to read a few more files?” Michael looked at the pile behind him before looking back at Alex. Alex gave a little laugh, walking over to the seat he had previously occupied. “When I got back to mine, I remembered who I was talking too and realised that you wouldn’t leave this bunker till you’d gone through all these files,” Michael tried to keep his face neutral, not wanting to give away that was indeed his plan. “So, I took a quick nap and grabbed this,” He carefully pulled his backpack off, placing it on the table. He undid the top and pulled out a bag of food. As one cue Michael’s stomach grumbled again, as he looked down at the food. Alex sat down in the chair. “We’ll finish up quicker if both here,” He smiled. Michael just looked at Alex, his hair tousled in that way that made Michael breath a little quicker.

“We’ll I’ll let you guys get back to work,” Isobel said, placing her hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Think about what I said Michael,” She quietly whispered, patting his shoulder as he walked out of the bunker. Michael turned around to see Alex frowning at the mess on the table, organising the files into neat piles like he always did. Michael walked over and sat down, finishing the rest of his coffee.

After Alex had finished putting everything into the correct order, he carefully pushed them to the side creating a space in front of them both. He pushed the bag of food into the middle of the table, pulling its contents out. “Why don’t we eat first then get through these,” He said, motioning to two large piles to the side. “Should only take us a few hours, we should be able to get home before the sun rises,” Alex joked, taking the last of the food out and placing the bag on the floor.

Michael reached out and grabbed the container suddenly noticing the logo on it. Michael pulled his eyebrows together, “This place is still open?” The takeaway shop had been in Roswell for as long as Michael could remember, severing anything you could think of.

Alex gave a small laugh, shaking his head, “Apparently,”

Michael laughed, “Damn, we use to eat so much of this when we were kids,” When they were 17 and sneaking off into the desert the boys would swing by the shop in Michael’s truck and pick up more food than they could eat. Michael pulled the lid off the food, stopping and looking up at Alex, “You remembered?” In the container below was the same order Michael use to get when he was a kid, over 10 years ago.

Alex looked up at Michael then quickly down at his own food. “As you said, we use to eat this a lot,” He tried to joke, but Michael could sense the nervousness in his voice, “Hope you still like it,” He finished, starting to eat his own food.

Michael looked down at the food, then back at up Alex. Maybe it’s time to start that story, Michael fidgeted in his seat, keeping his eyes down at his food, almost certain if he looked at Alex he would lose all the courage he had just mustered. “You know there’s a new place that’s opened up around the corner from the Crashdown…” Michael started, pushing the food around in the container, he noticed that Alex had looked up from his food, Michael cleared his throat, finally looking up at Alex and meeting his eye, “Maybe we could try it out?” He asked.

For a second Alex’s eyes widened, his hand wrapping around the fork in his hand tighter. Michael felt his chest constrict, his mouth dry; what had he just done, Michael went to say something when Alex smiled, it almost reaching his eyes, “Yeah, I’d like that.” Alex said. Michael felt the air rush back into his lungs, “Saturday?” Alex asked.

Michael’s smile matched Alex’s, “Yeah,” He nodded. For a moment the pair just smiled at each other, lost in the little moment of peace they had found in their chaotic lives. “It’s a date,” Michael finished, watching as Alex’s smile grew even more, giving a small nod. The pair went back to the food, in a comfortable silence neither losing the smile that was plastered on their faces. The normally stressful tension-filled air in the bunker seemed lighter. The anxiety and worry that had made a home in Michael’s chest began to drain away, filling with a feeling Michael thought he’d lost time ago; hopefulness.

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex fic #michael guerin fic #alex manes fic #rnm fic #roswell new mexico #me? writing fluff?!#shook #but it was needed

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Verboten 14 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Chapter warning: being attacked at home

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 14

“Well, at least we know your parents could hire him to clean their ceilings if he stays stuck up there.”

“You’re not helping, Tucker,” Danny snapped at him from his spot on the ceiling.

More amused than surprised anymore, he just let Sam continue to try to help Danny change back to his human form while he worked on his own project. When Sam messaged him earlier that there was an issue, he hadn’t expected to walk into Sam’s room and find Danny, in all his ghostly glory, sitting cross-legged on the ceiling above Sam’s bed and having a panic attack. After taking in the absurdity of the situation, he tried for several minutes to help Sam somehow get him down. When all rescue attempts failed, mostly because Danny couldn’t seem to hold on to anything they threw at him, Sam moved to a different tactic. She hoped getting him to relax would somehow help.

