#blinks. man ive been watching him for 5 or 6 years!! what. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kookingtae · 4 years ago

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the equation of love (pt. 10)

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7 | pt 8 | pt 9 | pt. 10

professor yoongi x uni student reader

→scenario: When you met Yoongi in a club, you thought it was fate that brought the two of you together. But after you walked into your college math class for the very first time, you weren’t so sure anymore.

→genre: smut | fluff | angst

→word count: 10.5k

→a/n: alternatively: fuck it, it’s been five years and this wip has been staring at me for three of them, so im just gonna post it. i have not read this over since 2018, so pls dont judge me too harshly hhsdg it’s unedited and probably a bit cringy, but then again what ch of teol isnt? this is NOT all that i have planned for the series, but i figured something is better than nothing, right? and perhaps the saying better later than never applies here, too. maybe one day i’ll finally get around to finishing it (by then im sure no one will even be around to remember what teol is lmao) but until then, enjoy what ive been sitting on! and as always, if you’re still here, thank you for your endless patience and support with this series <3

→another a/n: after this will probably be an epilogue!

→tw: mentions of blackmail, r*pe and sexual assault (we mostly just get closure on the whole professor lee & jun situation!!)

→warning: this chapter is not a happy ending, but it’s not necessarily a BAD one either, so for those who don’t like to finish on an unhappy note, it’s up to you on whether you’d like to read it or wait for the epilogue to be posted!

Running water.

It was such a simple yet fascinating concept—atoms and molecules coming together to form the only substance on earth that has a natural state in all forms, while having the power to kill in three different ways. Solid, by hypothermia; liquid, by drowning; gas, by suffocation. This substance can take three different forms, yet it's most commonly a liquid, covering nearly 71% of the world with translucent bodies of water. Oceans, ponds, lakes—though the most enchanting of them all were rivers. They were always moving, crashing beyond rocks and bustling with the flow of the current and gravitational pull of the earth. Rivers were passionate, and strong, and no matter how hard one tried they couldn't break the whipping tide that was pushing against them. Nothing could cause the powerful force to falter.

But, like most things, even rivers must come to an end. The current stops flowing, and the waves stop breaking around the jagged rocks, and the powerful force that seemed it would never end dulls to a still, calm lull, as if the river was nothing more than a brief yet raging storm. All the passion, all the fight—over in a blink of an eye, left to dissipate into the mysteries of the vast ocean.

Staring down at the picture on the cell phone screen in front of me was like getting pulled by the current of a river; down, down, down I flowed until there was no river left around me and I was left stranded in the middle of the sea. Yoongi and I were once raging, and passionate, and ready to fight against anyone who tried to tear us down, but now the fight was over. We had been dragged too far, fading into a body of water that was not our own. This was bigger than us.

Yes, like the flow of a river, all things must come to an end.

"That's it," Yoongi gritted his teeth, and I felt the dip of the mattress beneath me as he rose to his feet in anger.

"Yoongi," I called his name in a warning tone, warily standing up from the bed and watching him move around the room. "What are you doing?"

"I'm over it," he said, hastily throwing the first articles of clothing he could grab from his drawers over his body. "I'm done dealing with all of this, Y/N! I'm going up to the school."

Despite the flare of determination that sparked in my heart at his words, his rage seeming to radiate off of him and onto me as well, I couldn't help the trepidation that I was also filled with; Yoongi didn't have a history of making rational decisions out of anger.

"Don't you think you should calm down first?" I offered, trying my best to match his pace around the room.

"No!" Yoongi suddenly skidded to a halt in front of me, his eyes wild and crazed. "I'm going to find her and I'm going to fucking kill her!"

I could only stand with a gaping mouth and watch as he stormed out of the room, leaving me with no choice but to pull on my old clothes and chase his stomping foot steps. He grabbed his keys before storming out of the apartment, down the stairs, and outside into the parking lot. I tried to ignore the blindingly bright sunlight as I squinted my eyes and continued after him.

"Follow me up to the school," Yoongi barked as he hopped into his car.

"Yoongi–" I started, but my consoling voice was cut off by the slam of his door. I frowned, scrambling to unlock my vehicle as his engine roared to life.

The drive to the university was a nerve-wracking one. I kept a watchful eye on Yoongi to make sure he wasn't speeding or swerving all over the road; they say you're not supposed to operate a vehicle while you're upset. Though it would seem my efforts were futile, because he did in fact speed and swerve, and all I could do was frown and try to keep up.

It wasn't that I wasn't angered by Professor Lee; I was furious, rage and disgust and frustration all stewing inside of me like a pot of water that was ready to boil over. But I just couldn't help but worry for Yoongi. I had always been the non-confrontational type, always hoping that with a little time things would get better if they were ignored long enough. But it would seem that my method was proven inefficient today, because as much as I had tried to ignore her antics, that wicked woman wouldn't stop at anything to make sure Yoongi and I were properly dragged through the mud and going down like a ship engulfed in flames. Yet as much as that angered me, I couldn't bare the thought of the turmoil it was causing Yoongi. I didn't know when I had started casting my own feelings aside and putting his above—it was a gradual thing rather than one, defining moment—but it was only another factor that proved how much I actually loved this man. And that very thought instilled a fear that shook me to the very bone.

We had a lot more to lose now than just his job and my education. We could be losing us. And that was more important now than it had ever been before.

Once we arrived at the university there were a lot of screeching brakes, messy parking and fumbling hands as I scrambled to catch up to his looming figure that seemed to stalk towards the building at an unnatural pace. The pounding of my heavy heartbeat was what drove me forward, anxiety rising with each quickened step that I took.

"Yoongi!" I yelled once I had lessened the distance between us, now dead center on the campus sidewalk. "Yoongi, wait!"

All of a sudden he whirled around, his abrupt halt causing me to crash straight into his chest. I let out a yelp in surprise, eyes wide and ready to interrogate him, before I felt the smooth curvature of his palms on either side of my face as he tilted my head up to his and slammed his mouth onto mine.

The world stopped spinning for a moment, everything around me fading into the motions of his plush skin, his soft lips exploding with flavor and spilling over my tastebuds, satisfying my thirst in a way that no water ever could. I didn't even question it for a second before I was melting into him, quite literally becoming putty in his hands as the rest of the world instantaneously escaped my mind.

It's funny the way that worked—the way he was able to completely erase everything that had once existed in the blink of an eye, just by his simple touch. Whether it was magic, or I was just that fucking whipped, I didn't know. But either way, I didn't possess the power to stop it even if I wanted to.

When Yoongi finally broke away, he was breathing heavily, his breath fanning across my face in cool puffs of air. "I don't care what anyone thinks anymore," he spoke onto my lips, his forehead pressing against mine with a firm force. "Let them see. The only thing I care about is you."

It was then that I was suddenly aware of our surroundings, the reality of our world crashing down around me as I glanced around at all the eyes watching us. It varied; there were those choosing to spare us a glance as they walked to and from their classes, those who stalled their current actions to lift their heads to us not once, not twice, but three times, and then there were those who stopped altogether, their widened eyes and slackened jaws dead giveaways that they knew exactly who Yoongi was: Professor Min, Algebra 101 instructor.

A stroke of his thumb across my cheek brought my attention back to him; I stared up into his eyes, the desperate look in them captivating me and making it impossible to look away. His chest was rising and falling beneath his shirt, his fingers were grappling at my face as he brushed my wisps of hair out of the way, silently begging me to understand, to agree with him.

And in that moment, I knew what I had to do.

My lungs were filled with a breath of newfound determination, dazed and driven by Yoongi's words and embrace. "I love you," I spoke with conviction, caressing the nape of his neck as if to give him more reassurance. "Let's go.”

With that I grabbed his hand, holding my head high for the rest of the campus to see as I started up Yoongi's stride towards the school's building. He was right beside me, weaving his fingers through mine and giving my hand an extra squeeze as if to say that he was here, that he was proud to let the world know that I was his and he was mine, and that he wasn't going anywhere.

We were going to take down Professor Lee.

The seminar room was empty of students when we stormed in. Seats were placed throughout the floor, papers were scattered on the desks, and Professor Lee was at the front of the room, fiddling with the cords from the projector screen.

At the sound of the door opening, her head snapped up. "Well well well, look what we have here," she smirked when she saw us, making no plans to move as she saw me marching over to her. "You know, I really don't think–"

Slap!

The impact of my palm to her face cut off her words, skin on skin contact crackling through the room and echoing into a deafening silence.

Professor Lee gasped, immediately grasping where a red mark was now forming on her cheek before looking up at me with wild eyes. "You just slapped me!" She cried in disbelief.

"You're damn right I did," I gritted my teeth, taking a threatening step towards her and raising my palm. "Want me to do it again?"

It was then that I felt Yoongi's hand on my back, the feeling having an instant calming effect over my senses whether he wanted it to or not. I sighed before visibly relaxing and lowering my hand.

"You're barbaric!" Professor Lee was foaming at the mouth, still holding her face with a slack jaw. "Are you forgetting that I'm a professor? When Dr. Kim finds out about this, I swear he'll–"

"Tell him!" I roared as loud as my vocal chords would let me. "Tell whoever, tell the whole world, I don't fucking care! I'm done with your bullshit, you selfish psychotic witch!"

With that I gave her one final shove against her shoulders, and when both of her hands flew out to grab ahold her surroundings in an effort to keep from falling over, I planted another slap right across her face. The impact stung my hand, but I didn't care. Seeing Professor Lee stumble through the air was worth it.

"Baby," Yoongi spoke in a gentle yet warning tone next to me, and I had almost forgotten he was there until I felt his grip slightly tighten around my waist. It was a comforting hold, as if to say he completely trusted and supported whatever I chose to do in this situation, but still a protective hold nonetheless. He wanted to make sure I wasn't going to get myself hurt.

"You know, what is your problem, exactly?" I tilted my head at her as she struggled to get her bearings straight. "Is there an actual reason you're doing all of this, or are you just mentally insane?"

"It–it's not right!" Professor Lee stuttered with wide eyes, raising a shaky finger to point at me and Yoongi. "Your relationship, it's–"

"Oh cut the bullshit, Sara," Yoongi let out a sound of disgust from beside me. "We all know that's not why."

"I... I..." she stumbled for words, wide eyes glancing back and forth between the two of us. "Who do you guys think you are? You can't just storm in here and start attacking me–"

I took a menacing step forward, pure rage making up for what I lacked in intimidation. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I fumed, reaching out to grab her again.

"No, please!" She suddenly cowered before I could get to her, shielding her head away from me with her arms. "I—Yoongi, I'm in love with you!"

Her confession sent me reeling backwards in a downwards spiral, my body instantly going limp as I watched her with a dumbfounded expression. A vast silence echoed throughout the room that could be cut with a knife before she finally spoke again.

"Ever since you started working here, I knew you were the one. I just knew it." Her voice was sad, exhausted now, and a look of defeat washed over her features.

"What?" Yoongi gaped in disbelief. "Sara, that was two years ago!"

"I know!" She spat harshly. "You don't think I know that? For two years, I had to deal with this silly crush I had on you. I had to spend every day with you, watching it bloom into love overtime, and there was nothing I could do about it."

"You could've just told me!" Yoongi exclaimed as if that was the obvious answer.

Professor Lee snorted humorlessly. "Yeah, and be made a fool of? No thanks." She lowered her eyes to the ground.

"Sara, we're grown adults. You could've acted like one and fucking said something to me about it, made a move, anything but drag my career under the bus!" Yoongi's voice was strained now, his eyes wide as if silently begging her to understand him while he was equally trying to understand her.

"I was going to!" She lashed out again while whipping her head up towards him. "I was working up the courage to ask you out on a date, and then I see that fucking slut on your lap and I–"

"Don't you dare call Y/N that," Yoongi suddenly growled, pushing past me and stepping towards her intimidatingly. "One more thing out of your mouth about her and I swear to god I will kill you right here, right now."

My breath hitched in my throat at his threat and I couldn't help but weave my arm around his to grab his hand, intertwining our fingers and squeezing tightly. He gripped mine back even tighter, as if he was desperately trying to latch onto whatever calming effect I seemed to have over him.

Professor Lee swallowed, choosing to stay silent and watch him carefully as jagged breaths rose and fell from her chest. "The point is," she continued on, "I saw you with someone else—someone who wasn't me. And that completely tore my heart to shreds."

"So the only solution is to ruin our lives," I chimed in sarcastically.

"I may not have gone about it the best way," she quickly gritted her teeth and shot me a glare before turning her attention back to Yoongi, "but I had to act on instinct. I still wanted to be with you, so I figured that maybe if I split the two of you up, you would have no one else to turn to but me."

Yoongi just stared at her, his face scrunched up in a mix of confusion and disgust. "Do you know how sick and twisted that is?" He asked.

"All I ever wanted was to be with you, Yoongi," she pleaded, her tone vulnerable now as she took a tentative step towards him and started to raise her hand up to caress his cheek. "I still do. It's not too late; we can leave now, just you and me and forget this whole thing–"

"Don't fucking touch me," he knocked her hand away with his forearm just before it could reach his face. "If you think I'm going anywhere with you, you're even crazier than I thought." He then stepped back to wrap his arm around my waist and pull me securely into his side. "I'm in love with Y/N, and I don't give a shit what rumors you or anyone else wants to spread about it. You're fucking pathetic."

At that moment there was the sound of a door bursting open, causing the three of us to turn our attention to the entrance of the room. There, standing in the doorway, was Dr. Kim.

The sight of him immediately deflated the elation I was feeling from Yoongi's words, instantly replacing them with a sense of anxiety and fear that lodged its way into my throat until I was sure I would die from suffocation. This was it; according to the text from Professor Lee, he had already seen the picture of me and Yoongi kissing. This was the moment that would decide our future forever.

I just hoped we had enough evidence against Professor Lee for him to take our side.

"So let me get this straight." Dr. Kim folded his hands on the dark oak wood of his office desk. "Professor Min and Y/N had relations before Y/N became a student here, while Yoongi was unaware of her age?"

"Yes sir," Yoongi nodded his head in assurance.

"And then you continued your relationship, even after finding out that she was your student."

"He didn't at first," I interjected in hopes of getting some of the heat off of Yoongi. "He tried to call it off, but I kept pushing it. The reason we got back together during school was my fault, not his."

Yoongi's eyes met mine from the chair next to me, his gaze seeming to hold the words that silently spoke that's not true, and I instantly knew what he was thinking. In actuality, he had been the one to give me after-school tutoring on that Saturday during the homecoming football game, not I. He had been the one to kiss me first that day. But there was no way in hell I would ever tell that to the dean.

"I don't care whose fault it is; all that matters is that it happened," Dr. Kim frowned. "And it's still happening if I'm not mistaken, correct?"

"I... um," my eyes flickered to Yoongi, every fiber of my being starting to fill with panic. Shit, we should've discussed this beforehand. I wasn't going to willingly rat Yoongi out, no matter how many times he's said he didn't care anymore if people knew about us.

Suddenly I felt the warm, soft sensation of skin wrapping around the curvature of my hand that was resting atop the wooden armrest. "Yes, it's still happening," Yoongi spoke, and then his fingers were intertwining with mine.

I practically choked on my own spit at his words; did this boy have a death wish? A cough came sputtering out of my lungs, the sound causing everyone in the room to look at me until I'd settled down. Even Professor Lee leaned forward from her seat on the other side of Yoongi, bewilderment written all over her expression as she gave me a look of disgust.

"Well there's your proof right there." She threw her hands up in defeat before gesturing to the two of us. "What more do you need? Expel them, Dr. Kim."

"B–but that's not it!" I suddenly exclaimed and lurched forward, feeling the heat of everyone's stare on our embraced hands, which in turn only made me grip him even harder for support. "Dr. Kim, you have to believe me when I tell you that Professor Lee has worked hard to make my life a living hell ever since I got to this school. She had a vendetta against me; she's in love with Yoongi, and so she–"

"That's not true!" Professor Lee screeched.

"She worked to turn people against us rather than coming to you because she wanted to blackmail Yoongi into being with her," I ignored her interjection and continued. "She even made a seminar about it—the mandatory seminar that everyone attended today!"

The dean turned his attention towards her. "The seminar about the importance of practicing safe sex?" He questioned in bewilderment.

My eyes practically bulged out of my head at his words; that's what she was telling everyone it was about?

"It was!" She scrambled in defense. "I mean I... I may have brought up Yoongi and Y/N as an example, but that's only because they fit the part! Y/N had a pregnancy scare not too long ago, and I didn't want the same thing to happen to our students!"

I felt the color draining from my face, blanching it a stone cold white and decimating any feeling I had left in my body.

How the fuck did she know about the pregnancy?

My head instantly whipped towards Yoongi to see if he had any logical explanation for this, and his face was as poised and stoic as ever in front of his two colleagues—but I could see through it. I knew him well enough to catch onto the slightest falter in his blinking, the increase in heat that collected between our palms, the small twitch of his mouth that would've gone unnoticed by anyone else who observed him. I knew there was no way he could've told Professor Lee about the pregnancy, because he was just as blindsided as I was.

Dr. Kim simply raised his eyebrows in interest before turning back to Yoongi and me.

"Dr. Kim," Yoongi spoke, his voice dripping with amusement, "I mean no disrespect, but do you honestly think that if Y/N had a pregnancy scare, we would tell Sara about it? Come on; not after all she did to us."

"They—they didn't tell me!" Professor Lee huffed out a desperate breath. "I overheard them while I was–"

"While you were what?" I interrupted with a raise of my eyebrow. "While you were spying on us to find any blackmail you could use on Yoongi?"

"N–no!" She stuttered, though at this point it was obvious that she was making up lies on the spot. "While I was walking past the classroom!"

"Why would we be talking about that with the door open?!"

"Enough!" Dr. Kim barked, his deep voice rumbling throughout the small office. We all grew silent as we turned our attention to him. "There will be no arguing of he said/she said in my office," he scolded, then turned his attention to Yoongi before speaking. "I understand that there was someone you wanted me to see?"

Yoongi, who had remained calm during all of this, simply nodded his head before releasing my hand. "Yes, sir," he said as he stood up and walked towards the door.

My eyebrows were knitted in confusion as I watched it all transpire: the words exchanged between the two men, Yoongi rising out of his seat, the sight of my biology professor being revealed behind the closed door. The whole thing came as a surprise to me, and my emotions seemed to be having a war between the shock and relief that I felt raging like a storm in the pit of my stomach.

Why didn't Yoongi tell me about Professor Park being involved in this discussion? When did he have time to ask her to come? Did it even matter at this point?

"Professor Park," Dr. Kim widened his eyes, his frame physically reclining back in his seat. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"As am I to be here," she smiled though her voice was venomous, eyes flashing to a very alarmed Professor Lee.

"Mia?!" The woman barked in disbelief at her friend's entrance. "What are you doing here?"

"Something I should've done a long time ago," Professor Park replied, and with that she turned towards the dean and opened her mouth to speak.

"I'm here to testify on the behalf of Min Yoongi and Y/N."

Earth-shattering elation rippled through me from the inside out, starting at the base of my toes and spiraling to the top of my head and the tips of my fingers, causing them to tingle and buzz with a newfound sense of hope. We might actually have a chance!

"What?!" Professor Lee's voice ripped through the air in a deafening screech. "This isn't a court case! You don't get to play witness!"

"Actually, if Professor Park has witnessed anything, I would definitely like to know," Dr. Kim chimed in, raising an eyebrow towards my biology professor.

Professor Park nodded her head towards him in appreciation before speaking. "A few months ago Sara approached me in my classroom to tell me about the nasty rumors that were surrounding her and a student. She singled the student out, saying to purposely damage their grades because they were treating her unfairly and disrespecting her rules and authority as a professor; she even went so far as to say that they were sending her death threats"

"What?!" The word ripped from my throat faster than I could blink as I stared jaw-dropped at the women in the room.

"That's not true!" Professor Lee instantly protested as expected. "Sir, I can assure you that I never–"

"I have the text messages if you want," Professor Park offered in a tone so nonchalant one would've thought she was conversing about the weather.

Dr. Kim raised an eyebrow. "Text messages? I thought you said she came by your class?"

"She did, sir." Mia interlaced her fingers in front of her and bowed her head politely. "We spoke about it on multiple occasions. I asked why she wouldn't just go to you, or even the authorities if the student was making death threats, but Sara was adamant. She didn't want any scandals revolving around her so that she could maintain the level of professionalism that she had developed here."

I heard a snort coming from next to me, and it was with a swollen heart of pride that I realized the sound came from Yoongi trying to hold in a laugh.

Professionalism? Her? I had never heard anything so far fetched in my life.

Sara simply glared as Mia ignored him and continued. "She assured me that the best way to deal with this pesky student was to slowly start to fail them, and I'll admit, I was angry for her. Sara was my friend, and I respected her enough to believe what she was telling me and follow her requests." She turned her head to where I sat on the other side of Yoongi. "That student was you, Y/N. And I just wanted to say that I am so sorry for the way I handled things. You were treated unfairly and poorly due to false information."

"It wasn't false!" Professor Lee jumped in to defend herself, but everyone was pretty much ignoring her. Even the dean could tell she was playing the part of the boy who cried wolf at this point.

"I'd like to see those text messages, if you don't mind." Dr. Kim reached his hand out expectantly.

There was a brief moment of silence while Professor Park nodded and tapped away on her phone before handing it to him. His cold and calculated eyes scanned the screen while saying nothing, all three of us waiting with bated breath for him to come to a decision in his mind.

There was no where left for her to run. With these text messages, all the constant denying that Professor Lee has done will be proven false and she will be exposed for all the hell she's put me through this semester. My heart was practically bursting at the thought.

"Well I would've appreciated it if you ladies had come to me with this information instead of handling it amongst yourselves, true or not," Dr. Kim finally sighed before giving Sara his full attention. "Ms. Lee, you have three people accusing you. Even if you didn't do it, there's obviously something that's turning them against you. And here at this university we strive to hold cooperation and communication above all else. If you don't get along with the fellow staff here, then why should I believe that they're the problem and not you?"

