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creativeashproductions · 4 years ago

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What If...? IV // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: 1997 and 1998 are big years for Luke Patterson and his fiancée with their engagement and wedding planning. If you thought wedding planning and the wedding itself was the big things well, you’d be wrong. I mean this is the couple that almost ended with a car accident. Join the year long adventure.

Warnings: Swearing, pregnancy, minor angst, sweet groom!Luke, and fluff

Words: 3.3k

Requested: By @beautifulblogsblog. There is one more part after this. 🥺😭

A/N: It’s finally here! The Patterson-Y/L/N wedding makes its appearance here and a little cameo of a future character. The next part is the last part in the miniseries as well. Enjoy.

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Masterlist

Hollywood 1997

An entire year had flown by from the day of your engagement to Luke filled with frustration, elation and greatness. Sunset Curve toured around California, leaving the Y/L/N-Patterson women to plan the wedding. Nineteen years old now in the modestly sized apartment, Luke sat beside you in the bathroom.

Two nervous teenagers a mere month away from their wedding day they cuddled each other eyes pinned at the floor. Apprehensive of the stick that held power to change everything in their lives. For the last week, you hadn’t felt very well with being tired and nausea laying you out in bed.

“It’s been long enough.” Luke murmured reaching for the test, “No matter what. I love you.”

Kissing his cheek, the two of you slumped at the negative with surprising emotion. The negative greatly disappointed you.

“I’m sorry,” Luke mumbled to his fiancée equally torn up because while the timing wasn’t perfect, he had pictured what life would be like.

A tiny baby growing in his fiancée womb, growing into bump made flutters in his belly. Of love, he already felt for your future unborn children and snuggling his kids. Introducing them to his loved ones and bonding over music. Teaching his son or daughter how to play the guitar.

He’d love to see his parents cradle a new addition to the family freshly born with the tiny knit hat Emily couldn’t resist making. Sharing a celebratory beer with his father and wisdom for the coming years. To learn the parental reason of why they had been against his career choice.

“I really wanted it to be positive.” You admitted playing with your fingers disappointed at being wrong about your body. Luke smiled as your words as he grabbed your hand in his calloused grip.

“Do you…do you want to try for a baby?” Luke trailed off flushing at how beautiful you would look growing his child. The bathroom was quiet as you thought the idea over, “With the tour just finishing the band will be writing music and recording. I could be here for the whole pregnancy and birth.”

“If we get pregnant in the next month. But we’re also getting married in a few months.” You sighed leaning to rest about his bare arm staring at the pregnancy test.

“If it happens then it happens.” Luke spoke, “If you want, we can try.”

Raising your eyes to meet Luke’s you hesitantly nodded at his words as it settled that is there ever a perfect time to get pregnant? So many people struggle with conception like your parents did with you; your mother’s labour was so complicated that you’d never have siblings.

“Okay.” Luke breathed, standing up to scoop you into his arms, “Best get on with it.”

The laughter filled the simple bedroom as Luke crawled over your body to hover with a matching smile. There was no one else in the world that could get his heart fluttering and focus on something other than music. It was terrific, and he couldn’t be mad about.

“So, Rockstar…are you gonna help?” You whispered tugging on the chain of his necklace to drag his face closer. Closing the distance, Luke’s lips brushed yours before time stopped in a collision of senses.

The callouses of his fingers trailing a fire under the flowing shirt chosen for the lunch date earlier. The warmth of his hands nowhere close enough to match the heat your body burnt with. The taste of the cherry chapstick he shamelessly stole from you, but it was the heady scent of Luke that got you.

Luke heavily breathed as he pulled back with a hazy gaze with the green almost overtaken by the black pupils. No hesitation as your lips sucked on his neck, bringing a gravelly moan from the man over you, a sound that caused your lower half to clench. Legs unable to fully close as his fingers drew symbols on your inner thigh.

Symbols that spelt out his full name. Now that was really hot.

A gasp pulled from your throat you arched as a hand came up to cup your breast in his hand; Luke could argue all he wanted, but he was boob man when it came to you.

Thoughts disappearing the ecstasy with the love of your life overtook your senses.

July 1998

The white dress was a little snugger than the previous month, but you had a good reason for it. A tiny little blob had taken up residence in your womb with a sickness that lasts all day from day one until the start of trimester two. Getting pregnant had to be easy with Luke from the number of times.

Didn’t matter where you were when Luke tugged you away. The small bathroom in the studio? Three times.

Luke’s couch? Yeah, Alex refuses to sit there now.

At this point, you had been everywhere, trying for a baby was incredibly fun, but the hormones sucked. Luke’s deft fingers creating the chords of a song? Bobby banned you from rehearsals, and you had an emergency bag of clothes as well.

“You look gorgeous.” Nancy Y/L/N told her daughter with tears glittering in her eyes as she took in the sight of her daughter. The wedding dress the bridesmaids, mother’s and Alex had hunted for; the boy had tagged along as he was like a brother. Reggie, Bobby and Luke had spent the day with Mitch and Lance.

A sob broke from the lips of Lance; his baby girl no longer needed him with her soon to be husband. There was no one in the world he trusted more with his daughter than Luke Patterson. The boy never placed the band ahead of his fiancée, and it was quickly noticed how much Luke adored the Y/L/N girl.

“Dad.” You spoke, rushing to hug the man in your arms, “Stop crying. You’ll make me cry.”

Lance was able to hold his tears until the music started and the doors opened to the venue that Luke’s parents married in. Luke stood at the altar with Bobby, Alex, and Reggie. On the opposite side stood your best friend, a childhood friend and your close cousin.

“You look beautiful,” Dad told you slowly making their way to the man cupping his hands over his face. Overtaken by your beauty and the glow, Luke thanked Lance.

“Baby, you look like an Angel,” Luke whispered, squeezing your hands tightly in his as the ceremony began.

“It’s rare that one can find their soulmate, the other half of themselves on such a large plant. Luke and Y/N orbited each other as young children and fell in love in a perfect place. For those of you who don’t know, these two met as a concert. The first step to falling in love. Music is important to this couple.” The officiant spoke, “Luke’s mother told me once that music tethered their souls together, they truly met at a concert, and every important moment had a song.”

Luke’s eyes watered meeting the brown of his mother’s love-filled eyes holding hands with her husband. Luke had no clue how much his mother came to accept, and he felt the relationship fully fix itself as it settled that his Mom had personally made the ceremony better.

“These two souls came together and became one. Luke and Y/N’s love is rare and beautiful. Today these two had decided to make their own vows.” The officiant finished, “Luke if you could start.”

“There has always music in my heart and soul since childhood. I adored listening and begging my parents for new music. My parents, one year, gave me a guitar as a gift, and it started a deep passion in my soul. I made a band with my best friends, and the band brought me to a person that would become more important. Y/N, I had had a crush on you for a long time before you first spoke to me. I had hit Reggie in the calf with my father’s car, and you made a joke about my height. It wouldn’t be until years later than I somehow convinced you to take a chance.” Luke squeezed your hands, “I love music because it brought me to you.”

“Luke. I am absolutely positive that I have loved you for more than this lifetime as my love is so vast and deep. I believe we have been destined since the dawn of time to find each other together by music. I can’t compete with your vows because you have a way with words with the songwriting you’ve done. You’ve been there through the hard times and best times holding my hand ready to catch me if I fell. I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives catching each other when we need it.”

“May the rings be presented?” The officiant asked with a smile as your best friend and Alex gave the rings.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Luke whispered as he slid the band to rest against your engagement ring. You repeated the words as you slid the band on his finger as well.

“I now pronounce you as man and wife. Mr. Patterson, you may kiss your wife.” The officiant spoke, sending the room into applause.

You and Luke ran down the aisle still holding hands with the biggest smiles of your entire life to the limo that would deliver you to the reception. Luke couldn’t help himself as he pressed kisses all over. This was a glorious day for the musician, his career was going really well, and he married the most beautiful girl.

“God, I love you.” Luke murmured to the girl in the white dress. Leaning closer for another kiss, Luke froze.

Digging into his ankle was a heavy object. Your nervous eyes glittered under the dimmed lighting in the limo. Never-ending eye contact Luke lifted a moderately heavy wooden chalkboard. Written on the sign was: ‘Unofficial flower girl or ring bearer’.

“Are you serious?” Luke asked gobsmacked at the news that heightened the greatness of his wedding day. Eyes flickering to meet yours he watched as your hand unzipped a hidden pocket on your dress.

Flat on your hand was a pregnancy test similar to the one you took months back. The only difference being this one had two lines.

“AS serious as a heart attack. There will be a baby Patterson in six months.” The laugh was joyful as your lips parted.

Luke wasted absolutely no time in setting his hand on the slight bump the dress had covered, “This is why you mentioned your dress being snugger?”

“Mhm.” You replied, stroking the softness of his cheekbone in pure love with him and the life you carried, “We’re in for a wild ride Patterson.”

“Bring it on.” Luke finished kissing your cheek as the limo came to a stop in front of a large venue. The duo you ran inside where your wedding guests threw paper airplanes that Reggie had suggested.

Each airplane had a personal note from your friends and family along that would be gathered into a binder. Reggie had found out that rice wasn’t good for birds and while the reception was inside, he couldn’t do it. So, he brought the idea of paper airplanes; in class, the boys would throw airplanes at each other. It was a nod to their adolescence.

“I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Patterson,” Alex announced into the microphone set on the stage with Sunset Curve’s instruments. It didn’t surprise anyone that the band would play at the wedding.

On the stage, a beautiful Hispanic woman played a soft piano ballad, if you could recall that maybe the bartender from the Orpheum. Her name was on the tip of your tongue as Luke twirled you into his arms with a big grin.

“Mrs. Patterson.” You hummed tugging him to the head table with where your wedding party would join as well. The second Luke helped you sit he knelt down to reach the box covertly placed.

Your eyebrows came together as he opened it, revealing two matching pairs of personalized vans; following the wedding theme one pair was white and another black. On the right shoe, it had ‘just married’ with the wedding date while the left shoe had a picture from your engagement pictures. Of course, Luke made them have Mr. and Mrs. above the image as well.

“How?” You breathed as Luke gently removed your heels to replace them with a thin pair of no-show socks. Over the socks went the white vans that gave your feet a break from the four-inch heels.

“We’re supposed to party now.” Luke beamed squeezing your hands in his only bending to kiss the back of each. His hazel eyes had shifted to a rich green as he stared up at yours with such a tender look, you could feel the heat building in your cheeks.

As your wedding party took their seats, Luke had already changed his shoes and pushed the box back under the table. His left hand refused to leave your right one as you both took in the magical room that had once only been a concept on paper.

“This is amazing.” You breathed leaning into Luke’s arm, sending a smile to the table near the front with both your parents, “Also thank you for the shoe surprise.”

“I am so happy they got done on time.” Luke sighed slouching in his seat, waving at the photographer you had hired.

If you can recall correctly, Luke had met him at a band photoshoot, and he was the assistant to the head photographer. You believe his name was Ray and incredibly talented and under-appreciated by his former boss.

“Did you let the photographer know we have an open bar?” You leaned over to your new husband with a flutter in your belly at his new title. The question turned the corners of Luke’s mouth for the first time that day.

“I find it unfair that we have an open bar and we can’t drink anything.” Luke snorted nudging Reggie in his side.

“Oh, I think we both know you’ll sneak some for the guys and you.” You chuckled leaning back in the chair. One hand resting on your stomach to caress the material with your thumb, unaware, “I’ll stick to the sparkling juice.”

Luke’s one eyebrow raised at the sudden change in your drink choice as in the past you wouldn’t turn down your favourite. His eyes shifted down to your hand with raised eyebrows.

“Wait…are you…?” Luke drawled out slowly in your ear taken aback when your head in a surreptitious manner. His jaw unhinged mind opened as he took in the tiny bump; in the years together, he was very acquainted with your body.

“We are. How cliché are we?” You laughed as Luke lunged to press a kiss to the supple skin lightly painted with foundation.

Your makeup was natural and straightforward to last longer for photos and make it through the dances for later. It was also Luke’s favourite look.

Dinner, the dances and speeches had sped by ending with both the bouquet toss and the garter toss. The guests mingled with the newlyweds as some danced, Emily had managed to drag Luke back on the floor.

“I’m proud of you, Luke.” Emily smiled up at her son, “And you said those dance lessons were a waste of time.”

A light pink flush took over the nineteen-year old’s full cheeks reminiscing the lessons he had taken with his mother. He had been eleven or twelve at the time when his father pulled a muscle at the worst time. The coupons nearly expiration Emily took Luke to the lessons that initially had been for date night.

“I think it helped with singing-“Luke instinctively cut himself off as he had done years before when music was a no go subject, “Sorry you don-“

“Luke, I can never explain how sorry I am about what happened. I was wrong to push you into a box you didn’t fit. Music is a part of you, and I understand now.” Emily squeezed the bicep of the guitarist, “Besides you’ll understand where we were coming from in a couple months.”

Luke’s jaw dropped at her announcement, “What.”

“Luke, I am a mother. I know the signs such as your wife turning down the wine.” Emily admitted stepping back from the boy that had so suddenly become a man before her very eyes.

No longer was he the chubby-cheeked boy running naked from his bath after splattering spaghetti sauce on himself. He had outgrown his interest in soccer and baseball with his little friends. He had matured into a man that lived up to Emily’s teachings. Luke, in her eyes, was now a man of honour, integrity, kindness and stood up for himself.

Emily and Mitch Patterson had done a fantastic job raising their son, but now they could step back. They would get to watch Luke find his way as a husband and a father.

“Hey, man,” Reggie spoke as Luke walked off the dance floor finding you among family congratulating the couple.

“Hey, Reg.” Luke beamed tugging the bassist into his arms for a tight hug. As the two boys leaned back, they looked over at their friend.

Alex discarded the pink suit jacket at the table in favour of leaning against the wall talking with the bartender. A smile blossomed on the two men’s faces as they took in that Alex was utterly relaxed in the conversation.

“They were hardcore flirting.” Reggie piped up, referencing the male bartender, “His name is Billy, I think.”

The bartender had shoulder-length dark hair pulled back in a bun with glittering brown eyes drowning in the shy blonde. He wore a dark shirt opened a few buttons with white detailing on it. A white necklace as well, but it was the lovesick smile Luke loved; Alex deserved happiness the most in Sunset Curve.

“He’s totally a skater.” Reggie spoke, “It’s a love story. He’s a skater boy, and he’d like to do ballet.”

“That would be a sick song. He was a punk, she did ballet.” Luke hummed to a melody created on the spot, “Not really our sound.”

“Someone will figure out a way to use it.” Reggie waved off, and he was right. A singer would use the exact lyric in her song ‘Sk8er Boi’ in 2002 when Sunset Curve would bump into her.

Slowly the boys of Sunset Curve found their way to the stage to perform a few songs directed towards you. At your urging, you had demanded they give a live performance of Unsaid Emily for your now mother-in-law. As they sang, you wrapped an arm, Emily, as she cried.

“This is his best work.” You mumbled to the older woman cupping her wet cheek leaning into the touch of her husband’s touch.

As soon as the song was over, Emily yanked her son into her arms both parties of the hug emotionally moved. It seemed the performance had shifted something in their relationship for the better. Luke didn’t need to explain as he pulled you into his side once more.

“Alex isn’t the only one that found someone.” You whispered, finding Alex and the bartender on break dancing on the edge of the dance floor. At your husband’s puzzlement, your finger pointed in the direction of the stage.

In a conversation photographer, Ray captivated the lead singer of the band you had hired when Sunset Curve didn’t play. Even Reggie seemed to have the attention of your twin showgirl cousins from Las Vegas.

“Love attracts love.” Luke simply spoke, wrapping his built arms around his wife, thinking back on the changes that had happened.

Luke hitting Reggie’s leg with the car at thirteen, finding each other at the concert a few years later, the accident that threatened the relationship. Proposing twice and finally marrying over a year later on the same day you confessed the pregnancy. So much had happened in such a fraction of time.

“I love you.” Luke murmured at the shell of your ear watching his friends have the time of their lives on a beautiful day in the summer of 1998.

Above are the example of the shoes that Luke got.

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#luke patterson imagines #julie and the phantoms imagines #jatp luke #luke patterson x reader #alive!luke patterson #charlie gillespie #caitsy and ash productions

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pluviophile-bookworm · 3 years ago

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HSMTMTS 2x11: Let us pull up a chair as the dining room proudly presents... the reason for my next mental breakdown

I can't believe myself, honestly. Oversleeping on the one day of the week that I've got something exciting to wake up for? Oh well, I'm up now and I'd better go ahead and do this before my dashboard has showered me with spoilers. I mean, I have never really minded spoilers, but when it comes to this, somehow I do. Though I do wish something had forewarned me about last week's snap ending (get it, 'snap'... I'll see myself out). I'd better dive in already.

Yes, Mr Mazzara, that's what I've been saying for a while! Ok, maybe I haven't been very vocal about it, but it was in the foreground of my mind that they should have asked for Mr Mazzara's help re: transformation! I'm just glad he pointed it out. Not that he could have done much while he was busy playing therapist for his beloved Miss Jenn. Oh well.

Were those Ash and Ricky doing actual paired-up warmups? That is what they should have been doing for weeks now. That and having actual off-stage interactions, too. But I still subscribe to the theory that the gang had some good rehearsals off-screen — otherwise there's no way they could have been this good on stage as we saw in the previews. I said it last time and I'll say it again — not everything is for us to see.

Wow. The one time our leads are in unison, and it is about both being injured. The East High drama club must be cursed — they can't have one production run smoothly and without what can only be described as pure unbridled chaos.

They don't have any understudies? That explains some things... but also how? But also, I'm so happy Ashlyn is going on. No way she would have missed her first (first of many, right?) chance of being the lead because of some 'minor' injury.

Ricky and Nini still can't talk to each other properly. Oh well. Take your time. It's not like I care about this pairing anymore.

Did EJ just use the word 'dig'? Boy, the boy's got it baaaaaad. Also, what is it going to take for these two to realise they're in love? For all we know, they might have that big kiss we're all dreaming of and still be like 'nah, it's nothing, we're buddies'... give me a break! But I mean, at this point they might just be turning into Redlyn 2.0, where even a kiss doesn't define things. But hey, if they do follow in Redlyn's footsteps, that only means good things in their future, right?

What did that fake French git do to my boy Carlos? He's not supposed to look this inanimate until right before the climax of the play! Well, I mean, at least Seb serving as his interpreter means that Seb gets more lines for a bit. Too bad he can't go on for someone with more lines in the play.

Miss Jenn's 'words of inspiration' were less than inspired... yeah, this show's going down. Or it would, if it depended solely on her. Let's hope the kids do better. I mean, I know for a fact they will... at least for about 5 minutes of the thing. There is still room for things to go wrong and I'm scared.

Oh, my sweet boy... I wish I could jump in there and do something to help him feel less nervous. Thing is, if I were there, I'd probably be the most nervous of them all, even if I were playing Townsfolk #3 or something, and everyone's nervousness would rub off on me, and I would be making things worse instead of helping. So yeah, I'm kind of glad I'm not there.

Ahhhh who called it? @redlyncentral was it you? Ash got flowers for her Biggie! And there's a card whose contents we've yet to see. But that doesn't seem to be helping either. My sweet, sweet Reddy... I hope and pray he'll be alright.

Well this is awkward! Who told Mike to show up and shake everything up right now? Miss Jenn is literally on the brink of exploding, and now she's stuck in this completely unnecessary love triangle. She needs some space. And a quiet place to breathe, thanks Mr M for suggesting it.

'Did we forget to build a mote around the school or...' Yeah, you tell her, Rick! That girl whose name I never want to pronounce (because it makes me think of much nicer people and she's making me hate it) has no business being there. She's not... being given a redemption arc, is she now? Some people just don't deserve it. And if hating her is an unpopular opinion now, well, I never did care much about having popular opinions. I can live with that.

'Lily, scram!' Yes, thank you, Natalie! I've always wanted someone who would voice my thoughts in a way that the characters can hear them. Make this girl a main next season, won't you? (Just so we're crystal clear, I mean Natalie, not the other one.)

OMG Mr M is in the play! In a way... I love that!

I love, love, love the way they did the prologue. 'Repulsed [the prince makes an over-the-top gesture of repulsion] by her haggard appearance [the witch shows off her face to the audience]...' I love this. I would pay a lot for a chance to see their entire play, you know?

Oh dear, somebody give my boy Reddy some sort of... medical aid against all the throwing up! I've got a nice pill that helps me with my bad cases of motion sickness. Hey, so maybe I could have helped if I were there after all. Great, now I feel bad. But also, is all the throwing up an excuse on the writers' part to keep my boy off-screen for the majority of this episode? Because it's a really lame excuse.

Gina's 'Many questions' continues to be a mood. What exactly is Miss Jenn expecting from the kids? Last-minute adjustments? No way. This spells disaster.

Was Carlos on vocal rest or something? Because he shines like the star he is... despite all the very obvious nervousness backstage. I mean, I wouldn't have it any other way, but... oh well, I wouldn't say it's unrealistic. In my personal performing experience, the most nervous ones perform the best. (So... what is that saying for my boy Reddy? Good things only.)

I've already had the opportunity to geek out about Be Our Guest yesterday, but... I mean, just look at them! Carlos doesn't need actual candles to be on fire, Ashlyn is stealing the scene without any lines in it, Gina is absolutely gorgeous, and don't even get me started on EJ and Big Red looking at their girls in absolute awe! This is everything!

Aww, look at them! Gina and Ashlyn dancing together, I mean. They're sisters and it really shows. And I love them both so much.

Kourtney is an absolute show-stealer! I'm still upset about some casting choices (one of them is in this scene, doing his absolute best with the crumbs he has been given), but she is absolutely perfect. I think I'll rewind and watch this entire scene again before moving on with the rest of the episode.

I'd just like to point out that Frankie's voice in his lower register is everything!

'You absolutely dusted that stage'... Not EJ making a pun so punny even I could not have thought of it... boy is absolutely smitten!

