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midnightcreator12 · 3 months

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And We'll Keep Marching On Chapter 3 - Raven and Scrap

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Mikey watched as Raph and Donnie tucked Leo into bed.

They’d put him in the room closest to the stairs, Raph arguing in favor of it because it was one of the biggest and someone had to keep an eye on Leo so they should put him in a room big enough for two. Donnie hadn’t fought him much on the argument. Mikey was pretty sure Donnie wanted that room because he could get to it quicker if something happened.

April had fitted clean, if a little dusty, sheets on the bed and now Leo was resting comfortably under those and a quilt…at least Mikey hoped he was comfy, it was hard to tell since Leo’s face was still lax and blank.

But Mikey was trying to not think about that.

Raph had left and come back with a stool, plopping himself down without a word. And Donnie was checking Leo over again, prodding at bandaged wounds and muttering about what they needed to do while Leo was recovering.

There wasn’t much for Mikey to do now.

He slowly turned away from the bedroom, attention sliding to a door that was slightly cracked, just enough for him to see one shiny robot eye peering out at him.

He knew Raph and Donnie wanted him to stay away from the strangers in the bathroom…but Mikey’s curiosity was getting the better of him.

Plus, a small distraction would be…really, really great for a few minutes.

But he couldn’t just bust into the bathroom with his normal enthusiasm. For one, he didn’t have the energy for it, and for another, the robot had attacked Donnie with a taser. And the little camera lens was very clearly giving Mikey the stink eye.

So no dashing into the bathroom. He had to proceed with caution.

He approached the door, stopping to crouch down and peer back at the robot. There was a soft whirr as it spun away from view. Mikey heard a low, mechanical worble and the sound of little feet clanking across tiled floor. He pressed his palm to the old wood, letting it swing open as he took in the teenager huddled in the corner.

She looked up from the little robot in her lap, eyes going wide for a moment before her face relaxed into a neutral expression.

He should probably be more worried about that, or exercise more caution on his approach. But his plan to be all cool and calm vanished when he saw her eye. Because there was a tattoo around her eye socket, a small, simplified image of a wing.

“Whoaaaa,” Mikey moved closer before dropping into a crouch, staring at the little inky picture. “Where’d you get that tattoo? Actually, did that hurt? It’s suuuuper close to your eye.”

And, like Mikey’s plan, the girls resolve to keep her face unreadable also vanished. Her brow scrunched in confusion and one hand started moving to the tattoo in question, “...my brother did it for me.”

Oh, ho! Another fun fact about this new friend! “You have a brother too? Are they here? They don’t gotta hide, you know, we’re cool.”

“No…no, they were the one’s…Donatello says I can’t send a signal yet.”

“Oh…,” that sucks. Mikey gets why Donnie told her not to call anyone but that still sucks. “Can you just text them? I’m sure Donnie’ll be cool with it as long as you don’t tell them where you are.”

“....what’s a text?”

Now it was Mikey’s turn to frown in confusion, “Dude, even I know what texting is. You’re like, what, seventeen? All seventeen-year-olds know about texting!”

“I’m…fifteen, actually.”

“Seriously?” Now Mikey is very, very interested. “Dude, you’re younger than us! We’re sixteen, well, almost sixteen! In about a month or two. And April and Casey are seventeen. Whoa, wait a minute….does that mean I’m not the youngest anymore?” Mikey let the feeling sit, mulling over how he felt about not being the baby. “...weird.”

“...technically, Scrap is the youngest,” Raven murmured.

The little bot let out a series of shrill beeps, spinning its head around to look up at Raven.

She looked at him, “You’re only five years old.”

Scrap beeped louder, clearly offended.

Hearing so much indignity from a thing that could only make robot sound was pretty funny to watch.

It was even better when he shimmied up Raven's legs to stomp angrily on top of her knees. Mikey couldn't help the burst of giggling that came out of him.

Maybe it made him a bad brother, to be giggling while Leo was still so hurt, but it felt nice. To have just a little moment of joy after all the mess they’d just gone through.

But his spine tensed again when Raven's head snapped up and her expression blanked.

He twisted, tipping his head back to see April was standing in the doorway. She was staring at Raven, lips tight and eyes slightly narrowed, meaning she was trying to use her powers. She probably would have had a hand outstretched as well if she was holding a bundle of fabric.

But whatever she was trying to use them for must not have worked, because her focused face was slowly turning into a frustrated one.

Mikey needed to snap the tension building in the room.

He went to speak, crack a joke, tell April about his new friends and reassure her that they were cool.

Except Scrap beat him to it, standing up straighter, little antenna 'ears’ fully upright as he let out a quick series of beeps.

Mikey didn't know what they meant and he knew April didn't know what they meant.

But based on the sudden horror on Raven's face and her scrabbling to drag Scrap down onto her lap and behind her legs, she knew what he’d said and it wasn’t something nice.

She hissed under her breath, “Where did you learn that? Who taught you that? I did not teach you to say things like that-” She hissed again, but this time it was a puff of air through her teeth and accompanied by one hand going to her leg.

Mikey gasped, scooting closer to look, “Dude, are you hurt? Why didn’t you say something?”

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine, it’s just a plasma burn.”

“Well, in that case, you could use these,” April finally approached, holding the bundle out to Raven. “I dug out some old clothing and Donnie gave up some bandages.”

Raven cleared her throat, shifting Scrap to take the offering, “Thank you. Truly.”

“Yeah, no problem,” April retreated, tapping Mikey’s shoulder as she went. “Hey, help me unload the van? Raph wants all our stuff in the house before we lose daylight.”

“Uh, okay,” Mikey stood, waving over his shoulder as he followed April. “We’ll talk more later dude! I can introduce you to Ice Cream Kitty!”

“Um, sure, that’d be…fun,” Raven said.

Mikey chose to ignore her confused tone because it wasn’t an uncommon reaction when his cat was mentioned.

He trudged down the stairs behind April, only mildly miffed that she’d interrupted his attempts to bond with the new human. If they were going to make her stay here he might as well make the most of it and add another human to his list of friends. It would at least be something nice that came out of…their entire situation.

Except when they got outside, April paused, crossing her arms as she turned to Mikey and leaned against the van, “Look, I know telling you to not get too friendly is pointless so….just try to be careful?”

Mikey blinked, face scrunching in confusion, “Whaaat are you talking about?”

“Raven,” April explained. “Be careful around her. Something is…off about her.”

“What?” Mikey shook his head. “No there isn't. She seems really cool if you ask me. And I am great at reading people's vibes.”

April raised an eyebrow, “Well I can actually read people's minds and hers….somethings off with it.”

“Whadda mean?”

“It's like there's a wall around her brain. I can't get anything past surface level feelings. You ask me, that's pretty weird.”

“Or you’re just tired?” Mikey countered. “Seriously, why do you all gotta judge any new friends I make?”

“Firstly, she broke into my family’s farmhouse. She has an attack robot that I’m pretty sure swore at me a few minutes ago. And she had a Kraang laser gun.”

“I thought you said that she said she was a prisoner?”

“And we should take her word on that?”

“I mean…we could check her stomach for any brain aliens?”

April sighed, “Casey tried but the robot kept headbutting him….and apparently it hits hard.”

Mikey shrugged, “Did you try asking?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter if she isn’t a Kraang. If she had contact with them at some point her being here could be a really elaborate setup. Or the ‘signal’ she was planning to send was to call up a ship from Dimension X.”

“.....so why are we still here?”

“Because we can’t really go anywhere else. We need somewhere we can all heal up. Especially…” she trailed off.

And Mikey felt the little spark of joy from making a new friend sputter out when she did. Because they both knew exactly the person that needed to heal the most.

…he really didn’t want to be stuck in the van for hours again.

He forced a smile at April, “Don’t worry about Raven. She’s cool, ninja’s honor.”

April raised an eyebrow at that but she didn’t continue the argument. Instead, she turned to the van and started dragging out the random assortment of supplies they’d snagged, “Help me get all this put away.”

“Sure thing boss,” Mikey jumped on the distraction, pushing into the van to get as big of an armload as he could. He heard a few things fall to the ground as he hobbled back into the house but he could go get those later.

Between the pair, he and April had cleaned out the van within minutes. Putting things in a place was…taking a little longer. Mostly because every time April opened a cabinet, bugs would skitter out or a cloud of dust would puff into their faces.

“Good thing you didn’t ask Raph to help with this,” Mikey commented lightly as he tried to slap another roach skittering past him.

April let out a frustrated groan, “These all need to be cleaned before we put food in here.”

“Bummer,” Mikey said solemnly.

April probably would have said more but a creak of old wood flooring had both of them looking up.

Raven was standing in the doorway, now wearing faded jeans with ripped knees and a red shirt over a white undershirt. She had the sleeves rolled up, showing a series of stripes tattooed up her left arm that disappeared under the shirt. The bottom part of the shirt had also been torn off, probably to make the cloth headband that was suspiciously the same color and holding curly hair out of her face. Scrap was perched on her shoulder, head swiveling around as he took in the new space.

“Am I allowed to leave the house?” she asked.

Mikey blinked, turning to April, “Dude, we aren’t locking her in the house, are we? That seems cruel.”

April frowned, looking between Mikey and Raven, “....why do you want to go outside?”

“Having open fires indoors is dangerous,” Raven replied, prompt and blunt.

April jerked at that, sitting up ramrod straight, “Why do you need fire!?”

Scrap warbled, scurrying down Raven’s arm and tapping a foot to the bundle of stained white fabric bunched up in her hands.

Oooooh, Mikey got it.

“I’ll go out with her!” Mikey jumped up, bounding over to Raven and hooking an arm around her. “And a campfire sounds fun! We could all go out and just hang out like in those teen drama movies that Casey likes.”

“I do not like them!” Casey’s voice rang from the top of the stairs. “I only watch them cause April likes them…and we shouldn’t let that chick play with fire!”

April sighed out her nose, long-suffering and tired as she went back to the dusty cabinets, “Just keep the fire in the fire pit, okay Mikey?”

“Yes ma’am!” Mikey started moving the moment April looked away, very aware of Casey glowering from the top of the stairs. “We’ll be fiiiiine, it’s just a lil campfire. Shame we don’t have marshmallows though.”

April just hummed in reply.

Mikey herded Raven out the door, still jabbering about the missed opportunity for s’mores. He heard Casey thumping his way after them, shoes loud on the old wooden floors and somehow even on the grass and dirt but Mikey chose to ignore him.

Scrap jumped off of Raven when they got close to a bald patch of dirt surrounded by a broken circle of rocks. He circled the old firepit, trilling and stomping on the few remnants of ash left in it.

Mikey paused to watch as Raven dumped her old clothes in the pit and started pacing the area, collating sticks and moss. Casey sidled up next to him, eyes narrowed as he watched her like a sour-faced hawk, “We’re actually gonna let her start a fire?”

“I mean, I don’t see why not?” Mikey shrugged. “We’re watching….and she not gonna do anything!”

“Suuure she ain’t,” Casey wrinkled his nose. “‘Cause our track record with anything Kraang related has been great.”

“Dude, she said she was a prisoner.”

“And I don’t buy it. It’s really convenient that she just happened to be here right before we got here. And she’s being real cooperative for someone who just escaped alien brain jail.”

“Dude, you need to chill out,” Mikey groaned. “They’re cool, trust me.”

Scrap gave a loud shriek and Mikey looked over just in time to see a taser prong emerge from his leg and jab down into the pile of moss Raven had collected.

Apparently, it was dry enough to ignite within seconds and burst into a massive flame. Scrap let out a series of warbles that almost sounded like an evil laugh.

The light of the fire cast Raven’s face in sharp shadows, dancing along her skin as she stared at the white scrabs that were slowly burning away.

…okay, Mikey could admit her staring and the absolute chihuahua energy coming from the bot was a little creepy.

But they were still cool. He totally got good vibes from them.

Casey and everyone else would come around eventually.

Buuuut in the meantime, he could be a mediator. So he trotted over to Raven, standing next to her and pointing to the tattoo on her arm, “Do you like tigers?”

Raven startled, like she hadn’t noticed when Mikey approached, “What?”

“Your tat,” Mikey explained. “I mean, the bird wing on your eye is cool but the stripes are even cooler! Does it go all the way up your arm?”

Raven blinked again like she wasn’t fully comprehending the question, “...It goes to my shoulder.” She pulled one side of her shirt open, showing that the striped pattern was indeed inked up to her shoulder.

“Whooooa,” Mikey beamed. “Soooo….tigers?”

“Not…exactly,” Raven paused.

Mikey waited for her to continue, keeping his smile in place.

It fell when Raven suddenly burst into tears, “Whoa, dude, are you okay?”

Raven startled again, raising a hand to her cheek, “I…I don’t…why am I-”

Scrap started to beep and trill, hopping around Raven’s feet in a very panicked manner. Mikey still didn’t have a clue what all the sounds meant or even if they were supposed to be words but Raven was looking at the little droid as she slowly sat down, “I-I’m sitting, I’m sitting….what…what’s happening-” a harsh sob wrenched out of her.

And Mikey…was at a complete loss for what to do.

“Yo, Mike, what’d you do to her?” Casey asked, finally losing that suspicion that had been tinging his voice and substituting it with confusion.

“I didn’t do anything!” Mikey protested. “...right? I didn’t do anything, right? Um…I’m sorry for asking about your tattoo?”

“No, I don’t….Scrap, what the shab-” her breath shuddered as she curled more into herself. “I’m a….shabbing ARC, why am I-” she choked on another sob.

Scrap let out a long, sad beep as he wiggled his way into her lap, resting his head on her shoulder like a dog comforting its owner.

Mikey shuffled awkwardly as Raven hugged the bot and started crying in earnest. It wasn’t loud, ugly crying. It was a soft, almost hiccupy cry that sounded more like she was just having a hard time breathing if it weren’t for the sobs that sounded like they were forcing themselves out of her throat and the steady stream of tears reflecting the firelight.

He really had…no idea what to do but….it looked like Scrap had it under control so he just…slowly stepped back until he was next to Casey again, “Still think she’s a spy?”

“Man, shut up,” Casey hissed. “She could be faking it.”

Mikey hummed in disagreement and shook his head. He was very confident that Raven was not, in fact, faking anything. He just had to convince everyone else.

…but maybe he could put it off until tomorrow because the fatigue was suddenly hitting him again as he let out a very long, wide yawn.

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He ended up crashing on the floor in Leo’s room, taking comfort in the sound of his steady, if slow, breathing and the gruff grunts and grumbles from Raph.

He didn’t wake up until the sun managed to aim a beam right into his face. And it was mostly because he wasn’t used to that sensation that he startled awake all at once rather than the slow drag from being asleep to awake that was his normal style.

He blinked, looking around the room. His body was not at all happy about his decision to sleep on the floor but someone had put an old blanket on him and wedged a pillow under his head.

Raph was still next to Leo. He’d slumped over at some point, upper body on the bed next to Leo, one hand resting on his chest. Whoever had tucked Mikey in had done the same for Raph, draping a faded duvet over his shoulders.

Mikey slowly stood up, rubbing crusty gunk from his eyes and straightening his mask.

Donnie had also joined them at some point. He’d pulled another chair in and around to the other side of the bed. He was also asleep, limbs hanging limp in a very uncomfortable-looking slumped starfish pose as soft snores whistled through the gap in his teeth.

He was also the only one with no blanket, which answered the question of who had tucked in Mikey and Raph.

Ninja silent, Mikey dragged his blanket, a thick, wooly thing that looked like it was handmade, over to Donnie. He pulled out every skill he had to successfully drape it over Donnie’s prone form without waking him, even managing to tuck the corners under him to make sure the cover didn’t slip down.

That done, he took a look at Leo. He hadn’t moved all night and his breathing was pretty much the same as before. Mikey frowned, leaning over to put a hand on Leo’s arm.

The scales were cool to the touch, despite the blankets they’d piled on him. It made Mikey frown harder because he should have warmed up by now.

He pulled the quilt higher up Leo’s chest before finally making his way out of the room.

First order of business, he was going to check on Ick. And after that, he was going to find Raven.

He knew that Donnie and Raph wanted someone watching her at all times so, why not him? They could hang out, he could get to know her and then he could tell his bros how cool she was.

Because she was definitely cool and not secretly a Kraang spy or a mutant villain or an alien super soldier of some kind.

He trotted down the stairs, making his way into the kitchen.

And almost stepped on a little, two-legged robot.

Scrap beeped, skittering away nosily as his little metal feel clanged across the floor before he climbed up Raven’s back.

Raven was stood over a trash can, hair down and…a good chunk of it gone. And she had a very large pair of scissors in one hand and a fistful of hair in the other.

Mikey tipped his head, smiling, “Good morning! What’cha doing?”

Raven paused, scissors poised and open around her hair, and looked towards Mikey, “....cutting my hair.”

“But why? Hair is cool, and yours is all bouncy.”

“It’s tangled,” Raven looked down again, closing the scissors and letting the cut hair fall into the trash. “And it's too long.”

Scrap beeped in agreement, jumping off Raven and onto the countertop.

Mikey shrugged, bypassing Raven and opening the freezer.

Ick mewed as soon as the door was open, sticking her head out to rub her tiny nose against Mikey’s beak. He giggled at the cold sensation, scratching under her chin before drawing away to lick the bits of strawberry ice cream off his fingers.

There was a beep from the top of the fridge.

Mikey looked up to find Scrap, who was shuffling along the top of the freezer, antenna ears up and alert. The moment Mikey had shifted back enough, he scurried onto the open door and the blue scanner swept over the cat. Ick mewed, trying to bat at the lights as they moved from the tips of her ears to the bottom of the freezer.

“Whoa, cool, what’s Scrap doing?”

“He’s a BD unit,” Raven explained. “They were made to accompany explorers and help document flora and fauna. It’s proven to be very helpful in many regards.” Raven looked up, then paused again. “Um…what is that, exactly?”

Mikey beamed, proudly puffing out his chest, “You haven’t met Ice Cream Kitty yet, have you?”

“Nooooo,” Raven narrowing her eyes at the freezer.

“Well! This Ice Cream Kitty! Also known as Ick!” Mikey jumped to the side so he could present his pet in her full, frosty glory. Ick preened, sitting herself up as much as she could and squinting her little chocolate chip eyes in a smile.

Scrap let out a few beeps, jumping down and going back to Raven before projecting a tiny, blue-tinted version of Ick onto the counter next to a small square of funny-looking symbols.

Raven looked between Scrap and Ick for a few seconds before replying, “Is she for food?”

“Whaaaaat?” Mikey gasped. “Why would you think that?”

“You…you just pulled off a chunk of her chin and ate it.”

Mikey lifted a finger to protest…

…but she kinda had him there.

“Okay, she’s really drippy and sometimes I get ice cream on my hand. And what am I supposed to do when that happens?”

“Wash your hands?”

Scrap beeped in agreement.

Mikey stuck out his tongue, “Whatever dude. She likes it so it’s cool.”

Ick mreowed loudly and nodded. And, like the stars had aligned, a blob of ice cream fell off her head on one nod, sailing right at Raven.

And Mikey nearly jumped out of his shell when her arm snapped up, lightning-fast, and deflected the gooey mess to the floor.

The kitchen went dead silent.

And then Mikey’s face burst into a wide grin, “Whoa, sick moves! Where’d you learn that?”

Raven blinked, slowly swapping the scissors for a dishtowel that had been draped over the sink, “Training.”

“Ooh, same. We should swap moves!” He smacked the freezer door shut again. “I was gonna go explore today! We should do that together. And Scrap can scan stuff.”

Raven nodded as she picked the scissors back up, hacking away the last longer sections of her hair while Mikey talked.

Hair now much shorter, stopping just under her shoulders, she tired her improvised headband on before holding an arm out for Scrap to climb up and turning to face Mikey, straight-backed and chin head high.

The scarily good posture remained Mikey of Master Splinter, always having his spine straight and eyes forward, and swallowed hard, not letting his grin waver.

“You’re my guard then?” Raven asked.

That got Mikey’s smile to fall into a confused frown, “Huh?”

“My guard? Everyone has been very clear that I’m not to go anywhere alone.”

“But ‘guard’ makes it sound...so…negative-” Okay, they were technically keeping her prisoner. “Buddy system! We’re doing a buddy system!”

Raven, finally, broke her relatively flat expressions with a raised brow and a side look to Scrap. And, somehow, the bot managed to give her an utterly unimpressed sideways look back.

But she also nodded, moving to the side and clearing a path to the doorway.

Mikey trotted ahead, grabbing her wrist as he passed and pulling her along, “Bet this place has all kinda cool stuff! Plenty to explore, and you still gotta tell me about your those sick tatas, dude!.”

“Yessir,” Raven replied.

“Sir? No, I’m not ‘sir’. I’m Mikey.”

Raven was quiet as Mikey led them down the porch steps and into the yard, “Okay, Mikey.”

#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #lone hunter and turtle #hunter and turtles au #tmnt au #fanfic #oc

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ollieofthebeholder · 2 months

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 103: April 2000

The one good thing about the headscarf, especially the way her mother insists she wear it for important days, is that it does a pretty decent job of keeping the cold out.

There are about two weeks left in the spring term, and exams start on Monday, so Basira is on her way to school. Her dad offered her a ride, since it’s just her today—he still has to work, too—but she said no, she’ll walk. Saying it’s an opportunity for reflection and prayer makes her mother happy—or at least less annoyed—and if her dad doesn’t believe her, well, he at least knows enough not to argue. So here she is, dressed in wool from head to toe—brown skirt, tan jumper, pale pink headscarf—bag slung over her shoulder, walking the familiar paths and streets to school.

She normally walks in a group with her cousins and younger sister, who’s just started school last term, but all of them have opted to spend the day in fasting and prayer, either at home or at mosque. Basira hates missing school, though, especially this close to the end of the year, and she doesn’t much like going to services more than once a week if she can help it. Truthfully, she doesn’t much like going to services at all, especially not now. It wasn’t so bad when she was younger and mostly learning about history and things, but now she’s older and they expect her to believe in things they refuse to explain. Her aunt says, rather critically, that Basira lacks faith, but that’s not true. It’s not that she doesn’t want to accept miracles and things, it’s just that she wants to know why they happen, what causes them, how they work. “They just do” isn’t a good enough answer. Science and maths and things don’t work just because they do, there’s actual logic behind them, so she likes them better.

Not that she’ll tell her mother that. Her dad understands a bit better, but they don’t discuss it often, because if anyone else is around it just winds up in fights and worries and prayers.

The streets are quiet, almost silent. She’s never noticed that before. Her cousins make so much noise that she can’t hear anything else, or even the absence of anything else, so maybe it’s always this quiet this time of day. She kind of likes it.

At least it means she can pretend it’s a coincidence.