"Um, because Min Yoongi is fucking his student?!" Professor Lee was fuming now, her upper body lurching forward in her seat and her hands gripping the arm rests for dear life. "He literally just admitted to it!"

"Language, Ms. Lee," Dr. Kim scolded calmly. "I still like to maintain a professional attitude here in my office."

"I apologize sir, but that's beside the point." She was sitting back in her seat now, though her tone was no less frantic. "Min Yoongi is in a relationship with his student, and staff cooperation or not, I don't really think that's in the teacher handbook." She raised a snarky eyebrow at us as if believing that she had finally won.

I knitted my eyebrows, my palms feeling slick with a nervous sweat against Yoongi's as I realized the bigger problem here. It wasn't whatever lies and schemes Professor Lee had cooked up with my biology teacher; it wasn't even Professor Lee herself. It was the fact that Yoongi and I were in a relationship, and that was going to have enough consequences alone to shake me to my very core with fear.

"She's right," Dr. Kim uttered the words that I was silently hoping he wouldn't say, my grip tightening on Yoongi as I anticipated whatever outcome he's decided. Our fate was in his hands.

"Of course I am." Professor Lee crossed her arms and sat back in her seat with a smug grin.

"I'm afraid I have no choice." He was shaking his head, frowning at us apologetically though the sentiment didn't reach his eyes. "Mr. Min, I am sorry to inform you that you will have to be forced to resign from our university."

The color instantly drained from my face, and with it pulling all five senses that I have into the depths of the earth until I couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't speak—I could barely even breathe. There was a lump that was forming in my throat and settling deep within my gut, all of this feeling fake, too fake to be real.

Yoongi was fired, and it was all because of me.

"I understand, sir."

It was Yoongi's words that were pulling me from my fog of disbelief and devastation, my eyes blinking in an effort to snap back to reality as I looked from him to the dean. "No. No, there has to be something we can do, please!" I begged, my voice starting to get frantic the more the severity of the situation hit me. "I–I'll drop out! You don't have to worry about me ever coming near here again, just please, please don't fire him!"

"Y/N..." Yoongi's voice was quiet and full of resignation, defeat, but I wasn't giving up.

"Yoongi is an amazing professor who has worked here for, what, two years? He's extraordinary at what he does and students love him. It's not easy to find a professor like that everyday." I was staring into the eyes of the dean now, trying to move him with my words. "You shouldn't throw away someone as great as him just because of some stupid 18 year old's mistake! Please, Dr Kim." I leaned forward in my seat, the room silent as I spoke. "He wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for me. Please, let me suffer the consequences, not him."

I continued to stare in Dr. Kim's eyes, silently channeling my emotions through the pleading expression in my eyes, and it wasn't until I felt a comforting hand on my back that I was instantly drawn away into a more calm state in my chair. I gazed over at the owner of the hand, and he flashed back that smile I loved except it was sad, and it didn't reach his eyes, and I could tell there was so much he wanted to say to me right now if we weren't in the confinement of his boss' office.

"I understand your efforts, Y/N, but there's nothing I can do." Dr. Kim shook his head, and it was as if the world around me was shattering into blades of glass, scraping at my skin and leaving bloody wounds that I knew would never heal. "Mr. Min was involved in this relationship as well, and no matter whose fault it is, the professor needs to be held accountable. There is a level of professionalism and maturity that he must possess in order to work here; he's your superior, a respectable authority figure, and so he should've known better."

It was all I could do to keep from crying as I lowered my eyes and shook my head, every inch of my heart breaking for Yoongi until all that was left were tiny fragments to scatter in the wind. I couldn't believe I'd done this to him. The very thing he'd been worried about from the start—I had ruined his career.

"It is our goal as a university to see our students succeed," he continued, though I could barely hear a thing. "As for you, Y/N, I see no reason as to why you shouldn't keep attending this university."

I blinked a few times, confused. "You want me to... what?"

"You will have a suspension on your student records, mind you, and one more of those will lead to expulsion," he explained. "Though that doesn't mean that you can't keep going to school here. You will have to meet with an advisor every two weeks, though, who will be keeping a close watch on your behavior."

I could barely even believe my ears; had my hearing been completely lost due to the shock of the situation? "That's totally a double standard!" I gestured to Yoongi in disbelief.

"Y/N, it's okay..." Yoongi tried to calm me down.

"No, it's not okay!" I roared, eyes wide and brows furrowed in disbelief as I glanced at him before turning back to the dean. "Where do you think you can get off by treating people like this? This is his career—his life!"

"That will be enough from you, Ms. Y/N," Dr. Kim bellowed in a stern voice as he frowned. "I'm doing you a favor here by letting you continue your education. Speak out against me one more time and I will be revoking that offer."

His words were deafening throughout the office; it was suddenly understandable why he was so feared by those who worked under him. Yoongi started to run his hand along my spine in a soothing manner, and though it helped relax my fiery nerves and clear my foggy mind, I was still just as upset—if not more, now that the information was beginning to settle in.

"So that's it then?" Professor Lee spoke for the first time in a while, her lips pressed into a firm line, obviously disappointed by the turn of events though she didn't dare to speak out against Dr. Kim as he had warned. "Yoongi gets fired and Y/N gets a free ride?"

"Not so fast, Ms. Lee." The dean turned to her. "What you did was beyond unprofessional. You violated several school policies as well as bullied a student! Do you think that type of behavior is acceptable as a professor?"

Professor Lee opened her mouth as if to protest before slowly shutting it again, realizing that she had nothing left that she hadn't already denied. It was obvious that the evidence given to him by Professor Park, who stood silent in the corner of the room, was incriminating enough to sway his decision.

"I'm sorry to have to inform you that you will be fired as well."

"What?!" Her shrill voice screeched through the air, tearing whatever I had left of my eardrums and rendering me deaf here in this office. "What I did was no where near as bad as Yoongi and Y/N!"

"If anything, it was worse." Dr. Kim folded his hands over his desk. "Let's not forget that you managed to involve the entire student body in a false seminar that maliciously exposed one of our students and professors," he raised an eyebrow at her, "and that was just today."

"Yeah, not to mention all the other shit you did behind my back to make my life a living hell," I couldn't help from interjecting in a heated tone, though I backed off upon seeing the dean's stern gaze.

He redirected his attention back to Sara. "Here at this university, we strive to have a professional relationship, safe environment, and healthy lifestyle for our students. Neither of you achieved those three goals, so both of you will have to be let go."

Yoongi's expression simply remained placid and free of any emotion while Professor Lee's reaction was practically visceral, though neither spoke a word as heavy silence fell over the small office.

"Am I... am I still needed, sir?" It was Professor Park whose voice broke through the tension, everyone having forgotten she was there in the midst of the emotion-filled chaos. "Because if not, then I'm going to go."

"No, I'm just about finished here." Dr. Kim let out a sigh, as if what just transpired had been hard on him out of all people in the room. My blood boiled just looking at him, though I know I had to learn when to speak out and when to bite my tongue as Yoongi had taught me.

"Dr. Kim, is there any way you can reconsi–"

"That will be enough from you, Ms. Lee," his booming voice interrupted the frantic professor. "I've said all that I need to say on the matter. I'm not changing my mind."

"Dr. Kim?" I spoke up just as Professor Lee and Professor Park were getting ready to walk out the door. "I–I have something else to tell you. Un-related to this," I threw in when I saw him throw a glance in Lee's direction.

The man sighed before waving them out, leaving his office empty of visitors other than me and Yoongi in the chairs. I wasn't going to let that boy go anywhere.

"Y/N, I'm sorry that the outcome isn't exactly what you wanted but I'm afraid there's nothing I can–"

"Choi Junwoo tried to rape me," I blurted out.

There was a moment's pause as the dean was stunned silent with wide eyes, and out of my peripheral vision I could see Yoongi tense up and inhale sharply next to me.

"W–what–"

"Choi Junwoo," I spoke slowly for him so that he'd understand, "a student here at this university, tried to rape me at a frat party."

I couldn't leave the office without saying it. I couldn't leave the office without telling him. This wasn't just about me or the turmoil or trauma he caused; this was for every other girl in the future who might be a victim of Jun. Though in my heart I truthfully believed he was a good person, and that he really was just intoxicated beyond belief that night, it was still no excuse. If he had rape-tendencies while he was drunk and I didn't speak out about it, then I would be no better when it came to helping other sexual assault victims.

"Are you sure–"

"I found them at the party while he was mid-act," Yoongi jumped in, probably figuring he was already fired so there was nothing left for him to lose when it came to revealing details about our relationship outside of school. "It was... disgusting. I got her out of there immediately, but not before punching that bastard in the face."

"Metaphorically, of course!" I couldn't help but chime in, not wanting an assault charge to be on his record as well.

Thankfully Dr. Kim simply brushed off that minuet detail in favor for the more important issue at hand. "Y/N, what you're telling me will ruin this student's future. Are you absolutely sure you want to file this?"

Despite the anger that swelled up inside of me from him questioning my accusation, I still couldn't help the little trickle of doubt that crept in as I considered his words. At one point, Jun had been a friend... maybe even a potential lover had Yoongi not been in the picture. Dr. Kim was right, this information could potentially ruin his reputation, his education, his record... was I ready to carry the weight of knowledge that I've ruined someone's life forever?

"What are you talking about? Of course!" Yoongi spat an answer before I even had a chance to finish my thoughts. "She told you what happened, didn't she? Why would she speak out about something like this if she was making it up?"

"Maybe a personal vendetta?" The dean shrugged his shoulders. "People will do crazy things for revenge."

Now that got me heated. "The only one who wanted revenge here was Junwoo!" I stood up from my seat to yell. "He liked me and was mad that I turned him down. As if I owed my feelings to him or something! And when I told him no, he forced himself on me?! Is that really the type of message you want to send at this college? You know, since you're so high and mighty on "cooperation"," I did air quotes of sarcasm around my last words, my ears practically steaming with boiling rage.

"We will come out about this story, by the way," Yoongi added in, his voice full of venom. "And how will that look if you tried to keep us silent?"

"You can forget about me attending this university," I hissed.

"Alright, alright, settle down, the both of you," Dr. Kim lowered his hands in a calming manner. "I was not suggesting I buy your silence or anything of that nature. I was simply making sure you wanted to go through with this."

"Yes," Yoongi and I both answered in unison.

The dean nodded his head before clasping his hands together. "Alright."

The rest of the time in the office with spent filling on paperwork on a claim against Junwoo. I'd been given the option to be kept in the loop or even present when everything went down, though I politely declined. I wanted nothing more to do with that boy.

Though it would seem Professor Lee didn't share the same sentiment when it came to me, because as soon as soon as the two of us walked hand in hand into the hallway and Dr. Kim's door was securely shut, she sprung into action.

"You bitch!" She shrieked, not wasting another second as she leaped through the air and onto my body like a crouched tiger that was waiting for the right moment to attack. I felt the pressure of her weight against my chest and the sting of her nails scraping against my cheek, and before I knew it I was stumbling down, down onto the ground with another vicious blow to my jaw that was accompanied by her fist.

It all happened within a matter of seconds, but it wasn't long until I heard Yoongi yell Sara! and then her weight vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.

All I could do was stare with wide eyes as Yoongi slammed her shoulders back against the wall, though it was the look in his eyes that caught my attention. I had seen that expression before.

He was about to throw a punch.

"Yoongi, stop!" I cried, summoning all the strength I possessed to push myself to my feet and stumble over to the pair.

Yoongi whipped his head towards me with exasperated, almost wild eyes and his brows knitted in confusion and disbelief. "Y/N, she attacked you!"

"She isn't worth it," I spoke firmly in an attempt to get through to him. "Yoongi, just let it go. She isn't worth the trouble anymore."

It was when I placed a soothing hand against his back that Yoongi finally sighed, his stance visibly relaxing and his hands dropping from Professor Lee's shoulders. "She's right," he spit in a low, venomous tone as he turned back to her and grit his teeth. "Thanks to Dr. Kim, you already got what you deserve."

"Yoongi," there were sudden sobs that were tearing through the hallway, and it took me a moment to realize that Professor Lee was now... crying.

"Yoongi," she continued as she clung onto his shoulders. "Yoongi, I loved you!"

Somewhere deep inside of me, past all the burning hatred for what this woman has done to my life out of pure jealousy, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for her. This was once me, heartbroken over the effects of unrequited love. Yoongi was a very sought-after man, I'd come to realize, and it wasn't about my feelings or Professor Lee's or anyone else's. It was about his.

"Sara," Yoongi sighed, and there was almost a wince in his tone from how hard he was trying to make her understand. "It's over."

"W–what?" The woman was scrambling now. "It doesn't have to be! We can go back to the way things were–"

"There never was a ‘we’!" He ripped her hands from his shoulders. "We were friends, and then you sabotaged my career and Y/N's education. You never once spoke out about your feelings, came forward, handled things like adults," he stressed the last line. "You never once did any of those things! Instead you belittled another woman and cost yourself your job all for a man—someone who until now, was your friend." Yoongi sighed again and shook his head. "I hope you get the help you need, Sara. I'm sure there is someone out there who will love you unconditionally... but that person is not me."

And with that, he put a gentle hand on my back and we walked away.

“Oh my god.”

Those were the first words out of my mouth the second we exited the building, my hands resting on my head in disbelief as I turned to Yoongi. “Holy shit, Yoongi–“

“Shhh,” he instantly consoled me, his arms engulfing me in a comforting hug and my face tucking underneath his chin as he held me close. “We did it, Y/N. It’s all over.”

I stayed in his embrace for a few moments as his words sunk in. It was all over. No more secrets, no more Professor Lee—no more anything.

“B–but your job...” I pulled away to look up at him with a shaky tone, my brows furrowed in concern. “Dr. Kim fired you, he–“

“I resigned, Y/N. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” I couldn’t help but look up at him with a hopeless expression.

Yoongi simply nodded his head, the picture of nonchalance as if his career hadn’t just changed forever. “Yes. If I had gotten fired, it would look terrible on my resumé should I apply for another teaching position. However, given the circumstances of our arrangement...” he paused, no doubt thinking of Professor Lee, “I suppose he decided to take it easy on us all.”

My shoulders deflated in relief. “Well thank god for that...” I sighed, not even wanting to think of what could’ve happened if Dr. Kim had given us the harshest punishment. In an ironic, twisted way, I suppose I have Professor Lee to thank for that. If she wouldn’t have made my life a living hell, it would’ve been that much worse if Dr. Kim ever found out on his own.

“But none of that even matters to me right now,” Yoongi suddenly snapped, and then in the time it took me to raise an questioning eyebrow he had already grabbed both sides of my face and rammed his lips into mine, the same as he did before we went inside to confront Professor Lee.

Only this time, the kiss was different. It didn’t hold promises and potential; it held freedom. It held the success of finally getting through everything by the skin of our teeth, the relief and the pride and the pure love that we have for each other after overcoming everything that we’ve been through together. I kissed him and I didn’t care who saw—because he wasn’t my professor anymore. There were no invisible chains that bounded us apart. It was just me and him sticking together against all odds. Never in my life did I think I would ever be a part of a relationship so committed, so passionate, so determined. He and I would never stop fighting for each other.

“I love you, Min Yoongi,” I murmured against his mouth with a grin on my features that was hard to disguise—especially when I felt the corners of his lips pull up into that gummy smile that I adored with all of my heart.

“God, I love you too, Y/N,” he replied back with a content sigh, and then he continued to kiss me on the busy campus sidewalk until we were both breathless and blue in the face.

Because we now had nothing to lose.

Despite finally being released from the clutches that school had on us, the days following the meeting with Dr. Kim were not easy.

Other than having to put on a fake smile and continue attending a university where practically everyone knew about my relationship with now-former Professor Min (my mother would never let me drop out—not that I could ever tell her the reason I'd want to, anyways), there were the stresses that Yoongi was dealing with of now being unemployed. And what with all but abandoning my dorm room to instead spend my nights with him at his apartment, it was impossible to not feel the weight of his problems on my shoulders as well. No matter how many times Yoongi tried to put up a façade and reassure me that he was okay, I couldn't help but feel like this was my fault.

"If I just never would've made you dance with me at that club..." I'd say at times, unable to keep from tracing back each and every one of our interactions and blaming myself.

"Cut that out," Yoongi would snap.

"What? It's true!"

"You know I don't like it when you talk like that!" He'd turn to me with a stern tone. "I don't regret anything that happened between us, okay? Not one single bit." There was a heavy silence as his words would hang in the air. "If you wouldn't have asked me to dance, then who knows if I ever would've worked up the courage to kiss you? And I wouldn't be here, sharing this bed with the love of my life."

"Aw, Yoongi..."

And the two of us would make love, again and again until we'd have a similar argument some time later and repeat the whole process all over again. I'd feel guilty, Yoongi would remind me of exactly how much he doesn't regret meeting me, and we'd get lost in each other's embrace.

That is, until a simple Sunday morning suddenly changed everything.

"I got it."

I casually peered over at the sound of him from my spot in the living room, sitting criss crossed on the couch in my pajamas with a laptop in my lap. "What?"

"The job." Yoongi's voice was low, serious as he stared at the paper in his hands that had previously been so carelessly disregarded on the kitchen island along with the Sunday paper. "At the university in Seoul."

"Wait." He had all of my attention now as I sat the laptop on the coffee table and rose to my feet. "Like the Seoul National University university?"

"Yeah," he let out a single chuckle of disbelief before he pressed the paper against the counter and turned to me. "I got the job."

"Oh my god, Yoongi!" I exclaimed with my own chuckle of disbelief before running forward and wrapping my arms around his neck. His arms immediately engulfed my waist and lifted me off the ground as we spun around in place, my lips instantly finding his in a searing kiss that was full of passion and excitement to match our current mood. "That's amazing!"

"I know," he replied as he placed me down. A tentative smile was frozen on his lips as he stared off into the distance before letting out another sound of disbelief, his head shaking before his palm slid down his face. "I can't believe it!"

"I'm so proud of you!" I mirrored the grin of pure elation on his features, my chest swelling with joy and relief and most of all, pride.

I was so, so proud of Yoongi. I knew how much his job meant to him, and the feeling of guilt that weighed down on me from knowing that I was the one who inadvertently took that away from him, that I was the one who inadvertently caused all this stress of job hunting was instantly lifted off my shoulders. I knew how much he wanted this. I knew how hard he had worked to get this job at such a prestigious school, and god damn it, I knew how much he deserved it. If Yoongi was anything, apart from being an amazing person and a wonderful lover, he was great at his job. He was a natural born teacher.

Though no matter how many times I've willingly showered him with endless compliments about his work, he'd blush sheepishly and simply swat away all of my words with a simple kiss, or an "if you don't shut up your food is going to get cold. We're unemployed now; we need all the nutrition we can get. Haven't you ever heard of the Great Depression?"

So instead, I just chose to beam at him while he basked in the euphoria of the moment that this job acceptance brought on. After all, I knew he was well aware of how proud of him I was and how supportive I'd always be when it came to anything he wanted to accomplish.

Though the bliss was short lived.

I watched as Yoongi's expression slowly fell, the smile on his face slipping into a deep frown and his eyes turning to stone. "No."

"What?" I furrowed my brows, concern filling me and etching onto my features as I cupped his cheek in my hand, trying to figure out why his mood had changed so suddenly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not taking it." His tone was cold, definitive, as if the subject wasn't even up for debate as he grabbed the letter.

"Wait wait wait," I hurried to stop him from tearing it in half. "What are you talking about? Why not?"

He turned to look at me with cold, incredulous eyes, as if he couldn't believe I was even asking a question so stupid. "The university is in Seoul, Y/N."

"Okay...?" I shook my head in confusion, still not understanding what the issue was. "And?"

"I'd have to move." He was taking the paper back out of my hands and ripping it right down the middle before I got the chance to stop him.

I suddenly deflated, the severity of his words dropping in my stomach and wrapping around the anchor of my heart, sending it down, down, down through the floor of his apartment and hurdling towards the center of the earth.

"...What?"

"I'd have to move away from you."

And there is was, the bomb detonating an explosion and demolishing whatever was left of my heart.

"No... t–there has to be another way, there has to–"

"Seoul is hours away from here, Y/N," Yoongi barked out, his tone angry and harsh as it always was when he was upset. "It's on the other side of the country; there's no way I'd be able to commute without living there."

"Okay, so why did you apply then?" I couldn't help but snap back defensively. "You knew the distance to Seoul prior to applying for the job. Why even bother if you're just going to get pissed about not taking it?!"

"Because I didn't think I'd get accepted!" His voice was loud, almost yelling now. "It's the most sought after, prestigious school in the fucking country and I didn't think some young idiot who got fired from his last job would be able to get in!"

It was silent as his words settled over the atmosphere, clinging to the air that filled the room around us and encasing my lungs until it was impossible to breathe.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I finally hissed. "You're a great teacher, and you know it. If anyone's a young idiot here, it's me!"

Yoongi scoffed with a shake of his head. "I'm the one who kissed you again during that tutoring session after telling you to stay away. I'm the one who fucked you against that desk." His tone was low now, and his eyes seemed to grow harder in realization with each step that he took towards me. "I'm the one who asked to take you out on that fucking date and I'm the one who pulled you onto my lap when Sara caught us in my classroom! God damn it, I'm the one who tracked you down at a fucking frat party and punched one of my students!"

His voice slowly raised until he was yelling again, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was now standing chest to chest and cornering me up against the countertop of the island, I would've winced at the loud volume so close to my ears.

"Stop blaming yourself, Y/N, when I'm the one who was the authority figure. I'm the one who should've had my shit together, but I just couldn't around you!"

I felt myself soften at that. As angry and intimidating as he seemed right now, surely frightening whoever would come into contact with him when he was like this, I knew that it was all a front. Yoongi wasn't the best at dealing with emotional situations—he'd all but bite my head off any time I even tried to mention his father—and sometimes lashed out in anger when he was upset or hurting inside. I knew how badly he wanted this job; I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice when he'd first submitted the application. And now, when the career position of his dreams was finally right under his nose, he couldn't have it. Because I was holding him back.