Not me tearing up when Jordan Fisher appeared as Gina's brother... like, I knew it was happening — I knew it even before it was announced. And I still teared up because, well, it's emotional in-universe and out.

Awww, my boy Reddy is so in love with Ashlyn... I mean, who wouldn't be... but — not Ricky saying Lily might not be as mean as they thought. Especially not to Big Red of all people. To him, she was just as mean as they thought.

'Side hustle project in the south hallway'? Ooh, what is it, I want to know now!

Why do I feel like things are a bit too awkward between Kourtney and Howie? Not that I'm too invested in their relationship, but if it bothered me, imagine how it must feel for the stans.

No, Ash, you absolutely do not need to add any fancy riffs to the song! Especially not just because L... well, that girl did it. You're unique and lovely and a literal Disney princess inside and out. That girl? She's just a wolf in a sparkling golden dress.

Awww... Big Red literally lowers Ash's blood pressure! Those two are such an amazing couple! (Full disclosure, though, he kind of does the same for me too; the other night I had this horrible nightmare, and I woke up in cold sweat in the middle of the night, and then... ok, getting too personal there.) The point is, if even the fantasy of a Big Red hug makes me feel better, imagine what his actual presence would do for Ash at that moment. Where is my boy? Everyone seems to be looking for him.

Oh... guess they took my advice to give the poor boy something for his vomiting issue. Good for whoever thought of it.

And we're back to the Porter siblings... forgive me if I still can't wrap my head around calling Gina's brother Jamie. I don't know about you guys, but thanks to my lovely new friend Paz he will always be Theodore to me. I guess we can headcanon that as his middle name. Anyway, I love it that they made a joke about the hilarious height difference between him and Gina because, well, it's the only thing I can think about when I look at the two of them. It reminds me of me and my little cousin who has been taller than me since she was 10, and is still growing taller now at 13. But, I mean, it's not very hard to be taller than me, since I'm so, so short... ok, this is not about me. Moving on.

Was I the only one who actually laughed out loud at Ricky drinking from the bowl as the Beast? I mean, that part has always made me laugh in the original movie, but something about Ricky's take on it makes it even funnier.

Meanwhile, my girl Ash is absolutely killing it as Belle. Not me having the very same expression as Big Red while watching her... gosh, I love both of them so much! Also, no offence to the rest of the cast, but Julia really is the best vocalist out there. Out of all of them. I said what I said.

My apologies to Ricky, but his voice is just not it when it comes to playing the Beast. Still, with the other option being him putting on that fake deep voice from the audition, I'm glad he didn't.

Ahhhh Portwell nation you ok guys? Since we didn't get them singing Something There, this is very much the next best thing... and boy, is it good!

Those glances between Kourtney and Howie, on the other hand... what on Earth is happening there?

Ok, so you all know just how strongly I feel about Seb's casting as Chip, and yet... boy had one line and absolutely ate it up! Give him an actual singing role next time, Miss Jenn!

EJ being starstruck by Jamie not because he's a big music producer, but because he's Gina's brother... excuse me while I sob!

Excuse me, what!!!! 'A big brother figure'? Boy, this didn't turn out the way I thought it would... now I'm scared.

Way to ruin things, Jamie! And I don't even mean the fact that his name is not Theodore. It doesn't matter what his name is anymore. He might just have put a spanner in the works of Portwell, and they were just doing so well! Ugh, I'm so frustrated. I wish I'd never boarded — what did I call it — 'the majestic S.S. Portwell'. What if it doesn't set sail now?

And there goes another disappointment... Carlos' 'the orchestra hasn't vamped this much since Bop to the Top' line had nothing to do with Seblos, and everything to do with what might still be the downfall of this show. I am not ready.

No. Miss Jenn did not just say that. She did not just tell Ricky — who, may I remind you, not that anyone's forgotten, just fell off of a high place last episode — to 'jump off of something high'. I realise she's under all the pressure, but that is not an excuse. Well, at least she heard herself.

Oh my gods... Nini — well, Nina, actually — did not just call him 'Richard', did she? That's it, that's the point of no return. And well, I kind of wanted them to reach it.

Told you, didn't I? I told you that-girl-who-must-not-be-named was evil! I always follow my intuition and it has not once deceived me. Redeem that, if you can! Guess what? You can't. We've just reached another point of no return.

Wait, a bloody cliffhanger? I cannot handle this. I physically cannot handle this. If you need me, I'll be sitting on my bed in shock, trying to process everything that happened. I'll need a while to get a grip on myself.

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts s2 #ricky bowen #nini salazar-roberts #gina porter #ej caswell #ashlyn moon caswell #big red redonovich #carlos rodriguez #seb matthew-smith #kourtney greene #hsmtmts miss jenn #hsmtmts mr mazzara #hsmtmts howie #jnk

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merlinbingo · 3 years ago

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Good timezone to you, my dear sweet tumblr denizens, and I am so sorry this has taken so long. Those of you on the bingo discord server will know I am in the process of packing up and cleaning my entire house as well as (somewhat perplexingly, it has to be said) occasionally taking on a position of authority at work, and it’s sadly eating into my fandom time.

Aaanyway, I have finally sent out all the badges from June, so if you think you should have one but don’t, please let me know!

Also important this month is the introduction of free fill tokens, which will be awarded for reasons ranging from providing invaluable service to making me giggle to catching me on a bad day when you ask a question. So far, these have been awarded to @fightingforcreativity for helping me figure out what to do for the June bonus badge, and to @warpedalignment for naming the July theme.

Now, on to what you’re actually here for: the round-up! Take a look at all the beautiful fills made last month, sorted by ship and then by rating. Remember to mind the warnings (including where creators are choosing not to warn at all), practice self-care when clicking on that link, and to send all the fabulous participants love in the form of kudos and kind comments!

Gen

Merlin Empathy Gifset by Simoneleona & blueclaw7 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin gifset.

Gossiping with the enemy by Ice-mint Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Did you eat the almonds again? by evaelisaa Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: “Merlin, did you eat all the almonds again?” “What? No!” Merlin walks out of the pantry, a bag of flour in his arms, to see Gwen frantically searching everywhere for the almonds she needs for her recipe.

Merlin is What? by O_Drakon Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin is immortal. He's not gotten around to actually telling anyone this. When Merlin becomes grievously ill, Arthur seeks Kilgharrah's aid, only to end up learning the truth his friend had hidden from him.

Chaos by warpedalignment Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In which Merlin takes things that don’t belong to him.

Merlin's purple tunic by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Secrets by archaeologist_d Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin really wanted to know the secret of Gwaine’s necklace. Would Gwaine ever open up and tell him?

Morgana with a rainbow cloak by evaelisaa Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Merlin Characters + Seasons by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Hoarding Pride by J_Gun_i Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In a land where magic and tolerance florished- Kilgharrah was young and hoarded the pride pillows.

Who was Morgause? by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Major character death Summary: Morgause from various points of view.

I Feel At Ease [Having You With Me] by OnceFutureEmrys Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: He knew they would accept him, he knew it. He fucking knew it. And yet… And yet he still couldn't help but tap his foot on the floor, couldn't help but dig his nails into the palms of his hands, couldn't help his heart thudding loudly, too loudly, and oh god he couldn't breathe-- “Arthur?” came a familiar voice, drawing him away from his thoughts. He took a deep breath before looking up at the concerned blue eyes belonging to his best friend, Merlin. “Are you alright?” Or: Arthur comes out to his friends.

No Man is Worth Your Tears by onceandfuturekid Rating: Not rated Ao3 warnings: Major character death Summary: a short excerpt of post canon Leon dealing with Arthur's death

Morgana/Gwen

Morgana In A Collar [FANART] by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: -

Your Hand in Mine (Our Hearts Beating as One) by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: "Why did you write that letter?" Gwen swiftly draws her knife from the folds of her velvet dress and holds it out, a silent warning for Morgana to stay where she is. For a tense moment, silence reigns and Gwen holds her breath, unable to predict what Morgana will do next. And even though she's the one with the knife, she isn't under any illusions about just how powerful Morgana is. "To call you here, of course," Morgana answers simply, as if she's talking about the weather. "Why?" Morgana’s icy flames contort over themselves, as if sensing their sorceress’ disapproval. Morgana scoffs. "For god's sake, Gwen, can't we just be civil? Do we need that toy in every discussion?" "You're an enemy of—," "Camelot and your throne, yes, yes, I know. I called you here because I want to have intercourse with you." Or: Where Gwen and Morgana have sex in the woods despite being enemies.

Uther/reader

You put the money I put the sugar! by Sandysins Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Second chapter, Y/N meets Morgana for the first time.

Merlin/Gwen/Arthur

Alternate season 4 by camelotsheart Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

"He's seeing a girl." by onceandfuturekid Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Episode AU of The Hollow Queen with established mergwenthur

Merlin/Freya/Lancelot

Drifting by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Major character death Summary: His whole life, Lancelot had drifted from kingdom to kingdom.

Elyan/Gwaine/Percival

fell off the rack' by donttouchtheneednoggle Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: “The axe must have fallen off the rack,” he said gloomily ten minutes later, after he had had an axe embedded in his shoulder. The little bastards were never going to let him live this down. “I’m surprised that a falling axe would cause such a deep wound,” Gaius remarked. “Not as surprised as I was,” Percival said glumly. They were really never going to let this go. It had been a bandit, he decided. Wielding an axe. He had fought valiantly and sustained a wound before slaying his opponent. A bandit. In the armoury. Right.

Merlin/Elyan

That We May Live Free by gwen-cheers-me-up Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: After Gwen is banished from Camelot, both Merlin and Elyan struggle to remember what’s keeping them there. The longer they strain under split loyalties--Merlin between his people and his destiny, Elyan between his duty and his debts, and both between Guinevere and their king--the more tempting it becomes to join her in exile. A warning from Kilgharrah, a gag order from Arthur, and the discovery of an enchantment on Gwen’s bracelet lead to their departure from Camelot, a re-interpretation of Merlin’s destiny, and what could be the beginning of a brighter future for all of Albion. After all, there’s more than one way to make someone queen.

Merlin/Will

Kettle's On by ravengirl42 Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Their conversation had dwindled as the heat built. Will lagged behind, stinging nettles brushing his ankles and burrs catching on his frayed trousers. Merlin was in front, trying not to think about how his feet were rubbing in his new boots - a leaving gift from his mother. The forest around them was still somewhat familiar, but tomorrow Merlin would be further away from Ealdor than he’d ever gone before. He shivered at the thought. Or pre-canon, Merlin and Will say goodbye

Merlin/Lancelot

A Single Step by gwen-cheers-me-up Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: When Merlin's clumsiness gets out of hand, Merlin reaches out to Lancelot for help. He's a bit skeptical, however, when Lancelot's solution turns out to be teaching him and his two left feet how to dance.

Come Back To Me, My Love by LiGi Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin will do anything to free Shade Lancelot from Morgana's evil magic and get his beloved knight back. Even if it means poisoning him, tying him to a horse and riding deep into the mountains to seek a higher power in a lake.

The Body Sleeping Next To Me by gwen-cheers-me-up Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: There was a stranger sleeping in Merlin’s bed. Gaius didn’t want to admit it yet, and the others either didn’t notice or were too entrenched in their denial to appear otherwise, but Merlin was certain: this wasn’t Lancelot. ...but how certain was he really?

In The Absence of Butterflies by gwen-cheers-me-up Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: Lancelot decides Merlin deserves a nice long break from all things Camelot. It's just a bonus that their time on the road provides the perfect chance to sort out his complicated feelings toward the warlock.

Merlin/Gwaine/Arthur

All My Adoration by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin looks skeptical. "You also look too happy. What have you done?" "I didn't do anything! Can't I just be happy for once?" "Of course, you can," Gwaine interrupts from the doorway. He strides in casually, locking the door on his way in. He drops a chaste kiss to Merlin's lips and walks up to Arthur, crowding into his personal space. Or: Arthur buys presents for the loves of his life. And they assume different things about what Arthur might be hiding.

Merlin/Arthur

Curse of the Gods by camelotsheart Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

fill my little world by RavenGirl42 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin has a deadline to meet and Arthur can't say no to anything Merlin asks of him, so he agrees to look after his nieces for the afternoon, single-handed. He's led a troop of elite marines into combat - surely keeping two small girls in line can't be that hard.

Hugs by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin is overworked and tired. He just needs a hug.

"You're the only friend I have and I couldn't bear to lose you" by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Keep Discovering Yourself by MerthurAllure Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin decides it’s time to share his gender identity with the ones he loves.

Why Gwaine Should Stick To Being At The Tavern by Holmesway Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin gets hurt while on a walk with Gwaine. After taking Merlin to Gaius, Gwaine feeds him a little too much of a sleeping potion.

A Sea of Colours by queerofthedagger Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Morgana’s eyes stray to the pair in front of her once more. Beyond making her brother happy, Merlin also brought Gwen into her life, and while she still knows where she would hide his body if he ever hurt Arthur, she no longer thinks she’ll need it.

Just for Practice by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In which Arthur decides that the best way to deal with being in love with Merlin is to pretend to date him for two months.

When Your Legs Support You No More by Holmesway Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: Merlin is overworked and exhausted. Of course, Arthur and Gaius are blind, which leads to a series of unfortunate mishaps that they come to regret.

Tsunamis Flood In Waves by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: “And you look beautiful,” Arthur replies, deadpan, as if he’s simply telling Merlin that he’s an idiot, like usual. “I suppose we all have our flaws.” In Arthur’s mind, Merlin is already aware that Arthur would bed him at the first opportunity, so it is not an oddity that Arthur would say this. Or: Where Arthur loses a horse race but gains a lot more than he could have asked for.

In a heartbeat by YouKeepMeRight Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Suddenly, something was tickling Merlin’s neck, urging him to get up. Merlin rubbed his eyes and blinked at a tiny heart-shaped stone that glowed red like a little fire. The stone smiled. A Merthur "In a heartbeat" AU

Fly Like a Firework by sam4587 Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Arthur picks up his nephew Mordred from ice skating practice one day and meets Merlin, Mordred’s trainer. Poor Arthur doesn’t know what hit him.

It’s a love story (baby just say yes) by heartsocold Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: We didn’t fall in love all at once but rather through a series of moments, scattered throughout space and time.

Own The Night by Clea2011 Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin truly believes that he’s had so many past lives with Arthur. In his dreams he remembers them all. But Merlin also says that he remembers being burned alive. Arthur's glad he can't remember.

The dandy highwayman who you're too scared to mention by camelittle Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In which Arthur's otherwise tedious journey is enlivened by an argument with his sister and a not entirely unexpected encounter.

Something Borrowed by archaeologist_d Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: If Merlin left his neckerchief behind, well, who was Arthur to give it back?

Broken Promises by archaeologist_d Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Gwen has been seeing Lancelot behind Arthur’s back.

Morgana to the Rescue by archaeologist_d Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Planning a wedding can be the worst, especially for those two idiots.

Forgetting all your standards by camelittle Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: In which Arthur is held up by Dragoon the Great again... or is he?

Do I still bleed (or have they taken that too?) by WarpedAlignment Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: Major character death, Graphic depictions of violence Summary: Arthur died, in camlann, and with him, a piece of Merlin died too.

Don’t Stand on Ceremony by archaeologist_d Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Planning a wedding is one thing. Trying to placate an irate Morgana while Merlin using his mouth for more pleasant things is something else again.

#merlin bingo #round up #june #i love you all #you make all my hard work worth it #really

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divinespill · 4 years ago

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dark magic in those deep brown eyes

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma, Diedre Vance, Nina Damfino

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Read on Ao3 here.

—

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d let me bring the girls along,” Edward sighs.

“I don’t believe even Query and Echo could rein in your stupid decisions.” Jonathan replies coldly.

“I see, so this is my fault now!”

“You’re the one who got us locked in the fucking closet,” Jonathan snaps.

“What else was I supposed to do? It was this or Arkham,” Edward replies, wrinkling his nose. “You really should be thanking me. I don’t know how I managed to fit us both in here, what with your ridiculous limbs.”

“How sweet of you,” Jonathan says dryly. He doesn’t argue the fact though, most likely because he does in fact take up most of the space thanks to his height, arms crossed lest they hit the cold piping that runs along the back wall.

“You’d think the Gotham Museum of Antiquities would have bigger storage rooms, given their grandiosity in everything else,” Edward muses. “Alas.”

Edward had teamed up with the Scarecrow to take over the museum for logical reasons; the doctor wanted to test a new strain of his toxin, and Edward wanted the new emerald on display that had been unveiled last week. Jonathan had scoffed at him for that, of course. Anyhow, it had all been going quite smoothly until Batman showed up to ruin their fun as he was wont to do. With no time to get to the ground floor and unwilling to risk a broken leg by jumping out the window, Edward had made the split second decision to grab Jonathan and pull them both into a storage closet, flinging a smoke bomb—green, obviously—through the window he refused to jump out of for good measure, hoping the police and the caped crusader would assume they’d made their escape.

And in fact it had worked, as they waited with bated breath until the sounds of gruff voices and heavy boots faded away. It was quite brilliant, really. Perfect improvisation.

…Except for the fact that the closet was apparently able to lock on its own.

When Edward had been sure that the coast was clear he’d gone to turn the doorknob, casually at first, then more and more frantically as the reality of the situation dawned on him.

Jonathan had snapped at him to hurry up and let him out, and Edward had shot right back that if Jonathan wanted to try, he was welcome to.

Jonathan did so, and when he failed to produce results either a great deal of arguing ensued, continuing all the way to the present.

“Look, let me call the girls and we’ll be out of here before you know it.” Edward digs into his pocket for his phone, dialing up Query but unable to resist rolling his eyes at Jonathan, who huffs.

“Childish,” Jonathan grumbles.

“Oh, whatever.”

“Boss?” Query’s voice is a welcome sound. “I was about to call you. You’re late for poker. Heist went wrong?”

Ah, in his emotional duress Edward had nearly forgotten about their weekly game night. “Indeed, I'm afraid we might have to postpone. Our favorite vigliante showed up and we had to improvise. He thinks we’re halfway across the city by now.”

“I’m going to take a guess and say that they’re wrong about that.”

“Correct. We are in a closet.”

There’s a pause. Edward thinks he hears a snicker in the background, a distinctly Echo noise. He’ll have to have a word with her later about proper respect. He pays them too much to be laughed at.

“Sorry, what?” Query asks.

“We’re locked in a storage closet in the museum,” Edward repeats. “Second floor, left wing. So, if you would be so kind as to come assist us in getting out of said closet, it would be appreciated. Do not ask how it happened.”

Murmuring on the other end of the line. “Alright, but it might be a minute.”

Edward can feel dread creeping up his spine. “Query, exactly how long is a minute?”

“Well, several minutes.” Query pauses, the way she does when delivering news she knows Edward won’t be happy to hear. “Probably… twenty.”

Edward makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a frustrated whine. “You can’t get here any faster?”

“Going off what you said, Bat’s on the prowl, boss,” Query says, and Edward can practically hear her shrug of what can I do? “We gotta take the long way round if you don’t want to be stuck there for days while we sit around behind bars.”

“Fine.” Edward pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just make it as quick as you can.”

“You got it.”

He hangs up, cursing under his breath. Jonathan raises a brow. “Trouble?”

“They’re taking a detour,” Edward says snippily. “We’ll have to coexist a while longer yet.”

“Coño,” Jonathan hisses.

“Oh, now that's just vulgar,” Edward complains. “Where’s you learn that? You’re Colombian.” He’s still unused to hearing Jonathan’s Spanish—he pitches his voice differently than when he speaks English, and it’s more attractive than Edward will ever admit aloud.

“Colombian-Ecuadorian,” Jonathan corrects, “but if you must know, I picked it up during a brief and awful stay in Miami.”

“What on Earth were you doing in Miami?” Edward is thoroughly taken aback.

“Had a new formula and wanted to see how it interacted with heat,” Jonathan explains. “Gotham isn’t very conductive for that, and Batman was on my tail that month anyway, so I took a… vacation, you could call it.”

“Ah, a nice relaxation vacation of terrorizing the good Cubans of Florida. And picking up their slang, it seems.”

Jonathan sighs.

They lapse into silence for the first time since discovering they were trapped. In this proximity Edward is hyper aware of every movement the other makes, every time the rhythm of his breathing changes. He’s worked with Jonathan before, sometimes successfully and sometimes not, but this is new. It’s not odd for them to argue, but the circumstances have set them both on edge, forced them closer—literally. Though being crammed in this closet isn’t ideal, Edward finds that despite the snark and cold attitude the man exudes, he isn’t at all opposed to Jonathan’s presence. It’s rather nice to have someone match him wit for wit.

At this point the quiet has grown uncomfortable, so Edward does what he does best: he talks.

“I should be collecting my winnings from Query and Echo right now,” he says wistfully. Jonathan raises an eyebrow, and though it was likely unintentional Edward jumps at the opportunity to elaborate. “It’s game night. Poker, blackjack, the whole nine yards. They can hold their own against me, but of course I stay one step ahead at all times.”

“Should’ve known you gamble,” Jonathan remarks.

“On occasion.” Edward shrugs. “Most people are hopeless at it, though, so I’m rather selective.” He tilts his head. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take that chance.”

Jonathan steps forward. “I think you’d find that I am not so easily defeated.”

He’s close enough now that Edward has to tilt his head up to meet his eyes, barely visible in the darkness. Still, he can see how they burn, intense and almost—but only almost—warm.

Edward shifts slightly and manages to knock over a broom, startling him enough that he unconsciously moves toward Jonathan, which means he is now pressed up against him. He realizes quite suddenly that they’ve never touched before. He swallows, able to feel every slow breath that Jonathan takes. He’s awfully thin, his ribs practically protrude, and Edward sort of wants to run his hands across them—

Jonathan makes a choked sound, and Edward is yanked back into reality with the revelation that he has, in fact, begun to trail his hands up Jonathan’s sides.