Being ten sucks. Especially for Basira. She’s two years younger than the nearest cousins and two years older than the next ones, and boy do those two years make a difference. She’s too old to need to be looked after by the older cousins but too young to look after the little ones, too old to play childish games but too young to participate in teenage activities, too old to believe in cooties and too young to be interested in boys. (Or girls. They’ve all been told that Safiyyah is dead, but she’s heard her older cousins talk in hushed whispers about whether Jad was angrier with her because Bridget is Catholic or because she’s a girl.) There’s nobody her age at mosque, either, so she’s always kind of been an awkward tag-along to one group or another. School is fine as long as classes are in session, but as soon as they’re out of the classroom…

She stops, looks both ways, and crosses the street. The Duncan sisters, Polly and Mona, live two houses from the corner and she usually sees them getting into their car as they pass by—it’s still a fifteen-minute walk from here, but Polly can’t walk that far with her crutches—so she glances over out of habit. Not only are they not on the sidewalk, but Mr. Duncan’s car isn’t even parked at the curb. She must be later than she thought—either that or they had to go in early for something. That must be it. Pretty, popular Mona, who’s graduating at the end of the summer term, is on every imaginable committee, and Basira figures there’s something she has to do at school, like decorate or chair a meeting or consult with a guidance counselor about her university boards. Anyway, not like they would have acknowledged her; even Polly, who’s been in classes with Basira since she was allowed to start attending regular school, never waves hello to her.

You would think being the only girl in her class wearing a headscarf would make her stand out a bit, and maybe it does, but it’s the weirdest kind of standing out she’s ever heard of. Nobody makes fun of her or bullies her—she’d think it was because of Ishrak and Hashim if it weren’t for the fact that any of her girl cousins, and even Fariha, come in for plenty of it—but nobody goes out of their way to be friendly with her either. They don’t even go out of their way to avoid her. They acknowledge her if the situation calls for it, like it would be ludicrous to pretend she wasn’t there, but if they don’t have cause to say anything to or about her, they don’t. Even the teachers don’t call on her unless she’s the only one with her hand up. It’s like they don’t even see her.

Left at the next corner. Basira pauses long enough to ensure her headscarf is properly pinned in place and not a strand of hair is showing. Mr. Fadlan, who could have cut the cord for the prophet Muhammad he’s so old, sits on his front stoop from sunup to sundown and is always the first to call a parent and report if there’s anything untoward going on, like girls walking with boys, or someone laughing too loudly, or someone being improperly dressed. She still remembers what happened to Yasmin the time the wind blew her scarf off, and while she thinks having short hair might be a nice change, she doesn’t want to be shaved bald for something that isn’t actually her fault.

But Mr. Fadlan isn’t out today. Which is odd. He’s out in all kinds of weather—hot or cold, wet or fine—any time he’s not at mosque and the sun is in the sky. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s at mosque. Although he’s more likely to choose to do his praying at home so that he can keep an eagle eye out for those who might think they can get away with being forward with fewer eyes to observe. Still, it’s not totally inexplicable. She keeps her gaze on the ground as she passes his building just in case and continues on her way.

Having a big family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either. Practically everyone in the tenement building she’s grown up with is a relative or close enough to be called family, which in all the books and stories means there’s always someone there for everyone. Basira doesn’t have that experience, though. In Basira’s experience, it means you have to do something really impressive, or really bad, to stand out—be the oldest, be the youngest, be the smartest, be the fastest. Be a lesbian. Bring home the daughter of a family of Christian missionaries and announce you’re planning to marry her. That kind of thing. Basira is in the middle, doesn’t do anything spectacular, stays out of trouble, stays out of the way. She’s plain, ordinary, boring, and ignored.

And she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t. She isn’t interested in being famous or infamous, and it’s safer to fly under the radar, to not draw the attention of the powerful. She wants to do the right thing, do good in the world, but doing good deeds quietly is better for the soul than doing them in a splashy fashion, right? She doesn’t need to be noticed. Just do what she’s supposed to do. And it’s better to be herself and alone than feted and admired—or reviled—for being somebody she isn’t.

Right?

There’s another crossing coming up. Usually it’s one of the busier streets, horns blaring and cars whipping past heedless of the stop signs and speed limits, but the only sounds she can hear today are impossibly distant, and the street is deserted. Maybe it’s because of the fog. She didn’t really notice it when she left home, too preoccupied with getting out before her mother actually noticed her for once, but it’s hard to ignore now. It’s heavy and thick, not a gentle mist but a real pea-souper, obscuring everything and making the most familiar of things mysterious at best and totally hidden at worst. Basira can’t even see the street sign when she peers up to confirm she’s at the right place.

Think of your mother, a voice says in the back of her mind, sounding urgent. Your father, your siblings. A friend. Someone. You’re not alone, Basira. You’re not.

Except she is, and that’s how she likes it. She shakes her head impatiently and steps off the curb, slowly and carefully, so she doesn’t miss her footing.

Basira likes to read, soaks up knowledge fast, but since it’s not always knowledge that helps in school her teachers seldom notice. Anyway, the point is she remembers something she read a while back about a thick, heavy fog that descended on London for five days in 1952, the Great Smog of London, and that the murder rate skyrocketed during that period of time because it provided such good cover for people to creep about in. Remembers, too, that it was supposed to be foggy on the nights when Jack the Ripper stalked the streets of Whitechapel doing his bloody work. There could quite easily be a killer lurking in the fog somewhere, and if she’s the only person on the street, she’ll be easy pickings.

A part of her wonders if that might get her noticed, anyway. If her parents, her family, will even be aware she’s gone missing until the police turn up to say they’d found her body. Assuming the police even know where to go. Does she have her name on any of her homework in her bag? Well, yes, but not her address. The school will have that on file, though. Assuming the school is open when they find her. As thick as this fog is, it’s going to be ages before it burns off, and it’s unlikely anyone will just stumble over her, especially if the killer drags her somewhere out of the way. And it’ll be hours before anyone misses her; the school will think she’s staying out with all the other good little Muslim children, and her family won’t even think of her until she’s not home for the Maghrib prayer, assuming they remember she’s ten and supposed to participate now, since her birthday was only last week and they didn’t even really have a celebration, not much of one anyway.

It’s so easy to not be noticed.

No ten-year-old should think things like this, the voice says, but Basira shrugs that off, too. Age doesn’t matter. It’s logic. It’s logical to consider plans and possibilities and contingencies. She’s alone, on a foggy day, and historically it was easy to cover up murders on days like this. She probably won’t even have time to scream. She needs to think about how likely it is to happen, and what might come after, and if anyone will care.

The only thing that will be bad is if her dad is working today, and if he’s the one that gets the call. He’s a paramedic, and a very good one. She imagines him getting the dispatch call from 999, the order to proceed to a certain location, an injured child. Imagines him approaching the bloodied body and being moved to pity and fear when he sees the scarf. Imagines him moving it aside to get a better look at her injuries, because the rules can always be set aside if health or safety is at risk.

Imagines him looking right at her and not recognizing her as his own daughter.

Okay, that’s…that’s not sensible. Basira might be the middle of five, but that’s not so big a family that children actually get lost. She remembers the dedication from the battered red book she found in the back of the school library last term: To Dad, who only raised twelve children, and to Mother, who raised twelve only children. If every child in a family like that can be treasured and known, why can’t she?

Well, because she’s not a Gilbreth, and that’s not how their family works. Maybe when the oldest ones were little they got some individualized attention, but as more and more cousins rolled out, the adults just handed the little ones over to the older ones to look after, and the older ones were too harried and busy and overwhelmed to even count noses most days, let alone take roll call. They worry about the littlest ones, fuss over the babies, but Basira doesn’t remember ever being fussed over like that. The little ones don’t call out for her or look after her, even Fariha, and even when she brings one that’s gone astray back, nobody notices or thanks her.

She doesn’t mind being alone because it doesn’t matter. On her own in a fog or in a crowd of people, she’s just as alone. Sometimes the loneliest place in the world is being surrounded by people and knowing none of them care anything about you.

People care. The voice sounds shocked this time, but Basira ignores it. Why her mind is trying to convince her of things that are objectively untrue, she has no idea, but it is and she is going to focus on things that are solid, knowable facts. Like the way to school.

Shouldn’t she be there by now? She doesn’t wear a watch, and with all the fog she can’t see the position of the sun in the sky, but surely she’s been walking long enough that she’s at the school. Suddenly unsure, she stops in her tracks and worries at her lower lip, twisting the strap of her bookbag in her hands as she tries to think.

Let’s see. She’s passed the Duncans’, turned left to pass Mr. Fadlan’s, crossed over Stepney…but she’s honestly lost track of how long she’s walked since then. Three blocks? Four? It should be five blocks and then crossing over one last major road, and then the school is just ahead. She ought to be able to hear the traffic from here—even over the others, she can usually hear the tires squealing, the horns blowing, and the general rumble of traffic.

But she doesn’t. She can’t hear anything. It’s like the whole world is standing still. It doesn’t do that on actual public holidays, so it should definitely not be doing that today. Something’s not right, but she can’t think what it is. She doesn’t need to, she tells herself. She just needs to figure out where she is and get to school.

She keeps walking, waving a hand in front of her to try and clear the fog away. It shifts in thick, greasy wedges but doesn’t really stop hiding everything around her. She kicks, drags her foot, but doesn’t encounter anything.

Okay. So she’s on a sidewalk. She can work with that. Maybe.

She walks forward, slowly, looking around her, trying to get her bearings. She can’t. It’s like everything is gone, leaving only her, the ground, and the never-ending fog. It’s beginning to make her a little nervous, actually. Maybe she should…concede that she can’t do this on her own, and call for help.

“Hello?” she shouts, as loud as her tiny lungs can manage. “Is someone there? I’m lost!”

There’s no answer. Which is good, it means there’s not a serial killer lurking nearby, or at least that if there is one they’re sensible enough not to say here I am, but it’s also bad in that no one is there. She takes a few steps and calls out again, but there’s still no response.

Basira stops dead and turns in a complete circle, and still…there is nothing. No one. Just her and the fog. She’s not even sure she can feel the ground anymore.

She’s alone. Totally and completely alone.

No…no, not alone. She touches her chest lightly, brow furrowing in thought. Allah is everywhere, isn’t that what everyone tells her? She’s not alone if Allah is there. All she has to do is…ask.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and raises her hands to her ears briefly, then begins to pray. She’s not very good at it, she’s new to the whole thing, but Allah knows what’s in her heart and he knows every one, so they say, so she can pray and ask for guidance and he’ll give it to her. He’ll clear away the fog, show her the path to school, send someone to talk to her, something. If nothing else, she’ll hear his voice—which isn’t the mystery voice she’s been hearing in her head, Allah would never be that sarcastic or try lying to her—and know, at the very least, she has him with her. So she prays out loud, in English, in Arabic, asking for a sign, a guide, anything.

Nothing. No response. No peace fills her mind, no warmth fills her heart. The fog doesn’t even shift a little. There’s no connection, no answer on the line. She’s reached out for help and found nothing. She’s more than just alone now.

Basira Hussain, for the first time in her life, is deeply, utterly, and totally lonely.

No! No! She can’t be the only person left in the world, she can’t. That just…isn’t logical. Forget prayer. There’s obviously nobody on the other end of that. But she can think her way out of this. All she has to do is try. She grits her teeth, closes her eyes, and concentrates hard.

BEEEEEEEEP!

Basira’s eyes fly open, and she throws up her hands on instinct. The fog is gone, the sun is shining, and she is standing in the middle of the road with a car about two inches from her, the driver laying on his horn and gesticulating at her rudely.

“Get out of the road, you stupid—!” The word the man yells isn’t one Basira is familiar with, but she’s pretty sure it doesn’t mean kid, or anything at all flattering.

She hustles out of the road, dodging other cars that blow their horns and slam on their brakes, and makes it to the curb safe and sound. Once she’s out of traffic, she glances back over her shoulder. There’s no sign of fog anywhere.

Odd. And worrying. Was she hallucinating? Did she sleepwalk? Is this something she should talk to her teacher about, or the school nurse?

After a moment, though, she shakes her head. Whatever happened, it’s over and done with…and if that experience taught her anything, it’s that nobody will listen to her, no matter what she says or does. She might as well just put it out of her mind and go on with her day, with her life.

That’s not what you should take away from that, the voice says in her mind, sounding exasperated, but she ignores it and proceeds to head the last few yards to the door of the school, where dozens of other students are pouring in. The voice isn’t real, anyway. And even if it is, there’s no reason to pay any more attention to it than to whatever just happened.

After all, when she was looking for someone to help her, to make her feel a little less alone, it wasn’t there either.

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic #the magnus archives #basira hussain #isolation #religion #loneliness #mention of murder #near car accident #implied/referenced Islamaphobia

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duhragonball · 30 days

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Neon Genesis Evangelion 10

It's a shitty episode, that's what this is.

Why does this episode suck? Well, we start off with Kaji taking Asuka shopping for bathing suits. She's going on a school trip to Okinawa, you see. She asks him if he went on any school trips when he was her age, and he says he couldn't because Second Impact was happening back then. Anyway, Kaji sucks and I hate him.

As it turns out, she can't even go on the stupid trip, because NERV wants the Eva pilots on standby in case of an Angel attack. You'd think this would be a standing order year-round, but Asuka is gobsmacked to find out she's not allowed to just do whatever she wants, whenever she wants. You're in the army now, kid.

Here's the thing about Asuka. I was kind of looking forward to her introduction into the story, because Rei and Shinji were practically comatose throughout the early episodes of this show. At least she would bring some energy to this thing, I thought. And she does, but mostly it's a whiny, bratty, irrational energy that gets old pretty quickly. When Misato tells Asuka she can't go on the trip, Asuka demands to know who gave the order. Well, Misato did, dummy. She's your commanding officer. When she can't argue with that, she argues with Shinji, expecting him to say something to resolve this, like he has any control over the situation. But Shinji kind of expected this to happen, so he never got excited about the trip in the first place.

This is the origin of that "so you've given up?" meme. I always took it at face value. That is, I assumed the scene was Asuka asking Shinji if he was quitting something hard, and he just casually admits that he's collapsing in the face of adversity. But the actual context is that Asuka is trying to cajole Shinji into the impossible task of getting them a furlough from their indispensable child soldier jobs. When that doesn't work, he insults his manhood, then asks Misato why they don't just find the Angels and destroy them first, so they're not always on stand-by to defend against an attack. Misato's like, kid, if we knew how to do that, don't you think we'd have already done it?

Misato points out that both Shinji and Asuka can use the downtime to catch up on their studies, seeing as their grades haven't been very good. At this, Asuka tries to claim that the school's grading system is irrelevant. Kid, just shut up. You're not gonna win this one.

Anyway, Big Rigg Mahoney sends his regards from Okinawa.

So at the base, Shinji studies, and Asuka tries to do scuba diving in the pool, since she can't do it at Okinawa. Turns out Asuka's already graduated college? She claims the physics problem Shinji is working on is easy, but her grades were poor because she hasn't learned enough Kanji to read the questions. Also Asuka wonders aloud if thermal expansion would make her bust bigger. I wasn't going to say anything, but I think the animators on this episode already made her bust bigger, because Asuka looks like Boa Hancock in this turkey.

Meanwhile, a joint NERV-SSDF mission discovers a juvenile Angel inside a volcano. This is a huge opportunity to study the things and learn more about them, so the Eva pilots are mobilized to go in and retrieve it.

Asuka insists on being the one to actually made the dive, because I guess she drank like fifteen cups of coffee before this episode started. Settle down, dammit.

Asuka is chosen to make the dive, but her Eva will have to wear this dorky looking exosuit to withstand the temperature and pressure.

Also, Asuka herself has to wear a modified plugsuit that looks like this for... some reason? It's supposed to protect her from the heat, but she's going to be surrounded by the Eva, which will also be surrounded by an exosuit. How much more protection does she need? And why does inflating the plugsuit make it safer?

Asuka whines about these intolerable conditions, until Rei offers to pilot Unit 02 in her place. Asuka quickly changes her mind, since she can't bear the thought of getting left out of the mission. Geez, she's like a toddler!

So we go on the mission, and Asuka asks if Kaji will be here to see her in action, and Misato informs her that this is none of his damn business. It's called "professionalism", Asuka, look into it.

As they prepare, Misato explains that if the Angel can't be captured, or if it matures into adult form, then they'll have to destroy it. And if they fail, the UN will blow up the whole volcano, and all of them along with it. Shinji asks who would order such extreme measures, and duh, it's his dad, the guy in charge of the whole organization.

From here, most of the episode looks like it was filmed inside a Nintendo Virtual Boy. This probably was considered pretty badass in the late 90s, but no, it looks like crap. They just keep lowering Asuka further and further down in search of this thing, and then she finds it and puts it in some kind of rectangle.

Rectangle secured, mission accomplished, OR IS IT?

Turns out the Angel hatches just as Asuka starts heading back for the surface, and the device she used to contain the Angel can't handle its adult form. Misato orders her to release it and head back to the surface as quickly as she can.

The fight sucks because you can't see anything. Asuka had a "progressive knife" when she went down, but she dropped it during the descent. So Shinji tosses down his own and she catches it and fights back, but the thing is still incredibly strong and durable, becuase it lives inside a volcano for crying out loud.

At last, Asuka remembers that conversation about thermal expansion and uses that to win. Something about diverting the coolant in her Eva while she attacks with the progressive knife, but I can't see what she's doing and I probably wouldn't understand it anyway. The Angel disintegrates... I guess? And she returns to the surface.

So Misato takes them to a hot spring near the volcano to celebrate a job well done. The girls ask Shinji to toss them a bottle of shampoo over the retaining wall, and then he hears them... tickling each other? And he gets a boner? I guess that's a joke? A plot point? Why the fuck is this in the show?

There's also a cryptic exchange between Misato and Asuka. Misato has a scar on her abdomen which she says she got during Second Impact. Asuka asks Misato if she knows about her past, and Misato does but assures Asuka that they need to put it behind them. So I guess we'll find out what that means one of these days.

And there we are. This was dumb. Most of the show was Asuka babbling like an idiot, or people watching machines lower other machines into lava. The show continues to drop all these hints and clues about the characters' backstories, but it never puts any of the pieces together. It just gets really formulaic, and I think the best evidence of this is the fact that I got mixed up while playing this DVD, and I accidentally watched Episode 11 first, thinking it was 10. So I had to go back and watch this one, but I could have just as easily skipped it, because nothing happened that had any long-term consequences.

#neon gensis evangelion #2024ngeliveblog #shinji ikari #asuka langley soryu #rei ayanami #misato katsuragi #kaji ryoji #ritsuko akagi #pen pen #big rigg mahoney

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taeescript · 3 years

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29+1 (Part One)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother.

𝔭𝔞𝔦��𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (taehyung x reader if you squint real hard)

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin (diva!seokjin)

𝔴𝔠: 3.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: heavy use of alcohol as a coping mechanism, a plethora of sarcasm (please don’t be offended) and a sprinkle of softness (is that a warning?).

𝔞/𝔫: this sat in my unwritten folder since 2017 no lie. I wrote the premise and a singular paragraph at that time, then just gave up. I opened it a few days ago, got inspired again and this word vomit came out (heavily influenced by a midnight Zoom call with my friends). Ngl this was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. This will probably be in three parts. 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: I did not know that DailyHive is an actual online news source when writing. This work is purely fictional and has absolutely nothing to do with the real DailyHive.

part two

Your friends have a saying: After 29, nobody shares their age until they’ve accomplished something.

In the past, you didn’t understand it. What’s so bad about saying you’re 30 or you’re 32? That’s still a young age! Sure, you’re not exactly in your prime anymore but you’re not old, right?

So, you continue in your own wondrous world of naïveté until that fateful day at your class reunion. You had simply been walking around, minding your own business when you had been stopped by an old colleague.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” she waves you down.

You smile kindly, not even bothering to try and remember her name (you sucked at names, what could you say).

“Hey…you!” you chuckle lightly, “How have you been doing?”

An everyday question leading to catastrophic effects.

“Oh you know,” she says and rolls her eyes as if you truly did know, “I’ve just been out and about. Did I tell you though? I got married last year!” She holds out her hand in which a giant diamond adorns her finger. “Wow!” you gasp, feigning interest. It’s not that you aren’t happy for her, but you are reminded of just how single you are currently. When was the last time you felt another human’s touch? Does kissing come back as easily as riding a bicycle? “Hey!” she says suddenly, “I’m actually meeting with a couple of friends from our class. You should come join! I’m sure they’d be happy to see you again!” You want to wave her off, but against your better judgment, you find yourself following in her footsteps and listening to her speak about wedding venues and honeymoon destinations.

“Oh my god!” another female voice filters in.

The “couple of friends” this old classmate had mentioned is in fact a fairly impressive size of twenty. This is also the third time the wedding announcement has been made.

“Last year?” the female continues, “Weren’t you young?”

Yes, you want to respond. Yes she was young. A full 365 days younger than she is now.

Your classmate, Sooyoung (or Kiko as she insists going by now) titters in front of you. “I mean, you can sort of say I’m a late bloomer. I got married when I was 31.”

Her words unintentionally cut into you. Here you are at 29 without a beau in sight. You take a fast swig of your beer and end up hitting the empty glass with a clink to your teeth. Nobody notices.

“Enough about me, however, how about you?”

“I started my own business actually. It’s been doing really well and it’s been a crazy mind. Imagine me, my own boss at only 33!”

You nervously join them when they suddenly laugh together.

“Hi, can I get another pint please? Actually add a tequila shot to that,” you whisper the last part to the waitress you had just stopped.

And that was how the rest of the night went. People asking one another what they had accomplished. Any moment in time after 30 would not be mentioned until somebody travelled to Uganda to build houses at 31 or another gave birth at the same age. Below 30, anything would be attributed to luck or in your case…

“What are you doing currently?” somebody asks you, “The little baby of our class.”

Swallowing your third tequila shot of the night, you wonder for the umpteenth time how you had become a part of this giant sharing circle. You wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that you had graduated a little early and thus was younger than most of your peers.

“Well,” you start, “I’m currently working at DailyHive.”

“Ohh!” a man gushes. You recognize him as the once-upon-a-time science partner you used to cheat notes off of. “I use DailyHive nearly as much as Instagram these days. You guys cover everything from news to sports to fashion.”

You shrug. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s a pretty big company!”

“What are you doing there?”

Kiko-ex-Sooyoung hits the man teasingly on the shoulder. “Y/N is probably the Director of Marketing or something. Remember how she used to spend all class doodling in her notebook?”

“Or sleeping!” someone quips.

You don’t join in when they all laugh.

“I’m…an intern,” you say with as much pride as you can in a group of established professionals ranging from dermatologists to that one guy who had flown around the world as a TedTalk guest speaker.