"You have to take it." My voice was solemn and steady as I stared him in the eyes.

He instantly frowned. "What? No, I–"

"Yoongi."

He fell silent, all signs of anger and malice wiped from his features once he saw just how serious I was being. A soft, bittersweet smile that had nothing to do with happiness slowly tugged at my lips as my eyes gleamed with pain. My heart was breaking with every word I was speaking, but I knew it was something I needed to do.

"You have to take the job."

The silence that ensued my words only further proved my point, simultaneously stabbing a knife into my chest with each passing second. He knew I was right. He knew it. He just didn't want to hear it.

"You don't..." He sounded smaller, more pitiful and confused as he tried to make sense of what I was saying. "You don't want me to stay?"

The hurt, the sadness, the utter hopelessness in his voice absolutely crushed me. I couldn't help but fall into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his chest and squeezing tightly as if I could somehow hold the pieces of him together that I knew were breaking. The severity of what was happening, of what I was doing started to settle within me the moment I heard his voice break.

"I do, baby," I replied, the sound muffled by the skin of his neck that my face was buried in as a sob threatened to claw its way out of my throat and swallow me whole. "God, you know I do. But you can't."

"Y–you can come with me." He was shaking his head now, his hands gripping at the shirt on my back with closed fists while he desperately tried to hold onto me, as if I would disappear beneath him at any moment. "We can move together to Seoul and you can–"

"You know I can't, Yoongi." It was my turn to shake my head, and with it came a heavy tear that fell down my cheek. "I have to go to school. I have a family who's helping pay for my tuition, and my mom— you know it's not all up to me."

I heard him sniffle as he pulled away, and even though I felt no evidence of tears from him against my skin or my shirt, his eyes were bright red when he stared back at me.

"I'm not leaving you, Y/N."

The sheer determination in his voice had me shattering like broken glass. "I'm not letting you do this, Yoongi. I'm not letting you waste this opportunity. Do you know how many people are waiting to work at Seoul University? How many professors would kill to be in your position?" I kept my gaze steadily on his as I slowly shook my head. "I care about you... so fucking much. I've never loved someone so much before... not like this." I paused, asking myself one last time if this was really the decision I wanted to make as my words settled in. I took in the sight of his beautiful, breathtaking features silently begging me not to do this. "I'm putting you above my selfishness," I finally decided with another shake of my head. "You need to do this Yoongi, for you. You know you do."

Yoongi slowly shook his head, though the expression on his face told me he knew I was right. "I don't want to lose you," he spoke as a tear spilled over the brim of his eye, dampening his lashes and leaving a wet streak in its wake as it rolled down his cheek, and the sight was the final breaking point that had me bursting into tears.

"Neither do I."

His fingers dug into my skin as he tightened his grip on my body, his forehead leaning against mine as the only sounds exchanged between the two of us were the unspoken words of labored breaths and soft sobs.

Sometimes when you love someone, you have to do what's best for them.

And I knew this was what's best for Yoongi.

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #lmao why am i so impulsive #i decided i was gonna post this all of ten minutes ago and here we are #anyways this will help my peace of mind to know that at least SOMETHING is out there #some sort of closure to the series #not everything i had planned but #it'll do for now #i hope u guys can forgive me for whatever tf this is fjshgdkfd

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noritoshiikamo · 4 years ago

Text

this is how you fall in love

pairing: kuroo tetsuroo + fem!oc genre: friends into lovers fluff with slight suggestive end tags//warning: nothing major // slight suggestive at the end if you squint enough note: the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. o wow look ive been posting back to back, ive been writing nonstop lately watch me ghost my stories in few weeks guys my brain = rotting, plus lately ive been feeling emotionally abuseddrained so i need something fluffy

listen to this is how you fall in love by jeremy zucker + chelsea cutler for maximum feels

“you’re a lifesaver.”

kuroo huffed, eyes rolling back with a small laugh as he unlaced his sneakers and slipped the room slipper on. it was odd to see the gymnasium without any nets or balls sprawled around. the gym has been closed for a week now in preparation for the upcoming open school event and currently under the art club’s jurisdiction. under her jurisdiction with her canvases and paints and it pained him to see her ruining his sacred place. he carried two plastic bags and holding two boba teas in the same hand. he wasn’t sure which one she was more excited for; the boba, the paints she made him ran to an art supply shop or him. she reached out, the bobas in his hand exchanged as she settled it on the floor, and she squealed at the sight of the plastic bag. he frowned.

yup, not him.

tins of different colors of paint that she ran out mid painting that she forgot to buy had her dialing his number and now it’s all here. all thanks to kuroo tetsuro. she grimaced at the price tags; it was costly than her usual one. usually, she would’ve gotten her supplies online, but desperate measure calls for desperate solution. she could always claim her expenses with the club. typical kuroo, she huffed. he always preached about getting the best, not minding the price tags but she’ll be the victim of his nonstop complaining that he’s getting broke every single day. she tucked a stray hair back and mentally counted how much she owed the man as she arranged the tins on the table.

kuroo noticed that look; same look she had when they are in the math class and he clicked his tongue, “tch, you’re not paying.”

“i’m reimbursing you with the club money,” she shook her head and reached for her bag, “please kuroo, it’s so expensive.”

he reached for her wrist and she dropped the tote bag as he invaded her space. kuroo rested the palm of her hand right above his heart, his own around the waist and another under her chin as he tilted her chin up. his heartbeat was erratic, and she flushed. “it’s okay,” he said, softly. her lips formed into a small pout and he fought the urge to just kiss her.

their dynamic is something even kenma couldn’t figure it out.

they weren’t exactly dating. they are friends, close friends, and classmates. it has always been him, her and occasionally yaku; creating the chaotic duo/trio of class 5. they both played volleyballs, both captains while he’s the middle blocker, she’s their female team’s setter. they knew a lot of each other’s friends from other schools; he was the reason why she dated akaashi keiji from the first place. it was selfish of kuroo to admit to bokuto a month after they started dating that he disliked the idea of them together. typical kuroo is no longer snarky, he felt lost, felt like he was losing his other half. so, he confided to his close friend, the simpleton ace.

“you didn’t make any moves, kuroo, you can’t blame them.”

bokuto noted as them both stared at the two setters, playing around the fallen cherry blossoms. bokuto never seen akaashi smiled that much and kuroo could only wished that she smiled the same way to him. kuroo stared at the half bitten onigiri he’d been holding, suddenly every bite he took tasted bitter. every trace of akaashi on her gave him bitter taste. she liked wearing akaashi’s jersey; kuroo longed to see her in his own numbered jersey; she’s his number one after all. her own jersey number is as same as akaashi. it’s not like kuroo could hate anything he did; he treated her well. akaashi was a perfect boyfriend and everyone knew. that’s why kuroo hates him; he gave him no reason to hate the dude. it didn’t last long however, they drifted apart 6 months later, sending her to kuroo’s doorstep soaked in rain.

he stared at her soaked figure with no thoughts in mind.

“he dumped me,” she said, voice hoarse and shivering.

he was alone and was about to leave for kenma’s, but he couldn’t leave her alone. dropping his keys on the small table by the door, he threw his jacket back in the closet. “come in,” he whispered, pulling her figure in. dropping her bag on the floor, she clutched on his sleeves as she kicked off her soaking shoes. “i’m sorry, my mom isn’t home and i can’t find my keys,” she was a blabbering mess and he hushed her. he left her for a few minutes, coming back with a steaming towel and a clean shirt and pants. “it’s from the dryer. you can borrow my sister’s clothes,” grabbing her hands, they ran upstairs where he took her to the bathroom. she was too quiet, so he called her name. when she looked up to him, her eyes were red. she was no longer crying, more confused and upset. her cheeks flushed and he could see her teeth chattering. he wished nothing but to throw his fist at the man. finally, he got a reason to square up the stoic man; he always hates the way nothing could riled up akaashi.

“he’s stupid for doing you like this.”

she shook her head, “it’s nobody’s fault.”

“then stop blaming yourself,” he ruffled her hair, a small smile appeared from the corner of her lips as she watched him disappeared closing the door behind him. he left her with the hot water running, urgently grabbing the mop and bucket from the kitchen, and wiping the trail of her soaked feet has left before it could ruin the wooden floor.

cant come over, busy, ill tell u later

kuroo texted kenma. the pudding head left him on read.

they spend the night together, sitting on the floor with pillows pilling against the end of the bed as they sat in arms. he had his tv opened to one of the late-night game show. they sat in silence, her head rested on his shoulder and her lips pressed into a tiny line. at the corner of his eyes, he could see her phone’s notifications blaring despite being on mute. the number isn’t saved but it was familiar. she deleted his number already, probably out of rage, but it’s a good step.

tell me where you want me to drop your stuff im sorry i hope youre okay y/n? i heard it was storming did you make it back home? give me a call im calling you okay?

just as like what the message stated, the unknown number called her. it startled her which startled him too. she stared down on the screen, he noticed the grip on the phone and wondered how the phone did not break yet. “can you answer it for me?” she said, holding the phone out to the black-haired man. shocked, he took the phone and pressed the green button. he pressed the phone to his ear and heard her name being called.

“hey man,�� kuroo cleared his throat, “listen-”

“she’s with you?” the voice- akaashi asked.

looking down on the girl who was pretending to not have any interest in the call at all, eyes focused on the gameshow, kuroo sighed.

“she is. listen, i think you should leave her alone.”

“kuroo, i know about your feelings. for her. bokuto-san told me about it. if you think that this is the proper way to get her when she’s vulne-”

kuroo bit the inside of his cheeks. he was offended that akaashi dared to call him out like that. “so, what? she made her pick,” the girl turned to face him, brows up wondering what they are talking about.

“that’s low, even for you, kuroo-san.”

their eyes met. he didn’t even realize how deep the cut on his palm where he had balled his fingers into a fist until she touched it. he calmed down. “you hurt her. you have no right to say what’s low or not. be a bigger man, leave her alone,” he muttered flatly, before ending the call. they didn’t break eye contact until he realized what he had done.

“i-i shouldn’t have done that.”

she shook her head, “stop blaming yourself,” a small smile on her face.

that was 3 months ago.

kuroo had made moving on easy for her. akaashi and her remained friendly, although kuroo noticed that she tended to avoid him when possible. the breakup was indeed mutual, but merely on the fact that he lost feelings. akaashi had fallen out of love with her and in love with some other girl but who was she to judge when she was falling in love with the rooster head in silence. they still hang out with bokuto and akaashi but rarely with the latter.

she made him apologized to the fukurodani’s setter too and they remained on friendly term, still practiced together whenever they have training camps together where akaashi had admitted one training night that kuroo and her looks better together. kuroo didn’t say anything, not that he knew what to reply to that (his mind scream fuck yeah we do) but shrugged at his statement. “i guess dating her made you less pain in the ass, kuroo-san,” akaashi joked as they resumed the game.

kuroo was pulled back to reality when he felt his lips brushed against something. his eyes widened when he realized what it was. a quick kiss from her. he blinked frantically, trying to comprehend what had just happened which caused the girl to laugh. “did you just?” he asked confused by what had just happened which she nodded. she bit her bottom lip to hold herself from bursting into a laugh. “god, you should see your face. it’s so stupid. and every girl called you the playboy captain huh?”

he huffed and rolled his eyes, “i am not. i’ve been loyal to one girl for many years now, she is the one who hasn’t notice me at all,” he faked his pout, refused to look her directly in the eyes, praying that she wouldn’t notice his reddening cheeks.

“she must’ve been so stupid,” she teased, her nose rubbing gently against his jawline as she rested her figure against his closer. his chin rested against her head.

“she is,” he looked down on her, his arms around her waist tighter, “i don’t think she knows this but if she leaves me, i think i’ll be so broken inside. is it selfish to say that?” a small frown appeared on her face.

“i don’t think she ever talked about leaving you.”

a grin grew on his face, “so you know who i’m talking about huh?” she fell into his trap. she rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out, calling him stupid. he studied her face, his grin softened into what yaku and his volleyball team called the kuroo is stupidly in love with y/n but refused to admit face. his fingers ran into her hair which she had been growing out in few months down to her shoulder because she thinks that he likes her better that way. the way she tried to subtly put on make up to look better that the other girls who’s shamelessly flirting with him. she was too stupid to realize that he had loved her beyond that.

he loves the rough pads on her hands from holding her paintbrushes and volleyball. he loves that she works hard for everything she’s doing be it studying, volleyball or arts, she would put her blood, sweat and tears into it. he loves that she would wait for him to buy lunch so they can eat together in class. he would buy her a box of milk which she insisted that she doesn’t need too; but he convinced it would be good for her. he wants the best for her.

he loves that all the missing clothes he’s complaining about is in the back of her closet or on her. his cream hoodie hanging behind her closet door, his random pile of t-shirts in a basket on the floor of her closet that he liked to left beside the mix pile of her shoes and his one big ass nike shoes. her room isn’t messy, it is because she kept the messiness in her closet. she also like to keep random stuff of him too. the one medal he won from a science fair hung on the headboard of her bed, the misshapen looking hand wax sculpture of their hands intertwined from a funfair where she rested a purikura of them on it and a lucky bamboo plant he gave on her birthday to compromise on the no gift rule.

“for luck,” he grinned.

unlike hers, he kept her item neatly in his drawer. your spare shirts that he borrowed and refused to return, extra towel and her toiletries, some of her drawing blocks and a small cat shaped pouch where she kept her allergies medication. mostly hidden because his annoying friends come over often and would accidentally talk about it in front of his grandparents. but, on his bedside table, he has a cup of pencils by the bed where he collected the art supplies she left behind, random markers and paintbrushes, a clay sculpture of a trinket plate she made from art club (she carved a tiny letter k in the corner beside the obvious looking genitalia drawing) and a fake plant which she was sure he will not be able to kill it.

he loves it when she wore his jersey. he lost his mind when he found out that her current season number is the same as his. he’s in love. the first time he saw her in his jersey, the number one jersey on her body was during their training. he lost concentration; mouth hung a bit. he got so flustered that he let lev served the ball straight to his head. usually, lev would be dead by now, but he doesn’t mind. his nose bled but to see her kneel beside him, clutching on his own shirt screaming how stupid he is, wiping the blood away with towel, he could only say how pretty she looked. all his teammates were startled, her included. she clutched on his collar angrily; her knees stung from when she leaped down to his side, but this idiot could only smile at her with a bloody nose. “you are fucking idiot,” she cried out angrily, pushing him away before throwing the towel on his face leaving the pleased third year laying on the floor.

he loves the way she would find a way to impress him, be it as ridiculous as the halloween costume idea she had where they’ll go as the front and end of a horse or as serious as the submitted college application to the same university he had gotten into. “you are not getting rid of me that easily, tetsu,” the evil look on her face as she clicked the submit button send shivers down his spine.

“if you leave, i think i’ll cry,” he confessed, his smile slowly died.

“kuroo tetsuro is going to cry after me?” she teased. he nodded eagerly. “does kuroo tetsuro realized that we are literally moving into the same university? i couldn’t catch a break from him,” she faked her annoyance which he playfully avenged by sending her on the floor laughing as he tickled her. tears trickled down her cheeks as she begged him to stop, screaming to get away from his grip. “please, kuroo, i’m going to pee if you don’t stop!” he obliged, tears prickled the corner of his own eyes from laughing too much. straddling her waist, he gathered her wrists in one hand over her head. “apologize and said that kuroo tetsuro is the best man in your life or i swear i’ll make you pee,” he threatened her playfully, wiggling the fingers of his free hand close to her waist. her eyes widened in fears.

“that’s not fair!”

“apologize first.”

“fine!” she pouted, “i’m sorry, i won’t make fun of you again. now get off me!”

he raised his eyebrow, “andddd?”

“annddd-” a teasing smile appeared on her face as she said the next 5 words that send him to mars and back; “i love you kuroo tetsuro.”

he froze in shock. he heard the words before but never in this way; never for him.

finally, i think i got the calculation, love you yaku! lev you’re adorable but so stupid, i love it! thank you for letting me borrow your game, kenma. you’re the best, love ya!

the grip on her wrists loosened. taking advantage of his shock state, she pushed him back, straddling him by the waist, pinning his own hands above his head, giving him the taste of his own medicine. “i’m not going to leave your sorry ass, tetsu. i hope you don’t regret it,” she leaned down, capturing his lips with a longer kiss. letting go of his wrist, her hand went immediately into his rooster hair while another cupped his cheek, deepening their kiss. she could feel his cold palm resting against her bare waist and she shuddered. between the kisses, he heard her whispering his name. “kuroo, do you love me too?” she asked so innocently with kisses between the words but the way she grabbed a handful of his hand in a fist felt so dirty, eliciting a strangled moan from the back of his throat. she pulled back, staring down on his eyes as his lips moved.

“i love you too.”

nothing in his hazel eye but sincerity. he groaned when she pulled herself out of his reach, missing her warm body as she laughed. straightening her sweater back, pulling her hair back up into a tighter ponytail before she picked up the paintbrush she dropped. the paintbrush left a white stain on the court. as if kuroo wasn’t here, whimpering underneath her a minute ago, she continued her work. “i need to finish the mural by this week and you’re not exactly helping me,” she warned him, pointing the wet brush his direction. through the corner of her eyes, he was propped on his elbows, still staring at her, causing her to blush profusely. it annoyed him that she would tease him, then leaving him high and dry. before she could crack open the new paint tin, he ignored her warning as he tackled her back into his arms.

breathless against her lips, he told her to continue later. the urgency and rawness of his voice made her putty immediately. looking up the man, she pouted her lips.

“kuroo-san,” she whined as he captured her bottom lips.

he elicited a soft moan from the girl. he grinned against her lips. a hand rested firmly beside her head while another snaked under the sweater. there will be bruise tomorrow, she was sure of it, he will make sure of it.

“it will be quick, baby. i promise.”

she has no objection.

#kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro imagine #haikyuu x reader #hq #haikyuu #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro fluff #haikyuu x y/n #kuroo tetsurou x reader #writing: hq #writing: fics

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Syverson the Protector Pt 4

* Syverson The Protector - Part I (pairing Syverson x YOU)

* Syverson the Protector - Part II (pairing Syverson x YOU)

* Syverson the Protector - Part III (pairing Syverson x YOU)

Summary: You are an embedded journalist and on a mission, everything goes wrong. The two of you have made it to safety and now it’s time for the healing to begin.

Rating for this part: Budding romance, Fluff, medical related content, I’ve picked ‘Henry’ as Syverson’s first name and he’s grown his hair out :D

Must be read in order, no part can stand alone. I expect to have at most, two more parts, 5 and concluding in 6.

Word count: 2293

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Lying flat on his back, Syverson stared morosely at the ceiling and listened to the gentle thwapping sounds of the bedside machine that was currently and eagerly siphoning fluids out of his intestines. He let his mind tick over what the machine was actually doing to him and blearily considered why he wasn’t in constant pain from the electronic manipulation of his own vulnerable flesh.

Surely those plastic tubes driven into his guts should hurt, right?

Sure, you’re right, his mind chattered, a little giddy to be imparting an unknown bit of information, but consider this: morphine – a wounded man’s best friend.

My best friend, he thought and then as if the devil knew it was being called, another machine beeped and a flood of soft luscious haziness rushed into his bloodstream and he immediately relaxed. This tired mind drifted and it didn’t take long for him to slip back into sleep.

Hours later, Syverson startled out of a clinging and sticky dream with a desperate gasp. He felt hot all over, stiff and aching and the very thought of trying to move elicited a terrible pain response. Hot, oily bile crept up in his throat and his mouth watered in that awful familiar process of preparing him to violently empty his stomach.

I have to sit up, his brain screamed. I have to sit up. I don’t want to puke still lying on my back!

A broad cool hand pressed down on his chest and another closed about his shoulder. Someone was speaking but he couldn’t make out the words through the heavy veiling fog that enveloped him. He tried to speak to the person, and tried to tell them that he was going to be sick.

‘It’s ok, Henry,’ a voice was telling him. ‘You’re ok. I’ll help you roll onto your side if you need to vomit.’

Swallowing jerkily, throat working hard to force the urge back down, Syverson clamped his teeth and shook his head.

‘All right. How about we move you a bit. Are you ok with that?’

Move? God no. I can’t bear that. Moving meant pain.

He shook his head again, but the warm voice came back to him, sounding much more insistent this time.

‘I can help you, Henry, or I’ll put the positioner in bed with you and it will make you move. We want to prevent pressure sores, remember?’

Syverson took in a breath and after a moment nodded to show that he understood. When the man leaned in close, Syverson could smell his cologne. It was a pleasant and fresh woodsy scent that reminded him of his cabin back home. A sudden homesick ache tightened his chest and tears wet his dry eyes. He didn’t like feeling that way, but everything seemed to be out of his control now. He hated it.

Nevertheless, he put his arms around the man’s shoulders and gritted his teeth when his body was repositioned and stretched out again on the stiff mattress.

He gasped and couldn’t believe how out of breath such a small exertion had left him. But, he noted, he did feel better and the nausea had subsided.

The urge to eat suddenly struck him and he blinked up at the nurse.

‘What time is it?’ he rasped, voice rusty from disuse.

‘You hungry?’ asked the nurse with a grin.

‘Yeah, I could eat,’ he answered, wriggling a little to get more comfortable in the pillows under his head.

‘I can get you something, but it’s after breakfast and not quite lunch.’

Syverson nodded. He didn’t care. He just wanted to eat.

‘Fries and a coke, then,’ he said closing his eyes and grinning a little.

The nurse laughed and gently patted his shoulder condescendingly. With the state of Syverson’s gut, there was no way he was going to survive ingesting any amount of carbonation. That little fact didn’t stop the cravings though.

‘I’ll see if there’s some soup still left. I think it’s chicken.’

When he was alone again, the memories came back. After the jeep explosion, he was sure that he was going to die out in that sandy wasteland. Had it not been for you, he was sure that he would have died. Had it not been for the beautiful, plucky reporter, some stony faced military man would be paying his parents a visit to inform them of their youngest son’s passing and that his body would be flown home for burial.