Shit. He hadn’t meant to actually do that. “Um,” he says intelligently, removing his fingers from where they were brushing against the itchy burlap of Jonathan’s costume. He doesn’t get far, however, before Jonathan’s own hands come up to encircle his wrists, holding them in place.

Edward shivers.

“How long did those ladies of yours say they’d be?” Jonathan asks, tone level as always but laced with something darker.

“Oh, about ten more minutes or so,” Edward hums thoughtfully.

In unison, they look at the storage closet door.

They look back at each other.

—

Diedre Vance is having a thoroughly interesting night.

She’d been worried when Edward hadn’t shown up for game night, but for the first few minutes she’d simply assumed he was held up by some sort of complication. It was a known fact that working with Scarecrow came with quite the risk. After a while, though, she and Nina had both realized that something more was going on.

Edward’s call had confirmed that, so here she is, parking the car and stepping out with a crowbar and a length of rope slung over her shoulder. Nina follows behind, shotgun in hand, because one can never be too prepared. There are guards all over the place, probably from paranoia that the Riddler and the Scarecrow will return to finish the job, but it’s easy enough to sneak past the fools and they only have to knock out two. Diedre and Nina have barely broken a sweat by the time they start scaling the museum wall.

Hoisting herself up into the spacious room on the second floor, Diedre looks around for the closet her unfortunate boss is trapped in. She catches sight of it to the left, barely visible in the darkness, and she notes with some alarm that it clearly wasn’t built to fit even one person comfortably, and certainly not two.

She wonders if either of them are still alive, or if she’ll open the door to find two corpses choked to death by their own egos.

“Boss?” She calls out.

“Query!” Comes the muffled reply. “There you are. Now get us out of here.”

Diedre passes the rope off to Nina so that she can tie it around the windowsill for an easier descent. Turning back to the door, she grips the crowbar in both hands.

“I’m breaking this shit,” she warns Edward and Jonathan. Adjusting her stance, she brings the crowbar down on the doorknob and hears the satisfying crunch of a cylinder breaking. Her boss and the Scarecrow come tumbling out, suspiciously sweaty and unkempt.

“Well,” Edward pants, trying to be discreet about buttoning his shirt back up and failing extraordinarily, “that was an illuminating experience.”

“About damn time,” Jonathan grumbles, though the gruffness is somewhat negated by the way his hair is mussed in a way that could only have resulted from it being pulled on.

“Sorry for the wait, boss,” Nina says, having finished with the rope, and Diedre notices how her shoulders shake with the effort of holding back laughter.

Jonathan at least has the decency to nod in their direction. “Query. Echo.” It’s likely the most thanks they’ll get tonight, Diedre thinks bemusedly.

“Hi Doctor Crane,” she and Nina reply together. Edward is already clambering down from the window, and Diedre knows he only moves that awkwardly and quickly when he’s flustered.

The rope holds for all of them, thankfully, and once they’re safely on the ground again Jonathan immediately begins walking in the opposite direction of Diedre’s car.

“Are you really going to walk all the way back?” Edward asks incredulously. Diedre’s head whips around to look at him, quite shocked. Is he… offering the Scarecrow a ride? Her boss is many things, but being generous is not one of them. If there was any doubt of what happened in that storage closet, it’s gone now. Nina must have come to the same conclusion, if the elbow digging into Diedre’s side and the snicker by her ear is any indication.

Jonathan stops, turning back to look at the trio and shrugging. “Why not?”

Edward scoffs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s freezing out.”

“And?”

Edward frowns. “Don’t be stubborn. Get in the car.”

Jonathan runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Have a good night, Edward.” He stalks off quickly before Edward can protest.

Diedre glances between his retreating form and her boss, who is standing still as she’s ever seen him. He blinks, coming back to himself with a visible jolt.

“Have a good night,” he mutters. “Really. As if he… means that.” He gestures at Diedre and Nina. “Alright, let’s go. I was promised poker and I intend to collect.”

Diedre tosses her keys in the air and catches them, then acquiesces. No use in getting the Riddler any more riled up, especially not if she wants a chance at winning the betting pool tonight.

Edward sniffs as he slides into the passenger seat, Jonathan’s words clearly still affecting him. “See if I work with that man again. Of all the infuriating, self-righteous…”

Diedre catches Nina’s eye through the rear-view mirror and mouths the word idiots, affectionate and exasperated as always.

#my fanfiction #jonathan crane #scarecrow #edward nygma #riddler #scriddler

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night-rise · 5 years ago

Text

F.O.W.L’s PLAN

F.O.W.L... The fiendish organization for World larceny..

They live up to their reputation of being fiendish. A group of criminal masterminds with enough power, brains and resources to give people like Scrooge and Darkwing Duck a run for their money. They are a threat that have the capability to destroy the entire duck family.

Scary part is... that’s just what they’re doing this season..

Their sights are set on anyone connected to Scrooge McDuck and they have stepped out of the shadows to challenge them and destroy them once and for all...

But how?

What’s the plan? What plan can be great enough to challenge them? The Duck family have conquered shadow armies, an alien invasion and have defeated countless other villains.

This beautiful family is strong and is growing stronger with each new ally they meet. BOY’D is a freakin super robot now! And we have Lena! She’s already an army in one lol What could FOWL possibly do to match this families strength?

Well that’s what we’re here to find out! And I think I got something.. Something that very well could be the end of Scrooge and his family...

Hey guys! NightRise here with another head scratching theory that will have you up all night pondering

In my previous and first FOWL theory (which I would suggest you go read before reading this. It’s super short don’t worry lol) I talked about the connections between the Bounce serum and Fentons Energy Crystal. How they both could be related to a larger scheme because both are related to BOUNCING.

But how do these two things fit in with fitches journal? The thing that seems to be FOWLS main focus this season.

What’s the missing piece to this plan?

Well I’m here to kick start the many possibilities that is FOWLS plan and help you all see the connections. Maybe you’ll take something from this to help with your own theories.

Now I’m telling you right now that this theory is absolutely a stretch and has about a 50% chance of being accurate. For the obvious reasons being that we’re not even half way through the season yet and we still have so much more of FOWL left to see.

But because of the pieces that I found connecting so well together and the show going on a little hiatus (boo) I thought I’d go ahead and drop this off now.

It’ll be my final theory on this fiendish organization and I want to share it with you the good people so you have something during the break to think over and keep you up at night theorizing.

So with that VERY long introduction out of the way, lets rise into this:

I’ve been thinking a lot about the bounce serum and it’s capabilities. What FOWL was going to use it for and how they think it’ll help them rule the world.

But how exactly? How does bouncing help with that?

Black Heron said she wanted to use the serum to create super soldiers to cause mass destruction and chaos across the- ... (Why am I having Captain America flashbacks...?)

Anyway!

But the thing with that is from what I’ve seen the Bounce juice doesn’t really cause mass destruction when its consumed by a normal person. It just makes them bounce and invulnerable to fall damage. It didn’t create a shockwave of destruction or anything like that when they landed. So how is she going to cause destruction with it?

Bouncing is only good for escaping or surviving from high up places. How could it possibly destroy anything?

Well I got to thinking. What happens when we bounce in a second story house on the top floor? It creates a stomp. A loud BOOM!

Vibrations

And the higher we jump the greater that vibe is. So I got to thinking where would strong vibrations be the most effective and catastrophic?

UNDERGROUND!

Earthquakes!

According to an adorable red hatted nerd we know, Earthquakes are shifting plates that move.

But as also stated by another adorable duckling “who’s pushing the plates”

(Okay so you might already know where I’m going with this and like I stated previously this is what I meant by this theory being stretched and far fetched. But this was the ONLY connection I could make with this so please bear with me, you’re about to see the connections I PROMISE)

There are only one species I know that are capable of causing earthquakes with little to no effort..

The final piece that I think is in FOWLS plan is.......

The Terrafirmians!

I know, I KNOW it’s crazy. And some of you are probably already leaving but HEAR. ME. OUT. PLEASE. Let me SPEAK. Cause I’m about to explain why.

As usual I’ll try to keep it as brief as I can:

Terrafirmians, ancient rock like cretrues that live in a society deep underground. Not much different from the above ground civilization.

Their capability to move around the earth effortlessly is amazing. And they are incredibly strong. With little to no effort they were able to make a clean safe passage back to the surface for the Duck family in a matter of seconds. Their rock like exterior makes them almost impenetrable.

Honestly they would make the perfect soldiers for anybody.........

So why wouldn’t FOWL want them in their army? They certainly can find a use for them. One specific use in general:

To use the juice

The Bounce juice is an organic drink, so you can’t give it to an army of robots. And we’ve seen what happens when you give it to a normal person. Not much.

But the Terrafirmians with their already tough exterior (which was redesigned in this reboot series. From furry and plush to rocky and tough) would cause a lot of damage if they were bouncing around everywhere. Bouncing is how they operate. They bounce and crash into rocks. But instead of digging right through the earth they’ll bounce right off of it, creating vibrations.

That serum would be perfect for them. Perfect for FOWL. An impenetrable army that could cause so much destruction in an instant. It’s the perfect plan.

Think of the time gap between the two missions involving the bounce serum.

Why did Heron return after so much time had past?

For so many years she could’ve attempted to capture Beakley and get the serum information she needed. So many chances. Why wait? Why was FOWL so quiet for so long and then suddenly pick up where they left off DECADES ago?

What changed?

I’ll tell you what changed. The plan changed. The original idea they had for the serum.

When Heron was explaining the plan she didn’t really sound like she had all the pieces together. Just soldiers bouncing “here, there and everywhere”. It was messy and not well put together.

It sounded like a disorganized plan for an organization.

FOWLS original plan was incomplete and had too many errors. So it was unnecessary at the time. That’s why FOWL didn’t try to go after the juice the first time Heron failed to acquire it. They weren’t desperate. They didn’t need it then. They found it unnecessary.

So why is it now that they are trying to complete that mission? What makes now different from back then? Why is it now necessary to acquire the serum after all this time?

Because they found the final piece they needed.

The Terrafirmians

But wait! How are we even sure we’d see them ever again in this season? Well because we only saw 4-5 of them. There’s an entire civilization of these guys. Are we really not going to explore more of them? This season is all about Huey so why wouldn’t we go back to the first obstacle he faced in the series?

Think I’m crazy?

Remember what Bradford Buzzard said at the end of Double-O-Duck? “We’re going to take it from them. From right underneath McDucks nose” UNDERNEATH! That’s gotta be a clue.

Their FOWL base!! Its underground! They moved from a tower to an underground lair. WHY? The tower looked perfectly fine to me. It seemed to be working just fine. Why move underground? That’s another clue.

But how does Fitches journal (which was found UNDERGROUND) fit into all this? Well allow me to explain.

The Terrafirmians are a peaceful friendly tribe, that have no beef with surface dwellers. If they had a problem with them they would’ve showed up a long time ago. But they haven’t. It’s obvious they want peace.

This doesn’t fit in with FOWLS plan though. So they are looking for a way to change the Terrafirmians way of thinking. Take away their peaceful ideals. They want to corrupt them. Control them

Mind control.

They are looking for an artifact that helps with that. It’s become obvious that they are not looking to acquire every artifact in that journal.

If that was the case they would’ve been there to steal the Harp from the ducks or showed up after they left to take it. But they didn’t. Not a sign of them anywhere.

And they already have the third eye diamond. Found in their personal archives. (How that’s possible is full of theories that I will leave to someone else to work on lol)

But by the way it was presented in the episode Double-O-Duck, it didn’t seem like it was needed. Or important. Just a side project. Why?

Because they are after a SPECIFIC artifact. One that would help with controlling the Terrafirmians. That’s what Bradford meant by “The race is on”. The race to the final key they need. The final key like...

The Stone of What Was!

“STONE”. That’s already connected to the earth. There’s a chance this stone is with the Terrafirmians. Or it might be the case that this stone will help whoever has it find the hidden civilization that is the Terrafirmians.

Kinda strange they’re saving that one for last, don’t you think?

Could that be the final thing they need? Would that bring them total control? Who knows but it’s interesting that the creators of the series would save that adventure for last.

But wait, how does Fentons crystal fit into all of this? How would that help FOWL in anyway?

Well if my previous theory was correct, Gandra is already working on that solution.

See that’s the thing about theories everybody! When you do them, include everyone that applies to it!

Putting certain characters in scenarios that fit them. And that’s what I did with Gandra. Shes a scientist plus she has a connection with Fenton. Her and Fenton obviously are going to meet again. What else would she possibly work on?

She’s going to replicate Fentons experiment on a larger scale. Wrap the Terrafirmians in that same synthetic crystal, like clothing or Energy suits, to boost the power of their bounce.

The greater the bounce the greater the vibration.

FOWL is going to control an army of Terrafirmans, give them bounce juice and wrap them up in Fentons Synthetic crystal so they’ll be powerful enough to create INSTANT EARTHQUAKES!

But not in a city wide rage! Specific locations. FOWL said they don’t want to destroy the world. Just the Duck family. In fact they don’t want to destroy the world at all. But steal it from everybody else. What better way to do that then to have an army of earthquack making soldiers that can split up and target each individual family member and take them out unsuspectedly?

FOWL said it themselves they want to do things smarter. What’s smarter than an earthquake making army you can’t see coming that can take you out before you even know what’s going on? At anytime. ANYWHERE.

The very world itself would turn against the Duck family. It’ll be robbed from them!

They don’t call it “WORLD LARCENY” for nothing am I right?

Magica and Lunaris already tried taking the aggressive approach and failed. Now FOWL wants to do things more stealth like. In the shadows. Leaving no trail that will lead back to them. The charging head first method has failed multiple times so FOWL is trying something different.

Still think it’s crazy?

Well check this out:

What do you guys notice about this picture? For one thing it has every target that FOWL is after on it. But what else do you see? Where are they?

In the sky..

Now why would everybody meet up in the sky? Is it because maybe the ground is currently unsafe? Hmmmmmmmm?!

Brute force is not going to work this time. It’ll be a battle of intelligence. Lucky for us we have a duckling that can out brain all of FOWL

They might have an army

But we have a Huey...

I’m looking forward to seeing the outcome of this season. This hiatus WILL be the end of me I just know it lol but it gives us the fans plenty of time to figure this out. I’ll be looking forward to taking this journey with you all.

If I said it once this season I’ll say it again

BRING. IT. ON. F.O.W.L.

#ducktales #season 3 #ducktales 2017 #scrooge mcduck #f.o.w.l.#dt huey #huey duck #Terrafirmians #fowl #fenton crackshell #gandra dee

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minsugapie · 5 years ago

Text

Mary’s Song: part 16b (3034 words) - Fighting

• • • • • •

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t just your anime-loving, manga-drawing, hair-pulling, ex-neighbour. You hadn’t even spoken to him since he had moved away. But the world worked in funny ways because...

He was probably the reason you were still alive.

• • • • • •

“And our daddies used to joke about the two of us

Growing up and fallin' in love

And our mamas smiled, and rolled their eyes

And said, "Oh, my, my, my””

• • • • • •

previous // current \\ next

masterlist

• • • • • •

Tags : @minhyuksfatgf @igotarmyofarohas @dixonsbugaboo @thealexalcala @salty-for-suga @worshiphoseok @okaysoplshelpme @jeonlovers @acupfullofsuga @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @hannahdinse8 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dammit-jjk @dreamcatcherjiah @xxxanimangxxx @wrmnssoul @ephyra1230 @imynnow @prdshobi @klverse @butterflylion @fuddyize @ahnneyong @nanie5 @squidyelmosquidbutt @uxwi

• • • • • •

I feel so much internal embarrassment after writing this but yolo I guess… but uh yeah, this is SMUT so do with that what you will.

**also this is unedited so sorry for mistakes. we all know im the queen of typos as it is...oof

• • • • • •

You’d just finished messaging Coven about what your plans were for tonight, and how you would go about it. However, your nerves were still on high-alert. Jungkook had denied you a few times now, and you knew that if this didn’t persuade him, then you’d be devastated.

You realized he had his reasons, but you wanted him now. He was making it extremely difficult to continue being friends. There was just a point where you needed to evolve. At least you were sure that you’d go crazy if you had to keep pretending like you hadn’t been head over heels for this boy since you were six…even with the large speed bump in between your meetings.

You sighed, finally getting up from the bed and deciding to do something. Jungkook was working at the desk in the living room, so you knew you wouldn’t be interrupted by him as you got the room, and yourself, ready. The first thing you did was make the bed tidy up the space, making sure that it was tidy before heading into the bathroom. You locked the door and stared at yourself in the mirror for a white a few minutes. You listened to a full song that Jungkook was drawing to before you took a deep breath and started the shower, getting your razor, shampoo, and body wash. You wanted it to be as perfect as possible; you wanted to look as perfect as possible. The shower that only normally took you a few minutes took longer than usual, and you hoped that he hadn’t realized. You spent extra time brushing your teeth and blowdrying your hair, too.

Who were you kidding? He didn’t notice anything when he was drawing.

You were again staring at yourself in the mirror, wondering if you should’ve put on makeup or not. You decided on makeup (but not an aggressive amount) because you wanted to have the whole experience of the beautiful lingerie that Cherry bought you. You thought it would look incomplete without it.

Rushing back into the bedroom after you finished getting ready, you only briefly took a peak into the living room to see what Jungkook was doing. He hadn’t moved. Maybe he’d slouched over slightly, but that was it.

Digging into the back of one of the drawers in the dresser that Jungkook bought for you, you found the box with the present inside. You took it out carefully, pulling it out and taking a good look at it. You wondered if you could even pull it off…if he would even like it. However, before you could back out, Cherry’s voice floated into the back of your mind, telling you that you were beautiful and that he’d love it. It was enough for you to drop the towel and put it on right then and there. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing you’d worn, but it wasn’t too bad. You let your fingers feel the fabric draping down your body and you hummed it approval. It looked exactly like the first time you’d tried it on, if not maybe slightly better after all this mental preparation that you did.

You hung the towel on your hook before taking one last look at yourself in the mirror. Yes, this would have to do. Taking your thousandth deep breath of the day, you made both your hands into fists and whispered, “Fighting!”

There was a change of plans because you decided that calling him into the room wouldn’t get his attention like you wanted, so you changed tactics. Instead, you tiptoed out to where Jungkook was sitting, trying to be as quiet as you were able. Instead of just walking in front of you, you peeked your head over the side of his shoulder, taking a peak at what he was drawing. It was Honey, not that you figured it would be anything else. She was the main character of his webtoon. Yet, you’d noticed recently her becoming even more realistic…

“You smell nice. Did you have a shower?” He asked, not taking his eyes off the tablet.

“I got ready…are you busy?” you asked, moving one of your hands around to his front and resting it on his chest. You briefly felt his heartbeat increase, giving you a slight boost of confidence.

“I’m just drawing,” he answered, but you noticed his pen stop moving as your hand moved down his chest to feel his muscle. “What are you doing?” He added before you could answer. He grabbed your hand from on his chest and pulled you around so he could see you from the front. As soon as you came into view, he froze.

“What do you think?” You asked, waiting for any sort of reaction from him that wasn’t only his face the was void of emotion.

“What is that?” He asked, clearing his throat. You noticed his eyes wander around, stopping briefly on your breasts before forcefully moving back to your eyes.

“Cherry bought this for me for Christmas,” you admitted, taking a small step towards him. He hopped out of his chair so quick that it almost fell over. He was acting as if you touch would set him on fire.

“Cherry…” he swore, taking a step back again. Licking his lips once, he continued, “But why are you wearing it right now?”

You cocked your head to the side, pushing some hair behind your shoulder. “What? You don’t like it?”

“No!” He answered a little too quickly. Realizing his betrayal, he added, “But shouldn’t that be saved for when you’re going to do something?”

Now you took another step towards him, grabbing his hand. He didn’t move; it was like he had no idea what to do. “What if I told you I was going to do something?”

“What do you mean?”

“…with you.” You finished, pulling him backwards towards the bedroom you shared.

“Wait, what exactly is happening right now?” He asked, looking around the apartment like he needed to look at anything else but you.

“You’re a smart boy, Bun, can’t you figure it out?” You asked, knowing you would eventually succeed when he tightly closed his eyes and threw his head back while still letting you drag him to the bedroom.

“Honey, I can’t,” he said the dreaded words again, running his free hand through his wild hair.

“If I hear that one more time,” you warned, pulling him closer to you.

“What do you want from me?” He asked, eyes still closed.

“D-do you not want to? Don’t lie to me, either. I can tell when you’re lying.”

He opened his eyes and made a face. “That’s what you’re worried about? That I don’t want to? Look at yourself, Honey, of course I want to. This is just so complicated.”

You took his arms and spun him around, sitting him down on the edge of the bed. “It’s really not…just stop thinking so much about what you think I want and do what you want for once.”

He stared up at you with his lips slightly parted. He seemed to be paralyzed for a minute, so you grabbed his hands again and led them to your hips. His eyes snapped to his hands, and he started to move them across the soft material. The material bunched under his palms as his hands move up towards your breasts. You stepped closer to him, making it easier for the both of you until he unexpectedly pulled you down onto his lap. “Is this what you wanted?” He whispered, moving in towards your lips.

“I want more,” you confidently admitted before kissing him.

“How much more?” He asked after moment, moving your hips to tell you to grind into him.

“Do I even need to answer that?” You asked, taking his bottom lip between you teeth playfully.

He groaned into your mouth, and you smiled in response.

“Fuck, Honey, you don’t even understand how much I’ve thought about this moment,” he revealed, flipping you over and pushing your back into the bed. “Remind me to thank Cherry unnie next time I see her…This thing is not coming off tonight.” His eyes roamed freely around your body now, and you let your arms fall to your side, allowing him to do whatever he wanted for a minutes.

His fingers lightly traced from your lips down your chest and between your breasts, lips following closely behind.

“She knows it’s being put to good use already,” you breathed, trying to remain steady as his hot lips started to press kisses on your hips.

“She knows what’s going on?” He asked, spreading your legs apart and brushing his nose over the lace underwear.

