#I. not fully back but this has been rotting in my files and I finally finished it at almost 4 am because I cannot sleep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

azaleavi · 4 years ago

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Woman Like Me - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky meets someone in Madripoor who reminds him of himself a long time ago

Warning(s): language, bad writing lol

Author’s Note: this is my first time writing so any feedback is appreciated and i didn’t know how to end it so it’s horrible but i tried

Word count: 2.2K

Part 2

“Selby will see you now”

The three men walk through the corridors and into the room where Selby is waiting for them. It is full of cash and guns on tables.

“You should know Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand, an offer” Zemo sits down on the couch while Sam and Bucky stand on either side of it.

“A lot has changed since you were here last” Selby eyes Bucky up and down, clearly recognising him as the Winter Soldier “By the way I thought you were rotting away in a German prison” she turns back to the man sitting in front of her and lifts her eyebrows “How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo shrugs “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for”

“Yore taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger” the woman points at Sam then smiles at him, not paying attention to Zemo anymore. Sam nods slightly, trying to speak as little as possible. Selby playfully purrs at him, joking about his name. Sam looks away not wanting to give her the satisfaction of replying to that. She turns back to Zemo and smiles.

“What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum” Zemo stands up walking over to where Bucky is standing acting like the Winter Soldier “and I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course” he holds Bucky’s shoulders while he tries his best to not react. That was not part of the plan. But of course you can’t trust Zemo to not change it to whatever benefits him.”He will do anything you want” he grabs a hold of his chin insinuating things Bucky doesn’t even want to think about. He hates it. Feeling like a toy between the two and he can’t do anything about it. Not if he wants to succeed in getting the information they need.

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember” she smiles, pleased. “I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately” Zemo sits back down on the couch waiting for Selby to start talking.

“Yeah you were right to came to me. Arrogant, but right. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or…” she looks at Bucky for a second “condemn, depending on what side you’re on.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free but the bakery is gonna cost you Baron. And unfortunately you don’t have the means to pay me” she stands, walking closer to Sam. Bucky immediately tenses, ready for a fight. Something doesn’t feel right.” I don’t need your Soldier” she smiles, something sinister behind it ”as I have my own little puppet. Tell her to come in” the three of them freeze as one of the men with guns goes through a door in the back.

They hear his voice but can’t make out what he says. When he stops talking a woman walks out, into the room they’re in. Bucky feels like his world is turned upside down. The woman is fully decked out with guns and knives and is wearing tactical gear with combat boots. But that’s not what unnerves Bucky. It’s the dead, soulless eyes that stare back at him. A cruel reminder of what he used to look like.

“Come here girl” Selby smiles and the woman complies without a question never taking her eyes off the strangers in the room “look at that. Isn’t it amazing what a few words can do a person’s mind when said in the right order?” Bucky finally looks at Selby realising she is watching him “Isn’t that right Winter Soldier?” Bucky can’t speak. He knows he can’t break character, but it’s damn hard not to when he sees someone like him and he knows he should help.

“How is this possible?” Zemo breaks the silence, clearly baffled by seeing another winter soldier-like person.

“Well it was quite easy to get a hold of Hydra’s files in Madripoor” Selby walks behind the woman who can’t be older than 25 and puts her hands on her shoulder. “Don’t worry though, they were sadly destroyed after we used it once on her. But we got the perfect soldier out of it” Bucky tenses at the mention of the perfect soldier. That’s what he was called back then. I need to help this girl he thinks I can’t let her go through the same shit I had to go through. He looks at Sam who is already looking back at him. They seem to think about the same thing.

“Harcos…” Selby starts talking in a foreign language but she is interrupted by a glass window shattering. Bucky sees Selby on the floor dead, a bullet hole in her chest and he immediately goes into fight mode. The woman or harcos he should say doesn’t waste any time and takes a gun off her back but before she can start shooting he is in front of her. He tries to twist the gun out of her hands but he finds out that she is strong. Too strong for her to be human. She is a super soldier which shouldn’t surprise him at this point but it still does.

They start fighting but their strength is evenly matched and Bucky doesn’t want to kill her. He uses his metal arm to finally grab the gun from her and throws it to the side. She kicks him in the chest and he is flung backwards into the wall. Bucky gets a hold of the gun he threw away and knocks her out with the back of it. The others finish fighting as well and they look at each other.

“Now what?” asks Sam looking at the woman lying on the floor.

“I recommend we kill her” chimes in Zemo before Bucky can start talking.

“We are not killing her” Bucky goes and picks her up, thinking about how they could get her out of here without drawing too much attention. He hold her bridal style and puts her head against his neck, hiding her face.”we need to get out of here and fast” Zemo walks to the door, opens it a little and looks through the open space.

“Put down your guns and follow my lead” the other two are hesitant to do what Zemo says but they don’t really have any other choice. They walk through the doors and out into the streets trying to look as casual as possible. Well, as casual you can be with an unconscious woman in your hands. But in Madripoor it’s not an uncommon sight so no one really pays attention to them. That is until every single person in the vicinity starts getting text messages and looks at them. Shit they know what happened Bucky thinks and they start to walk faster. Suddenly the people around them get out their guns and start shooting at them. Zemo runs to the right while Bucky and Sam start running straight down the street.

“I can’t run in these heels” Sam shouts trying to keep up with Bucky who is running slower than he could so he doesn’t leave Sam behind. They turn into a darker alley with to people on motorcycles following them. Suddenly two shots rang out from somewhere in one of the buildings and the motorcyclists are dead on the ground.

“You seem to have a guardian angel” Zemo shows up, out of breath from all the running.

“Well this is too perfect” Sharon shows up out of nowhere holding a gun in her hands. Her eyes immediately go to the woman in Bucky’s hands and the men can see her surprise. “Please tell me that’s not Harcos in your hands” Bucky looks down to see the woman, who seems to be calmly sleeping. How she didn’t wake up while they were running around is beyond him, but he is glad he doesn’t have to fight her again.

“Would you believe me if I said no?” asks Sam trying to lighten the situation.

“We need to get out of here before they see you carrying around Madripoor’s most valuable asset.” Bucky tenses, pulling her closer and not liking how that sounds. Asset. The word brings back horrible memories of times he would much rather forget. He needs to help this girl. He will not allow someone else be called asset “come on, I have a place in High Town where you can lie low” Sharon starts walking and the men follow him, Sam dragging Zemo with him.

They walk into her place which is filled with stolen artwork, that turns out to be the original.

“So can you tell us who is this harcos that Bucky decided to save?” Sam sends a look at Bucky who is putting the woman down on the couch. She is still out cold which is starting to get concerning.

“Y/N L/N. 24 years old. Has been a super soldier since she was a kid. She was Nagel’s first patient” she draws air quotes with her fingers ”well… the first successful one anyway. And when the Blip happened Selby used the chaos to get the files on the brainwashing and used it on her. Her memories are not gone like your resident Winter Soldier here but she still has trigger words that turn her into a mindless killing machine” they all watched the girl who started to stir awake from her deep sleep.

“Uhm… how are we going to go about this?” Sam watched her intently, getting ready for a fight. Bucky was still standing next to her when she opened her eyes staring straight into his. She sat up, panicked trying to crawl back from him. She obviously knew who he was and she was scared. How is she scared of him? She is supposed to be a super-soldier.

“What do you want?” she speaks for the first time.

“Hey it’s okay, we don’t want to hurt you” Sam walked over to her trying to calm her down. She snaps her head at him.

“Well then I would like an explanation” Y/N is till unsure about them but once in her life she wants to trust people and maybe the Avengers would be a good start.

“Do you remember fighting me?” Bucky speaks up.

“Yeah, kinda hard to forget fighting the Winter Soldier” she looks back at Bucky.

“I’m not him anymore” he shakes his head.

“Well at least someone got out of this thing” she shows a pained smile

“I head you have trigger words too”

“Yes and I would rather you don’t say them” he can’t understand how she can joke about something like this.

“We don’t even know the words” Sharon speaks

“Although I wish I did” Zemo smiles trying to get a rise out of y/n. But he doesn’t know her so he doesn’t know that that’s a very hard thing to do. Oh she gets angry easily but she was trained to not show it and not act on it.

“Very funny Zemo” she sends him a mock smile. He seems surprised that she knows who he is which she notices “Yes I know who you are, don’t be so surprised. So what are the Avengers doing in Madripoor?” she turns to Sam.

“A group of people got hold of the super-soldier serum and they used it on themselves so we are trying to stop them” Sam explains

“Sounds fun”

“I think she would be a valuable help” Zemo speaks again and Bucky immediately thinks that he has some ulterior motives.

“Stop your schemes Zemo” Sam shuts him down but y/n seems to be deep in thought.

“I mean she could help…” Bucky starts but Sam sends him a pointed look so he shuts his mouth.

“We do not need another liability with us” Sam looks at y/n who is already looking at him “No offence”

“None taken, but I agree with James” she stands up and walks over to Sam “I understand that I’m not stable, but I know what it’s like to have the serum in your veins and I want to help any way I can. As long as no one says the words I’m good”

“Yeah that’s exactly my concern. What if someone does know the trigger words and uses it against us? Against you?” he points at her. She thinks about if for a second.

“Okay how about this? I go with you but only step in to help when you say I can.” She offers, a hopeful look in her eyes. Sam knows she just wants to help but it’s still risky. He sighs.

“You can come if you do what I say. But if I feel like you are risking our mission you are sitting it out and only come in when I tell you to. Understand?” he says firmly, holding out his hand. She takes it and they shake hands.

“Let’s get these super-soldiers”

#bucky barnes #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #bucky #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #sebastian stan #winter soldier #woman like me bucky

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momolady · 4 years ago

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When We Leave the Diner: A Ghost Story 2

The road forward will lead us back.

Female Main Character

It’s hard to imagine why they would leave this place in ruins. Fearing a curse doesn’t seem like the logical thing to do. Whether it was money, politics, or something else that caused this town to abandon itself and rebuild further away, I’m sure the fire was just the final straw.

The stillness is what gets to me the most. I can stand stillness in the woods, or when I’m home alone. Here, though, the quiet that permeates the air is very unnatural. I can feel the life that once lived here, that’s still supposed to be here. I don’t hear any birds. There is no wind in the trees. It all feels so sealed in, trapped in a way. I try to send pictures to my daughter, but there’s no service. Once I step beyond the fence, the rest of the world falls away.

I come upon what must have been a garage. The blue paint is chipping off, but I can see the outline of the red logo above the windows. One of the large garage doors is open, while the other has come apart over time and fallen off. Inside there’s still a car, rusted and collapsed into the floorboards. The sides have buckled and the rotted rubber tires are splayed outwards. Dust, debris and weeds gather in the corners, coming up from the cracks in the concrete floor. In the window are sun-bleached photos of baseball players and newspaper clippings, rusted trophies. A nearly-disintegrated banner on the floor reads, “Congratulations, James”.

“Oh, wow. This is where he worked.” I try the door, but the handle falls off in my hands. I drop it, letting it clatter on the ground, deafening in the silence. I step away from it, returning to the road to the hospital. The closer I get to it, the more I see the effects of the fire. The grounds become darker, the buildings more noticeably jagged and charred and decaying.

The hospital is - perhaps was - a large ‘L’ shape. The front of the building is all brick with a wide glass door, now broken, shattered, and hanging off its hinges. Behind it, the interior is all burnt away to nothing. Plants choke the rubble. I’m sure inside there is nothing but smoke damage and charcoal walls. I walk through the broken doors, fully aware this is probably a foolish thing to do, just like walking through this town at all. I step into the lobby, which remains in the chaos it has stayed in since the fire all those decades ago.

“Well,” I murmur to myself. “You certainly knew how to make an entrance, Mama. Guess you had to start that way somehow.” I take the bag off my shoulders and hold it in my arms. The lobby smells of rot, ash and dirt. The air is cold, but somehow my arms and the back of my neck feel hot and muggy. I step closer to the front desk and see papers scattered everywhere, a filing cabinet toppled over and blocking a door.

There’s a second set of doors that lead into the main part of the hospital. Parts of the glass are shattered, but the rest is stained black from smoke and dirt. I test my luck a third time, and find they still open. The hinges crackle and groan with age, but as the doors close they make no sound.

The marble floor before me is pristine, and the scent of ash is washed away by rubbing alcohol and other disinfectant. I look up to see pale blue walls, vivid red crosses, and a nurse in an immaculate white uniform coming towards me.

The nurse pushes past me, almost like I’m not there, pulls open the doors and guides in a wheelchair with a girl sitting in it. The girl is screaming, clutching her pregnant belly. Behind her, blood drips onto the marble as the wheelchair is taken inside. The doors shut on a man’s arm as he tries to reach inside after her.

The girl wails, looking directly at me as she’s wheeled away. Her young face is contorted in agony, but I recognize her as the girl who picked me up on the road. She continues to look at me, even as she’s wheeled into a room down the hall.

“Get rid of it!” the man shouts from the doors.

I turn to get a look at him, but the glass is blackened and cracked. The hall beyond is abandoned and rotted away, like the rest of the hospital. Maybe this place is cursed. Maybe the whole damn town is haunted and filled with ghosts. I wouldn’t doubt it now.

I enter the room where the girl was taken. All the walls here are charred by smoke. I focus on the sooty ceiling, which puckers and hangs open, and the wallpaper is coming off the walls. Decaying sheets drape over the floor, and a table is turned over. Chairs are rusted and falling apart. But the bed remains, and on the threadbare sheets I can see the corpse of the girl.

“They just left you here,” I whisper in horror. “They just...” I have to take a step back. I cup my hand over my mouth and, despite the chill in the room, sweat pours down the back of my neck. Smoke burns deep within my throat, and when I breathe out, black fumes billow from my lungs.

I run from the room, barely able to catch my breath or even hold one. The blackened doors open, and I’m faced with a waiting room full of people. The nurse at the front desk looks at me, slowly setting aside the telephone in her hand. The world stands still as they wait for me to speak.

I leave, running outside to find an ambulance pulling up out front. I can hear the screaming of a young woman inside, but I hurry away. The road I came up before now has cars driving along it. I go down the sidewalks, which are like new. The buildings are lit up, and there is life all around me. I stumble and fall just outside the garage.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” A young man comes from inside and helps me up. “You lost or something?” His eyes are red and swollen, and there are tears gathered in the corners. His cheek is swollen from taking a punch, and his shirt is ripped. Behind him, burly men are watching with sad but protective glints in their eyes.

“I’m fine.” I gather myself, pushing my hair away from my face. “I’m just… Yeah, lost is the right word,” I sniffle.

“If you need help, I’m just leaving town,” the young man says simply. “I can get you out of here.”

The window that had once been full of faded news clippings and pictures is bright and polished, and everything is as vivid as the day it was printed. The young man is in most of the pictures, and a graduation photo is posed between two large baseball trophies. The banner that had been disintegrating into nothing now hangs up for the whole world to see.

“Are you James?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound too pleased about it. “I’m heading to school.”

I don’t know what’s happening to me, or why I’m seeing these things. I keep expecting Rod Serling’s deep voice to come through the air and explain my predicament, tell me whether it’s punishment or irony. I check to make sure my mother’s ashes are still with me, patting the bag gently. “You don’t seem happy about it.”

“I’m not.” He turns and motions to his car. “You got a car, ma’am?”

That first vision I had seen - the flaming car that flew off the Devil’s Backbone - it was a car just like James’. A red Bel Air.

“I’m at the hotel,” I whisper.

James nods, wiping his face with his back turned. “I’ll take you then. I’ll pass right by it.”

“That road is terrifying. Surely there’s another way out.”

“No other way,” James replies. “Only through.”

I get into the old car with James. As we drive away silently, he continues to force himself to hold a stiff upper lip. “What’s the matter?” I ask him. “You look sad.”

“Nothing for you to worry about, ma’am.” He forces bravado into his charming smile. “Just gonna miss home, is all.”

I think about the pregnant girl, knowing she’s why he’s bruised and crying. “Is it a girl?”

James goes stiff.

“I know I’m just a stranger, young man, but I do have a son around your age. I would hope, if he needed help, someone would offer it to him.”

James stops the car where the gates were when I came in. He stares out the window and, as I follow his gaze, I see my car and the rest of the world I know outside.

“Her dad won’t let me see her,” he whispers.

“Did something happen?” I ask. “Maybe I could talk to him for you.”

His head shakes, tousling his hair before smoothing it back again. “No. No… No,” his voice becomes a pained whimper. “I can’t...”

I reach out, placing my hand on James’ arm. The fabric of his jacket melts away, and the soft skin of his cheek peels back and rips aside. The bone of his jaw cracks and splinters, and teeth fall through his peeling flesh. His hair singes from the tips, hissing all the way down to his scalp, which turns black, then red, then melts away to show skull.

“What’s her name?” I whisper.

“Cheryl,” he croaks, spewing smoke. “I called her Cherry.” He looks at me, half of him perfect, the other half marred by fire. “She’s got hair like yours.”

I slide my hand down his arm and take hold of his hand. “She’s at the hospital. Thank you for your help.”

get out of the car, which bursts into flames as soon as I close the door. I look through the cracked windshield as James burns inside and puts the car in reverse.

Behind him, the town goes up in flames.

My back touches the gate, and I see a man looking over my car. He looks up and furrows his brow at me. “Where’d you come from?” He unlocks the gate and lets me out. “You’re not a kid.”

“Used to be.” I hurry to my car and stop to look back at him. “I’m sorry, I was just...” I point back to the town. “My mother was born here, I think.”

He locks the gate again and tilts his head. “This place is dangerous. You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt in there. We’ve had some folks go missing. I have to keep a close eye on the place.”

“Do you own this property?” I ask.

“Unfortunately.” He steps back and looks up. “My dad thought this place would be great to develop, and that we could expand the hotel.”

“What happened?”

The man adjusts the brim of his hat. “Told you, some folks went missing.”

“You own the hotel at the end of the Devil’s Backbone, then.”

“My sister and I,” he grumps.

My car has a level of dust and leaves on it that I don’t remember leaving it with. My hand smears through it, leaving a film of ashy duston my palm. “People have been telling me this place is cursed. As a local, have you got any stake in that rumor? Or do you think it’s all stories to scare people?”

“What have you seen?” he asks.

“I’ve seen James,” I answer honestly.

The man sniffs and shakes his head. “No one sees James and lives to tell about it.” He turns and glares at me. “You got a camera on you? One of those fucking ghost hunters?”

“No!” I say quickly. “I told you, my mother was born here.” I hold up the bag. “These are her ashes!”

He yanks the bag from me, opening it up to see the sealed tupperware container inside. He looks at me in confusion.

“She held lots of tupperware parties back in the day.”

He chuckles and shoves the bag back at me. “When was she born? Maybe someone knows her.”

I shake my head. “I doubt it. She was adopted, and her birth certificate says she was born the day of the fire, so...”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I wish I was, sir!” I laugh. “I really wish I was. After everything I’ve seen the last two days, I just...” I laugh a bit more and shake my head. “I just wanted one last second with my mom. I wanted to know where she came from, why she was given up. I couldn’t just let it go.”

The man takes off his hat, revealing red hair like mine. “I’m sorry about your mom. I am. I know what it’s like to not get answers from a parent. But this place isn’t safe, and you’re old enough to know how stupid that is.”

“There’s unrest here,” I sniffle.

“No shit.” He points to my car. “That’s why you should go.”

It’s gotten late again, so I go back to the hotel. As I check in again, I look at the wall of photographs behind the front desk. After I get a room, I drive back up the Devil’s Backbone. I park the car at the scenic overview and look over the plaques. There’s a memorial about the fire, with names listed of every person who died or went missing. As I’m reading, I hear a car engine revving. I turn around to see the red Bel Air smoldering behind me. The forest begins to glow from its roots, and embers float and dance in the air around me. The world has become a tinderbox that will soon turn to ash.

I swallow my rapidly beating heart from my throat. Cold sweat beads down the back of my neck and my knees threaten to buckle. All of a sudden, I hear a baby crying. The car flickers, and the flame blows out. The glow of the woods behind me fades into the twilight of evening. But the baby’s cries continue, growing louder and louder. I look back at my car, the place where the cries are coming from. Stepping close, I see a baby wrapped up in the bag that held my mother’s ashes. The baby screams and screams and, inside his car, I see James begin to cry as well.

I get into my car, and the baby has become the container of my mom’s ashes. James’ car is gone, and the night is still and quiet again.

Back at the hotel, I decide that tomorrow I’ll simply go back home. I’ll spread my mother’s ashes another time. I lie down to sleep, but sleep doesn’t come easy. I toss and turn in bed, either feeling hot or too cold. I roll over and look up through the darkness to see someone standing over me. In the dim light of the streetlamp outside, I see that this person has red hair like mine. Delirious and exhausted, I begin to cry.

“I just wanted to know Mama, I’m sorry. I’m going home, I promise.” I clasp my hands over my eyes as I weep. “You were so quiet in the end. I just wanted to know!”

Her hand sweeps over my hair, and I smell smoke on her skin.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

The hand smooths down over my eyelids, and then pulls away.

I wake to a knock on my door, and rise to morning light pouring through the window. I touch my face and find black ash smeared all over me. There’s another knock, and I get out of bed. “Just a second!” I wash my face off quickly, then go to the door where the man from yesterday is standing. “I’m leaving town today, I swear,” I scoff.

“It’s not that,” he grumbles. “My mother wants to talk to you.”

My brow pinches, and I follow him to the front office. There’s a back room where a little old woman is sitting, enjoying coffee with a donut. She smiles as I come into the room, and her eyes glisten. “My god. You’re the spitting image.”

I look at the man, then down at the old woman. “You… you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, dear. My name is Carrie.” She pats the table, offering me a seat. “My son told me your mother was born here.”

“I believe so, yes.” I sit down at the table and she pours me a cup of coffee. “At least, that’s what her birth certificate says.”

“My sister had a baby when she was seventeen. I was fifteen then.” She sits still after setting the coffee pot aside. “She wanted to keep it, wanted to have her family.” A grimace comes to her face. “Our father was against it.”

I glance at the man, then back to her. “Is that my mother, you think?”

She nods. “Looking at you, I know it. Had Cheryl lived, she would have looked like you. But you look like him too. Around the eyes.”

“The father of the baby?” I ask.

She sighs. “James Holden.” Picking up her coffee cup, her eyes become distant. “He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. Still is.”

I sink back in my chair as I try to process all of this. “Your sister...”