A hushed silence befalls everyone.

“That’s…cool!” the same man encourages you, “Interns are totally rad! Everyone wants an intern spot these days.”

His girlfriend pats your arm, almost empathetically. “Yeah. I know a bunch of people who first start off as interns and then they shoot up the ladder quick enough. As long as you’re no longer an intern at 30, you’re golden!”

Once again, the entire group laughs as if she has said the most hilarious of jokes.

She composes herself and says to you, “Because after that, you should have accomplished something.”

Her words still ring in your ears as you sit at your desk this morning.

Yeah…something. All you need to do is accomplish something in the next three months before you are officially, 29 + 1.

Your fingers tap against your thighs silently while you observe the current debate that is occurring in the conference room. You barely have time to sweep the falling hair back behind your ear as your fingers ferociously fly across the keyboard to keep in track with the meeting.

Fei is arguing that the implement of a new search word system would boost users while Daniel says that it is a waste of resources. Instead, everything should be put into updating the entire system as a whole. You have long since lost track of their words as neither pertain to what you do as an intern.

“Enough,” the CEO of DailyHive holds up a hand. His one word causes the entire room to hush over – truly, the words of a god.

And that might as well be what he is. With his hair swept back and a lone tendril curling perfectly above his brow, Kim Seokjin is legitimately a walking god. Off his broad shoulders hang an expensive white linen suit bought with his pocket change and your yearly salary. A pair of sunglasses hangs in the V of the collared shirt dipping low enough to blur the lines between being fashionably professional and just downright sexy.

The snap of his fingers brings you back to the present.

He dramatically rolls his eyes and accepts that you are an incompetent minute-taker.

“I have to remember that the world just doesn’t move as fast as I do.”

- Quote: Rolling Stones 2019 Kim Seokjin.

Now if only he’d remember he had once said that.

He points at each of them with one finger, then swipes to the left. “Both of you, solve this outside. I don’t want to hear your voices any longer. You two from the marketing team, Ungroomed Stache and Acne Chin, create me a report if we are to implement Ms. Song’s idea. The two of you from…” he takes a pause here clearly having forgotten who his employees are, “The two of you do the same thing but for Mr. Hwang.”

The pair from accounting open their mouth to protest that they are in charge of only numbers, but they are ignored.

“All of you out now. Except you,” he points his finger directly at you, “Stay.”

Nobody utters a single word until they have all left and you are left alone with him. Standing before him with your hands folded nicely in front of you, you blink and wait.

He stares right back at you, picks up his coffee mug and drops it. The clatter of ceramic smashing against the ground causes a pause in the loud buzz outside the room. You know everybody’s focus has been shifted into the room.

“Do you want to kill me?” he drawls.

You take a long inhale. “No,” you say.

“No?” he repeats the word, “Well I think you do. Did you check this coffee before you brought it to me? I tasted cinnamon in it. You know how I’m allergic to cinnamon. Get me a new cup. And this mess, get somebody to clean it. I don’t want the smell of coffee in this room when I have my next meeting here in twenty. I’m taking a smoke a break.”

He stands up and brushes past you without saying anything else.

Nobody can be allergic to cinnamon. Besides if he had actually tasted cinnamon and was that sensitive, he would be dead. And good riddance to that.

Of course, you say none of this and wordlessly begin to pick up the broken ceramic pieces of the dead mug. The bustling outside the meeting room has returned back to its normal state of chaos. Seeing the ugly stain of coffee on the once pristine carpet causes you to swear beneath your breath.

“Who the fuck is allergic to cinnamon?” a new voice says, sliding up beside you.

The second god in DailyHive; the much nicer and evidently preferred Kim; Taehyung takes the mug pieces from you and drops it into the garbage bin.

Blessed with not only intelligence but devilishly model-like features, he is your desk buddy in the small space allotted for interns and your sole friend in the company.

“Tae,” you sigh with exasperation upon seeing your lifesaver, “What am I going to do about this stain? He’s going to return in fifteen and there’s no way I can get a coffee stain out of this expensive-ass carpet.”

Taehyung taps a long finger to his lips, leaves the room briefly, and returns with a roll of Bounty sheets and a can of Febreze. He promptly blots as much of the coffee off from the carpet then proceeds to pull the meeting table.

“C’mon, Y/N, don’t just stand there. Help me! Time is of the essence!”

You laugh and join him in moving the table so that one of the legs cover the stain 80% of the way. Once he is satisfied, he takes the Febreze and sprays until the whole room smells like “Hawaiian Aloha”.

“You’re welcome.” He gives an extravagant bow, the motion popping open the top button of his shirt to expose a surprisingly chiseled chest.

Fei returns back into the room holding a phone to her ear and a clipboard in her left hand. “What the hell? It smells like a Bath & Body Works in here. Intern, aren’t you supposed to be filing or something? Stop standing around and be useful.” She grips Taehyung’s arm and drags him out of the room. “Button up. This is a professional workplace.”

You give him a tiny wave as Taehyung is steered away by his girlfriend and back to the cubicles.

Taehyung may be your saviour at work, but outside, it cannot be denied that your brother is the true Fountain of Life.

A week has passed since the coffee incident (you suspect a cleaning personnel had found the stain and cleaned up after your improv as aforementioned stain can no longer be found), but Jimin still brings it up.

“I still can’t believe that he said he was allergic to cinnamon. I’ve never heard of such bullshit before,” your brother says over the phone. You can practically hear his eyeroll from across the world.

As a renowned ophthalmologist, you have not seen Jimin for close to a year as he has been initiating his new clinic, a flying eye hospital.

“You should hear his Starbucks order. I always feel like I’m ready to launch my next EP whenever I’m at the counter,” you say.

Jimin laughs. There is the muffled sounds of voices as his never-ending flow of patients have arrived for the day.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you say upon hearing that, “You’re probably really busy.”

“No,” he says, “I’ve got a few minutes if you’ve got a few. I miss talking to my baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Jiminie,” you say using the nickname he hated.

“Oh that’s right. Your birthday’s in a little under three months, right? My baby sister is turning the big three-oh.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“Want me to come visit you?”

You contemplate the idea once, having not seen Jimin in quite a while.

“Only if you have time. But I feel like Mom and Dad would probably want to see you more. Speaking of which, um… How are Mom and Dad?”

“They’re good. I hear Dad is finally going to retire this year. He’s giving his practice to Kibum, you remember him? Mom will probably start pestering us about what to do for his retirement party.”

There is a pause.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to say hi to them once in a while.”

You sigh. “And say what? Hey, it’s me. The child that ran away from home at 18? Yeah, I’m not a doctor like everybody else in the family but a 29 year old intern at a popular app company. Whassuuup?”

“Y/N, that’s not what I – ”

“It’s okay, Jimin. I’ve come to accept that not everybody is cut out to be a doctor. I just wish Mom and Dad could realize that.”

Jimin sighs on your behalf. There is the sound of a crying child coming through the earphone. “Well, your contract expires a few weeks after your birthday, right? Who knows, you might be the next Mark Zuckerberg.”

He has never explicitly inquired about your life plan and you know this is as much as he is willing to push without asking, “What’s next after this intern hiccup?” At least he had the decency to compare you to a controversial Internet entrepreneur.

The child is crying much louder now.

“Again with my birthday. But I’ll let you know,” is the only reply you can come up with at the moment. “Okay, brother, go forth and heal the blind. I bless thee in the name of the Holy Spirit, Son and Ghost.”

There is true laughter that rings from Jimin as he ends the call. “It’s Father, Son and Holy Ghost you dweeb. I love you sis.”

“You too.” You hang up first before he can add anything else.

With that, you enter into the 7am Starbucks queue and prepare yourself in running the first single of your long overdue EP.

Seokjin leans back in his chair, watching you from inside his office. Today he has chosen a black turtleneck and a brazen maroon-nearly purple suit jacket to complete the outfit. For once, there is an empty mug of coffee beside him and his morning headache has been appeased.

He knew he had given you an impossible task.

“Compile all the troubleshooting errors we have received since the launch of DailyHive. Organize it in a manner that allows me to identify the most prominent problem. Run it through whomever you please before giving it to me. I don’t need to waste my time correcting your mistakes.”

There is an amused smile that bubbles beneath his otherwise stoic features. He cannot deny that there is, might he dare say, a cute quality about you as you manually scan through the received concerns on your laptop dating back to the initial beta tests – the ones that were lost in a data crash and only backed up with unintelligible scribblings of previous interns.

The moment you had been introduced as the new intern, you had caught his eye. You are exquisitely mundane, and perhaps the reason you had even caught him the first time was due to solely to the fact that you were older than most interns – himself even. Nevertheless, you continue to present him small surprises in your tenacity and capability to tackle challenges.

“Mr. Kim.”

His intercom comes alive with the voice of his secretary.

Seokjin’s eyes do not leave you as he answers.

“Mr. Hwang is on line two. Would you like me to defer him to a later time if you are currently busy?”

Seokjin cannot help but sigh. Hwang Junho, his co-founder, while a genius in international business is also a notorious chatterbox and gossip. There is seldom a reason for Junho to call him except to relay the cover titles of E!Magazine.

“Did he mention a reason for calling?” Seokjin inquires.

His secretary seems to be reading from a note. “He says it’s to do with the company. Something he read from Cosmopolitan this morning.”

So not E! but another sister celebrity gossip blog. He checks his watch and duly notes that he certainly has no meetings scheduled until later in the afternoon where your report would be needed to run a preliminary analysis.

“Sir?”

“Yes, put him through. But tell him I’ve got only five minutes, so he’s better give me the Cliffnotes version,” Seokjin sighs again.

Before he can be connected, Seokjin quickly says, “What’s the name of that intern again?”

“Who?” his secretary asks, “We’ve hired four since the beginning of the year.”

“The one who keeps wanting to poison me.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” she sounds concerned.

“The one who keeps forgetting that I despise cinnamon.”

There is no response.

“The older one. Spilled coffee a while ago but still has enough coordination to pull together a decent report.”

“Ah,” she says.

He waits patiently as she searches through the database, eventually giving him your name. He gives a slight pause and then says, “Good. Now patch me with Junho.”

There is a momentary buzz as the call becomes connected in which Seokjin turns over the syllables of your name wordlessly.

“Mr. Kim. The man of the hour. How are you, my brother?” Junho’s baritone fills the office in a manner of seconds.

Despite the little annoying quirks, Seokjin cannot help but smile when hearing the voice of his best friend.

“You’ve got three minutes, Junho.”

Junho grumbles. “That’s not my fault. You were the one still on the line with your secretary. Is it still Yerin? ‘Cuz I won’t blame you if that’s the case. Did I catch you doing some naughty phone sex during office hours?”

“Two.”

“Holy hell. Fine. It’s always business with you. That’s why the tabloids are always writing you as an uptight asshole.”

This shifts Seokjin’s attention to the phone. His name is seldomly mentioned except for the features in business columns. He prefers to stay out of the limelight.

“What?”

“Put your name on Google.”

Seokjin does as he is told.

There are millions of results, but the first few pages share the same headline. He clicks on the first one with a grimace.

“Kim Seokjin. Mr. Worldwide Handsome as noted by his fans, has recently sparked Internet outrage.”

A quick skim of the otherwise trashy article brought to the surface a summary: his last dating scandal had ended badly and the repercussions of blowing off a famous celebrity’s daughter had finally caught up with him. The Internet was calling him arrogant, narrow-minded, and even greedy. “The young Chief Executive Officer of booming social media app DailyHive has been accused of using his relationship with actress XYZ to further his own business. Once he gained recognition from aforementioned relationship, he has cold-heartedly cast her away to pursue his next.” “You’re calling me for this bullshit?” Seokjin scoffs. Junho tuts his tongue loudly. “This is not bullshit. It’s affecting the image of your company. Do you think people want to download and support an app that is run by somebody who is being called cruel and dishonest? You’ve got to address this soon before it gets out of control. You’re lucky I have alerts set for these type of things. I caught it for you just in the nick of time.” Seokjin inhales deeply. “You’re also lucky that I’ve got the perfect solution in mind.” “That is?” “The Silver Gala,” Junho references the prestigious event. The Silver Gala is hosted annually and attended by the largest celebrities as well as other wealthy investors and guests. Those in the social circle shared between Seokjin and Junho often yearned for tickets to attend events such as this, as they serve as excellent networking opportunities. Besides the above, such events are circled by reporters and writers of gossip columns to get the exclusive scoop on any eyebrow-raising rumours. “The solution lies in such an event,” Junho continues, “You know how many people will be there. All you’ve got to do is show up with your average girl-next-door type and it’ll show how you’re actually really humble and down to earth. Kim Seokjin is perfectly capable of dating like any regular human being. He doesn’t use “love” or whatever to further his business. Love is the connection between two souls; two individuals who – ” “Beep. Your time has run out Junho. I’ve got another meeting scheduled right this moment,” Seokjin interrupts. “Dude, seriously. Think about it. You could bring Yerin. Everbody loves a good CEO and his secretary affair. And if that’s too juicy for you, I can introduce you to some girls. Or maybe we could go back to our university days and hit a bar, y’know?” Junho tries his best to persuade. “Fuck!” you swear beneath your breath right as you walk into Kim Seokjin’s office. His door had been open and, in your excitement to show your completed report, you had dropped all the loose papers on the ground. Four hours of organization gone, just like that. You hope that at least Seokjin hasn’t heard or noticed you as he had been engrossed in his phone call. Seokjin had in fact noticed you. He can’t help himself but follow the curvature of your bare shoulder as your bangs escape the hold of your scrunchie and sweep across your skin. “Don’t worry, Junho, I’ve just thought about it,” he says with a smile.

285 notes · View notes

honeyedhoseok · 3 years

Text

Blue | 01

genre | jeon jungkook x reader; lifeguard!JK but this isn't really a lifeguard fic; soulmate!au if you squint; smut; angst

word count | 9.9K

summary | that summer with jungkook was blue--a shade that carries with it a tinge of melancholia that you should have accepted from the beginning.

or,

to say that you fell in love with a color was an overstatement, but to say that you fell in love with him was an understatement.

a/n | i've been writing this to avoid my responsibilities. hope you enjoy! <3

series masterlist

It rained the first day Jungkook worked at the pool.

You’d heard the news of a few new lifeguards starting that day, but you’d been too busy serving ice cream at the snack bar to really get anything other than a quick glance at the lifeguard stand before you were locking eyes with the next greedy customer in line.

It was the beginning of summer, with the air sitting hot, dry and heavy on the normal patrons of the pool: older moms who sunbathed and gossiped with their friends while their kids splashed in the shallow end and gave the lifeguards something to do. Teenagers too cool to actually get in the pool littered the sides, only dipping their feet in while using expensive Ray Ban frames like a headband to hold their hair out of their eyes while they talked with their friends.

The forecast had mentioned some scattered storms, but normally that just meant getting everyone to come inside for a few minutes until it passed. The storm that day, however, had plans of sticking around a little bit longer.

You were passing a cup of strawberry shortcake soft serve out the window when the first clap of thunder sounded, followed by a lightning storm that sent the lifeguards in a tizzy. Multiple whistles blew at the sudden appearance of a storm, and the atmosphere was a rush of splashing and commotion as people made their way out of the water and to their belongings scattered in chairs on the sides.

“Well, that came out of nowhere,” your coworker, Jihyo says, sidling up beside you to look at the clouds looming over what was supposed to be a normal day at the pool. “Wonder if we’ll get to go home early?”

“I hope not,” you reply. “I need these hours, damn it. The Blooming Festival is in a few weeks, and I plan on taking off at least three days to soak it all in.”

Jihyo rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you’ve only mentioned it, maybe, every day I’ve worked with you so far?”

Serving ice cream at the pool was just a summer job. You were working there to make some money so you could do things with your friends, put gas in your car, and occasionally splurge on a new outfit or pair of shoes. It was supposed to be as normal as every other summer you’d worked there in between college semesters—until he showed up.

In fifteen minutes, the pool was shut down completely; all of the patrons were packed up and back in their cars after an announcement from your manager that the storm was forecasted to not let up for at least another hour and a half.

“Oh, we’re definitely going home,” Jihyo says, shutting the serving window and twisting the lock. “When’s the last time Seokjin shut down the pool indefinitely?”

You purse your lips, leaning back against the counter behind you and looking out at the pouring rain behind Jihyo. The wind was starting to pick up now, leaves and debris filling the once-clean surface of the cerulean water of the pool.

You start to make a bitter remark but the sound of heavy, slapping footsteps cuts you off, followed by a loud pounding at the back door. Jihyo looks toward the source of the noise with furrowed eyebrows, tilting her chin up stubbornly.

“More twelve-year-olds coming to demand that we restock Moose Tracks?”

“Hey, Moose Tracks is a classic!” you call at her back as she goes to unlock the door. “It’s not their fault you keep picking unpopular flavors to order each week—like Mint Chocolate Chip!”

The back door opens, and the shop is suddenly flooded with voices following Jihyo back into the small space.

“MCC is the goddamn classic, Y/N,” Jihyo says, stomping back into the conversation like she never left off. “Don’t ever bash it again, or I’ll stop ordering Sea Salt Caramel for your uncultured ass!”

You want to laugh, but you’re too distracted by the hoard of boys—lifeguards—trailing behind her. Yoongi and the two new guys crowd your space suddenly, and you find yourself backing up into one of the corners and trying not to look as embarrassed as you felt for just arguing with Jihyo over ice cream flavors, of all things.

The boys are soaking wet, puddles collecting at their feet on the tiled inside of the kitchen, but they seem unphased by it as they huddle in. Thankfully, one of them comes to your rescue.

“I’m with her,” he says, giving you a nod. His smile fills up his whole face as he talks, making his eyes turn into little crescent half-moons. “Sea Salt Caramel is where it’s at.”

The other lifeguard doesn’t say anything, gaze focused over your heads outside where the wind is knocking sunbathing chairs over. You realize then how tall he is—possibly half a foot or more than you—and the thought that if you were close enough, your nose wouldn’t even brush the dip of his clavicle, has your cheeks burning.

He and the half-moon lifeguard have similar builds: long, lean body statures, almond-shaped eyes, the same dark hair that falls in wet strands in their eyes. You wonder if they’re related. Maybe the taller one is the older brother, you think.

“The great ice cream debate,” Yoongi murmurs suddenly, sounding bored. “How about we have some and solve this problem once and for all?”

As he reaches for one of the serving spoons, Jihyo’s arm flies out, smacking it out of his hands. It falls with a clatter onto the counter, and he looks at her with an animated expression of surprise and disgust.

“Uh-uh,” she says, wagging a finger at him. “It’s like Seokjin’s only rule for us.”

“Seokjin can kiss my—“

As if on cue, the back door swings open and Yoongi shuts his mouth as Seokjin comes in, looking incredibly dry due to the floor-length plastic covering hanging from his umbrella.

Leave it to Seokjin to own something as extra as that, you think.

“Get comfy,” he says as he steps out of the plastic, shaking water off the top that splashes onto your scuffed, white Keds.

You gaze down, realizing only then that none of the lifeguards are wearing shoes. Yoongi’s pinky toe is edging dangerously close to a melted puddle of chocolate ice cream you forgot to clean up, but you don’t have the guts to tell him in front of your manager, so you shoo the thought away and focus on the grim look on Seokjin’s face. He’s chewing gum and looks slightly annoyed at the thought of all five of you huddled inside instead of doing work.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he says, “but I need you guys to stay here until the storm calms down. It should pass in an hour or two.”

Jihyo frowns. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll send you home.”

She grins triumphantly.

“And I’ll need you to come in early tomorrow to clean up that mess out there,” Seokjin adds, giving her a sickly-sweet smile. He blows a bubble with his pink chewing gum for emphasis, the pop resonating in the small space.

Yoongi frowns and Jihyo’s mouth drops open. The new lifeguards seem as surprised as the other two, and they eye Seokjin curiously, probably trying to figure out what kind of manager he is. Even after all this time working for him, you don’t really know the answer to that question, either.

“Any more questions?” he asks, tone leaning somewhat on annoyance. But then again, that’s how Seokjin always sounded.

Jihyo shakes her head and Yoongi gives him a deepened frown in answer.

“Good. You,” he says, looking pointedly at Yoongi and mimicking his annoyed expression. “See to it that Hoseok and Jungkook get acquainted with the rules.” He steps inside his clear cocoon of an umbrella, reaching down to zip it up above his head. “And I’ll let you know when it’s safe to go outside and clean up.”

Jungkook, you think. You know immediately that it’s his name because it just fits him. You feel yourself rolling the unspoken syllables around the inside of your mouth, wondering when you’ll get the first chance to say them aloud.

Yoongi salutes half-assedly, and Jihyo elbows him in the side after Seokjin turns around and makes his exit. After the back door is shut, the five of you visibly deflate, and Yoongi sucks his teeth.

“That guy,” he mutters. “One of these days—”

“I wish you’d learn your lesson and stop messing with him,” Jihyo says, interrupting whatever nasty comment was about to spill from his mouth. “It’s probably because of you that Seokjin wants us to stay, instead of going home in this god-awful weather.”

“Why doesn’t he like Yoongi?” Hoseok asks, eyes flickering to the chestnut-haired, simmering boy to his left.

“His most recent offense?” Jihyo ponders, crossing her arms over her chest as she thinks. “Not showing up for his shift—threedays in a row.”

“I was sick,” Yoongi says dryly, narrowing his eyes at her. “What did you want me to do? Not stay in bed and get better?”

“Oh, your bed must suddenly have relocated to the pool hall at five in the afternoon, huh?” she says, tilting her head to the side in mocking. “Snapchat locations don’t lie, Yoongi. If you’re going to play hooky, do it better.”

Hoseok chuckles. “Damn, man.”

Yoongi, never one to back down from an argument, flicks his brown fringe out of his eyes. “Why don’t you teach me then, Little Miss Stomachache?”

“I had cramps!” Jihyo says indignantly.

“You’ll learn that being around these two is like being around an old married couple,” you murmur to Jungkook and Hoseok as Yoongi and Jihyo’s voices rise louder and louder in contest. “They get along like cats and dogs.”

Jungkook grins at your comment, and you think your heart stops a little in your chest before starting an accelerated rhythm that has you feeling light. His lips pull back prettily over his teeth, his cheeks balling a little from the force of it.

“I’m thinking cats and dogs might actually be more civil than this, to be honest,” Hoseok says, gesturing to an annoyed Yoongi threatening to rub his clammy, wet feet on Jihyo’s bare, shorts-clad legs.

In the time that you had worked there, there were very few civil moments between Jihyo and Yoongi. You think that maybe they were civil when Yoongi first started, and you remember faintly a comment made by Jihyo that Yoongi was “cute” and maybe that they exchanged numbers at some point—but then rumors went around that Yoongi said Jihyo was too loud and controlling, and Jihyo said he was a selfish bastard, and you think they’ve been sworn enemies ever since.