“Why do you think Jimin and Tae left in a rush?” You struggled to concentrate as he played with you. “I asked them to leave.”

You squirmed, trying to keep focused. In a second, Jungkook stopped all movements and hovered above you. “What exactly did you say to everyone?”

You bit your lip to try to stop yourself from laughing at his confused expression. But now you wanted some power over him. Before you answered, you pulled at the bottom of his hoodie, trying to tug it over his head. You flipped him over, taking the chance to admire him for once. “I told them that I wanted to have sex with you, so they needed to be out of the house,” you shrugged, watching in delight as his skin got goosebumps from your light touches.

“You’re naughty,” he groaned.

You leaned back down to his face and whispered huskily, “Have you thought about me when you’re all alone before? In the bed? In the shower?”

You heard him visibly swallow.

“Have you thought about me taking you? Or my tongue stroking you?”

He still couldn’t answer when you dipped your hand between your bodies and into his sweatpants. You watched his facial expression in curiosity when you cupped him, simultaneously palming him and rolling your body into his.

“Answer me, Bun,” you demanded, wrapping your fingers around him harder as leverage.

“Holy fuck yes, ok, I do,” he managed, and you loosened your grip slightly.

You kiss his collarbone and neck before putting your lips against his ear, “Are you sure?”

“Yes! And it’s only you every damn time.” His hands were holding your hips to keep any sort of stability.

“Because I’ve thought about you before,” you continued, starting to pump him.

“Y-you have?” He was breathy, letting you do whatever you wanted to him.

“Sometimes when you’re not home, or when you are, I like to imagine it’s you and not my own hand…” Jungkook’s digits slipped into your panties, pushing them aside as he started rubbing you.

Your lips found his again, and he eagerly pushed his tongue against yours. It was a sweet moment, both of you letting the other do what they wanted, but Jungkook pulled back sooner than you’d hoped when you felt him start to buck his hips into your hand. “You have to stop,” he said before throwing his head back and pulling your hand from out of his pants.

When you finally take a look at his face, you see his flushed cheeks and red lips. “Did I do something you didn’t like?”

“Oh not at all. I just want this to last to the actual sex part,” he admitted, rolling over to find a condom in a drawer near the bed. You were under him, smiling as he seemed frustrated at not finding the box right away.

At his distracted state, you let your fingers slip into the waistband of his sweats, guiding them down the curve of his bum and hips…and you did let your fingers linger on the hard muscle for a little longer.

When he finally acquired the little packet, he pushed himself off you to take his sweats all the way off and put on the condom. You watched in fascination as Jungkook’s was illuminated by the last bits of sunlight, pinks and purples from the sunset giving him a beautiful glow on the already gleaming skin. His hands deftly put on the protection, hands not missing a beat as if he’d had a lot of practice.

When he finished, you let your eyes linger on his stomach. He really was one of God’s favourites.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take this off?” You asked, gesturing to the garment that admittedly didn’t actually cover much.

“It stays on,” his voice was lower than it had been a minute ago. He’d regained his composure. “But these come off.”

His fingers hooked into the sides of your panties and pulled them down your waist.

“Listen, Bun, if I forced you into something that you didn’t want…”

“I’m literally already naked and wearing a condom, and you’re going to ask me that…just shut up,” he laughed, positioning himself between your legs.

You waited, already having a better time with Jungkook than you had with Nic. When his hand went around your back, you took him in and grabbed his back to hold him close.

“My seventeen-year-old would not have believed what’s happening right now,” he admitted, looking down at you.

You couldn’t focus on any of his words again, trying to adjust to him as quickly as possible. You knew he was uncomfortable as you forced him to stay where he was for a moment longer, but as soon as you told him to move, he obeyed. Slowly, he began his thrusts but sped up soon. You didn’t mind, having gotten a lot out of him earlier.

Jungkook’s hands removed yours from his back and he pushed them down beside your head, linking his fingers with yours. His thrusts were successful in winding you up, knowing that neither of you were going to be able to hold out much longer.

“Honey, I can’t hold it much longer,” he breathed into your shoulder, teeth gently biting the skin.

You let yourself go as soon as you heard his voice, not able to effectively breathe or answer him. All you were able to do was breathily moan his name.

“Fuck, it’s over,” he groaned, thrusting into you a few last times, effectively riding out his own orgasm.

Jungkook’s face during this most vulnerable moment was a blessing to see. You said it once, and you’d say it again, he was one of God’s favourites. There was simply no way that one man could look so deliciously appetizing at every moment. You were exhausted, but if he asked, you’d go right into a second round…you were in no position to deny him.

But he didn’t. He immediately fell beside you on the bed, catching his breath.

“Fighting,” you whispered.

“What?” He asked, looking into your eyes. You stared back at him with equal intensity.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Jungkook grabbed your cheeks, pulling your face to his. His lips found yours, and he smiled. Three long kisses were placed on your mouth before he asked, “Should we order some food?”

• • • • • •

“When was the last time you had sex with Nic?” Jungkook asked out of the blue, playing with your hair. You were laying together on the couch, and you were comfortable positioned half between his legs, half in front of him. There was a movie playing on the tv and the finished takeout on the coffee table, but you were barely paying attention.

When you hesitated, he clarified, “I mean enjoyable sex.”

“Maybe eight months…it was too long,” you revealed, hiding your face in his sweater, which you’d gladly changed into afterwards. “So I guess a thank you is appropriate.”

You felt his chest move in laughter. “There’s no need to thank me, Honey. It was good for both of us.”

When it was silent for a minute, you shyly asked, “When was the last time you had sex?” Why were you being shy around him all of a sudden? “Be honest with me, Bun. I know you’ve gotten around.”

“I don’t get around that much, but the weekend before you called me was the last time,” he admitted, shifting so the blanket was covering you better.

“How many people?”

Jungkook breathed through his nose hard before saying, “Why are you asking questions that you won’t like the answer to?”

“I’m just curious,” you answered, playing with his hand that was around your waist.

“A lot.” He thought he’d get away with that but you were adamant about knowing for some reason. You knew you shouldn’t have been so curious, but you were…

“Bun…”

“I’ve hooked up with a girl every time I’ve gone out, okay. I don’t know how many I’ve had sex. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you mad? Disappointed? Disgusted?” He huffed, seeming frustrated.

“I’m not any of those things. I was just curious because Cherry and Yoon told me that you’d never been in a serious relationship.”

“They’re right.”

“Why? You obviously have enough people that find you attractive…”

“I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. There may have been someone in the back of my mind that I couldn’t stop thinking about. She’s kind of a pest and asks too many questions, but she’s cute.” He cuddled closer into you, spooning you. His lips were pressed to the back of your neck and you realized that he was done talking. Actually, in only a few moments, his breaths became deeper.

He’d fallen asleep.

Had you been on his mind the whole time? Even after he said those mean things to you? You’d managed to repress your feelings for him while you were with Nic, but now that he was gone and Jungkook was your present, you knew that they were deeper than you’d anticipated. When the heated feelings of tonight wore off, and you two talked about what had happened more seriously, you wondered what he was going to say.

Jungkook was your past. Jungkook is your present. Hopefully, Jungkook would be your future.

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curiousconch · 4 years ago

Text

Sobering Truth

Chapter 10 of Ricochet (An Open Heart AU)

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: After the fallout of Rafael and Heather, what could this mean to Bryce and the recovering doctor?

Pairing: Rafael Aveiro x MC (Dr. Heather Song) | Bryce Lahela x MC (Dr. Heather Song)

Words: 2.1k+ | Genre: Crime, Suspense/Thriller, Romance

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / hints of past violent experience and sex

Author's Notes: Almost is Never Enough by Ariana Grande and Nathan Skyes was the perfect song for this chapter, the lyrics are very fitting. Also, watch out for a cameo from a PM character 😊

Thank you so much for taking time to read this series. Please let me know if you want me to include/remove you in the tags list. Also, disclaimer: Majority of the characters are owned by Pixelberry, except the main character Heather Song and an OC Jordan Anderson.

Bryce found himself hunched alone in a bar stool downtown Boston. He swirled the brown liquid in his glass, brows furrowed in remembering the scene in the hospital room.

His face contorted with the pain piercing through his chest, the possibility of losing Heather once again sinking like a sword. He racked his mind for an option, but it seems all is lost in that battle.

He thought back to their last outing together, and he was so certain that something was there. So why did she choose to stay with someone else instead of being with him?

His lips formed a thin line, his hand rubbing over his face in frustration. The emotions within turbulent and unnerving. Was he just too much of a fool when he thought he had a shot with her?

This is exactly why Bryce Lahela didn't want to commit. It was far more easier for him to seek momentary connections rather than build permanent ones. He didn't want to relive the rejections-filled past from his adolescence, at the time of his parents' criminal convictions.

Yet here he was again, suffering the same consequences of wanting something permanent in his life. Something that could bring him happiness. Something better than him being alone in the middle of a crowd of drunken patrons.

He should've stayed in his own lane of hook-ups and one night stands instead of chasing for this relationship.

So the first thing he did when he realized that that door is closing, was to go back to his old stomping grounds.

But why can't he will himself to look around?

As if on queue, an olive-skinned woman slid herself beside him, her sudden presence invading his thoughts. With a half-smirk and green catty eyes, the coils of dark hair loosely wrapping her head. The mere sight of her was mesmerizing.

"I know you," she said, almost in a purr.

Bryce looked back at her, and a long-forgotten heat warmed him up. And it wasn't because of the alcohol in his system.

"I guess my reputation is my charm," he replied, leaning forward. He loosened his tie whilst sipping from his glass.

"Oh I know all about your reputation," her voice made him shiver, her fingers ever slowly trailing a path towards his arm. "You're the one with magic hands," she whispered, her brows dancing as she spoke.

This commanding woman was pushing his buttons in all the right places, her sparkly black cocktail dress that clung on her body tightly wasn't making him feel suddenly parched.

Her hand continued to venture up his arm, and eventually the side of his neck. As it followed the line of his jaw, Bryce couldn't help but lean closer.

Nothing was stopping him at the moment.

Miles away from being sober, his lips blew a short burst of air into the woman's bare neck, after which he got the chance to breathe in a whiff of her perfume.

The jasmine scent was all too familiar. It conjured the image of the woman who Bryce fled away from tonight.

Heather.

Snapping out of the trance, he took a step back. Gone was the sexual tension that floated in the air mere seconds ago. Bryce only shook his head to the woman and paid his tab, before almost sprinting out into the cold rain that continued to flood the concrete pavement.

He let the drops of water wash all over him until he was soaked. With it, the inevitable tears began to fall, which he didn't hold back. He also didn't mind how it easily reduced the numbing effect of the bottle of Jack Daniels that he just consumed.

Like a thief in the night, the woman of his dreams snatched what was left of Bryce's vulnerable heart. He knew, deep down, that it would take a long time before he can get it back.

***

"Breaking news. Declan Nash and Jordan Anderson pleads guilty as co-conspirators of the kidnapping of Senator Ed Farrugia and Edenbrook doctor Heather Song."

"This is following an intensive investigation by the joint special task force created as the public clamored to protect Massachusetts famed senator.

"We are joined today by one of the victims, Senator Ed Farrugia, after he gave his testimony today at the Boston courthouse."

The video flicked from a female news anchor to the steps of the city's courthouse, where the politician was joined by Chief DA Tanaka. Heather's hazel eyes however wasn't on the prominent people in the screen, but instead drawn to the tall figure standing beside the older man, his intimidating stature made more pronounced by the sharp gray suit that contoured just enough to please.

Bryce.

Saying his name, even in her mind, made her involuntarily shudder with regret, aware that between them was an undeniable attraction that she just couldn't shake off. Ever since her kidnapping, she couldn't stop herself from thinking about what could've been. Was it just too late for them? Will it only remain a connection that can never be explored? Will it ever be something more? She knew, deep down, if she could change the world overnight, she wanted to try. If there was anything she could learn from her almost dying, it was the sobering truth that life was too short to be restrained by inaction.

But she hadn't been able to speak to him for a while now. He didn't answer his phone nor returned any of her texts or messages. She hoped to get the chance when she was scheduled for her recorded testimony. To her dismay, another ADA visited her and took her witness account.

She thought he was just busy with the case, but she sensed that he was avoiding her altogether. Her free time provided her so many hours to rack her brain for the reason why. To this day, that question was left unanswered.

Danny raised his gaze to Heather, as he felt her pulse beat faster than normal. He turned to the TV monitor in the hospital room, stifling a chuckle as he found the reason behind her palpitations.

"Let's try to do this again," Danny said, making Heather's attention swivel to him.

"Why? Something wrong?" she asked, obviously confused.

This time, Danny snickered, grabbing the remote from her and switched the channel. The gesture was enough to make her fluster as it dawned on her what the nurse was insinuating.

"I can't put your last BPM on your chart, Heather. We dont want Dr. Ramsey to not sign off on your discharge papers today. Two weeks of him pestering us is enough torture to last a lifetime," he scoffed jokingly, referencing how the senior attending relentlessly chased the hospital staff to put her case on priority.

She curtly nodded, her mentor's crass actions embarrassing her further.

"Thanks, Danny." she sheepishly smiled, hoping the two words were enough to express her appreciation of how the hospital helped her get back on her feet during the roughest period of her life yet.

Danny returned her gesture, before getting back to taking her pulse. Satisfied, he recorded it to the clipboard in his hand, as her friends thundered into the room.

Sienna, Elijah, Jackie and Aurora all stepped inside, each carrying an assortment of food items. They moved their Sunday brunch to that day in celebration of Heather's discharge. The welcome noise warmed her heart, their usual banter flowing like music to her ears.

The thundering of her deep-seated emotions momentarily toned down, as she enjoyed the company of the small family she found in Edenbrook.

Outside, the weather was warm with no clouds threatening to dampen the surroundings.

It was going to be a good day.

***

As the last of the questions were addressed and the cameras were turned away, Bryce sighed in relief.

With the news crews dispersed, Chief Tanaka left to head back to the DA's office, leaving him as second chair to wrap up all the remaining paperwork. He strutted into the courthouse, the ADA facade well in effect.

It was an understatement to say that the past few weeks were hectic.

Interviewing Declan Nash and Jordan Anderson was like being pulled into opposite poles. Their personalities were so polarizingly different that Bryce suspected that there was a more to the case than what appears.

So he advised the special task force to dig into that angle. The FBI's investigation is still ongoing, and he is betting against it finishing soon.

Today was a day of accomplishments, and Bryce's mood was better than it was ever since that night. Or so he thought.

As his mind shifted back into the present, he caught the unwelcome sight of Agent Rafael Aveiro conversing with someone in the hallways. He managed to hear a glimpse of the conversation as they got into earshot.

"You're background would be invaluable to us, Agent Rafael," the strange man in the tweed-colored jacket said.

"This is such a timely offer that I couldn't refuse. I'll let you know as soon as I wrap up my last case." Bryce heard Raf say.

"Of course. But please don't keep us in the Interpol on our toes, Agent."

"Of course, Agent Nazario."

Taken aback, he stopped, trying to understand what had just transpired. Why was Rafael taking a job with the interpol?

Once Bryce saw that the special investigator was alone, he approached him, words blazing.

"Interpol? Seriously, Raf, this soon?"

Raf turned to face him, surprised at Bryce's sudden interjection.

"I don't see the need to explain myself to you, ADA Lahela." He politely said as he begun to walk away.

"But you just got back together! Why leave for an overseas job this soon when she needs you the most?" Bryce's voice rose, echoing into the nearly full hallway. He honestly didn't mind, weeks worth of bottled up frustration threatening to surface.

A more puzzled expression filled Rafael's face, the line of interrogation making him turn around and stare back at the prosecutor.

Rafael recognized the look on Bryce's face. It was a mirror of his own haunted reflection. Of a lost love, never to return. The confusion gave way to understanding.

It made him soften his stance, and place a brotherly hand on the lawyer's shoulder.

"Look, I don't know why you think that, but Heather and I..." he paused, taking a deep breath as he tried to bury the painful memory of their goodbye into the back of his mind. "We broke up. The same night that she was admitted to Edenbrook after her kidnapping, we talked and agreed to go our separate ways."

Bryce couldn't believe what he was hearing, his knees weakening with the revelation. Amber eyes widened in shock and feeling like an idiot at the same time.

He smiled despite himself, the nightmares of his imaginary rejection transformed into a wonderful dream. The door that he thought was closed is now unlocking, and he was determined to blow it wide open.

With a hasty thank you and goodbye to Raf, he turned the soles of his leather shoes and raced to the door of the courthouse.

Bryce didn't dare waste another minute to look back.

Tags: @ramsey-lahela @eleanorbloom @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

#open heart #rafael aveiro #bryce lahela #open heart fanfiction #open heart fic #rafael aveiro x mc #bryce lahela x mc #choices fic writers creations #choices fanfiction #open heart 2 #choices #pixelberry #fics of the week

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emily-strange · 5 years ago

Text

Second Chances

Everyone’s responses have been so encouraging! Thank you so much :)

In this chapter I’ve tried switching between Reader and John’s POV. Please let me know if it doesn’t make sense or is hard to follow. I’ve tried to work it into the story without making it an obvious change in character but let me know!

Tagging @porkchop-ao3 @redeadepression @lucacangettathisasss @janewilson-rdo @gangofgunslingers and @fangirl-ramblings who asked but if you’d like me to stop let me know :)

For the premise of this story, Jack is a little bit younger. I just can’t hurt that boy’s feelings!

Summary: You’re Sadie Adler’s 18 year old daughter who was visiting when the O’Driscoll’s attack. How will you cope with gang life and your increasing feelings for someone who, on the surface, isn’t up for grabs?

Pairing: John Marston x female reader

Warnings: Mild panic/anxiety attack.

Chapter 4

After your little talk with Tilly and Mary-Beth, you decided to check up on your mother. Miss Grimshaw was in a strangely happy mood (you put it down to being in the sun after the snow for so long) so she was alright with the women taking it a bit easier today; which no one was going to argue with.

You find your mother on the edge of camp sewing in the sun. That’s good you think. She’s keeping busy.

“Hi mama,” you greet before sitting next to her on the log “how’re you feeling?”

“Oh fine.” She says smiling, “How’re you baby?”

It’s so nice to see your mother smile again.

“Sore! I actually think washing clothes is harder than hunting” you laugh with her while trying to stretch out your back.

You look over the camp at everyone going about their day and you catch sight of Abigail making daisy chains with Jack. She’s sat on the ground, her skirt bunched up around her and you can tell how much fun they’re having.

“Remember when we used to make mud pies? And then one time I tricked papa into taking a bite?” you giggle to yourself at the memory. Your father was such a soft, sweet man. Your parents were the perfect pair in your eyes. You’re brought back to the present when you see your mom laughing and shaking her head.

“What!?” you ask incredulously and laugh when your mother snorts.

“Oh baby, you tricked no one” she laughed “Your daddy just wanted to see you smile.”

“No! You remember. It was dinner time. You asked me to set the table….and I served him the pie and he put salt on it before….” You stopped explaining your memory when it hit you, “Oh my God” you burst out into fits of laughter covering your face, “I was so gullible!”

Your mother elbows you gently in the side, “Oh hush, you were 9.”

You sit quietly groaning of very mild embarrassment and only show your face to the sun again once you hear your mother sniff, “I’m….I’m sorry mama. I know you don’t like to think about him.”

Your mother sighs and turns to you, “Oh baby. There won’t be a day that goes by I won’t think of your daddy.” She places her palm to your face and smiles sadly, her eyes wet with unshed tears and then you feel it. That prickle behind your eyes.

Not now, you think.

Not now.

You give your mother a small smile and nod before reaching up to squeeze the hand on your face. You clear your throat and manage to get out a strained, “I’ll be right back mama.”

She knows. Your mother always knows. So she doesn’t ask any questions when you practically sprint off into the trees.

You walk, walk, walk until you come to the familiar clearing.

You don’t quite make it to the little quiet spot before you breakdown into great heaving sobs. You find yourself panicking as you try to keep quiet and in turn start hiccupping. Not being able to catch a breath.

Suddenly a voice makes you jump and you turn to face its owner while shaking. Tears staining your red, blotchy face.

“Y/N?” John whispers quietly while emerging from the trees.

You lock eyes with him and try to wipe at your face. You know you look a mess.

“I…..I can’t…..it won’t……” you try to speak as you hiccup between sobbing and gasping for breath. You don’t even know what you’re trying to say, you just know that nothing’s coming out. You can feel your chest beginning to hurt from lack of oxygen and how much your nose is running, mixing with your tears.

John approaches you like one would a wild animal. He puts his palms up in front of him and slowly makes his way over to you, “Okay Y/N. I’m gonna need ya ta try ‘nd breathe.”

If you could roll your eyes right now, you would. But instead all you can do is wheeze and grasp at your chest. John seems to be able to read your look however and stops walking when he’s in front of you.

“Sorry, kinda dumb thin’ ta say right?” he quietly scoffs, “I’m gonna take yer hand okay?” he continues and slowly reaches for your shaky hand.

His warm, calloused hand gently takes one of yours off of your chest but he then hesitates before moving again, “If yer not….comfortable or summit….just squeeze ma hand okay?” John doesn’t wait for you to nod or anything, knowing you’re too deep into the panic attack to respond. He just hopes his words made their way past your stuttering cries.

Ever so slowly he raises your palm to his chest, flinching ever so slightly when he places it over his heart. He then gently takes your other hand, which has been scratching marks into your chest like you’re trying to claw the breath from your own body. With that hand he places your palm firmly against your own heart.

“Just….feel ma heart….feel the beats….try’ta focus on it.” John stutters awkwardly. You feel how his hands are kind of clammy, you can tell he's nervous. “Just try’ta match yer breathin’ ta mine.”

You focus on John, focus on his heart beat under your palm. The sound of his breathing and the feel of the soft hair on his chest. You were so close like this, just like when you cleaning up his face. Just like last time he closed his eyes and seemed to relish the warmth of you. When you involuntarily twitch because of your hiccups, you accidently dig your nails gently into John’s chest. His eyes snap open and his mouth drops into a silent gasp.