“I know.” She hangs her head. “There are many people who are left behind up there. But I could only carry the baby. The fire came too fast, I still can’t remember everything that happened that night.”

I look back at her, seeing something of my mother in her. “I keep seeing James,” I murmur. “I saw his car go off the Devil’s Backbone when I first came here, and I’ve seen him in other places since.”

“He came back that night of the fire too. My father didn’t want him to, but he did just to spite him.”

“Mom,” the man says.

I look at Carrie and narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“That poor boy,” she sighs. “He had so much promise, but my father hated him so much for what he did to Cheryl.”

“Shit,” I whisper.

The man sits down and places his hand over his mother’s.

“No wonder James is angry.” I put my head into my palms, rubbing my eyes.

“I always hoped one day your mother would come back here, and that maybe her presence could quell the anger that festers in that town.” Her eyes look up to me. “I am sorry to hear that she is gone.”

“I have her with me,” I sniffle.

Carrie smiles. “Do you mind if I see her?”

I go to my room and bring back the tupperware container with her ashes. Carrie holds it between her palms with a soft smile. “I only got to hold her once, and it was a mad dash from the hospital. She was bigger than this, I swear it.”

“She never knew she was adopted until the end,” I reply. “I’m sure if she knew when she was younger, she would have come.”

“These things are out of our control.” She pushes the container back to me. “I’m sure, if you knew what lay down your road, you’d act quicker too.”

“Do you mind if I go back to the hospital?” I ask.

“It’s a risk,” the man says sternly.

Carrie looks up again. “My husband still hasn’t come back from there, you know. But he was an asshole.”

“Mom,” he scolds.

“I think I need to go back,” I say confidently.

The man takes me back to the gates, but doesn’t go in with me. I walk back up the broken, craggy road to the hospital. I hear voices around me, whispers that circle and scatter like leaves on the wind. The hospital door is open, as I walk in and stand in Cheryl’s room again. Her body covered by the sheet moves as if she’s breathing. Her chest rises and falls slowly, and I can hear the soft breaths as I step closer.

I take the tupperware container and place it on her belly. Her hands rise under the sheets and gently clasp around it. I hear a baby crying in the distance, a little girl screaming they have to go back, and a man yelling that it’s too late.

Cheryl sits up in her bed with the sheet still clinging to her face. She strokes the container with her hand and turns her head to face me.

“Her name was Lori,” I sniffle. “She became a nurse. She raised me alone. Her husband left before...” I shake my head and step closer to the bed. “He doesn’t matter. She was happy where she was. She loved being a grandmother.”

Cheryl raises her hand, and smooth skin touches my cheek. She wipes away my tears and cups my face tenderly. I take her hand in mine, and it turns to dust.

The bed is empty aside from the ash. I scoop it up, placing it into the container with my mom. I leave town with them together, and go back to the Devil’s Backbone. There I stand at the railing, looking up into the sky. “I know you said the ocean, Mama, but I think… I don’t know what I think. This has been the weirdest, most frightening thing I’ve ever done.”

I hug the container to my chest. “I think here, you’ll find peace better than with the ocean.” I pop open the top. “For all of you. I know you’re not here, but something is.” I look back up as the tears come. After a moment, I dump the container down into the ravine. The ashes scatter and float off through the trees, vanishing into the air.

I sit down on the railing, holding the empty container in my hands. I close my eyes and hang my head until I hear a car coming. I wipe my face off and stand up. A red Bel Air pulls up beside me. James and Cheryl are inside. They’re both smiling at me, and in the back seat I see a little girl looking up at me. Cheryl holds something out to me, and I take it. They wave and drive off. The little girl in the back seat turns, looking out the rear window and waving at me.

“Mom, wait...” My voice catches in my throat and I can’t stop the tears as they fall. I wave back and the little girl’s smile is so big.

I sit in my car before I look at the item they handed me. It’s an old car key. I smile at it, slowly rubbing my thumb up and down. I lean back in my seat, looking out the window.

My phone rings, and I quickly answer. “Hello?” I sniffle.

“You okay?” my daughter asks.

I take a deep breath and look out the window. “I’m on my way home, so I will be soon.”

“Mom, what happened?” she asks. “We were getting worried.”

I take the key and place it in the cupholder. “I’ll tell you when I get home, it’s kind of a lot. I’ll have to bring you out here sometime, sweetie. I think you’d like it.”

“Seriously, Mom, you okay?”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “I’ve just been crying, that’s all.”

“It’s okay,” my daughter says gently. “Grandma is still with you, you know.”

I look back at the road, where the Bel Air had been. I smile as I remember the girl in the back seat. “Of course. I know.”

#ghost story #ghosts #horror story #scary story #haunted #my writing #momolady monsters

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izzisanauthor · 3 years ago

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A Murderer's Cell

A Prodigal Son fanfic by IzzIsAnAuthor (izzygrace07)

References to memories discussed in 2x03 - "Alma Mater"

----------

Malcolm's fist pounds against the door as he hyperventilates, body trembling with fear. The closet walls suffocate him without moving an inch. It's such a familiar feeling, the exact one he felt during his time trapped in the janitor's closet at Remington Academy. His rational and irrational thoughts fight for dominance in his head, and right now, the nonsensical ones are winning and fill his mind with death.

It's not like anyone would hear his knocking; it's nearly midnight, and the precinct is empty. The murder case he is investigating is similar to one that went cold thirteen years prior, and he needed to grab those files and run them by their current information. Malcolm hadn't thought much of it when he walked into the closet of old case files and rummaged through a few boxes. He didn't know that the door would close on him, shrouding him in darkness.

Malcolm had frozen immediately, unable to comprehend the situation before him. When reaching blindly for the doorknob, he had been shocked to discover that the knob was missing, leaving only the rose behind. Pushing on the door did nothing, and he didn't have the space he would need to kick it open. With nobody left in the building and the doorknob missing, Malcolm was experiencing his biggest fear first-handed: alone in the darkness, trapped in a box with nobody around to hear his cries for help.

The Remington Incident hadn't been this bad. At the very least, there was minute light that helped him see. Yes, he was dangerously dehydrated, starving, and soaked in his sweat, tears, and urine, but Nicky had been merciful enough to let him see. Now, Malcolm can't help but imagine the same scenario; only now, he'd have to survive those three days with his vision inhibited. Dying in darkness, in pain and disgusted with himself, and with nobody around to find him for days was undoubtedly terrifying.

Eventually, Malcolm's sobs turn into silent tears. He leans his body against the door and continues to knock, not nearly as forceful as before, while his free hand trembles wildly at his side. The resignation takes over much faster than the last time he was stuck like this, taking only a few minutes instead of the first six hours of his Remington captivity. This feeling must be what defeatism is, the feeling of complete resignation. He doesn't experience this very often, only ever falling into it when a killer manages to elude him, manipulating the profile and taunting him as more victims get claimed. During those times, he had Gil, Ainsley, or even Dani talk him through it, reassuring him that everything would turn out fine, that profiling isn't an exact science; Malcolm isn't to blame.

Except he is, so his abusive mind tells him, and this is his punishment. He's let so many lives slip through his fingers because he wasn't good enough, fast enough, or intelligent enough to find the monsters responsible. If he had only said the right thing or noticed the essential details a little sooner, he wouldn't have to watch parents lose their children or kids become orphans. He's killed more people than the Surgeon, the man who he promised never to become. After his father's arrest, Malcolm refused to let himself go down the same path, dedicating his life to saving lives instead of taking them. With how much he's failed, he deserves to wither away in isolation, to rot in this cell, like the murderer he is.

Malcolm takes a couple of steps back and leans against the shelves of case files, sliding down to the floor. Every breath is shaky and laborious. He knows that the room walls are secure in the back of his mind, and he has plenty of oxygen. The precinct would open tomorrow, someone would come into the closet to look for files, and Malcolm would be free from his prison. It's not wishful thinking; it's a fact. Yet, at this moment, all he can see is the ceiling collapsing above him, ready to crush his body under the rubble. His breathing feels too heavy, wasting away his air supply. Worst of all, he imagines the precinct opening tomorrow and having plenty of people present, yet nobody notices that he's missing. Even if they did, it's not like anyone would care enough to look. He could bang on this door for hours and catch their attention; they might even figure out that he's in there. They could leave him locked in the closet like Nicky did, knowing fully well that he's suffering behind the door.

When the door opens and the room floods with light, Malcolm doesn't notice. Tears blur his vision, and all he can hear is his own hyperventilating. His fingernails dig into his wrist, desperate to stop his hand from shaking. Somewhere in the distance, he can make out words, but they're impossible to comprehend.

"Bright? Kid, what happened to you?" The voice is familiar, and Malcolm can almost put a name to its owner. "It's okay, Kid. You're okay. Come on, let's get you in the open. Malcolm, can you hear me?"

His first name is what shocks him back into reality. Nobody at the precinct calls him Malcolm except for two people, and only one of those two calls him Kid.

Malcolm blinks away the tears as much as he can, the blur fading from his sight. It isn't easy to see the man before him, the light from the hall making silhouettes out of his features. However, he can see the outline of facial scruff and well-maintained hair, and the recognition finally sets in.

"Gil," Malcolm breathes. A hand takes his own and gently pulls him to his feet. He staggers, his head spinning from the lightheadedness, and nearly falls over. When the throbbing of his head calms, he nods to show he's okay. Gil places a hand on the back of Malcolm's neck, guiding him out of the closet and into the light of the precinct.

He's led to a random desk nearby, practically throwing himself into the chair. The clean air that comes with the open space is heavenly, as if it is a gift from God himself. Gil grabs another chair and pulls it over to Malcolm, sitting across from him.

"So," Gil starts, "are you gonna tell me what happened, Bright?"

"There's not much to say," Malcolm mumbles, a slight waver to his voice. "I walked in the closet, and the door closed on me. That's it."

Gil sighs. "That's not what I mean."

When they found Malcolm in that closet at Remington, the shame erased any sense of relief. New York society already thinks that the Whitley family is dangerous, and that's just with Doctor Whitley's reputation hanging over his head. Malcolm should have known what Nicky would do, just like he should have known what his father was doing to those women. There are so many horrific things that Malcolm could have prevented, but he didn't because he wasn't good enough.

So, when Malcolm was found three days after Nicky trapped him, he told the doctors and police officers that the door shut on him. It was just a freak accident, and nobody was to blame but himself. With that story, nobody thinks of him as a failure or a weak man.

"...Do you remember when they found me at Remington?" Malcolm asks hesitantly.

Gil nods, his eyebrows furrowing. "You could have died in there," he laments. "I can't believe it took the police three days to find you. It was your damn school! We should have looked there first."

The guilt weighs heavy on Malcolm's shoulders. His disappearance worried so many people, and even now, it's obvious how blameworthy Gil feels about the whole thing. But it's not Gil's job to know that kind of information; that's what Malcolm is supposed to do.

He falls into silence upon hearing Gil's words. The worst thing he can do for Gil is to tell him the truth behind the incident.

"I knew you were claustrophobic," Gil continues, "but I didn't think it was that bad. I haven't seen you cry like that in a long time, Kid."

Malcolm lets out a soft chuckle and directs his gaze to the ground, wiping his palms against his slacks. "That was pretty embarrassing."

He jumps when Gil's hand rests on his knee, squeezing comfortingly. Malcolm glances up and finds Gil watching him with protective eyes. It nearly makes him shrink in his seat, overwhelmed by the sudden change in demeanour.

"Bright, you were traumatised," Gil states. "You were on your death bed. If that happened to me and I had been the one stuck in there, I would have freaked, too."

Malcolm gives a slight nod. He doesn't mean to, but he lets Gil's words go through one ear and out the other. They've been said before by anyone who has ever had the displeasure of seeing him in this state. It's bittersweet to have their sympathy when they have no idea why he's terrified.

"...Nicky Covington." He doesn't hear himself say the name, but he must have, seeing Gil's confused reaction.

"What about him?"

The trembling of Malcolm's hand worsens with the question, and he slams his stable hand over it, squeezing his wrist. Gil grabs both hands and pulls them apart, holding onto them both. It gives Malcolm a sense of security, keeping his mind down on Earth.

"It's okay," Gil says tenderly. "You can tell me, Malcolm." The earnestness in his words makes Malcolm's heart skip a beat. All these years, he's kept the truth behind the Remington incident quiet, choosing to exact revenge on Nicky in such a psychopathtic manner. He should have told Gil the truth back then; Gil would have been there to help him through the shock. He would have gotten Nicky put behind bars, unable to hurt another man.

Instead, he acted as his father would have and tried to kill him. Now, he's tired of having that skeleton in his closet.

"Nicky Covington, he..." Malcolm clears his throat. "The door didn't close on me. He locked me in there when he found out about my father." He looks down shamefully, refusing to meet Gil's eyes. "I lied to the police about the whole thing."

The silence is deafening and sends Malcolm's heart racing. He can feel his pulse clogging his throat, making it difficult to breathe. The usual berating voices he hears are abnormally quiet, waiting anxiously for Gil's reply.

"I know."

Malcolm blinks a few times and intelligently replies, "...What?"

"Kid, did you think I didn't investigate at Remington after they found you?" Gil says incredulously, shaking his head. "The janitor was bribed by the Covington family to lie about the locks. They didn't automatically lock like he said they did; an outside force would have to do it. They paid off the courts to keep quiet, of course, but at the very least, I got a good idea of what happened." He sighs, rubbing his thumbs over Malcolm's hands. "You know you're not The Surgeon, right?"

Malcolm nods halfheartedly. "I know. I do, really, but... Those women--"

Out of his peripheral, he sees Gil lean forward, trying to catch his eye. "You were a kid, Bright. No kid wants to believe their dad is a bad guy. It wasn't your job to catch him; it was ours, and we did."

When Malcolm opens his mouth to argue, Gil sticks up a finger, silencing him. "As a consultant for Major Crimes, you're bound to see people die. It's just a fact. But when you see people die, Malcolm, you want to catch the killer and lock them away. That's what makes you different from Martin Whitley; you do your job to protect people from criminals like him."

Malcolm feels a smile forming on his face. He squeezes Gil's hands. "Thanks, Gil."

Gil stands up, pulling Malcolm up with him. "It's late. We've got a case to work on tomorrow, so get some sleep, alright?"

"Never," Malcolm says, beaming. He may not believe Gil's words to the fullest, but at the very least, he can try to accept them: he isn't the Surgeon. He's Malcolm Bright, and he isn't to blame for what happened to him.

#prodigal son #my writing #fanfiction #claustrophobia #alma mater #trapped in a closet #near death tw #phobia tw #original post on archiveofourown

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spookywitch13 · 4 years ago

Text

I am here for you

Secret Santa gift for @jellyfishdodraw! Also for the Duskwood Secret Santa page @christmaswithduskwood

It's based on the AU of MC being strong in front of others until Jake asks. This is placed somewhere in episode 5 partly 6. It is based on the aftermath of the video that Lilly uploaded. This is Fem!MC x Jake. It's not canon compliant since this definitely didn’t happen. Also I will fully admit I am not the best writer but I hope you enjoy it. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!

Hate comment

Death threat

Hate comment

Death threat

The comments and responses to the video that Lilly posted just keep coming in. Even after the video is removed they keep coming in on text messages, facebook posts, instagram messages, etc. I can’t seem to escape them. But I can’t let the others know about this because Jessy and possibly Jake would definitely try to kick Lilly’s ass. I scrub my hands against my face and get back to decoding the cloud storage.

*Jessy is Online*

Jessy: Hey MC!

MC: Hey

Jessy: How are you doing?

MC: I’m doing pretty well just looking for more clues. :)

Jessy: That’s good just try to take care of yourself as well and ignore that stupid video. Lilly is just trying to stir up trouble.

MC: Way ahead of you.

Jessy: Ok that’s good just try to keep a positive mindset! You can always talk to me if you need to. <3 :)

Jessy: Oops got to get back to work we’ll talk later.

*Jessy is Offline*

I set my phone down as more notifications of comments and threats keep pouring in. Sighing I stare out my window dejected as my phone keeps pinging. Getting up and stretching my back I trudge into the kitchen intent on making myself some tea or other hot beverage. Something to comfort me as the messages keep piling in.

*Jake’s Pov

“Ok I seem to be getting on the right track now, all I can do for now is let the program run and see what it finds.” I mutter to myself as I lean back from my computer. Running my hands through my hair I stare tiredly at the computer screen. “I wonder if MC is still up.”

Grabbing my phone I look to see if I have any new messages from her. Spotting a new message from a number that I don’t recognize I open it up.

Unknown: You two are absolutely SCUM of the Earth. HOW COULD YOU HURT THAT WOMAN!! I hope you both ROT in HELL for what you did!! Do you have no compassion for anyone?? What you two did was DEPLORABLE AND I HOPE YOU BOTH GET WHAT YOU DESERVE!!

“Awesome, gotta love the people I get messages from,” I mutter, “Lilly why on earth did you think that video was a good idea.”

A sudden thought comes to my mind. Lilly didn’t just post my number she also posted MC’s number. Worry grabs at me as I glance at MC’s contact information. I don’t want to break her trust by looking at her messages without her permission but I also want to make sure that she isn’t getting messages like this. I’ll talk to her first.

*Jake is Online*

Jake: Hey, how are you?

*MC is Online*

MC: I’m good, how about you?

Ok maybe she isn’t getting the same messages as me. That’s good, I’ll gladly take the brunt of this to keep her safe and happy. Some people can get really aggressive with this kind of accusation flying around. The worry starts to ebb out of my body.

Jake: I’m alright, I just wanted to check in with you while I have some time. :)

MC: Can’t keep me off your mind? ;)

MC: I’ve been just working on the cloud

Jake: Haha you can always make me smile. :)

*ping*

I glance away from the chat to see that I’m getting notified about a private conversation between MC and an unknown person. I freeze as part of the unknown sender’s message flashes across my phone screen. It’s a death threat. Fury and worry race through me as I click on the messages.

*Spymode: MC and Unknown*

Unknown: I’ll find you and rip your head off if you don’t let that woman go back to her family!! How could you as a HUMAN BEING do this to another human being!!

Unknown: We should just kidnap you to make you fear for your life like you are making this poor woman feel. You better watch yourself.

I watch as the messages just keep coming not just from this person but others. Hate comments and death threats from random strangers on the internet who have no idea what is actually going on. Concern fills my chest as I quickly realise that MC has been getting way more than me. Going back to my conversation with MC I realise that she’s been dealing with this without mentioning it to anyone.

MC: I’m feeling pretty drained today but I’m hoping to get a new file from Hannah’s cloud soon.

Jake: Ok just don’t overwork yourself, afterall where would I be without my partner in crime. ;)

MC: Haha good thing we’ll never know the answer to that.

MC: I’m gonna head to bed, have a goodnight Jake I hope you have a good night’s sleep.

Jake: Goodnight MC. Sweet dreams. :)

*MC is Offline*

*Jake is Offline*

“Time to get another pot of coffee going, I’ve got some work to do regarding these messages.” I mutter darkly as I glare at the unknown senders. No one is going to hurt MC and get away with it, not with me here. Time to put my skills to good use.

Grabbing a new cup of coffee I get to work on making sure that these people can’t reach her anymore on any platform that she’s a part of.

*MC’s Pov-The next day

Sun shines through my window waking me up. Ignoring my phone for a little bit I work on getting myself a cup of coffee. New day hopefully with no new messages. I gingerly grab my phone and take a deep breath.

“Ok time to face the music.” I mutter, turning it on and quickly glancing at the screen.

NO NEW MESSAGES

“Oh thank goodness I get to have a little bit of good morning,” I say as I sip my coffee. Scrolling through my messages I quickly notice that all the hate messages and death threats are gone.

RING!

My phone suddenly rings causing me to almost throw it in surprise. I really need to turn that ringer down. Glancing at the screen I notice Jake’s icon pop up as an incoming call. I quickly press answer and move to sit down on my couch.

“Hey Jake.” I say as the call connects through.

“Why didn’t you mention it? Why didn’t you say that you were getting hate and death threats from Lilly’s video?” His voice filters through still distorted through whatever audio thing he uses.

“I didn’t want to worry you guys and I didn’t think it was that important.” I comment quietly as I begin putting the pieces together.

“It’s important to me!” He doesn’t quite yell it but it’s almost a yell. “I could’ve set the software up earlier and you wouldn’t have had to go through all that.”

“I didn’t want to add more to your plate, you are already really busy plus it wasn’t that big of a deal.” I say tightly trying to hold back the overwhelming flow of emotions as the last couple of days begin to catch up to me.

“MC, I don’t care if I’m busy. Yes I want to find Hannah as quickly as possible but I also want to make sure that you are safe as well. I care about you and your wellbeing more than I could ever care about the amount of work I’m going through,” He says gently.

Hearing him say that is the final straw, all the stress and fear from the last couple of days breaks free and I just start crying on the phone. It’s definitely not a pretty cry I can barely speak as Jake tries to console me over the phone. I hear a knock on my front door as I try to get my crying under control.

“MC please open the door,” He says.

I get to my feet and stumble to the front door opening it with my phone still against my ear. Standing in front of my door is a man with a black hoodie, who's holding his phone to his ear.

“Hey MC.” He says gently and ends the phone call. “I can’t stay too long but I wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

I move aside to let him in and close my door. Putting my phone down I turn to him. He kinda blushes and scratches the back of his neck.

“Sorry I know I should have messaged you ahead of time to let you know that I was coming but I didn’t want to risk it with everything going on.” He says averting his eyes in embarrassment. “Do you want a hug?”

Nodding I wrap my arms around his midsection pressing my face into his shoulder as I sob letting out all the turmoil within me. He gently rubs my back comfortingly.

“It’ll be ok, don’t worry MC. I’ve got you let it all out.” He whispers into my hair as he continues to hold me. We stay like this for a little bit before I finally start to calm down.

Even though I stopped crying Jake hasn’t let go of me, in fact he's holding me tighter. I clear my throat and step back a little bit. Now that I’ve let everything out I’m just feeling drained. He gently guides me to the couch and we sit together on it.

“How long are you going to be able to stay?” I ask quietly, my throat still raw from crying.

“A couple of hours at most but I don’t want to risk it too much.” He says as he wraps his arms around me again pulling me towards him. I’m positioned in a way that makes it so that I am leaning against him with my head over his heart. “No matter what happens I want you to know that I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

I nod tiredly as the emotional release drains me of all the energy I had. I close my eyes and listen to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat in my ear. His hand is still rubbing my back gently. Even though I’ve never met this guy in person before with all the texting we’ve been doing I still feel comfortable around him.