“You’re probably right,” you say finally, giggling at Hoseok’s comment. You stop abruptly when you see Jungkook’s eyes fall to your mouth at the sight of it splitting open with a grin. They linger there for a moment before he speaks for the first time since entering you and Jihyo’s space.

“What did you say your name was, again?” he asks.

His voice is soft and low, almost a lilted hum, and it catches you off guard in comparison to his very boyish, young features. You expected it to be higher, to sound almost preteen-like, but it’s nothing of the sort—it immediately has you questioning how old he is in comparison to Hoseok.

“Y/N,” you say. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, I guess.”

Jungkook smiles again, and this time it feels like one especially conjured up for you.

“Y/N,” he repeats, the sound of his tongue rolling over the syllables sends a little zap to your insides. “You um, have a little something there, on your shirt.”

He takes one hand out of his blue swim trunks and points to your breastbone, where a dark splotch of chocolate ice cream sits over your sternum.

“Aw, fuck!” you murmur, facing burning as you spin around on your heel, grabbing the nearest hand towel and dabbing at your shirt. “These kids—”

“It wouldn’t stain like that if it was Mint Chocolate Chip,” Jihyo sneers suddenly, cutting whatever Yoongi was about to say to her off. She grins triumphantly at the stain, returning to your argument from earlier. “Would it?”

You flip her the bird, still dabbing at the fabric—but you can’t help but revel a little in the cute smile Jungkook gives you as he watches you fuss over yourself, digging around the kitchen space for anything to save you from the ice cream on your shirt.

After that fated day, your mind lingered on Jungkook incessantly. At the pool, you glanced at him more often than not from the serving window of the ice cream stand, committing him to memory. You found yourself reminiscing over the upended triangular shape of his upper body, the lithe muscle covering his shoulder blades, the image of a whistle poised between his rosy lips, his teeth pressed tightly against the metal, his body wet and glistening as he rose out of the pool—

“You’re literally drooling, Y/N,” Jihyo says, breaking you out of your reverie by snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Why don’t you just, I don’t know, go talk to him?”

“I will,” you say indignantly. “I told you—I’m waiting.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, nodding. “Still waiting.”

“Jesus,” Jihyo sighs. “I didn’t want to do this, but you know he’s only here for the summer, right?”

You freeze in the middle of cleaning the counter. “He’s what?”

“You heard me—you have less than three months, Y/N,” Jihyo says firmly. “I know rushing isn’t your style but, uh, you might not have a choice this time.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me!”

You hate how your voice sounds pitiful and whiny, but your heart is literally sinking at this news—three months? Less than three months? Where was he going? What would you do with your time when he wasn’t there to look out the window at? It dawns on you suddenly that you won’t be there in three months, either. School started back at the end of August—your sophomore year.

“Why didn’t you let me know you were interested in him?” Jihyo crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ve been watching you fawn over him for all this time, just waiting and hoping you’d confide in me, but no.”

“What was I supposed to say?” you retort glumly. “That I like the lifeguard that seems the least interested in my existence? Yeah, no, I’ll save myself from that sadness train going nowhere, thank you very much.”

“Maybe I can help you,” Jihyo says with confidence, turning to the window. “Hey, Jungkook!”

You freeze. “What? What are you doing?”

Jungkook looks your way, raising an eyebrow above his black Ray Bans. Jihyo leans out of the serving window, beckoning him over with a wave of her hand.

She turns to you. “Look how easy this is going to be.”

You swallow to combat the sudden tightness in your throat, watching with bated breath as Jungkook climbs down the lifeguard ladder and walks to you two, his feet slapping a little on the wet cement surrounding the pool.

“What’s up?” he says, pushing his sunglasses back on his head and unknowingly releasing the full intensity of his doe-like eyes.

You inhale a small gasp that Jihyo obviously hears, because she lightly presses her Ked-clad foot on top of yours below the counter.

“Me, you, Y/N, Hoseok,” Jihyo says with a confidence you could never muster. “Dinner and a movie on the boardwalk this weekend?”

Jungkook’s eyes pass from hers to yours for a split second, and your pulse picks up speed in your veins. If he seems surprised from the random invitation, however, he doesn’t let it show on the easy-going expression that he wears.

“Sure,” he says. “Can you remind me when it gets a little closer? I’ll have to make sure my parents don’t have anything planned.”

Jihyo flips her hair over her shoulder, casually producing her phone from what feels like thin air. You blink down at her hand, realizing this was her plan all along.

“Put your number in,” she says. “I’ll make us a group chat. We should probably have one anyways, since we work together. You know?”

Jungkook nods and puts his number in before handing it back to her. A commotion happens in the water behind him, and he glances over his shoulder with concern. “I should probably head back,” he says. He gives you both a small smile before he flips his sunglasses down over his eyes again, hitting a slight jog back to the lifeguard stand.

When he’s out of earshot, Jihyo texts rapidly on her phone. When she’s done yours vibrates three times in your pocket: the start of the group chat, you’re sure.

“And that, my friend,” she says, giving you a grin that could rival the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas, “is how you get the ball rolling!”

Unfortunately, Jihyo’s plans—which she has annoyingly coined as Operation: Get Y/N Laid—don’t stop there.

On Thursday, just two days before the plans, she convinces Hoseok to come with her to something before the meet up that’s going to coincidentally make them late so that you and Jungkook have time to be alone.

When she tells you this, it’s as she’s making a double scoop chocolate cone, but you can’t help the overwhelming urge that comes over you to put your hands around her neck.

“Ack! Y/N! Let go!” she says between breaths with wide eyes. “I’m going to drop the ice—”

“You’re so dumb!” you yell, squeezing a little harder. “That’s such an obvious ploy to get us alone, he’s going to realize it!”

Jihyo finally squirms out of your grip by turning her head and licking your arm. The warmth of her tongue makes you recoil, and she gasps with relief as air floods back into her lungs, looking at the now-lopsided cone in her left hand.

“Now how am I supposed to give this to that little brat outside?” she says, frowning. “His mom will come and eat me alive if I hand this slop out of the window.”

“You probably deserve it,” you say sourly. You lean your hip into one of the counters, crossing your arms over your chest. “Take your plans back, Jihyo.”

“I can’t,” she says calmly. “Hoseok is already in on it.”

“He’s what?!”

“He’s in on Operation: Get Y/N Laid,” she says again, with that same ridiculous manner of calm, like you didn’t just make her life flash before her eyes thirty seconds ago. “Stop freaking out—he wants to give you some time alone just like I do. So, he’s not going to say anything to Jungkook. The plan will go on like normal, you will just have to do a little acting when we don’t show up on time. Got it?”

In all honesty, it’s not the worse plan she has ever come up with. But you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing so, so you keep your current frown plastered on your mouth for a little longer to let her know your displeasure with the sudden turn of events.

“Oh, don’t you go all pouty on me,” Jihyo says, wagging a finger at you as she trashes the cone you messed up and grabs another. She scoops more ice cream out of the container below her, giving you a look that reminds you of a mother watching her children open Christmas presents after telling them they weren’t getting anything for months. “You’ll thank me later—right after you tell me if Jungkook has anything worthy of talking about.”

“I’m sure he does,” you respond indignantly, falling right into her trap. “He’s intelligent.”

Jihyo hums a nod before brandishing the new cone, two scoops of chocolate perfectly centered and balanced on top of each other. “Before long this will be you two—are you a top or a bottom, though? I forgot.”

You groan in anguish as Jihyo lets out a cackle, opening the window to your stand and handing it out the impatient little boy that waits outside. You’re grateful for the breeze, although its simmering warmth does nothing for the same feeling that has settled high on your cheeks, dusting pigment there reminiscent of a similar shade of red Jungkook sometimes sports on his swim trunks.

The day of the boardwalk date, you find yourself sprawled out on the floor in front of your closet in your underwear and bra, contemplating why you ever purchased every single item of clothing in your closet.

These kinds of freak outs are normally reserved for the pressing dates in life—first day of college, nights out with the girls, birthdays—but today, you find yourself freaking out over the instance of having to wear the perfect outfit in order to feel comfortable around Jungkook.

Comfortable, and most importantly, pretty.

You shuffle through your two final picks, laying them across your bed in order to get the full effect of what they might look like on. They were both incredibly simple—your college wardrobe either consisted of exercise shorts and t-shirts and hoodies or going out clothes that were much too revealing for a fun night on the boardwalk. But you fret over them some more, so much that you almost have a nervous breakdown and text Jihyo to call the whole thing off.

But the slight hum of your phone vibrating your bed stops you before you can do so. It’s from Jungkook, and you heart beats a little off kilter at the sight of his name popping up on your phone screen.

Jungkook 5:15PM : We still meeting at 6?

It’s directed to your group chat with him, Jihyo and Hoseok. You take a deep breath. Jihyo had told you that she wasn’t going to respond to any messages until the last minute, to really sell her “emergency” that she had to bring Hoseok along on. You were driving separately, as was Jungkook, but the two of them had decided to conveniently carpool a day prior.

Y/N 5:18PM : I’ll be there! Park at Pier 14, it’s the closest one to the boardwalk

Jungkook 5:20PM : Yes ma’am 😊

You smile down at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip softly as you read the message over a few times before clicking the screen lock button. You prop your hands on your hips, deciding that it’s now or never. The nights got chilly in the summer when the sun wasn’t beating down as heavy, and you hated being cold. So, you choose the outfit on the right—a simple, oversized pullover and bike shorts, paired with some scuffed white sneakers, and rush into the bathroom to get ready so you’re not late.

You get to the pier at exactly 6:01 and search around for a parking space.

A part of you feels like this is a bad plan. Especially when you look down at your phone after cutting the engine and realize that Jihyo has texted you something that makes your stomach drop.

Jihyo 5:59PM : Haha…bad news

Jihyo 5:59PM : DON’T KILL ME

Y/N 6:02PM : Please, no!!! What is it!!

Jihyo 6:03PM : The check engine light on my car came on as I was leaving Hoseok’s. Don’t panic. We are waiting for AAA to come get us and take us back to his house so he can drive. I repeat: DON’T. PANIC.

“Okay, okay” you say to yourself, taking a few calming, deep breaths in. “At least she has a plan? This can still work out. I’m not panicking. Yet.”

Y/N 6:03PM : When are they estimated to be there?

Her messaging dots appear and disappear for a few minutes and your anxiety skyrockets.

Y/N 6:06PM : JIHYO

Jihyo 6:07PM : between 6:45-7PM…

Y/N 6:08PM : THE MOVIE STARTS AT 7:05 YOU ABSOLUTE

There’s a knock at your window that has you almost jumping out of your skin. When you look up, you’re met by the wide grin and big, childlike eyes of Jungkook. He peers at you through the tinted glass, looking a little sheepish at having scared you on accident.

All your anxiety about Jihyo having an actual emergency disappears as you unclick your seat belt and scramble out of the car to join him.

“I really didn’t mean to do that,” he says, stepping back and giving you space to swing your door open. “Is everything all right?”

“What?” you say. “Oh, yeah. Everything is fine. Well—sort of.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you. “Did something happen?”

“Jihyo is having car trouble, so her and Hoseok are going to be late.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, shifting your weight from leg to leg. The outing was supposed to be all of you as a group—and originally, them being a little late wouldn’t have been such a problem. But you were thinking thirty minutes max, not an hour and a half!

You’re relieved when Jungkook shrugs. “Oh, okay,” he says. “Well, I’m still cool with walking around until the movie starts if you are ?”

You nod with enthusiasm. “Right—we’re already here, might as well go do some stuff?”

Jungkook smiles again, and you finally take a good look at him. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt under a black zip-up hoodie and a pair of chinos—a simpler outfit that looks way too good on his tall, lean frame. You hadn’t seen him in much other than his swim trunks because the only time you two really saw each other outside of this singular moment, was at work.

Of course, you weren’t complaining about that aspect. You could probably pencil out in detail the muscles of Jungkook’s upper chest and stomach, the way water rolled off them when he got out of the pool, the way they flexed when he pulled his whistle to his mouth. That is, if your drawing skills weren’t absolute shit—so bad at that a kindergartener could probably put you to shame with snapped Crayola’s and disproportionate stick figures.

The sun has already sunk below the horizon, taking with it all the heat and warmth of the day and leaving you with a slight breeze that could give you goosebumps if you let it, and a sky the deepened color of cornflowers.

It’s twilight, you realize, as you trail beside Jungkook from the parking lot cement onto the wooden planks of the boardwalk. A backlit, blue-hued time of day that you absolutely adored during the summertime because you still had just enough light accomplish the activities you wanted to.

Not that you needed to worry about light at a time like this—the bright boardwalk stadium lights are almost blinding, and because it’s the weekend, the two of you find yourself periodically weaving in and out of the crowd that seems to get busier and pushier the further you walk.

Jungkook takes the lead, his taller frame holding more of a reason for people to move out of the way than yours. You watch the back of his head the whole time, noticing the way his raven hair reflects the light—shiny and clean and looking incredibly soft.

“How about a snow cone?” he calls over his shoulder. “It looks like there might be somewhere for us to sit up there.”

He points ahead and you call out an agreement to him, hoping to be heard over the ruckus.

You realize that the crowd isn’t going to let up anytime soon—people have no qualms about walking in between you two, and you find yourself speeding up in order to not be further separated from him.

At some point Jungkook glances behind him again and realizes your struggle. He slows his pace, and you happen to look down and realize he is holding out the long sleeve of his hoodie for you to hold on to.

“Don’t get lost,” he says with a grin. “This snow cone will be worth it, I promise!”

You return his smile, holding onto his arm with a light touch as he continues to lead through the crowd. You curse Jihyo silently in your head—despite her fake emergency turning into a real emergency, she was right about one thing: time alone with Jungkook was something you couldn’t pass up.

When you finally make it to the snow cone cart, you let go of Jungkook’s arm quickly. He looks at you with suspicion as you snatch away, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a shit-eating grin, like he knew exactly what he was doing to your racing pulse by offering you his touch.

“What flavor do you want?” he asks, looking at the menu stand on the right. “My treat.”

You both immediately point to Tiger’s Blood, and Jungkook seems pleased with you.

“Good choice,” he says. “If you picked Pina Colada, I was going to lose it.”

You giggle. “You don’t like coconut?”

“No,” he says, frowning. “I snuck some of my mom’s Malibu one time without realizing and I almost barfed.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. You realize that you still don’t how old Jungkook is, and while he orders your snow cones, you look at him with scrutiny. There was something young about his eyes and face, the roundness of the tip of his nose and cheeks making you believe he was younger than you. But his body—good grief, his body—and the sharpness of his jawline and said otherwise.

When you’re both seated at a picnic table, you decide to ask him.

“Why?” he says. “How old do you think?”

You take a timid bite of your snow cone, relishing in the satisfying crunch of ice between your teeth. “Hmm, I know you’re college-age. Just wondering how old.”

“That story I told about sneaking alcohol was from a few years ago,” he says, laughing. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Oh.”

“You’re only nineteen, right?” he says, but it doesn’t seem like he cares much that you’re younger.

You nod. “But my birthday is in September.”

“So is mine,” he replies with a grin. “We’ll have to try to celebrate together, somehow.”

You try not to let on how happy his suggestion makes you—that months from now, you two will be friends that throw parties together, or possibly more—and you settle into your seat, munching happily on the cold treat that is slowly turning from ice to mush in the paper cone in your hands.

“So why the pool?” you say a few moments later. “Did you work at another one before ours?”

Jungkook blinks. “I have my CPR certification from another part time job I had at a gym,” he said. “I don’t know why they made us get it, honestly.”

You laugh. “Maybe in case one of the meatheads lifted too much at once?”

“Maybe,” he says, grinning. “But the gym couldn’t work around my school schedule anymore. So, when I came home I saw the pool was looking for a new part-time lifeguard and I applied.”

“You only come home during the summer?”

Jungkook nods, but a look of annoyance flashes across his face before he answers. “There’s not much for me here, honestly. I like school and being on my own, away from my parents.”

“I get that.”

It was something you could both agree on. You didn’t realize freedom could taste so sweet until you moved into your dorm on campus. You could stay up when you wanted, sleep when you wanted, go out when you wanted. As long as you kept your grades up and didn’t lose your scholarship for your parent’s sake, you were literally allowed to do whatever your heart desired.

“It’s too far away to fly back and forth, anyways,” Jungkook adds, suddenly. He tilts his paper cone back, dumping all of the remaining liquid into his mouth before crumpling it in his left fist.

“How far?”

“California.”

“Oh. Why there?”

Somehow, you were taken aback to hear that he’d chosen a school so far from his home. You wonder suddenly if the sullen look he’d given your earlier had more to it than you realized.

Jungkook ignores your question—like you expected—and stands up. You scramble to finish the remains of your cone and he holds his hand out for your trash. You give it to him, feeling the slight brush of your fingers against his palm that reminds you of earlier when he’d offered his arm. He doesn’t this time, but you find yourself wishing he would again. Or that you two were close enough for you to reach out and grab it without his permission.

“That’s a story for later,” he says, giving you a look meant to soften the blow of his hard statement. “I don’t want to talk about it right now—it’ll ruin the mood.”

You nod slightly, bringing your bottom lip back between your teeth to gnaw on. You hadn’t meant to upset him.

“Is there anything you want to do?” he asks, looking around. “We have about thirty minutes before we should head back to the car for the drive-in movie.”

The boardwalk was in full swing as the night progressed, the sky now a deep shade of indigo behind him. You stand with him, leaning onto your tip toes in an effort to recognize any signs further down the wooden path.

“The arcade, maybe?” you suggest.

Jungkook fake clutches at his chest, staggering with clumsy steps to one side. “A woman after my own heart,” he says theatrically. “I might faint.”

You laugh loudly and roll your eyes to cover up your own heartbeat thumping wildly in your ears. You use the rush to match his energy: “I’m only saying it because I want you to win me a plushie.”

Jungkook smiles, his eyes full of light and mischief at getting to show off his skills. “That, madam, is a deal. Let’s go.”

Jihyo still hasn’t texted you by the time you and Jungkook exit the arcade.

You want to send a scolding text to her, but in reality, you don’t really care if they show up anymore. Jungkook seems to have forgotten they were coming—he doesn’t look at his phone once while you two flit from game to game in the arcade.

You’d watched from the side as he entered a water pistol race with a few other patrons of the boardwalk. He sat down on a stool right in the middle of everyone, leaning over the gun and closing one eye for better accuracy. His tongue poked out between his lips, his form rigid and unyielding until the announcer blew a whistle to start the race. You held back a laugh at his seriousness, pressing a hand to your mouth in case he looked over at you.

He did, but only once the flashing lights above his booth went off, signaling him as the winner. He’d hopped off the stool and raced over to you, placing a hand above your elbow before pulling you over to claim your reward from the prize table.

You chose a blue and white dolphin that was just big enough to be slightly comical. Jungkook carried it over his shoulder as you two walked back toward his car, giddy from the excitement of playing carnival games and teasing each other all the while.

“Okay, but you wouldn’t have even beaten me at basketball if yours didn’t come to my side and knock my shots off course constantly!” Jungkook insists. “You’re a sneaky little thing.”

“Why can’t you just admit my two-pointer is better than yours?”

“Y/N,” Jungkook says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I’m almost six foot and you’re what—five-one? You simply can’t be a better shot that I am because of your genetics. I’m sorry.”

Your mouth drops open. “I’m literally five-three!”

“Minus two.”

“Oh, whatever!”

Jungkook laughs loudly, throwing his head back from the force of it. You pout alongside him, but you can’t help the telling smile that creeps onto your face. You like this side of Jungkook—it was so different from the stoic and quiet lifeguard you knew him as before.

“The drive-in is just a block that way, right?” he asks once you two come up on the parking lot. He shifts the dolphin higher on his shoulder, stopping in his tracks to turn and look at you. “I can drive us in my car, if you want.”

Your eyes widen a little at his suggestion. You didn’t even think about the fact that if Jihyo and Hoseok weren’t here, it would just be you and him watching the movie together.

“Oh—um, I mean,” you stumble over your answer. “If that’s okay with you?”

“I offered, didn’t I?” he says with another laugh. He gestures to the stuffed animal perched on his shoulder. “Plus, we’ve got a nice seat cushion, here.”

You smile and nod before following him to his car. It’s a little navy SUV—something you didn’t expect him drive at all. He seemed like a “car guy” for some reason, one that would have driven something old and sturdy and loud.

“This is—cute,” you say, for lack of better wording.

Jungkook sucks his teeth. “Man, why does everyone say that?” He groans. “This thing is great on gas, okay? And look at all this trunk space! I mean, if you lived all the way in California—"

“Hey, hey,” you say, holding your hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, that was terrible wording. Did I say cute? I meant cutely efficient. You didn’t let me finish.”

Jungkook laughs again, nodding. “That’s what I thought you meant, yeah.”

He throws your dolphin in the backseat and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in. Your cheeks are hot as you move past him to settle into the seat, giving him a timid smile as he shuts the door behind you. You watch him walk around the front of the vehicle, lit up by a neighboring car’s headlights for just a fraction of a second.

He’s handsome to you while doing the most mundane of things, and your heart hurts at the thought. You couldn’t have a crush on him. He was your coworker for one, and for two, he didn’t live there. He went to school across the country, and he was only home for three incredibly short months. There would be nothing to your relationship, so you couldn’t let yourself fall into the trap of having a crush on someone so, well—unavailable. You pinch yourself hard on the thigh as a seal of reminder: this could not, would not, happen.

The slam of the car door brings you back to reality. Jungkook presses the start button on his dashboard before clicking his seatbelt across his upper body.

“You good?” he says, looking over at you with a furrowed brow. When you nod, he backs the car out of the space, his hand on the back of your headrest for good measure.

You take a few uneven breaths in and out at the action, forcing yourself to remain looking out of the front windshield and to not turn your head towards him even a fraction. You know doing so would put your faces at an incredible proximity, and you what the hell did you just pinch yourself over if you weren’t going to stick with it!

“Any word from Jihyo and Hoseok?” he asks. “It would be cool if we could still get dinner with them afterwards, at least.”

You pull your phone out of your crossbody. The screen lights up to no new unread messages, so you sent Jihyo a quick text in your private chat.

Y/N 6:58PM : Update?

It sends but doesn’t get read immediately in normal Jihyo fashion.

“Hm, maybe the tow truck is there, and she can’t talk,” you say. “I hope everything’s all right.”

“Me too,” Jungkook says. “But this is fun—with just us two.” He pauses, glancing over at you. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, of course,” you say quickly, giving him a smile. “I’m having a great time.”