Instead, he had been saved. And when he found that you’d been housed in the civilian wing of the hospital, he wanted to see you. He wanted to thank you for saving his life. When visiting you was denied, considering the fragile state of the both of you, Syverson had instructed that the well stocked gift shop be bought out and carted to your room, all with his heartfelt thanks.

He owed you his life. A few flowers and a couple of teddy bears was the least he could do.

The plastic and faux wood table rattled next to him and snapped Syverson out of his muse. He opened his eyes and watched as the nurse positioned the table over his bed and put down a ceramic bowl of steaming soup. He groaned and strained a little to help himself up into a sitting position.

The nurse was distracted and looking down into his other hand.

‘I ran into your girlfriend’s nurse in the hallway and she gave me this to give to you.’

God, he sounded so smug and Syverson wanted to punch him square in the face.

Girlfriend?

His brain searched for a face to put to the name but came up empty. He’d broken up with his ex more than five years ago, right before his latest deployment. And then it clicked.

The reporter. You.

The nurse handed the card to Syverson and upon seeing it, his heart sank. It was the same envelope that he’d sent along with the gifts. Had you refused his outpouring of affection? He slowly opened the envelope and breathed out with relief when he saw the new message that had been written for him.

He didn’t want to smile at the note in front of the gossipy nurse, as he didn’t want to encourage any nonsense rumours, so he kept his elated reaction to himself. But inside his heart soared and the soup tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten before.

The day that you both championed and dreaded finally arrived. The day you could get out of bed on your own and walk down to the men’s wing to pay your captain a visit. He had come a long way, you’d heard from the nurse, but would still have trouble doing any taxing travelling. However you were well enough to make the trip.

‘That is, if you still want to,’ said your nurse with a glint in her eye.

Oh, she thinks she’s funny, does she?

You sighed luxuriously and stretched back on your pillows. You’d managed to wrangle an extra set so that you could prop yourself up like a royal lady taking in visitors for the afternoon. You ran the edge of your thumbnail across the thick scar skirting the side of your left palm, scratching it lightly but thoroughly. You had recently had your bandages removed and the sight of your hands was shocking. The backs of your hands had taken the brunt of the burns and they were wrinkled with scar tissue which butted up against new skin growth. A daily cream was a must to keep the tissue from tightening up and preventing normal usage of your hand. You scooped up a handful of the waxy smelling stuff and massaged it into your hands as your nurse watched you expectantly.

Her expression fell a bit when you didn’t answer right away.

Serves her right, you thought, casually kneading fingertips into the palm of your opposite hand.

‘I mean, you don’t have to, if you’ve changed your mind.’

She picked at a bright yellow rose bud that had fallen off of one of the new crops of flower bouquets. Henry had made sure to keep you flush with fresh beautiful flowers. You had to draw the line at the character balloons, and had to tell him that he should stop sending them because the hollow sounds of them knocking together at night was creepy and it kept you awake.

‘I haven’t changed my mind, Barb,’ you said and gave her a smile.

I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to see him again.

‘Well, good. He’s been asking after you… like… constantly now.’

You said nothing, but a tiny grin stretched your lips.

Constantly?

‘We can whip out the chair and wheel you over there after lunch.’

Your heart leaped with sudden and visceral terror.

It’s soon. So soon. Too soon! Today?

You swallowed hard and felt your face heat with uncertain embarrassment.

‘S-sure.’

‘Ok, I’ll reserve one and be back in a few hours.’

Barb turned around and left the room. You could hear her chuckling as if this matchmaking was the best thing that had happened to her all year.

You sat up in bed, greasy hands limp in your lap and you made a face when you sniffed at yourself under your hospital gown. No way were you going to present yourself to Henry, or anyone else who would be in the day room, looking like you’d been in an accident.

Heaven forfend.

So, you washed carefully and put on the pale peach coloured long-sleeved pyjama set you’d received from the Ladies’ Supply. The Ladies’ Supply was an organisation of volunteer women who ensured the dignity and comfort of women at the military hospital through social visits, clothing donations and other feminine needs.

You did your hair the best you could and whiled away the hours until you heard the squeaky wheelchair being rolled into your room. With heart crashing excitedly against your ribs, you perched delicately on it and Barb rolled you away.

The day room was spacious and welcoming and abuzz with activity. Some of the men were still hooked to IVs and sitting by the wide windows and others who were more capable were dispersed amongst the tables either reading or playing cards or just talking with each other. There were also some women in there, so you didn’t feel like you were entering the lion’s den. You spotted Henry by one of the card tables and you wanted to put your feet down on the floor to stop Barb from rolling you right up to his side. Unfortunately, you didn’t do it in time and when you squeaked to an unceremonious halt at the edge of the table, he glanced up from his cards.

The look on his face when he recognised you was one that you would store in your memory for an eternity. He put the cards face down on the table and made to stand up. You immediately put up your hands to stop him.

‘No, no, don’t get up, you don’t–‘

But, he had already struggled to push himself up and out of the chair and you didn’t want to take that victory from him. You stood up as well, ready to give a firm friendly handshake, or a paltry pat on the shoulder but he had other intentions. He dragged you into his arms, and crushed you to his meaty chest, before you could manage to say, hello.

When he finally let you go, you both went back to your respective seats, feeling overwhelmed by the perfect greeting.

Grinning at him, you made a gesture to your own head.

‘Your hair… it’s all curly!’

The last time you’d seen him, his hair was shorn right to the head, and there was really no hint as to the texture or really even the true colour. So it surprised you to see a neatly clipped mop of glossy brown curls. Henry put a self conscious hand into his hair and ruffled his fingers through it.

‘I like it,’ you assured him, hoping to put him at ease. ‘I like it a lot.’

Grabby hair, your brain chittered. Perfect length for grabbing.

With that the two men who had been playing cards with him at the table, picked up and left, taking the not so subtle hint that they should leave the two of you alone.

‘I’m glad to see you. Finally,’ he said, wincing a little when he shifted in the chair.

‘Does it still hurt?’ you asked, reaching out to put your hands over his on the table.

‘I��m getting over it,’ he said, dodging the question effortlessly.

He turned his hands up to hold onto yours and you felt as shy as a virgin on a first date. So, what could you do but make a joke the break the tension.

‘I mean… if I had to get blown up to get a date with you in a hospital day room, don’t know if I would do it again. Ehh, I probably would.’

Your eyes swept up to his and he stared at you a moment, puzzled and when you gave him a little hesitant smile, Henry started to laugh. The sound it lit you up with happiness and then the awkwardness was broken.

You spent about an hour chatting and if you were honest, most of it was spent flirting, until you started to feel tired.

You didn’t want to overstay your welcome and he seemed disappointed (much to your juvenile delight) when you said that you were leaving.

‘Tomorrow then?’ he asked, big blue eyes bright and eager, his hands unwilling to let you go again.

‘Yes, tomorrow.’

-End part 4

#henry cavill #captain syversion #syverson x you #henry cavill x you #captain syverson x you #syverson the protector #reader insert

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fangirlingincamouflage · 5 years ago

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Blind Hope: Chapter 7

Title: Blind Hope Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: 1,232 Pairing: Nick Jakoby x Reader Chapter Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst, Plot, affectionate frustration Disclaimer I do not own Nick Jakoby, he is the intellectual property of Netflix Originals, I make no money from this fanfiction. Dedication: @14readwritedraw96 and @thezucchini (For being so wonderfully enthusiastic) TW/CW Descriptions of pain, long term hospital stay

Previous chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 <~ You are Here

You are standing in the middle of the pasta isle at the grocery store when your cell phone goes off. It's that distinctive ping of an unknown number texting you. You sigh, roll your eyes, and wonder what is the easiest possible thing that you can make for dinner that night. In the past six days your workload has tripled. June and Em are on a much needed vacation and Nick is still unconscious at the hospital.

You know that because you called right before you left to go grocery shopping. You also called first thing this morning, and last night, and the morning before, and the night before that. You have called the hospital at least twice a day for the past thirty-seven days. You got the exact same information.

“Officer Jakoby is still in an induced coma, and he is not ready to be seen by friends or family.”

It was maddening.

Your phone goes off again and you set a jar of premade sauce back on the shelf. Your stomach isn't feeling red sauce. It isn't feeling pasta. Or oranges. Or any one of a thousand other things you were totally down for eating. You hadn't been hungry since the night part of LA went up in magical flames. Since Nick had been hospitalized.

With a sigh you eased into the snack isle. Is a bag of chips an acceptable replacement for dinner? Probably not, but you've had take out for the past two weeks and absolutely none of it has filled the steady, continuing ache in your heart.

Your phone goes off again.

“What?” you snarl loud enough to make the old lady with a basket full of frozen dinners blink with bewilderment. “Sorry. Not you.”

You pull your phone out and waive it at her. She doesn't look convinced, and doubles her speed to get into the next isle.

With a few swipes you bring up your new messages.

“This is Jessica, the Head Nurse at the Intensive Care Unit at the UCLA Medical Center.” The first message reads.

Your heard pounds so hard in your chest that your vision goes a little hazy. You grip your phone tightly enough to make the screen rainbow with protest.

“Nick Jakoby has achieved a state of continuing consciousness. One of my nurses made the mistake of telling him that you had stopped by.”

That hazy feeling turns to ash. You had wanted to see him yourself, to let him know what had gone on, and why you hadn't talked to him in six, not seven, months. He must be angry, furious.

The third message is brief, and comes across as a little mad. “In order to keep him in bed, I promised him you would come see him tonight. Do not make me a liar.”

You desert your cart, and take the shortest possible trip to the hospital that you have ever taken. Which is impressive, considering all the times you driven up there in the past month, just in case something had happened between your morning and evening check-ins.

You don't stop at the front desk, you know where you are going. The elevator doors close as you turn the corner, and the wait for the next ones seems like an eternity. The moment the doors whoosh open, you surge inside hitting the buttons for the ICU floor. You don't even wait. You ht the close-door button and watch your reflection stare back at you as the lift starts to rise.

What are you going to say? Should you have gotten balloons? Flowers? A stuffed animal? Would he even be allowed those things? Did he want them from you? Did he want to see you to make up or to have a final talk? In the twenty-eight seconds that it takes to get to your floor, your mind plays out you greatest hopes and worst fears in a strange, overlapping loop that leaves you feeling a little lightheaded.

Though maybe that has something to do with the fact that you haven't eaten well in a month.

Your clothes don't fit right, you think as you tug at the fabric. You should have gone home to change. You were wearing your comfy clothes to go shopping. The fabric weird. Then you realize its not the fabric, its your own skin. You are so nervous that your skin feels like an electric current is running through it. With a huff you roll your shoulders, trying to settle your nerves. It doesn't help.

The doors slide open and as fast as you got into the elevator, you hesitate to get out. This could go wrong. What if his mother is there? His partner? What about Johnassen, the jerk who broke his phone so long ago?

It doesn't matter you tell yourself as you take that first step off the elevator. All that matters is he's awake. You'll be able to see him with your own eyes.

A stern looking woman with stark gray curls looks up from a desk as you approach. She tilts her head and inspects you.

“For Jakoby?” she asks like she already knows the answer. “Follow me.”

Your heart is in your ears as you follow in the steps of her worn out shoes. She swipes her badge, taking you through a set of secure double doors. The sounds of the hospital change. The ICU is bereft of human noises, but it isn't quiet. You can hear televisions on a half a dozen channels turned down low, doing what they could to preoccupy patients who were in layers of pain. The sound of breathing machines hiss and whirl. A man in green scrubs wheels supplies down the hall. There's no happy, warm chatter. Just a strange sense of desolation and pain.

You do not like it here, and you can't imagine Nick here. Nick, with his warm laugh and kindness. Nick who kisses you like the universe exists in your lips. You want to scoop him up and take him away.

The nurse stops outside of a door at the end of the hall.

“They are quarantined behind a see through partition,” she tells you in the kind of no-nonsense voice that must come from years in her work. “Do not attempt to breech this partition.”

She holds out a long medical gown. Confused, you shoved your arms into the sleeves. She spins you, and starts to tie it up, and then she puts another one on your back, spinning you again so she can tie it in the front. She hands you a cap, and a mask, and you put them both on as she helps your feet into medical grade booties.

“How dangerous is it?” You ask as she holds up a pair of gloves to slip on your hands.

“Unknown,” she tucks the end of the gloves over the wristband of the double set of gowns. “But you saw the news, you know where they were. Better safe than sorry.”

She types a number into the key pad. “You get ten minutes. No more, no less. I'm not being mean, but we need to minimize any chance of exposure.”

You nod your understanding. Ten minutes isn't much time, but you'll make the most of it.

“There are armed men in there,” she finally says. “Don't do anything to make them think you are a threat.”

It's the last bit of advice she gives you before the pad turns green and the door is opened.

The room is long, white, and empty save for what looks like a box made out of hanging plastic. Only a few of the lights are on, casting half the room in evening darkness. There are several beds, but only one of them is occupied. The long, lean body of a black male is visible beneath the harsh lighting. Three other people stand guard, dressed from head to toe, AR-15 clutched in their hands. The door closes behind you.

For a moment you stand there, frozen and unsure. A little, ugly thought makes you wonder if this is some weird trick. Then you hear your name.

Your eyes are drown to the shape of a man sitting in a chair. You hadn't noticed him at first because the dark lines of his body blend a little too easily with the pseudo darkness on that side of the room. But now that you've seen him, you can't pull your gaze away.

Nick. You'd know the shape of him anywhere. The broad, strong line of his shoulders stands guardian against the pitch black behind him. There's a blanket across his legs, and an IV in his arm.

“It's you,” he says softly, disbelieving.

“Nick.” You take one step, and then another, and before you know it your legs are carrying you across the room. You almost forget the plastic. When you foot hits it, you're startled. The guards watch you with cold glares. “Sorry.”

And once you start saying it, you can't stop. Over and over again you apologize. You don't realize you are crying until you taste the hot salt of your own tears. You are sorry you didn't call him. You are sorry you left. You are sorry you didn't answer him back. You are sorry for everything you ever did in the last six months because none of those things was going to him. You sink to your knees at the edge of the partition, the tears making it impossible to speak.

He says your name again, so soft you wonder if you dreamed it. You look up, and he's shaking his head.

“Please, don't cry.”

Slowly, unsteadily, he gets up. He doesn't look at you as he pulls the chair from one side of the plastic sheet box to the other. Right in front of you, he plops the chair down, and then lowers himself into it. His staccato motions belie how hurt he must still be.

The pair of you are silent as you look one another over. You see the bruises beneath his woad blue spots; purple and yellow and, in some places, black. You see the stitches in his arm, the thick swelling of his hands. The skin around his cheeks is slack with the lack of food he's gotten in the past month. But his eyes, those gorgeous eyes that are yellow and red and orange all at once, they are filled with pain that has nothing to do with being thrown half a football field by a magical explosion.

“You're here,” he says, his voice soft. “I thought-” He stop short, shrugging, and then wincing.

“I know,” you tell him. While you aren't sure of the exact words he must have thought, you know that it couldn't have been good.

“Why?” he asks.

You open your mouth to tell him, but the words wont come. You remember Elizabeth, his mother, and the way she had looked at you. You could tell him everything, but what good would that do? He might get angry at his mother, it might cause some kind of rift between them and how many people did Nick really have who cared that much for his safety? Not nearly enough, you think as you take in injuries you hadn't noticed before.

Instead you shrug. You can't bring yourself to lie, but you can't bring yourself to tell him the truth either, no matter how much it's burned inside of you. You turn the words that she said over in your mind, pulling an answer from them without revealing their source.

“You got hurt because you were with me.” Your voice cracks as you say it.

His eyes close and his shoulders sag. His body leans forward. You think he's about to slide out of the chair. The pair of you kneel on the floor, staring at one another. Emotions that you don't think have ever been named whirl through you. You want to touch him, you want to hold him, you want to vanish together into the night.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “No. You were just the excuse. When they saw me-” he cuts off, coughs, and shakes. “They'd already decided what they were going to do.”

He looks away. You can tell that there's more to say, that he's struggling. Rather than push you give him a moment. He deserves that at the very least.

“It wont happen again,” he says.

“Why not?”

He opens his palm, I can't see anything there, but he must because he's staring down at it like it's something special.

“I can't talk about a lot that happened that night,” he says. “I want to, I want to tell you everything but...I can't.”

You shake your head. “I just need to know you are safe.”

“I think I am. I mean-I gotta tell you, it was not a normal night. I was...I was blooded.”

Your eyes go wide. You can't help but stare at his lips. He smirks.

“It'll take a while for the tusks to grow. But I don't need to file them anymore.”

You sit back on your heels. “Are you okay with that?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends.”

“On what?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you. It's a long look, a scared and hopeful one. It's like he's weighing a thousand dreams as he watches you and all you can do is wait.

“I thought I was getting over you,” he finally says. “It'd been months. Long months. Really, really long months. My mom even set me up on a couple dates with some unblooded girls from other states.”

Your stomach twists.

“Yeah?” you say, hoping that he's not about to tell you that he has moved on and this whole thing was about him saying goodbye.

“They were nice, but they...they didn't understand me. They didn't like what I do. They didn't like my jokes and they all thought Alaska is stupid.” The two of you laugh and it feels so good. He shifts his position until the two of you are nearly the same height. “I wasn't falling for someone else but I was pretending really hard like I was getting over you.”

You nod, you know what he means. You'd been going through all the motions, acting like you were moving forward when all you were doing was playing the role and hoping.

“I was going to come see you,” he said. “As soon as my shift was over that night. I was going to go right to your apartment. Everyone said I shouldn't because I'd just get hurt, but I thought that it would be worth it. I just..”

Slowly he reached into the blanket still twisted around his legs. His thick, injured fingers shook with pain as he pushed the fabric around.

“Where-hold on-it's here, I swear.”

Your heart, which has already gone through far too much, pounds all over again. Your mouth goes dry.

“Nick...”

“I almost died you know,” he says as he lifts a corner, continues to look. There's a little wetness on his brow, and you wonder if it's fear, nerves, or pain that's put it there. “And not just once. I almost died like four times.”

One of the guards cleared their throats.

“I know,” Nick said, holding up his free hand. “I know. I can't tell her anything. But you only have to look at me to see that it happened.” He went still, and bowed his head. “I did die.”

It's not even a whisper, there's no sound. It's a breath of words that you are sure the guards couldn't hear. You pounding heart turns to ice in your chest.

“What?”

But he doesn't say it again. Instead he looks up at you and his eyes are bright with a hundred emotions. “And all I could think about, was you.”

He holds out his hand. Nested there is a black velvet box. Carefully, he opens it, revealing a ring. It's made of two metals, platinum and rose gold, twisted around one another to form a very simple braid, and right there at the center is a stone in the exact same shade of blue as his spots.

“All I thought about every day has been you,” he is saying when your ears start to work again. “And I don't want to ever have to worry again.”

You swallow twice before you can speak. “Are you proposing?”

You aren't sure if he's blushing, but his ears twitch. “Only if you're saying yes.”

“You have to ask,” you say. “You have to...ask.”

“Is it a spell? A human thing?” he says.

You shrug, because it kind of is, but mostly you just need to time to stop your thoughts from making such a commotion in your head. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong, a thousand even, but even so-

He says your name and you find that he's shifted yet again, down on one knee in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

#nick jakoby fanfiction #nick jakoby x reader #nick jakoby #proposal #cute #sweet fanfiction

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callmeelle22 · 4 years ago

Text

Blue Dream II

Paring: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 097

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool; Summary: His response is to tilt his head to the side and gaze down at her, eyes tracing the length of her legs and the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. He lingers on her cleavage and this time, when he meets her eyes, she feels it, the sensation like she’s been put on simmer, like he’s warming her slowly, easing her into her own combustion, sparking like the lyrics to this song, and then you, came to save the day and I must say, you may have done some more. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

It's Cool

My escape from everything

Please say you'll be my nothing

And I will give you everything

Man, you are really something else

On Friday nights, Iris spends time alone. She lives in a relatively small apartment near Central City U’s campus where she makes peanuts as a teaching assistant while she completes her journalism master’s. Her weeks are long and arduous, what with attending her own classes and all but teaching the ones she assists. Her evenings are often spent eating turkey sandwiches with one hand and completing assignments with the other. And when those are done, she logs into her blog, What a Life You’ve Lived, and types up the stories people send to her. That part doesn’t make her tired; no, she likes being able to tell others’ stories, likes that they trust a woman they’ve never seen to tell their lives in a way that they might not ever see.

But it’s still why, on Friday nights, she pours herself an overfull glass of wine, fills a pipe bowl with some of the marijuana she gets from the dispensary by Linda’s place, and orders Thai food while she watches something from her Netflix or Hulu queue or sometimes she listens to music. She’s already showered, wearing a pair of green silk shorts and a matching tank top, pretty cream piping along the top of the tank and the hem of the shorts—she doesn't always dress like this when she’s home alone; she just likes the feeling of the silk on her skin when she’s high—and her hair is already wrapped and tied with her scarf when the doorbell rings. She frowns at the door because she’s only just ordered her pad Thai noodles and those spring rolls she likes, and there’s no way the delivery is there yet because she always sets the order for when she’s sufficiently intoxicated.

She figures that it could be her brother Wally or even Linda because they’ve both been known to drop by without calling. A touch annoyed, she goes to the door and swings it open, ready to go off for interrupting what they know is her self-care night. But then she’s stopped short, the music still playing in the background—you caught me at an awful time; see i just lost my smile—because it’s him.

Iris’s liquor-soaked memories don’t do him much justice because there he is, live and solid. He is tall, even taller than she’d thought as she stands in her bare feet. He’s lean, the dark jeans hanging off his hips and his plain gray shirt showing off the corded muscles in his arms. There’s a tattoo sleeve on his right forearm, a complicated bouquet of flowers that doesn't take away from the masculine energy he exudes standing at her door, his hands stuffed in his pockets. She can tell now that his hair is brown and a little bit messy, as if he constantly runs his hands through it. She does a quick scan of the rest of him: dark moles dotting the skin of his throat, thin pink mouth, the hint of a 5 o’clock shadow covering the cut of his jaw. It’s still his eyes, though, that gets her. It’s not only the color of them—somehow blue with hints of moss and gold or maybe they’re like moss with hints of gold and gray—but it’s the way he’s looking at her too. Like they're always searching, and that is what you helped me find; hadn't seen it in a while, looking for what she won't reveal.