Even though I know he’ll be gone soon I’m gonna enjoy this moment for as long as I can. I start to drift off slightly when I feel him press a gentle kiss to my head. I know that we still have a lot of things to do but this moment will be forever imprinted in my memories.

The End

Again I really hope you like your gift! Happy Holidays!!

-SpookyWitch13

#Duskwood #SecretSanta #Jake #mc #Jessy #i hope you like it

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savrenim · 3 years ago

Note

hi hi hi. so I just got into the Hamilton fandom, I swear I am four years late where did everybody go, and, well. I am apparently a hamburr shipper. bcs that is my life now. anyway I saw your fic ifmlam and I swear it is my favourite of all the fics I've ever read (and trust me I've read literally thousands). I love it so so much, how do you write fics like that??? I cried about four times during the whole thing, I stayed up till 4am reading it even when I had to wake up at 7 because it is just. that. good. I could not stop thinking about it for days afterwards and ifmlam has just ruined me. I can't think of listen to Hamilton without thinking of ifmlam anymore.

on to my qursttion: is it abandoned? of course it's perfectly FINE if it is. don't let anyone tell u differently, your fic is YOURS and u are amazing.

but pls I really need closure from ur fic, it has been haunting me if its abandoned or ongoing and I've read ur other fics and they are just chefskiss and thank you so much for writing them all. thank you thank you thank you, I will never be able to thank you enough for writing this fic and for everything it's done for me. I am probably thousands of miles away but I am sending you virtual jugs through a co.puter screen right now.

(don't feel pressured to reply to this or update it flam, I know how overwhelming it can get with so many messages and after a while u get desensitized to it. u can literally reply "thx. itfmlam is abandoned" and I would still be amazingly star struck. anyway has gotten way too long and I need to sleep and I'm sorry u probably won't see this so I'm just talking to myself right now but bye!!)

and thank you so so much for writing itfmlam.

aaaah hello anon!

thank you so so much???? I am so??? honored??? that ifmlam rates so highly to you, and also that you've read my other fics??????

the answer to the "is ifmlam abandoned" question is probably the worst possible one, which is pretty much "I do want to finish it, both for the folks that still want closure as well as it bothers to me have abandoned projects that are in the public eye/ already partially published, but also, it is last on my current writing projects list"

my current actually active writing projects list, kind of in order of priority, is

I'm literally three chapters away from being Actually Fully Done with the not-quite-first-not-quite-second let's call it 1.5th draft of an actual?? full?? original?? novel?? Opus which of course then goes out to beta readers and then gets who-knows-how-much edited and then maybe beta readers again if a lot does change and then a copyeditor my mom, my copyeditor is my mom, and maybe my little brother he's one of the betas but is very good at catching typos and then I!!! get to publish it!!!! which is the single thing I am most excited for!!!!!!!!! this should be closed up in the next week or two, and then take a while for people to actually read the draft and get back to me.

I really desperately want to finish my open-but-like-90%-written fic, which means we raise it up, the final chapter of to the bottom of the river bc I realized that it was kind of incomplete, and the second chapter of a buried and a burning flame because any more work there will need to wait until the author publishes the next book in the series. this should be closed up in the next month or two.

Speedwrite the draft of the second book of the Opus series so that hopefully by the time book 1 edits are happening, I have an almost complete draft of the second book. this is mostly me side-eyeing myself about taking nearly four years to write the first book, but that is solidly in part because I had so many other open projects which point 2 is about clearing that docket. this should be done in the next year.

And then just have my major projects be, at least until books 1-5 are written and published, books 1-5 of that because that is arguably the first major 'plot arc' of the series, so if I'm looking for a pause point on writing, that's probably where to stop.

There are two or three other short side projects (a weird fun second person short story tentatively titled witch-queen, a collection of four short stories Memoirs about a not-so-evil necromancer and the shenanigans he gets up to trying to rule a kingdom, working title Perfectly Normal Recipe Blog which is a collaborative project about a perfectly normal recipe blog that definitely doesn't include anything out of the normal) that will happen when they happen

There are other projects that are on the backburner -- The Numanok Files, a series of probably 12-15 short novellas about a mercenary/ bounty hunter esque person in space whose specialty is dealing with hauntings, but, like, 80% of their jobs is actually "you are effectively a space home inspector pointing out faulty wiring reacting to solar flares/ there's a weird alien fungus/ it's carbon monoxide okay change your atmosphere filters" and 20% of it is punching ghosts; there's a post-post apocalypse novel that I want to write that I know characters and general pacing and half the setting but need to work out the other half and figure out how much aesthetic I want to commit to; there's Strangeside7 aka spacerace book that is my reaction to how much I love how Redline the anime movie commits itself to "no we are about a race, like 60% of the screentime is just fully going to be an utterly ridiculous sci fi space race"; there's even a ridiculous YA trilogy that I would have to completely transplant the setting but might end up writing because the interplay between angel-physics and physics-physics was one of my favorite things in the world. and I guess the weird ridiculous technically a sequel series to ifmlam that was going to be published as original books that was basically me having fun with 'okay I fucking love star wars prequels old rotting space bureaucracy galactic republic style' except with seers and that also still might happen because it does have some of the coolest sci fi concepts and honestly I thiiiink that's all?

but the tl;dr of that timeline is I'm trying to finish a punch of projects Right Now, so that I can write books 2-5 of Opus, and then when I'm done that (which honestly, my average fiction-writing output is close to 100k a year. if I'm concentrating purely on one project, and writing books that are about 100k, we are talking four years. although my job situation is super up in the air in that period and writing might get put solidly on the backburner as I try to make it in academia, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) I will re-evaluate which projects go next, and that's when ifmlam is likely to come up for review.

I do not have any expectations that I will make it as an original author. I'm planning on posting all of my stuff online for free, but, like. it is incredibly difficult to convince people to try out even a piece of free and easily accessibly original work even if one has a huge following, I am a very small fanfiction author, and from what I can tell the majority of the people who are interested in my work are mostly interested in me finishing ifmlam. writing is a hobby for me, and while I'm writing mostly for me--and hence the for me bit at least for the next five years is pretty solidly going to be this series that I am deeply excited about and have sunk my heart and soul into every single aspect of--I'm human, and I don't really like shouting into the void, and I expect if I spend five years publishing to absolutely no response I will either stop writing for a while and do other things gods know my life is busy enough, return to fandom in general to write some other fanfic about whatever I get deeply into, or return to a work that I actually get response to. so ifmlam will probably start getting worked on a bit at that point one way or another. unless, of course, we are in the incredibly rare timeline in which I do make it as an original author, there are people who are deeply hyped for my original works and an actual demand for them, in which case as you may have noticed there are enough ideas there to keep me busy for a decade or two, and they will just get my full attention instead of fanfiction*. in this timeline, I will do what I was considering doing a few years ago, which is officially declare ifmlam otherwise abandoned and make one more giant chapter update which is a full and cleaned up outline of what I was going to write, interspersed with the scenes already written, and have ifmlam be given at least that closure.

*I want to make it clear that I very much love fanfiction and am proud to have been a fanfiction author and in my heart of hearts would keep writing it forever, I just also have a lot of ideas for characters and settings and magic systems and Aesthetics and I have been biting at the bit to write something that is //mine// and all mine and only mine for a while, I don't see original work as superior so much as there are a dozen fandoms that I am currently in and bursting to make content about except oops these fandoms currently only exist in my head, and I want to correct that

of course given how much as writing is my vent activity and I write what I'm in the mood for, there's a chance I'll feel ifmlam cravings before then, just... expect it to take a couple of years for an update, but also for there to be an update one way of another in a couple of years? but as for right now, I'm turning to original writing, because that is what brings me joy.

but I am really deeply honored that it brought you so much joy!!! and while I will never publish spoilers in a public place, if you message me off anon I am perfectly happy to give a run-down of my current plans for the ending, bc I know "wait a couple years and see" is not the most satisfactory of answers! and hey maybe you'll be like me and once you've given Opus a try you'll decide you like it better too, it does have Seers although they are deeply different Seers than in ifmlam but imo it's very gay and fun and at least politics on one side

#my life #my writing #ifmlam

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katsukikitten · 5 years ago

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Irritated 9

Short but hey at least I'm writing again.

WARNINGS: 18+ AU, Dark Adult themes, proceed with caution.

"Moving onto the most crucial point of this meeting. Due to the heavy rumors of the reappearance of the league of villains and high end nomus I need the two of you to be in..." But the rest of the conversation is drowned out by the rushing blood in the ash blonde's ears.

Teetering on the back two legs of his chair as his eyes burn holes into that damn emerald mop head who is ever present in his life.

The same dumb ass who asks questions about this meeting.

But he isn't asking the right ones.

Hell everyone seems to be avoiding the elephant in the room as they carry on normal conversation all the while the hot head grows even hotter.

The swirling rage demanding his undivided attention while his ribs echo his heart beat.

Finally he snaps, slamming down the two front legs of his chair, palms hissing as explosions ring out stunning the other two in the room.

The wood at his seat is forever charred, while yours was always neat, easy to forget as they seem to have now.

Hell even Izuku was sitting in your normal seat.

"Oi, how much longer are you two gonna act like nothing is fucking wrong?" He growls, Izuku looks away with flamed cheeks proving Bakugou's theory right.

Izuku was worried too, he was just too scared to ask.

"I don't follow."

"You lying fucker. You *do* follow. When was the last you heard form Y/N?!" He slams his phone on the table when no one answers, "Since she quit right?"

"So that makes it a whole fucking month. No one has seen her, no one has heard from her and her insta is dead." He shoves the phone in their faces. The last picture you posted was of Bakugou and Deku standing next to All Might's cut out.

"She could be on vacation." Yami counters to which Bakugou snorts.

"And she wouldn't want any dumbass pictures of the beach with an even shittier caption?" He hisses, "No paparazzi has seen her?"

"I'm sure she's been spotted."

"Where? All the tabloids question her where abouts."

"Staycation. No one knows where she lives. She was always good at that." Yami counters, nervously sipping at his coffee causing the blonde to grind his teeth.

"How is she eating if I still have her fucking card?" He slams the plastic on the table that clatters with it's own dramatic flare.

Director Yami gulps desperate for an excuse as Deku's eyes widen.

"New card." Yami shrugs making his way back to the bulletin points behind him.

"Its still active." The room is enveloped in that sweet burning sugary smell as his temper rises. He is no longer playing Mr. Nice guy.

"Activate her tracker." Its a threat and a promise all in one. Do as I say or become fuel for my explosions is everything his eyes say.

"S...she threw her bracelet at me when she resigned." Yami tries to sound direct as Izuku subconsciously fingers the metal on his own wrist.

"Yea but I doubt she did that with the one that's implanted. Pull it up Yami."

The director is stunned into silence before a burning blush creeps onto his face.

"I..." He clears his throat no longer able to hold eye contact with either party, "I don't think it will work."

"What?!" A snarl and a shocked retort echo in the room.

"What do you mean?" Another set of polar opposite tones ring out in the small stuffy place of the meeting room. Yami fishes for his phone in his pocket, pulling up the neglected app swallowing thickly as he is proved right.

The map shows no red dots. Only the hundreds of blue caused by the bracelets. He pushes the phone to the center of the table, the proximity is close enough to reactivate the trackers in the two men. Slowly two red dots flicker to life beside blue.

The third never makes an appearance.

"Why isn't hers showing?" Izuku asks, a glare beginning to weigh heavy in his jade eyes.

"If it's not checked monthly then it deactivates on it's own." He pinches the bridge of his nose, "In my defense I had seen the three of you everyday for the last few months. You guys are a PR nightmare!"

Bakugou's glare narrows in on the ignorant man who was in charge of the safety of hundreds of heroes.

He was going to be pay for his ignorance.

Izuku watches the hot head's toned arm lift, palm spread wide, realizing just in time Bakugou's intentions. He lunges for his old friend, knocking him off balance as the two of them fight. The two men struggling for dominance before the blonde comes out on top.

Literally, pinning the emerald haired man, as he raises a fist, sure to make contact with his stupid, freckled face.

He always hated this face, but you, you didn't seem to mind it.

And yet, in a sense, Deku had let you down too.

But no one let you down as much as Bakugou had. Or so he thinks, he keeps telling himself something isn't right, that he should have followed you.

Maybe even apologized.

"And fuck you too Useless Deku! Too much of a pussy to ask about your fucking friends!" He brings his fist down, aided by the power of his quirk.

Deku shuts his eyes and hope he doesn't lose too many teeth.

The punch makes contact but not with Izuku's face. Instead Bakugou's forearm is half swallowed by carpet, concrete and steel biting into his flesh. He ignores it with a growl. He rises with a growl, scarlet eyes set in determination as he blasts the door from its hinges.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

The smell of damp Earth and harsh chemicals assault your nostrils as your vision rapidly fades in and out.

As if it watching an old film, images flickering by just fast enough to give it the effect of motion.

But this felt like a horror film.

And one you are staring in. Your breath comes rapid and hitched as you try to fight the silent fingers that slowly caress against your brain. Each nail numbing a part of your thought process as motion catches your eye from beneath a side door to your right.

The door open illuminating the shadow as a hiss of your bracelets pierce into your skin, injecting you with something that pulls you under faster than the figure can appear before you.

"I think I need to lower the dosage doll. I want those pretty eyes to see their new home I've built." His voice echos in the darkness before all thought is lost to you.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

In Bakugou's moment of rage a thought occured to him. One that has floated through his mind for longer than he can remember.

If he wanted something to be done right then he ought to just do it his damnself.

His strong legs carry him down the stairs and winding halls to the records room. Like clockwork the attendant had left for his smoke break at exactly six o clock.

Something Bakugou had noticed years ago and filed away as possibly important.

Just in case he needed to borrow a file without having to check it out.

And he definitely doesn't anyone to know that he may or may not be looking for you.

Because they were more than likely going to try to stop him.

The hot head knew he had a least fifteen minutes, especially since the evening receptionist smoked at this time as the quiet record keeper. The basement dwelling attendant hoping to mac on the handsome receptionist in that short time.

Bakugou was thankful for the stupidity of others for once as he slipped into the records room with the spare key that was tapped beneath the desk.

The room is vast, reeking of mildew and damage paper mixed in with stained ink. He never understood why cases and records were filed manually instead of digitally but today he was grateful for the current CEO's laziness and the former CEO's aversion to both change and technology.

Older records are kept on steel shelves stacked in brown boxes that had to date back to the seventies or eighties while the more recent files were tucked away in half rusted filing cabinets, lining the musty brick walls.

There was no method to the company's madness, the records seemed to be filed haphazardly and more or less half assed over the years by someone whose dreams of being a hero hadn't fully flickered out.

But clearly they had settled for protecting rotting paper in favor of the public.

Bakugou growls as his eyes drag along each paper plaquer none in the exact order he needs. Some even slid into the metal casing upside down.

At least that's how he finds the one labeled "new hires 20XX". His cheeks hurt from his devilish grin before he yanks one of the doors open.

Again organization is thrown to the wind as files sit out of alphabetical order.

Chaotically mingling with one another having Bakugou grind his teeth.

Finally he finds your file, tattered and coffee stained as if someone revisited it quite often. He opens the Manila folder, more than ready to commit your address and whatever other information he could gain from the thick folder before an idea strikes him.

Would anyone even notice a missing file in this mess?

Hell it had taken him almost ten minutes to find and it wasn't as if the director was concerned with your well being.

His eyes narrow at your address, wondering why you chose to live in such a run down part of town before he slips the folder into the front of his pants swiftly covering it with his shirt.

He returns to the front of the record room, quietly shutting the cage door before he takes his gloved hand to the tape.

The door to the left stairwell clangs open. Two male voices echoing in the hall.

"I...I mean that's if...if you want to meet for drinks when you g..get off."

Bakugou rolls his eyes, deft fingers adhering the key back to its home just before the other make answers.

Delight in his voice that twists Bakugou's stomach in whole, green jealousy.

"I'd love to see you later. Until then." What could be a peck on the cheek follows as Bakugou slips into the opposite stairwell.

Wondering why the hell it seemed blossoming relationships came so easily to everyone around him.

His ribs throb as a reminder that that was something he would never have the privilege to experience as your voice echos in his head.

"We were never friends."

The mineola folder suddenly feels too hot against his skin, burning even. For a second he wonders why he is even doing this.

Why he's bothering himself with finding someone that clearly doesn't care for his company. He thinks to himself that he will just place the folder in his desk, that he'll abandon the notion of being a sleuth and return to his hot headed no fucks given ways.

But you whisper in his head once more with a weak, sleepy tone.

"Please stay, Katsuki."

Strengthening his resolve to find you once more.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha au #bnha angst #bakugou angst #bakugou au #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugo x you

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hopevalley · 4 years ago

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Season 8, Episode 10: Old Love, New Love, Is This True Love

All right, so...like I said, work has picked up and my eyes feel like old marbles from staring at numbers (the woes of working in accounting I guess) so I want to get this written up and tossed into the nether before I lose steam and motivation to do it. The interesting thing about these little write-ups is that as the week goes on they just get harder and harder to write...

I do apologize in advance to those who like the long-winded write-ups. I’m just not up to it at the moment. Still feeling kind of bleh from the episode.

Let’s go back to an old format, shall we?

The Good

We might as well start out with the things about this episode that I enjoyed!

Gossip Hour with the Men was one of the best openers they’ve had on the show in a while. It was genuinely funny without being meanspirited. Nobody looked like the bad guy. Everyone just calmly talked about it alike it was a normal thing to maybe call off the wedding. Bill calling out Carson for giving marriage advice was pretty funny, Mike was a delight. I don’t know what to say. I’d watch a whole episode of The Boys just hanging around spending time together.

Florence’s worry that she’s ugly was...not a terrible idea for a storyline, but the actress is too good-looking to pretend to be ugly (I saw her in this pretty yellow dress on Instagram a couple years ago and she was smashing)? Also, it’s not like Ned is a handsomely aged gentleman (like Henry lol) so it makes even less sense for the characters. I think they should have gone with Florence feeling she’s “plain” and that dressing up Super Nice makes her feel uncomfortable because she just doesn’t feel like Herself and worries maybe it’s projecting a false sense of Who She Is or something? I guess overall I still liked that an attempt was made to add some depth to Florence and her difficulties in choosing a dress/hairstyle, so...it goes here.

Ned asking Henry to be his best man was nice, too. I can forgive the shoddy pacing and weird placement of this request (like I do with almost everything in the show) but only because the scene was just...so incredibly wholesome.

I like how Henry just casually is like, “Well maybe today’s just not the day.” I think it eased Ned’s mind just a little that he CAN back out if he really wants to.

I think it’s worth thinking about the fact that Ned and Henry would have always worked very closely, since the mercantile would have been a company store before the mine closed down... I like Henry and Ned as pals.

I’m glad the “investment” thing with Jesse and Clara’s savings was brought up in a way that...makes sense. And also, glad it wasn’t forgotten.

I really liked Molly and Florence in this episode. I’m a little sad Florence married Ned because I AM SORRY BUT I WANTED TO KEEP SHIPPING MOLLY AND FLORENCE TOGETHER UGHGHGHH

But their relationship is so good and maYBE Elizabeth will learn something from them.

Hey Elizabeth...you see that?

YOU SEE THAT?

Just saying.

And then later...

“You are the sister I never had, the mother I forever wanted, the friend I have always needed. From the depths of those dark and terrifying coal mines you’ve walked beside me, picking me up whenever I’ve stumbled along the way.”

AAAAAAAAA IT GOT ME.

I’m...really liking Fiona and Mike’s relationship, whatever it is. I kind of think they’re not headed toward anything romantic. Everyone thinks Mike is really into Fiona but at the end of the episode we realize he likes talking to her about business; it’s almost like they have this shared passion for numbers/ideas and he likes infodumping to her (and vice-versa).

I think they’re going to end up being “just friends” and Fiona will end up paired off with the man Elizabeth doesn’t choose. They hinted at Nathan briefly in this episode (with Allie’s hair), but who knows? I’m over trying to speculate on where the triangle is going at this point, but I actually like Fiona’s relationship with Mike so much that I’ll be disappointed if she fades into the background with Nathan or Lucas. Mike deserves more screentime.

Ned and Florence sharing their fIRST KISS. My husband got emotional over this. And I admit, it was starting to get to me, too. I can’t NOT root for them.

I said it before and I’ll say it again: I WOULD DIE FOR THE CANFIELDS.

The wedding was nice. I liked that Bill and Joseph officiated it together; it gives Joseph a li’l trial run of pastoring and finally Bill gets to use some of that power of his to officiate a wedding.

“Please, if you’d like” is such a Bill way to say that they may kiss LOL.

Also, I have to admit that I did enjoy Lucas calling Nathan out about Allie. She wouldn’t be caught in the middle if he’d leave Elizabeth alone AND HE IS RIGHT LMAO.

The last good thing: Elizabeth telling Nathan she doesn’t blame him for Jack’s death. Nice. Good. Thank you. He probably needed to hear that.

...THE BAD

Carson and Faith. UGH. UGHHHHHHHHHH. BREAK UP ALREADY I HATE YOU BOTH.

I appreciated that Carson had the ring ages ago, and I did like his conversation with Minnie—or more accurately, her advice to him. I felt like she was nudging him toward, “Remember why you became a surgeon in the first place.” If he became a surgeon to help people, then there’s no reason he can’t help people where he is. Sure, he might not be doing state of the art procedures but with Faith working alongside him, he can afford time to learn new things and go to doctor conventions or even take a specialized class now and then. No other doctor could get away for very long but he has that chance!

And he’ll arguably be doing more good in the middle of nowhere than in the city. All the doctors want to live in the city. Nobody wants to barely get paid for their time in the countryside.

We had a whole episode that made it clear that Faith and Carson don’t make a lot of money and do a lot of charity work. They also work for trade goods (mostly food). So it’s like...a pretty big difference in lifestyle?

Half the reason I can’t get invested in these characters is because I really can’t stand Paul Greene. He just...annoys me on every single level imaginable. But he’s a decent actor and I can’t help but feel that his character was a massive waste of space for the past few seasons through no fault of the man himself. Imagine introducing a character like Carson and then leaving him to rot before you try to make him interesting with a romance plot that nobody asked for.

Yes, some people really like Faith and Carson, but as a whole I think the fandom didn’t buy into them as a ship due to the lack of chemistry.