He seems sated by this information, but you’re not sure why. “I’m glad.”

Jungkook drives you to toward the movie parking lot—a grassy field with neat rows of cars guided by a parking attendant in a bright, orange vest—and Jungkook reverses in the directed spot in the middle row of cars. You can see the screen perfectly, but only out of the back window from the way he parked. That does little to deter your excitement, though.

“The screen is huge!” you say in awe, twisting in your seat.

You look on as it plays movie trailer previews for remaining months of the summer, and the thought flits across your mind just how many you might get to see with Jungkook before your time was up.

“You’ve never been to a drive-in?” Jungkook asks. “We gotta make this one extra special, then.”

You look over at him with an eyebrow quirked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jungkook begins, unlocking the car doors, “I’m pulling out the big guns.”

He hops out and heads to the trunk of the car. You scramble after him, shutting the passenger door behind you and joining him where he stands with the trunk popped open. You watch as he lowers the second row of seats flat after moving the dolphin plushie and a conveniently-packed duvet. You look at him with raised eyebrows as he unfolds the blanket across the flattened seats, making you two a perfect spot to lay in the back of the car while watching the movie.

Jungkook sees the suspicion on your face and chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “I just thought we might want to be comfortable if we’re going to be watching a movie for two hours, you know?”

You ignore him and climb in through the open trunk, settling down with the dolphin as a cushion for your back. “Where’s the popcorn?” you ask, laughing. “This is perfect.”

Jungkook holds up a finger. “One moment, m’lady.”

He takes off from the car and you sit up on your elbows, watching him jog up to a stand at the front of the drive-in parking lot that was selling snacks and drinks for the occasion. You pinch yourself again for good measure when he comes back a few moments later, reminding yourself of your pact. Just because you two were alone, in the back of Jungkook’s car, laying down, about to watch a movie together, alone, didn’t mean anything!

The scent of butter and salt fills your nostrils as Jungkook returns, handing you the popcorn and drinks as he climbs into the trunk and settles beside you. He sits cross-legged and digs into the pockets of his chinos to reveal candy in both hands.

“Sour straws or gummi bears?” he asks.

“Gummi bears, but I want a sour straw, too.”

Jungkook laughs. “Agreed.”

As you two dig in, the beginning of the movie flickers onto the big display screen. People pass by Jungkook’s car on their way to the food stands at the front, and you and Jungkook settle against the giant dolphin propped on the back of the front seats.

“I’ll have to figure out a way to repay you for all of this,” you say quietly in between sips of fizzy Coke. “You keep paying for everything before I can offer.”

“Would you rather us go Dutch?” he asks in the dark.

He’s incredibly close to you—his forearm brushes against yours when he moves because the dolphin only spans so far when you lay it down. It wasn’t the biggest prize, because you didn’t want to carry around a massive plushie, but it certainly wasn’t the smallest they had, either.

On screen, the heroine is introduced going about her daily life. She gets ready, brushes her teeth and hair, puts on her makeup for a normal day at school. When she pulls up to school, a sleek, black motorcycle is parked in her usual spot. A little ways from it, she notices the culprit—an extremely handsome guy holding a bike helmet within the crook of his arm as a swarm of cheerleaders surround him like he’s the coolest thing since sliced bread.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I mean, I hate the thought of depending on other people.”

Jungkook turns to look at you as you say this, and when you glance at him, there’s an emotion plastered on his usually friendly face that you can’t pinpoint.

“Consider it our first date,” he says finally, with a shrug. “Then you don’t owe me anything and you’re not depending on me, either.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. “Oh—um—well—”

Jungkook tilts his head down as he bites into a sour straw, pulling the candy away from his clenched teeth so it makes a small pop as it separates. He nudges you with his shoulder that is already leaning against your own.

“Did you see that?” he asks with a chuckle. “The stunt doubles are so noticeable in this movie—they have totally different builds than the main characters.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and manage a breathy laugh. A date. The word echoes within the chambers of your mind, repeating over and over like he just yelled it into a cave at the top of his lungs. It reverberates around your skull until you feel your skin buzzing from the meaning.

So much for your pact when he was saying things like that so casually. God, you couldn’t wait to get Jihyo alone to tell her everything.

The movie continues, and a glance down at your phone lets you know that it’s only thirty minutes in when Jihyo finally texts you back.

Jihyo 7:36PM : Hoseok and I aren’t going to make the movie. We’ll just explore the boardwalk until you two lovebirds are done and then we can get food!

You relay the information to Jungkook—leaving out the lovebirds bit. He nods in understanding.

“I figured they wouldn’t—but I’m glad we’ll get to see them,” he answers. “Hoseok texted me a while ago and said Jihyo’s engine light was on because she slams on her brakes too much. He thinks he has whiplash.”

You giggle. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“My little mom-car doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?”

“I told you I liked it! I would totally pick my kids up from soccer at 6PM on Thursday in this!”

Jungkook throws a half-popped kernel at your forehead. “Rude.”

“You said the mom thing first!”

“Because I’m allowed to pick on Cheryl—she’s mine.”

“Cheryl?!” You dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Please—don’t tell me—”

Jungkook takes the weight of his shoulder pressed against yours and pushes you over with it before you can finish your sentence. You lean away from him but bring the force back with your own shoulder, fighting him for more room on the dolphin-plushie-turned-back-rest.

You two battle for a second, pushing against each other like children until Jungkook lifts his arm up and around you, cocooning you in his warmth and bringing you to rest fully on the right side of his body. He’s leaning a little against the corner of the back of the SUV and you are nestled within his side body, feeling the heat of his chest pressed against your cheek. You breathe in and out before you realize that maybe, you should move.

You go to sit up, but Jungkook says, “Wait, stay. You’re warm.”

It’s not you that’s warm—your face, sure—but Jungkook’s body feels like your own personal heater. You try to relax, leaning against him once again in a better cuddling position with your head resting on Jungkook’s chest, right below his collarbones. You can hear his heartbeat this way—thudding what you think is a little faster than normal underneath the layers of his thin hoodie and T-shirt.

“Are you comfortable? Can you see?”

You’re not sure, but you think he sounds a little breathless—from the sudden change in your positions, or the tussle before, you can’t tell which is the culprit.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting a little so that you’re more on your side rather than just leaning over onto him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” he says, and again, it sounds like there’s a hint of smile in his voice.

You can’t focus on the movie after that. Jungkook is too close, his intoxicating scent swirling into your nostrils with every inhale, your head rising up and down with each breath he takes. This was what friends did, right? This was totally friendly. He just wanted you to be comfortable. You repeat this to yourself as Jungkook’s hand—that was once just dangling over your shoulder—begins to trace soft patterns into your side.

You close your eyes, focusing on slowing the thumping of your heart, timing your inhales to let him know that this is okay. This is totally fine. You aren’t freaking out. You’re just here, enjoying everything that Jungkook had to offer you.

It’s fine. He’s fine. You’re fine. Maybe he was just touchy—some boys were like that, after all. Some friendly relationships included tons of skinship. You just weren’t used to it, and you needed to quickly acquaint yourself with the fact that this was how it would be with him if you continued to hang out.

Before you know it, you’re so lost in your thoughts you don’t catch most of the end of the movie. In fact, you don’t even realize it’s over until the credits are rolling and people are moving around you again, the sounds of car doors and trunks slamming as people get ready to move onto their next activity.

It’s only 9PM, but it’s dark outside—the blues of the sky that had enticed you so much once before had faded to an indescribable navy, a blue so deep that it looked black. If you focused, you could see the minute twinkling of stars past the stadium lights on the outskirts that blink on after the movie is over so everyone could exit in a timely and visible fashion.

Jungkook yawns, patting your side. “I think I fell asleep for a moment—I was so comfortable here.”

He laughs in spite of himself, and you give him a breathless chuckle in return. “Sorry if I made your side sore.” You get off of him, scooting over to give him a little room to sit up straight.

“Sore?” he asks incredulously. “Y/N, you’re like a feather. I’m not that breakable.”

Boy, did you know. Thoughts of his muscular stomach flash in your mind, and you will them away. He watch him reach up to close the trunk as people begin to move outside of the car, cocooning you two back into a comfortable darkness from the tints on the back windows.

“Still.”

“Still, what?” he says. There’s a small silence that ensues. “You’re so nervous around me. Is it me?”

“What?” you say, furrowing your brow. Your skin pricks with the same nervousness that you are about refute. “I mean—”

“I know I’m pretty standoffish at the pool, but I don’t mean to be that way,” he admits. “I just felt like I was in this new place with all of these established relationships and rules. You have Jihyo, and well, Hoseok and I are close, but we’re not best friends.” He pauses. “I was really surprised when Jihyo invited me out with you all.”

“Surprised,” you repeat quietly.

His words absolutely contradict the Jungkook you thought you knew. But maybe that’s how it would always be—you realizing he had his own motives and reasons for being the way he was, and you not understanding a bit of it until he decided to divulge you in them.

“Yeah, surprised,” he nods. “I feel out of place, here. If I’m being honest.”

“But you live here.”

“I don’t have any friends though, because I’m gone for nine months out of the year,” he says, shrugging. “I didn’t have any in high school, either. It was just—I don’t know. I didn’t like it here, so I didn’t see a reason to have any ties.”

You can’t really wrap your head around it, but you realize Jungkook is being vulnerable to you in this moment. You don’t want to make him regret it, so you reach out to him—the closest thing to you is his hand, resting on the duvet between you two—and you run your fingers over the soft skin in a timid, unsure fashion.

“Jihyo and I will never say no to new additions to our friend circle,” you say with a smile. “It gives us reasons not to kill each other if someone else is watching.”

Jungkook chuckles a little, holding your gaze. The trunk of the car is still closed, and most of the crowd has dispersed to other parts of the beach where the boardwalk is still alive and filled with weekend nightlife.

“That’s good to know,” Jungkook says softly, looking down at your hands on the blanket. He slides his underneath yours and links his fingers through the spaces in between.

“Y/N—” he says, leaning closer to you, “—thanks. Really.”

You lean closer as well, feeling the magnetism of your two bodies being pulled together in the dark. Your breath comes out in unmeasured puffs, threatening to give away how nervous you are. You’re glad Jungkook can’t really see you anymore, and you’re certainly glad he can’t hear the unsteady beat of your heart as your faces inch closer and closer. As the quiet of the night cocoons you two like a soft blanket, there is no noise other than your heartbeat in your ears as Jungkook’s mouth hovers over your own.

You feel his unsteady sigh outwards as he says, “Are you sure you’re not—”

You use your remaining courage to stop him before he can finish his sentence, closing the distance between your mouths into a soft, sweet kiss. It stays that way for a moment—closed-mouth and innocent—before Jungkook brings his hand to the back of your head and deepens it, pressing his mouth hard against your own in a way that is a command all in its own.

Your lips part involuntarily and Jungkook’s tongue presses softly against the ridge of your mouth, tracing the outline until he is exploring the inside with ease and expertise. As your tongues lace together, you find yourself placing heavy hands on his chest, slightly wrinkling the collar of his shirt with your nails before you slide your hands up and over his shoulders and hook them together behind his neck.

Your head tilts to the right and you push back against him, following the energy and putting it into the most passionate kissing session you’ve had—well, ever. Jungkook places his hands on your hips and pulls you over him so that you are straddling his waist, his experience showing as he places you right on top of his hardening member. You have no choice but to feel it between your thighs and the thin material of your bike shorts—a decision you certainly didn’t realize would come in handy when you’d picked them out a few hours ago in your bedroom closet.

You two kiss and kiss and kiss, getting lost within each other for what feels like hours. You can’t allow yourself to disassociate and think about anything other than what was happening in the moment—although there was a part of your brain that couldn’t believe it was happening, surely.

You were kissing Jungkook. Jungkook was kissing you—no, it was more than that. He was touching you: his hands making a lazy trail up your back, in between your shoulder blades and over the hump of your shoulders until they entangled in your hair and kept your mouth criminal to his. He was breathing you in: making a trail away from your mouth, down your jaw and neck, where he settled on sucking small, reddened splotches into the thin skin just around the collar of your pullover. You want more of him, but more would have to wait.

Jungkook pauses underneath you, much more intact with the real world than you are because he shushes you politely so that you can hear it: the tell-tale sound of your phone humming the vibrations of an incoming call.

“It’s Jihyo,” he says in the darkness, allowing the brightness of your screen to illuminate your faces, inches apart. He hands it to you, and you clear your throat in an attempt to sound less breathless than you actually are as you greet your friend.

“Where are you?” she asks—but it sounds more like a demand. “I know the movie is over by now. You haven’t answered my texts. Are you okay?”

“What?” you say but shake your head. “I’m fine, sorry. Jungkook and I were trying to find our way out of the theatre parking lot. It’s really crowded over here so we had to wait for our turn.”

In the light of your phone pressed against your cheek, you can just barely make out Jungkook’s knowing smirk in the dark.

“Hoseok and I are waiting at Pier 14. Did you two still want to get dinner?”

Jungkook nods in answer, leaning forward a little to press his lips softly against the center of your throat while you talk. You take a calming breath in and out as he mouths at the skin there, swiping his tongue over the space lightly before continuing to kiss away any of your troubles. You close your eyes again, feeling like you’re disappearing under his soft touch before you realize Jihyo is still waiting on your answer.

“Dinner sounds good,” you manage. “Text me an address—you and Hoseok can choose. I don’t care.”

You hang up before she can protest. Your mouth hovers over Jungkook’s, lips pressed together in a solid line.

“That wasn’t very nice,” you admonish him, placing your hands on his firm shoulders. “I was trying to talk.”

“I know,” he says in a soft tone, breathing out a laugh. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You better.”

He gives you one last lingering kiss—one that steals the breath from your lungs and makes you feel lightheaded before he lets you go. You feel warm all over as you two crawl toward the front of his car, returning to your seats while stealing knowing glances at each other.

You don’t want to dwell on the thoughts too much, but a lot had changed in the last hour that you couldn’t even wrap your head around, much less understand and come to accept. Your lips tingle as your mind flies through the events again, attempting to see you and Jungkook from a third-person perspective in your mind, but really just focusing on the way it felt when he was kissing you, touching you, breathing you in.

You knew one thing for certain, though: your pact with yourself was up. You weren’t just diving into the shallow anymore. You were in the deep end.

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fic #bts scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts butter #bts jungkook #honeyedhoseok #blue

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lokifantasies · 3 years

Text

Arrested (Loki/Jade/Reader)

Jade is in a lot of trouble, and Loki uncovers some dark feelings harbored by the fifteen-year-old.

Read the Mischievous Life series here!

"I'm sor -," Jade tries to apologize, but she's cut off by her furious father.

"Shut up, Jade," Loki snaps and looks over to the terrified fifteen-year-old. "Just don't."

Jade starts to cry, and Loki immediately realizes that he may have been a bit too harsh with his words, but at the same time, this is not the time for him to apologize to her. It's three o'clock in the morning, and Loki is driving back home with the teenager while you wait at home – pacing in the living room. An hour earlier, the two of you got a phone call that no parent ever wants to get.

Jade had been arrested.

Finally, the two of them pull up into the driveway, and Jade runs out of the car and slams the door behind her – trying to get as far away as possible from the angered god. When she gets inside the house, however, you're sitting on the couch waiting.

"Take a seat, Jade," you say sternly – making it clear that the two of you aren't playing. Loki calmly and quietly closes and locks the door and goes to sit next to you – taking your hand in his. You nod towards the recliner next to the sofa, and the teenager nervously sits.

"Phone," Loki demands – holding his hand out for Jade to put her phone in. "I'll be taking your laptop as well," he adds as he conceals her cell phone.

"I need it for school!" Jade yells at her dad.

Loki shrugs. "Then you'll only be using it under one of our supervision." Jade rolls her eyes – pissing Loki off even more. "Watch it," he angrily growls. "You're done showing any type of disrespect to your mother or me."

"This is such bullshit!" Jade cries – standing up and pacing back and forth in front of the two of you.

"You will sit back down – now," Loki orders through a clenched jaw – rising to face her.

"Or what?" Jade challenges. "What're you gonna do? Hm?"

Loki grabs Jade's cheeks with one hand, and he lets his eyes turn red. "Sit," he angrily draws out. Not wanting to push any further at the moment, Jade yanks away and sits back down in the recliner with her arms crossed.

"Jade, look at me," you sympathetically urge your daughter – playing the good cop in this scenario. "Sweetie, what were you thinking?"

Jade shrugs and fidgets with her hands. "I dunno," she mumbles. "I just wanted to have fun."

Loki scoffs. "You're lucky you're alive."

"Loki, stop," you gently slap the God of Mischief. "She doesn't need to feel worse."

He looks at you in confusion. "Seriously?" he asks skeptically. "I think we've babied her too much – perhaps she does need to feel worse – have actual strict parenting."

Jade's sniffles take your attention from the argument with Loki. "Babe, look at me," you beg the teenager. Jade's blue eyes look up at you – tears running down her cheeks. "Do you have any idea how absolutely terrified we were?"

Jade shakes her head. "It wasn't that big of a deal."

"Jade, you have a burglary charge," Loki reminds her – his anger still fuming. "You were a complete idiot tonight."

"I didn't do it alone!" Jade argues.

"Oh, I know," Loki scoffs. "I don't want you seeing Evan anymore."

Jade's eyes widen. "What?!" she turns to give you her pleading eyes. "Mom, please...tell dad he's overreacting."

You suck in your lips and shake your head. "No, Jade," you confirm. "You're not to see or speak with him anymore."

"Jade, go to your room," Loki orders – his tone softening a bit. "I'll come to get you when we're ready...don't think about going anywhere."

Quietly, Jade leaves the living room – closing her door behind her and sobbing into her pillow as you and Loki sit and talk over what to do with her.

"What do we do?" you ask Loki, desperate for some sort of answer.

Loki shrugs and strokes your hand. "I wish I had the answer."

"This is getting serious, Loki," you insist. "Before, she would sneak out, come home, and get grounded, but now..."

"Now, she's getting arrested," Loki finishes your statement.

Loki leans his head over the back of the sofa. "Do you think you'd be able to get through to her?" you ask softly. "You know...without insulting her?"

Loki walks to Jade's room – stopping when he sees her MacBook on the floor in front of her door. With a sigh, he picks it up and conceals it with her phone before knocking on her door. Jade slowly opens the door, and she's changed into her pajamas and thrown her hair into a messy bun – Loki can see that she's been crying. Quietly, she leads Loki over to the bed where he sits on the edge while Jade holds her knees to her chest – using her blanket to hide her tears.

"Jade, look at me," Loki orders the fifteen-year-old – his voice softer than it was earlier. "What were you thinking?" Loki's eyes are pleading for some sort of explanation.

Jade shrugs. "I don't know, dad," she insists. "We just...wanted something to do. Evan promised me that we'd be fine."

"Would you have done something like this on your own?" Loki asks.

"No," Jade answers lowly.

Loki nods. "And why not?"

"Because it's illegal...," the teenager trails off – embarrassed to admit that she knew better than to go along with her boyfriend.

Loki reaches out and grabs one of Jade's hands. "And did being with Evan somehow make it less illegal?"

Jade shakes her head. "We didn't even get to take anything."

"How do you feel about that?" Loki continues his questioning.

"Relieved," she breathes. "I would have felt even worse if someone had lost something of theirs. I honestly hoped we wouldn't get away with stealing anything."

Loki gives his daughter a warm smile. "Answer me honestly," he begins, "do you feel bad because of what you did or because you got caught?"

Jade thinks for a moment before answering. "I feel bad that you and mom are mad at me for being stupid."

"My love, we aren't mad at you," Loki tells her. "We're disappointed in your stupid actions, but you are not stupid...don't ever talk about yourself like that."

"So...you still love me?" Jade sobs – unable to hide her tears.

Loki pulls her into his arms and rubs her back as she cries into his chest. "Jade, there's nothing you could do that could make us stop loving you."

"I'm so sorry, daddy," she cries – clutching to Loki for dear life. "I'm scared."

"It's okay, my love," Loki comforts her. "The homeowners aren't pressing charges because nothing was stolen or broken, but your mother and I need you to understand the seriousness of this. What if they had a gun? What if they had shot you? Killed you? Do you have any idea how shattered we would be if we lost you? How brokenhearted your siblings would be that their big sister would be gone?"

"Really?" she sobs – finding it hard to believe that they would be that upset. "Sometimes, I wonder."

"Jade," Loki begins – opening his heart up to his daughter – pulling back and looking into her teary blue eyes. "Do you have any idea how you came to be? I'm not talking about the obviousness, but the events that led up to you being created?" The fifteen-year-old shakes her head, and Loki wipes her tears away. "Your mother was dating Thor – I swooped in and stole her away – sick of seeing her unhappy with your uncle, and one of the very first things we decided when we arrived in New York was that we wanted a baby. Right then and there, I used a spell to ensure we would conceive, and the universe – all of the atoms and molecules decided to come together and give us you." Jade finally has a smile on her face. "If you ever feel like we wouldn't miss you or that your existence is a mistake...I want you to remember the events that had to happen to lead to your life."

"I love you, dad," Jade declares – wrapping her arms tightly around her father – breathing a sigh of relief and feeling pure love come from the God of Mischief.

"I love you too – my perfect Jade."

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added!)

@radicallyred @holdmytesseract @vicmc624 @mm2305 @nms224 @clockblobber @missdforever @winchestersgirl222 @sallymagnoliaposts @darkacademictrash

#loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x jade #jade is rebellious #loki jade fluff #jade lokisdottir #jade is a daddy's girl #mischievous teenager #mischievous life #dad!loki fluff #dad!loki #send requests #requests open

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stilemawillow · 3 years

Note

Hi can I request a dadlevi x momreader where they have a teenage daughter and the 104th cadet boys gave a crush on her and Levi gets really protective and the reader has to reassure him that she's not a baby anymore pleaseeee thank you😁

welp, i’m usually slow as a sloth with requests but if you don’t mind it being a short drabble i can sure as hell crack up sth soo sorry if it’s a bit too short but here goes, hope you like it anonie (also i kind of said trabble and it turned out 1500 words, sorry) ________________________________________________

“This is getting out of hand, Levi.” Your words were low around the table at the mess hall as your raven-haired husband fixed the cadets across from you with a murderous glare. You put a hand to his tense shoulder and could distinctly hear Mike and Hanji snort from next to you at Levi’s click of the tongue - still, his abuse didn’t stop.

Your daughter glanced at her father once, smiling happily from her place in between the cheerful males of the 104th squad and proceeding to be rather oblivious when it came to his foul mood. Admittedly, he hadn’t spoken about it to anybody but, as the mother of his rather grown-up child and the woman who’d spent well over two decades with him already, you didn’t need a verbal explanation to gather why he was being so pissy.