You go to pull your hand back as an apology but before you can, John grips your hand again and pushes it down a bit harder where it hovers on his chest. He nods and takes a deep breath, signalling for you to try and do the same.

Slowly, slowly, your breathing evens out and even though you’re still crying, you’re no longer struggling to breathe. You have no idea how long you’ve both been stood like this but the only sounds you hear are the birds and the wind in the trees.

“Yer okay.” John said quietly, “Yer okay.”

Without thinking you throw your arms around John’s neck and bury your face into his shoulder. You smell the tobacco of his cigarettes and the wood of the campfire.

For a moment John is stunned. His hands are squished between your bodies where he was holding them before and he shivers due to the contact. He can’t remember the last time he was held like this and for it to happen so suddenly…. it’s thrown him off. After a few more seconds of you crying into his shoulder, he extracts his arms from between you both and wraps them around your waist. He rubs soothing circles onto your back until your tears finally dry and you pull back, keeping your hands on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry John…I…don’t know what came over me.” You half laugh, fully retracting your arms. John does the same and you hug your arms around yourself. “Tha…thank you.” you stutter.

John clears his throat and takes a decent step back before answering, putting his hands on his hips to stop himself from reaching for you again.

“S’fine…..you okay?” he asks.

You sniff and rub your nose with your sleeve. You’re beyond caring about how you must look!

“Yeah. It kind of just….erupted” you laugh while dabbing at your face.

“Kinda happens that way don’t it.” John smiles kindly, “I saw ya running outta camp pretty quickly so figured I’d check here fer ya.”

You stop rubbing your eyes and look at him with a soft smile on your lips.

“You came out here to check on me?” you ask gently and instantly John’s face reddens.

John coughs again before answering, “I weren’t like, watchin’ you or nothin’….ya know I just saw you….umm……like I weren’t out here….stalkin’ ya” he laughs and you join him.

“I didn’t think you were John” you smile broadly, “It was really kind of you to….help me.”

After a few seconds of comfortable silence, you have a thought, “Hey, how did you know how to….do that? You know, the heartbeat thing.”

John laughs humourlessly and stretches his hands out in front of him before making his way over to the large shaded tree which seems to be his favourite. However instead of sitting against it, he sits next to it and thumps the floor encouraging you to take a seat. You smile and stroll over to him, taking the place against the tree.

“Funny story really” he begins, “When I ferst join’d the gang, I used’ta have a lotta…nightmares. Like real bad ones. ‘N Arthur used ta do the same thing fer me, ta calm me down so he could sleep.”

You pause before answering.

“John….that’s not a very funny story!” you laugh and John’s face falls into an expression of acknowledgment.

“Yeah, I uh, guess it’s not.” He laughs with you until your sides hurt.

After you manage to calm down, again, you close your eyes and lean your head back against the tree trunk behind you.

“Can I ask what happened? You were jus’ talkin’ ta Sadie and then you were runnin’.” John asks while bringing his knees up for his arms to rest on.

You open your eyes again but keep looking forward towards the sunny sky, “We were talking about my father. Just a nice memory. I guess it was just a matter of time before I exploded.”

John just nods and finds himself watching your face for a split second too long to be considered polite. He notices how despite your swollen eye lids and blotchy complexion from the crying, your eyes themselves still seem stuck in your happy memory. Twinkling with the happiness you once had.

Slowly you meet his gaze and before John can look away, you reach out to gently touch his arm, making him keep eye contact.

“You know…..my pa….he wasn’t actually…..my father. I mean by blood.” You say once you manage to find the words. You pull your hand back but keep your eyes on John’s face. You can tell he’s listening intently. Despite how much Abigail shouts about how he doesn’t pay any attention, you know he hears more than they all think.

“My mother was….I guess, seduced? By a man.” You continue, “And like it happens, he didn’t stick around once she found out she was pregnant with me.”

“So when did she meet yer…..pa?” John questions.

“When I was 6. My mama’s always been a strong-willed woman. Not unlike Abigail in a way” you admit begrudgingly, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice, “Her family wouldn’t take her back once they knew she was having me….but the people she worked for luckily kept her on. She tended to their ranch and went hunting with the other men around.”

“A female ranch-hand huh?” John laughs but you know he means it as a compliment.

It makes you smile.

“Yep. Like I said, strong-willed.” You answer, pausing to have a laugh with John before continuing, “I grew up on that ranch….it was wonderful. From what I remember.”

“I cn imagin’ growin’ up on a ranch would be” John smiles. He always loved working with horses and for a short time before the gang grew, that was something him and Arthur did to make some extra money. He wasn’t a fan of being fixed in one place but for a kid he had no doubt how fun it probably was.

“Then one day, the owners agreed to meet with some city folk who wanted to purchase a ready to go ranch. They wanted the quiet life and all that. Blah blah.” You scoff. “They brought a friend of theirs with them…..someone who wasn’t a stranger to cattle, horses and life on a farm.”

“Yer pa?” John smiles broadly and it makes you happy that he seems so invested in your story.

“Yep. My mama said she was ruthless with him.” You giggle, “Never one to go easy…..she said city folk had no business being ranchers but my pa gave as good as he got. See he’d worked on a farm for a while before moving to the city and he considered himself more than capable. So, my mama challenged him to a race on their best horses.”

“I’m guessing she won?” John asks rhetorically and you nod.

“She won. And he asked her to dinner. Before she could decline, I came back from town with the owners wife and gave my mama a shiny rock I’d found.”

“A rock” John chuckles while frowning and you gently smacked his uninjured leg.

“Hey! That was a really good rock!” you hiss, “Anyway. I gave her the rock and she introduced me…..mama says he was hooked straight away. Performed a crappy magic trick with a coin and insisted I came along to dinner. A picnic in the park……mama said as soon as she saw me on his shoulders, she was in love.”

You stop and break eye contact with John while you take a moment to truly remember the feeling of being on your father’s shoulders. You felt like nothing would ever, could ever, harm you. You’d give anything to feel that invincible again.

“Anyway….point I’m trying to make John….is that Jake Adler wasn’t my blood father…..but he was my pa. And I couldn’t have loved him more.” You finish welling up again and letting one stray tear fall.

You can see that John still doesn’t quite understand your point. You reach for his arm again and when you touch bare skin, his eyes fall to your fingers. Again, he shivers.

“Jack may not be yours by blood….but if you want….” You find yourself struggling around the words you feel like you should say but that part of you doesn’t want to utter, “…..if you want Abigail. It doesn’t have to matter.”

John looks at you for a few seconds before giving you a small smile and touching his hand gently to yours. For a moment you both look at your hands and how the rough pad of his thumb grazes back and forth over one of your knuckles.

“Thats’a nice story Y/N. Real nice….but I ain’t a father and….I ain’t a partner.” John says without looking up at you. Your eyes flick to his face and you feel yourself run cold. You don’t know why but you feel this intense disappointment wash over you. Not because he doesn’t want to be a father to Jack, but that he seems intent on not being with anyone seriously.

You can’t understand why you feel so sick.

You nod your head and move your hand away from his arm and fake the best smile you can when his head snaps up quickly, “That’s….that’s fine as well John. You don’t have to…”

You’re quickly interrupted by John, who’s face is pulled into a grimace of realisation, “To Abigail I mean!” He rushes out so quickly that he almost shouts it. Making you jump.

John clears his throat and scratches at the back of his head before scoffing, “Sorry…I just…I mean I don’t know if I ever want kids…but ya know I…do like women…I mean…I like havin’ women. Not women, women…..a woman….God damn.” John sighs loudly and puts his face in his hands while internally berating himself.

You can’t help but burst out laughing.

John slowly brings his head up from his hands and looks at you with intense mock offence, “Are ya laughin’ at me miss?”

You can’t help it, you snort.

“Oh my God” you groan while burying your own face in your hands. John explodes into laughter and you look up.

After locking eyes with the man next to you, you begin to laugh just as loudly.

After a few moments, you both quieten down and you hold your chest gasping for breath while John holds one of his scabs that’s been tugging too much.

“What I mean is, I don’t think I wanna be with Abigail. Not afta this…I mean we weren’t even that serious before Jack. Then I went away fer a year…”

“Went away?” you interrupt and he shakes his head.

“Not jail or nothin’….but I’ll tell you that story anotha time. Or ask Arthur he’d just LOVE to fill you in.” John hisses angrily. “But what I mean is. There ain’t nothin’…romantic…there anymore. Ya know?”

You can’t help the smile that breaches your face.

“I, uh, yeah I guess I understand what you’re saying.” You say nodding. You look up at the sky and see that time really has moved on since you got here.

“Look I best get back to my mom. I kind of just ran off there” you laugh. “Thank you so much John. It means more than you know that you came to find me.”

John doesn’t answer but the slight tip of his head and small smile says everything you need to know. He gets up and helps you stand by holding out his hand for you to take. Once you’re up John holds onto your hand just a little bit longer before letting go….

“Anytime.” He says in that gruff voice and you can’t help but wonder what that voice would be like whispering in your ear. Maybe late at night. When no one can see you.

You hold your arms out awkwardly in front of you just a little bit and ask quietly, “Can I?”

It takes a second for John to register what you’re asking but as soon as he does, he’s bringing you into his arms for another hug. Before he knows it, he’s taking in a long, deep breath. Filling his senses with the smell of you and only you.

He can’t help but think to himself, has hugging always been this nice?

Has he actually ever had a hug? Yeah, he must have done. Hosea, yeah Hosea used to hug him quite a bit. And he got a few after returning to camp from his year away.

But this? This feeling is something else entirely.

You wind your arms around Johns neck and this time place your face there as well. You feel him physically shudder and for a moment you worry that you’ve actually made him uncomfortable, like maybe he was just being polite by indulging you. But before you can make any move to pull away, his arms tighten around your back.

You’re shorter than John so you’re on your tiptoes but he’s able to keep you steady. You whisper another thank you into his neck and you swear you feel his hands clench into your back where they rest.

You reluctantly pull back and come face to face with John, who’s so damn close.

Panic suddenly engulfs you a little bit and you take a step back. Thankfully John doesn’t seem to notice your moment of worry.

“See you soon then I guess…” you laugh nervously and fiddle with your clothes.

“Um yeah, I uh, like to get out here around noon most days so if yer not out or….” John says quietly, gesturing around the area.

“Yeah I uh, I’m sometimes free around then…” you mention but then you suddenly get embarrassed that maybe you’ve misread his intent, “Oh or I mean I could come later on or earlier if….you like your time or….”

“No! No…I umm” John clears his throat yet again, like he’s trying to bring the right words to the surface, “It’s nice ta have company.”

You hold in your big smile by biting your lip.

“Okay then. Umm, so see ya John.” You say walking deep into the trees before allowing your grin to take over your features.

John turns to look over at the vast openness before him. He sighs but can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his still healing lips.

“Christ.” he whispers before making his own way back to camp.

John wanders into camp and spots you sitting once again with your mother. You look happy again and this makes him smile. Genuinely smile.

“Marston!” Arthur squawks at him as he approaches.

“Arthur” John answers through clenched teeth.

Arthur stops in front of him with his thumbs in the loops of his belt. Oozing cockiness that’d rival Micah’s, “Dutch wants you on guard duty t’night. Says it’s high-time you start pullin’ yer weight around here.”

“Pullin’ my….? You all know I’s nearly eaten not too long ago right?” John asks angrily. His voice is so quiet as to not alert the others around him that it comes out as a sort of snide hiss.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Arthur says holding his hands up and backing away, “Or anyone fer tha’ matter. Don’t need another invalid round here.”

John bites his tongue and storms over to his tent. He needs a beer and a sleep before his shift. However after lifting the heavy canvas and letting it drop closed behind him, he realises that sleep may not be on the cards for him…..

“Hey John” Abigail drawls from his bed. Almost entirely naked.

Once again he lets out in a whisper, “Christ.”

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kayteewritessteve · 5 years ago

Text

Beautifully Unfinished - 2/8

Description: One foolish outburst, one moment of weakness at the worst possible time, and everything goes up in smoke. Who knew finally voicing your true, deep-rooted feelings, would lead to the complete destruction of your most cherished friendship?

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 1,660 ish.

Pairing: Modern!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Curse words. Lots of angst. But if you’ve read my stories before, then you know how this will end.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

Elementary School.

Your hands slide along the muddy ground, digging in as your weight is abruptly shifted onto them. You have only been in this school for a week, and already you’ve obviously made some enemies.

But you are the new kid, so that isn’t really a shocking revelation. Kids can just be so stinking mean.

You had to move at the end of grade 6, and started in this new school for the beginning of grade 7. Your father had gotten a promotion, and along with it came you all having to be relocated to the city. To Brooklyn.

So here you are, your blue jeans now covered in mud and your hands scraped up from the small rocks and gravel hidden just under the grassy surface. What you’ve done to piss this kid off is beyond you. He clearly has a few issues. That much you are sure of.

“Get up, loser,” he taunts, causing you to struggle to get your bearings back. To come to terms with the fact that this is your new life now. This is the school you’ll live out the next, and final, two years of your childhood days in. Then you’ll head off to High School, which probably won’t be any better. What with your clearly horrible luck.

You’d just been minding your own business a few moments ago, sitting under a tree and reading a book. Avoiding all the other kids as you didn’t know anyone here, and you have always been shy. At least in your old school, you had friends you’d known since kindergarten. A few kids who had befriended you and then stuck with you over the years.

But here, you are entirely on your own. You have no one.

“Did you not hear me!” He yells, causing you to flinch at the tone, his friends noticing this and laughing at you for it. You take a deep breath, before shakily pushing back up onto your feet. Glancing down to see your clothes are now ruined, knowing instantly that your mother is going to be livid at you for dirtying your new school clothes.

You could tell her that you’d been pushed down by a bully, but then she’d go to your teacher demanding the kids be punished. And even in your young mind, you know that would only make things worse. So you’ll just claim you’d slipped on the playground and landed in a puddle.

“Why are you doing this?” You quietly ask, just needing to know what you’d done to deserve this torment and mistreatment.

He scoffs at you, as if you're the idiot, “you’re the new kid,” he says in a ‘duh’ tone. “And you were in our lunch spot,” he adds a few seconds later.

“You could have just told me, and I would have moved to someplace else. You didn’t have to push me,” you reply, your voice a little stronger this time, thanks to the anger over his ridiculous reasonings for bullying you.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asks as he goes to push you down again.

Just as your butt lands with a plop on the ground, now dirtying your backside to match the front of you, a voice calls out. “Hey! Leave her alone!”

Tears prickle in your eyes, as you glance up and around to see who is sticking up for you. To see who has come to your rescue. And once they land on the little form running towards you, you gasp. He is so small, maybe even a little smaller than you, but he is beautiful.

All flowing blonde hair and deep blue eyes, both features shining brightly in the little sunshine that peaks through the clouds. Maybe it is just because he is your only saviour at the moment, or because you genuinely have never seen a more charming looking kid in your life. But either way, you can’t take your eyes off him as he moves hastily towards you. Fluidly putting himself between you and the small grouping of bullies.

He moves as if he is entirely used to his small size, like he is aware his body is little but the sheer size of his heart makes him large. Makes him fearless, and therefore he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t falter but instead moves with such grace and pose he appears to be almost floating.

It’s in this moment you finally notice he has both his hands up, forming fists in front of him, as if ready to take on the world. And maybe he is, maybe he thinks he truly can.

A few minutes—and punches—later, he sits muddy and battered beside you. They’d been much harsher to him then they had been to you, he’d taken it all like it was just a few gusts of wind. It hadn’t been till a larger kid had come running from the school, and stepped in to defend you both, that the bullies had finally moved on.

And the second they are gone, the larger kid turns around to glare down at your saviour. “What were you even thinking, Punk? Taking on 6 kids by yourself! You’re lucky you only have muddy clothes and a fat lip right now! It could have been so much worse!”

You glance to the side, hesitantly looking at your hero and seeing him glaring right back at the only person currently clean and standing at the moment. “They were bullying a girl, Buck! I wasn’t just going to stand back and let them!”

The larger kids eyes snap to you, as if just now realizing you are present. That you are sitting in the mud beside his friend. He gives you a little once over then sighs as his eyes drift back to the blonde, “you should have come and got me first. You never think before you act,” he holds a hand out for his friend, helping him up.

“There wasn’t any time to think it through,” the blonde defends, as the larger kid then holds his hand out to you. You stare at it for a moment before hesitantly taking it, and allowing him to pull you up to your shaky legs.

“You are just so reckless sometimes,” the larger one says, sounding both exasperated and amused. Which is a weird combo for sure.

“I don’t like bullies, Buck. You know this,” the smaller one adamantly replies, causing the other to chuckle quietly.

“Yeah, I do,” he mumbles in agreement. “But still doesn’t mean you should stupidly throw yourself into every fight, alone.”

As they continue to argue back and forth, you glance down at your ruined clothes. Quickly wiping your hands along your jeans in an attempt to get some of the mud off. It’s a pointless endeavour though, as your hands are also covered in dirt and only stand to smear it around more thoroughly. Great.

“Are you okay?” A gentle voice hits your ears and you snap your eyes up, seeing the blonde now standing directly in front of you. Your breath halts slightly at how close he is all of a sudden, at the perfect view you now have of his face. You hadn’t really gotten a chance to see him up close yet, as he’d come out of nowhere, then had his back to you as he confronted your bullies, then he was beside you and you’d been too nervous to really look at him. To truly take him in.

And now that you can, and have, you are speechless.

Now not having any confidence to speak, you just nod your head in answer to his question. He gives you a small once over, clearly checking for any injuries then his lovely eyes meet yours. “Are you hurt anywhere?” And this time you shake your head in answer, he looks unconvinced for a second before seeming to see the honesty in your eyes and nodding. Then one of his muddy hands gestures to himself, “I’m Steve,” before gesturing to the larger brunette behind him, “that’s Bucky. What’s your name?”

You nod then quietly answer, “Y/N.” Your eyes then glance over his tiny form, “are you okay?”

When your eyes finally land back on his face, he has a small smile on his lips, “I’m fine. Nothing I haven’t been through before,” he chuckles, his smile growing wider, “this was actually tame in comparison to my past scuffles.” And instantly you can hear the pride in his voice, he is proud of getting into ‘scuffles’, as he called them. He is proud of standing up to the bullies.

The larger one—Bucky as you’ve just been told, sighs loudly and shakes his head, “don’t sound so damn pleased about that fact, Punk.”

He glances over his shoulder at his friend, the cheekiness now in his voice loud and clear, “but I am pleased about it, Jerk.”

Bucky glares at Steve, though judging by the smirk he can’t contain currently on his lips, it’s playfully. Steve then turns back to you, “do you want to join us for lunch?”

Your eyes widen slightly, before you quickly correct it and nod eagerly, “oh, um, yes. Please.”

He gives you a glorious smile and then the three of you head towards the cafeteria.

And unbeknownst to you, this is such an important moment in your life. This is the day you meet the two guys who’ll become your lifelong best friends. This is the day you first feel the beginning tingles of your quickly forming crush and love for Steve.

From the very first day, when he’d come gracefully running to your rescue, you’d felt it. You’d known he was going to play some huge role in your life instantly. And you’ll be entirely right in that thought. He’ll become your best friend, your rock, your world, your one true love. Truly and fully.

Because he’s got you like a rag doll, and now you’re dancing on his strings.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

@caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tfandtws @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @strawberry-gothchild @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @viarogers @pixieferry @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @capsicledoll @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @ivannagotthebeat @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @ivoryhazlewood @steverogersxreader @cjhorseback @jasminecalia @secondstar2disney @jessiedaeum @betsynodak @capricornprince118 @just-ladyme @pinkleopardss @drayshadow @sister-of-stars @wiserebelpartypie @dark-night-sky-99 @patzammit @cs-please @troublermalik @bratstopmom @anika-ann

#au fanfiction #fanfiction #long post #long read #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #modern!steve rogers x reader #modern!steve rogers #modern!steve #modern au #steve rogers au #Beautifully Unfinished #Part 2 #angst

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nicolewrites · 4 years ago

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my heart, a spinning arrow

introspective thoughts led to this. i’m tired, but i need to write more claude.

Rating: T Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Characters: Claude von Riegan & Byleth Eisner & Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg Words: 3,203

After the Battle at Gronder Field, Claude contemplates the path that has led here and the one that leads forward.

AO3

The fire in the Knight’s Hall is almost burnt to embers. Claude takes a drink from his flask and stares into the flickering orange glow. The flask is almost empty and he pauses, placing it down on the table in front of him as he leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. He stabs the poker into the fire, flipping the log and rejuvenating the fading flames. He places the power back down on the table in front of him and pushes his hands through his hair, exhaling slowly.

He’s wearing only a loose beige shirt and simple trousers. He had dropped his armour off with the smith after the battle and hasn’t returned to pick it up yet. He pulls his hands back and stares at the white scars on his wrists, palms, and fingertips. They seem to glow against the darkness of his skin.

Years of archery have given him rough calluses and more than a few of his scars are from simple mishandling of sharp arrows in battle. He still hasn’t rid his hands of their tremors completely even after years of watching his hand-fletched arrows sink into throats and arms and chests. He’s a master of finding the small gaps in armour, but he wishes he wasn’t.

This isn’t what he had intended when he had come to Fódlan. He had intended to bolster relationships with the Kingdom and the Empire and the Alliance using tricks and pretty words to knock down barriers and open the continent to the world. He had intended to strip away stereotypes and build a new, better world.

Now, instead, he has the blood of his old classmates on his hands.

Claude had hoped, futilely, that Dimitri might just stay dead after the Empire captured Fhirdiad. Of course, he could never be so lucky.

The chilling words Dimitri had shrieked a Gronder, a perfect pinnacle of a madman, still echo in Claude’s ears. Gronder had been kill or be killed and the way that Dimitri had advanced made that clear enough. He had advanced without mercy and cut down soldiers clothed in red and yellow without even flinching. Dimitri’s strength had been formidable and his army was relentless and Claude had known that he could not leave the Kingdom’s king to his own efforts.