It really is a shame. This episode didn’t do a thing to endear me to either character. Please, Carson. I am begging you to leave town.

This one particular line of dialogue almost enraged me.

WE KNOW WE KNOW WE KNOW WE KNOW WE CAN SEE THAT FOR OURSELVES. WHY DID THEY HAVE ROSEMARY SAY THIS LIKE IT’S AN EPISODE OF A CHILD’S TV SHOW?

Elizabeth.........

How could Katie have...looked up to her? She was never in her class? That was? Never part of anything? It was just something they threw in here to force Elizabeth to make 1% more sense in the role she’s in but IT STILL DOESN’T WORK.

I felt like I was back in Season 5 again with Lori and Elizabeth putting their nose in everyone’s business except it’s just Elizabeth!! The whole plot, which was boring and contrived anyway, should have gone to Molly, since she’s Florence’s best friend and another woman from town that Katie would have known as a child.

AND ALSO, MOLLY WOULD HAVE KNOWN KATIE’S MOTHER AND WOULD REMEMBER THE GRIEF THAT NED STRUGGLED WITH.

I know they wanted to make Elizabeth give advice so that she’d Realize that she needs to, I don’t know, make better choices or something, but it was too on the nose for me and I hated it.

GinithePooh on Reddit made a good comparison to Elizabeth in this episode by saying she reminded them of Clippy from Microsoft Word, always popping up and offering to help when nobody really needs or wants advice.

To honor their incredible idea, I opened Photoshop and created this gem, which I will also be posting separately so that people can reblog it if they wish to.

I also don’t think I need to say also filed under The Bad is the fact that Elizabeth didn’t even apologize for being awful to Rosemary and then gave her unsolicited advice to other people for two days straight. I can’t believe they wrote that?

All I can say is that her apology to Rosemary, when it comes, better be good.

And I didn’t like this either:

I wish it had been followed up by literally anything: Nathan saying he’s sorry he didn’t tell her sooner or something to make the hand-holding actually be a little more innocent.

As it is, it just seems so deliberate?

Maybe the next episode starts off right in this scene and we’ll get that? If so, this might actually end up being fine. I just don’t think it is if it doesn’t get a little more direct attention.

& THE UGLY

I debated on putting anything in here, because I’m not ready to talk about my feelings on this matter, at least not fully. But I’ve been pretty quiet all season so far, and...eh, why not just mention things in advance? What will it hurt?

Let me preface this section by saying I’m biased and I doubt hardly anyone on this site will agree with me, so feel free to just ignore this part if that’s the case.

There are two things that I really didn’t like in this episode.

I hate the slanting toward Bill/Molly.

I like Molly just fine but I don’t like her with Bill. I’m biased as all getout and also worried about the future/potential Season 9 with regards to this. I don’t want to see it. Like at all. Why, you ask? You should know why if you follow me. I’m super transparent.

It’s because I like AJ AND I WANT HER BACK LOL.

John Tinker rewatched the series so we know he wouldn’t have missed that hanging plot thread—especially since he didn’t forget any of the other things that were brought up this season! So why didn’t she appear this season? The love triangle absolutely needed to be a focus or it would have never ended, so that’s part of it, but I’m also pretty sure Josie Bissett wasn’t interested in doing any filming last year during Covid. My only “proof” is that Wedding March 6 wasn’t filmed last year even though it was scheduled to be filmed, but it makes sense. Last year was chaos.

THAT SAID, Jack Wagner posted on his Instagram the other day that they are actually filming Wedding March 6 now, so... I guess AJ’s re-appearance in Season 9 wouldn’t come as too much of a surprise if they wanted to write it.

You’d think I’d be hyped about that, and I kind of am? But it doesn’t come without its share of worries, too. We just had the worst love triangle in the history of love triangles and I really don’t want another one, especially if it makes any of the characters in question look stupid or mean.

I fully admit a well-written love triangle could be a LOT of fun for them* (low stakes because they’re not front and center characters), but I saw how Nathan was written so far this season and I really, REALLY do not want to see that happen to Molly, Bill, or AJ.

Anyway, not a fan of the Molly/Bill stuff. No chemistry. I don’t want it.

*I would totally write a fanfic like this lmao.

And finally...the part that everyone will hate me for:

I DO NOT WANT TO SEE ABIGAIL COME BACK. And I specifically do not want her to come back ‘cause I do not wanna see Henry/Abigail happen.

I fully recognize that a lot of you like it and ship the heck out of it, and that’s...good. I’m glad you enjoy it. I loathe it, though, and I worry that all these hints (more like...mentions) are leaning toward...something. Like, either they’re:

1) Sending Abigail off/tying up that loose end with Henry (since nothing was ever clarified either way), or

2) Warming up the audience to receive Abigail back on the show.

I’m pretty into the idea of one-sided Henry/Abigail. Hindsight is 20/20, regrets, that’s all some juicy stuff to give a character like Henry. Some things can’t ever be made right again. He had too direct of a connection to the death of her husband and son for me to ever want to see them together. Forgiveness? Yes. A careful but meaningful friendship? Yes. Romantic relationship? Uh...no thanks.

I liked the Abigail mentions at first because I felt like...the character still mattered (as she should) but I’m at a point where I feel like they’re trying really hard to steer the fandom’s view a certain way and not knowing where it’s going is extremely unsettling to me.

I’ll probably talk more about the things that bother me when the season ends, because I’m hoping to have a better idea of where things are going to be headed, but for now just...know that I feel very apprehensive.

And keep in mind that I primarily watch this show for Bill these days, since all my previous faves (AJ, Frank, the old Abigail, Dottie) have exited, stage left. I also always really liked seeing Henry. So as you can imagine, seeing plotlines I hate for the only two characters I’m invested in? Is making me consider dropping the series next year.

My husband told me I should hate-watch it, but I don’t know if my heart can take it. I’ve been following this series for so long...it just...kind of hurts to feel let down like this?

But sometimes an ongoing series ends up going where you...didn’t want it to, and it becomes something that’s no longer right for you. I hope that doesn’t happen, but last night’s episode makes me feel like...it might be happening for real this time.

I guess if that holds true it’ll be back to fanfiction for me. Will that novelization I planned ages ago end up getting written? Will I write the best love triangle fanfic known to man? WHO KNOWS.

For now, we’ll all have to wait and see! Two more episodes left. I’m really curious to see how they resolve some of the open plots right now. :>

#when calls the heart #long post #character studies and information #analysis and meta discussion

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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❪ TO THE MOON AND BACK! ❫

You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. kth x named f!reader. jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. non-idol!au. fluff, a bit of angst. general.

tags / warnings. none! this chapter is pretty sad but also pretty happy? “balanced, as all things should be.” - thanos, and also me.

wc. 3.9k

chapter 11.

“Are you ever going to do anything with them?”

You’re so focused on the melody that you don’t recognize the words immediately, his voice playing somewhere beyond your recognition. It takes a long few moments of staring at Yoongi’s face, his moving lips, for you to realize he’s speaking to you.

Headphones are tugged off your head and carefully returned to the stand at your elbow.

“Sorry?”

“I said ‘are you ever going to do anything with them?’”

It feels like you’re missing an integral part of the conversation. Forehead furrows, following the lead of your mouth as it purses, little indent forming between your brows. “With what?”

“The songs.” He doesn’t have to say much more.

“Oh.” Your lack of answer doesn’t seem to deter him, his expression politely interested, if not a little tired. You feel a pang of guilt for the fact that you’ve had such long nights lately - sessions passing the stroke of midnight more often than not.

While it wasn’t your fault, you saw the toll it took on him - found evidence of it in the bags beneath his eyes, heavy enough to incur an additional charge at the airport counter.

He refocuses your attention: “Yes? No?”

“I… don’t know.” You hadn’t considered it, honestly. The songs had originally been written to give your misery an outlet. You’d never considered what would happen to them once they were fully formed.

You’re also not sure why he’s asking. It’s been at least four months since you’d even thought about them. Now they sat in the back of your mind, tucked away in a dusty box labelled JUNGKOOK along with a hundred other memories you weren’t sure you were ready to face yet.

“Can I use one then?”

That certainly isn’t what you’d expected.

“What?” It catches off your teeth, shattering over your tongue. You wonder how you look - if the surprise is glaring beneath your skin like neon light.

Yoongi grins, low and slow and full of gums. He must mistake your emotion for something else - excitement, maybe? - because he’s joining you in front of the computer, the imprint of his body still worn into the soft leather cushions he’s just vacated.

The same instant he drops into the seat beside you, he takes over the mouse, flicking through file folders with purpose. “I’m working on a new mixtape. I thought one of your songs might work well on it so I took the liberty of recording some vocals and mixing it to see.”

In any other situation, you’d be preening from the praise. Now, it only settles discomfort in your stomach.

“I don’t know,” you repeat, finally, after what seems like forever. He’s already pulled up the audio file and the beginning notes fill the enclosed space, sinking into your ears. It sounds amazing, of course. Everything he touches turns to gold. His voice is distinct, the delivery of lyrics so masterful you still don’t really know how he does it.

You listen in silence, admiring the way he’s managed to lay your original refrain with his effortless rap. It thrums in a low bass - utterly brilliant - and then your voice starts.

It hits you like a ton of bricks then, two thousand pounds of weight dropping your heart into the pit of your stomach. You don’t expect the reaction to be so polarizing. You hardly realize you’re locked into place, gaze trained on some freckle in the wood grain of the desk, until you’re physically pulled from it.

A hand settles on your shoulder, hesitant yet unyielding. It frames the bone and squeezes once, twice. Yoongi’s voice follows, softer than you anticipate. “Are you okay?”

The question repeats on a feedback loop. It turns over and over and over until there’s nothing left but a distortion of your own voice in your head. Were you okay? You’d thought so. Now, you weren’t so sure. Hearing the familiar melody is like reliving those eight excruciating months all over again.

“It sounds great,” you answer earnestly, in a voice that wobbles with emotion - a trapeze artist barely hanging on. You’re not lying; you wish your voice wasn’t so feeble.

“You’d get full credit, obviously.” Yoongi’s trying to soothe the ache he can’t quite understand. Not that he hasn’t tried. After all, he’d helped you bring all of this to life. He’d already done more than enough.

“Oh, thanks.” It’s a little watery and a little weak but you’re laughing and that stretches an almost triumphant grin across the producer’s face. It splits the casual indifference he normally wears, throwing the roundness of his cheeks into stark relief.

You can’t help but smile yourself, however small.

Still, it’s enough for him. You’re past the one-two sucker punch and he’s nearly all business again, studying the screen now that he knows you aren’t about to start bawling. You have to hand it to him - he’s a professional through and through.

“Did you mind if I took a look at your notes? I’m thinking we might want to do some ad libbing but I wasn’t sure if you’d considered that.”

You don’t think twice about it, handing your worn notebook over. The edges are tattered and it’s nearing the end, only half a dozen blank pages remaining. All the rest are filled with nonsense: half-formed lyrics, melodies stuck in your head, and—

“Are these about Jungkook?”

The question quite literally knocks the breath from your lungs. It takes you what feels like ages to regain control of your own anatomy, your jaw falling and rising in tandem with the drawn out beat of your heart. It feels strange - like you’re moving in slow motion.

Laid out before you - before him - are pages you’d poured your heart into over half a year ago. You recognize them because of the dogeared edges and the almost concerning pen strokes decorating the margins. Half the time you’d been writing about nothing at all, just putting your jumbled thoughts onto paper. The lyrics had only come after that, once you’d word vomited as much as you could.

You know what he’s reading now - not the verses you’d brought to life, but the heartbreak.

“No?” You’re not a great liar. It’s never been an issue until now.

He doesn’t do the disservice of belittling you or questioning you on it further. Instead, Yoongi remains decidedly silent; the quiet isn’t quite like any other. It’s careful and considerate, formed by unspoken questions and curiosity he holds close. Almost as if he’s giving you time, he flips through the pages with the strangest expression on his face.

Even when he’s done, he says nothing - meeting your horrified stare with something close to compassion. (Or pity, but that feels a whole lot worse.)

He waits for you to speak first. You don’t.

Finally, because it’s almost suffocating now, he hands your notebook back to you. Two hands - deeply respectful. You accept in the same fashion and try to ignore the tremor that runs the length of your fingers, slotting the journal back into your bag.

“Does he know?” There’s no judgment, no expectation.

You have to hand it to him - he’s handling this spectacularly well. Far better than you would be if you’d found out one of your best friend’s girlfriends had history with another of your best friends.

“Sort of.”

It’s the first reaction he gives that feels like it isn’t restrained, carefully packaged and offered only after it’s been perfected. “Sort of?” It rolls incredulously off his tongue.

“It’s a long story.” You don’t mean how defensive you sound. It’s just hard not to when the wound has been festering for so long and you’ve let it turn to rot, weeds sprouting around the Jungkook-shaped sadness you’ve tried to cover with a sheet.

“I have time.” He doesn’t mean it in any way but comforting. It still doesn’t feel right.

You begin with fiddling hands and eyes that won’t quite meet his, bouncing around the room like you’ll find solace in the muted light or the KAWS figurines that line the side wall. “We met in school - second year. He asked if the seat beside me was empty.” You’re proud of the way your voice doesn’t break - how it steels itself through the acid that boils in your veins.

“We… were friends.” The word has never quite matched what you’ve felt for him, even now. But then? It didn’t hold a candle to the torch you’d carried. “He honestly became my best friend, or something like that.” You try not to get too lost in the memory, holding tight to the present with white-knuckled fists. “We did everything together. We visited our families. We went to Disneyland.”

Surprise fits itself into the sea of his stare, recognition flickering like a lighthouse. You wonder how much he knows - if the nameless girl in Jungkook’s stories finally has a face.

“We were inseparable.” The smile you offer is mostly playful, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I guess, except for when he was with you guys. But at some point, the friendship changed. For me, at least.” You fiddle with the long end of your belt, scraping indigo nails over the glossy fabric. “I never acted on it, though. I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“Then how…” It trails off but the question lingers, hanging in the spaces between you.

“You know how hard he works.” Yoongi nods - of course he does. “Our last semester was… a lot. I don’t think I’d ever seen him so stressed out. We kind of let loose once we submitted our final projects.”

The little puzzle pieces you’re offering are slowly taking shape. A part of you - the part that hates picking at the poorly healed wound - wishes you could take it all back. You’re so close to the climax of the story and yet, you know it’ll be lacklustre. It’ll fall miles short of the cinematic masterpiece you’re sure Yoongi’s expecting.

There will be no grandiose declarations of affection and no heartbreaking rejections.

“I made the mistake of asking him to spend the night.” Heat eats up every surface of your skin, starting at the apples and ascending up over your temples. “And then… I left in the morning.”

Seated not two feet from you, Yoongi’s quiet breath is far louder than he means. It puffs out of his cheeks in surprise. “What do you mean you left?”

Whether the warmth is embarrassment or shame now, you’re not quite sure. It all feels the same, red hot and humiliating. “I left a note on my pillow.” You won’t meet his stare even as you can feel it digging into your skin.

“What did the note say?” By the way he speaks, you think he has an idea.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“No, the note. It said sorry.”

If looks could kill, you’d likely be six feet under. You’ve never seen so much exasperation - not even on your professor’s face when you’d beg for an extension literally seconds before a project was due. “And what else?”

“Nothing?” You say it like a question despite the fact you know the answer.

He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. You’re practically gnawing a hole through your cheek.

“Then what happened?”

“We didn’t talk.”

“At all?” Watching him grow incrementally more frustrated is like observing an overworked stay-at-home mom losing her cool at the supermarket. It feels bad, discouraging, but you can’t look away. Not even when he stares at you like you’re the dumbest person he’s ever met.

“I mean…”

His expression begs you to spit it out.

“He tried once or twice, a few weeks later. But I still felt so bad so I didn’t say anything back. And then he stopped trying.” You know you’d let the silence go on too long, allowing the awkward tension to mutate into something worse. You’re not stupid.

The longest sigh greets your ears. “You guys slept together and then you ghosted him.”

When he puts it like that, it sounds infinitely worse. You frown deeply, shaking your head. It wasn’t like that. It was different - necessary.

“I didn’t ghost him!”

“You left a sticky note!”

“Because I didn’t want him to regret it! I didn’t want him to feel weird.”

“You honestly thought leaving your so-called best friend a note was better than talking to them?” The way he utters the title makes you squirm in your seat. You shouldn’t be surprised, though. If you’ve learned anything over the last ten months, it’s that Min Yoongi does not mince words. Not when it’s important.

“I was scared.” It’s not an excuse; it sounds like one.

“Things are scary. You get over it.” He has a point.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Unfortunately, so do you.

“I guess not.”

FLASHBACK Friday, June 21, 2019. 12 PM.

When he wakes up, it’s like the end of the world - except not with a whimper, but with a bang.

The evil monkey that comes out of hiding after he’s had too much to drink is loud and unbothered, clanging its stupid gold cymbals hard enough to rattle his teeth in his skull. The sound bounces around in his ears, digging past his usual post-drinking haze to directly assault his senses.

Rolling over doesn’t help. In fact, it somehow makes it worse, the sudden motion bringing about a tidal wave of nausea.

The feeling rises and crests, threatening to swallow him whole when he rolls onto his front and yanks his legs up beneath him. Face pressed into the warm topside of the pillow, he curls his arms around the underside and takes three deep breaths, trying his best to alleviate the discomfort in his chest.

It works albeit poorly, like the second wave is coming, creeping up just beyond the horizon.

“Fuck.” It’s grumbled into the soft cloth he’s presently trying to suffocate himself with. Jungkook whines another sound - not as loud as the clattering in his head or even very clear - and presses deeper into the pillow, inhaling deeply.

God, he feels awful. You were right - he definitely shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

You.

The same you who had tried to go shot for shot with him over dinner, only to tap out when he wrenched another glossy green bottle open. The same you who had held his hand on the way back to your side of campus and laughed when he’d crowded you in the elevator, pressing sloppy kisses all over your neck and shoulders. The same you who had moaned his name so prettily he can feel it even now, stirring something in the pit of his stomach that feels a helluva lot better than the liquor-induced ache.

The you that should be at his side - and yet isn’t.

He blinks owlishly against the straining morning light, how it fades in through your half-drawn blinds and spills over your side of the empty bed. A hand reaches - slow, because he’s still not in full control of his motor functions - and slips over the cotton.

It’s cold.

Another blink, another pat of his hand.

He’s definitely in your dorm. There are photos strung up across the walls - taken by you or of you - and your familiar leather jacket is hung over the back of your desk chair. Your too-many coffee cups sit beside your keyboard but your familiar canvas backpack is nowhere to be seen.

“Jiyeon-ah?” It’s more gravel and sleep than anything remotely coherent. He tries again.

Silence settles in the enclosed space and he wishes it’d do the same in his head. Where were you?

The flat of his palm roves across your sheets, fingers seeking out the cold hard surface of his phone. Maybe he’d left it in his pants? That seems probable but they’re also not on his person, likely left in a pile at the foot of the bed - along with his underwear and socks - and well, he’s terribly lazy.

Lazy and still way too hungover.

So Jungkook lays there and waits, comfortable in the bed he’s been in more than once, more than twice, more times than he can count on both hands. He tosses and he turns, not quite patient but also not ready to face the day. He figures you’ll be back soon.

Truthfully, he doesn’t mind. Your dorm’s like a second home to him, somewhere he’s crashed a few too many times after you’d both trudged back in the dead of night after losing track of time across town. He knows the sweet spot on your shower - where he needs to get it right before the water turns from mild to scalding - and the fact that you hide your favourite coffee in a crate under your bed. It’s nearly as much his as it is yours, though he’s sure you’d disagree.

Either way, he could very, very easily fall back asleep. He almost does.

The nausea settles and while moving too fast stirs it uncomfortably, he’s doing a lot better than he normally does. It’s just this-side of relaxing, with time that doesn’t pass in screeches and lulls, rather simply sliding by in the transition of red numbers on your bedside clock.

It’s only when he realizes that it’s been nearly two hours that he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should get up.

With an exaggerated grunt, he pushes himself to his elbows, entire body groaning with the effort. While he might’ve felt fine mentally, his poor aching limbs were doing decidedly less well. It’s almost like he’d been hit by a fourteen-wheeler loaded with booze.

He sways with the force of it, nearly faceplanting back down on your pillows when he sees it.

A little neon yellow square with your messy, rounded Hangul scrawled in black Sharpie. Three characters, one word, one broken heart.

Mianhae.

It comes when you least expect it, straight out of the blue. Your eyes are trained on the same colour that spills across the sky, the hazy clouds drifting in and out of focus; the sun is playing hide and seek, splashing rays of warmth whenever you pass between tall grey buildings.

“I love you.” Three words. That’s all.

They roll off Taehyung’s tongue as easily as a breath from his lungs, filling the spacious interior of his German-built sports car. There’s nowhere for the proclamation to go, caught between four walls and two bodies and your wide-eyed stare. Not that he can even turn to admire the way your eyebrows have shot into your hairline, how your mouth gapes open like a fish out of water. He’d still probably call you cute. You know him.

“What?” You’ve found yourself repeating this same word a lot lately. With Jungkook, with Yoongi, and now, with your boyfriend, who seems terribly smug and not at all bothered.

He’s staring straight ahead, focused on the road in a way that you know isn’t wholly natural. You’ve spent enough time in this car with him, with his hand gripping yours, to know that driving is second nature and he does it like he does everything else - effortlessly.

“I love you.” It comes without missing a beat. The edge of his mouth curls, revealing his perfectly straight white teeth, and you can’t miss the mischief. You’d feel wary if you didn’t recognize it so well, how it lights up his insides and spills out brighter than the sun above your heads.

You ask because it’s funny and not because you care. “Are you pranking me, Kim Taehyung?”

He levels you with a look then, one just from his periphery. You can hardly make it out amongst the dark of his lashes, the velvet that brushes over his eyes because it’s just a little too long now. The hand on your knee squeezes experimentally, the cold metal of his rings digging into the soft of your thigh.

“Is my love a joke to you?”

“Maybe.” It’s a challenge - a playful, proverbial pat on the cheek.

The sound he makes is a mix between a growl and a laugh and 100% adorable, sweeping affection across your face in stretches, apples of your cheeks pulling wide. “You’re lucky - I still love you anyway.”

Every time he says it, it’s a little less jarring.