She knows that her night set only just covers the swell of her ass and dips down in her cleavage. She knows that she’s scrubbed head to toe in her rosewater body butter. But he, he looks at her like he knows it too. Like he sees all of the tawny brown skin she’s not showing, like he’s seeing something, something more than the wide set of her full mouth and the whiskey chocolate of her eyes.

“Hey,” he speaks, and there’s nothing particularly memorable about his voice, but the tone of it is low, and it sends an involuntary shiver through her.

“I know this is weird,” he continues, “and you can definitely tell me to leave. But I didn’t have your number or even your name, and I’ve been thinking about you all week and…” He tapers off, and Iris lets her eyes travel up the length of him once more.

“Wanna come in?”

She doesn’t know what possesses her to ask—okay, maybe that bit about thinking of her all week helped—but when he nods, a smile easing on his face, her heart starts doing that seizing thing again.

She steps aside to let him in.

He sees the shoes she’d worn to work sitting by the door so he toes off his own sneakers beside them and Iris has to stop herself from acknowledging what they look like next to hers. Instead, she watches as he takes a look around. She’s proud of what she’s been able to do with a consignment shop and limited funds. The focal point is an overstuffed sofa in a light gray and its matching armchair; a multicolored rug with bold hints of sage and orange lies under the dark circular coffee table which is the same color as the bookshelf against her wall, the six shelves teeming with books, as well as the TV stand. She’s got some early artwork by a few Black local artists on her wall, a couple of her favorite quotes printed and framed next to them.

The room feels smaller with him in it. While Iris is no nun, it’s been months since a man other than her brother or dad has been in her home and it feels...strange. The air seems denser somehow, heavy—heavy with the cloud of tension that hovers around them, heavy with the knowledge that the print of this man is still one that she can feel in her body when she falls asleep at night.

She notes that his eyes track the grinder and pipe in plain view on her coffee table and when she faces him again, his eyebrow is lifted.

“Do you partake?” she wonders.

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“Will you tonight?”

His response is to tilt his head to the side and gaze down at her, eyes tracing the length of her legs and the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. He lingers on her cleavage and this time, when he meets her eyes, she feels it, the sensation like she’s been put on simmer, like he’s warming her slowly, easing her into her own combustion, sparking like the lyrics to this song, and then you, came to save the day and I must say, you may have done some more.

He licks his lips. “Yes.”

He tells her his name is Bartholomew Allen.

First, she goes into the kitchen to grab another of the long-stemmed wine glass that the professor she works for had given her as a housewarming gift. Then she eases down onto the sofa before she spreads her arm in an invitation for him to sit too. She pours from the bottle of wine and hands him the glass; he takes it from her, fingers grazing hers where they’re cupped around the bowl.

“My name is Bartholomew Allen,” he says, sort of abruptly.

She blinks over at him, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Your parents named you Bartholomew?”

“It’s a family name,” he adds, and though there’s no hint of embarrassment in his voice when he says it, Iris sees the way his cheeks flush red.

It makes her smile. All she has are the hazy images of him in her head: the way he’d boldly walked up to ask her to dance, how the kisses he’d pressed into her skin had been sure and all-encompassing. There had been no blush to his cheeks that first night when he’d been whispering into her ear; though Iris does recall how the rest of him had turned this same lovely shade of red, like a tinge of wine under his skin, when she had grabbed his ass to push him deeper into her.

In any case, Iris hadn’t thought of him like this, blushing at something as simple as his name and this dichotomy endears him to her.

“But you can call me Barry,” he says after taking a sip of his wine, almost like an afterthought.

“Well, Barry,” she says, “I’m Iris West.”

He looks at her over the rim of his glass. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Iris.”

It’s atypical of her, she knows, inviting this man back into her house like this. Her police captain father would warn her that this is the way that women die. Wally would tsk at her with only slight disapproval, more specifically concerned with the fact that she hadn’t bothered to learn his name before she’d let him climb into her bed. It isn’t a habit of hers, one-night stands (or two nights, she supposes, after tonight) with pale-skinned men from clubs she rarely frequents. But that day, last Saturday, she had gotten an email from the professor of her Feature Writing course with harsh feedback on one of her assignments, and Wally, only in his junior year of undergrad, had canceled their dinner, and she hadn’t updated her blog in what felt like weeks and…

And she’s been in such a space of discontent lately, with the rigid monotony of her days, the school and work and school and work, and she has spent more time than she realizes alone. Her best (and really, her only) friend is in the stages of a building relationship and her dad is too. She’s got people, she does, but they seem so tangential these days. So on Saturday, she’d put on a dress that had shown too much of her brown skin and shoes that had given her more legs than most men know what to do with. And she’d walked down along the aptly named Bar Street, past the uh, I won't love a ho, after we fuck she can't get near me, only bitch I give a conversation to is Siri and the so when are you gonna tell her, that we did that too? until she’d come to the door of something sultrier calling out to her, as seductive and enticing as a siren, and she had answered.

Then, somewhere between her third tequila and her ninth or tenth song, hope that's cool; ‘cause i'm really not trying to, impose but I suppose that, i'm supposed to be here, with you, Barry had come to dance with her, with the long line of his body following her rhythm and the pleasing smell of the lemongrass on his clothes and—for the first time in longer than she cares to admit—Iris had begun to feel.

It explains why she let him come home with her a week ago. It explains why he’s in her apartment now.

“Iris?” She hears Barry call her name, and by the look on his face, she knows it isn’t the first time he’s tried to get her attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she nods. “Sorry about that. I space out sometimes.” She points towards her table. “Shall we?”

He looks at her a little unsure, as if he wants to say more, but he eventually just nods in agreement. “Sure.”

She leans forward and grabs the grinder. The first time she smoked weed, she’d been a freshman in college. As cliche as it sounds, she’d had a roommate from Colorado who’d brought a stash with her and had offered a hit to Iris once at a house party. She’d liked it immediately, had liked how her brain had cleared, as if someone had wiped away all the writing on a chalkboard, erasing the mounting pressure of being the first university college kid in her family, of being the example for her brother who was ten times smarter and twice as reckless; had liked how much lighter her body had felt, as if she was floating, lying upon a cloud or somewhere even lighter, even higher.

She’s not a heavy smoker, the practice delegated to her Friday night routine and only in the couple years since it’s become legal recreationally in Central City. Still, she can’t help but feel a little nervous right now as Barry watches her pull the small canister towards her and open it. She makes quick work of pinching out a couple nuggets of the blue city diesel she prefers and grinding it up before packing the bowl of the pipe. It’s a pretty thing, made of glass in a dark green with blue and orange swirls. There is the flick of the lighter, and Iris brings the pipe to her lips and inhales.

She can all but feel the smoke flowing through her body, unbending her spine and relaxing her legs, curling in her lungs and moving to her head, making the thoughts there—the stress of classes, the constant sting of loneliness, and even the simmering tension she feels with Barry next to her—start to scatter until they’re no longer noticeable.

She passes the pipe over to Barry, who takes it from her gingerly, the tips of his long fingers brushing her again. She shivers, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, instead leaning back onto the couch, her legs crossed in the seat, as she watches him. He flicks the lighter a couple of times before it lights, and then he fires at the weed and takes a hit. His skin shades the faintest hint of pink and then he pulls the pipe away from his mouth and coughs, a deep cough that waters his eyes.

“You okay?” she questions. He nods as he passes it back. They do this, back and forth, until Barry breathes the smoke in easier and Iris falls even deeper into the couch. That’s when the doorbell rings.

“It’s the food,” she says and Barry is on his feet before she can even make sense of it. “Wait, I have money,” she tries, standing, because this is a mom-and-pop sort of pace and they still do their own delivery instead of going through the more expensive, albeit convenient, routes.

By the time Iris has grabbed her wallet from her purse, Barry is grabbing food and saying “Thanks, man” to Tony, the tall bearded college student who normally delivers it to her.

“Oh what’s up, Iris?” he says to her when she peeks around Barry’s shoulder.

“Hi, Tony. Do I owe you the same?”

“Oh, your boy already got it.” He smiles, a dimple winking at her in his bronze skin. “Y’all have a good night,” he adds and then he winks at her for real before disappearing back downstairs. She backs up to let Barry in the door.

“Barry, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I’m crashing your night and I’m smoking your weed. It’s the least I can do.”

Iris hums, looking up at him. He’s sort of pretty, she thinks absently, with his eyes like gems and his pink mouth, his expression soft and earnest.

“Come on.”

Iris always orders way too much food, usually with the intent to eat off the leftovers for a couple of meals. It’s a spread, with walnut shrimp, a green/ginger salad, pad thai, Bangkok chicken, and several Thai spring rolls, so it's definitely enough to share. She inhales several forkfuls of noodles while Barry attacks the Bangkok chicken. They eat in relative silence, the music still playing in the background, with eyes are sad, i smile, i think you'll find, you need me just like i need you, yeah; but it's cool, we ain't gotta be nothing, it's true, i'd actually prefer it, yeah; it's on you, it's on you, it's on you.

It’s when they’re done eating, when Iris has placed the containers in the refrigerator and they’re both snuggled deeper into the couch, wine glasses close by, that their night really begins. Iris has packed another bowl and takes another hit. And with a lungful of smoke, she asks,

“What sort of music do you like to listen to when you smoke?”

“I don’t think that I smoke enough to know.”

She hands him the bowl and grabs the remote to the smart tv, pulling up the playlist she’d made for nights like this. It gets longer every couple of days, songs that catch her fancy, songs with beats that sing as much as the artists, songs that seep in like the weed does, running through her like the blood in her vein does. The song plays—and i'm not even gonna front, at first i was just tryna fuck, but you have got me so in love, so deep in love, so please be love—and Iris closes her eyes, savoring the mellow sound of the music.

She takes pulls from her wine glass as Barry smokes and then the actions reverse. They take turns, back and forth, until Iris feels her lids drop, sees the slight haze that covers everything in her sight. Barry is sitting at the other end of the chair, but Iris swears that she can feel him, feel the solid heat of him, feel the touch of him like prickles on her skin. When she gazes over at him, positioning herself so that her back is against the arm of the chair and her painted toes just miss Barry’s thighs, she finds that he’s looking at her again.

“What?” she asks.

He shakes his head, indicating nothing, and the movement is slow, stilted. But then he asks,

“How do you feel, about my showing up here?”

She shrugs. “Surprised,” she tells him. “That you wanted to come; that you remembered where I lived.”

Barry chuckles, a low, gentle sound. “I only remembered because of the wreath, the sunflowers.”

She doesn’t add this, though a surprise, is not one she dislikes. She likes his company, even if she can’t name why.

“Barry,” she calls, to grab his attention again, and the way he tilts his head in acknowledgment makes her think more intently on the words of this song—and I'm not even gonna lie, i wouldn't mind if we just lie, together 'til the end of time, if that is fine with you, it's fine with me—and she shakes her head at the thought.

“Hmm?” he hums, eyes never wavering.

“What made you come here tonight?”

She’s sufficiently high now. She’d been careful not to overstuff herself with food and both the wine and diesel have done their job. She feels both languid and like she’s soaring, all at once. The music helps and she’s waiting in anticipation as she waits for his answer.

It’s slow coming, his answer. Before he responds, he touches gingerly at her bare ankles, fingers skimming along the bones of one and then the other. His fingers are warm and Iris feels the light callouses there, shocked at the sensation of the roughened skin on hers, how the touch sends sparks up the lines of her legs. He brings one of her feet up on his lap, and it seems so small in his hands. He presses his thumb into her instep, glides it down to the heel, and back up. Iris lets out a moan, the sound inaudible over the music—definitely love, definitive love—but the tiny uplift of the corner of his mouth suggests he’d heard it, and he grabs her other foot and repeats the action. Then he says,

“I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory.”

He trails his fingers up her left calf, still kneading her right foot. “I kept thinking of you,” he tells her, “about the taste of your mouth and the grip of your slick, and I had to know if I was only drunk and making it up.”

It’s the sensations that make her respond the way she does. It’s the easy purr of keyboards she hears behind Jhene’s dulcet voice; it’s his touch, how it seems to reverberate through her entire body; it the smell of him, of the room: the fainting smell of the smoke and the rosewater butter on her own skin and what she imagines it’ll smell like mixed with the scent of him that she remembers, the notes citrusy and bright.

“Me too,” she tells him. “I woke up on Sunday and I could still feel you. You were gone and much of you was a memory, but the feel of you was still there and…”

(and I wanted you to still be here, wanted to make a lasting memory, a real one, that would keep me warm when school and wavering friendships couldn’t)

But she doesn’t say any of that. Barry has all but mentioned he’s come over to sleep with her again and she can admit that the thought does have immense appeal, even if it’s not the only thing she thinks she wants from him.

She leans up and moves her ankle out of his grasp; he raises an eyebrow at the loss of contact, but then she widens her legs and reaches for him, grabbing at his shirt to pull him on top of her. He comes willingly, hovering above her, holding himself up with one arm on the top of the couch. All Iris can think about is the weight of him on top of her, how guarded it makes her feel, how secure.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice quiet against the strain of the music from the television set, though she’d been the one to pull him in. He presses his body down, and her legs part automatically, craving him there again. She can tell that he’s high, in the red of his eyes and in the slow ways he’s talking, weighing every word before he lets it out.

“Yes,” she responds, just as quietly.

This seems like a moment here, one Iris can’t make sense of, not knowing what he’s here for. But he’s looking at her like she’s something, like he sees her, and it’s, it’s electrifying.

So when he leans down and kisses her, she leans up and gives it back, letting his mouth work her over. Barry is a good kisser. He starts out easy, slow, just his mouth moving against hers. His lips are soft and he tastes like wine and, somehow, the sex she knows they’re about to have, and the thought makes her close her eyes as she gives herself over to him. He licks at the seam of her lips, bites down her bottom one, and then licks at her again, demanding entry. She opens for him, eyes fluttering closed as he takes full control of her mouth. He sucks on her tongue, and then her lip again, and then he’s back to working her over with his mouth, the kiss wet and sloppy, increasingly erotic.

He is hard between her warm thighs, the solid long length of him, and she has to touch him. She rubs her hands down his back, over his cotton t-shirt, and then up under, along his spine. He shivers on top of her but doesn’t stop kissing her. She keeps one hand running up and down his back, loving the feel of him beneath her palm, and she fingers along his torso with the other, light touches that make his belly clench, that make his hips flex into her. He hums into her mouth, a sound more like a low growl, and it vibrates through her body, moving until it pulses between her legs. She moans in response, and it is that that breaks the kiss. Barry pulls back to look at her, and she likes that he looks a little bit wrecked. He stares down at her, drinking her in, and she knows what he must see: her thighs parted, with the hem of her silk shorts riding high; one strap of her top hanging off her shoulder, her breasts heaving as she tries to catch her breath; her full lips puffy and likely red from his bites; her eyes wide and blown, the dark of her pupils slowly overtaking the brown of her irises. Even her scarf has half-fallen off, and she should care that her hair will be unmanageable tomorrow. But when Barry tilts his head with a question, she lets him take it off and toss it onto her coffee table, and then he leans up, eyes never straying from hers.

“Barry?” she calls but pauses at the look in his eyes.

He fingers at the bottom of her top. “Take it off,” he tells her.

She responds to the slight command in his tone, clenching her stomach muscles as she leans up just enough to pull her tank over her head. He’s kneeling between her legs now, looking down at her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples puckered under his gaze. He hasn’t even touched her yet, and she’s ready. It doesn’t make sense, how responsive she is to him, but she is, even when he’s just there staring.

“Barry?” she calls again, and she thrusts her hips, infinitesimally. It makes him look away from where he’s trying to memorize the weight of her breasts, the smooth tawny brown color of them, the darker areolas, and even darker nipples.

“What are you doing?” she asks, when he doesn’t respond to her.

“Looking at you,” is his too calm answer.

She nods, but huffs out a little breath in annoyance. “Okay, but can you…” fuck me, is the obvious response, but it doesn’t come out as that; instead, it’s another thrust of her hips, her constantly swelling sex rubbing his hard thigh. Barry licks his lips and looks down at her.

“Can I what, Iris?”

“You know,” she says, and squeezes him with her thighs.

“Hmmm,” Barry murmurs. “I don’t know that I do.”

This time, she catches his gaze, noting the glassy look of his eyes, the color grayer in this light. Iris wants to moan at the sight of him.

“Don’t play with me, Barry,” she grumbles, hoping that if she imbues a touch of menace to her words, he’d go ahead and put her out of her misery.

“No?” He lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to play with you, Iris?”

She can’t answer, because then he’s reaching down and parting her thighs wider, enough that Barry can slide the wide leg of one side of her shorts over and expose her pussy to him. She clenches when the air hits her, and then again when Barry slides the tip of his middle finger down the middle of her slit.

She moans, her breath catching at the end of it when she looks down to watch his pale digit disappear inside of her. He dips in and out and in again, and Iris can’t stop watching it. She’s already wet, and his finger is glistening.

“You sure you don’t want me to play with you, Iris?” he asks her, dipping his finger all the way to the knuckle. He brings it back out, and then begins to rub her own wet over her lips. Down the side of her vulva, up the other side. Parting her lips with just that one finger. Sliding in again to gather more of her slick and start his trek over again.

Beneath him, Iris is...a mess. The one finger isn’t enough; she’s too wet for it and she keeps closing around nothing. But her breathing is only growing more labored and she can't. stop. watching. It should be embarrassing; her shorts are soaked through and Barry is still fully clothed, but she can’t be. The look of his long, rough-tipped fingers playing in the pink of her pussy so wholly arousing that she literally thinks that she can come like this.

“No, I,” she tells him, panting. She licks her lips, tries again. “This is…”

“This is what, Iris?” he asks, his cadence still heavy, and honestly, how the fuck does him just saying her name get her off like this. “Use your words, baby.”

“Fuck,” Iris moans.

Barry has the gall to smile. “That’s one.”

“Fuck you,” she moans again.

“Yeah?” Barry questions and he leans down, pulling his dirty little finger out of her and wrapping that same wet hand—wait, how is his whole hand wet—around her waist. He hovers over her, lips just a breath away from hers. “You ready for me to fuck you now?”

She huffs out a surprised laugh. “God, you’re a little bit of a dick.”

“And you’re ready for it now, aren’t you?”

She gives up on trying to be coy. “Yes,” she nods.

Barry has to stand to get out of his clothes, and Iris tries not to whimper at the loss. He pulls his shirt over his head, and Iris sees that his sleeve of flowers extends to his shoulders. He pulls his pants and boxers down, slipping out of his socks too, grabbing his wallet to pull a condom out before tossing it back down on top of his clothes. She watches as he rips open the wrapper and pulls the latex out, pinching its tip and sliding the condom down his length. He’s long and swollen, thicker, maybe, than she remembers, and she finds herself enamored as she watches him touch himself, fingers caressing the thick head and down his shaft.

“Take those off,” he tells her and she didn’t even realize she still has her shorts on. She peels them off, tossing them to the side, and then Barry is between her legs again. He grips her thighs and spreads them, one knee digging into the sofa close to her chest, the other planted high up on his hip.

He rubs himself along her once, making sure she’s still ready for him, and with a hand gripping her waist, he slides into her. She can feel herself opening for him, stretching to make room for him. He pulls out, just to the tip, and then he pushes back in, deeper, harder, and Iris gasps out a long “oohhh.” He rocks up into her, long strokes, slow strokes, like he’s got all the time in the world. She hears herself, she hears them, the wet sound of her pussy taking him in.

“Listen to you,” Barry whispers as he reaches down and thumbs at her clit. “You’re so wet, baby. God,” he groans. “Do you always get like this?” He fucks into her harder, still maddeningly slow, but fuck if it doesn’t make her swell a little more, gush a little more. “Or is it us? Is it me that gets you like this? Dripping out of that pretty little pussy like this?”

“Fuck, Barry, shit.”

He leans down again, until his chest is brushing her. The action plants him deeper, and he fucks into her, steady, persistent. He’s so close that Iris doesn’t know what to do with herself. He’s holding on to her waist, pinning her down on the sofa, and his pelvis brushes her clit with every downward stroke.

“Bar-Barryyyyyy.” Iris throws her head back, eyes clenched tight as she comes with a low, drawn-out moan, her hips bucking frantically as she squeezes wetly around Barry.

He pulls out of her and starts to move the sofa cushions from the back of the chair. It gives them more room and Barry sits down until he’s half laid out, back against the arm of the chair and legs spread on either side of her, one bracing on the floor.

“Lay on your stomach,” he tells her, “and then push your legs under mine.”

She does as he says, still a little sluggish from her unexpected orgasm. This move puts her ass in the air, and Barry grabs at her hips to bring her back to him. She looks back as he’s lining himself up with her again, and then he’s bringing her down on him, opening her up for him again. They both moan at the contact this time, Iris still sensitive from moments before. But he seems even harder now, even deeper when Iris leans forward to grab onto the other end of the couch. He guides her for a stroke, two, three, until she catches onto his rhythm, and begins to fuck herself back on him. He’s so deep she figures she could feel him hitting the bottom of his stomach if she focused hard enough. She bounces on him, keeping up his slow pace, and he gives her a hard squeeze around the waist for her efforts.

“That’s it, Iris,” he murmurs. “Ride me slow just like that.”

She’s always liked dirty talk; there’s something fully stimulating about a man making it known that he’s enjoying being with you. But this, this is different, and Iris can barely stand how much she’s turned on by him talking to her like this.

“You feel so good, Barry,” she tells him.

“Yeah?” He juts up into her, faltering a rhythm, making her fall even deeper into the sofa, making him fall even deeper into her. “Tell me what it feels like.”