Since your daughter had been enlisted in the Corps (something her and Levi and you and her had had two separate rather long arguments about), she was in the spotlight, or, well, something of the sort. She was kind enough to communicate with her peers and funny enough to make them laugh, and the looks she’d mostly inherited from you did its part when it came to charming the rookies you’d later checked were named Jean Kirstein, Reiner Braun, Connie Springer, Armin Arlert and partly, the very special Eren Jaeger.

They were her comrades and she regarded them as such - close people she would protect and work with in the future, and they regarded her the same with just a little bit of an ulterior motive. Naturally, parents were good at noticing those stuff and the usually emotion-incompetent Levi Ackerman was no exception when it came to Jean’s heart eyes mirroring his own aimed at you in the past.

As a good father who couldn’t, however, reveal his identity straight-up, he made sure to mentor the kids as harshly as he could, strict in his teachings and rather sadistic out of them. The poor boys had handled stable and kitchen duty more than any previous rookies enlisted and two or three of them had gotten lucky enough to clean up a whole storage of 3DM gear and run laps till they fainted. You were nurturing when it came to those undeserved mishaps and ended up playing the good cop who gave the poor boys water and let them sleep for the rest of the day.

Levi didn’t know it but the harder his punishments got, the more reason his daughter had to pity the boys and question her father’s behaviour. We arrive at a moment where he could no longer think of a suitable punishment to pull through with enough reason and, of course, your endless nagging on the topic. Your daughter didn’t need to know about this secret little bickering, as the cadets didn’t know she was your child and nobody but the superiors were aware of your relationship with Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

“I’m just monitoring.” The raven’s excuse was laughable as you were leaving the mess hall and he literally stalked his daughter and her tall charmers to the training fields, where you decided to pull him along into the building and have a little talk.

“This is ridiculous, do you realise what you’re doing?” Your question struck nothing in him as he made his way to the second floor of the building only so he could observe from above the training the 104th cadets would undertake with Hanji. His hawk eyes pierced the window and the boys surrounding his precious little baby, and in that moment you felt a little soft when it came to reprimanding him.

“I’m watching my fucking child.” He argued with a grumble and crossed arms, making you sigh as you leaned against the window and observed his features. You could guess only by the pissed off twitch of his brow your daughter had been paired to combat with some of the boys he so disliked.

“But she’s not in danger.” You objected with a snort to which he rolled his eyes. “Also our child.” The addition made his frown more sarcastic, then you pushed at his shoulder and glanced outside. The sun was shining and your husband was silent - and you had to be a good wife and mother at the same time. “Now, I need you to hear me out. Our daughter is fifteen years old and she’s part of the worst group possible. Maybe we can concern ourselves more with her safety and happiness, not so much with the boys she has as friends.”

“It’s unacceptable for them to slack off this much, not to mention you’re defending her. You pointed it out, she’s just fifteen.” The emphasis was a cold slap in your face, then you were eyeing him pointedly.

“Levi,” his grey hues left the window for a second to lock with your gaze, “I was fifteen when I met you.” Your words made him suck in a breath but his obstinance had no limits when it came to his overprotective nature.

“All the more fucking reason for me to protect her.”

“No, all the more reason for us to watch from afar and let her live her life. She’s a teenager once and the fact she’s bonding with her comrades isn’t going to kill her.” The brow he quirked at you made you glare, then you beat him to speaking. “She’s not a baby anymore, we take care of her, yes, but we have to give her some freedom too. Otherwise, we’ll get a rebellious period and I can’t handle managing both your explosive asses once that happens.” His spiteful snort was provocative but his figure turned away from the window to glare at you - good, so he was buckling.

“My ass is explosive only when I drink too much coffee.” His childish retort made you chuckle - you took it as him admitting defeat by not addressing the issue any further.

“And when Hanji cooks.” Your joke called forth an eye-roll from him, then his lips pursed and you smiled at his pale countenance. “It’s fine being worried, she’s been sheltered her whole life and suddenly you’re forced to watch her form connections with people who’re not us. I would say, however,” your smile slowly curled into a smirk as you glanced at the training fields through the window, “she can beat up the boys if they annoy her without your help.”

His brows furrowed and his attention followed your gaze, and you watched your fifteen-year-old daughter flip the blond Reiner Braun over her shoulder with a move Levi had taught her when she was ten. He fell to the ground and, from experience, you knew how much it hurt when all the air was pushed out of your lungs in that moment. Next thing he knew, a foot had stepped on his dominant hand’s wrist and a small hand held a wooden knife to his throat.

In your peripheral vision, you saw the satisfied flicker in Levi’s orbs and decided he wouldn’t be arguing with you on the topic of this anymore. Also, he might as well spare the boys their duties. If his daughter could handle the biggest one this easily, she could land a kick to the testicles effortlessly if any of them proved problematic. You shook your head at the sight and how proud Levi seemed due to it, then you realised he was back to watching you.

“On the topic of us meeting when you were still a brat, are you insinuating anything?” You began waving your hands around in a “no” when he glared at the field, then at you. You’d just denied when he tactfully cut in with: “Far as I remember, you jumped me and you had eighteen.” You let out an awkward laugh and his glare got all the more deadly.

“Haha, about that. I actually lied so you’d let me.” The slow admittance slipped past your dry lips and you watched your husband doubt everything you’d told him in your shared life. You could see him recall everything and make sure he was in the right - except you’d been stupid as a teenager and twice as scheming.

“But your birthday had passed.” He argued coldly, unsuspecting of the truth and ever so sweet because he put so much trust in you.

“And about that, my birthday’s kind of a month after the date I told you.” You watched his eyes widen and began ranting, as per tradition when he came close to blowing a fuse and you wanted to avoid being collateral damage. “I know what you’re thinking, I’m so lucky that my wife is even younger than I thought she was, she’s so attractive and youthful---”

“I’m thinking how I’m about to beat your ass in our next combat session for lying to me for twenty fucking years, that’s what I’m thinking.”

#asks #drabbles #drabbles for anonies #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #reader insert #fluff with a daughter #with a spin at the end #because parents are more iconic than their kids sometimes

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spaceprincessem · 3 years

Text

Hale Appreciation Week Prompt: Hale Headcanons @haleweek

Okay, so just a few lil headcanons for Derek and Peter. See if you can figure out what they are :) (featuring sterek cause of course it does)

Cause you're a hard soul to save {With an ocean in my way}

“Isaac,” Malia growled, finger’s digging into the wood of the table sitting between them, “you need to vote.”

“No,” Isaac snarled in return, arms across his chest, “I’m not taking part in any of this.”

Malia’s biting retort died on her lips as Derek flashed her a warning look. She swallowed hard, jaw clenching as she rocked back on her heels, still glaring at the curly headed boy.

“Since Isaac is abstaining,” Lydia cut through the tension, “that leaves Peter and Derek.”

“Why does Peter get a vote?” Scott asked, wearily looking at the older man who was casually sitting on the spiral staircase looking rather at ease.

“Like it or not,” Peter grinned, all teeth, “I am part of this pack.”

“Barely,” Isaac murmured, before immediately going quiet as Malia fixed him with a murderous glare.

“So,” Lydia clicked her tongue impatiently, “what do you think, Peter?”

“The bite is a gift,” Peter shrugged nonchalantly, “and apparently our last hope.”

Kira ran a soothing hand over Scott’s back as he deflated, while Cora and Malia exchanged a small look of triumph. Lydia’s jaw was clenched, but she quickly rolled her shoulders, gaze moving towards Derek. The rest of the pack’s eyes followed. The steely silence made it feel like all of the air had been sucked out of the room. Derek’s palms were pressed against the table, leaning his weight forward, head dipped down as his claws embedded themselves into the wood. They could all hear it. The rapid pounding of his heart. The stench of doubt and fear was so heavy it felt like they were drowning in it.

“No,” Derek finally said, the answer hanging in the air like a death sentence, “I’m not giving Stiles the bite.”

A beat of silence. A sigh of relief and a disbelieving uproar.

“Get out,” Derek growled, stopping the buzzing arguments flying across the room like venom. When no one moved he pinned them with a commanding, crimson look, “I said get out.”

The pack slowly dispersed around him. Scott was the only one brave enough to reach out, a hand on Derek’s shoulder, a small, but sad smile curling against his lips, “Thank you, I know it’s the right decision.”

Derek gave a curt nod in return. He was surprised to see Peter still sitting on the staircase long after the others had gone. The look of disappointment etched in his uncle’s face made him feel inexplicably angry. Peter always had a knack for reducing him to a fifteen year old boy who didn’t know how to control his shift during the full moon.

“What?” He chewed out when Peter remained quiet.

“I didn’t say anything,” Peter replied, but he could hear the bitter bite beneath his uncle's words, the desire to start a fight.

“I’m not giving Stiles the bite,” Derek said again. He suddenly felt the need to defend himself as his uncle chuckled darkly.

“I heard you the first time, nephew,” Peter sneered.

“You don’t agree with my decision,” Derek pointed out flatly.

“Well, clearly,” Peter said as he got to his feet, “as I voted yes.” He sighed, brushing past Derek to head into the kitchen, “But you are the alpha, so I don’t think it matters what the rest of us wanted.”

Derek could hear the older man clinking through the glasses, the sound of liquid sloshing against emptiness before a bottle was carefully placed on the counter. Derek allowed his gaze to find his uncle leaning against the counter, slowly sipping from his nearly full glass.

“It was cute to let them think this was a democracy, though.” Peter added after a moment, swirling a few ice cubes into his drink.

“Stiles doesn’t want the bite,” Derek explained, that primal urge for someone to understand, “he never has.”

“You think your decision is about Stiles?” Peter asked, smiling meanly, “Here I thought it was about you.”

“Of course it’s about Stiles,” Derek huffed furiously, “you think he would be grateful if he woke up and was su—”

“Well,” Peter cut in, “it’s better than never waking up at all, isn’t it?”

Derek remained silent. But his face said it all.

“He’s been in this coma for what, two weeks now?” Peter asked as he sat his glass down, moving towards Derek with calculated steps, “You still think he’s going to magically wake up by some divine intervention?”

“I am not taking that choice away from him.” Derek argued, his chest heaving as he worked to keep himself calm.

“Are you scared he’s going to hate you if you do?” Peter asked, inching closer. “Or scared he won’t survive like Paige?”

“Why do you care so much?” Derek asked, feeling like he’d been thrown off balance.

“I’m just trying to understand why you wouldn’t do everything to save the person you love,” Peter replied simply, but there was an undercurrent of harshness to his tone.

“I am doing everything to save him!” Derek snapped, teeth bared and eyes flashing dangerously. “You and I both know Stiles wouldn’t want the bite to save him.”

There was heated silence between the Hales. Ice blue boring into grey-green.

“Stop making excuses, Derek.” Peter said, breathing out harshly through his nose, “It’s the only way to—”

“My answer is final,” Derek growled before turning on his heel to head back to the hospital.

“So,” Peter called at his retreating back, voice trembling with anger and saturated in sorrow, “you’re just going to let the last piece of Claudia Stilinski die in this god forsaken town?”

Derek froze. The stench of love lost burned hotly in his lungs. He swallowed down the sour taste of bile as he turned to face his uncle again. “Is that what this is about?” He asked quietly, “Preserving the only thing left of Claudia Stilinski?”

“You know it’s more than that,” Peter bit back.

“Is that why you offered Stiles the bite all those years ago?” Derek felt exhausted, like the revelation took more out of him than he could ever care to admit. “Because you took one look at him and saw someone that was never yours?”

“Talia could have saved her,” Peter’s voice was small now, his eyes far off in the distance, “but we can’t always get what we want.” His eyes were hard on Derek’s face now, a sneer pulling his lips up cruelly, “So, yeah, I looked into those amber eyes and saw the one person I would have done anything for.” He exhaled deeply, “Stiles is all that’s left of Claudia.”

“Stiles is his own person,” Derek replied softly, “and he should get to choose. You wanted to save Claudia by giving her the bite, but I’m going to save Stiles by keeping him human.”

“I wonder which version of losing him is going to hurt more,” Peter said with a vindictive smile, but Derek could see that his eyes were sad.

Derek didn’t say anything as he turned to leave Peter alone in the loft.

“Miss me, Sourwolf?” Stiles slurred, his half lidded eyes peeking up at the exhausted wolf with a mix of fondness and concern.

“More than you know,” Derek replied, threading his fingers through the cold, pale ones, before bringing them to his lips to gently kiss.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” Stiles hummed, closing his eyes, until Derek’s too tight grip made him blink them open again.

“Sorry,” Derek replied sheepishly, “I just missed the color of your eyes.”

Stiles smiled, “You mean the most boring shade of brown?”

Derek shook his head, not knowing how he could explain that Stiles’ eyes reminded him of bottle honey. Warm and sticky sweet. Of coffee with too much cream or tiger’s eye gleaming in the sunlight. How could Derek describe that Stiles’ eyes were the shade of the earth beneath his feet when he ran through the preserve under the light of the full moon? When he catches Peter watching them from the doorway, face soft and shoulders sagging in relief he wonders if he could ever tell Stiles that the beautiful shade of amber was a window to a future that was stolen much too soon.

“Not to me,” Derek just says instead, leaning up to kiss him, “not to me.”

#sterek #teen wolf #derek hale #stiles stilinski #peter hale #haleofaweek #basically i headcanon derek wouldn't give stiles the bite without his consent no matter the circumstance #and that peter was in love with claudia and the reason he offered stiles the bite was to preserve that last little piece of her

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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

Text

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Prologue)

Summary: When your college roommate asks you to be a bridesmaid at her wedding, you pack your bags and jump on a flight to Montana. What was supposed to be a relaxing week on the husband-to-be’s ranch is turned upside down when an old flame decides to make an appearance. Mix in lingering feelings, a meddling bride, and the mother of all misunderstandings, and your week out west turns out to be a whole lot more than you bargained for.

series masterlist

playlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.5k

Spencer gets the email on a Tuesday.

He’s fresh off of a quick trip to a nearby café that sells the most delectable scones, and he’s eagerly unwrapping one and lifting it to his mouth when he gets the notification. The quiet ping is enough to make him pause with the scone midway to its destination.

Because the thing is, Spencer Reid doesn’t get a lot of emails. In fact, there are approximately ten people that even know his email address, and seven of them are currently in the same room as him. Spencer peers over the top of his monitor and scans the room. No one is doing anything indicative of having sent Spencer yet another prank email (thanks a lot, Luke), so he deems it safe and clicks on the email icon.

As it boots up, Spencer takes a bite of his scone. The warm, sugary dough tastes like heaven in his mouth, once again proving to Spencer that the fifteen-minute walk there is more than worth his time. He’s mid-swallow when his inbox pops up on the screen, and when he sees the all too familiar name on the sender’s address, he inhales a sharp breath that leaves him choking on his pastry.

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Melville

Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Sewell

Joyfully request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their children

Cassidy and Mason

Saturday, the twenty-seventh of May

Two thousand nine-teen

His choking fit garners the attention of every one of his colleagues, but Spencer can’t bring himself to care. All he can focus on is sucking in as much air as possible in between coughs. It doesn’t help that his oxygen deprived brain is currently reeling. Long suppressed memories are fighting their way to the surface, and now it’s not only his lungs that are engulfed in a searing heat, but his heart, too.

Cassidy Sewell. A fiery, opinionated redhead that Spencer hasn’t thought of in nearly fifteen years. But Cassidy isn’t the reason that he feels like a knife has been thrust into his ribcage, nor is she the reason he is currently aspirating his scone. The basis of his distress is another woman entirely.

Spencer eventually regains control of his windpipe and when he does, he rereads the email several times. It’s wonderful news - really, it is. And he��s happy for Cassidy. His memories of her are plentiful and he thinks back on them fondly. The only problem is that he knows wherever Cassidy is, you’ll be there, too.

He really should just delete the email and go on about his business - that would be the smart thing to do. But Spencer’s never really been smart when it comes to you, so he does the worst thing possible and clicks on the ‘view recipients’ button.

And sure enough, your name falls just above his on the list.

Which brings up another issue entirely; why is he receiving this email? And, more importantly, do you know that he’s been invited? Spencer can only come up with two possible answers to that question, and both are equally heartbreaking. Either you know he’s been invited and you’re indifferent to the fact, or you haven’t a clue and his showing up would be entirely inappropriate.

He briefly entertains the possibility of a third option; one in which you knew he’d received an invitation and were hopeful that he might show up. Spencer allows this possibility to live in his mind for approximately two seconds before he’s stomping it out and killing it. That’s just… unlikely.

“Ooh! Who’s getting married?”

Spencer quickly exits out of his email and spins around in his chair to find Penelope pouting her lip out at him.

“No one. Just a spam email,” Spencer lies. His efforts are in vain, however, because Penelope fixes him with an unimpressed glare.

“I’m going to save you and I both the trouble of me hacking into your computer and offer you the opportunity to try that again.”

Spencer visibly deflates and mentally curses the creators of the interconnected computer networks. He weighs his options. He could be completely honest and be subjected Penelope’s endearing, yet suffocating enthusiasm, or he could skim a little bit off the top and hope she doesn’t pump him for information.

Spencer decides on the latter.

“An old friend.”

Penelope narrows her eyes at him and he shrinks under her gaze. She might not be a profiler, but she damn sure could be.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to hurl?”

“No reason.”

They’ve reached a stalemate, and Spencer isn’t quite sure what to do with that. Usually, if this were a chest match, Spencer would already have the upper hand. He’s not used to being backed into a corner. At first, Spencer’s sure that he can outlast Penelope’s inquisition, but the longer those seemingly omniscient eyes of hers bore into his own, he can feel his resolve crumbling into nothing. All it takes is her lifting one perfectly plucked eyebrow in challenge for him to break.

“An ex-girlfriend of mine will be in attendance.”

Spencer knows he’s fucked from the way Penelope’s entire face lights up upon hearing that little tidbit of information. In a flash Penelope’s dragging over an empty chair and seating herself directly in front of Spencer, eyes shining excitedly.

“Tell me everything.”

So, he does.

And an hour later, Penelope is booking him a flight to Montana.

“I cannot believe you did this to me,” you murmur into the receiver as you stare at your computer screen. Your eyes are zeroed in on the email, but all the words are blurring together into an intelligible mess. All except two.

Spencer Reid

“Correction; I did this for you,” Cassidy replies, sounding awfully pleased with herself. If you could see her, you were certain she’d be grinning ear to ear. “You can’t tell me that you’re not the least bit excited at the possibility of seeing him again.”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you!” you groan as you throw your head against the back of your chair. “Fifteen years is a long time, Cass. I’ve moved on, and I’m sure he has, too. That door is closed.”

Cassidy snorts, “Well open that sucker back up, because I just got an RSVP from one Doctor Spencer Reid who, and I quote, ‘cannot wait to see everyone.’ This RSVP came without a plus one, might I add.”

You jolt up in your seat and instantly regret it when your stomach churns painfully as a result. Suddenly, your decision to place your waste basket on the opposite side of the room seems awfully ill advised. The only thing keeping you from lunging for it and expelling the contents of your stomach is the fact that he isn’t bringing anyone with him, which is… something.

“He’s coming?” you squeak out. “Why would he do that?”

Another laugh from Cassidy floats out through the speaker.

“Well, I’d like to think he might be going to see one of his oldest and dearest friends get married, but I think we both know that this has nothing to do with me, and a whole lot to do with you.”

You’re just about to open your mouth to protest when a head of long, blonde hair peeks through the crack of your door. You only know one man with a head of hair like that, and that man just so happens to be the only other person in your life that lives for taking the piss at your expense. You can’t help but think that you must’ve done something terrible in a past life to be subjected to all of this before noon on a Tuesday morning.

You wave Damien in, because why the hell not? He’d be hearing about it over one or several bottles of wine this evening, anyways. What was one more spectator to the worst moment of your entire adult life?

As he takes his seat in a chair in front of your desk, you flash him a tight smile and turn your attention back to Cassidy.

“You’re reading way too much into this. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“You know that boy does not forget anything,” Cassidy points out.

Yeah, you think, and that’s what makes not hearing from him for fifteen years even worse. That means the radio silence was a choice.

“Doesn’t matter. You need to uninvite him. I’m being so serious right now.”

“I absolutely will not. That’d be terribly rude of me,” Cassidy sniffs. “And you obviously have no choice but to attend, Miss Maid of Honor, so consider this your warning. I was going to keep this a secret, but Mason said that would be cruel. So.”

You want to argue that the entire thing is cruel, but Cassidy’s indifference to your plight leads you to believe that your protest would fall on deaf ears. To make matters worse, Damien looks positively delighted at the prospect of something exciting happening. He’s literally sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning forward in an attempt to hear Cassidy’s end of the conversation.

You really needed to pick more sympathetic friends.

“I’m going to hang up now, because I physically cannot handle being a part of this conversation any longer.”

“That’s the spirit!” Cassidy trills. “Trust me, you’re going to thank me for this later. Oh, and do yourself a favor and Google search him. You will not be disappointed!”

At that, the line goes dead. You don’t even have the chance to say something embarrassing like too late, I already do that like twice a year, which is probably a good thing.

You slam down the phone and let your head fall into your hands, adding in a dramatic groan for good measure. Usually, you like to think you’re a little more level headed, but the Spencer Reid sized hole in your heart that you’d been trying to mend for the last decade and a half was just ripped wide open, so you figure you deserve a moment to panic.

Damien, however, doesn’t share that same belief.

“I get that you’re trying to have a moment, and I respect that, but you know how impatient I get and I haven’t seen you this upset since One Direction split up. Color me intrigued. What did dear Cassidy do to get your knickers in such a twist?”

You lift your head and fix him with a withering look.

“She invited Spencer.”

That wipes the smile right off of Damien’s face.

“Oh, fuck,” Damien swears. Finally, someone understands how extremely not okay this situation is. You let out another despairing groan. “What are the chances he’s actually going to show up?”

You chuckle bitterly, “Pretty fucking high, if you consider the fact that he already RSVP’d any indication.” You push away from your desk and begin to pace around the room, all while fanning your shirt out because holy hell did it get hot in here, or is it just you? “I mean, I could always back out. It’s Cassidy’s fault anyways. It’s not like she could hold that against me. She’s the one who did this, after all.”

“Oh, she most certainly would. And you’re not going to going to skip out on the wedding - quit being so dramatic.”

You snap your head to where he sits and narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, I’m not? Who’s gonna stop me?” you challenge.

You can practically see the light bulb go on inside that blonde head of his. Damien gives you a saccharine smile and claps his hands together.

“I am. Because I’m going to go with you,” he announces excitedly. You’d think he just came up with a way to end world hunger from the pride that’s practically radiating off of him in waves.

You raise an eyebrow at him, “You’re going to come with me? To Montana? Have you ever even been outside of New York?”