“You love me.” You repeat it not for the sake of doing so but to taste it on your tongue, to feel its weight. It’s much lighter than you’d anticipated, spun fairy floss and strawberry-scented bubbles rather than a newfound burden. It fills you without expectation, fitting itself in the little cracks and crevices without demanding more. Still, you want to give in return. It feels right. “I love you, too.”

Just like you love the smile that spreads like wildfire, boxy and distinctly him. It’s so endearing you swear you feel your heart trip in your chest, lovesick and enamoured.

He says it more to make you laugh than anything. “I know.”

You roll your eyes and meet him over the centre console, grateful that he’s found his familiar spot right down the street from his parents’ expansive home. You appreciate the little moments kept just for the two of you; you cherish them more than you can say, tucking them neatly into your pockets and behind your ears.

He presses forward for a kiss. You smell like citrus and floral - Sicilian lemons and just-bloomed lilacs - a scent he thinks he’ll never forget. When he rearranges himself in his seat, turning enough to drag you just that bit closer, he’s greeted with the sticky sweet musk - tonka beans and neroli - hidden beneath the curtain of your dark hair.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve got dinner in ten minutes or you’re sitting in the brightly lit street like two nervous high school students after a first date.

This time is for him and for you - a celebration of sorts.

So he kisses you again, though it’s not quite kissing. It’s more like worshipping and he takes his time doing it, wordless devotion roving over every inch he can possibly reach. He treats you like a god or a deity, treasuring you like you might grant him his heart’s greatest wish or that maybe you already have. It’s nice to imagine that.

“I love your bedhead.” Which is where he starts, right at your temple. They’re the softest presses - barely there trails of his dry, slightly chapped lips. He inhales that familiar lemony scent as he deposits sweetness in its wake - over your eyelids and down.

The line of his nose meets the contour of your cheekbone and he’s littering tender kisses along the rounded edge, all the way up to your ear. There’s a beat of hesitation - a will he, won’t he - before he drops his head further, nosing past the sensitive spot where neck and shoulder meet to brush over the column of your throat. It’s almost innocent until enamel catches, not nearly hard enough to blossom any colour but enough to draw forth the quietest sigh.

“And I love the way you sound.” The lecherous grin he offers is far too handsome. It doesn’t pull disgust and reproach as it should, especially not paired with the dainty kiss to your wrist. He lingers there, over blue veins that jump beneath his touch, and only moves onto the back of your hand once you huff an almost imperceptible sigh of impatience.

You receive five more kisses - one to each of your fingertips.

“I just love you.”

author note. three more chapters to go. ty for reading, as always! xo

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champagne-bucky · 5 years ago

Text

I.O.U.: II

Summary: Bucky is tired of the youngest Avenger having all of Steve's attention.

Warnings: age gap (reader is of age), smut, dub/non con, dark!Bucky

Notes: Here’s part 2!! I hope you enjoy it! Please reblog, like, comment, and follow me for more :)

You awoke to the sunlight peeking through. The sheets wrapped securely around your body. Stretching, you made your way to get dressed for another day of recon.

Making your way to the bathroom, you brushed your teeth and fixed your hair before heading to the lobby to take advantage of the free breakfast and coffee. Just then you hear someone groan.

“Wakey, wakey, sleepyheads. Gotta whole day of recon ahead of us.” You cheerfully said as you walked downstairs.

You decided you weren’t going to let Bucky seeing your body ruin this mission. Every one has a body, it’s just you put yours out on fully display for the person who hates you the most. Running back to the room, both boys were up and ready to get going.

“How was breakfast, did they have your favorite apple juice.” Bucky teased again. He honestly has no right to be talking to you like that considering a mere few hours ago he was jerking off to your ass and pussy.

“Ha ha very funny Barnes, should’ve been a comedian instead of a soldier.” You jabbed back while heading to the car.

—

Today was more serious, you were posted back on on your usual spot just waiting for any suspicious activity, but nothing. Until, you see a man giving the infamous Hydra gesture to a woman running a bakery.

That’s odd.

You figure you might as well call it in. At least Sam and Bucky can track someone down.

Sam and Bucky were posted outside the bakery waiting for their guy to come out. They knew that one slip up would be enough to take the agents out. It was basically confirmed that this was Hydra territory.

“You wanna do the honors or should I?” Bucky asks Sam.

“Please, after me.” Sam get up and busts through the door.

Fucking show off.

Bucky cocks his gun ready to fight.

—

You lay on the grassy hills in shock watching the scene unfold. Bucky and Sam managed to take out a full building of Hydra agents and you were just sitting like a duck. The village was starting to become more vacant as people were clearing the streets and hiding out.

“Hey Y/N, we need back up. Nows your time to shine.” Sam called.

You raced down the hills and stealthily made your way through the village. You hadn’t used you powers since the Thanos fight, so you may be a little rusty. However, you proved yourself wrong and began blasting agents left and right. It seemed like there were so many occupying this area.

Meanwhile, Bucky and Sam were clearing another building to get the files. Once Bucky has them uploaded they began to make their way out. That is until a bomb decided to go off.

You heard the explosion coming from the distance and levitated you way over. Assessing the damage, unwanted anger rose within you. Bucky and Sam were probably in there. Why else did Hydra choose to bomb this building? Just then the sound of a gun clicking behind your head draws your attention.

“Now, now, little one. Just come with us and we can help you. We don’t want to hurt you.” An agent looked at you with a smirk.

Tears started forming in your eyes. Sam and Bucky. They were gone, or at least, suffocating under the buildings rubble. You didn’t know what happened you just snapped. They’ve been through way too much to die like this. You were fuming and the aura around your body was turning bright blue. Then, you blinked.

You don't know what you did. All you know is that there was tons of dead bodies surround you. It looked as if a bigger bomb went off.

"Sam? Bucky?" You yelled out as you began to move chunks of the building away.

Suddenly, you saw Bucky's metal hand beneath the rubble. You levitated the crumbled concrete off of them and freed them. They staggered out clearly hurt, various bruises and trickles of blood all over their bodies.

"Kid," Sam looked around at the scene, “ what did you do?”

Finally being able to look around at the damage, you couldn’t help but gasp. Hundreds upon hundreds of bodies laid on the ground, motionless. You stood frozen, tears threatening to spill.

I killed all these people.

While some were Hydra agents you knew you killed innocent civilians as well. You didn’t even realize the gravel shifting below your knees and the hand on your shoulder until it pulled you up.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Sam ushered you to the car.

—

Bucky was throughly impressed. He always underestimated you, but this time you proved yourself beyond worthy regarding your place on the team. However, you didn’t think so.

Boarding the jet, you sat in the back, knees up to your chest, emotionless. So many bodies littered throughout that village, and they just left them there to rot. Well, they wouldn’t rot, surely the government or S.H.I.E.L.D were notified to take care of the problem.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. You were tossing and turning so much that Bucky yelled at you to pipe down, stupid enhanced hearing. The boys on the other hand didn’t seemed phased at all. They’ve both seen worse, it’s just that they never thought you were strong enough to wipe out a whole village.

When the jet made its way back to the compound, you attempted to run and hide to your room before Sam caught you.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up. Listen, kid, you did what you had to do. It’s not your fault. You actually saved us a lot of trouble. So don’t lose any sleep over what happened. Bucky and I have seen and done much worse trust me.” Sam offered you a kind smile before letting you go.

—

Turns out, Steve was held up for a few more days, meaning you were living in a constant state of anxiety. Steve would be beyond pissed when he found out what happened. He’d probably even kick you off the team.

Bucky realized this and the wheels in his head started turning. Ever since that night he couldn’t get you off his mind. The person he hated the most became his new guilty pleasure. Over the next few days at the compound, he would secretly be following you around. He knew your routine down pat by now, although knowing how much honey you put in your tea isn’t exactly something he cared to know about you. No, Bucky wanted more. He wanted to see your body again, wanted to undress it, kiss it, play with it. He wanted you under him withering and begging for more. Bucky wouldn’t say he had a crush on you, he still is mad that you garner all of Steve’s attention, he just wants you body sexually and nothing more.

He needed a plan. He needed you, craved for you, but how would he get you? Drunken one nights stands weren’t exactly your thing, hell he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you touch a bottle. Friends with benefits? Nah, you gotta be friends first before that happens. Bucky became obsessed with you more and more as the hours passed.

On laundry day, he was trying to dry his clothes when he saw that somebody, you, never came back down to get your stuff.

Just a little peak won’t hurt anybody right?

Like a madman, Bucky started to dig through your garments. Bras, shorts, shirts, and then he found them, panties. He pick them out and laid them on top of the dryer. Inspecting each one.

Looks like we have a naughty little thing on our hands don’t we?

Bucky chuckles darkly and he picks up your deep red lace thong. He smiles and takes a deep long whiff. He wants you to be wearing these when he fucks you for the first time. He imagines you right now: ass up, breast hanging, your tight little pussy begging to be pounded.

I’ll start off slow. Feel her up a little, get her all nice and wet for me. Fuckkkk she’s gonna be a mess. A few spanks here and there, maybe fill her mouth up, then the show begins.

Bucky subconsciously put his hand with the panties in his pants and started to jerk off. He’s thinking again. Thinking of all the things he’s do.

I’m gonna ruin that brat. Gonna show her she’s nothing more than my whore. Gonna show Steve his innocent baby is a filthy cock slut. Gonna tie her down, blindfold her, spank her, fuck I’m gonna make her feel me till the day she dies.

Bucky came again. Hard. He came through his pants and dirtied the clean underwear.

“Well, that’s going back in the hamper.”

Bucky chuckles before stuffing the panties in his pocket

—

Sleep doesn’t come easy to you anymore. You lay awake at night, tossing and turning, every time you shut your eyes the dead bodies are there. A killer, murderer, monster, you can see all the headlines now.

AVENGER SLAUGHTERS HUNDREDS IN FRANCE.

How were you ever to face Steve and tell him? You can’t imagine his face, he’s gonna be fuming. What will the team think of you? I’m sure Tony will try and lock you away, maybe they’ll stabilize you powers like they did to you and Wanda. God that hurt. You were born with your powers so stabilizing that part of your body is basically like half of your body dying.

You were a mess. Bags under your eyes constantly, sleep deprived, you missed about all of your schedule training sessions with Sam. Sam understood though, he knows being surrounded by all that death and gore takes a toll on a person one way or another, he just didn’t think you would take it so hard considering the circumstances.

Bucky was getting antsy. He would see you leave you room less and less. Surely you has been skipping some meals, you looked weak and pale. In that moment Bucky actually has sympathy for you. When he was the soldier he was constantly axing people off left and right. He remembers the screams, cries, blood, he shivers at the thought and pushes them back in his mind. He need to make his move, fast. You haven’t noticed the missing panties yet, not that you would be able to recognize them now.

Bucky thought about sneaking into your room while you were asleep. Maybe grab himself a fresh pair of panties and jack off to your unconscious body, but you don’t sleep anymore. He would walk past your room at night and try to find out if you were awake, he would hear your soft cries and the bed moving every second. He knows you need this, something to take the edge off.

—-

“Alright kid, you’ve wallowed long enough. I’m tired of you dodging our training sessions. If you expect to be pulling your own on this team then I suggest you get your ass down to the training room in 5 minutes.” Sam yelled at you.

Sam has enough of your despair. You didn’t understand why. People died and you were the cause of it all. Bucky watched your altercation with Sam. He didn’t understand either. He guessed you were afraid of how Steve would react. To be fair, Steve didn’t want you out on the field in combat, so maybe she’s worried he’ll get mad at her for that.

Bucky saw you slump on couch, sulking. He decided to talk to you. This was just an opportunity for him to get close to you, he really couldn’t care less about hearing what you had to say.

“What’s you problem.” He asks.

“I killed them,” tears are starting to form again, “all those innocent people are dead because of me.”

Innocent?

Then, something clicked in Bucky’s head. It was evil sure, but he need to feel something with you again.

“Steve’s going to kill me, Bucky. He’s gonna kick me off the team for sure.” You start crying.

“Steve’s not gonna kill you, because he’s not gonna find out.” Bucky finally spoke.

“Huh?”

“I’ll do you a favor. I’ll tell Stevie you were an angel the whole time. I’ll tell him I ordered you to do the strike. You didn’t want to, got it? In return you gotta do something for me okay?”

You eyes lit up. Bucky’s showing you actual kindness, a hint of friendship even?

“Yes, yes, Bucky, thank you! I’ll do anything for you I swear, whatever you want!” You smiled and hugged Bucky. He got a little hard when you tits pressed against his chest.

You walked down to the training room. Bucky knew what he was doing. It was awful, but it would be worth it in the end. You both needed this. You both wanted it, even if you didn’t admit it.

You thought those people were innocent? I guess that falls on Bucky. He remembered when he got back to his room after France. That lone mission report he was suppose to give you, he forgot. He’s glad he did though. Bucky didn’t have the guts to tell you that they weren’t innocent people. You single handily wiped out an entire village full of Hydra agents in disguise. That was one less base to worry about. Really saved them months of work trying to tear it down. Of course he was gonna tell Steve. It would get out eventually when it makes national news. However, Bucky would never tell you that.

tags: reblog to be added!!

@lacontroller1991 @ladifreakingda @chipilerendi @crookedlymassivecrown

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #dark!bucky

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nighteyed · 4 years ago

Text

Shine On ~

Let me preface this story with a disclaimer. This is my first ever, Jurdan fanfic. It is by no means perfect. Second, I listen to music and write. If you are an Amity Affliction fan then the title and the contents of this story might not surprise you. I pulled a lot from the lyrics and from their official music video, even throwing in a few scenes from the video. (EXCEPT WHEN YOUNGBLOODS PLAYED AND “FUCK THE REAPER” GOT THROWN ACROSS A SHIRT)

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: Teen (there are descriptions and mentions of abuse)

Written By: forbiddencorvidae | corvids_5

The green door stares me in the face, it’s like a mocking leer, the color for which I share a name. I hate it. I hate this place, but I press forward, grip the handle and turn it.

It curls and wraps, shrivels all around, the smoke that sinks into my skin, burns across the whites of my eyes and stains them yellow. There is a haze in this room, as I slowly close the door behind me. My eyes landing on the dozen blue ribbon cans on the kitchen table, my bag swaying at my hip. There is a cat mewling in the corner, four kittens suckling and my lips curl in disgust. Curdling, the smoke weaves through my hair, grazes my cheek bones, congeals at the corners of my mouth and then dives deep down my throat and strangles me.

I turn to my right, a safe hallway that I will escape through, to the safety of my room and a window that I am desperate to throw open and gulp down air that will purify my already rotting lungs. Doc’s hit something sturdy, hard bones and meat and I’m falling forward, downwards, in a spiral of swinging arms, bracing against the wall, trying, trying not to wake him.

There is a beast in this tunnel, beneath me and I will not escape him.

I’m flattened, defeated, pinned under a body much bigger than my own. My eyes are filled with obsidian spots that flutter across my vision. My head pulses and splits, spitting images across my eyes, blocked out by the dark specs that blind me. I feel a hand on my throat, claws digging into the sides of my neck, palm hot and pressing. I’m a child hiding in a closet, afraid and weeping. I feel the wisp of a tail, hear a cat mewling and I am weak, undone, I succumb to the torrent and do not brace for the onslaught. Tears are leaking from my eyes as my nose crunches into my face, a fist smashes against my cheek, my head flies into the wall. Adrenaline rockets though me and my mouth salivates, my body begins to shake as my blood free flows and chokes me. It pours from me in rivers. I’m drowning in my spit, tears and blood, I am drowning in life.

It’s going to be a real shinner, I hear him say. His laughter penetrates and permeates, slithers up my spine and around my neck. My bag is forgotten as I manage to fight my way to my knees and brace the wall, pulling myself from the floor and fumbling towards my bedroom door. It swings open, a rabbithole that I am all too happy to fall within and my bed a welcoming crash against my skin.

It is raining as I watch them. Three girls file from the suburban and march across the lawn to the red front door. The house across the lane is no longer empty, it is now filled with people and Balekin tells me that one of them has horns.

“General Madoc is to be my personal bodyguard," Balekin pulls at his collar and smirks. He is proud, I hear the bragging undertones in his voice, cool like onyx. "There has been some disturbing mail coming into the office. Some threatening letters and I do not stand by and obey idle threats." Balekin pulls at the cuffs of his suit and presses the palm of his right hand to the crown of my head, my lips sneer at his touch.

“You can stop sending them, little brother,” Balekin turns and drags his knuckles along the innards of the hallway, his rings scraping against the paint and drywall. “One day you might end up at the bottom of the creek.”

Good, I want to say, but I've learned that with a quick witted tongue you have to learn to hold it. Instead I feel the corners of my lips twitch and I pick at the tips of my fingers, there is glue under my nails.

There is a tap against my window that wakes me. My blood has crusted against my skin, and there is a weal under my right eye, it swells and presses into the underside of my eye. My head is still a ringing mess, my body sore and aching as adrenaline has seeped from me. My sheet sticks to the side of my face and I feel the hairs on my face pull and release as I rip myself from my bed. But when I turn to look at the window, I finally see for the first time, everything that he has tried to blackout.

“You have been home for hours and you never opened your window Cardan,” I can hear Jude from behind the sheer black curtain, from behind the single pane glass. “Cardan,” Jude is already pulling open the window, already swinging her leg through it and into my space. I bow my head at her commanding presence, her air as she enters my room, she fills every part of me with molten, down to my toes that threaten to drag me towards her. My neck is a hinge and I have lost all my will to lift my head and look into her eyes, so I close my eyes and I remember the day that she told me the first truth I have ever received.

I’m free, the wind blowing through my hair. I peddle faster and faster, all the while Jude Duarte yells behind me. Her auburn hair is styled up in horns, like some freak, like those stupid stories she reads.

“I HATE YOU CARDAN GREENBRIAR!” She is screaming from behind him, running as fast as her legs will take her.

“YOU HEAR ME? I HATE YOU! YOU AND YOUR BLACK HEART!”

I can’t help but smile at her words, they warm my blackened heart because no one has ever spoken such truth to me.

I will reward her by dumping this pink bike in the creek tonight.

“Cardan…”

I hate the sound of her voice, as it is now, laced with pain and pity as it pulls me from a precious memory. She will never know how much I wish her to be that little girl again, in the street, yelling that she hates me over and over again. I just want to feel alive, with the wind in my hair and her words in my veins.

She approaches me tentatively, it has been different, since that time. When I took her on this bed that is now stained with my blood. She is soft and full of sweet words, when all I need is her seething and swearing under me, over me, around me, I don’t care so long as she breaks over me, like water against rock, coating me, consuming me.

“Cardan, look at me.”

I see her booted feet from between my legs and I struggle to lift my head. Her hands come into my line of vision as her palms cradle my cheeks, my shoulders flinching at the warm, delicate touch of her skin. Slowly, she helps me, rolls my head on my shoulders until it is fully erect and I am staring up at her.

“Will you kiss me now and make this better?” My words are laced with venom as I say them and they slather against her skin as her fingers drag across my lips. “Kiss me Jude,” I press my tongue against her palm, my eyes never leaving her’s. Her gaze, lighting a fire in my heart as she stares down at me with eyes full of adoration, full of love and my guts twist at the emotion.

“Stop Jude,” I turn my head to my left, tucking my chin to my shoulder. “Stop staring at me with those eyes that disgust me.”

There is a long pause that billows in the air and nestles itself into my collapsing lungs. I pull in a ragged breath, the insult pains me more than the evidence on my face.

“I know you are hurting,” Jude whispers.

I want to bury my face in her white tank, but instead I snake my fingers through her belt loops and drag her towards me, pressing the crown of my head into her abdomen. I'm weak, so weak, so tired of this and all I want is to find a better place to live.

“But you are too strong to drown Cardan,” she whispers and it is to the room, to whomever will hear the words, I know they are not words for me. Those words are a prayer, for her alone.

I feel her nails drag across my scalp and they catch on a patch of matted hair and a memory flashes through my mind.

“Why do you speak like that?” Jude is sitting next to me by the creek and the sun is setting behind the buildings of the city beyond. “You sound too smart for a thirteen year old, it isn’t...normal.”

I scoff at her word choice and deign not to answer, but she presses and I acquiesce to her persistence. “I read Jude, books of all shapes and sizes. To learn, sharpen my tongue, to save me.” My sable hair ruffling in the warm breeze as I feel her shift next to me. Jude presses her pink lips to my cheek and my brows knit together. Partly at her action and partly because her lips have stoked the ache back into my jaw, my bruise with it’s yellowing center and purple ring ripples as I clench my jaw at her touch. Jude weaves her arm between mine and she pulls me closer towards her, it warms my bones. I feel something growing underneath the surface of my skin and there is no energy within me to deny it. So, I do the one thing that I am good at when it comes to Jude, I destroy it.

"Why do you wear your hair like that?" My question is blunt and like a club it strikes at her. I can see her discomfort as she shifts and pulls away from me and it is only shadowed by the simmer in her eyes.

"The Queen of Elfhame wears her hair like this," Jude spits at me, like I should know this, like we hadn’t played High King and Queen when we were ten. In a rare moment, when I found myself in Jude’s room, I saw her tattered copy of “The Queen of Nothing”, it fell from her nightstand, under her bed. I had reached to retrieve it, to place it back safely where she could find it when my fingers found a slip of paper instead.

I hate you Cardan Greenbriar. I hate you Cardan Greenbriar. I hate you Cardan Greenbriar. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Hate. Hate. Hate. You. Cardan Greenbriar. I love you.

"Some fairytale, those aren't real Jude. Grow up." My words leave my mouth like needles and I have aimed them to prick in all the right places. There is nothing better than this. This is what we have. I have a brother who beats me and she has…

A demon lurks behind the walls of her home, a murderer.

“There has to be something better than this Cardan. Something worth living for,” Jude traces a finger to the bruise along my jaw and gently presses. Jude is so full of hopes and dreams, so hungry for all the things that people like me cannot have. She is blinding, like the sun shinning through a diamond and splashing against me. Yet, I want to believe her, to feel hope curl along my insides and blossom in my chest. I want to be so full of hope that I am sick of it. I blame the day she cursed me in the street, cursed my black heart even though I know it bleeds for her.

If she wants a fairytale then one day she will have it and I want to see her shine, be the one to give it.

“One day, Jude, I will take you to Insmire,” I let loose a rare smile and revel in the widening of her eyes.