Since that wasn’t his forte, Tucker decided his way of helping would be to finish reviewing the information he got from Plasmius while making comments about his friend’s predicament. Although he knew the digs annoyed Danny and Sam, he needed to do it for his own sanity.

Up until this point, Tucker really hadn’t registered the paranormal as being truly real. Sure, they did get abducted by a crazed ghost and then attacked by an even crazier ghost, but the more time passed without a ghostly incident, he had almost rationalized it as some stress induced hallucination. Almost being the key word. He knew his best friend had been fundamentally changed by the event, but other than the freak out at school and his now permanently chilly skin, Danny hadn’t done anything ghostly until now. Speaking of which…

“How exactly did you end up like this?” he questioned moments before Danny finally fell from the ceiling and landed face first on Sam’s bed. “You okay, dude?”

“More okay then I was when I was stuck on the ceiling,” he sighed as moved himself to the edge of the bed. His unnatural green eyes scanned the room as if searching for something. “I’m like this because of Plasmius.”

“Wait, wait? That’s a pretty big thing to neglect to mention.”

“I’m sorry I got distracted by discovering I was walking around in my ghost form or whatever you want to call it.”

“Don’t antagonize him, Tucker. That seems to make things worse,” Sam scolded as she pointed at Danny, who started to float again. “See? But that is pretty important.”

Danny huffed as he experimentally shifted, making it look like he was just lying on his stomach… in mid-air. Seemingly alright with the position, probably because he was only about a foot above the bed, he continued. “Look, I was planning on immediately telling you guys as soon as Tucker arrived, but I panicked when I realized I couldn’t change back. But since that doesn’t seem to want to change any time soon, I guess I just explain what happened.”

Once Danny was done, Tucker let out a whistle. “That’s some story. Glad he let you go, but it’s really creepy that he can just pluck you into that other world when he wants.”

“Why was he here in the first place?” Sam asked as she worked up enough courage to sit near where Danny was still floating. “That’s what’s bugging me about it. Was he just really here for information?”

“That’s what I don’t get either. Whoa! I’d like it if my body would make up… its mind?” As Danny fell onto the bed once again, a blinding light suddenly washed over him. Once it faded, he was back in his human form. “Well, at least that fixes that problem for now.”

Deciding not to comment on his friend’s obvious relief, Tucker somewhat changed the direction of the conversation. “At least Plasmius confirmed he’s interested in Vlad Master’s companies for something nefarious. Most of what I’ve gotten so far on that data are files on different employees.”

Danny’s eyes lit up at the statement. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Vlad’s in town.”

“That’s convenient,” Sam dryly stated after she shared a look with Tucker. “Why’s he here?”

“Apparently, when my parents asked him for help getting some information, he decided he needed to be directly involved. He was visiting when I got up.” He glanced down and wrung his hands before adding, “But he seemed really off today.”

“Off how?”

“He gave me literal chills. I mean, if I think about it, that’s happened when ghosts were around, but not people. He also seemed off… like he was a different person.”

Unnerved, Tucker placed his PDA on Sam’s desk. “I hate to bring this up, but didn’t you say that thing that attacked you was able to change how it looked?”

Danny’s eyes widened briefly before he shook his head. “I… I don’t think that’s it. It was close, but there was still something off about how it looked. It also didn’t feel the same… the chill was different. Vlad felt… Vlad felt like Plasmius but not as strong? I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You mentioned that chill before when you freaked out because of Maura… do you think you can sense other ghosts now?” Tucker felt himself grin despite the situation. “I mean, cuz if you can, that’s really useful. I’d like to be able to stay on the complete other side of the city from where that creepy thing is.”

“Maybe? I certainly didn’t notice anything like it when we were trapped or escaping from Plasmius… but he did say something about how that’s possible.” A thoughtful expression briefly crossed his face, until he gave a wry grin. “Fat load of good it does if it only goes off when something is like ten feet away.”

“Darn. Well, still let me know if you notice anything else weird. I’d like a head start over anything that might harm these good looks.”

xxx

After their initial discussion of what happened, the rest of the time was spent seeing if Danny could get any sort of control over his ghost form. It took a while, but he did manage to find the preverbal trigger for the change. Via a couple hours under Sam’s Spartan-equse training, he was finally able to change to and from on command. While he hoped he’d have a chance to work on more of his abilities, it was definitely a success.’

Around dinner, he and Tucker left Sam’s and headed to their own respective houses. While his parents were relieved to see him before sundown, he couldn’t return the feeling. Vlad was still in the house. According to his parents, the businessman would be staying with them in the guest room for a while.

“A while? How long’s a ‘while’?” he questioned as he looked for something to drink in the fridge.