It had taken four arrows to even slow Dimitri down and Claude knows, sitting in front of the fire now, that the only reason he’s still alive is because the rest of Dimitri’s classmates had not been as crazy as him.

Dimitri, wounded as he was, never made it to Edelgard before the Adrestian Emperor retreated. According to Hilda, he had certainly pursued her after the battle. Edelgard had at least been smart enough to retreat when she had been defeated, but Claude could not say the same for the King of Faerghus.

He still remembers the way that Edelgard had looked at him when he had flown over her, arrow knocked in Failnaught and aimed in her general direction. He had called her lovely and she had told him to leave.

Claude’s first shot had missed, but his second hadn’t. Only his practiced flight maneuvers had saved his life against her supernatural counter abilities. It had only taken two more shots, one imbued with the true power of his Relic, to send Edelgard on the retreat.

Claude had had the shot for the final blow, a perfect chink in her armour to bury his yellow-fletched arrow, but he couldn’t unsee Edelgard standing in the Cathedral during their time at the academy. She would stare angrily at the statue of Saint Seiros as if it was the cause of all of her problems. Claude doesn’t think she ever knew that he had followed her.

He understands her more than he wants to admit: her anger at the church, at the systems of Fodlan, even her methods to an extent.

In Almyra, conquest is the way of the world. Lords fight and kill for shreds of land and power and brothers and sisters turn on each other for the chance to rule. Claude understands war. It has shadowed him his whole life, but that does not mean that he agrees with Edelgard’s methods.

He does not agree with the fact that it means they must bear arms against people they had once considered friends. He does not agree with the fact that it means that it was him, not some Imperial soldier, who had put Dimitri out of his misery. He will take this secret to his grave if he has too.

Hilda knows because she saw him take the shot and she has covered for him. Hilda claims that it had been a sick twist of fate when Dimitri had pursued Edelgard that had brought the King of Faerghus to his unfortunate end. Her eyes study his face every time she repeats the lie.

Claude should have let him go and get cut down by the Imperial Army. Instead, in some twisted sense of pity and righteousness, it had been an arrow fired from Failnaught that found Dimitri’s throat and put an end to the mad prince. He sees it as a clean ending to an unfortunate life and a neat way to usher Fódlan to a new future.

That does not mean he does not regret it.

He had dropped Failnaught immediately after taking the shot, disgusted with himself, and only Hilda’s insistence that they draw back to the rest of the army had saved him from getting swarmed over by Imperial soldiers. She had carried the Relic almost all the way back to command for him when he had been unable to lay his hands on it.

The flames crack in front of him, drawing him back to the present, and Dimitri’s voice echoes in his head again. Claude wonders if Edelgard knows what he has done. He wonders if she would congratulate him or scorn him for his actions. She would have no right to do either, he reasons with himself.

Not with the way she had left Bernadetta and Petra to die.

Claude himself had never been particularly close to Bernadetta, but she was a quick and accurate shot, he had known that from archery competitions back at the academy. Unfortunately for Bernadetta, Edelgard had been content to leave her on the centre hill to draw fire. Raphael hadn’t even made it all the way to the centre hill before the Empire set it aflame.

Raphael had returned to base after the battle with a stony expression and a bloodied and burned body clutched in his arms. Leonie had helped him bury her and had reported to Claude later that her fatal injuries had come from the explosion, not any of the attacks from the Kingdom or Alliance.

Petra had been quick enough at least to dodge the explosion on the centre hill, but her evasion had placed her right in Claude’s path. His stomach twists and he digs his nails into his scalp as he recalls the shadow of his wyvern falling over the Brigid Princess.

She had taught him to climb trees five years ago and he had taught her to fly on a wyvern. She had not been afraid of him at that moment and it had only been the live or die instinct he had cultivated in himself since he was a child that had let him loose the arrow.

Petra had taken the blow and from him and Claude had had an opening to finish the job, but he had been unable to shoot again. He could only remember the laughs they had shared through his misadventures of falling out of trees and their honest discussion about nature and the nature of gods. She had pulled back, wounded and bleeding, with wild eyes filled with a fear that made him sick to his stomach even now.

Claude wants to yank his own hair out in his frustration. He has been trying to reduce the appearance of Almyrans as war-thirsty villains and he knows that having the princess of a foreign nation be afraid of him will not help with that fact when it comes time for him to claim the throne from his father. It will not help his Fódlan relations either for his friends to see him as the thoughtless killer he looked like.

Although, with the way this war keeps panning out, Claude sometimes wonders if he’ll have any friends left at all at the end of the war. The Golden Deer, once innocent and chaotic and fun, are splintering, shattered by the burdens of the heavy war they’ve been fighting for five years. Claude can see it in all of them: the bone-deep weariness that accompanies every swing of a weapon and every new scar earned.

His friends from the Kingdom are already gone. Gronder Field had seen to that. Annette, apparently, was lost in the five years of in-fighting between the Kingdom Loyalists and the Faerghus Dukedom. Ashe was burned in the fires of Ailell when he fell with House Rowe. Mercedes had fallen to Ignatz’s arrows at Gronder. Sylvain had buckled under the force of Lysithea’s magic. Felix had met his end by Leonie’s spear.

Claude had shot Ingrid out of the sky and left her for Hilda to finish off.

Dedue had vanished into the chaos of the battle, but Claude is not hopeful. One man, alone, who is anger-addled and revenge-filled does not stand a hope against the might of the Empire.

Claude lifts his head, dropping his hands to his lap and stares, dead-eyed at the flickering fire in front of him. The Kingdom will have died with Dimitri. If he fails now, stumbles at Edelgard’s doorstep, then the Alliance will follow the Kingdom down, as history has always dictated.

He drinks from his flask quickly enough that he nearly chokes on the burn of the liquor as he tosses it back. He has run the flask dry by now, drinking away the grief he tries to stave off with a well-timed joke or a sarcastic comment. He wonders if anyone sees through him.

Lorenz, maybe, at the worst of times, and Hilda, perhaps, at his best.

Claude has never been good at dealing with death. As a child, his mother told him story after story to desensitize him to the horrors of combat and the worlds that both of his ancestors originated from. It never worked. Instead, he found himself pitying both sides and grieving for people he had never met. His compassion had never been beaten out of him, as hard as some of his step-siblings may have tried.

Maybe that is why it hurts so much, even hours or days or weeks later, to know that old classmates have fallen and will fall. Maybe that’s why his hands are still sticky with Dimitri’s blood even though he had given the king a death that did not prolong his suffering.

He wants to kill Edelgard. He wants to bury an arrow in her heart and have her fall down dead and he wants the war to be over, but Claude is tired of fighting. He wants to find Rhea and ask her all the questions burning on his tongue, to know the truth of the Church of Seiros and the Relics and the Crest system and the eternally mysterious Professor who rose from the dead after five years of “sleeping”.

It’s as if he summons her, just by thinking of her. Her green hair, as faint as starlight, catches his eye from the corner of the hall where she stands, just inside the door as if she’s waiting for an invitation.

Claude leans back on the couch, trying to hide his weariness as he shoots her a smile. “Teach,” he says in greeting.

She steps closer. “Mind if I join you?”

“Depends on if you brought a drink,” he jokes.

He’s not serious, but the professor pulls her own flask from her belt and tosses it to him as she crosses the room. Claude fumbles, almost dropping it, but he calms his shaky hands by the time she reaches him and sinks into the couch next to him, staring into the fire in the same way that he had.

Claude unscrews the top on the flask and takes a swig. Her liquor is cheaper than his own and he resists the urge to wince as he drinks. He lowers the flask from his mouth and hands it off to her. She drinks easily, without even the twitch of her eyebrow. Claude barely catches the monogrammed ‘JE’ on the bottom of the flask while she drinks and he knows then why it is so easy for her.

“It’s strange to see you without your armour,” she comments quietly, staring at her hands where she clutches the flask.

He studies her face. As always, she is hard to read, but he can at least see the grief that is heavy in her expression. When they had met, she had been a blank slate. Now, he knows her well enough to see the edges of pain that she so desperately tries to conceal.

“It needs fixing. Figured there was no point in delaying when we need to start planning on how we’re going to hit Fort Merceus.”

“Tomorrow,” she says, cutting him off.

He blinks. “What?”

“We can start planning tomorrow,” she finishes. “I don’t want to think about fighting anymore tonight.”

“You know, Teach,” he says, “I never thought you’d be the one to tell me to stop working.”

She lifts her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “I drop by your room almost every day to tell you to get a reasonable amount of sleep.”

“And how much of that is completely hypocritical?” he counters easily.

She doesn’t rise to his jab and takes another drink from her father’s flask. They’re both silent for a moment as she swallows and slowly screws the squeaking cap back onto the top of the flask. She places it down on the table in front of them with a dull thud and picks up the fire poker. She pushes on one of the logs until it crumbles with a hiss and there’s a puff of smoke before the fire starts to fall apart, returning to embers.

“I should have killed her today,” the professor says without prompting.

Claude knows who she’s talking about. “I had the shot and I didn’t take it,” he confesses.

She looks at him, her green eyes glowing silver from the warm light of the fire. She looks almost ethereal in the orange glow. She is stunningly beautiful and always has been, but since her transformation after the Sealed Forest, there is something starkly otherworldly and unsettling about the way that she looks.

“I never would have asked you to,” she admits simply.

“Then don’t attempt to carry the burden of that by yourself,” he argues.

She shakes her head. “No, Claude, when we get to Enbarr, I will kill Edelgard myself.”

She draws the hunting dagger that is at her side at all times and flips it in her hand casually. The hilt is roughly bound in well-worn leather, but the blade is polished steel. She has carried the blade for as long as he has known her, but he has never once seen her use it.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

The three words are simple and chilling. Claude hesitates on his reply long enough that she sheaths her knife and drums her fingers over her leg like she is nervous. She does not look at him. He is unsure of how to tell her that he feels the same. That he felt the same when he killed Dimitri just hours earlier.

In the quiet moment that extends between them, there are so many things he wants to say to her. He wants to tell her about all of his doubts about the Church. He wants to confess his true upbringing. He wants to show her the faded healing scars on his hands and wrists and say which ones were his fault and which were the fault of others.

“Are you afraid of dying?” he asks instead.

“No,” she replies immediately. “At least, not usually.” She flexes the fingers of one hand and Claude swears that they sparkle with yellow light for a moment, but it is probably a trick of the lighting.

“I’m terrified of dying,” he admits. “There is so much left to be done and if I die, where does that leave any of this?”

She looks at him and he is taken aback by the warmth that lingers in her eyes. “I will not let you die.”

His lips twitch at the sentiment. It’s reassuring to hear from her, the woman who is a one-man army all on her own, but even she can’t stop what might happen in the coming days, especially with the plan that has been floating in his brain for several weeks.

“What would the goddess think of such words?” he asks, knowing full well that she knows he does not believe in the goddess like most of his former classmates do.

“I am inclined to believe I have the goddess on my side,” she says simply.

She is still looking at him and he does not doubt her. He never has.

“Alright then, Teach,” he says, nodding. “No dying for me.”

“Claude.”

She touches his wrist and his hand turns into her touch instinctively. Her thumb skitters over the skin on the underside of his wrist and up over the exposed part of his palm. She traces a bruise and a bump on his palm from a few bad draws on the field today and a knick on his thumb from the reigns of his wyvern.

She squeezes his hand and he feels her reassurance and her nervousness in the touch. This is not about the future of the nation: this is about the future of two young people who are just trying to survive.

“Byleth.”

He doesn’t often use her name, forgoing it for the sake of an affectionate and familiar nickname, but the moment calls for it. He tightens his own grip on her hand and nudges his knee against hers. He admires, for a moment, the dark of his skin against the fairness of hers and wonders what it would be like to hold her completely.

“We will be defined by this war as long as we are alive,” she points out, staring at their joined hands. “But we needn’t let it write the path to our future.”

“You lead,” he suggests. “I’ll follow.” When she frowns, he squeezes her hand. “I trust you.”

They don’t talk about Gronder Field or Fort Merceus or much of anything for the rest of the night, but when Byleth finally peels herself away to get some sleep, Claude feels the warmth of her hand linger in his and he can almost imagine a future filled with light instead of one darkened by war and memories of the dying screams of old friends.

It’s a reassuring thought.

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caffeinated-moonchild · 4 years ago

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therapy [jeon jungkook]

writer: michiko

genre: angst, short story, fan fiction

synopsis: some things are only for oneself. some things are shared to friends, family, significant other, or even social media. but there are things that only the therapist knows.

character/s: jeon jungkook, original character [i]

TRIGGER WARNING: may contain mention of violence, profanity, mental health, self-harm

story:

There are things that no one else knows, things that are better off kept to oneself or locked away in the deepest and darkest part of ourselves. It sounds kind of selfish, almost as if I did not give a single fuck about anyone around me because sharing is supposed to be caring, but let us be honest for a while...none of you gives a shit about anyone, too.

But when you keep everything to yourself and not share it with anyone, chances are you would burst into flames and your enemies will dance on your ashes, not even taking time to scatter your remains at your favorite place. So the moral lesson of life is trust no one.

Why have I grown to be such a heartless loser? It’s all because of a guy.

How cliché. But isn’t life a compilation of clichés?

“Let’s give him a name. Jeon. Let’s call him that.

It wasn’t anything romantic or extraordinary like eyes meeting from opposite sides of the room or bumping into each other and me spilling coffee on his perfect white shirt. But it does involve coffee.

There is this hidden gem of a coffee shop in Gangnam that holds these jam nights. It's really fun. It's not just music. There's a bit of slam poetry and every Friday the 13th, there's a speed dating.

Yes. That's where I met Jeon.

I still remember his first question…"

I had yet to settle on the stool when the guy asked, "What's with the black lipstick?" His voice dripped of this tone that seemed like some kind of judgment, which I was ready to retort. But then my eyes saw the most gorgeous being to walk this fucked up planet. Maybe for me but that was the thing, I normally dislike everyone but there was something about him that gripped onto me so tight that I could not find a way to escape it.

His dark brown eyes seemed too pierce through my soul, his button nose being the only adorable thing on such a handsome face, his red lips tugged up to a smirk, and framing his face was his gorgeous chin-length black hair with an undercut on the right side―a modern Hades with his black clothes and black boots, matched with his golden skin that glowed even under the dim light of the coffee shop.

I arched my brow as I looked at him, wondering what a guy like him was doing at a speed dating.

“Not to be judgmental but he had the look of a sex god and I am pretty sure that every girl who sees him would definitely jump on him. Trust me on that one because if it wasn’t for my lack of interest and self-control, I would have straddled him right there and then.”

Out of habit, I rolled my eyes not out of genuine annoyance but more of to build a bit of persona around him. It was more of a mask as I tried to gauge what he likes and what he was into...the likes. “I didn’t really want to go to this thing. When they said Friday the 13th event, I was looking forward to a slasher fest or a horror movie night, but apparently that’s not what’s going on. I’m not thrilled.”

And though I stay over poetry and enjoy the sappy love songs, my reputation has long become the disturbed girl with serious parental issues resulting in lack of self-confidence and self-love, matched with a foul mouth and love for gore and anything dark and darker than black.

“Call it stupid but it was easier to put a mask for someone rather than to bare my soul and be judged and tossed to the side. At least, with a mask, I can throw it away and make a new one. That makes me sound so deranged but so what?”

He chuckled, crossing his legs like he was some kind of model who just had to show off that he could look like a model. “Dark but I like it.”

That was what did it for me. The moment he appreciated the darkness I presented, I thought that nothing would scare him because right then he knew that knives and blood are what keep me sane. Right then I thought that he knew what kind of mess he was getting into...or what I thought he was getting into.

“The more we talked, the more I found myself falling in love with him. I learned how he is more than the guy that he lets on to be. In ways, we were similar. We both hated being judged and so we pretend to be someone else to keep our true selves intact and untouched by the chaotic world outside and toxic people who feed on the weak and the kind.

And the more things got real, the more I wanted it. But he felt differently.”

His hand has always felt warm around mine, making me feel safe and secured. There was something about every bit of him that made me feel warm...as if I was home.

The view was nothing spectacular but the way the sun and the clouds decorated the blue sky was breathtaking in its own way. Our eyes would momentarily take a break from basking in the light and meet each other in a passionate yet brief glance, as if to make sure that we still had each other. I dreaded the moment that we would have to part…

“So you’d understand how crushed I felt when he let go of my hand because his friends were approaching us and he hasn’t told them about me for reasons I didn’t know at the moment, reasons I wished I didn’t know.

He held me as if he didn’t want to lose me. He touched me like I was a goddess he worshiped. He kissed me as if we would die tomorrow. He told me he loves me as if those were the only words he knew.

But the moment his crew gets involved, I become a girl who got obsessed with him and wanted him all to myself and he was just kind enough to actually play with me.

What kind of self-respecting woman would stay with a guy like him?”

His head hung low, eyes could not even meet mine. “What the hell was that, Jeon?” My voice was firm, trying my best not to explode and risk another unnecessary argument that I knew I could not handle at the moment. “I know you have some kind of reputation to uphold but why can’t you just tell them that we’re in a relationship? Why do you have to make it seem like I am some kind of obsessed fangirl who wouldn’t leave you alone?”

As he looked up at me, I could see that he felt guilty about it. His doe eyes always worked its charm and I would often forgive him but I could not seem to find a reason to do so.

“My self-confidence was on a different kind of low. A part of me felt as if he was just hanging me on a hook because I love him...I loved him. He liked the ego boost so he kept me. Every single time he made me feel like a stalker fangirl, I lost every bit of faith and hope that someone could love someone so messed up, that someone could appreciate the broken.

I very much thought he could and maybe he could.”

Shaking my head, I knew what I had to do and say, “I’m going. I’m sorry, Jeon. I can’t do this if you want to keep this up. I know that you have your own issues but I can’t keep on ignoring it. I can’t keep on pretending that it’s okay because it’s not. I love you. I swear, I do. Maybe even more than myself.”

I should not have glanced at him because the moment I saw that look on his face, his brown eyes pleading with me. Immediately, I looked away to avoid breaking and losing my stand. “Maybe someday, Jeon.” I paused, a brutal attempt to keep myself from breaking down. “I love you.”

Then I left.

I left before I changed my mind and decided to settle for what was there.

“As petty as it sounds, it drove me back to the darkest parts of my mind. Whatever light he brought to my life disappeared. My life drowned in pitch black again.

My family is a mess, my parents constantly breathing down my neck over every single thing and me being the constant disappointment in their golden lives. My friends expect me to be as high-achieving and goal-oriented as they are as if I have no dreams.

As stupid as it may seem, Jeon was the only one who understood me...or tried and that was more than enough.

He tried. And that’s okay.

I didn’t want to kill myself over him. I just wanted to feel a bit of physical pain to justify the emotional pain that I was going through, thinking that the break-up was too small of a thing to cry over...and wounds are more valid.

But I guess I was wrong because I had to talk about all of this again when I didn’t want to. As much as possible, I wanted to keep this all hidden and buried underneath but therapy really wants us to dig deep, right?”

Dressed in a little black dress, curly black hair clipped at the side, black boots tapping against the floor, bandaged wrists making the perfect accessory to show off while drinking a non-spiked punch―it was an outfit I had no time to plan out but it was a perfect way to show off how I feel about the entire thing...not that anyone gives a shit anyway.

Across the floor was Ms. Kang, glancing at my direction as if I was going to have a breakdown. Her eyes even got bigger than they already are just when I felt someone standing next to me. And by the look on Ms. Kang’s face, she was invested.

I knew that the older woman across the floor was not going to look away anytime soon. And I did not have to look at who stood next to me because I could very much tell by the scent that was wafting to my direction.

“Oh Jeon.”

“What do you want, Jeon?” I asked, trying to stay strong despite my own strength wavering.

He chuckled, the same cocky reaction he had whenever he knew that he had something in his grip. “You.”

“I’m not a ‘what’ and didn’t I say that we’re not getting back together until you learn to treat me like your girlfriend and not some psycho stalker?” I rolled my eyes as I took a good gulp of my drink, hoping that I seemed convincing because I did not believe anything that was coming from my lips.

He nodded, setting his cup down on the table before he held me by the shoulders and faced me towards him. “And that’s why I’m here. To make things right.” The cocky look on his face immediately melted, his hands reaching for mine. “I told my friends who you are in my life and it took me a while to realize that it didn’t matter what anyone wants to see from me. What’s important is that I’m happy and I’m happy with you.”

Arching a brow, I asked, “Really?”

“Really.” A smile stretched across his lips as a soft one appeared on mine, almost as if telling him that we were okay.

“Sometimes, love can be as simple as forgiving. May their apology be truth or lie, time can only tell and it may be too late but you did your part. But we can’t always fear forgiving and getting hurt. Let’s be honest, we learn by getting hurt. And we won’t know unless we try.

As much as I wanted to keep Jeon at arm’s length, I want to know if things will work out now because I don’t want to wake up one day regretting that I didn’t forgive the guy I truly love, especially for something that’s still fixable.”

“Why is Ms. Kang looking at me like she wants to murder me?” Jeon asked, arms cautiously wrapped around my waist.

Pressing my lips together for a while, I looked at him with a smile. “Maybe because she knows what kind of asshole you are?” I laughed.

With a confused look he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that I tell my therapist everything.”

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jeongguk #jungkook ff #bts fan fic #bts ff #bangtan sonyeondan #kpop #kpop fan fiction #jungkook x original character #jungkook x oc #original character #original character fan fiction #bts x original character #therapy #angst fan fic #fan fiction

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psycho-slytherin · 5 years ago

Text

Last words

You go undercover and encounter the last thing you’d expect as an assassin– competition.

Pairing: Spy!Jungkook x Assassin!Reader

Genre: Angst, idiots to idiots 

Warnings: Strong language, violence, murder 

WC: kill me 8.9k 

|mlist|

“Please let me go. Please! I have a family! My husband, my daughters…” tears stream down your target’s face as he struggles with his restraints.