“Jude,” I let my left leg shoot between hers and I crane my neck upwards so that I can see her, my cheek still firmly against her. Walnut eyes stare down at me and my fingers clench tightly against her hips, she is wearing a hat, it isn’t like her. “Your hair—its not, the horns," my voice is soft, questioning, so unlike my usual tone.

"I'm not twelve anymore Cardan," Jude presses her thumb to my bottom lip, her fingers cupping around my chin, pressing the side of my face firmly against her. "You were right. fairytales aren't real. Insmire, Elfhame, they are not real. No matter how much I wish them to be. No matter how much I wish that this—" She finally lets lose the breath that she has been holding in, since she has seen my face. “I just wish this was easier and if I could, I would break him.” Her words are like razors and I know that there is a truth to them. Jude is fire against me and I know now that I don’t want her to crash against me like water, I want her to scorch me, mark me, taint me.

We are not children anymore.

We've tasted sweet whiskey, gone skinny dipping in the creek, she has seen her mother killed, her father cut down, I've lived my life on the ground, with bruises and cuts inked into my skin and I've pressed my tongue between her legs and tasted sweet bliss. I've felt her heat around me, pulling me closer to her, wringing from me everything that I am and she has always outlasted me.

"Jude, go home." I push her away as I rise from the bed I've slept on since I was a child, the bed in which I laid her bare. Her eyes are full of hurt, but I see the curiosity that is stitched along her irises, she doesn't understand why I am doing this.

"You shouldn't be sneaking into the Governor's house," I say as I ruffle the paperwork on my nightstand. "You aren't a kid anymore. It's breaking and entering," I sigh as I fall back on my bed and slide my fingers under my mattress, the thick envelope greeting the tips.

"Balekin wouldn’t dare," Jude scoffs.

"Balekin, hates you, leers at you." I press my forefinger and thumb to the bridge of my nose and squeeze, the pain knitting my eyes closed. "Balekin says many things Jude. There is only abhorrence for your family, your father, deeply seeded and nourished with pale ale." My eyes find her's, there is shock there, truly. What did she expect?

"Do you hate me Cardan?"

Her question would have caught me off guard, if I didn't actually know that it was coming.

Yes.

My voice whispers across the blackness of my mind, her eyes like glass, round and waiting.

Make it easy for me, do not stare at me with those fragile eyes.

"Yes," I finally say. "Yes, I hate you. You once cursed my blackened heart, Jude, but it isn't the worm riddled, flea bitten parts of me that hates you. It's the parts that you have ignited and turned to flame."

She steps towards me and leans forward, her lips brushing against the shell of my ear as she whispers. A second later she is gone, out the window and the last light of the day fades with her.

The shower spray hits my skin like heated bullets and I watch as the water bleeds red between my toes. My hair falls into my eyes as I drag my fingers across my nose and press, I hear a faint pop from under the spray and my toes curl. I can breath again, barely. I toss around Jude’s words in my head and a smile creeps across my lips. I turn the shower knob and I’m left standing naked and in the cold.

I hear Balekin, in the other room, the television is fading in and out as he flips through the channels and I can see him through the drywall, sprawled across the couch, a blue ribbon can, clutched between his bruising fist. My smile pulls into a smug of satisfaction as I know that even though he has beat me, I have left a mark on his unblemished skin. Tomorrow, when he holds his scheduled press conference, he will wear gloves, in the middle of August and I will know that underneath them is the evidence of his abuse.

I pull a pair of black jeans on and open the bathroom door, then I break for my bedroom, my toes barely touching the wood floor, it feels as if I am flying. I click the door close softly and grab a black hoodie from my closet, pulling it over my head I make my way towards my bed, slipping into my doc martens. I flip the mattress and pull the envelope, the one that I felt earlier and tear it open. I count the bills in quick succession, the envelope now forgotten on the floor as I pocket the money down the front of my jeans. I pull a book from my nightstand and I grab a duffle from underneath my bed. I quickly pack what I may need and I brace myself to enter the hallway and head towards the front room.

I see the television from the mouth of the hallway and I count the seconds with each breath that I take. A minute goes by and the television channel has not changed, I hear a faint snoring and I exhale. I tip-toe across the room and I find Balekin’s briefcase tucked underneath the table. I feel inside the pockets until my fingers brush along something cold and heavy, my fist wrapping around the keys and I tear them from the bag. I have to tip-toe to the front door and I close it gently.

In my driveway Jude is waiting for me. Her hair is flowing in the evening breeze and she leaves me breathless with the sight of her. Her auburn hair is rolled up in two horns on her head and I can hear the little girl in the street from all those years ago. Yet, this time she isn’t screaming how much she hates me, she is whispering in my ear that she loves me. She is wearing a black tank top with a saying across the front and it makes me smile, a gut tightening, teeth bared smile and I want to fall into her eyes as they widen at me. Before I know what I am doing, my feet take me to her and I drop my bag at her feet, my hands reaching for the sides of her face and pulling her into my lips.

She tastes like spun sugar and I worry that if I am not gentle I will break her, that she will wilt in my embrace, but she pulls me closer and hugs me tighter.

“Lets go,” I say as I pull her towards the passenger side of Balekin’s black mustang.

“Wait, wait,” She whispers into the night around me. “I’m going to drive, you push and when we are down the block, I’ll start her up.”

I smile at her wonderful mind and watch her as she darts across the front of the car and jumps into the driver seat. I hear the car slink into neutral and it rolls slightly down the driveway. Tossing my bag into the back seat, I reach the backend and push, the car rolls and with every second that passes I can taste freedom. It isn't until I hear the engine roar to life and Jude’s laughter from the front seat, that I finally run towards the passenger side and jump in.

Jude hits the gas and the wind pulls at my hair and I do the one thing that I had promised myself that I would never do. I turn and look back at the house that will probably forever haunt my dreams. I smile and raise my fists to that green front door and I flip it off, a howl of laughter escaping my lungs and it feels so good to finally breathe. Without hesitation, without the worry that I would wake a sleeping beast.

Jude is to my left and there is a smile on her lips and I thank every star in the sky. Her hand weaves towards mine and I link my knuckles to hers and squeeze, bringing the back of her hand to my mouth. I kiss her flesh with vehemence and press my nose to her pulse.

I reach for the stereo, flip it on and as we drive through the night, under the shining stars, Jude sings.

"Shine on, shine on young love."

And I lean towards her and whisper in her ear. "Thank you, for saving me."

#jurdan #judan fic #jude duarte #jude x cardan #cardan greenbriar #shine on young love #mentions of violence #mentions of abuse #madoc #balekin #mortal au #childhood frienemies #to lovers #amity affliction inspo #rioawrites #blackcrowTFOTA #forbiddencorvidae

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flwrguk · 5 years ago

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mother in nature (spencer reid x reader)

summary: the team and you went to a crime scene to investigate the body found. but, with further inspection, spencer finds more bodies that definitely have been there for quite some time. you tried to get your boyfriend back up to the top of the cliff but he kept walking and found a mass of rotting bodies. the smell really got to you and once the team came down to investigate with spencer, you rushed back up to the top of the cliff to end up puking. derek takes care of you and stays with you until you feel better. once the entire team heads back to the police station, you tell spencer you’re pregnant.

warnings: mayhaps a curse word and mentions of vomit and rotting bodies.

key: (y/n) - your name

word count: 1,230

note: this was requested by @bumblebeeblogsblogs and i’m very happy you requested it! prompt credits to @unicornofdanger . gif credits to owner. lowercase intended. also i apologize for the title of this imagine. i really could not think of one.

request: “Hey lovely idk if you’re still doing requests but can I request a Spencer Reid imagine with 2, 6, 71, and 14?? If it’s too much I’m sorry you don’t have to!”

prompts: 2 - “we were supposed to leave like ten minutes ago.” 6 - “yeah, let me just glaze over the fact that that’s a corpse.” 71 - “are you scared?” _ “no. i have this terrified look on my face ‘cause i’m having. so. much. fun.” 14 - “i know this isn’t a good time. i understand you have a lot on your plate... but i’m pregnant.”

*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅**⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅**⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*

“god, it’s like a million degrees out here.” you use your hand as shade for your eyes.

“that’s statistically impossible. if it were a million degrees, we would all be dead right now.” spencer glances over at you.

“god, i love you and your brain, but please know i’m exaggerating.” you chuckle.

“i know you were, i’m just messing with you.” he kissed your cheek.

“hey love birds! it’s time to go!” emily yells from the top of the cliff.

“coming!” you yell.

“wait,” spencer says, “there’s something else here.”

“spence, where’re you going? we have to get going.” you look up at emily and the rest of the team before looking back down at spencer.

“hold on, i’m looking at signs of struggle here. someone was dragged here.” he continues to follow the path.

“spencer,” you say in a warning tone.

“(y/n), i’ve got a feeling something’s here.” he continues to walk. it felt like an eternity until he came to a halt.

“spence, come on, let’s go. we were supposed to leave like ten minutes ago.” you put your hands on your hips.

“something’s here.” he puts his gloves back on, removing some twigs and branches.

“yeah, mother nature.” you roll your eyes.

“no, someone covered something up with this tarp.” he quickly pulls it off, revealing a dead body.

“oh dear lord.” you turn around, feeling nauseous.

“you feeling okay?” spencer turns to you.

“yeah, let me just glaze over the fact that that’s a corpse.” you try not to vomit.

“i need you to call emily. we need them to see this.” spencer inspects further.

you oblige, calling emily. “hey, em?”

“(y/n), where are you guys? we were supposed to get going like ten minutes ago,” emily answers.

“you need to come down here with the team. we just found another body. and i think i’m going to puke.” you try to hold down the bile.

“we’re on our way.” emily hangs up.

“they’re coming.” you turn back around to find spencer walking further. “fucking hell, spencer!” you yell, running after him.

“there’s more than one, (y/n).” he stops dead in his tracks.

everything fell silent, causing your fears creating scary thoughts in your head. you grab ahold of spencer’s wrist, squeezing it a little. he interlocks your fingers with his, holding you close to him. he gives you a comforting hug without tearing his eyes away from the rest of the rotting bodies. when he faced you, he saw the terrified look on your face.

“are you scared?”

“no, i have this terrified look on my face ‘cause i’m having. so. much. fun.” you glare.

“guys?” emily calls out.

“right here!” spencer waves his hand.

the team makes their way over to you two. when they saw spencer’s discovery, they felt sick to their stomachs. something you definitely relate to at the moment. you couldn’t take it and you rushed back up to the top of the hill and threw up whatever you ate earlier. derek was up there, talking with csi.

“woah, you okay, kid?” derek holds your hair back.

“so much rotting bodies,” you say before throwing up again.

“let it out.” he rubbed your back, holding your hair in one hand.

“oh my god,” you say, standing back up.

“here.” he hands you some tissues.

“thanks.” you wipe your mouth.

“drink this, it’ll help get the taste out of your mouth.” he hands you a bottle of sprite.

gladly taking the bottle, he leads you into the air-conditioned car, sitting with you until you feel better. you found spencer’s bag and opened it to find lots of papers. you pulled one out and it was about his mom. she passed three days ago, and her funeral’s next week. digging some more, you found more papers saying how he has to come down to vegas to take her belongings and clean some things out.

then you found papers saying how he’s got a lecture just a few days after the funeral. you also found the thick files filled with unfinished reports. sighing, you put everything back inside, closing his bag. putting it back where you found it, you begin pulling at your fingers, wondering how you’re supposed to tell him you’re pregnant without adding onto his plate of burdens.

when the team finally came back up, spencer sat in the seat beside you, emily drove, and derek sat in the passenger’s seat. they were talking, but you weren’t listening. you kept your gaze out the window, trying to find out how you should tell spencer something very important. he deserves the right to know, it’s his child. but, you just don’t want to add on.

“hey,” spencer’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, “you okay?”

“the smell just really got to me,” you partially lie.

“you sure that’s all, kid? you puked up whatever was inside you. and that was a lot,” derek points out.

“are you feeling sick?” spencer puts a hand up to your forehead.

“i’ll be okay.” you nod. “can you wake me when we get back?” you ask, leaning back.

“yeah, of course.” he nods.

he keeps your hands intertwined. he watched you as you slept. he brushed away the hair that fell onto your face and caressed your cheek. he smiled softly, thinking how beautiful you look when you’re sleeping. he kissed your forehead, whispering how much he loves you. he keeps his eyes forward, wondering when the ride will be over. it didn’t take too long, maybe a half-hour or so.

when the team arrived back to the station, spencer didn’t want to wake you just yet. instead, he carried you inside and sat you in an empty interrogation room. then, he went back to the car to grab his bag. when he came back, you were already awake.

“spencer, why didn’t you wake me when we got here?” you yawn.

“you looked so peaceful, i didn’t want to wake you.” he sits in front of you, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“i have something to tell you.” you bite your lip.

“okay, what is it?” he focuses his attention to you.

“i know this isn’t a good time. i understand you have a lot on your plate… but i’m pregnant,” you admit.

he blinked a few times before fully registering what you just said. “wait, you’re pregnant?” a smile forms on his face.

“three weeks.” you smile softly. “i found out a few days ago.”

“oh my god,” he says, embracing you in a hug.

“i hope this doesn’t become a burden.” you look down.

“why would this be a burden?” he lifts your chin.

“i know what happened to your mom and all these things you have to do. i didn’t want to add on and make you think you have to do something about it.” you gaze into his eyes.

“i should have told you what’s been going on, but i didn’t want to stress you either. but, the fact that that’s my child in your stomach relieves all my stress. i love you so much, you know that, right? you will never be a burden to me. never.” he presses a kiss onto your lips, pulling you into a hug after pulling away.

“i love you,” you mumble.

“i love you, too.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ @literallyprentissstwin 　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #david rossi #aaron hotchner #reid #emily prentiss #spencer reid x reader #mgg imagine #matthew gray gubler imagine #requested

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marcuspedersen-nz · 4 years ago

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1- Time Crime

(by Christopher Jones)

The year was 2040, nine years after the bust. They had called it the new El Dorado during the boom, but what could they call it now? Greymouth: the open orifice of a corpse humming to the tune of its own death rattle. It was a city trying to hold onto, yet somehow forget, the glory of years gone by; to settle at last to humble death, while the last of its flesh was consumed by collectors, as debtors made a hasty exit, and all those who had come to ride the wave were gone, leaving an overweight economy and too many high-rise buildings to sustain its rotting core.

I arrived during the tumult of a spring storm. There was quite some turbulence but the air hostesses didn’t seem very worried, and that was good enough for me. The one on my aisle was very made up, with tight blonde hair, a sweet chubby face and her skirt came down to just below her knees. They say that when it rains here it really rains, but they also say you get used to it. The pilot had to circle three times waiting for a window of visibility before finally bringing the DC-20 down to land.

I met my rental car agents outside the terminal building. I had ordered a manual four-wheel drive, apparently the only one in town. The mainstream companies which crowded the interior dealt only in the new generation of foolproof automatics, and besides there was a limited supply of large vehicles without prior notice. I knew what I would need, so I looked around on the internet until I hooked up with these guys, Smack Car Rentals, and at the last minute arranged for them to meet me at the airport. Before going outside into the din of the weather I let my local contact, Police Inspector Jack Martin, know that I had arrived. He gave me the address of where to meet him.

The dark day was just coming onto dusk, and I waited there for a moment sheltered from the rain by the large overhead canopy until a small silver Suzuki Swift drove up. A tall, handsome man of about 30 got out, quite a flashy type with black hair and dark brown eyes. He introduced himself as Paul Bartley, “We spoke on the phone, Mr Jones. Sorry about the delay,” he said, putting my cases into the back and opening the passenger’s door for me to enter, “Your Range Rover is at the office. I need to check you in.” It was here that I felt the first inexplicable glitch, like a shudder through my reality that showed I wasn’t there by accident. This was no false alarm.

I got in and he said as the car drove towards the CBD, “I’d apologise for the weather, Mr Jones, but it’s beyond the powers of my control. This is the West Coast, after all.”

“Yes,” I nodded, “It’s a narrow strip of land between the coast and the Southern Alps. When the prevailing westerly comes off the ocean loaded with water, it hits the mountains and dumps its load, leaving the east in drought while the west has more rain than it can handle.” He laughed as though I had told some kind of joke, so I added, “Call me Chris.”

The office on Mackay Street was one of several on the second floor of an old two storey building standing between taller, shakier buildings built during the 2020s. It was accessed by a narrow flight of steps which took us up to a shabby lobby with several doors to various offices. The sign above the door we entered read, “PPS Bartley Real Estate, Smack Car Rentals and P. Bartley Detective Agency”. He indicated for me to stand at a counter which was obviously used for the car rental side of the business, “Would you like tea or coffee?” he offered, and I shook my head.

Looking at the real estate display board, I noticed one property stand out from the others. It had a note saying, “Serious Viewers Only. No Tourists!” which piqued my curiosity. I then recognised the red shed on the photo from my research files as being the location of one of the Blondino murders. The thought of that recognition gave me a second inexplicable glitch; a feeling like déjà vu. I asked, “How is the real estate business doing these days?”

“It’s a good time to buy,” he said, “People shy away from a market in a slump, but think about it. You wouldn’t buy your groceries like that, would you? You wouldn’t wait till prices rocketed before you rushed down to the supermarket. No, you’d grab what you could while everything’s on sale. So why treat real estate any different? There are plenty of good bargains to be had around here.”

“What about this one?” I asked.

“That’s the Thompson property; a real bargain. If you’re interested, come back tomorrow when the office is open and we’ll talk business. You honestly could not go wrong.”

He entered my details into the computer, such as driver’s licence and credit card numbers, and printed off some papers for me to sign just in time for a second, younger man to enter. “It’s all fuelled and ready to go. I’ve put your cases on the back seat,” he said, he looked so similar to Paul Bartley that he was obviously his younger brother. He wasn’t quite so flashy and he wore a wedding band. He handed me the key attached to a bright orange key-ring with the Smack logo on it and said, “Diesel only. It’s just outside.” So I looked nonchalantly at the window as the rain came crashing down even harder, and bade them farewell.

I set the navigator to Power Road and pulled out from the curb. The good thing about cars of the era before everything became self-driving was that you felt like you were actually driving, and not simply a passenger in the driver’s seat. Even by 2040 the majority of cars practically drove themselves, but they weren’t fully driverless so it kind of made you feel like you were there but not there. Of course they already had the technology for self-driving but public suspicion had pushed for legislation that prevented its general implementation. Only vehicles that used special lanes such as freight and taxi were permitted to be driverless.

I took a left on Tainui Street, up past the traffic lights at the railway crossing, and turned right at the roundabout. After a few kilometres Tainui Street became High Street, and the rain eased off to a trickle. It was already full night. I passed the Oasis Hotel on my left, which I was booked into but would check in later, and proceeded for another 3.2 kilometres before turning left onto Power Road as the navigator directed. I drove up a steep hill to the house at number 32, where there was a police cordon in place. A modified white Camry and a standard patrol car with flashing lights awaited there for my arrival.

Reaching into my case for the gaga meter I noticed an umbrella on the back seat, so I decided to make use of it. There were four men, two in uniform and two detectives, standing beside the Camry. They took notice of me as I got out, clutching the meter, fumbling about with the umbrella which didn’t seem to want to open. It came up all of a sudden and almost sent me tripping over my own feet. The detectives walked over to greet me, putting out their hands and the older, obviously more senior of the two said, “I’m Police Inspector Jack Martin, this is Police Inspector David Walton. You must be Special Agent Christopher Jones.” I gave him and his partner the firm handshakes they wanted, showed them my badge, and Jack indicated towards the house, “We didn’t expect you would arrive tonight.”

He wore a thick coat and the water ran off his head but he acted as though it was nothing more than a slight inconvenience, which it probably was. He was a well built man of about 40 years, with a trimmed black moustache and a very friendly manner. David Walton was much thinner and younger, with brown hair and ginger moustache. Jack said, “Forensics were here this afternoon. So far, despite the blood being human, there’s no indication that the murder took place here. The bodies of the residents, Janine Hoffstad and her daughter Susan, were found in bush about 20 minutes out of town, and the blood isn’t theirs. They were strangled, and there’s every indication that they were murdered there. Personally, I wouldn’t have alerted you, even if it does look occult. It’s the computer that does it. It’s an algorithm. I hope you haven’t wasted your time. She’s the daughter of a crime boss.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” I said, “And call me Chris,” but I could tell just by looking at the exterior of the yellow weatherboard house that I had already been there. It’s like the glitches. It’s what we call the ripple effect, and you develop a sense for it when you’ve been in the job for long enough. Think of it like a stone being dropped into a pool of water, and the ripples radiate out from the epicentre, repeating the trauma, which brings about the sensation of repetition. Some call it déjà vu, but for most people only the very strong pulses are felt, where they feel the ongoing effect of a great surge through the fabric of their lives.

Inside the house I switched on the meter and took a reading of the hallway with immediate indication of gaga. Jack Martin pointed to a door at the end of the hallway, “The interesting stuff is this way.” I nodded. “What does that thing do exactly?” he asked.

I said, “It measures gaga.” He nodded.

The lounge room at the end of the hallway came up with very strong readings. The light was dim, but at the turn of a dial Jack made it very bright. There was a pentagram painted from blood on the cream carpet of an otherwise fairly ordinary lounge. A black leather sofa and two matching lazy-boy armchairs were set facing a plasma television screen which took up most of the wall they faced. There was a strong scent of very sweet perfume like an overture to the senses with an undertone of musty dampness, and the rancid stench-like odour of rotting meat barely perceptible. At each point of the pentagram were two items, which mostly looked like they belonged to a woman, or a young girl, or both. “What exactly is gaga?” asked Jack as the meter hissed, almost off the scale.

At the closest point of the pentagram were a Barbie doll and a deck of cards with the golden pick logo of Inangahua Resort Casino at Reefton. The next point in a clockwise direction had a red badge with the picture of Daffy Duck on it, and a lady’s smart-watch with a blue strap. The third point had a postcard of a snowy mountain with three serrated peaks, that is, Mt Owen, and a brown felt hat with splotches of mud and a red flowery band. At the end of the fourth point was a CD album Sugar Sweet Candy Water by the Aloe Veras, and a small plastic daffodil of the type they sell to raise money for cancer research. At the final point was a Lenovo tablet with star and flower stickers on it, and a bottle of Le Frais perfume, with the lid not pressed on properly and so most of its contents had spilled onto the carpet.