Damien shrugs his shoulders.

“No, but that’s about to change. Plus, weddings are fun,” Damien pauses, before tacking on, “-bridesmaids are fun.”

If he weren’t such a damn good friend, you’d throw him out of your office.

His proposition was tempting. Being in close proximity with Spencer for almost an entire week was going to be harrowing as it was, but add to that the inevitable sight of Spencer in a suit and harrowing graduates to fucking excruciating. Having Damien in your corner to keep you sane was more of a necessity than a want.

But still, you hesitate, because the idea of both Cassidy and Damien conspiring against you for an entire week sounds like the undiscovered tenth circle of hell.

Damien apparently senses your apprehension. He lets out an exasperated sigh and pushes up from his seat, walking over to where you stand and placing his hands on your shoulders.

“I solemnly swear to be on my best behavior. You have my permission to fire me if I act up, Boss Lady.”

Your shoulders slump under the weight of his hands.

“You know I can’t fire you,” you grumble, pouting out your lip for dramatic effect. “If I fire you, then I’m stuck with fucking Brenda. And I doubt she’d be as agreeable a drinking partner as you.”

Damien lets out a loud laugh and pulls you into his arms. You melt into his embrace, sighing in resignation. Might as well bring him along for the ride. It’s not like the situation could get any worse than it already is, right?

“Brenda is the worst,” Damien agrees as he places a kiss to the top of your head. After basking in his warm embrace for several moments, you pull away and run a hand through your hair.

“Okay. Okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Damien. “I can do this. Worst comes to worst; I can just avoid him. Five days isn’t that long. I can do five days.”

Damien leans up against your desk and nods in agreeance.

“Exactly. Five days, in and out – no big deal,” he breezes. Like the absolute bastard he is, he waits until you’re taking a sip from your travel mug before continuing. “And who knows? Maybe the two of you will pick up where you left off and have some slutty wedding sex.”

Now, there’s coffee all over your white blouse and Damien’s laughing obnoxiously at your expense.

“You did not just quote One Tree Hill at me,” you choke out between ragged breaths.

Damien doesn’t waver under the weight of your death glare.

“I so did. Best show of our time, truly. Chase hit the nail on the head with that one. Weddings are always an absolute bone fest - trust me. Something about all the proclamations of love and eternal commitment gets everyone all hot and bothered.”

“There will be no slutty wedding sex,” you mutter as you dab at the coffee stain.

“There will be if I’m going,” Damien trills as he pushes off of your desk and saunters to the door. “Don’t rule it out, babe. No need to miss out on all the fun!”

You roll your eyes and toss the wadded-up paper towel at him. Damien is quick to shut the door, resulting in the paper towel hitting it with a wet plop.

Damien’s absence leaves the room uncomfortably silent, save for the sound of your heart nearly beating out of your chest. You hesitantly lift your eyes back to your computer screen, and as irrational as it is, you pray that you’ll see that something has changed in the past ten minutes. Unsurprisingly, his name is still there, just below your own.

You silently curse the tiny twinge of excitement you feel from seeing his name and exit out of the email.

Five days, in and out. No big deal.

taglist: @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck @m0rce1ddd @bauhousewife @whxt-to-write @spencerwaltergubler @lovesicksofi @idgafayiowf @shadyladyperfection @mercy-burning @sapphic-prentiss

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seattlesea · 3 years

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Perachel Is Not a Bad Ship

It’s really not. It’s actually one of the best-written relationships (romantic-wise and platonic) in any of the series, way better than Percabeth in my opinion (obviously you can think differently). But why does the fandom hate it so much? Because it ‘got in the way of Percabeth’? And yet you go on and ship Percy with Nico, Jason, Artemis, Athena, etc.? Doesn’t that ‘get in the way of Percabeth’ too? I don’t see any of you mercilessly hating on those ships. Honestly, most of the fans only hate Perachel because the fandom and Riordan told them they should and because hating on Perachel is ‘popular’. Guys- it’s 2021. You can stop acting like they weren’t cute.

But anyways, here’s my reasoning-

1. Rachel treats Percy good. Has Rachel ever hit Percy? Or insulted him? Or made him feel like shit about himself? Or canonically lowered his self-esteem? Or turn all possessive and jealous when someone else likes him despite not even being in a relationship with him? It’s even shown that Percy is a lot more himself when he’s around Rachel. He’s more funny, reckless, wild, laid-back, and carefree, while around Annabeth all he thinks about is the right thing to say. It’s pretty clear he’s more comfortable around Rachel cause she doesn’t overwork his mind or treat him badly, and she even makes him feel good about himself.

2. Percy likes Rachel (more than Annabeth). This is most obvious in the first chapter of The Last Olympian, when Percy and Rachel were driving out to the beach. Percy thinks “We'd spent a lot of time together this summer. I hadn't exactly planned it that way, but the more serious things got at camp, the more I found myself needing to call up Rachel and get away, just for some breathing room. I needed to remind myself that the mortal world was still out there, away from all the monsters using me as their personal punching bag”. When Percy was stressed, he called Rachel, not Annabeth. If you find yourself calling up someone to help you relax and take care of yourself, you clearly like them better than someone you don’t. And not only that, but Percy and Rachel probably spent more time together than Percy did with Annabeth. Percy and Annabeth only saw each other during quests- which isn’t exactly a better way to bond with someone versus actually talking to and hanging out with them- and he even said that they spent a lot of time together, plus they go to the same school. Which means Percy only sees Annabeth two months out of the full year but sees Rachel all year round. After The Last Olympian, Percy and Annabeth have known each other for four years. Two months of four years is eight months total. Percy and Rachel have known each other for two years. Every month (plus every single day at school) plus sometimes in the summer is about twenty-four months. That’s triple the time Percy and Annabeth spent with each other, so they obviously know each other better. Another thought from Percy is “I can't pretend I hadn't thought about Rachel. She was so much easier to be around than...well, than some other girls I knew. I didn't have to work hard, or watch what I said, or rack my brain trying to figure out what she was thinking. Rachel didn't hide much. She let you know how she felt.” That alone should be a huge sign that Percy likes Rachel more than Annabeth. He’s more comfortable around her and he’s scared of Annabeth. You shouldn’t be scared of your partner, that’s a clear sign that something is wrong (aka a toxic relationship). If someone has to ‘work hard’ aka stress themself or ‘watch what they say’ around someone, they are obviously not comfortable around them. Percy even states that Rachel is easier to talk to than Annabeth, and he likes talking to Rachel more.

3. Rachel isn’t possessive. The moment Rachel found out that Annabeth liked Percy, she let her have him, cause she (unlike Annabeth) didn’t care about what she wanted, she cared about what Percy wanted and his own happiness. Rachel didn’t disallow Percy to have other female friends and allowed him to do what he wanted, and she didn’t insult and hate on Annabeth just for liking Percy (and yet the fandom roots for Annabeth, the rude, prejudiced one?).

4. Perachel wasn’t rushed or forced. Percy and Annabeth were just the 'male lead and female lead get together' that was predicted to happen since the moment they saw each other, so their entire relationship was just those two being forced together by both Riordan and the fandom. It was too obvious that it was going to happen, so nothing that happened between them before they became an official couple really mattered since everyone knew that they were going to get together anyways. There was no real tension since everyone knew what was going to happen in the end. As for Rachel, she was a sudden twist that wasn't really expected. She met Percy at the Hoover Dam, helped him despite not knowing or believing him, and then they went to school with each other, helped each other on quests, and grew feelings for each other. Percy and Rachel have a lot of chemistry- way more than Percy and Annabeth- and their relationship didn't happen too fast. In The Mark of Athena, it was said that Annabeth had a crush on Percy since she first knew him. I mean- gaining a crush on someone at twelve years old? That doesn't mean anything. It's just a flimsy middle school crush. Percy and Rachel, though, met each other in The Titan’s Curse- when they were fourteen- and started gaining feelings for each other in The Battle of the Labyrinth- when they were fifteen. Fifteen year-olds can definitely start gaining feelings that aren't just sexual attraction and flimsy crushes, so Percy and Rachel's relationship is a lot more plausible than Percy and Annabeth's. Besides, Percy and Rachel's relationship was a more relaxed 'going with the flow' type of relationship that seemed to naturally flow off the pages while Percy and Annabeth's was too forced with too many forced scenes and moments. Percy and Rachel's relationship seemed a lot more natural and content.

5. Percy and Rachel aren’t opposites. Despite the popular saying ‘Opposites attract’, opposites don’t attract, opposites cancel each other out. Besides, that saying is similar to the saying ‘Your other/better half’, but people don’t have a ‘better half’ that needs to ‘complete them’. The thing between similars and opposites is that people who are too opposite will become enemies (like Percy and Annabeth) but people who are too similar will also become enemies (like Percy and Thalia or Percy and Jason), so people have to find someone who’s in between. Percy and Rachel are just like that. They share similar personality traits, like the same things, and would be able to agree on most things while Percy and Annabeth would realistically argue about everything. Besides, y’all can’t act like the artistic painter mortal and the son of Poseidon skater-boy isn’t a cute-ass concept.

6. It’s not just fan love. Honestly, it seems like Riordan was going to make Perachel happen but after seeing how much hate it got, changed his mind to Percabeth (which is why he made Rachel become the Oracle of Delphi and randomly made up the rule that the Oracle can’t date out of nowhere without any reasoning behind it). I mean- did any of you notice that all romantic Percabeth moments only happened after The Titan’s Curse and after Rachel was introduced? Perachel was actually introduced first, not Percabeth. It would explain why Riordan randomly added in a bunch of unrealistic Percabeth scenarios that were on the brink of cringey (Percy seeing Annabeth in the River Styx and not his mom or Grover, Percy only remembering Annabeth and not his mom, Percy and Annabeth falling into Tartarus- which wasn’t that bad as the fans make it, by the way, they over-exaggerated that a lot- Percy turning down immortality only for Annabeth and not his mom, life, friends, etc.) Percabeth came out too forced because Riordan was only writing what the fans wanted. And the fact that the toxic Percabeth fans who hate on, insult, curse, yell at, or even threaten anyone who so much as says ‘Perachel’ take up the majority of the fandom further proves this. It’s fine to think that someone’s opinion sucks and is absolutely repulsive, but hating them because of it? That just makes you the asshole.

Perachel is actually a really great and healthy relationship and the fandom should stop hating on it just because others told them to or because it ‘got in the way of Percabeth’. You can multi-ship, you know, and you can also stop being a toxic person who hates on people for what they like just like homophobes do.

#perachel #perachel isn't bad stop acting like it is #percabeth is toxic #percy jackson #annabeth chase #rachel dare #rachel elizabeth dare #stop the rachel hate

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diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

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🚨Warnings: Light p in v smut. Some angst. Lots of fluff. My grandfather’s name really is in the Smithsonian.🚨

Plain Gold Ring V:

Exactly Like You

“I know why I waited

Know why I've been blue

I've been waiting each day

For someone exactly like you” - Nina Simone

——————————————————————

Your last day in D.C. felt like the last day of your life. This life. Every article of clothing was packed. Every knickknack and tchotchke sent with the movers. You were ready for your next life. Did your next life include Andy?

The weather was beautiful. Sunny. Not too hot. You and Andy had planned on spending it outside seeing the sites. He had never toured any of the museums. You invited Jacob along. The second you said it you wished you hadn’t. You felt like a home wrecker even though Andy promised Jacob wouldn’t see you that way.

Andy was bristling with excitement. “He’s going to love you, baby.” You were not great with kids. You actively chose not to have them. You loved your nieces from a distance when they were little. Now that they are teenagers you feel a little more at ease with them. You are their cool rich aunt who spends an absolutely outrageous amount of money on them when you visit. You nearly fainted when Andy asked if you’d like to have children.

“Aren’t I too old for that?”

“You’re only three years younger than me. I know a lot of women who had their career before they had a family.” Your face snapped from terrified to anger real quick, “Not that you can’t have a career and be a mother. People do it everyday. Shut up, Andy.”

“You’re cute when you’re nervous. Have you thought of having children with me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, yeah. I’d like to have a couple more.”

“Oh. A couple he says.” You could feel the hives forming. “This seems like a good conversation to have right before I leave.”

He ran his hands up and down your arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you. You haven’t thought about it? Not even a little?” The door buzzed in the nick of time.

“Jacob’s here! Hallelujah!” You wiggled out of his arms to grab your shoes.

He laughed shaking his head. “We’ll finish this conversation later, young lady.” he pressed the intercom button, “Hey come on up, buddy. This is going to be great, honey.” He loved your nervous laugh and the way you fidgeted with your fingers. Just the fact that you were nervous told him you would love his son.

You heard voices coming from the living area. Fucking hell. Was that Lori? You contemplated going out of the window. You went into the bathroom to grab some lip balm. You knew full well that it was in your bag on the kitchen island. You were just staying out of their way. When you heard the front door close you reemerged.

“Ready to go?” Your eyes were wide and you were way too smiley. If Andy didn’t know better he would think you were on drugs.

“Yeah. I think no more coffee for you ok?”

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Y/N.” Jacob extended his hand.

“Nice to see you too. So! The Smithsonian. What part are you most interested in seeing?”

“Air and space I think.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start. My grandfather’s name is actually on a plaque. I’ll show you. He was in the navy and built planes that were used in Korea I think. And my dad’s picture is there. He works for a division of NASA back in Louisiana where I’m from. He developed this little part of the rocket booster. He’s literally a rocket scientist.”

“That’s really cool. I’d love to meet him sometime…..”

Andy was loving every second of this. You and Jacob really got along. You were making plans to visit your father and stepmother over the summer and maybe hit the beach in Florida. Jacob’s face lit up at the prospect of meeting your family. Both Andy and Lori were only children. Jacob didn’t grow up with cousins or really any kids his own age outside of school. He seemed pretty comfortable with the idea of you and Andy together.

Andy tested the waters a little by holding your hand. Jacob didn’t seem to notice. By the time you got to the next part of the museum he had his arms around your waist. He even kissed you a couple of times. Nothing but a tender peck here and there. Jacob didn’t seem to mind when he showed you affection.

After lunch Andy dropped you off and then ran Jacob back home.

“So, what are you thinking?” Andy asked with nervous trepidation.

“The museum was cool. I really liked the rockets. It’s cool that Y/N’s dad made those.”

“Did you like Y/N?”

“Yeah. Sucks she’s moving. Do you think you’ll move to Chicago too?”

“Kind of depends on you, bud. I know you’re getting older and you don’t need Dad around very much anymore. I don’t want to miss anything. You’re my only baby.”

“I could spend summers with you. You look really happy. I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. Even before the trial. I’d miss you but you should be happy.”

The whole way inside Jacob talked about you. He clammed up when Lori walked in.

“Hey, guys. Did you have a good time?” She kissed Jacob on the forehead.

“We had a great time. Ok, Jake. You have the number where I’ll be. I’ll be back on Wednesday. If you’re not busy next weekend you can spend the night. I have your room all set up. Love you.”

“Ok. Love you. Have a safe flight. Tell Y/N I said bye.” He escaped to his room before the arguing started.

“If it’s ok I’ll pick him up from school Thursday. Did you sign the papers?”

“She went with you?” Her voice was deadly quiet.

“She did.”

“Didn’t want to tell me that before hand I guess.”

He sighed and wiped his face with his hands, “I’ll have him back Sunday night. See you later.”

“Fuck you, Andy. You can’t even give me the courtesy of telling me my son would be meeting his father’s whore!”

He slammed his fist on the counter, “Did you sign the papers or not?” She threw the manilla envelope at him.

“They’re signed.” He took the papers and walked out slamming the door. He contemplated moving again. He has a month to month lease on his place. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find a job. He knew Jacob would be fine. Chicago was looking better and better. After all the baby talk this morning he wouldn’t burden you with anything else domestic for today.

——————————————————————

You were zipping your last suitcase when you heard Andy come in. You packed all of your sleep clothes so you were wearing Andy’s t-shirt and panties. Dinner was ordered and he had a drink waiting on the counter. He called out for you. When you rounded the corner into the living room he caught you in his arms.

“Hey, handsome.” you cooed in his ear. He nuzzled your neck and stroked your back. “You ok? Was Jacob….he hates me. I knew it.”

He tightened his hold on you, “Honey, he loved you. He talked about you the whole way back.”

“Then why is your face all worried?”

“Because I’m keenly aware that this is our last night together in my place. That when I come home Wednesday you won’t be here. I’ll go to work on Thursday and Jeremy will be in your office. I have really good memories in that office and now they’re ruined. I don’t want to wake up without you.”

His hands traveled up your bare back then back down to cup your ass. “The delivery app says they’re going to be here in twenty minutes. Think you can finish in time?”

He lowered his head between your breasts and nodded yes. Before you knew it your panties were off, his pants were down and he was fucking you against the wall. His pace was relentless. You hooked your ankles at the small of his back and leaned back so you could rub your clit. Your fingertips brushed against his dick every time he pumped in and out of your cunt. You both came in fifteen minutes.

You ate dinner on the veranda loving the cool breeze on your bare skin. As much as he wanted his t-shirt to smell like you, he like naked picnics way more. Admittedly, a big chicken Caesar salad wasn’t the sexiest food in the world. Still didn’t stop him from licking dressing off of your chest when it dropped off your fork. He was determined to fuck you in almost every room in this place.

You slept tangled and sticking together all night. You had finally gotten over your need for bed space. You’d miss it when he wasn’t there. All night the two of you wanted to bring up moving in together. Neither of you had the guts to say it. You didn’t want to beat a dead horse. He didn’t want to freak you out. Good thing you’d be long distance for a while to work on your communication skills.

——————————————————————

Your new place was beautiful. You rented a big new condo close to Millennial Park. Your office was on Michigan Ave so you weren’t far from there thought walking was highly discouraged. It wouldn’t be possible in heels anyway.

You and Andy worked diligently unpacking and cleaning. When the last box was unpacked and broken down you both collapsed on the couch. “I feel disgusting.”

“You have that nice big bathtub. Bet we can both fit.” He raised an eyebrow at you and nudged your side.

“You are insatiable, Mr. Barber. Whatever will I do without you?”

“You’ll bust from horniness. Come on.” He hoisted you up from your comfy spot and pulled you into the bathroom. While he undressed you filled the water with soft musky oils and some bubble bath. You lit candles and eased in to relax. He washed your hair massaging your scalp with his fingertips. He held you in the warmth until your fingers and toes were pruned.

For the rest of the week, if you were sitting it was on Andy’s lap. If you were sleeping it was in his arms. By Tuesday morning, you had both finished up conference calls and responding to emails. You had cleared the rest of your day to spend together.

As the sunlight dwindled it had become harder and harder to part. You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to have the conversation you had been dreading since you stepped off the plane.

“Andy, I don’t want to sound like a nagging girlfriend but, I really want you to move in with me. I know it would be so hard leaving Jacob but I have plenty of room. He can spend every summer here if he wants. I’d love to have him. I feel really strongly that this is leading somewhere. I’ll even talk about babies if you want.”

His heart was bursting. You kept rambling on trying to convince him. Little did you know he was already convinced. “Stan is going to kill you.” He laughed and pulled you onto his lap. “Give me a few weeks to wrap up everything.”

When you dropped him at the airport there were tears but you knew you’d see him soon. “I love you, baby. I’ll call you as soon as I land.” He kissed you like he would never get to do it again.

“I love you too. See you soon.” He smiled through his tears.

“See you soon.”

——————————————————————

That weekend he spent all of his time with Jacob. He planned on spending every moment he could with his son. Jacob even had his first few weeks planned starting with meeting your family in Louisiana.

When he brought Jacob home on Sunday he worked up the courage to tell Lori the news. “Do you have all of your stuff for your English assignment? If not I can bring it by before school tomorrow.”

“I got it, dad. I had fun this weekend.” They hugged. He smelled Jacob’s hair and kissed him.

“Love you. Be good for mom.”

“Love you too!”

Lori stood in the doorway with her arms folded protectively over her chest. “So she’s gone?”

“Yep.”

“So what now? What does this mean for you?”

He pulled out the kitchen chair and rested his head in this hands. “This wasn’t a fling, Lori. I’m moving to Chicago. Jacob is real excited about spending summers with us.”

“Do you love her?” Tears shimmered in her eyes and her voice wavered. It would be cruel to lie to her.

“Very much.” It stung to hear. With nothing left to say Andy stood to leave.

“Andy!” she called after him. When he turned she wrapped him in a hug. The two of them embraced for several minutes.

When he stepped onto the sidewalk outside of the building his phone buzzed in his pocket. He saw your face smiling back at him.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?” He looked up at your old window and thought of how the two of you started, the past he left behind and smiled at the sound of his future on the other end of the line.

#andy barber angst #andy barber smut #andy barber x y/n #andy barber fluff #andy barber #defending jacob

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

It’s You and Me - Chapter 1

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 2131

Rating: E

Warnings: Action, Canon typical violence, snakes (further warnings on series, if you have triggers please see masterlist for series warnings)

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back. Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you. For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down. Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father. Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 1: Now

The lights were out in the lobby. That wasn’t that unusual. The building you lived in was only barely above the level of run-down most people would consider dilapidated. If it was just the lights, you wouldn’t be as on edge as you currently felt. But as not just one, but two of the security doors leading in were unlatched your hackles went up.

You immediately became aware of someone lurking in the shadow of the stairwell, and you relaxed.

Some people gave off a certain energy. It was comfortable and familiar and if they were there you just knew. It was almost like their molecules blended with yours and spoke to each other without needing to be aware it was happening.

“You gonna hide there all night?” You asked, readjusting the paper bag of groceries you were carrying as you started climbing the crooked stairs up to your apartment. The archer stepped out of the shadows soundlessly and began to follow you upstairs.

You hadn’t seen Clint for what was coming up to fifteen years, give or take. Yet you could always tell when he was there. Even now, his presence in the room just felt a certain way. The two of you were connected through a shared past and in the end, it was always the two of you.

He followed you upstairs, not saying a word. You carefully juggled your groceries as you unlocked your door and he followed you inside and closed it behind him. Your apartment was small. Just one room that acted as your bedroom and living room, with a tiny nook on one side that was your kitchen, and a bathroom on the far end that looked out onto the building next door.

Your grey tabby cat, Jasper, met you at the door, meowing loudly. He wound his way between your feet. You put your groceries down and opened a tin of cat food, and emptied it into his dish. You dropped the tin into the sink and turned to Clint.

“So, business or pleasure?” You asked. Instead of answering directly, Clint spun you and crashed his lips into yours, pushing you back against the bench as he kissed you hard. You braced one hand against the bench behind you and ran the other up his chest. Fifteen years had not taken anything from Clint’s physique. He was just as muscular as you remembered him being back when you were both barely even counted as adults. The kiss was just how you remembered too. His lips were familiar and exciting. This was something you’d done hundreds of times, but it had been so long that it was new as well.