She licks her lips, swallows. She’s never…

“It’s just me and you,” he says, sensing her hesitation. He stills her hips and straightens his torso, bringing her up as much as she can. He turns her head so that he can see her eyes. He moves away the hair that’s fallen into her face and gives her a quick peck on the mouth. “It’s just us, okay?”

She nods, and moves back into the comfortable position, back to grinding down on his dick, squeezing around his dick.

“Shit, Iris, that’s it.”

“You feel good,” she tells him again, firmly. “You’re so thick, so hard, I can’t even…” She falls forward again, and Barry gives her one hard slap down her ass cheek. “Barry!”

He soothes the sting with the palm of his hand, rubbing in small circles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so wet in my life,” she confesses, softly, truthfully. And that must have been what Barry was waiting for. He takes over, holding her hips in a death grip and he pounds into her. The slap-slap of his skin on hers is loud, the squelch of her wet, profane. She can feel her belly tighten again, the tell-tale sign that her orgasm is imminent. Barry’s is too, she can tell. His movements are more erratic, slow and then fast and then slow again until reaches out and presses a thumb to her puckered hole peeking back at him. That’s the end for them both. Iris screams out, her back arching deeply, just as Barry stills and empties into the condom, his dick throbbing against her walls as he does. She falls face forward into the sofa, still sitting on Barry, trying to catch her breath. It’s only then that she notices the music still playing from the television—infinite love, yeah; i've been wrong before, but this time I am for sure; it's you; something you did made me feel it deep in my core—and she asks for Alexa to turn the television off.

That throws the room into stark silence, except for the sound of their heavy breathing. She doesn’t know how long they lie there, but Iris thinks she could be almost asleep when Barry shifts up and out of her. She knows that she’s likely gonna have to deep clean the sofa tomorrow.

“Iris,” Barry calls moments later, and she turns her head to the side to see him standing beside her, his soft sex sitting on his thigh. He must have thrown the condom away already.

“Hmmm.”

He chuckles. “Come on, baby, let’s get you cleaned up and we can go to sleep.”

She nods slowly, and sits up, letting him take her hand to lead her into the bathroom. She tries, though she can’t say how much she succeeds, at telling herself that this, that this is nothing.

And it's cool

Think that we're up to something

But it's on you, it's on you, it's on you

It's on you, it's on you, it's on you

It's on you, 'cause I'm cool with nothing, yeah

'Cause even nothing is something

4 notes · View notes

guardianofjunmyeon · 4 years ago

Text

Finding Atlantis (part 9)

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description: 20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But fewer men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt began.

A/N: long time no see!!!! Here’s the new update^^ ive been on summer vacation for a few weeks now and unmotivated to write since this is the first time in a while i can really rest but ive been playing a lot of mysme and watching a lot of tv lmaooo

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

What does this mean?

Your thoughts are jumbled together as Baekhyun falls asleep against your chest. His soft whimpers and twitches are comforting almost in the quiet of the room. This isn’t the first time that he’s fallen asleep before you after a night together, but it is the first that he’s fallen asleep like this.

Curled around you, against your chest, breaths puffing out softly against your skin.

You can recall countless times you’ve woken up in bed with him, at opposite ends of the bed, not touching any more than absolutely necessary. Pissed off at any little sound or movement that he would make in dreamland. Bothered by the feeling of sweaty skin touching your own once the lust has faded to nothing.

It’s a startling comparison to how you feel now, but there’s no part of you that feels bothered by it.

You let your fingers run through his soft dark hair absentmindedly. It doesn’t take long for you to be lulled asleep by the feeling of warmth surrounding you and the soft snores filling your room.

~~~

The tension doesn’t go away.

The arguing doesn’t stop.

Better yet, it amplifies.

“If you step foot in my quarters without permission again, I’ll kill you.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Do you want to test me?” There’s a smirk fighting to break out as you say the words. He takes another step forward and you feel your heart rate picking up at the excitement visible in his eyes.

Jongin steps between you. “Please, can you not fight today? You guys have been going at it every day. We’re tired.”

You blink and look at the man amusedly. He looks genuinely exasperated standing in front of his captain like this. “Would you rather I fight with you?” You take a step towards him and watch excitedly as he takes a surprised step back and pink flushes across his cheeks. You feel playful, but it seems as though Jongin doesn’t fully realize it.

Baekhyun pushes Jongin behind him. You can still see the color on his cheeks as he ducks his head down behind Baekhyun. “Don’t flirt with my first mate!”

“You flirt with mine!” you state with a scoff.

Junmyeon blinks at your words from where he emerges from the kitchens. You cast him an accusatory glance and he shrugs before turning away and resuming his duties. You know that it doesn’t bother him in the slightest, being called out for flat out flirting with Baekhyun, but you’ve still decided to give them both shit for it. They’re both naturally touchy, they can’t help it. Once Baekhyun finally got over whatever was making him pissy at Junmyeon, the two have become quick friends. Close friends.

A bit too close for your own liking –if you’re honest with yourself.

Minseok takes it upon himself to grab you by the arm and drag you away with a pointed look in Baekhyun’s direction. You let him pull you to the hull and wave away Ten at the wheel without a word.

He doesn’t seem exasperated by the arguing as he did the last time he pulled you aside, but you still expect a lecture of some kind from him. You won’t be the one to break the silence in fear of getting a talk like that of the one in the infirmary all those days ago.

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you blankly. “Do you think that you might want to go back to doing your job now, Captain?”

“I am doing my job,” you throw back easily. His lip twitches but he doesn’t bother to humor you with any kind of response outside of a disbelieving chuckle. He turns around and you watch him walk off and grab Baekhyun by the back of the neck with a squeeze so hard that it nearly brings the younger to his knees. Minseok whispers harshly into his ear and Baekhyun nods rapidly in agreement to whatever he’s being told. It takes a full 5 seconds of you watching the scene to realize what you’re doing.

Nothing.

Maybe Minseok was right. You should go back to doing your job.

You settle at the unoccupied wheel of your ship and look out in the distance at the empty expanse of water ahead. At this point in the journey, you only know to continue sailing forward until there is a sign of Isla de Sirena. Truthfully, you wish that your crew could avoid this trial entirely.

After the first one, the storm that almost claimed your life and your ship, you fear for the state of the Storm Chaser and your men in the face of what are essentially evil mermaids. Unfortunately, the only way to advance on to the third and final trial is to face each one before it head on. There’s no shortcut in the return back to Atlantis, but fuck do you wish there was.

This time, you hope that Junmyeon is able to use his song a bit more helpfully so that you aren’t nearly killed again.

It hasn’t even been 2 weeks since the storm and your embrace with death.

You hear the sound of boots against wood and feel a presence behind you. A glance to the side and you see Junmyeon stopping a few feet from your right with his eyes trained out on the horizon.

“Junmyeon?”

He blinks a few times as if clearing his mind from a stupor. Something about the look in his eyes worries you.

“I…I don’t have a good feeling about where we’re heading.”

Your eyebrows pull together in concern. You feel as though you may need to talk to Junmyeon in private, but you can’t do that at the helm. You look over the ship for someone to take your place.

“Sehun!” you shout across the ship once you spot the man. Sehun turns from his conversation with Jongin by the entrance to the crew cabins at the sound of his name. You motion him over. He jogs up to you immediately and you step away from the wheel. “Can you steer for a while?” you ask. He frowns slightly but nods in agreement. Sehun looks between you and Junmyeon, who has turned back to staring off with a sort of glazed look in his eyes, with worry.

You grab at your first mate’s arm and pull him off to the side where you can talk to him out of earshot of anyone else.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper once the panic clouding over his eyes disappears yet again. You don’t like the way he’s acting.

He shakes his head at your words. “The tune of the song is off. There’s something wrong about the song,” he says softly, fearfully.

“What do you mean? Are we not going the right way?”

“No it’s not that, we are…I’m still sure we are. I just…” His eyes lose focus just behind you; you squeeze his arm to bring his attention back to you. You frown at the blank expression on his face. “We should be extra cautious of what’s to happen next…”

His behavior and words fill you with unease. For Junmyeon to be so out of it is abnormal –extremely so. Of anyone on the ship, he’s always the most aware of everything going on at any point in time.

And he was fine earlier.

“Do you need to lie down for a bit? You’re kind of scaring me,” you admit. When he blinks again and his look is suddenly clear and focused, you shudder.

“No, we all need to be on high alert. We’ll come across Isla de Sirena at any moment from now to tomorrow. We only know the general location of the island, and that doesn’t help us out very much-”

“Captain!” You whirl around at the frantic voice. Yeri pants as she runs up to you. “Captain,” she gasps out again through desperate inhales of air. “We see something up ahead!”

You catch the way Junmyeon swallows nervously before you make your way back to the hull where Sehun is still steering. You squint out ahead of the ship.

You see nothing.

“Where’s my telescope?” You bark out. You scan the deck of your ship to find a few of your men at the bow, surrounding Baekhyun with your telescope up to his eye.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell him not to use my shit…”

Yeri flushes at your side. “I’ll...uh… I’ll go get it from him Captain,” she says apologetically before jogging away to the huddle of people trying to catch sight of whatever has been…sighted.

Yeri taps on Baekhyun’s shoulder and waits until he investigates who has disrupted him, before she snatches the device directly from his hand. You watch as he stares at her retreating figure with an offended look at her curt behavior. You smile proudly to yourself. When Yeri returns to your side and your telescope is back in your possession, you catch Baekhyun’s eyes and flick him off.

He sends you a finger back with an upwards twitch of the corner of his mouth.

You turn your attention back to Yeri before he can catch sight of you own lips itching to break out in a smile. “What’s the report?” you ask, bringing your telescope up to your eye so that you can find what has caused the commotion on the ship.

“It seems as though we will be approaching the island within the next few hours,” Yeri starts. You’re finally able to train your sights on a mass of land. It is small, even taking the distortion from how far away it is into account. The ship could easily just go around it.

You lower your telescope.

“Sehun, can we just go around the island?” you question.

“No!” Sehun says loudly just as Junmyeon nearly screams the same. You look back and forth between them in confusion.

“We can’t go around it. We can’t,” Junmyeon’s voice shakes as he says it, eyes wide with fright.

Your mouth opens at his fear shrouded expression, but no words come out.

Sehun cuts in to save you the trouble of trying to figure out why your first mate looks so terrified. “The island may look small, but that's because that is the only part that you can see. There are rocks and reefs that stretch out for miles on either side of it. They’re just hidden enough to be invisible from a distance, but it’s nearly impossible to maneuver around them. The ship would crash if we tried to go around at this point.”

“There’s a passage in the middle of the island that is large enough for a ship to sail through without problem,” Chanyeol’s voice booms from behind you. Confusion paints your face as you try to figure out where the hell he appeared from.

You try to figure out the reliability of going directly through the island versus around it. “Is it safe?”

Chanyeol sighs heavily at your question. “No, but it’s faster than trying to dodge reef and rock and inevitably crashing by going around.”

You swallow at the prospect of your ship crashing from something as dumb and avoidable as coral. “Alright, so we’ll sail through the island. That’s fine; that was the initial plan.” You speak mainly to yourself, trying to reason with the part of you that fears this will end horribly. Junmyeon’s behavior, the conveniently placed passage in the middle of the island, it doesn’t bode well.

“Sehun, you can navigate it?”

“As long as it’s through the island and not around, I can get us through safely.”

“May Poseidon be merciful…”

~~~

The first tendrils of music begin to float around the ship once you have sailed an hour closer to the island. Isla de Sirena is still too far in the distance for music to logically be able to reach your ears.

The song is beautiful, tinkling and melodic. Alluring, but it makes your skin crawl regardless of the beauty of it. It’s haunting, the harmonies, the mix of voices.

It makes you a bit dizzy.

You climb down the stairs to the main deck and walk over to the side of the ship to peer into the water. For the music to be reaching you, the sirens must be closer to you than they seem. As you expected, you can see movement beneath the waves.

Squinting, you try to make out whether the movement is just that of normal fish or of mystical creatures trying to drag your ship to the depths. Whatever it is, is too quick for you to clearly see.

You’re yanked away from the railing with a force that makes you stumble backward over your own feet. You collide clumsily into a disturbingly familiar chest.

You can feel one hand on your wrist and the other curled around your shoulder.

“Stay away from the edge of the ship. If they catch sight of you then they can shift themselves into your lookalike,” Baekhyun says against you, voice vibrating in his chest against your back. You twist your head to look at the hand squeezing your shoulder.

Embarrassment floods your veins at the intimate contact and you shrug yourself out of his hold. He doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Keep away from the sides of the ship. We keep moving forward no matter what,” Baekhyun commands to your crew. Frozen in their spots, looks are thrown your way as if asking whether or not to follow his words.

You shrug. This isn’t your area of expertise. “You heard him, full sail ahead,” you call out. Your words snap everyone into action as members work to keep away from the edges of the ship while continuing to do their jobs.

It’s not long before the music gets louder, more insistent and the island is visible to the naked eye. It’s distracting, but you will not fall a fool to its melody. “Keep your minds clear! Do not trust anything that you may see outside of the Storm Chaser herself,” you shout as you walk around ensuring that things are going smoothly. You have to keep yourself busy to keep from listening too closely to the tune.

The call of the sirens starts to affect the members of your crew the closer the ship veers towards land. The younger crewmen are the most susceptible to the melody as their senses are blurred and beautiful images are projected in the waters. 3 members have to be forcefully dragged below deck as they’re caught, zombie-like, walking to the edge of the vessel hypnotized and willing to throw themselves into the sea.

They don’t seem to realize what’s wrong even as others try to explain to them that it’s just an illusion. You warned the crew ahead of time, but to see the siren song impacting your men so easily is frightening.

“Mom? Mom!?”

The music has dulled down to a faint buzz in the back of your mind, but you have a feeling that it must still be loud, if not louder, to others. Johnny struggles to restrain one of your newest boatswains, Lucas from jumping into the water. There are tears in the boy’s eyes as he screams out for his mother, eyes wide and hands reaching towards the waters. When you follow where he’s desperately trying to escape to with your eyes, you see a grotesque creature atop a rock peaking out of the ocean. It’s mouth is open in song, a grin so large on its face that it’s sharp teeth gleam in the light.

A siren.

Its skin is a shade of grey so dark that you dare liken it to a dark blue. Torn fins stretch between skinny fingers. Spikes made of its own bone protrude from its back and undulate with every note that floats from its mouth. You feel sick at the sight of it.

Lucas continues to scream towards the siren in anguish. Your heart hurts watching him look out at the monster with all the sadness, love, and regret you know that he had for his mother. You all know that his mother died earlier in the year, and that he hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye.

The sirens have already begun to resort to despicably low tactics.

Chanyeol runs over to help pull Lucas below deck as he thrashes against Johnny’s arms in an attempt to crawl overboard. You turn away, unable to watch the scene any longer. You know that with the two of them, they’ll be able to get Lucas safely below deck and calmed down.

Sehun is still at the hull, intensely focused ahead as he tries to safely keep the ship moving forward while trying to ignore the call of the sirens. As soon as the ship enters the passage that splits the island in half, the music stops.

You look around in confusion at the sudden silence, and only feel the feeling deepen at the sight of some of your crewman covering their ears as if they can still hear the singing.

You’re the only one who can suddenly hear nothing.

The rocks on the island sparkle like diamonds under the sunlight. The water that cascades down in miniature waterfalls tinkles pleasantly. The air feels crisp and clean, and if you were not aware that this is all meant to lower your guard, you would appreciate the beauty of the small paradise. A paradise or a well-disguised hell.

If you look beyond the shining rocks and the crystal clear waters, you can see signs of destroyed ships, shredded pieces of clothing, bones too similar to that of humans. Beneath it all is death. The end goal for the sirens is the death of you and your men. They’ll sing you to your demise.

Movement catches your eye from one of the rocks that overlooks the passageway. A woman with blonde hair and black eyes that pierce into your soul sits lazily overlooking your ship. She catches your eyes and a smile breaks out across her face. One dainty hand comes up to wave with nothing but a wiggle of delicate fingers.

You feel pulled into her bottomless gaze. It’s only when she stands up atop her rock that you realize she is naked save for a thin dress that seems to be made of water. The water moves with life, as if sentient around her body. It acts like some kind of clothing although it does nothing to cover her body.

She laughs and it chimes through the air like precious jewelry clinking together. You glare at her as she stretches out her muscles from above.

And then she jumps down from the cliff into the water below.

Like awakening from a spell, you snap out of your entrancement. Stricken by panic, you run off to find someone, anyone that you can to let them know of what you saw.

Yixing is massaging his temples near the crew cabins when you catch sight of him and run up to him. You grab the front of his shirt tightly, frenzied. “I made eye contact with one of the sirens.”

“You what?!”

“I- Fuck I don’t know I wasn’t thinking. She didn’t…do anything to me…she jumped into the water though after. I think she was able to get a good look at everyone currently on deck. She jumped into the water I don’t know where she went,” you rush out. “If she manages to get aboard we are fucked. She could see everyone, and she definitely saw me.”

Yixing blanches. “Fuck…”

You swallow.

“Fuck!” He curses again. He looks around frantically at the members left above deck trying to ignore the pull of the sirens’ song. “Stay here. Stay up here; do not leave this deck. If they can transform into you now, there’s a better chance at catching them if we see two of you in one place, and this will be where they first appear,” he commands. “I’ll go inform Junmyeon and the rest of the crew about the one you saw.” Yixing rushes off and you stand in your spot unsure of what to do.

You can no longer go below deck or else you will put everyone’s safety in jeopardy. You’re a liability now.

All because of the blonde siren.

The song begins to fill your ears again and you almost want to laugh at the timing of it. It’s like they’re mocking you. Soft notes curl around your body and try to sway you towards the water.

You shudder violently and run up to Sehun.

“How much longer until we’ve cleared the island?”

“20 minutes if we keep moving without issue…as long as we can keep everyone aboard and safe,” he says through clenched teeth. His knuckles are disturbingly pale as he grips the wheel tightly and tries to maintain concentration.

So long as Sehun stays right where he is, things will be fine.

Just 20 minutes. You all can survive that.

You begin to wonder if the siren’s song has distorted the Atlantian song. Maybe that is why Junmyeon said that it was off earlier. The song may have been warning of distortion between the songs. He has to have some kind of cryptic advice or warning now that the music is audible to everyone on the ship.

You turn in circles in search for the black haired Atlantian. He’s nowhere to be seen above deck. Did he go below?

A splash shakes you from your thoughts. You turn in the direction of the noise, and then you hear the shouting.

Hesitantly you make your way toward the edge of the ship where the splashing and shouting has picked up volume.

You see Junmyeon thrashing wildly in the waters below.

Your blood goes cold.

“J-Junmyeon?” Your voice comes out weakly at the sight of him barely keeping himself afloat in the water. It has to be an illusion. You watch him struggle to keep his head above the water and your own body starts shaking in horror.

That can’t be Junmyeon. There’s no way that Junmyeon would fall overboard like that.

But the sound of his voice, the desperation in his tone as he screams out your name, that all sounds just like him.

The body in the water seems just like him.

But no one else seems to hear him. It’s only you.

That’s not him.

You pull yourself away from the sight of him.

Kyungsoo rushes by you and you reach out to stop him in his tracks. “Where’s Junmyeon?” you ask him worriedly.

He blinks and looks around the ship quickly. “I last saw him going below with Yixing,” he says with a frown. You nod and let go of his arm so that he can return to whatever he was running to do.

Trying not to let the sound of the false Junmyeon’s shouts trick you, you close your eyes and take a few steps away from the edge of the ship. It’s getting quieter, but the sound of his screams is still there.

Distracted, you bump into another body. You whirl around and come face to face with Baekhyun. You blink at him and all of a sudden the sound of Junmyeon yelling is gone.

Baekhyun looks at you with genuine concern. “Are you okay?”

“I…” you furrow your eyebrows and try to gather your thoughts, try to calm your racing heartbeat. The song of the sirens buzzes lightly in the back of your mind. “I thought that I heard Junmyeon fall overboard.”

Baekhyun frowns deeply and shakes his head. “Yixing took Junmyeon below deck. He said that he’d made eye contact with one of the sirens. Junmyeon didn’t want anyone to get confused and wanted to stay below to keep it clear where the real him is.”

You swallow at his words and turn to look back in the direction of where the fake Junmyeon had thrashed and called out for your help. Baekhyun grabs your arm and gently turns you away. “Hey, don’t fall for it. We have to keep going forward remember? That’s fake; that’s not Junmyeon,” he says while looking into your eyes.

You nod along to his words, but something in the pit of your stomach feels off. Something feels wrong.

If Junmyeon had gone below deck, he or Yixing would have told you. They would have told you the same way that Yixing went off to tell Junmyeon about what you saw.

Yixing told you to stay above deck after you made eye contact with that siren. Why would he take Junmyeon below deck if the same happened to him?

Baekhyun’s words feel off.

You look into his eyes, “You’re right.” You try to keep your tone even. “I’m going to go make sure that Junmyeon is alright then,” you say.

“No, you stay here. I’ll go check on him,” Baekhyun says quickly. He plasters on a smile to cover up how rapidly he decided to take the task upon himself.

It’s then that you know this is all wrong.

You shrug off the hand on your wrist and hold in a shiver. “I can do it,” you press on.

“I’ll go with you then!” he says. You give him a measured look. If not already looking for a break in the facade, you would have missed the way that the image of him wavers like a mirage in a desert for a split second. Sick rises in your throat.

This isn’t Baekhyun.

Your skin breaks out in goosebumps at the realization, but you try to maintain composure. You don’t want the siren to know that you’ve seen through her illusion.

“Okay, we can go together. Just give me one second,” you say. You spin on your heel and try your hardest not to let how unsettled you are show in your steps up to Sehun. At his side, you give Baekhyun a thumbs up and then pull Sehun down so that you can whisper in his ear. “Stop the ship right now,” you whisper quickly. You let go of him and ignore the look of confusion on his face in lieu of squeezing his arm as another silent “stop the ship”. Baekhyun watches your interaction closely but doesn’t mention it as you make it back to his side.