I said, “To put it simply, gaga measures the difference between what is real and what is unreal. Think of it as the difference between matter and antimatter. The action of matter normally flows in nominal resistance to the reaction of antimatter, like a wave held in balance. When the wave becomes discordant, shadow waves appear, which is what we call a ripple effect, measured in units of gaga. You follow me?” He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, just think of it as telling me that something illegal has taken place here and the sooner that I deal with it the better it will be for everybody, so it’s good I got here when I did.”

“How bad is it? Should we be worried?”

“It’s bad, as bad as it gets. I need to bag these items.”

“What are they for? It is occult then?”

I nodded, and picked up the brown felt hat. There were strands of long blonde hair on the inside. Turning over the postcard there was, “Dear Mummy,” but nothing else written on it. I turned on the tablet and the screen saver was the same photo of Mt Owen as on the postcard. It asked for a pin and I tried a few basic combinations but they didn’t work.

I said, “Certain items become charged with gaga. We call them talismans. It’s occult in as much as ritualistic procedure was used to create the talismans, but occult is just a layman’s term for the process of manipulating the fabric of the space-time continuum, that is, the normal flow of matter and antimatter. Of course it’s highly illegal, but we have our methods. This crime took place here, but not the here as we see it, the here that exists somewhere else. All we see is the exhaust of an event and the only way to fix it is to find the source of the tear and stitch it up.”

“But should we be worried?”

I shrugged, “No, I think we’ve caught it in time. Good work.”

We came away and to my surprise the night had cleared. Everything looked washed, serene, and clean, with a starry sky and the near full moon glowing high above the ranges to the east. To the north the seven towers of Greymouth’s CBD were sparkling like they were something beautiful, to be proud of, but dread filled me because I knew they were more like the embers of a fire that had not quite been extinguished, and just the slightest wind would bring up the flame to consume it all like a dragon’s breath.

The city had been born of gold, and gold had destroyed the city, with a hundred and seventy years between to grow, to languish, and hope for better times. Their motto, “Our time will come again,” seemed like presentiment during the 2020s boom as many believed their time had finally arrived, but the problem with gold is that too much happens all at once, and when the gold is gone everything must collapse back into itself. Back in the 1860s it hadn’t mattered so much because there was only a limited amount that a town could grow with such means as steam ships and sailboats. But it was a different story during the 2020s, as the 2030s proved and the year 2040 was about to conclude; the devastation to be visited upon this city would be more than the sum of its components.

That was “Chapter One” of The Woman in the Brown Hat, a sci-fi fantasy detective novel by Marcus Pedersen.

Available on Amazon as an e-book and paper book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RW59M7G

For more information see: https://www.facebook.com/ToroPopularFiction

For reviews see: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56531729-the-woman-in-the-brown-hat

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softjeon · 5 years ago

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Kiss me quietly | Final

• Pairing: BadBoy!Yoongi x Shy!Jungkook • Genre: Fluff | College!AU • Words: 9,2k | AO3 • Disclaimer: mentioning of alcohol, selective mutism, tooth rotting fluff

written with @cassiavioletblue

↳ Yoongi always said what was on his mind, while Jungkook was shy, fearful and just like a wallflower he was quickly overseen. Yoongi wore leather jackets, had tattoos while Jungkook wore soft, baby blue sweaters with sleeves that were way too long. Yoongi was everything he wasn’t. Not that he cared, but men like Yoongi didn’t care about boys like Jungkook. That’s just how it always been like until…

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“Yoongi, hey!” Hoseok furrowed his brows, nudging Yoongi’s side repeatedly, “Where’s your head?” He chuckled low, when Yoongi finally snapped out of his daydream (he wondered what it was about; Yoongi rarely daydreamed about anything. He was either sleepy or fully awake, nothing in between) and refocused on the program in front of him. “Can I have your attention now again? Good. I worked on this all week it’s for the music producing class exam. I need to know your opinion it feels like it’s still lacking something,” Hoseok explained, when he clicked on his file and opened it.

Turning a little, he reached for the headphones giving one pair over to Yoongi and taking the other. Yoongi complied easily. After he had fled their lunch last time because of Jungkook’s ability to light him on fire just by simply eating ice cream he felt like he owed it to both of them to be a little more approachable. That and the fact that he loved working with Hobi on his tracks made him reach out for the headphones immediately, putting them on without asking any further. He would best get a feel for the tape if he listened to it anyway.

“I rearranged a lot of things from last time, changed some lyrics and I added some vocals over mine. I don’t think my voice fits there, actually so, I’m only doing back vocals and fitted in a new main vocal.” He said and showed off the line of new audios he had recorded. There was almost no interruption in between the file, meaning whoever had recorded it had nailed the whole refrain in one-go and Hoseok didn’t need to arrange different versions of it into one. “But just listen and then tell me okay?”

Hoseok started the track and Yoongi listened in concentration, eyes closed, and brows furrowed. The track was good, pulling you in right away with music that was layered enough to be interesting and get your attention without overwhelming the listener. He waited for the lyrics to come and when a voice started singing his eyes snapped open. He hadn’t thought much about it when Hobi had mentioned that he let someone else sing the main vocals, thinking that he had chosen someone with a usual vibe. Instead it sounded like there was a literal angel singing on Hobi’s track, his voice clear and soft and full of unspoken promises. It had Yoongi shivering from the sudden and unexpected emotions that the sweet voice evoked. He took off one side of the headphones, holding it a little away from his ear (just one because he didn’t want to miss anything from the song) and asked immediately, “Who is this? It sounds amazing!”

Hoseok smiled, bopping his head to the rhythm but didn't answer his question, yet, not wanting to disturb the song. He grinned widely, letting Yoongi listen to the rest before asking, “And? What did you think about the arrangement? Lyrics? It's better than the first version, right?“ Hoseok was really bad at hiding his excitement, shifting nervously on his seat. “He's good right?“ Hoseok finally addressed the vocals, “Unfortunately you can't steal him from me. I promised him not to tell others, as he wants to keep himself hidden.”

“It’s way better! Whoever it is you caught there don’t let him go! He has an amazing range and his vocals are soft but not weak. His voice is sweet but powerful and I bet you could use him for a lot of songs. How did you find him?” When Hoseok showed him with a gesture that his lips were sealed and that he wouldn’t reveal anything about that mysterious singer Yoongi pouted a little but then accepted it. If Hoseok didn’t even give in when he acted cute (a very rare occasion) then he must really want to respect that person’s wish.

So, he didn’t push any further.

“He’ll be at Namjoon’s birthday this weekend, maybe you’ll find out who it is when you hear their voice.” Hoseok chuckled low and then got out a notebook to open it to a page, where it clearly showed the lyrics of the song Yoongi just had heard. It was written in two different handwritings. When Yoongi raised his eyebrow in surprise at the clean handwriting, next to Hoseok’s messy one, he quickly explained: “Oh, Jungkookie helped me with it a little. That boy is so talented, you won’t believe it. Anyways…, I need help with the rap part,” He pointed at a line, “I don’t feel this is fluid enough.”

Yoongi scooted closer, leaning forward to see the writing better. “I’ll help you - and I’d even let you take a sneak peek into my own lyrics notebook - if you push me a little into the right direction in case I’d miss that angel person. You don’t have to break your promise and tell me who it is, just.. give me a little nudge if I don’t find him, alright? I’d really love to work with him for one or two of my songs as well, I bet his voice sounds amazing in contrast with a heavy beat - or with a slow, emotional song. Damn, don’t even know who he is and I’m already excited about him. He better not be an asshole, that would be so disappointing. So... what do you say?” If he had to bribe and blackmail Hoseok to get what he wanted he would because he knew that Hobi would never do anything that he didn’t want he had principles and would defend them screaming if he had to.

“Says asshole no°1 here,” Hoseok laughed, shaking his head, “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise he will sing for you. It was hard enough already to get him for my song. And maybe, he doesn’t like you – who knows.” He shrugged his shoulders, getting more comfortable in his seat, “Now be a good boy for once and help me.”

“Yeah sure, you just insulted me and now you want me to help you. You can be glad you own such a nice studio and are a decent cook. Though if Jin’s joked weren’t that bad he would beat you as a friend - because his cooking is way better.” Yoongi took the notebook to take a closer look and made a noise of surprise when he saw how much of the lyrics was in Jungkook’s neat handwriting - and how good they were. “Damn, Jungkook really knows how to write. I didn’t even knew he was interested in music. Not that he’s talking to me at all but... I guess that’s normal with him.” He awkwardly eyed Hoseok from the side to see if the other would comment on that.

Hoseok pulled one leg up on his chair, humming in response, “Yeah, but he’s an amazing writer and he’s a dance major, of course he likes music. His body reacts to every beat, every vibration, forming it into the most beautiful art. It’s honestly amazing. He’s got a poetic side in him, just like you.” He grinned, patting Yoongi’s shoulder as he sighed softly. Hoseok had always admired Yoongi’s creative mind, so therefore he was glad he could call him his friend and learn from him at the same time.

“Well the only things I got so see of him were his wide eyes, a fearful expression and his cute smile. So yeah he might be a cutie but apart from that I have no idea if what you’re telling me is true. I’d say doubtable until proven.” Yoongi hoped that Hobi wouldn’t see through his attempt at getting him to show him a vid of Jungkook’s abilities. Hobi always recorded his dance practices or musical WIPs.

Shaking his head, Hoseok’s voice turned a little softer, “Cute? Yoongi…whatever you’re thinking now…don’t.” Hoseok knew Yoongi inside and out, he knew his expressions, the way he raised his eyebrows when he was interested, the smirk that lured boys in. But not his sweet Jungkookie. He looked at his friend with an insistent gaze, “I know you. Keep your hands to yourself. Anyone really, but not him.”

Yoongi had known that this would come up sooner or later and still his pride had him acting offended. “Why? Maybe it would be good for him to get a little out of his shell. He’s really shy, isn’t he? Also don’t act like you’ve never hooked up with someone for the fun of it. We’re young, having sex without any obligations shouldn’t be stigmatized like that especially not by you who practically cuddles with everyone when he’s drunk.” Just that Hoseok stopped at cuddling while Yoongi went all the way instead. “Also, he’s a grown-up he can decide for himself! I mean - he must be or else he wouldn’t study here. He can’t be underage - right?”

Hoseok immediately shook his head, waving his hands around, “That’s exactly why. For the fun of it. Jungkook,… he isn’t like that and you shouldn’t use it as a reason to make him more confident only to crush him and ignore his calls only days later like you do with literally everyone else.” He leaned in a little, making it clear that he wasn’t joking around right now, “He is a grown-up, but I can’t stand to see him hurt. If anyone hurt him, I’ll break their bones….twice.” With a satisfied smile, Hoseok leaned against his chair again, “Jungkook is different. You can fuck anyone you like, but not him. You won’t ruin him and break his heart just because you liked his smile.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to protest but then closed him again without saying a word. Hoseok did have a point. Kind of. Though it wasn’t like he did it on purpose. Other people had different partners as well and you had use the trial and error method how else were you supposed to find out who would stay in your heart forever and who was only in there for a night? Yes, he might have a pretty high “error rate” but it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t the most patient guy and wasn’t it better to end things quickly to be free for something new? He was only fair, being honest and telling his partners the truth instead of keeping them around and keeping them from possibly meeting the love of their lives. Instead he was told he was an asshole and told by his friend to stay away from the mute cutie that he’d loved to get to know better.

“You’ll be fine. You got enough other people interested in you,” Hoseok smiled faintly, before pointing at his song again, “Shall we?”

…

The sun was shining so bright that Jungkook had to squeeze his eyes so hard to be able to see. There were people running past him, as he sat by the side of the running track, a stopwatch in his hand. Biting his lip in concentration, his gaze was fixated on one runner only as he came closer and closer to the finish line. The moment he crossed the white paint, Jungkook pushed his finger down, holding the watch up with a bright grin. “And?” Wonho was panting, sweat dripping down his body, making his pale skin glisten under the sunlight. He took the stopwatch and groaned, “Hm, I can be better than this.” As a form of self-punishment Wonho dropped down a few feet away from Jungkook and began to do some pushups, counting loudly.

Jungkook only shook his head.

He knew Wonho for so long now. He’d been a neighbor of his when they were little and now they were studying at the same uni, only that Wonho chose sport and languages, while Jungkook studied art and dance. And since then, Jungkook was bad at saying ‘no’ and never liked to keep his friends hanging so he had been officially recruited to stop Wonho’s time while he was training for an exam. While Wonho was busy stretching now, Jungkook returned his attention to his papers. He needed to study, too.

…

Yoongi had sneaked out to the sports area behind campus because no one noticed him there and it was a nice place to smoke. People went training on their own and had their headphones on so no one tried talking or sometimes the running place was even empty so Yoongi could sit on the spectator stand and enjoy his cigarette in peace. Not today though. When he looked up there was already someone sitting there. Jungkook. Even though the weather was sunny he still wore a long sleeved shirt made out of thin material that didn’t had him overheating but was long enough for him to hide his hands the way he liked it. Yoongi wondered why he did it, if it was a safety thing or if he was actually hiding something. He swallowed harshly. Then his thoughts suddenly took an 180° turn when some sporty, bulky and sweaty guy who just finished some pushups went up the stairs to sit beside Jungkook. Instead of acting like a startled deer like Yoongi had expected Jungkook just made him some room and then went back to reading his papers. Yoongi stood and stared, not sure why that sight startled him so much.

Jungkook didn’t look up from his papers, when Wonho sat down next to him. They were just sitting in silence until…

“Gosh, it’s so fucking hot,” The bulky man grabbed the hem of his shirt swiftly pulling it over his head and making heads turn right away, except for Jungkooks. He never had been interested in Wonho and neither the other way around. “You need some help there?” Wonho nudged Jungkook’s side, taking one of his papers, where notes were scribbled all over, holding it up in the air. Jungkook sighed, rolling his eyes as he tried to grab it but Wonho only held it back further. “Just give it back. I really need to study, and I did what you asked of me…” Jungkook whispered, reaching for it.

The guy stripped right next to Kook like it was nothing and Yoongi angrily smashed his cigarette. There he was, playing all nice and holding himself back like Hoseok had asked him to, just for some guy to take his place and flirt with the sweet boy half naked on the campus ground.

Before he could think about it Yoongi was up the stairs and standing right in front of the two. It looked as if the sports guy was stealing Jungkook’ stuff and Yoongi was not having it! “Give him back his stuff - now!” He growled at him, no warning, no hello, no nothing. He just wanted that guy away from Kook.

Jungkook jerked around, his eyes wide and the smile wiped off his face and was replaced by sheer surprise and then he froze completely. His mouth stood open, his heart racing while he tried to comprehend what just happened. Where did Yoongi come from? Why was he mad? It didn’t make any sense to Jungkook.

“You know this one?” Wonho turned to look at the younger, not even sparing Yoongi a glance. The shy boy nodded softly, but it still wasn’t enough and Wonho got up and crack his neck just to show that he wouldn’t hesitate. Jungkook’s eyes flickered over to Wonho, then to Yoongi, feeling as if he was about to faint. “How about you just piss off again…we don’t need your bad attitude around here.” He said and took a step closer, “Jungkook is fine as you can see. Don’t see why it would be your business, anyways.”

“You haven’t seen my bad attitude yet, but you will if you don’t give him his stuff back…And it is my business cause I don’t like it when jocks like you pick on younger students. If you want to cause trouble then take someone of your own caliber you coward.”

Jungkook was completely dumbfounded. He couldn’t stand this. Couldn’t listen to whatever these two were talking about because Jungkook wasn’t even sure what this was really about. Either way he didn’t like it. Yoongi had no right to come at them like this, to pretend as if he knew Jungkook. Not at Wonho who had just been teasing him a little. Jungkook was used to it.

“My caliber? Well, I don’t see anyone around, or do you want to try?” Wonho pushed against Yoongi’s chest, chuckling low but the moment he opened his mouth again to say something, he was interrupted by Jungkook who forcefully pushed all of his books back in his bag. Jungkook was biting his tongue, before he shouldered the bag and squeezed himself right through them both and tearing them apart in the process, before simply walking ahead. Wonho still had Jungkook’s papers in hand but his expression changed as he looked after the younger.

Jungkook didn’t look as if he was glad that Yoongi was helping him, quite the opposite, he looked more uncomfortable than before. And while Yoongi had thought in the beginning that it was just Jungkook hating that someone witnessed that he was being bullied or that his shyness made him crack under the pressure of this kind of attention now he felt that something was wrong. Jungkook had looked close to tears when he had ran off, not caring a bit for the papers that the other was still holding. Normally someone pushing him would have resulted in a broken jaw or at least a few punches but it was Jungkook he was worried about and not his hurt pride right now. He ripped the papers from the guys hand, glad that he let go of them immediately and didn’t rip them and then gave him a warning growl. “Don’t bother him again or you’ll wish that you left him in peace while it was still your decision to make.”

Jungkook was walking fast, trying to calm the storm of feelings inside of him. He wasn’t sure why he had run, instead of facing Yoongi and just telling him off (although he was sure he couldn’t have done that anyway, even if he was able to speak in front of him) or take Wonho and pull him somewhere else so Yoongi realized that it was fine. He was fine. He didn’t need protection or whatever Yoongi had tried to do. Why did he? It made no fucking sense to Jungkook. They weren’t friends. So why? His heart ached when he remembered how Hoseok had told him once that Yoongi liked to get into trouble, that he couldn’t control his emotions very well when they were all having dinner. He had listened carefully, glad that Jimin had been so worried to ask if Yoongi was alright. Apparently he had seen Yoongi with bruises and cuts on his hands and face in the library and wondered what happened. Yoongi hadn’t told him and only shrugged it off, so Jimin had turned to Hoseok. But why here? Why now? Jungkook still had no answer when he arrived at his bike, fishing out his keys to unlock it and pull it out of the stand a little too aggressive.

Luckily Jungkook wasn’t hard to find because although he had run off as if he wanted to get away from them as fast as possible he came to a halt in front of the bike stand. It gave Yoongi time to observe him and it made his heart feel heavy: There was a frown on Jungkook’s face, his head held low as if he wanted to hide from everything and if the way he ripped the bike from the stand was anything to go by then he was really angry. It must be hard not being able to voice his anger.

Yoongi waited for Jungkook to finish arranging his bike to address him but Jungkook saw him first and it went like a knife through Yoongi’s heart because the second Jungkook got aware of him his shoulders went up and he curled his body away from him as if he was trying to get away. Jungkook startled, eyes wide and when his gaze fell onto him, he let them fall, his expression turning softer. Why did you do this? He wanted to ask, but his heart was beating loudly, making the blood rush through his veins so fast that he felt dizzy - no word coming from him.

Yoongi swallowed hard and then held out the papers carefully, toning down his voice to not agitate the younger further. “Hey. I... I guess you need those.” Jungkook didn’t even look at him. “Are you alright?” He wished Jungkook could just tell him how he was, more detailed than with a head shake or a nod.

“You... didn’t really like that, hu?” Sheepishly he rubbed his neck, wishing he could go back just to approach things differently. “I’m sorry, I... I guess I went a bit overboard. It just made me so angry that this guy was bullying you. You are such a sweet person; I don’t understand how someone can be cruel enough to treat you badly. I... I know there would have been a way to solve this differently - and I guess I should have asked first if you even wanted my help but... I kind of got a little overprotective. And maybe also a little jealous that he can just walk over to you like that while I can’t - and then seeing him use that chance to hurt you... I just snapped. I’m really sorry. Do you want me to tell Hobi? I can understand if you don’t want me handling this any further but Kook, please tell us if someone is bullying you. You shouldn’t just take it. I don’t want you to get hurt, okay?” His smile was a little sad when he spoke again, even more quietly this time, words slipping from him without his permission, “It’s shitty being like this, isn’t it? I’m ‘too much’ all the time and people hate me for it while you have probably been called ‘too soft’ a few times and people think of you as easy prey. It shouldn’t be like this. But it is how it is, right and we just have to handle it. We’re like the perfect opposites, you and I.” He laughed humorlessly, “Hell, we probably could balance each other out - or go down in flames. I see why Hobi doesn’t want me to be with you. And yet... here I am, stupid enough to consider it nonetheless even though Hobi is one of my oldest friends and everything I managed to do to you so far is get you in more trouble. I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone now.” It was so easy to spill his heart to Kook, scaringly easy. He needed to be more careful.

Jungkook felt like he was daydreaming, for a moment, he was sure that he would wake up any second now and then Jimin would tell him he was late for his class. Did Yoongi just confessed to him? Tell him that he liked him, even though he was...practically mute because he was crushing on Yoongi so hard that it made him speechless. He blushed furiously, pretty sure that he would go up in flames any second now. Yoongi cared about him. Him, the wallflower.

He wanted to say something, wanted to tell him that it was alright, that he liked Yoongi too but just the thought of it made him shut again. His heart went into overdrive. The longer he stayed quiet, the more Yoongi was talking and it was so utterly cute that it brought a smile on his face, one that he tried to push down again, biting onto his lip. When Yoongi turned away from though, Jungkook reacted on instinct, reaching out for Yoongi so fast that he almost dropped his bike in the process. Shaking his head, Jungkook told Yoongi wordlessly that he was okay. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Nervously he pulled at Yoongis shirt, pointing at his pants where he could see his phone sticking out.

“What, you want my phone as payment for the mess I made?” Joking was his defense mode (or sarcasm) and right now his stomach was making summersaults. Jungkook was so close that he could count the younger’s eyelashes and as his hands had come up in reflex when Jungkook stumbled into him (almost taking his bike with him) now they stood in some kind of half embrace, Yoongi holding Kook’s arms while the younger looked at him with his pretty, wide eyes. “Take what you want, Kookie. I guess I kind of owe you. Twice now. For ruining your day not one but two times so far. I’m not doing it on purpose, I swear.”

Jungkook giggled softly, shaking his head again before slowly reaching out for Yoongi’s phone. It was easier to touch Yoongi than he remembered. Unlocking the screen, Jungkook opened the notes app and started typing. He knew there was no way he could get out any words. He’d probably stumble over his own sentences, making a mess and then Yoongi would think the worst of him. And he liked this. Yoongi didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t talking. Sticking out his tongue in concentration, Jungkook tried to be quick before handing Yoongi the phone with a smile. While the other looked down and started reading, the younger quickly sat on his bike and drove off. The blush still burning on his cheeks.

[He’s my friend, he didn’t bully me. I don’t like it when others talk for me, I’m sorry. I think you do owe me something now. Maybe a coffee? You’re cute.]