“Your family isn’t paying me,” you reply, finger twitching on the trigger. Why is he trying to evoke sympathy? You don’t do sympathy, and you certainly don’t let targets go.

“I-If it’s money you want, I’ll pay!”

You lower the muzzle. “How much?”

“Uh, twenty thousand? Please, just spare me!”

You suck on your teeth, raising the gun again. “No can do, they’re paying me more.” Maybe if he’d suggested an offer worth considering, you’d take longer to think about it. As it is...

“Wait-” But the man is cut off when you pull the trigger, and a neat hole appears in his head. His lifeless body slumps forward, but given that he was already on his knees he doesn’t have far to fall. The range was close enough that your bullet went right through him, and you pick it up with gloved hands. It’s always a good idea to collect whatever evidence you can.

People seem to think that a person’s last words are thoughtful, deep, artistic. You’ve been present for a lot of last words, and they’re rarely beautiful. Usually wait or no or fuck you. There’s little glamour in your line of work– unless your clients pay extra.

You pad downstairs. The old warehouse you brought him to is scheduled to be demolished in five hours. Another clean hit, and some good commission.

~~~ Three weeks later

“What’ve you got for me?”

You can hear AD typing quickly over the phone. “You’re in luck. Where are you?” Code for new assignment. Are you alone?

“I’m safe.” You’re staying at a farmhouse, far from civilization as you wait for your next hit. No cameras, no mics, no company.

“Alright, name’s Bang Si-Hyuk, he goes by ‘Hitman’ Bang ‘cause he plays dirty with his guards. He hires killers-turned-security, and he’s always surrounded. The man’s got half the underground– and way too many politicians– in his pocket.”

“Dude. Are you giving me an assignment or a goddamn death sentence?”

“It’s a forty-five thousand dollar job. What are you gonna say to that?”

You whistle. Your assignments usually range from fifteen to thirty thousand– above forty is halfway to ridiculous. “Yes sir.”

AD chuckles. “That’s what I thought. We’re gonna send an anonymous death threat his way so he starts hiring again– you’re playing bodyguard, got it?”

“I got it. Rough-and-tumble.”

“Yep. Your character is basically gonna be you, but lamer. We’ve got documents and ID waiting for you at the drop location. Your interview is this Friday, dress code is mean. I’m sending all the info to your phone.”

“Sounds good. How long will this take me?”

“However long it takes for you to get close to Hitman. Y/n, be careful, okay? You’re gonna be surrounded by a lot of professionals with your background. You have to confirm Hitman was your kill, so don’t let anyone get to him first. And you can’t afford to let your cover slip.”

You scoff. “When have I ever let my cover slip, AD?”

“Just take care. If you get hurt, I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces, figuratively or otherwise.”

~~~ Friday

“Next!”

You stand and stalk into the gym. It’s empty, save for two men sitting behind a desk and a gigantic guy in the boxing ring.

“Name?”

“Kang Soo-Jin.”

“Yeah, we got her,” one of the men says, shuffling some papers. “I thought she’d be bigger.”

“I thought she’d be a man. So, Kang,” the first man looks you up and down from over sunglasses. “What’ve you got?”

“I was a killer-for-hire for five years,” you recite in a bored voice. You’re using enough of your real life to ensure your character’s authenticity, but not so much that they’ll recognize your reputation. “Forty confirmed kills. Turned to security after a jail scare. I’m fluent in six languages, and I can bullshit my way through four more. Trained in multiple martial arts– fighting dirty’s more fun, though– and ‘bout every weapon I could get my hands on. I’m educated enough to talk smarts and lived on the streets enough to talk shit. What else you wanna know?” Technically your kill count is sixty-two, but you’re supposed to have retired from the life you’re leading now. Like AD said– yourself, but lamer.

Sunglasses flips through your profile. “Can you fight in that outfit?”

You’re wearing black boots, sweatpants, and a longsleeve with a leather jacket. Gotta look the part, and the dress code was mean. “Better than anyone.”

“You’re confident, girlie. Prove it. Get into the ring.”

Thanks to AD, you knew this would be part of the interview. You’re not worried– you’ve been fighting men bigger and stronger than you since you were a kid.

“Are you armed?” Sunglasses asks as you shrug off your jacket.

“Is that a trick question?”

“Very funny, girlie. This is hand-to-hand only. No guns, no knives. No tasers or other bullshit.”

In view of the three men, you remove two handguns from their hidden holsters and a knife from a sheath on your hip. You’ve got another knife on your thigh, but they don’t need to know about that. You slip into the ring, stretching your arms above your head to loosen up.

“Alright, Kang, let’s see what you can do. No killing, try not to break any bones– besides that, fuck shit up.” Sunglasses signals, and the giant in the ring stomps towards you.

He’s big and strong. You’re small and fast, and unarmed.

“If you can’t win, run. If you can’t run, hide. If you can’t hide, fight. If you can’t fight, lie.” Such is the assassin’s motto.

Wasting no time, the giant swings a fist at you. You jump backwards, ducking and weaving around an onslaught of blows. This guy is trained, well enough that you can’t afford to slip up. Still, you’re not one to go all-out unless you need to; you need to fight just well enough to get hired, and badly enough that you can take your employers by surprise if you must.

The next time he throws out a hook, you duck and roll forward, ending up behind him. He turns around, shifting his weight onto one foot as he steps, and that’s your chance. You swing your leg down and around, connecting solidly with the back of his knee.

“Ugh!” With a grunt, he falls forward. Like any trained fighter would, though, he begins to rise right away. You know grappling is a big no-no for opponents bigger than you, but he’s right there, and given that you’re not allowed to put a blade in his back, it might be the quickest way of ending this performance. In the split second before he’s standing, you leap onto his back, scrambling until you’re sitting on his shoulders. You have to move fast– if you can’t neutralize him quickly, he can just fall backwards and pin you down, or grab your legs and launch you forward. You lock your legs around the giant’s neck and squeeze– it’s what you’ve nicknamed the Romanov chokehold, given how much the Avenger utilizes this inconvenient move.

The giant gasps for air, punching and slapping at your legs. You hiss, withstanding the blows of a struggling man. You can feel his strikes growing weaker as you keep up the pressure, squeezing your thighs tighter around his throat.

Are you actually going to win a fight with the Romanov chokehold? You’re gonna owe AD fifty bucks, dammit.

Suddenly, you feel the man’s arms snake upwards and grab your hands, which were locked under his chin. He pulls hard, yanking you off– you land flat on your back, the wind knocked out of you. You can hear Sunglasses and the other man chuckling. Ugh. You don’t like embarrassing yourself, but whatever it takes to convince them you’re not a threat.

If you can’t fight, lie.

You get up, chuckling ignoring your aching back. “Nice. I bet you win all your fights this easy, huh?”

The giant raises his fists, tensed, on guard. “You ain’t distractin’ me, girl.”

“Who says I’m trying to distract you?” You throw a quick punch, aiming right for the center of his face. Conventional deflections mean that he’ll parry to one side or the other. Lucky for you, he’s conventionally trained. As your fist glances off his block, you use the movement to grab his ear and pinch his earlobe between your nails. You’ve got a lot of experience with which body parts can withstand the most pain before there’s a protective reflex. Earlobes have one of the lowest thresholds, which means...

“Ah! What the fuck?” He claps his hand over his ear, forcing you to let go. Perfect. He’s right where you need him. With his arms raised to protect his sensitive ears, you have a chance to lunge forward. He might think you’re going for his eyes or throat, but you have another goal in mind.

You open your mouth and bite down hard on his bicep, your canines grinding together as though trying to meet through his flesh. You know from your training, and from personal experience, that biting this particular bit of skin and muscle hurts like a bitch. The giant roars in pain and stumbles in an attempt to pry you off of him, and you use his imbalance to grab his shirt and pull him backwards. He lands with a resounding THUD and, teeth still digging into his arm, you press your elbow into his throat, cutting off circulation for the few precious seconds that you need...to...win. As soon as his eyes flutter closed and his head falls back, you release your hold.

You climb out of the ring to see Sunglasses and the other man staring at you.

“I broke skin, you’re gonna want to make sure he gets that disinfected,” you supply, reaching for your jacket.

“You… you pinched and bit him. What kind of fighter are you?” Sunglasses scratches his head, his voice revealing disbelief.

“The kind that does what she has to do. You told me not to break bones or kill. All I did was fuck shit up.”

Sunglasses whistles. “Welcome to the team, Kang. You’ve got the job.”

~~~ Monday

You’re dressed in your new uniform. Sunglasses, whose name you’ve learned is Agent Jung, introduces you to “the team”: Agents Kim, Kim, and Kim; Agent Park; and Agent Jeon. Of course you’re the only woman on a seven-person team. In your line of work, that’s not uncommon.

“I’m in charge around here. That means I say jump, y’all ask how high, got it? Aight. Here’s the deal– three guards will be present with Mr. Bang at all times,” Agent Jung says. “The other four of you will be split into pairs to patrol the area. Six-hour shifts, and you will work two shifts per day. Agents Kim Taehyung, Park, and myself will take the first shift with Mr. Bang. Agents Kim Seokjin and Namjoon, take the east half of the estate. Agents Jeon and Kang, the west half. Stick together so nothing goes wrong. Meet back here in six hours to exchange posts. Dismissed.”

Dammit, how easy would it have been if you had the first shift with Hitman? It’s fine, you’ll just play along as a good guard until you can get closer to your target.

You follow Jeon through the labyrinth of a house, which seems more like a castle. Where is this guy getting his money?

“Okay,” Agent Jeon says, stopping suddenly. “Let’s split up.”

What? “Jung said not to.”

Jeon folds his arms, raising a brow. “And you’re going to obey?”

You exhale sharply. “I’m going to do the job I was hired to do.” Splitting up and disobeying on your first day will cast you under scrutiny and suspicion. You have to play the good girl for now.

“Whatever,” Jeon chuckles. “I’m going.”

“Really, dude? You’re gonna get me in trouble. At least wait for a shift when we’re not paired together.”

“Why should I care about a girl who can’t even fight?” Oy vey. Is he provoking you on purpose? “I can fight fine, man.”

“Prove it.”

Why is he challenging you? What is with him? “We’re on duty,” you snap. “Quit slacking off and let’s do the work we’re paid for.”

Jeon whistles. “Feisty.”

“Shove it up your ass, Agent. I don’t need another man telling me I’m in the wrong line of work.”

“Oh, so I’m just one in a long list of shitheads, huh?” Jeon leans against the wall. You remain standing straight up– you don’t know the last time you’ve let down your guard.

“You wouldn’t make top twenty,” you reply.

“Yeesh. I get the message. Well, since we’re gonna be stuck together for a while…” Jeon sticks out his hand. “Call me Jungkook.”

Unexpected. But okay. “I’m Soo-Jin. Are you new, too?”

“I’ve been here about a month. The longer you’ve been here, the more they trust you as one of the boss’s personal guards. Trust me, you’re gonna be stuck on perimeter patrol for a while,” Jungkook says, as though he knows what you’re thinking.

Dammit. This job is going to cost more time than you were hoping. Still, 45k, 45k, eye on the prize.

“So, six hours. Do we talk, or…?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not if you’re going to keep on with the misogynistic digs.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. Sorry about that,” Jungkook says, laughing as he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll be less of an asshole, promise.”

You smirk, turning to scan the halls. “It’s so empty.” Two cameras on the eastern wall. A big mirror at the end of the hall– is it a two-way mirror? Probably. The ceiling is well supported by strong beams. You could probably escape to the roof if you needed to, but how much of an escape is that?

“So what’s your thing?” Jungkook asks suddenly, snapping you out of your stupor.

“What d’you mean?”

“I heard you’re an ex-assassin, and like, all of the best have a thing. Did you mark your bullets?” Jungkook taps his gun. “Were you a Robin Hood? Did you kiss all your victims?”

“Gross, man!” You laugh. Clearly the only experience he’s had with your line of work is through movies. Why’s this puppy working for Hitman? “No, I never kissed a dead body. Never stole from the rich and gave to the poor, unless the poor was yours truly and the rich were stubborn clients. And marking bullets messes with the aerodynamics.” You’re worried that you’re being too honest, telling him about your life– what if he’s an undercover cop? But Hitman’s men were double- and triple-checking applications, according to AD. Besides, Hitman has every police department in the area feeding from his hand.

“So what was your thing then? Did you have a signature?” In Jeon’s eyes you can see the excitement of a child.

“The best signature for someone like me is the lack of a signature. And what’s got you so happy?” You ask amusedly.

“Oh, I mean…” And Jeon’s voice has dropped again to that of a seasoned guard. “I grew up thinking I’d be a cop. Circumstances didn’t work out, and I landed myself a security job. I always wanted to do what you did, though. Never had the guts for it.”

“Trust me, it’s nothing to be jealous of.” You think of cold evenings on rooftops, unnerving undercover work, hopeless spirals with the monster in the mirror. “It means a lot of lonely nights.”

“Well, you won’t be so lonely anymore,” Jungkook says, before turning red. “Wait- that came out wrong. I’m not hitting on you, I swear!”

“Good, ‘cause you’d be doing a terrible job.”

“I’m a great flirt when I want to be,” he replies, his tone dramatic.

You snicker. “I’d take a page out of your book and ask you to prove it, but I’d hate to watch you embarrass yourself in front of a pretty girl.”

Jungkook whistles. “Did you just insult me and compliment yourself in the same sentence? It looks like I’ve met my match.”

Oof, cute and funny. And he hasn’t called you “girlie” once. You’d better end this before you let yourself get too carried away. It’s just a job, and he’s just an obstacle between you and your 45,000-dollar target.

“It looks like you’re slacking on the job, Jeon.” You’ve reached the end of the hall, and so you spin on your heel and begin marching back the way you came, scanning your surroundings. If another assassin got to Hitman first, your prize money and reputation would go down the drain. Play the character, don’t be suspicious, and don’t get attached.

“Sheesh, don’t be so uptight,” Jeon says, hurrying after you.

“Whatever, let’s just patrol.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jeon replies sarcastically.

The rest of the shift is spent in relative silence. After several hours, you and Jungkook head back to the main room to meet with the other agents. This transition period might be the best time for you to strike, you’ll have to mention that to AD.

The next shift is your break, and after commenting about how tired you are, you head ‘home’. That is, you drop your things at a safehouse, along with any identification, and change into civilian clothing: baggy, boring, anonymous. You fit your earpiece in and contact AD.

“Y/n?”

“AD, hi. I’m gonna scout the perimeter of the estate now, alright?”

“Keep me posted, I’ll be on the line.”

“Yep.”

It’s well past midnight when you arrive at the estate again. You always spend the first night on an undercover job toeing the property line, so to speak.

“It’s like robbing a bank,” you murmur as the house comes into view. “Only harder, ‘cause at least in a bank the only armed murderer is me.”

“Eyes on the prize, y/n.”

“Yeah, whatever. Cameras on the southern and eastern walls. The gate’s heavy– I could climb it, but…”

“Hitman got one of the best security firms in the country to rig it, that shit’s electric.”

“Right. The grass is soft, not a great sign… maybe if I wore the work shoes they gave me? I’m leaving footprints either way.”

“Those shoes are your size, and it’s not amateur hour ‘round here. Did you manage to get the WiFi?”

“They didn’t give it to us. But there’s a network called ‘Bang 5G’ so at least you know it’s there– hey!”

“Y/n? What’s going-” you don’t hear him, you’re too busy sprinting after a black-clad figure. With gloved hands, the person gets a grip and vaults clean over the gate, landing on their feet on the grass beyond.

“AD, someone just scaled the electrified fucking gate,” you pant. Even with gloves, that’s crazy.

“Go after them! You can’t let someone get to Hitman first.”

“How do I get over the gate?”

“I’m not the legendary assassin with sixty-two confirmed kills! Figure it out!”

“Dick.” You look around wildly– the gates are connected at the corners of the estate by brick pillars. Good. That’s something. You run at the pillar closest to you and leap, scrambling up and over it using only the power of adrenaline and your poor fingertips. You land hard, sinking into the soft grass of the lawn, and look up in time to see the figure running along the edge of the roof. How did he get up there? And where’s his climbing gear? The walls are smooth, vertical, with no handholds to speak of on the lower fifteen feet.

If you can’t get up, bring them down. You withdraw your handgun and line up your shot. You might not be an acrobat, but you can shoot.

You pull the trigger, the bringer of death a familiar weight in your hands. You don’t kill unless you’re paid for it, though. The bullet grazes your target and you see them stumble, clutching their side. With one backwards glance at you, they catapult themselves off the roof and land on their feet on the other side of the gate. What the fuck. What kind of strength does this person have?

“Y/n? I heard a shot, what’s going on?” AD speaks urgently into your ear.

“Abort.”

“What?”

You start running back to the gate. “Fucking abort, AD. We’re done for tonight. Someone else is after Hitman.” You launch yourself at the brick pillar and land hard on the sidewalk outside the estate.

“Shit. But we knew this could happen, he’s not exactly popular.”

“Fine, but tonight was supposed to be a casing night. My footprints are on the grass!”

You hear AD mutter something like “amateur” as he types. “Did you get caught on camera?”

“Probably? I also shot a guy, if that’s relevant.”

“It’s really not. Okay, I’m gonna hack into their system– which would be easier with the WiFi password, by the way– and keep you off the footage. Your excuse for your next shift is up to you. Take a couple hours and sleep it off, y/n. It’s not like you to be this reckless.”

“Fuck you.”

~~~ Six hours later

“Agent Jeon, Agent Kang, take the east wing of the estate. Dismissed.”

“C’mon, this way.” Jungkook leads you down a long corridor as you begin your next shift.

“Right.”

“Hey, you okay?” Jungkook looks at you with concern. “You seem tired.”

“Six hours of sleep will do that to a person, dude.” Six? Try three, if you got any at all. You’re exhausted, yeah, but you’ve never let that stop you from doing your job.

“Heh, yeah. This work schedule is intense, but the pay is good.”

“And not much seems to happen, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs, then seems to wince. “Not since I’ve worked here. We get trespassers sometimes, but they just leave when we tell them to.”

“You okay?”

Jungkook looks at the floor. “Yeah, turns out I fell asleep on top of my dog’s toy. The only time I get to sleep, and I wake up hurting like a bitch. How’s that for unfair?”

“Aw, poor baby.”

Jungkook pushes you playfully. “Hey!”

The contact sets your nerves on edge. Danger. You grab his outstretched arm and twist it behind his back, pressing hard enough to almost dislocate his shoulder, your vision is cloudy, tinged red–

“Ow! Kang– fuck! Soo-Jin!”

You blink once, twice. What… what are you doing? You release your hold on Jungkook; did you really just break character like that? No, wait, you can make this work. “I’m sorry– ah, shit.” You step back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Jungkook groans, rubbing his shoulder. “What was that?”

“Just an instinct. One of the leftovers from the person I used to be.” You avert your gaze, your body language ashamed. Jungkook seems to take the bait. But… how much can it count as bait, if it’s so true it hurts?

“Hey, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have startled you.” He flashes you a grin, and you feel your heart do something funny in your chest. “I can’t imagine the stuff you’ve been through.”

Why is he acting sympathetic? You don’t do sympathy. But yeah, getting closer to the other guards can’t hurt on a mission like this. You’re in this for the long haul, if last night’s acrobat doesn’t get to Hitman first.

“We’ve all got our own shit to deal with,” you reply.

“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to…” Jungkook shrugs, wincing again. “Goddamn Gureum, leaving his toy on my bed.”

You laugh. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I don’t think therapy will add to my intimidation resume.”

The hours pass quicker once you allow yourself to talk to Jungkook more. You know he has to be cold-blooded, and a skilled fighter, if he landed the job. But every time he laughs, every time he stares out into space and seems to forget even to breathe, you wonder where he hides his bloodlust.

“Damn, I never knew an assassin could have a sense of humor,” Jungkook says eventually. “None of the other agents here ever want to do anything except patrol.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” you say dryly, rolling your eyes. “That is our job.”

Jungkook sweeps his arm grandly, displaying the estate. It’s empty, save several guards. “Ah yes, look at the multitude of threats we face.”

You think of the acrobat from last night. “Right.”

“Anyways, wanna fight?”

For a second you think you’ve misheard him. “Excuse me? Haven’t we been over this?”

Jungkook shifts his weight, cracking his knuckles. “I heard you bit your way to a win during your interview.”

“So what?”

“I want to see your fighting style– c’mon, how does a professional assassin take someone out with teeth and claws? You’re not a cat, there’s gotta be something else to you.”

“I hate to break it to you, but there wasn’t a lot of close combat in my work. A good assassin never fights fair. And, if you haven’t noticed…” you step up close to him, your eyes only level with his collarbone. You’re so close you can hear his breathing become ragged, shallow, as you continue: “I’m small. Shooting from a distance, backstabbing, incapacitating my targets– that’s what people like me do.”

In truth, you’ve had your fair share of combat. But letting Jungkook see that side of you? Not a good idea.

“Then why quit?”

“What?”

“I get it– you’re an assassin, not a fighter. But why go into security?”

“I almost got caught,” you recite automatically. “My skills aren’t super transferrable– I didn’t have a lot of options.”

“Speak for yourself, I think you’d make a great birthday clown,” Jungkook laughs, and you smile along with him. Too bad he doesn’t know the real you– or maybe it’s a good thing. No one could love a monster.

You knew what you were getting into when you started down your path. You accepted that you’d be a changed woman– what you didn’t know was that your eyes wouldn’t be the same as they were before. Each time you see yourself anew, you confront the humanity that’s drained from your face. Your eyes have begun to resemble your targets’– dull, unfeeling, dead.

You’re a monster. A killer. You snuff out lives for money. There’s no going back to the girl you were, and no point in regret. And so each morning, you take a deep breath and lie. To yourself, AD, and everyone. It’s okay. I’m okay.