“Well, that’s up to Vlad,” his mother replied as she added a few shakes of something to what smelled like stew. Vlad and his father were still in the lab. “While he’s not entirely certain how long he will be able to remain away from his businesses, he’s hoping to be able to stay for a couple weeks.”

Unhappy with that answer, Danny grabbed his drink and disappeared into his bedroom. If he was honest, he wanted to practice more with his abilities. It would be a shame not to with how much progress he made earlier, but he wasn’t exactly certain what tools his dad and Vlad might be using. Some of them where supposedly able to detect differences in energy levels. Without knowing the specifics of his abilities, he really didn’t want to clue them in.

Actually, was he ever going to tell his parents? That was a good question. Right now, when he didn’t have much control or understanding over anything, it didn’t seem like a good idea. Perhaps down the road? Maybe. Actually, maybe they might have so information regarding what happened to him.

A little later, his parents called him down for dinner. For him, it was a relatively normal affair, save for the chills Vlad kept giving him. Seriously, what was up with that? Vlad had been a fixture in his life for years, and there was never an issue before. Maybe Plasmius somehow influenced him or something? He guessed it was possible. There were legends about ghosts doing stuff like that, but he had no idea how to even begin figuring that out.

After dinner, he once again retreated to his room. Frustrated, he decided a few hours of Doomed would be a good distraction from everything.

…

Right around three am, something woke Danny. Rubbing his eyes, he realized he fell asleep gaming. Stretching, he turned off the game before checking one of his drawers for clean pjs. Deciding it wasn’t worth it, he headed to his bed only to stop when his breath misted in front of him.

Now wide awake, he stopped and listened. There were the normal sounds of the furnace and his dad’s snores. Wait, the furnace? Then why could he see his breath a moment ago? Spooked, he opened his door as quietly as possible and stuck his head out into the hallway.

Nothing seemed out of place. No one was in the hall. There was no light from his parents’ room or the spare bedroom Vlad was using. Deciding something still didn’t seem right, he crept down the hall and peaked down the stairs.

Eyes, dark eyes with a faint red glow, peaked out at him from the darkness of the living room. Knowing whatever it was saw him, he panicked and ran towards his parents’ room. “Mom! Dad! There’s something in the house!” he yelled as he frantically beat on the locked door. Of course it was one of those nights.

“Oh my god, what is that thing?” Vlad’s voice and the growl that followed forced his attention to the staircase. The sickly gray color of its skin made it somehow stand out in the shadows. The creature, the same one Danny encountered in the alleyway, stood in all its horrible glory at the top of the stairs. Its face was twisted in a grotesque snarl, and it swayed slightly. With an uneasy jolt, Danny realized the thing seemed to be debating who to go after first.

At the sound of the lock on his parents’ door turning, the thing lunged forward. Danny barely had time to register his mother pulling him into the room while his father roared, “Eat this!”

The familiar whine of one of his parents’ blasters powering up was followed by a blinding green blast and then another. As his parents decided to chase the thing, he curled up behind the door. The sounds of the blasts and something else, something unnatural, crashing into furniture could be heard from the downstairs.

How did that thing get in the house? Better yet, how did it find him? It was his fault. He needed to help, but what could he do? He had no ability to fight against it. Heck, he still didn’t know what it was other than dangerous and evil.

When the sounds in the downstairs stopped, he held his breath and waited. A sigh of relief escaped him when his mother called for him and Vlad. Not caring he was a teenager and by default hated hugs from family members, raced to his mother’s side and embraced her. Understanding he was frightened, she rubbed his back and reassured him she was fine.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the light snapped on to reveal blast marks, destroyed furniture, and Vlad appraising the scene from the bottom step, “but what exactly was that thing? Should I contact the police?”

Embarrassed someone saw him, Danny quickly let go and retreated a few steps. His mother smiled at him before replying, “It’s already been taken care of.” She pointed to what Danny recognized as the button of one of the alarm systems; it was flashing. “Jack’s checking the perimeter to make sure that thing is gone. In the meantime, I’m going to make us hot chocolate.”

“But what if that thing comes back? Surely Jack wouldn’t just leave you alone.”

She flashed him a grin as she held up a miniature blaster. “Thank you for being concerned, but I’m actually the better shot between the two of us.”

After glancing at Vlad, who seemed both dumbfounded and proud, Danny hurried into the kitchen after his mother. He really didn’t want to leave her side if that thing came back.

“Danny,” his mother stated after they were seated at the kitchen table with hot chocolate in hand, “be honest with me, was that the same thing you saw in the alleyway?”