Clint pulled back and looked down at you. Those blue eyes that you knew so well were lined at the corners. “So, business then?” You teased.

He pulled away from you and nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

You started to unpack your groceries. You had assumed it would be work. For a long time, you and Clint trod the same line between dark and light. Then one day Clint had veered directly into the light. Ever since then, he’d used his contacts up anytime he’d needed information. You’d heard stories, often directly from the source about many getting roughed up by him while he was on some mission for SHIELD and then the Avengers.

He hadn’t come to you yet, but you knew it was a matter of time before he ran out of options.

“What is it?” You asked, putting your milk in the fridge.

Clint began pawing through your groceries pulling things out and scattering them over your benchtop. He found a punnet of blueberries and popped it open and began to eat them. “You can get me into the bar with no name, can’t you?”

You looked at him and raised your eyebrow. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

He held up his hands. “I swear to god, I’m not going to start anything. I’m supposed to pick something up.”

“What idiot told you they’d meet you there? You. Hawkeye of the Avengers,” you asked.

Clint smirked. “Zelda.”

You shook your head and ran your hands down your face. “It’s a setup, Clint. You know that right?”

“She doesn’t know it’s me,” Clint assured you. “I swear.”

“She knows, just like I would know,” you said. “And it’s moot. You show your face in there, and they’ll kill you and then they’ll kill me for bringing you. You’re hardly incognito anymore.”

Clint put down the blueberries and came over to you, he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you close. “Come on, sugar,” he said, using your old stage name. “Do it for old times sake. Don’t you miss me?”

“I miss the stuff you led with,” you huffed. “Why’s it taken you so long to track me down?”

He frowned and his thumbs drew circles on your hips. “I wanted to…”

“But?”

“But… I didn’t want to get to the point where you rejected me. It was always you and me,” he said. “And I changed, but you never told me no.”

You huffed and pulled away from him. “God, you suck.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’d owe you. And imagine what that could do for you. Having an Avenger in your debt.” He came up behind you and pulled you back against him again. “We can continue with what we were doing after if you like?”

You leaned back against him. “Clint…”

“Come on…” he begged. “It’ll be you and me again.”

You huffed. “She definitely doesn’t know it’s you?”

“No, I swear.”

“How about this,” you said, turning to face him. “I go in. Pretend to be someone picking up the … whatever it is… and I’ll bring it to you.”

“How do I know you won’t just run off with it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

You smiled at him. “You’re going to have to trust me, aren’t you?”

A few hours later you were dressed head to toe in black Kevlar body armor and your sword strapped to your back. In television and movies bars with a large criminal element always had a no-weapons rule. You’d check them at the door to avoid any incident on site. For the Bar With No Name, it was the opposite. They employed a nuclear deterrent method. Everyone was either armed or enhanced and that way no one would start anything if they wanted to avoid anything getting ugly.

You spotted Zelda sitting at the bar. She sat alone with several empty seats on either side. The patrons closer to her eyed her with a mixture of revulsion and fear due to the large Burmese Python she had casually wrapped around her. You knew the name of the snake even though you’d never seen that one before. They always had the same name.

“Hello, Zelda,” you said. “And how’s Precious?”

She looked at you a little surprised. “Oh my god! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in forever!”

She hugged you and the snake nosed at your side. “I’m here for you.”

She pulled back and looked at you. “No…” she said. “No, you’re not.”

You opened one of the pouches on your belt to show her the wad of cash Clint had supplied you with.

“Well then,” she said, pulling a microdrive out of her pocket. You went to take it from her but just as you started to close your fingers around it, she flicked it back over her knuckles and out of your reach. Precious the snake lifted his head and hissed softly. “But first, tell me, why are you working with Hawkeye.”

As you’d expected, she knew. “I’m not,” you lied.

Zelda put the drive on the bar and the snake slithered off her and began encircling it. “That’s funny,” she said. “Because I’ve been talking to Clint Barton for two months about this drive and yet here you are.”

“You’ve got it wrong. You’ve been talking to one of my people,” you argued.

She laughed loudly and Precious reared her head and bared her fangs. “Honey, you, me, and Clint go way back. You think I wouldn’t recognize that idiot’s voice when I heard it?”

“If you really expected it to be Clint then why would you suggest meeting him in the only place in the city he can’t get into?” You asked.

“Because,” Zeda said, leaning forward a little. “I can’t kill him, but maybe all these people can.”

You looked directly in her eye not moving, aware that Precious had started to sway slightly where she sat. You were burned. No matter what you did now, everyone in here would soon know you were working with the Avengers. Even if it was just this once and just Clint Barton. If you stood up and walked out, Zelda would tell everyone about it after. If you grabbed the disk, chaos would break out and they’d all know now. You didn’t want to hurt her snake, but if you were burned, you were burned. Might as well get what you came for.

You moved quickly. Too quick for Zelda. She wasn’t really a fighter and even back at the circus it was her snakes over fitness. Precious on the other hand was fast. As your fingers closed around the drive, Precious lunged at you, sinking her fangs into your arm. You screamed out and yanked your hand back as you drew your sword.

Everyone in the room drew their weapons as their attention snapped to you.

“She’s working with the Avengers!” Zelda shouted.

“Liar! She is!” You countered and slammed the hilt of your head down on Precious’ head. The snake let go of our arm and you started gushing blood. All around you chaos broke out as people decided which of you was lying. You ran for the door as the snake lunged at you again. This time you were quicker than the snake, ducking to the side so that the large python slammed into the chest of a large man who had come running at you. He screamed and began wrestling with the snake and you launched yourself over his head using four more random people as stepping stones to get to the door as gunfire broke out.

The large security guard blocked your exit. You squared off with your sword, preparing to fight on all sides, when the door blew in suddenly, flattening the guard. Clint stood on the other side grinning. “What are you waiting for?” He said.

“God, you suck,” you laughed and ran out after him, half the bar close on your heels. Clint fired a series of his trick arrows at the group pursuing you. Two got pinned to the wall of the building as they existed, blocking the path for anyone else. Another got clocked on the head with a concussion arrow. And three more were captured in his net arrow. The last arrow he fired exploded into a cloud of smoke and the two of you ducked down a side alley while the remaining pursuers disappeared from view.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“Subway,” Clint said, pointing to the entrance on the other side of the road.

You ducked through the traffic, jumping over the hood of a taxi and sliding down the railing into the subway below. You jumped the barrier as Clint pulled out a ticket and scanned in and the two of you got onto the very first train you saw as its door closed behind you.

“Did you get it?” He asked as the two of you stood panting and leaning against each other. You held out the drive. Blood was still running down your arm but it wasn’t until now that you were aware of how bad it was. You swooned, and Clint caught you. “Woah. Did the snake get you?” He said, pulling off his shirt and wrapping it around your arm.

The other people in the carriage had all started backing away and moving down the train and Clint got you to take a seat on one of the plastic chairs. “Yeah. It’s just a python though. It’ll stop bleeding.”

“I’ll take you back to my place and patch you up. Might be better if you don’t go home tonight.”

“Are you kidding me?” You asked. “You burned me. They’re gonna swarm my place looking to see if I am an Avenger. No one will work with me now.”

Clint shrugged. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

“Easy for you to say, Mister Avenger,” you snapped.

“Come on,” Clint teased. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t fun.”

You huffed and nodded, a reluctant smile playing over your lips. “Yeah… I guess it was.”

// NEXT

#clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #it's you and me

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rowyn-writes · 3 years

Text

Dying From a Broken Heart

Part Two of Confidence

Warnings: Violence, angst, language, arguing, blood, fluff

Pairings: Jack x Winchester!Reader

Characters: Jack Kline, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Rowena, Eros, Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: While you and Jack are at the motel, you make a shocking discovery. You're not dealing with a pack of werewolves like you thought, but Eros, God of Love and Lust. You finally figure out the connection between Eros and the victims. . . Only to find out that you're next.

You and Jack were still doing research when Sam and Dean came back. "Okay, so get this." You said, turning around in your chair. "Every year, six people go missing and are found dead with their hearts torn out."

"A ritual?" Sam inquired.

"Exactly what I was thinking, dear brother." You grinned. "Now, big city like this, six missing people is something you'd hardly notice."

"Yeah, but why would a werewolf preform a ritual?" Dean asked.

"That's what Jack and I kept asking ourselves." You said, looking over at your boyfriend. "Why in the world would a Purebred werewolf need to preform some kind of ritual?" You stood up, rummaging around in your backpack for a book. You gave a triumphant smile as you held up your Greek Mythology book.

"Eros. God of Love and Lust." You opened the book to the page that was dedicated to the god.

"But their hearts were torn out." Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "What would Eros want with hearts?"

"It's a sacrifice for him." You informed the men. "Think about it. None of the vics had bites or even scratches. At first, I thought it was a Purebred werewolf because the attacks didn't line up with the lunar cycle. But the more I thought about it, the more that this makes sense. People used to worship Eros and make sacrifices for him, but now hardly anyone believes in him anymore. So Eros goes out and gets his own sacrifices."

Sam and Dean seemed impressed while Jack seemed proud. "Okay." Dean nodded. "That means that since he failed with the last victim, he's going kill again."

You tried your hardest to think of some kind of connection with all the deceased. You knew there had to be something in common since they were dealing with a god. They seemed to be picky with their sacrifices.

"What are you thinking about, Y/n?" Jack asked, resting his hand on top of yours, something that didn't go unnoticed by your brothers. Dean was about to say something when Sam stomped on his foot, earning a grunt from Dean.

"I'm trying to find the connection between everyone. Because I know there has to be one." You picked at a tear in your jeans while you tried to connect the dots.

Then it hit you like a ton of bricks. You stood up abruptly, startling the men in the room. "I know what Eros looks in for a sacrifice." You stated, grabbing your notepad to look at the stuff you had written down. "Everyone we interviewed said the victims just had a big announcement. The 55 year old man was celebrating his 30th anniversary with his wife, the 28 year old woman was newly engaged, the 45 year old man just started dating again after his wife died, and so on until the fifteen year old girl. She had just gotten her first girlfriend when she was attacked."

"What are you saying, Y/n?" Jack questioned.

"I'm saying that Eros is targeting people with an immense amount of pure love. That's what he's looking for!"

"Wow." Sam said, looking at his little sister in admiration. "That's genius, Y/n." He patted her on the shoulder, only to furrow his eyebrows. "What's that on your collarbone?"

You gave Sam a confused look as you headed to the bathroom. There, on your collarbone was a dark red circle. You sucked in a sharp breath.

"I know who the next target is." You told the men.

"Who?" Jack seemed worried by the look on your face.

"It's me."

. .

. . .

"How did this even happen?!" Sam exclaimed.

"I don't know!" You defended yourself, your voice raised slightly. "The whole time we were out I was with you guys. Jack and I never left the motel room while you two were gone."

"That is true." Jack nodded. "Y/n and I stayed in here and she agreed to be my girlfri-"

You put your hand over his mouth. "Now's not the time, babe." You could feel Dean glaring a hole through you and Jack.

"Okay, let's think about this for a second." You said, trying to calm everyone down. "Maybe this is a good thing."

"A good thing?!" Dean roared. "Y/n, how in the hell is this a good thing?!"

"Dean." Sam hissed, cuffing his brother. "Calm down and let Y/n talk." You threw Sam a grateful look.

"This way we can lure Eros out, and kill him. Apparently all it takes is a wooden stake dipped in lambs blood."

"I don't like this plan." Jack muttered.

"See! Thank you." Dean said, clearly pleased with the Nephilim.

"Jack-"

"No, Y/n. You're not going to put yourself in danger just to kill this god. I won't allow it."

"Oh for the love of-" You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Eros is coming for me either way. It's better to be prepared and have a plan rather than to just sit here and let him tear my heart out!"

"Don't talk like that!" Jack insisted angrily. You understood that he was worried about you, but you were a grown woman and could make your own decisions.

"It's inevitable, Jack." You said softly. "Eros will come for me. We know from the victims that he kills them 24 hours after being marked. I have maybe 18 hours at best."

Dean was furious. "This is your fault!" He growled at Jack. "You're the reason my baby sister is being targeted!"

Jack looked taken aback. "I didn't want this for Y/n." He said sincerely. "If I could trade places with her, I would."

"That's the problem!"

"Dean-" You started, only to get interrupted by your oldest brother.

"You think you're in love with her, but you're not! It's unnatural. Nephilim, they can't fall in love. All those stupid movies that Y/n and Sam let you watch made you think you're in love with her. You can't love Y/n."

You felt your throat close up, hurt by Dean's words. "Is it that hard to think someone could love me?" You whispered.

Dean's hard glare softened as his eyes landed on you. "Of course not, sweetheart. But Jack. . . He's not right for you."

"Oh, and you know what's best for me?" You growled. Your hurt turned to annoyance and anger.

"Yes, I do. I'm your brother."

Sam and Jack gave each other looks. It was bad when Sam and Dean argued, but when you and Dean argued, it was catastrophic.

"And John was my dad, and he never knew what was best for me! That doesn't mean anything!"

"Oh, so family doesn't mean anything to you?"

"Dean, come on man, you know that's not what she meant." Sam tried to reason.

"Stay out of it, Sam!" Dean yelled.

You could tell Sam was growing annoyed with Dean. His frown deepened, his eyes hardened, and his hand began to twitch.

"No! I won't stay out of it. I am tired of you mistreating Jack and Y/n!"

"Oh, I do not mistreat them!" Dean argued. "Jack, do I mistreat you?" Jack seemed uncomfortable being put on the spot. You knew he looked up to Dean, but Dean had also said some rather hurtful things about Jack.

While Sam, Dean, and Jack continued their argument, you were able to slip away unnoticed.

You were crying now, the thought of dying scared the crap out of you. And your brothers and Jack arguing didn't help the situation.

You looked around the parking lot, looking for something to hotwire. You came across a black Harley Davidson Dyna Super Glide Sport. And the dumbass was stupid enough to leave the keys in the ignition.

You started the engine, listening to the bike purr. You threw back the kickstand and began driving. You didn't know where you were going, all you knew was that you had to get out of there.

You weren't stupid, of course, you had your gun and a silver dagger just in case.

You planted both of your feet on the ground at a stop light. You were still crying, and you couldn't figure out why. You were just so angry.

You ended up stopping at a small dive bar outside of Little Rock. There were a total of ten people there, and most were men.

You flag down the bartender and order a beer. Around twenty minutes later, a man slide in the seat beside you. He said nothing as he ordered a drink. The man seemed so familiar to you, but you couldn't put your finger on it. He had curly, dark brown hair, and beautiful blue-grey eyes. He was handsome in all aspects of the word. But he was nothing compared to Jack.

"I've never seen you here before." He said to you.

"Oh, I uh - I'm just passing through." You gave him a tight smile.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. You grabbed it, looking down to see that Dean's as calling you. You sent him to voicemail, something that was bound to piss him off.

"Guy troubles?" The man inquired.

"More like brother troubles." You laughed. "I'm Y/n, by the way."

"Elliott." He smiled, showing off a gleaming row of white teeth. "So, what's going on with your brother?"

"Brother's, actually. They treat me like a baby, just because they're older than me."

"That's what brothers are supposed to do." Elliott shrugged. "They're supposed to look out for you, protect you." Your phone rang again, this time, it was Sam. You sent him to voicemail as well and put your phone on silent.

"Yeah, I guess." You agreed. "But -" You cut yourself off, not wanting to dump all your feeling onto this random stranger.

"But what?" He asked, curious to what your response was.

"There's this guy, this amazing, wonderful, sweet and funny guy. He cares about me, and I care about him, but my oldest brother, he thinks we shouldn't be with each other." You confessed, taking a sip of your beer.

"Is he respectful towards you?" You nodded. "He cares about you and treats you right?" You nodded once more. "Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know." You mumbled. "My brother just doesn't trust him, even though he has no reason not to."

"Call it a brother's intuition." Elliott grinned. You blinked as your vision began to blur. "Hey, you okay?" You let out a slurred response. "Let's get you some air." Elliott helped you out of your chair and outside. You felt the cold air nip at your cheeks, making you feel a thousand times better.

Your head began to spin, the world shifting around you. "I don't feel so well." You groaned. Your body went limp, and the last thing you felt was a pair of strong arms wrapping around you to keep you from falling.

. .

. . .

"Guys!" Jack yelled over Sam and Dean, trying to catch their attention. "GUYS!" Jack's eyes flared orange, finally getting Sam and Dean to stop arguing. "Where's Y/n?"

Sam and Dean looked around the room frantically. Jack looked into the bathroom and found nothing. "Damnit!" Dean growled. "How could she have left without us noticing?!"

"Well, you and Sam were rather angry, I think it was very easy for her to slip away." Dean glared at Jack.

"So help me God, if a single hair on her head is out of place, all hell will break loose, and it'll be on you." Sam sighed, shaking his head.

Dean dialed your phone number, looking apprehensive. "Y/n, I swear if you sent me to voicemail on purpose, I am going to kill you! Answer me, damnit!"

"Let me try." Sam mumbled. "Y/n, please call and let us know you're okay. We're worried."

"I can find her." Jack said hopefully. He closed his eyes, searching for any sign of you. He saw you sitting next to a guy in a bar, he saw the man put something in your drink, and he saw you pass out outside of the bar.

Jack grew angry. He knew what happened to you was wrong, he could feel you were in distress. "She's in trouble."

. .

. . .

"Wakey wakey, sunshine!" Elliott cheered as he threw water on your face. You gasped, bolting awake. You found that you were bound in a chair, the thick rope cutting into your skin. You looked around to see that you were in some kind of a abandoned building.

You were relieved to see that you still had on all your clothes. "I was worried for a second. I thought I might have given you too high of a dose for your body."

"You roofied me." You groaned.

"I did! But you have to understand, Y/n, I would have never gotten you out of there otherwise. You're one of the strongest sacrifices I've ever had."

"Eros." You said in realization.

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner!" Eros almost seemed happy by the situation. "You are going to be one of the best sacrifices I've had. A hunter with a strong heart full of compassion and pure love. The perfect candidate."

"Please," You whimpered. "Let me go."

Eros sucked in a breath, faking remorse. "You see, I wish I could. . . But I can't. I need you. Ever since the last sacrifice escaped, I've been looking for a new one. And then your brother's, boy wonder and you roll into town. I knew as soon as I saw you that you were perfect. Almost too perfect."

You felt a tear slip down your cheek. "Please. I don't want to die. I'm only 21, there's so much things I haven't done yet. Let me live." You pleaded.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Eros grinned, pulling up a chair in front of you, sitting with his chest on the back of the chair. "I was actually looking for a wife." He gave you a wicked grin that made you squirm in your seat. "I need an heir, or heiress, I don't discriminate. I just want someone to pass my powers off to, to teach. So, I can let you live if you agree to be my wife."

"Rot in hell." You spat, disgusted by the thought of marrying Eros. He grew annoyed, as he punched you, your head snapping back.

"That's too bad." Eros shook his head. "But, at least I'll get to enjoy killing you."

You watched in horror as Eros' fingernails grew into sharp, claw-like hands, almost like a werewolves. You screamed in pain as he drew his finger over your face. "Shh, shh, love. It's gonna be okay." You gave out a small cry, struggling against the ropes.

"The more you struggle, the more it's going to hurt." Eros said in a singsong voice.

You began whispering apologies in your head, to Sam, Dean, Jack, Cas, Rowena, everyone. There were so many unfinished words, so many unsaid 'I love you's,'

"I'm sorry." You whispered. You screamed out once more as Eros dug his nails into your chest.

"Y/N!" You heard Dean yell. Sam, Dean and Jack appeared from behind a crate, your brothers carrying guns, and we'll, Jack himself was a weapon.

"Ah, ah, ah." Eros grinned wickedly. "I am holding her life in the palm of my hand; literally. So put down those shiny guns, and step away from them." Sam and Dean looked at each other. Eros scowled as he dug his nails deeper into your skin. You cried out in pain, feeling his nails getting closer to your heart.

"Alright! Alright!" Sam said hastily, setting down his gun and stepping away, encouraging Dean to do the same.

You were quite the sight for the men. You had blood coating your clothes, a bruised eye from the blows that Eros landed earlier, your hair was a mess and you face was streaked with tears.

"Get away from her!" Jack bellowed.

"Oh, look, it's your lover boy." Jack's words only made Eros angrier, as he retracted his hand, and swiped his claws over your face, creating four long gashes.

"I said get away from her!" Jack's eyes began to glow orange, and he trembled with anger. Eros looked frightened as he was sent flying back into the wall.

Sam and Dean surged forward, both carrying a wooden stake dipped in lambs blood, while Jack went to help you.

"It's okay," He whispered. "I've got you." You gave out a small whimper as he cut the ropes. "Can you stand?" You tried to stand up with the help of Jack, but your knees buckled beneath you. Jack scooped you up in his arms. You buried your head in his chest, turning away from you brothers, who were currently killing Eros.

"Take me home." You mumbled before darkness enveloped you.

. .

. . .

When you awoke, you were in your bed at the bunker, surrounded by Cas, Sam, Dean, Jack and Rowena.

"Y/n." Dean breathed a breath of relief as he hugged you. You winced in pain, your body still sore from you attack. "I am so sorry. I never should have said those things to you. I'm so glad you're okay."

"It's okay, Dean." You assured him. Even though you said you were fine, there was still pain swimming in his eyes.

"We couldn't heal your wounds with magic," Rowena informed you. "Since Eros was the one to injure you, it will have to heal naturally. I did make you some herbs that will stop the pain, however."

"Thanks, Rowena." You smiled. The room began emptying out, everyone wanted to let you rest. Jack, however, didn't leave your side.

"I'm sorry, Y/n." He whispered.

"Why are you sorry?" You asked, squeezing his hand.

"I let you get hurt. I should have gotten there sooner." You saw there were tears in his eyes. You frowned as you scooted over.

"Come lie beside me." Jack hesitantly climbed into the bed, pushing aside the covers. You wrapped your arms around his middle and rested your head on his chest. "You got me out of there when you did. I'm okay, and that's all that matters."

"But-"

You cut Jack off with a kiss. "I don't want to talk about it anymore." You mumbled, cupping his cheek. "I just want you to hold me."

"I can do that." Jack nodded, pulling you closer to his body. You decided to put on a movie as you and Jack cuddled. Halfway through the movie, you ended up falling asleep. Jack didn't sleep that often, but he felt so at peace that he fell asleep as well.

When everyone came to check on you again, their hearts melted at the sight of you and Jack. "Oh, just look at them." Rowena whispered to the men. "They're so cute."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "They are."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tag List: @mila-dans @blairrrose

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