Fuck, maybe you should see a therapist.

After your shift, you spend the next six hours staking out Hitman’s estate. The acrobat doesn’t return, and you grind your teeth together with anxiety. “AD, did you see him on the footage that you hacked?”

“Just the mask. His body language is right-hand and left-leg dominant. This guy’s training is super unconventional; I haven’t seen that climbing style anywhere.”

“Ugh, so weird.”

“Says you.”

“Shut up, asshat.”

AD sniggers. “Look, you did shoot this guy today. Have you considered that you’ve either, like, injured him badly or scared him off?”

“No. He’s still around, and he’s going to try again.”

“How do you know?”

Because he’s like me. “I just do.”

You can almost hear AD’s shrug. “Aight, trust your instincts. Your next shift is soon, though. Better get ready.”

You groan. “This work schedule is brutal.”

“And you’re spending your time off stalking a ghost. Are you planning on getting any sleep?”

You hesitate a second too long. “Yes.”

AD sighs. “Take care of yourself, idiot. You can’t guard the house 24/7. You’re spending half the day working, remember?”

“That’s what I’ve got you for. Keep an eye on the cameras.”

“Get me the Wi-Fi password and I’ll think about it.”

You roll your eyes before heading back to your safehouse, changing, and returning for your shift. Here we go.

And there you went. The next week passes much in the same fashion– patrolling the wings of the vast estate for six or twelve hours, sleeping the bare minimum you need to survive, and returning to your target’s house to make sure the mystery acrobat doesn’t get to Hitman first.

You spend most of your patrol time with Jungkook; it makes sense, you’re the two newest recruits. For a security goon, he’s pretty funny. You’ve dealt with security guards in the past for your jobs, but most of your interactions involved them trying to kill you– or vice versa. For all that you’re undercover as Kang Soo-Jin, you’re actually enjoying spending time with Agent Jeon Jungkook.

“Why are you working for Mr. Bang?” You ask him on Monday morning. You haven’t spoken with Jungkook in a couple days, as you were paired with Agent Park for your last several shifts.

Jungkook cocks his head as you stroll together along the west side of the estate, a route you’ve already committed to memory. “What do you mean?”

It’s been bothering you for a while. “Mr. Bang tends to hire killers, mercenaries, people like… well, me. Why did you take this job?”

Jungkook chews on his lip thoughtfully as he stares out of the window. “I mean… the pay is good.”

You shove him playfully. “C’mon, man, there’s gotta be something else.”

“Alright, alright!” Jungkook raises his arms in surrender, laughing. “You know I wanted to be an assassin. I was too chicken, and never knew how to get started. When I heard about Mr. Bang, and his reputation, I applied because I wanted to meet people like you. I told Agent Jung I had lots of experience and loose morals, and bada-bing-bada-boom, I get hired.” He does what you assume would have been jazz hands, if not for the gun held tightly in his grip.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re such an idiot,” you snort. “When most people try to meet their idols, they go to concerts, not to a den of killers.”

“What can I say? It’s one of my many charms,” Jungkook replies, winking. Your heart does another thing in your chest. It reminds you of the feeling of jumping into a cold lake– as though your whole body has come alive.

You hope that once you carry out your mission, you won’t have to hurt Agent Jeon along the way.

“Hey, so…” Jungkook asks after several minutes of patrolling in silence. “What are you doing after your shift?”

“Huh?” For a second, you think you’ve misheard him. “You mean in the twelve hours until I have to be back?” You pulled a double shift– it’s nearing noon, and you’ve been working since midnight.

“Dummy, we don’t have work this weekend,” Jungkook says. “Mr. Bang is going on a business trip. Weren’t you paying attention during the briefing?”

Not even a little were you paying attention– you were too focused on escape routes. You might be able to drug his food? “Sweet.” And you mean it: With Hitman gone, you can catch up on sleep and plotting without having to worry about your competition.

“Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out– y’know, outside of work? I really want to get to know you better.”

“Uh…” Huh? This isn’t part of your plan. You don’t hang out with targets during a mission. So you should say no, right? But… what harm can come from spending time with your coworker? After all, you are undercover. And if Hitman is leaving for the weekend…

You realize you’ve been silent too long when Jungkook begins to backtrack: “I mean- Soo-Jin, sorry, I wasn’t trying to imply– you know what, never mind-”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Wait, what?”

You allow your lips to curl upward into a smile. “Sure, why not?” There’s no way it can endanger your mission.

“Awesome!” Jungkook returns your grin enthusiastically, and for the rest of the shift he walks with a spring in his step. It would be endearing, if your heart weren’t frozen and locked in your chest. “Maybe we can do lunch or something. Is tomorrow okay? Do you want me to pick you up at your place?”

“No, that’s okay,” You say hurriedly. Definitely not, no one can know the location of the safehouse. “Lunch tomorrow sounds good, we can meet there.”

“Ah- okay, yeah.”

As your shift comes to an end and the guards reconvene, Agent Jung calls you to attention. “Aight, everyone. As you know, Mr. Bang will be going to the city tomorrow morning for a business meeting– the organization is providing its own security forces, so your services are unnecessary until Monday at 6am sharp. Understood?” “Yes sir!”

Tomorrow morning? Wait, that means you might have a chance to strike in the few hours before he leaves. You know the best time to strike any target is during a period of transition. While everyone is hurried, packing and organizing, Hitman will have his guard down.

Once you’re changed, you head out the door. Jungkook catches your eye and waves, and you feel your face heat up as you offer a cheeky salute in response. It’s not you’re fault, that toothy grin is so contagious.

Once you’re safely holed up at your base–

“AD, you there?”

“Sure am. What’s up?”

You walk calmly around the safehouse, marking things off your mental checklist. “I’m gonna go for it tonight.”

“Damn, that was fast. What’s going on?”

“We know the location of cameras and the guards’ schedules. Just cause I haven’t met the guy in person doesn’t make this too fast.” Ammo, rifle, scope, suppressor, stand– check. “He’s going on a business trip in the morning, and once he steps out of the house, that’s gonna be my best bet. Besides, now that I’m sure there’s someone else after Hitman, I gotta get to him first.”

“Sounds great. Where do I come in?”

“Can you get me satellite images of my cover options within, say, a kilometer of his door? I tried checking, but his house doesn’t show up on Google Maps. I need a roof where I won’t be interrupted.” You had hoped to pull the infiltrate-eliminate play, but if you have a chance to snipe the Hitman, you’re gonna take it.

“Classic. Yeah, I can do that. I’ll get his schedule too, lemme send that to you.” You hear AD typing quickly on the line. “There’s a car scheduled to pick up Hitman and Agent Jung at 5:30 in the morning.”

You glance at the clock. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon, which means you’ve got sixteen hours to plan your highest-paid killshot of the year.

Your security uniform shines like a beacon, draped over your chair. It’s a shame you won’t be able to make your lunch appointment with Jungkook tomorrow. You’ve got to be out of the city before Hitman’s body is even cold. Maybe in another life, you could have spent more than a week with the man whose company you find yourself enjoying increasingly each day.

“AD, let’s take a bit of a break after this one, okay?”

AD chuckles. “With a 45k job, you can take as long a break as you want. Good luck, y/n.”

You spend the afternoon organizing the hit, with AD’s help.

“Jeez, his security on this trip is a fucking brick wall,” AD groans in frustration. “Y/n, if you don’t make the shot when he’s leaving, you’re not gonna have another chance.”

“Mm.” You’re distracted, measuring the angles from a printout of your rooftop perch. AD secured you entrance to a quiet office building three blocks from Hitman’s estate. You’ll have to set up at the southernmost corner of the roof to have the biggest advantage. You’ll go there around midnight– you don’t want to give Hitman a chance to leave early.

Hours pass, and the clock ticks closer to midnight. “I’m headed out,” you say, hoisting your equipment over your shoulder.

“Cool. I’ve got one of my men on the door to the building– give him the password, and keep your head down. Take the stairs, the elevator is monitored. There’s a fire escape on the roof if you need to get down fast. Good luck, y/n.”

“Thanks.”

You arrive to the building with little trouble, your high-powered rifle concealed in pieces within a worn-out backpack.

You knock three times on the back door to the building, and immediately a man opens the door. “What do you want?” he growls. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Sorry, I’m lost,” you reply calmly. “I’m looking for the post office.”

The man gives you a quick once-over, eyeing your backpack appreciatively. “You can send letters from here,” he says, stepping back to let you in. You nod, pulling your hood lower over your eyes as you make for the stairwell.

Ten stories later, your legs are burning and your shoulders ache from the weight of your weaponry. But at least you’re on the roof, with a perfect view of Hitman’s brilliant estate.

“AD, come in.”

Your earpiece crackles to life. “Wassup?”

“I’m in position,” you reply as you unload your backpack and begin to fit your rifle together. “It’s gonna be quiet for a couple hours. Take a nap, man, you’ve earned it.”

At your words, you hear AD yawn. “Good idea. Talk to you later.”

The line goes dead as you finish setting up the rifle stand, careful to aim it so your bullet will strike Hitman as he leaves the house.

Deep breaths. It’s just another kill, just another target, and more money than you used to make in a year.

You settle in by your rifle for the five-hour wait. The cold bites deep into your bones– but at least it keeps you from dozing off.

Around three in the morning, you’re half present, half floating off into a world of your own creation, when a blur of motion darts across your line of sight. What? What? Something’s going on, what–

You press your eye to the gun’s scope, magnifying your vision. A figure creeping down the block, dressed in all black, their movements strong and familiar– the acrobat is back.

“AD?”

Silence on the line. He must still be asleep. You’ve got a couple hours before Hitman leaves, enough time to get this guy and return to the roof.

Grabbing your handgun and a dagger, you race for the fire escape, skipping steps, practically flying down the stairs. He’s got a headstart on you, but he’s injured. If your earlier bullet hit true– and it always does– too much exertion will reopen his wound. You’re a hyena, stalking your prey, wearing him down until there’s little work left for you to do.

Your target slows to a walk, still a block ahead of you as you reach the sidewalk, closing in on Hitman’s estate. Finally reaching the ground, and with your heart hammering in your chest, you duck behind a parked car and peek out. Has he seen you? You don’t have a mask, just your hoodie. He’s wearing a crude ski mask– covered except for his eyes and mouth. How unprofessional.

He continues walking, his body language relaxed. How can he be relaxed right now? You move from behind the car to the middle of the sidewalk, hiding in plain sight. You jam your hands in your pockets, letting your hair fall in front of your face as adopt a drunken stumble. If you can’t run, hide. You sense your target turn around and spare you a glance. All he’ll see, though, is intoxicated, unthreatening idiot. Your opponent ignores you and keeps walking, his left hand going up to clutch at his side. Bingo.

You continue trailing him, hanging back just far enough to not arouse his suspicion. Once he gets to Hitman’s estate, and to that electrified fence that he can somehow scale, you’re going to lose him.

You need another advantage.

You secret the knife from the sheath on your hip, subtly increasing your pace until you’re about twenty feet away from your target– about the farthest you’ll trust yourself to throw a knife accurately. He’s close, so close…

You whip your arm around and send the knife sailing. It flies through the air, headed right for his midsection, when suddenly… what?

Your target’s arm reaches out almost in slow motion and grabs your dagger by the handle, stopping its flight mere inches from his flesh.

“I haven’t forgotten your other present,” he growls as you close in on him, his voice inhuman. “Leave now. You’re not going to win this fight.”

This bitch…

In your mind, you hear every girlie, every sweetheart, every condescending chuckle. You see the disrespect in a thousand eyes, the endless doors closed in your face. And you snap.

Your body seems to melt into the shadows— you’re made of fire, of darkness. Energy courses through your veins, and you suppress the urge to laugh. It’s been a while since you’ve gone all-out. If you can’t hide, fight.

The acrobat cocks his head. “You’re not running?”

In lieu of a response, you make a show of withdrawing your handgun. On seeing the weapon, the acrobat flashes his own gun, leveling the barrel at you.

What he doesn’t know, you think, running your other hand over the military-grade smoke grenade in your pocket, might hurt him.

The acrobat’s arm twitches, the kind of twitch that’s been burned into your memory. You see the path of the bullet before he pulls the trigger; you drop to the floor, his bullet missing your head by inches. In the same movement, you pull the pin on the grenade and launch it at him. With a loud hiss, thick plumes of smoke begin to pour from the capsule. You hear the acrobat curse. His mask proves to be his downfall: he’s blinded and coughing, although his covered nose means he can still breathe. You don’t have a mask with you, but you do have excellent hearing— and so you drop your gun and charge towards him, your eyes shut tight.

Time seems to slow down. The smoke burns your lungs even though you’re holding your breath, but all you can focus on is your opponent’s heavy footsteps, unsteady and pained. His earlier wound must still be bothering him, which is probably why he’s still on the ground. With his skill set, you’d have scaled the fence and been gone by now.

Wait. The fence. No matter his skills, the guy isn’t immune to electricity. And you’re right in front of Hitman’s estate.

Your lungs protest— you’ve been holding your breath too long. You need to end this quickly, while you still have the advantage of your smoke cover. Your ears pick up a tiny shift in weight in front of you— he’s a smart assassin, he managed to stop coughing. But it’s not enough to save him, not when you’re in your element. You circle around silently until he’s in between you and the fence.

“Come on, man,” your opponent speaks suddenly, his voice distorted. A voice mod? “We can spar later, I got shit to do.”

Fucking asshole. You barrel forward, lowering your shoulder and catching him right in the gut. You hear a metallic skitter; your attack forced him to drop his gun. He’s unarmed.

“Oof!” The acrobat grunts in pain, stumbling backwards even as his gloved hands snake forward to wrap around your throat. Shit. He starts squeezing, and you gasp for air, your tortured lungs protesting further abuse. He’s almost right up against the fence– you just need him to take one...more...step. You can hear his labored breathing right in front of you. He must still be blinded, which means you can take him by surprise. Perfect.

You plant your hands on his shoulders and, instead of pushing him away like he surely expects, you pull him close and press your lips to his, kissing him with all the desperation of a girl with her life on the line. The move is a double-edged sword: if you can’t distract your target sufficiently, you’re close enough to be KO’d. But if you do your job well… it’s practically a given win. Your opponent’s grip on your throat loosens and you feel him relax into the kiss– and return it with fervor, biting lightly on your lower lip. Well, he’s certainly distracted. You use the opportunity to shove him backwards, and with his guard down, he takes that last crucial step to steady himself.

ZZZAP!

You wince at the crackle of electricity. It’s not enough to kill, but that’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker. He collapses without another sound, just as the smoke begins to dissipate.

“Did you hear that?” You hear a shout from inside the estate.

“Someone set off the fence!”

“Well, go check!”

Oh, Christ. You can’t leave your opponent there; his injuries will prove that someone else was with him, they’ll check the footage before AD can edit it. You bend down– grabbing your discarded gun while you’re at it– and pick your opponent up in a fireman’s carry, lugging the dead weight several buildings down and into a back alley. By the time you get there and set him down, you can hear him groan. He’ll be coming to soon. You touch your earpiece to contact AD.

“AD? You awake?” You rasp, your throat still hurting.

AD sounds groggy. “Good morning to you too. Yeah, I’m here.”

“I caught our acrobat.”

“No shit! Is he dead?”

You peer at the groaning, half-conscious figure. “Almost.”

“You’ve got the go-ahead to neutralize him. I’d recommend doing it fast, though.”

“Yeah, I will.” You check the clock: 3:44. This guy’s taken up way too much of your time. Glancing down at your fallen opponent, you see his hand begin to twitch. Let’s see what kind of amateur assassin almost took my kill. You sit on your heels in front of him and reach out, pulling off the ski mask with ease.

“Oh…shit.”

“Y/n?”

“Uh…” sitting in front of you, a trail of scarlet blood dripping down his chin, is Jeon Jungkook. “AD, I’ll call you back.”

“Wait, what’s going-” Click.

You rub your eyes miserably, wishing that the smoke was still blinding you. Jeon Jungkook. Agent Jeon. The dork from work. An assassin?

Then that means… you tug up his shirt, exposing sculpted abs that you wish you didn’t notice along with thick bandages wrapped around his midsection. You can see dark blood seeping through on Jungkook’s left side– where you’d shot him last week, where he said he’d fallen asleep on a dog toy. And like an idiot, like a sentimental amateur, you believed him. You believed that he actually liked you, actually cared. But he’s a liar, a monster like you. The realization that it was all an act hurts more than your bruised throat ever could.

“Ngh…” your heart seems to drop into your stomach. The voice mod must’ve been in his mask, because now you can recognize Jungkook’s groan as the one you’d heard so often during dull shifts. “Hey… hands off the goods.” He swipes weakly at your arm and you pull away, letting his shirt fall back down over the wound that you caused.

Half of you wants to laugh, and the other half wants to… what, cry? Why did it have to be him?

You pull back your hood and tuck your hair behind your ear. “You’re such a fucking idiot, you know that?”

At last, Jungkook’s eyes snap open and he stares straight at you, his face betraying a mix of horror and fury. “Soo-Jin?”

He’s going to die anyways. You might as well tell him the truth. “Actually, my name is y/n.”

“No.” Jungkook gapes, seemingly at a loss for words. “No. Dammit. Fuck! Fucking anyone but you!” He tries to get up, but he doesn’t get very far before he falls back and slumps over, his expression heartbreaking. For once, you can do nothing but watch him. “I knew it was one of the guards,” Jungkook continues, clutching at his wound. “Namjoon has good aim. Jimin, he’s fast. I didn’t want to hurt you, Soo-Jin–” his voice breaks. “Or, I guess, y/n.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you either,” you admit, the gun in your hip holster feeling heavier by the minute. “But I had to do my job.”

“Wait a second…” Jungkook hesitates. “Y/n? As in y/n l/n, the master assassin? Sixty-two confirmed kills? You’re that y/n?”

“You’ve heard of me?”

Jungkook nods as much as his weakened state will allow. “Everyone in the business has. Your aim is unmatched. They say the only time y/n misses a killshot is when she’s trying to miss– oh.” Jungkook smiles sadly. “I’m just postponing the inevitable, huh?

You nod, smoothly withdrawing your gun and pointing it at his head. Sure, midsection is more of a surefire hit, but a headshot will end it quickly– and for the first time in a long, long time, you realize that you care about his suffering.

Jungkook looks up at you, his eyes revealing a softness you can’t understand.

“Y-you’re not scared?” You ask. Why isn’t he trying to escape? If you can’t win, run. It’s the assassin’s motto. But… he’s not running?

Jungkook shrugs, groaning in pain. “I lost. You won. We had the same target, so killing me is your right. Besides, if it had to be anyone…” Jungkook winks. “Might as well be you. Even if you are a dirty liar.”

You draw yourself up, affronted. “Excuse me?”

He laughs and then coughs. “Miss I don’t kiss my victims went and pulled that? Sure, Jan.”

You suppress a giggle. “You’re postponing again. I have to get back to Hitman.”

“Right, sorr-” BANG!

You pull the trigger, the gun so familiar in your hand that it’s like an extension of yourself. And your aim, as always, is perfect.

Jungkook is shaking. He looks up at the black mark where the bullet struck the wall, not half an inch above his head. “Y-y-you missed.”

“I’m y/n l/n,” you reply, holstering your gun. “I never miss.”

“Wait, so you saved–”

“Someone’s gotta fix this bandage, shit,” you interrupt, kneeling down and examining his wound, which has continued slowly bleeding through its dressings. “Goddamn amateurs, I swear, ruining the trade–”

Suddenly, Jungkook reaches out and cups your cheek.

“W-what are you doing?” You squeak, embarrassed. He’s so close you can feel his body heat, so close it feels like you’re the one who’s disarmed.

“Making sure you won't regret sparing me,” Jungkook mutters in response before capturing your lips with his own. You didn’t notice the first time, but he tastes like cherries.

You know you should pull away, a good assassin never lets down her guard, but– “Fuck you,” you mumble against his lips, linking your hands behind his neck. Heat courses through your body as you kiss him back. Maybe, for once... you can just relax. You feel a bit of something hard pass from his mouth to yours. A hard candy? Who cares, you’re kissing him and kissing him and you really like kissing him, fuck.

Eventually Jungkook pulls away, a bright smile on his face. “Look at me, the amateur that tamed the expert.”

“You didn’t tame shit,” you reply, getting up. For a second your vision swims before you. Damned iron deficiency. Checking the time, you start. “I gotta get going.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jungkook responds, standing up. What? His injuries should have kept him down.

“I’ve still got a target to off, hon.” You salute him, your head aching. You wish you could spend more time with him, but it’s not your path. You’ve got a job to do.

“I said,” Jungkook replies, walking forward. “You’re not going anywhere.” His gait isn’t casual anymore, it’s threatening, and all your instincts are screaming danger.

“Or what? Do the math. I’m armed, you’re not. You can’t do anything.”

Jungkook smiles coldly. His eyes– they’re dark, emotionless. The kind of eyes you see in the mirror everyday. The eyes of a killer. “Oh, but I can. And I did.”

“W-what?” Your heart feels weak, and your breathing becomes labored. Your chest is unnaturally tight. “What did you do to me?”

“All the best spies kept cyanide pills in their mouths,” Jungkook replies with a shrug as you fall to your knees, too dizzy to stand. The world is spinning, tilted, and your chest feels like it’s burning. Jungkook leans down, his tone malicious. “And I’m one of the best. After all, I killed y/n l/n, didn’t I?”

Cyanide. Poison. How can you fight against poison?

Jungkook is still talking. “If you can’t win, run, right? Guess what, girlie? Guess why I didn’t run?”

You can’t breathe, it feels like you’re drowning, you lost.

“I didn’t run because I could win. And I’ll win again, once Hitman is out of the picture. You’re not the only one with money on the line. Though I have to say, it’s really a shame.” He flicks your forehead, but you can barely feel anything anymore. “You were cute. Oh well, any last words?”

This is it. The end of y/n l/n, master assassin. Your eyes flutter closed– he won. “Fuck you.”

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