He took a sip of his drink before answering her. “I… I think so. I mean, I’m not exactly sure if it was the same thing or not, but it looked similar.”

“You’re telling me that’s the thing you’re researching?” Vlad sounded surprised, but Danny noticed how tightly he gripped his mug. Why did he seem angry? “That thing was an abomination.”

His mother nodded. “While there are some stories regarding things like that in folklore, most of the recent ones seem to be more fiction than fact, so Jack and I tended to disregard them.” She sent him an apologetic smile, “However, with Danny’s report, we decided to look into it and didn’t like what we found. That’s why we reached out because we needed to get the resources to verify the data.”

“What do you mean you didn’t like what you found?” His whole body felt icy again, but this time, it seemed to be from fear and not some paranormal creature.

“I want to verify something with the officers,” she glanced at the clock on the wall before muttering, “when they finally get here first. However, if Jack didn’t manage to get it, I’m not sure if it’ll come back or not. We definitely wounded it,” she pointed to a spot in the living room where something wet, dark, and faintly glowing could be seen, “but I don’t know if that was enough to ward it off or if it’s vengeful enough to return.”

“But why was it here?”

“If I may?” Vlad glanced at his mother, who nodded. “If it was in fact the same creature Daniel saw, it may have come for him, or, it simply could have been drawn to the house. Forgive me, but you do have a lot of ectoplasm and other potential energy sources on hand.”

“Hmm… we have been meaning to update our storage devices. That can easily be done, but if Danny is a target, that would be much harder to fix.” His mother reached out and gently put her hand on his. “Sweetie, don’t take this the wrong way, but your father and I are worried you might have been changed because of your disappearances.”

That was putting it lightly, he ruefully thought. However, instead of agreeing, he asked her to explain what she meant.

“Well, you know we theorized you temporarily slipped into a different dimension when you were younger? It’s possible that somehow altered you. Pass reports of those ‘spirited away’ often report the person was somehow changed. Since before you seemed fine, save for the times we caught you staring as if you saw something we couldn’t, we figured you may have developed a sensitivity to the paranormal.”

He nodded. That made sense. Although, he was embarrassed his parents picked up on how he sometimes saw those shadows. Apparently he didn’t do nearly as good of a job as he thought at keeping that a secret.

His mother bit her lip before continuing. “But, this past time… something changed. I know you told the police you were abducted by a person, but the complete disappearance and then reappearance… and that none of you who disappeared could be tracked… and the injuries… and how that poor boy was found… it never made sense it was a human. And when you came back, the changes in your vitals, we knew there was something more to it. You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready,” she added when she noticed his panicked expression, “but whatever changed might have made you something like beacon to creatures of other worlds.”

His mouth felt dry. His parents actually suspected there was something off about him, and they just accepted it? Should he tell them how much he really changed? No, Vlad was in the house. He didn’t need to know anything about it. However, he could start probing for some of the answers he wanted. “If… if I have changed, how…?”

“We’re not exactly sure what will happen in the long run,” she replied as she picked up on his train of questioning. “Old accounts vary, and it’s difficult distinguishing fact and legend. Anyways, Danny I just want to verify the thing that attacked us tonight and whoever abducted you on the camping trip are not the same thing.”

He violently shook his head. “No, they’re completely different…”He debated with himself for a moment. Should he tell her about Plasmius appearing? Or the thing Clockwork discovered? Or the horde that attacked Sam, Tucker, and their classmates on the way back? “At least, whoever took me, Sam, and Tucker was completely different. I don’t know what grabbed the others.” That was true enough.

Vlad remained unusually quiet during the exchange, but unlike other times where he seemed disinterested or involved, this time it seemed like he was mulling over something. Also, Danny hadn’t missed the way his eyes narrowed when he added on the information about the camping abduction.

A knock at the door spooked everyone. They turned to see his dad opening the door followed by a couple police officers. “I found the police!” he said with a grin. “They thought it was another false alarm.”

“False alarm? False alarm?” His mother stood and marched over to the officers who were taking stock of the damage with wide eyes. “My family gets attacked, and you have the nerve to think it was a false alarm? If my husband and I didn’t have the means to defend ourselves, we would have been killed!”

Danny just sighed and continued sipping his drink as he watched his mother scold the officers. His dad joined him. Both of them knew it was better to let her get it out of her system than to try to get involved. Besides, he’d probably never get to see police officers get chewed out like that ever again. Now if only he had some popcorn.

====

Note: if it hadn’t been implied earlier, Maddie and Jack are going to be involved/decent parents in this fic. It makes sense with how this story is laid out – their son has gone mysteriously missing 3 times. They try to keep an eye on him.

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