“Let’s go,” you say. Normally, you would grab Baekhyun’s wrist or arm to drag him along, but the thought of touching the siren makes your skin crawl, so you settle for walking in front and leading the way towards the ladder below deck. Your senses are on high alert as he follows silently behind you.

There’s no plan, but you know that you need to get rid of the siren as soon as possible. You just hope to the Gods that you’re right in your assumption and that it’s not actually Baekhyun following you.

It would really be fucked up if it’s the real him because of what you plan on doing next. You can’t think about it for too long.

You turn on your heel and with a quick inhale of breath to brace yourself –you shoot Baekhyun right in the chest.

He stumbles backwards, once, twice. From the wound, instead of warm red, out spills inky blue blood. Your hand wavers in relief, still pointed at who you thought was Baekhyun. The Baekhyun imposter looks down at the wound in shock, and then up with eyes shifting to full blackness. It releases a hiss and piercing screech that fills the ship; you fire another two shots right into its head. It falls to the ground with a thud. You watch it shift from what looked like Baekyun back into the ugly grey creature it is with fury.

“What the fuck!?” Kyungsoo shouts. You cock your head to the side and find that he watched the entire encounter. You exhale the breath you’d held in and lower your gun.

“Where’s Baekhyun?” you growl at Kyungsoo. He flinches at your tone and looks away from the body at your feet.

“He was helping calm Lucas down…he’s been in the crew cabins for a while now. Wha-”

You turn on Kyungsoo in the middle of his question in order to shout to anyone who can hear. Your fear from earlier has transformed into pure rage. They tricked you.

Fully and completely the sirens tricked you and now you know that what you saw earlier was the truth.

Junmyeon is no longer on the ship.

#exo #byun baekhyun #baekhyun #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #exo story #exo imagine #exo pirate au #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun story #baekhyun pirate au

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searchingforenadi · 5 years ago

Text

bleeding on the floor is a safety hazard

can i interest you in a secondPOV!OC, KHR fic in these trying times?

i woke up in the middle of the night and vomited this out - i have never been so terrified of my own lack of brain cells.

a brief summary: Your customers won’t stop bleeding in your shop. You realize this might be a problem. (second person!OC, TYL).

You try your best not to stare at the knife in the man’s side.

“Um,” you say, passing over the packaged box of cake. “Here you go.”

He smiles brightly and hands you several bills. There is a sword strapped to his back and you are terrified to even allow the thought that he might be foreign. “Thanks! Keep the change.”

You nod minutely. Then, the actual number of those bills catches up to you like a freight train off the rails. “Wait - ”

But it’s too late - the man, the cake, and his accompanying knife are gone. You look down to find that he’s left behind a puddle of blood.

You breathe in deeply, count to ten, count backwards from ten, and march back to the kitchens to grab some towels and soap.

The cake had been paid twice over - you’ll take a little bit of blood for that any day.

ii.

It’s hard to imagine that something as exciting as a bleeding man would eventually fade into your memories, but that’s exactly what happens.

A week goes by and you’re hauling over a new delivery of flour. It’s tough work but you’ve done this for years - eventually, the shop’s ready for another day.

You reach the front entrance. And stop.

The same man from last week, Knife Man, waves through the glass door. He has a new companion - not a knife - who scowls under a crown of silver hair.

You consider taking the day off.

But no, your bills won’t pay themselves, and if they pay as well as last time, you might even be able to buy a new electric mixer.

Decision made, you flip over the sign and open the door.

“Hi again,” Knife Man says, a smile still on his face. “Sorry about last time.”

“That’s okay,” you say politely, because returning customers are golden. Your regulars are your saving grace. “Nice to see you again.”

“Same to you,” he says, tugging his friend over to the counter. His fingers trail eagerly over the sweets on display as he turns to the man. “Come on, pick one!”

You move behind the register and wait patiently.

“I don’t like sweets!” Knife Man’s friend snaps. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you today.”

Ever the business owner, you pipe in, “We also have drinks, if that’s more to your taste.”

That gets the man’s attention.

“I’ll just have a coffee then,” he grumbles, fishing out his wallet.

Knife Man joins his friend and grins. “Then I’ll have a slice of tiramisu.”

“This early in the morning?” Knife Man’s friend hisses.

Pointedly avoiding any conversational traps, you say, “Coffee and tiramisu. Together?”

The friend huffs. “Sure, fine. Here, keep the change. For the idiot’s blood.”

You blink at the money shoved into your face. If you had been any other person, you might protest at the clear extortion - it’s just blood.

But you had been raised pragmatically and so, with a smile, you accept the bills.

“Please wait a moment,” you tell them, and get started on the coffee.

In a few minutes, you pack the cake neatly into a little box and hand it over with a cup of espresso.

“Thanks,” Knife Man’s friend grumbles, taking a sip of his drink before glancing back down at the cup. “Huh.”

You don’t challenge any strange noises made over your products, you remind yourself, and smile pleasantly instead.

They leave quickly after, with Knife Man waving once again, and you release a sigh.

“Electric mixer, electric mixer,” you hum, sweeping the floor with a broom. “So very soon, electric mixer - ”

iii.

A few days later, the front door opens and, lo and behold, it’s Knife Man’s friend, silver hair tied behind his head.

You smile in greeting and ponder the possibility that you just might be cursed.

“Two coffees,” he says, with nary a greeting.

You’ve met worse, so you take the money handed to you and make quick work of the order.

It’s clear he’s not interested in making any small talk and, if you’re honest, you’re not really eager to start any yourself.

Soon enough, you hand over two steaming cups over the counter.

“Thanks,” the man says, proving that he’s not yet a lost cause. Under his breath, he mutters, “That damn machine better be fixed by now.”

Technological difficulties - you can sympathize. You wave off the man and get started on your next order.

iv.

You don’t encounter any issues involving blood until a month later, after several more visits from your strangest regulars.

“The usual,” Knife Man says brightly, seemingly oblivious to the cut above his eye and the blood trickling down his face.

Knife Man’s friend casually tucks his clearly burned fingers into his sleeves. “The same for me.”

There is a moment of silence.

How, you wonder, is he going to carry his coffee with burned fingers? You know how that feels. Intimately, in fact - you’re a baker.

But that’s none of your business and so, very politely, you accept the money - stained with suspicious black dots - before getting started on the order.

You hand over the food and coffee and say, “Here you are.”

“Thank you,” Knife Man says, gingerly accepting both the cake and coffee. He stops for a moment before studying you curiously. He smiles broadly. “I’m Yamamoto, by the way. And this is Gokudera!”

Japanese names, you note, even as the newly named Gokudera barks at the man.

“ - the hell are you thinking, you idiot?”

Yamamoto shrugs, somehow unhindered by the food, coffee, sword and blood on his face. “I think we’ve been here often enough.”

You very clearly ignore the incredibly suspicious conversation continuing on before you.

“Good to know,” you say instead, because as nice as it is, having bleeding customers is not the best reputation for any business. “I’ll see you next time, Yamamoto, Gokudera.”

“Same here,” Yamamoto says - his Italian is impeccable, you notice.

Gokudera grunts, eyes boring into you suspiciously.

“You say our names very naturally,” he says slowly, eyes narrowing.

You can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a threat.

“I’m half?” you offer, not sure why it should matter. “I’m not fluent though.”

Yamamoto looks incredibly pleased. “Wow! That makes a lot of sense.”

You… still can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a threat.

“Thanks,” you say, because what else can you say? Your mom’s genes are strong in your veins, so it’s not really surprising.

They leave not long after, Yamamoto calling out goodbye and Gokudera squinting right at you.

You lean over the counter and check the floor, just in case. It’s nearly safe, until you notice several specks of blood all over the counter itself.

“... damn.”

One morning, Yamamato enters the shop with a new companion.

“Hey!” he greets, the early hour not bothering him in the slightest.

It’s suspicious because at this point, you are very aware that Yamamoto does not drink any sort of caffeine.

Very suspicious, you think, staring almost enviously at his non-existent dark circles.

His friend, however, seems appropriately more miserable.

“One cappuccino, please,” the man says, chestnut hair all over the place. His hazel eyes droop slightly.

You smile in sympathy. “Got it.”

“Oh, also,” Yamamoto pipes in, leaning onto the counter. “We’ll be staying here for a while - that okay?”

You blink at the change.

“Sure,” you say, gesturing to the few seating arrangements you have. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

You cut up a larger slice of tiramisu and set it on a plate. As the milk boils, you wonder what’s so different now - Yamamoto always orders to-go.

Pouring the foam over a cup of espresso, you decide it’s none of your business. You didn’t build up your customer base by being nosy.

“Here,” you say, sliding over the cake first. Yamamoto grins in thanks. “And the cappuccino…?”

You watch as Yamamoto’s friend stares blankly into the distance.

“Um,” You say. You look back at Yamamoto. “Is he okay?”

Yamamoto lets out a long laugh.

“He’s fine,” he says, waving a hand. “We just had a long night. Hey, Tsuna. Tsuna!”

The aforementioned Tsuna startles, dark eyes blinking rapidly. “Wha - ?”

You wait patiently as he looks blearily up at you. Raising the drink in your hands, you try again. “Your cappuccino?”

Face flushing slightly, Tsuna moves to grab the drink. “Right! Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” you start to say, about to let the cup go, but something slips along Tsuna’s grip.

You catch the cup right as it's about to tilt.

“Careful there,” you say wryly, deciding to skip the dangerous part and setting down the cup on the table. Patiently, you tell him, “It’s hot.”

For some reason, Tsuna’s face darkens even further. “O-Okay, sorry.”

“Not a problem,” you say, shrugging because a missed accident is as good as no accident. “Enjoy your stay.”

They stay for another half hour before departing, and you wave back when Yamamoto says goodbye. Appearing more awake than before, Tsuna gives a half-hearted wave as well.

All in a day’s work, you think, cleaning down their table and moving on to help another customer.

vi.

Two weeks later, Yamamoto’s friend, Tsuna, walks in with the look of someone ready to jump the bridge at any moment’s notice.

Yikes, you think, and put on your best customer smile. “Can I help you?”

The frazzled look in his eyes does not go away.

“I need a drink?” he asks, which is not the strangest way someone has ordered from your shop, but it’s still pretty up there. Rubbing his eyes, he tries again. “Sorry - usually Hayato’s the one to grab them. He never told me the name.”

“Hayato?” you ask, already filing through the people Tsuna might know (it’s a short list, you only have two regulars that dress in suits like those).

Tsuna groans into his hands. “Right. His last name is Gokudera?”

“Ah,” you say, already getting started on the coffee. You try to offer some help. “It’s usually just coffee. Nothing special.”

And just like that, Tsuna’s face transforms from someone wanting to die into someone wanting to die.

It’s not polite to laugh at your customers, you remind yourself, turning back to the coffee. You swallow the bark of laughter in your throat.

By the time you face him again, your face is at its most polite.

“Just one, right?” you ask, ever the professional. Remembering last time, you very carefully pass over the drink.

Tsuna nods silently and slides over some cash.

“Thanks,” he says, before practically flying out the shop.

The moment the door closes shut, you crouch down and let out a loud ha!

Then, you stand up, features settled back to normal, and pocket the cash into the register.

-o-o-o-o-o-

the terrifying part is that there is more to this and it’s not stopping. i imagine MC can be any gender you see them as for now, with a nice amount of respect for local authorities and common sense, and perhaps a dash of great customer service.

this began as an attempt to write some sort of romantic Tsuna/OC fic - which is as big of a joke as I am, because it’s clear MC is too pragmatic for anything like that. at this point, anything is up for grabs.

#why do i even bother #i am so bad at outright romance #when will the day come #katekyo hitman reborn #sawada tsunayoshi #yamamoto takeshi #gokudera hayato #tsuna #fanfic #searchingforenadi #enjoy this subpar late night fic

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offaeandcreation · 4 years ago

Text

Sleep-Deprived College Student Becomes World's Strongest Cultivator By Bullshit Means

Summary:The last thing WanLi An (Ani) expected was to a) die in the most pathetic and ridiculous manner, b) wake up in the body of a villain destined to be beheaded in a war of their own making. Of course with Ani's luck, that's exactly what happened. Now Ani finds herself the ruthless, morally-questionable at best, leader of Qishan Wen, rearing two bratty children, while pretending that yes, she is absolutely Wen Ruohan. Nothing to see here! Everything is just fine. Except the universe isn't done making her life hell. "For fuck's sake, I just wanted my degree!"

Chapter 1: Holy Fucking Shit

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11+

Content Warnings: Death, Mourning, Dirty Jokes

AO3

On my gravestone, I want the following epithet: Murdered by heels via the eighth floor window. Gravity was a co-conspirator.

There she flew, like an outtake of 'It's a Wonderful Life', skirt flapping in the wind harder than a can-can dancer's. Ani, known to her angry mother as WanLi An, was NOT about to become the world's next human pudding if she had any say about it. She reached for the psychology department’s brick edges, anything to stop the fall that ended in concrete.

Supergirl, now’s your chance! Fulfill my lesbian dream!

As she waited for the inevitable hero to come swooping in, a familiar object flew past her like from the Rabbit Hole scene in ‘Alice in Wonderland’: the softcover book she’d been reading, glossy title flashing its Chinese characters, ‘Mo Dao Zu Shi’.

Oh ya, I could learn to fly on a sword!

She made a grab at it but missed, watching the wind sweep it away. Another possession flew into Ani’s line of sight: a pink tote bag with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ written on it – for A-Li. His meringues packed inside, made just for him to stuff his face with with the intention of proving that yes, he can fit five in his mouth now, all came flying out. The wind clearly wanted to take them for itself.

Those are for A-Li you air-bag!

Waving her arms around, she tried to reach for the helicoptering meringues with much gusto and much failure.The whistle in her ear might as well have been snickering.

A photograph slipped into Ani’s line of sight taken back in China of her entire family: her parents, grandmother, A-Li, days before her father died.

The wind stole the air out of her lungs. Ani lunged out for the photo, stretching as far as she possibly could while having no anchor. Fingertips brushed it as it flitted into the wind’s grasp, leaving her outstretched hand empty, small. She lunged again, muscles bulging as she strained towards the closest corner. Failure. The wind howled in laughter.

No! No don’t do this!

Ani screamed at the wind that tore at her, at the grey sky that looked at her with no mercy.

I’m going to die. I can’t die- Grandmother, I can’t! Not now. I have to take care of A-Li–

A single tear kissed her cheek before floating in the air, too light to fall, before she plunged into the concrete.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Ani’s eyes shot open, a gasp escaping her lips. Her heart pounded into the pillows she was lying face-first in, breathing as if she’d just woken up from a nightmare.

She was in bed. At home. Safe. Her muscles relaxed, sinking into the mattress beneath-

Something hard resisted against her body, as if the mattress was more akin to a wooden board then memory foam. She blinked, allowing her hands to wander the bed, pressing and feeling against silky bedding.

This isn’t my bed-

Wait.

She shouldn’t even be in bed.

Ani lunged out for the photo, stretching as far as she possibly could without an anchor. Fingertips brushed it as it flitted into the wind’s grasp, leaving her outstretched hand empty, small. She lunged again, muscles bulging as she strained towards the closest corner. Failure. The wind howled in laughter.

She should have died.

I fell.

I fell eight stories.

I fell eight stories onto concrete.

Ani sat up, finally looking where she was lying. She was in a large bed with a thick, silky, maroon blanket – something that her grandmother would have owned.

What the fuck?

Ani looked up. Wooden beams criss-crossed above her, holding up a low ceiling made of an unknown dark wood.

Why was there a ceiling? Wasn’t I just seconds ago falling out of a building into the concrete, outside? Where no ceilings could exist?

Ani crawled towards the edge of the bed to take a good look.

It wasn’t a ceiling, but a wooden canopy, with ostentatious diamond and floral engravings, accompanied by transparent red and black valance.

Where am I?

Ani finally looked up from the bed. Her eyes bulged. Three college classrooms couldn’t have fit within this single bedroom.

Beyond the bed, a built-in nightstand had been covered in glass bottles, some small as pennies and others like glass blown art, and torn white sheets .

Bandages perhaps? I’m supposed to be in a hospital…? This doesn’t look like a hospital bed.

Beyond, silky red and woolen carpets decorated the dark floors. Across the room, a large table sat perpendicular to the wall covered in stacks of scrolls.

Some regular-old New York City hospital most definitely wouldn’t have this – a waste of space and money.

Ani blinked. Where was the IV drip? The heart monitor? White curtains? The sink? The putrid smell of alcohol and plastic? Flowers? She definitely deserved flowers. Especially after everything.

What sorry excuse of a hospital is this?! An alt-medicine hospital?Did they give me acid? Was the whole accidentally-falling-out-of-a-building-from-the-top-floor-because-why-not sequence a dream?

Ani rubbed her eyes to make absolutely certain she wasn’t indeed hallucinating. Except, her hand felt strange, as if someone attached weights to them without asking her permission. Ani pulled at them with more force, until she smacked herself in the face. She hissed in pain, glaring at her stupid hand-

What. The. Fuck.

This wanna-be-Micky-mouse-glove abomination was abso-fucking-lutely not her hand. She brought it close, staring at the long pale fingers, razor sharp nails –absolutely a lesbian hazard – and delicate wrist. It was at least twice the size of her face, and felt…foreign. Flexible, catching more air. Ani was pretty sure she could make shoes out of these hands and comfortably walk in them and with room.

She brought up her other hand in comparison. To her utter horror, they matched!

Ani closed her eyes, hoping that somehow to conjure up her smaller, tanner, lesbian-friendly hands. She opened one eye, her kernel of hope popping

Nope.

Either Ani was tripping very hard on acid to the point that her brain forgot the importance of clipped nails, or she’d fallen eight floors and needed a transplant and the only thing available were these man-hands.

Cold pooled in Ani’s gut. Ani tossed off the blankets, scrambling to her feet. She ran towards the golden mirror attached to a nearby vanity. Despite skidding to a stop, her torso continued its trajectory until she face-planted into the floor.

“Fuck,” she bit out.

The sound that came out of her mouth was not the familiar timbre of her voice. She coughed and spoke again.

“Hello.”

It sounded so wrong. Ani spoke a few more words– “Hewwo,” “Nya-Nya,” “Nico Nico Nii,” “Motherfucker,”– before taking a deeper breath. No matter what sounds she made, the voice remained low like a choral bass singer. As low as her father’s had been. Tears welled in Ani’s eyes as she slowly tried to get to her feet, head spinning.

What’s happening? Why are my hands weird? Why is my voice weird!

Even her feet were weird: pale and big like her hands. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, trickling down her back into the collar of white robes that fell to her calves. She never could afford something like this.

Nor did hospitals supply silk robes.

She brushed the robes aside as she got to her knees, her jaw throbbing, and faced the golden mirror.

The face that stared back at her wasn’t her own.

It was a face of man, with bright, unnatural scarlet eyes.

The mirror broke.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Ani flinched at the violent crack. She looked behind her, searching for whatever had broken the mirror. Outside of the table and a sliding-door that led to who-knows-where, there was nothing that could have caused the damage.

She closed her eyes, counting to ten. Reopened them. She closed her eyes, counting to twenty. Reopened them. The same unknown male face stared back at her: long oval face, messy bed-head black hair, and vivid crimson eyes, tinted slightly by the color of the mirror. Not the round face, short dark hair and eyes that she has seen in the mirror every day for twenty-three years. Not the face she preferred.

Red eyes? Seriously? Red? Hardly realistic.

Not even albino irises were this intense. She backed away from the mirror, coming into the body’s full height. At least twice her height - which explains the sheer size of her hands and feet.

At least I’ll be able to reach the top shelves without being laughed at.

The thought quickly scurried away the longer she looked at herself. The mirror mimicked every move she made. The cracks distorted her figure– no, the man’s figure.

What’s happening? What’s going on? Why am I in this body? Is this a hallucination?

Ani mentally ran through all her psychology courses until she had an idea.

Wait, there is still one more test. People who suffer from delusions often attempt to use other senses to figure out if they truly are seeing what is in front of them. So if this is all a delusion-

Shutting her eyes, Ani stuck her hand between her legs-

Yup. That was most definitely not there before. I’m in a man’s body. Confirmed.

She groaned, sinking to the floor in defeat, resting her head on the table. Leaning her head back, she noticed the scrolls wrapped in beige ribbons.

Perhaps these documents will tell me what the hell is going on.

She pulled at the ribbons, looking for something, anything that could give her answers. She scanned the unfurled parchment, noticing a collection of vertical lines, occasionally underlined once or twice that made no sense to her. Dates?

She could understand the Chinese characters, except the style was clearly more archaic, with words that would never be used in any book that would be found at home. Except the older poetry books, because poets like to be pretentious know-it-alls.

Ani looked for writing utensils, except instead of finding pencils and pens that every self-respecting person would have, she found only bamboo brushes.

‘Want to learn?’ a memory itched at the back of her mind, floating to the surface.

Her grandmother had returned from Beijing, eyes crinkling with a smile that her bright blue face mask hid. Ten-year old Ani cried out in happiness, rushing towards the open door in only her purple floral pajamas. Her father grabbed her before she could topple her grandmother with an unexpected bear hug.

‘Ani, Ani, look what I brought you,’ she said with a familiar grin the moment she pulled down her mask under her aging chin.

From a plastic bag, she removed several shiny brushes, the bamboo wood birch-yellow, polished to a shine, and the bristles a variety of browns and white, pointy like a pencil.

Her grandmother handed them to her, ‘Now Ani, these are the brushes of our ancestors, they used to work with these so long ago to make beautiful calligraphy. Want to learn?’

With careful fingers, Ani lifted one of the brushes, running her finger over the bristles and the smooth handle. These weren’t the brushes her grandmother gave her – the handles weren’t as dark nor as smooth as the wood lacked the sheen polish that modern brushes had, and the bristles were more frayed – not supported by synthetic material. These weren’t her grandmother’s brushes but-

“Am I…in the past?”