Curiously Yoongi read through the notes on his phone, his eyes widening when he realized his mistake. Jungkook and that guy were friends! He hadn’t stopped Jungkook from being bullied he had made a great big mess out of a little teasing between friends. No wonder Jungkook had looked so distraught. That meant he would have to apologize to that guy next time he saw him. Yoongi groaned internally. He hated apologizing. Really, really hated it. ”H...hey!” He was calling after Kook who was sneakily running away on wheels, “How am I supposed to ask you out for coffee if I don’t even have your number!” Also, he wasn’t cute!

Kittens were cute or puppies or Jungkook but definitely not him. He could feel his cheeks heating up against his will.

God, he was so gone for that boy!

…

Another weekend, another party, only this time it was Namjoon’s birthday and Jungkook had no valid reason to stay home. He liked him, he was (finally) Jimin’s boyfriend now and therefore the three of them (including Taehyung) were invited as well. They had grown into a group of friends quickly over the past couple of months and Jungkook really liked it. He always felt more comfortable with close friends around. It made it easier, than being alone.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Jungkook sighed. He had fled a little from the crowded rooms. Jungkook was pretty sure Jimin was gone with Namjoon to give him his “special present”. He had worked on a lap dance all week, making Jungkook stumble into some weird scenes whenever he came home, finding Jimin upside down over Taehyung’s lap while he tried to twerk with the other yelling at him that he wasn’t rubbing enough onto his dick. It was disturbing in a way and still he had laughed.

But no matter how loud the music was, his thoughts were still louder. Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about Yoongi and what he had said. He had explained to Wonho over phone that Yoongi had some anger issues sometimes and that he didn’t know they were friends. Luckily for him, he bought it and wasn’t mad at him, nor Yoongi (if he wouldn’t come at him again). Jungkook didn’t know that for sure though. As much as he crushed on Yoongi in silence, Jungkook didn’t know much about him but the obvious: he was handsome, very much so and studied music and producing. He was friends with Hoseok, liked to drink, get into trouble and wear his leather jacket no matter the weather. He loved thriller movies and didn’t care about shutting people out in a matter of seconds. Jungkook had seen it at a party once, when he had been still nothing but a shadow to him. But now…Yoongi saw him. He wasn’t invisible anymore and he had told him that he liked him….in a way. Maybe just as friends? He’d be fine with that too and maybe eventually he could say something if this stupid crush ebbed down. But it didn’t, it only grew.

Jungkook wanted to ask Hoseok about what he had said to him. But he wasn’t brave enough. Hoseok would only need to look at him once to see that he was interested. So, he rather hid from everyone, pouring in a little more bowl and sipping on it quietly.

“Oh, there you are! I wondered if you had gone home already.” Yoongi had come to the party totally excited. Hoseok had told him that the boy with the angelic voice would be there and so he should go looking for him and he wanted too, he really did - but somehow his mind directed him back to Jungkook every time. And honestly who knew who this singer guy even was, maybe it would be awkward, or he was a stuck up idiot. There must be a reason why he didn’t want people to know that he was helping Hoseok, maybe he was totally strange. With Jungkook however he knew the evening would be nice. You couldn’t be with Jungkook and not feel good, that just wasn’t possible. So, he pretended as if he hadn’t been looking for him everywhere and casually leaned against the counter as well. “Are you enjoying the party?”

Jungkook almost choked on his drink, when Yoongi came in so suddenly. He hadn’t seen the other, yet and he wasn’t prepared.

He was never prepared!

Smiling awkwardly, Jungkook put his drink down and moved aside, leaving Yoongi to room to get himself either some of the beer or the bowl. He shrugged his shoulders as an answer, averting his gaze shyly. Here we go again, Jungkook thought to himself, feeling the heat crawl back into his cheeks and dusting it in a rose color when Yoongi moved closer.

Yoongi took some of the bowl and then took a sip, face turning into a grimace. “Ugh, that’s... disgusting actually. How can you drink that? I actually don’t want to kiss anyone from that party now in fear of them tasting like this!” He shuddered a little before he realized that Jungkook was drinking the same thing. “Oops.” He shrugged his shoulders and gestured to Jungkook's cup, “Guess I should take that back then.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. Did he mean that like Jungkook thought he mean it? Yoongi wanted to kiss him? Even though he was drinking this disgusting bowl. He was freaking out inwardly. All color faded from his face and he hastily gulped down the whole drink in one go to not look at Yoongi further, while simultaneously thinking of a way to get out and get some air into his lungs because he felt like he was suffocating right now. In a good way. But also: did Yoongi just say that he would kiss him?

Yoongi laughed as Jungkook down his bowl in one go. “Was this a ‘hell no -I need to drink more of this’ or a ‘the sooner I drink up the sooner I can drink something else’ gesture?” The boy might be shy but if he really felt something he acted on it. Yoongi respected him for that. Like the way Jungkook had enjoyed his ice cream without giving a damn if someone else could stare (him, for example) or how he had just went away from the situation with Yoongi and his friend when it had become too much - or how he just drank up now, not caring that Yoongi had no idea what it meant.

Jungkook didn’t know what to do. His heart was beating so hard against his chest that it was hurting, and his breath came in short, quiet pants. He was sure he would faint. There was no doubt about it. Placing his cup aside, Jungkook shook his head and then nodded again and then shook it again because no matter what he did, he couldn’t answer Yoongi’s question without making him understand.

He raised his hands slowly, opening his mouth. He would be fine, he thought to himself. He had gotten so used to Yoongi being around in a way, it would be fine. He could talk to him. He would understand if he would explain. Everyone else had been fine with him talking, too…so Yoongi should be, too, right? He wouldn’t make a mess right now. He could form proper sentences. He wouldn’t gay panic and drool all over but say a functional sentence with words that made sense. Yes. Right…now.

Taking another deep breath, Jungkook opened his mouth again, when Hoseok stumbled into the kitchen, slightly drunk. His eyes flickered from Yoongi to Jungkook and then back to Yoongi, raising his eyebrow. “So, you found the angel, huh. How did you know it was him?” Hoseok asked and pushed them both apart to get to the bowl and fill up his cup. Jungkook was glad for the distraction, turning his face away from Yoongi as he tried to collect himself. He could do this. It was easy…just a few little words. Just words. Nothing more than simple words. Jungkook’s knuckles turned white with how hard he was gripping the kitchen counter, trying to take a deep breath and form his lips as if he wanted to say something. He could do it. Jungkook was so occupied with trying to control his storm of thoughts that he didn’t listen to what Hoseok was saying.

“You really won’t let go of him, hm? I’ll keep my eyes on you.” He was pointing at his eyes and then at Yoongi again with a narrowed glance.

Hoseok was apparently way more drunk that he looked because his words absolutely didn’t make sense. “The...what? Hoseok, you mixed something up. Jungkook wrote the lyrics.” If he couldn’t talk he was pretty sure that he also couldn’t sing. At Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression he explained, “Hobi showed me his new song and also the lyrics that you wrote for him. They are really good; I was impressed with your talent. Do you enjoy doing that?” And, because he felt bold he added with a wink, “What would I need to do to make you consider working with me too?”

Jungkook snapped around and looked like a deer in the headlight. How did Yoongi know about him helping Hoseok with the song? He was full on panicking now, biting on his lips nervously while Yoongi was talking to him.

“The only thing I’m mixing is my drink,” Hoseok added, chuckling at his own joke before he simply retreated, leaving Jungkook absolutely flustered. How could Hoseok do that to him? Yoongi out of all people. Jungkook had asked him to keep it hidden, to not tell anyone. He flushed red, hiding his face behind his hands and shook his head. He couldn’t believe it.

“Hey, are you okay? Did you drink that bowl too quickly? Want to catch some air?” Yoongi mistook Jungkook suddenly folding in on himself as not feeling well (which was not that wrong except that Jungkook felt emotionally ill, not physically).

Shaking his head some more, Jungkook stumbled back a little and then he stormed out. He really needed air right now. He had reacted completely on instinct and the moment the cold air hit him, Jungkook realized he looked like a complete fool now. Why couldn’t he get his shit together and just say something. Why did Yoongi make it so hard for him? Why couldn’t he just get over his fear? Anyone else could do it. But why not him? Jungkook whined helplessly.

Even though Jungkook had shown no sign that he wanted Yoongi to come with him the other went after him, nonetheless. He wanted to make sure that Jungkook was okay and if the younger really needed time to himself then he could go - but he didn't want to leave him alone without knowing for sure that this was what he wanted. He ran out of the house and then stopped short because Jungkook was standing in the front yard, hunched forward and looking painfully miserable. Yoongi carefully approached him before gently asking, “Do you need to throw up? Do you want me to get you to the bathroom?”

There was silence between them.

Yoongi cared about him. Again. Jungkook knew that he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t keep himself away from this. From Yoongi. From whatever this was. With a blush on his cheeks, he opened his mouth once more…closed it and then opened it again.

His heart was beating so hard that Jungkook could feel it in his throat. It was constricting him. Hands shaking as he fumbled around with his shirt.

“I…” His voice was only a croak, “I…I’m okay.” Jungkook mumbled the words more than he said them, his arms wrapped around his own body as he shivered in the cold. He pulled the sleeves of his sweater a little further over his hands, pushing up his glasses, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He had done it. He said two words. He could do a little more. Jungkook closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I…I’m fine. I…Hoseok just…” He blushed, wiping over his face with his sweater to hide it a little more, “I’m s-sorry.”

Yoongi stared at him, gaping like a fish. Had he drunk too much? Was he hallucinating? He blinked, but nothing changed. They were still standing awkwardly in the front yard of Namjoon’s place and Jungkook was smiling softly at him as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. “Did you.. did you just talk to me?”

Jungkook nodded slowly, fumbling around with the hem of his sweater. “Y-y-yeah,” He spoke again, giggling softly and quietly, thinking that he finally managed to do right, but when he saw that Yoongi now was the one with the color fading from his face, he immediately reached out for him.

Yoongi took a step back, his walls coming up. He furrowed his brows as he spoke again, now way more guarded and neutral than before. “I thought.. I thought you were mute. Is this like... funny to you? Pretending not to be able to talk and keeping others guessing? Is this some kind of attention seeking thing?”

How could he have been so wrong about the boy? And why on earth had Hobi participated in this charade? Why hadn’t he just told him that Jungkook was playing games with him? He felt hurt and lost and he regretted ever having spilled his secrets to Jungkook. It must have been so funny to Jungkook to see him opening up while he literally hadn’t spoken a single word to him in return.

It didn’t even take Jungkook one second to retreat into his shell again. He pulled his hand back, startling with how angry Yoongi sounded out of a sudden. Mute? Why would he think that he was mute? And suddenly it all made sense. The way Yoongi had talked to him, had tried to protect him because he thought he wasn’t able to. Averting his gaze onto his feet, Jungkook didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t good at these kinds of things and now he had made him mad. This was a mess, just like he had predicted. Whenever he said something it turned into a whole fucking chaotic mess for him.

Jungkook felt like crying. He could feel his bottom lip start to tremble, trying to form the words ‘I am sorry’ but only a whimper came from him.

“Fuck, this is just a waste of my time!” Yoongi was growling, angry and bitter while in reality he was just hurt. It had been so long since he had gotten swept off his feet by someone and Jungkook had done just that, he had come into his focus and then took all of his attention, making him dizzy from it and his heartbeat into overdrive whenever he had thought of him. Ad now it turned out that he had just been a part of Jungkook’s game. There was a reason he normally didn’t let people in; it always ended like this. With the hurt squeezing his chest and filling his stomach with acid while he was wishing to never feel like this ever again.

When he turned away from Jungkook, he bumped right into Hoseok. Great. That was the second person he needed right now. Hoseok’s eyes flickered over to Jungkook who was literally on the verge of tears now, trying to hide in his oversized sweater and then back to Yoongi who looked like he was ready to fight someone. “What happened?” When the other tried to ignore him, Hoseok held him back by his jacket, “Did you hurt him?”

Yoongi swatted his hands away, not playfully but with enough force to make it clear that he would hurt Hobi if he tried to hold him back again. “Are you seriously asking if I hurt him? You, who let him play his little stunt on me? I thought we were friends! Why didn’t you tell me that this ‘being mute’ thing was just a facade to get me to care?”

“Are you fucking stupid or something?” Hoseok shook his head and hissed at him, whispering low so that Jungkook wouldn’t hear too much, “Don’t you get it? It took three weeks for him to talk to me. He still doesn’t talk to Namjoon either and it took him a few weeks to start talking to Jimin. When he moved in with him, Jungkook waited until Jimin was asleep and then sneaked into the shower. I don’t fuck around like this, Yoongi. Not with Jungkook…he’s too good for that, I told you. Mute? Really? Do you think he’s one to play games like that? Look at him, really look at him…” Hoseok shook his head, “It is Jungkook who sang the song and it is also the boy who is too shy to talk to you because he always had a thing for you. Fucking always. But you never saw him. Do you remember the day you came into the studio because you forgot your notebook? You asked why I had it ‘on recording’ when I wasn’t even singing in the booth. Jungkook was fucking hiding.” He chuckled low, peeking over his shoulder to see if Jungkook was okay. “It’s so easy for him to be overseen, do you think he’d fuck around with you for the fun of it? You’re really dumb, Yoongi and he didn’t even need to talk to you to make you give over your heart. He only needed you to see him. Not everyone is out to hurt you, Yoongs.”

Yoongi was ready to fight when Hoseok called him dumb, anger and hurt mixing into a dangerous combination that made him defiant and wary and cold. Only when Hoseok told him to look at Jungkook did his walls crack a little. Because when he turned Jungkook was still standing there but he had his sleeves pulled over his hands again, fiddling with them as if to distract himself from the stress he was in right now. He couldn’t look at Yoongi and it was obvious that he was trying his hardest not to cry. It was 180° away from the shy but happy boy who had found enough courage to talk to him a few minutes ago. Though in his fear of being used and lied to and made fun of Yoongi had lashed out at everyone around him, Kook and Hobi alike the second his insecurities got the better of him.

“Kook is... he really is that shy? And he’s your secret singer?” He asked, had to, really, just to be 100 percent sure or else his fear would keep nagging at him, undermining every certainty he might gain. Suddenly it made a lot more sense what Hobi had said in the kitchen - and also that the singer had wanted to stay anonymous.

Jungkook just couldn’t handle too much attention.

Hoseok smiled, “Yes, he is. And I still mean what I said…if you hurt Jungkook...” Nudging his friends side, he laughed, “You’re really stupid sometimes. I hope you know that…” When Hoseok turned around though, wanting to get Jungkook back inside with them, maybe get them a quiet place to talk, he saw that the younger had turned his back onto them, starting to walk away with his shoulders hunched over. Before Yoongi could run after him, or call out his name, Hoseok held him back one last time, “If you bail on him, block his number after a few days or don’t give him your jacket when he’s cold…I will come for you, just so you remember. He deserves someone that wants to listen to him in exchange.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I’d never. He can have my jacket whenever he wants. My leather jacket.” Hoseok gasped in fake surprise. “So are we good?” He waited until his friend nodded before turning back to Jungkook and running after him.

“Hey, Jungkook! Kook! Kookie!” The younger didn’t stop so he ran a little faster until he caught up with him. “Stop ignoring me I know you’re not deaf! And not mute either. So please, please talk to me! I promise I won’t be mean again and start yelling for no reason. I was just... I was scared you had been playing me and…,“ He sighed before deciding that if Jungkook was supposed to overcome his fears and talk to him then he would have to overcome his fears as well and keep opening up, “...and I was really hurt because I liked you so much. Like... really liked you. The way that you can’t just erase if you find out that the other person isn’t who you thought they were. But surprise turns out you weren’t pretending at all and I’m just bothering you… again. So, what do you say? Two coffees now? And some cheesecake?”

Jungkook stopped, eyes searching Yoongi’s while the other was opening up to him, bearing his heart right in front of him. “I’m not good at this,” He whispered, his heart aching inside his chest and Jungkook wiped over his eyes, making his glasses almost fall and he quickly pushed them back up his nose. He felt dizzy from the emotional rollercoaster and he was scared Yoongi would hurt him again.

“H-how do you know you like me when…when I don’t t-talk.” Jungkook raked a hand through his hair nervously, “Wh-what if I do and I make it worse? I already did. I always make a mess. I’m not even as pretty as the…the exchange student! I’m...” Jungkook sighed, feeling like a mess already again. Why couldn’t he do it as easily as the others? He honest to god just wanted to go home, hide under his covers and cry.

“That’s easy. I like you cause you’re kindhearted and courageous and smart. And you are talented and creative, and you have an angel’s voice even though you don’t show it. We communicated all the time; I don’t need you to spell out every word for me to understand you. And who knows maybe you’ll feel comfortable enough around me that you might even forget your shyness. And you didn’t make it ‘worse’ with talking, I was just surprised that’s all. You won’t surprise me like that again. Unless you scream at me for no reason or hide behind something to jump out. I got to warn you though I’ve got a mean right hook and it’s kind of reflex. You see you’re not the only one who’s not the easiest to be with. So, if you can handle being with me then I’m pretty sure I can handle being with you. Deal?” He felt like confessing again and telling Kook that he was like the most beautiful person he had ever seen might not be such a good idea if he didn't want to overwhelm him so he hoped that Jungkook would just forget what he had said.

“B…being with you?“ Jungkook asked carefully, not sure if Yoongi meant the same way he had dreamed about so many times before. “But you’re Yoongi…you can be with anyone a-and you don’t care.” Jungkook was biting his lip, “And shouldn’t we go out then first? Like a date? With…movies and stuff and...I’m not sure.” He hesitated, averting his gaze as he shyly admitted, “I’ve never been with someone.”

Jungkook’s shy objections weren’t a ‘no’ so Yoongi felt hopeful. “Sorry, yeah, I got a little carried away there. Of course, there will be dates. First two coffees with Cheesecake like I owe you. Then whatever else you want to do. And then you can decide if you want to consider being in a relationship with me - so that Hobi can stop pretending like you’re some maiden and I’m trying to ruin your reputation. He can’t say anything if we make it official, right?” He was joking a little, half for Jungkook to lighten the mood and half for himself because honestly he had no idea what he was doing and was completely out of his depth here. Relationships, officially being boyfriends, classical dating - he couldn’t remember when he had last attempted those things let alone cared for them. Though for Jungkook he would try his best to make the younger feel as comfortable as possible.

“And if you don’t like it we can always .. go back to how it was before.” Though he hated that thought. Because he was pretty sure that now that he had seen Jungkook and had gotten to know him better he could never just ‘casually go back to nodding vaguely at each other in the hallways when they met because they were friends of a friend.

Jungkook nodded slowly, biting his lip in thought. “Oh-okay,” He finally said and smiled, butterflies starting to fly in his stomach making him feel light like a feather for a moment. Blushing sweetly, he pointed at Yoongi’s pants again, nodding towards his phone.

Yoongi raised his eyebrow at him, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips when he realized what he wanted. Taking out his phone, he gave it over to him adding in a low voice (that instantly send a shiver down Jungkook’s spine), “You won’t run away this time, right?” This time though he hoped that Jungkook would enter his number and not write a text cause even though it had been cute he would really like to be able to call him this time.

Jungkook shook his head and started typing in his phone number. “That’s how you do it. I’ll give you my phone number and then you call me and ask me out again. And then we meet. Somewhere. You choose. Just like they do it all the time, right?” His heartbeat was picking up, as he simply recalled everything he learned from movies, “First phone number, then kiss.” He smiled brightly, cheeks aflamed as he gave Yoongi his phone back.

“Alright, you call the shots.” A smile was tugging at his lips. “Just tell me when I’ve got permission to kiss you - or show me if words are not an option then.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but giggle, feeling absolutely embarrassed because he wanted to kiss Yoongi. He really wanted to. But they were out in the open. Not far from the dorms and Jungkook was nervous. Hella nervous. Bringing up his sweater paws he hid his face in them, “I-I want to…but I’m…”

“You mean like.. right now?” When Jungkook shyly nodded, hiding his face even further in his hands Yoongi gently reached out for him to pry his hands away from his face, slowly so that Jungkook could stop him if he really couldn’t handle this. “What’s stopping you then, baby?” He got closer until he stood right in front of him, sneaking his fingers into Jungkook’s sleeve so that he could hold onto his fingers instead of the sweater. Only when he felt Jungkook holding onto him too did he continue. He leaned his head against Jungkook’s forehead, giving the younger time to get used to their closeness, to decide if he really wanted this and then, when there was no objection he tilted his head, slowly brushing his lips against Jungkooks.

Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat, then two and then he wasn’t so sure if he was even still alive.

He fell against Yoongi, fully trusting him to catch him, because it felt too good to feel his warm lips against his own. It felt absolutely perfect, with their fingers laced together and lips melting against one another. Jungkook knew he was already addicted. When they broke the kiss Yoongi felt breathless even though it was the softest and most delicate kiss he ever gave to someone. He gently squeezed Jungkook’s hand to check if he was okay. “Are you good?” The smile was impossible to wipe off his face, “Do you think you could get used to this?”

“Y-yeah,” Jungkook bit his lip to keep from smiling too hard and then he just let his heart decide for once. It felt too good to be so close to Yoongi, but he was too shy to initiate another kiss, so he simply stepped closer and hugged him. Hands pushed into his jacket, embracing Yoongi softly as he leaned his head on his shoulder. “C-can we do the date and cheesecake now?”

Jungkooks open affection took him by surprised but he had to confess that he absolutely loved this; feeling Jungkook’s warms seeping through his shirt and knowing that this hug alone was a sign of trust so big that it was practically a love confession. “Yes.” Carefully he carded his fingers through the youngers curly hair, “Let’s skip the party and go look for slices of cheesecake. And if Namjoon is mad that we left his birthday party we promise him that he can throw flowers on our wedding if he wants.” He adored the beautiful blush on Jungkook’s cheeks, happy that he could still tease the younger a little and giving him a cheeky wink.

Though deep down in his heart a tiny, tender part was whispering that maybe this joke might come true in the end. Who knew maybe - despite being the odd ones and the outsiders - they would get their happily ever after as well.

A/N: Yay!!! Happy End!!! Talking about happy, Cat and I are so glad that you liked this short little fluff so much so far and we already talked about writing a few more “shorter” fluffs for you guys. Leave us a comment down below on what you think :) Will Yoonkook work out or will they eventually break off again? Will it get too much for Yoongi one day? *sighs* We will never find out ;) hihiihihi LOVE YOU GUYS

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