She scanned the space around her, searching for any sign of modern technology. A fireplace, a wardrobe that most probably cost at least a quarter of her tuition, mats that most definitely were made of organic material, not the synthetic fibers of the modern age. There wasn’t a single modern artifact in the room.

“I’m in the PAST?” Ani cried out, tearing at her hair, “How did THIS happen?”

Her heart beat pounded in her ears. How? How? How? How!

“Sect Leader Wen!”

Ani yelped, grabbing a bronze candle holder as the door slid open. She backed up into the mirror, glad it hadn’t shattered earlier. Assuming whatever entered the room wasn't trying to kill her, the last thing she needed was to pay for broken property just because she stared too hard at the mirror.

A man with dull robes walked in on his knees. Their eyes met and he fell into a bow, face first into the hard wooden floors.

“We are pleased to see you awake Sect Leader!”

Yes, I’m sure you are.

“Physician Wen is being notified now,” he continued. “Is there anything that we can do for you in the meanwhile, Sect Leader Wen?”

Luckily, the servant was too busy digging his nose into the floor and quivering like a vibrator to notice the way her mouth dropped along with the candle.

Sect Leader…Wen?

The name was familiar. Too familiar. She looked past the servant, above the door to the banner that decorated the walls.

The sun symbol.

A stone dropped into her stomach. She hadn’t just traveled into the past. She’d transmigrated into the world of Mo Dao Zu Shi.

As Sect Leader Wen Ruohan.

Who was destined to die.

#oc #wen ruohan #wen xu #wen zhuliu #wen sect #mo dao su zhi #wen chao #my writing

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mightydragoon · 5 years ago

Text

Prince Luke fanfic Recs

@silvereddaye you know the drill

For all your Prince Luke Skywalker/ Amidala/Organa etc needs. Also ft a lot of Leia Skywalker along with that.

1. The Prince and the Bodyguard Toomanyfandoms99

Bail is unsure why he’s being told this, but he is intrigued. “Where is the boy now?”

“Here,” Mon smiles, “on this base, being cared for by Shara Bey and Kes Dameron.”

Bail nods upon recognizing the names. Shara is their best pilot, and Kes is their best combat leader.

“However,” Mon states, “they cannot care for the boy full-time. There is something...unique about him. Something you are more equipped to handle.”

Bail narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Ezra Bridger is Force-sensitive,” Mon reveals.

Bail leans back in his chair and blinks once. “I see…”

“If your son is anything like his true parents,” Mon says, “he will soon require guidance. This boy also requires that guidance.”

“So,” Bail says, “you want me to shield them both from the Empire. Get them a...teacher.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22633573/chapters/54092221

2.First Impressions Idhren15

Mara Jade attended the rich party on Coruscant for one purpose: to kidnap the Alderaan heir, Prince Luke Organa.

She didn't expect any of these complications.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22740592

3. Crowned Usurper planningconquest

Princess Leia managed to capture the elusive rebel Jedi. She finds someone she never expected.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663147/chapters/41657678

4. The kidnappings of a Sith Lord maedre13

How a certain Sith Lord may or may not kidnap his rebel son. One-shots. Strongly inspired by sparklight´s “Where Our Intrepid Hero Doesn´t Get Away”.

Current chapter: In which the prince of the Sith gets a new bodyguard (3/3)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606992/chapters/23453241

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606992/chapters/52681459 (Part 1)

(Note* Fic is episodic often not connecting, sometimes is, so there is a good variety of stories, some involving Prince Luke others not)

5. Sparks SpellCleaver

Vader had every intention of ignoring that petty—if notorious—burglar on Coruscant, until evidence suggested that this "Angel" had Rebel ties.

Meanwhile, Luke never expected his father to actively hunt him down, and he doesn't like it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031373/chapters/47433331

6. No Distance Far Enough KaelinaLovesLomaris

Imperial Prince Luke Skywalker is kidnapped by the Rebellion. His father is not happy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17549516

7. Hostage Slx99

AU in which Luke grows up as the Prince of Alderaan and Bail and Breha Organa’s son. When Luke is sixteen Bail becomes too outspoken against the Emperor, who sends Lord Vader to take the young prince as a hostage and cow his father into submission. Held captive aboard Vader’s ship, Luke is faced with the unpleasant reality of being the pawn in this power play under his captor’s watchful eyes; until they both realize a thing or two…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9707774/chapters/21902741

8. Hostage Interludes Slx99

Interlude pieces of the ‘Hostage’ universe from my ongoing long-fic that don't fit into the main story, but which I still wanted to share. Some will be more fun, others more serious. They have no influence on the main story.

Basic premise of the main story: Luke grew up with Bail and Breha Organa as the Prince of Alderaan. When Bail becomes too outspoken against Palpatine he orders Vader to take the young prince as a Hostage. Luke now lives aboard the Executor. He finds out rather soon that Vader is his father and the story goes from there.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148811/chapters/35129507

9. Hostage

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1063433

10. Runaway SilverDaye

Imperial Prince Luke runs away from home to escape his overprotective father Emperor Vader. Jumping from planet to planet he finds himself creditless on Tatooine. While working for more money to leave the planet, Luke meets an old man named Ben Kenobi. But Luke knows he can't stay in one place for long for surely his father is hunting him down.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630196/chapters/33813027

11.A Song of Dragon's Fire & Slaves Blood Fan0fFIM17

A Slave is finally truly made Free.

Lost in a strange primitive Land, he takes advantage of his circumstances to rise to the position of King. A Slave, a Jedi Knight, a Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker, Father, Son, all this and more. Read as he Fights for the Iron-Throne!

Winter Is Coming!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15400920/chapters/35743227

12. My sister has it jedileia (cptnwintersoldier)

"You want me to fight my dad? Kill him? How could you think I would be capable on any of that, after what I just heard? Have I been training just so I could kill my father? Is that what this Jedi training was about? If so then i deeply regret the evening I went to look for parts for my speeder and ended up at Obi-Wan's yard."

Leia, a farm girl from Tatoiine, learns that she is force sensitive and the daughter of the evil Darth Vader, once known as Anakin Skywalker. She begins her Jedi training, meets her twin brother Luke Organa and confronts his father.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6537682/chapters/14957098

13. what is lost in the darkness.....hanorganaas

Starkiller is destroyed, the great Jedi Hero who saved the Galaxy Leia Skywalker Solo and her husband Han are presumed dead, and Luke mourns. But he isn't alone in his grief

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668604

14. our eyes; they were pointed at the sky (looking for answers) pieandsouffle

The last few weeks have been a nightmare: Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru are dead and gone, the farm is skeletal and dead, she found out her father was a Jedi, brutally murdered by a traitorous friend, and now she's going to die because Han Solo is an incompetent nerf-herder who is apparently completely incapable of opening a krething door.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159772/chapters/24904917

15. Possibilities of If May Be - Valerie_Vancollie

Co-authored by Selinthia Avenchesca.

What if two different Star Wars realities started to merge?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946578

16. Skywalker Swap - stitchy

https://archiveofourown.org/series/930435

(Note Series is a mixture of a fancomic and a fanfic and it is glorious)

17. There Is Another stitchy

A comicbook retelling of Episode IV in the spirit of the old Star Wars Infinities!

Luke and Leia are placed in opposite homes after the fall of the Republic. Young Leia Skywalker is called to adventure when she meets two droids that belong to the strange witch, Old Kah.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10597686/chapters/23428284

(Note* Seriously this comic retelling is fantastic )

18 Here Among The Clouds stitchy

In a universe where Leia Skywalker joins the Rebel Alliance of her long lost brother Prince Luke Organa, the Millenium Falcon and her crew arrive to Cloud City with a fully functioning hyperdrive. In the weeks following the Battle of Hoth, Lando Calrissian becomes entangled in their their quest to defeat the evil Empire.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507038

19. A Farm girl, a Twink, and an Uber driver- Daniellecluck

This is literally just a collection of drabbles of a New Hope rescue scene various original trilogy scenes but gayer and Luke and Leia swapped places.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13345347/chapters/30553272

20. The Adventures of Leia Skywalker, Episode One: The New Hope MaraWinchester

Nineteen-year-old Leia Skywalker lives with her Aunt and Uncle on the remote desert planet Tatooine, where there’s something ready to kill you behind every corner. Three moons make the nights bitterly cold, and the two suns makes the days unbearably hot. When a droid bought by her uncle contains a message by a prince, asking for help from a legendary Jedi Knight, Leia senses her ticket off world. Little does she know that her journey will take her right and center to a galaxy torn apart by war, involve smugglers of ill repute, and possibly shed more information on her father that she could possibly imagine...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8122483/chapters/18619693

21. Another Kind of Hope Skyrissian (ErinacchiLove)

In a period of a galactic civil war, the brave Rebel Alliance has won their first victory against the Galactic Empire and stolen the plans of the Empire's ultimate weapon, the Death Star.

When the starship of Prince Luke Organa, who is transporting the plans, falls under the Empire's attack, the future of the galaxy depends on two droids carrying the secret plans and their new owner, a farm girl named Leia Skywalker.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18705637

22 The Princess, the Smuggler and the Sith Lord's Son Sassaphrass

Han Solo was trying to rescue her Royal Annoyingness from the Death Star when he runs smack into Vader's kid. Naturally he does the logical thing and takes him hostage. This is where the story starts. OR

Luke just wanted to get some snacks when he ran into a Wookie, a Princess and a Space Pirate. The day's pretty much downhill from there.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751661/chapters/13252696

23. At Least the War is Over Sassaphrass

The only thing Luke and Leia have in common are those nine months they spent in the womb and that time they brought down the Empire.

It's hard to build a new family when the last one got blown to smithereens with the entire planet, but Leia's never thought anything worthwhile would be easy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663834

24. His Imperial Highness Luke Amidala - Sassaphrass

https://archiveofourown.org/series/744999

25. Chiaroscuro SpellCleaver

A series of oneshots focusing on Luke and Vader's relationship, with other characters occasionally thrown into the mix.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16363772/chapters/38293637

26. Prince Luke Organa: A New Hope -lightningbisexual

An AU where Leia was sent to Tatooine with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru and Luke was sent to Alderaan as the prince. It begins from where Luke is captured by the Empire in A New Hope. I follow more his story than Leia's because we all know she's going to be a badass on her own and I really want to see Luke grow up and learn to face his fears.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024390/chapters/45181531

(Note* see sequel below Leia centric)

27. Leia Skywalker: The Empire Strikes Back lightningbisexual

A continuation of my twin swap fic. Leia Skywalker is being sought by the Dark Side and the Light, who both hope to use her power for their own agendas. However, her ferocity and anger make it difficult for her to train as a Jedi. Han Solo is also developing feelings for Prince Luke Organa and has no goddamn clue how to deal with it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533487/chapters/48737117

28. Between the Light and Shadows: Luke & Vader One-Shots SilverDaye

One-shot collection focused on Luke and Vader. All AU.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15128117/chapters/48583628

29. How the Other Half Lives -aradian_nights

(Note* How can I talk about Prince Luke fics without mentioning them cause WOW. 10/10. I highly recommend even if you aren’t a fan of the Prince Luke trope cause wow. It is something. Warning: Angst . )

https://archiveofourown.org/series/609151.

Trial and Error - https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417668

Layers of Dust - https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900971

For Love of a Queen - https://archiveofourown.org/works/9342596/chapters/21167591

Deep Doubt- https://archiveofourown.org/works/10361913

Vision Void- https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628475/chapters/23511120

Fate Defied- https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947714

When Destinies Split - https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017986/chapters/24552093

Risk and Chance - https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506092/chapters/25817655

A Shout in the Dark - https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699232/chapters/26341971

Walking the Line Between - https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172817/chapters/30129249

AO3 Tag

https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Prince%20Luke/works

#prince luke #luke skywalker #star wars #fanfic recs #fanfic reccomendation #list #sw #leia organa #long post #i am reccomending a lot of fics so hold on

181 notes · View notes

thadelightfulone · 5 years ago

Text

The Firm - Chapter 12

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Summary: Erik has been hired to find an embezzler for an old friend. The whole gang is back at GBI, ready to fight an old enemy and save their friend.

Pairing: Erik x Black!OC

Genre: Suspense

Bridges checks the time; it is about 4 in the afternoon. The sun is still out, so they have to make sure they set up where they will not be easily found. Green pulls the SUV into a parking lot across the street from where Gina’s warehouse is located. They are guarded by another abandoned warehouse. Kill’s phone is out, checking for any heat sources coming from the inside of the building. He nods to Green, who parks and gets out to stretch out after the drive.

Kill, Bridges, and Green walk around the SUV together. Inside the back is a trunk full of lethal goodies for their use. Kill pops the lock, showing them the inventory. Matt stays inside, looking on as they make their decisions on what to take with them. All the items are equipped for hand-to-hand combat. They already know that this fight will be up close and personal. Gina made it that way both in her intentions and her chosen location for this meeting.

Bridges is standing there, weighing a .40 caliber Glock in her hands. It has been years since she held one or even had a need to use one. She grabs a 22 round magazine to load the gun, releases the safety, and hands it over to Green. Green thanks her and holsters the gun under his arm.

The Glock 19 that Kill loaded in the car is in his tactical holster on his leg. One side of his matching vest holds two more Glocks and about 4 additional magazines. He takes a moment to once again check his phone screen before reaching for a few throwing knives and an M9 bayonet fighting knife. Bridges stops helping Green and watches as Kill gathers everything he wants, adding it to his vest or his holsters.

Green clears his throat, and Bridges hands him the other gun she loaded for him. He steps back as he has everything he needs. But he grabs a laptop from one of the other bags before getting out of her way. Bridges grabs 2 Glocks and additional magazines for herself. She puts on her tactical vest and loads her weapons.

Once everyone has all their desired weapons, they return to the front of the SUV. On the hood, Kill rolls out the warehouse floor plans that Stacey printed. He sets his phone aside as he looks things over. The screen shows 6 heat signatures surrounding Gina’s building.

“Alright, there are 3 floors, including the basement to the warehouse. Our focus needs to be on the first and lower floors because she would never be dumb enough to use the top to hold hostages.” Pointing to the entrances, he shows Bridges and Green the matching locations on his phone. The two side entrances have two people on them, while the front and back doors only have one.

“It looks like the best way to enter is through the back door since there is an elevator and stairs to the basement on that side.” Green states as he looks at the basement floor plan.

“Do you know how much security she has out here?” Bridges asks.

“Yo Matt! When you met up with her anywhere, how many men did she usually have?”

“Ummm, she always had two near her. But whenever I met her onsite like this, it was about 6 or 8 additional guys. Everyone always near an entrance or something, doubling as a clean-up crew.” Matt sits back again as they all take in what he said.

“So, let’s go with a possible 10-15 total inside and around the warehouse. We won’t be able to detect the others until we get a bit closer.” Green says.

“Not a problem. Once we clear all entrances, we can enter from any point and have enough cover to take out anyone left.” Kill responds.

“Sounds good to me.” Bridges pipes in.

“Now, we wait for it to get darker before going in.” They all jump back in the car, waiting for the sun to set.

---

It has been about an hour since LaNyah found out that every person she holds near and dear is in the crosshairs of one Miss Gina McCoy Williams. Gina left to get them food after LaNyah was settled from her panic attack. While she was gone, Laura shared how she knew who she was. So, now LaNyah knows that Matt didn’t choose her, but Gina did, and her connection to Ashley and Alex was just a bonus. But the connection to Erik was confusing to her, she just met him, but Gina made it sound like more and she didn’t know how to feel about that.

Gina came back in with her two associates, LaNyah recognized them as the guys who moved her from the other room. They had covered dishes in their hands and placed them in front of the women. “Go ahead and eat.” No one moves, “Neither one of you is good to me dead. Now please, Laura, if not for you then for the baby. And LaNyah, I know you just cried everything out. Nibble, if you must, but I promise I did not poison the food. Besides, Kimmy’s makes the best sandwiches.” LaNyah looks at her strangely. Gina waves them both to eat while uncovering her plate.

LaNyah lifts the cover to see her exact order from the last time she met Ashley at Kimmy’s Café – grilled chicken club on sourdough, fries, and fruit with a side of ranch. She groans while looking at it, since that was also the day she figured out that she had a small crush on her new boss, Erik. She was about to put the cover back on when her stomach gurgled loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. She looks over at the two men, who are tucking into their meals. Laura has pulled apart the sandwich and is picking at the inside.

Gina glances over at LaNyah. “You have been intravenously fed for the last three days. Eat up while you can. Or should I have them replace the IV for you?” LaNyah picks up a fry and dips it in the ranch. “Good girl. Thank you. I really do hate to be mean to other women.” She wipes her mouth, “When we finish eating, I will continue with my story.”

Laura scraps the plate with the fork, “You aren’t done?”

“Oh no, I need you to understand why they must be destroyed.”

LaNyah mumbles, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t, dear.” Gina drops her napkin in her lap. “Since you both are so chatty, I guess now is as good a time as any.” Laura and LaNyah sigh in unison as Gina moves around, taking LaNyah’s old chair since they are both on the couch now.

“I would rather eat if you don’t mind.” Laura tries to pull the sandwich together and takes a big bite and smiles.

“Oh, I’m not stopping you. Enjoy your meal. It will probably be your last anyway.” Gina looks at her watch, then crosses her legs getting comfortable. “Now, where were we?” She taps her knees before clapping her hands. “Yes, Erik ‘Killer’ I mean ‘Killmonger’ Stevens. Boy, does that man have quite the reputation. He killed 5 men all by himself once while on a mission. Came out unharmed, barely a scratch on him. I mean, do you know what kind of cold-blooded killer would do something like that?”

“You said they were all military. That sounds job-related to me. Kill or be killed, right?” Laura wipes her mouth with a napkin.

“Sure, when you kill your enemies. And that time, he did. But the last time was the murder of a known associate.” Gina stands and paces the room, “He set up a shooter’s nest and gunned down my brother like he was picking off a deer. If it really were enemy fire, then someone else would have been there with him, and he would not have drowned on his own blood with no attempt at saving his life.” Her voice is increasing in volume as she shares the details, choking on a sob. “He planned it out to the last detail, even brought in help to lie for him. He left enemy guns at the scene so no one would question him or the others about what happened. They crafted the perfect story together. Him and Green.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Why are you telling us this?” Laura is louder than LaNyah, who has stopped eating and has curled up on the couch. But Gina heard them both.

Looking towards Laura, “I have my ways. And money talks even in the military.” She waits until LaNyah cautiously glances her way, “I want you to know the truth about your beloved Erik.” LaNyah opens her mouth to talk, but Gina cuts her off, “It’s not hard to see why he would fall for someone like you. I mean opposites do attract. And it can’t get any further apart than the two of you.”

LaNyah is listening, but she is not comprehending what Gina just said. Erik doesn’t like her. She likes him, but he would never want a girl like her. She occupies a small space compared to what he has seen and experienced —and he’s done much more, all over the world, according to Gina’s rambling about his military career. A man like that goes for the Staceys of the world. A woman who knows herself and actually lives life. LaNyah’s life is too narrow for someone like that.

Her head is spinning as Gina continues talking, more for Laura at this point since she has tuned out. Her crush is not going anywhere. They work together, and that’s it. LaNyah can think or figure that mess out later. She just needs to focus on the fact that they should be coming to save her and Laura; she rolls her eyes at the thought of the woman. She hates her for something that Nyah was used for; how does that even work. I AM THE PAWN PEOPLE!

She hears a far way sound that becomes clearer when she blinks. LaNyah looks up to find Gina standing right in front of her. “What?”

“Just wanted to make sure that you are here. I can’t have you hiding in that pretty little head of yours. I need you here.”

“It’s not like I can go anywhere,” LaNyah grumbles.

“Very true.” Gina looks down at her watch again. Sending a signal to her men, who suddenly walk out of the room. “Why don’t you both go over to the beds? Get comfortable.”

“I’m fine right where I am.” Laura nods in agreement scooting closer to her and grabs LaNyah’s hands. If they are safe anywhere right now, it is next to one another.

Gina takes a seat on the chair beside the couch. “Suit yourselves. Doesn’t matter to me.” LaNyah looks at Laura, who is just as confused after watching Gina, who grabs a book from the table and starts reading.

---

Green drives the SUV behind Gina’s warehouse after getting an all-clear from Kill. He ran across a few minutes before and slit the throat of the guard on backdoor duty. Any gunshots too early would give them all away. He pulled out the laptop to see if he could pinpoint the rest of them inside the warehouse.

As they pull up, he runs over to them, “I got ‘em.” Kill announces as he jumps in. He opens the laptop, angling it for all to see, “There are 10 men total on this level – it looks like she increased the number surrounding the building, and then there are three between the stairwell and elevator.”

“That doesn’t count the men that Matt says she normally has with her.” Green counts off.

“They are probably below with her, and we won’t see that until we clear the first floor.” Kill states. Green shakes his head.

“Are we handling this like earlier? Two rush front?” Kill nods in the affirmative at Green.

“You’ll stay here with Bridges until we get everyone out.” Kill tells Matt, as he stands beside the SUV stretching out his limbs. The sky is pink and orange over the horizon, so they all stepped out, ready to make their move.

“Excuse me!” The high pitch screech comes from the other side of the vehicle.

“I didn’t stutter, Bridges.” Kill rolls his eyes as Ashley makes her way in front of him. “You are watching Matthew. End. Of. Story.”

Puffing out her chest, “Did you not just hear what I told my husband earlier?” Kill looks at the plans in his hands, rolling them up before turning to her.

“Yeah, and you are here. So, you will get to see LaNyah after we save her.” He steps up to her, forcing her to look up at him, “But you will not be joining us inside the warehouse. So, get comfy out here.”

“Seriously? I can be useful in there, Kill.” He turns away from her, focusing on the heat sensors showing up on the computer screen on the back seat. Bridges stomps away. “This is bullshit.”

“Ashley, come here. “ She walks over to her husband. “We need someone to handle shit out here. Remember, she has more men than us. You see anyone run out; you shoot they ass. No questions asked.”

Rolling her eyes, “Lookout?”

“The most important part of the job, sweets.” He tries to hug her, but she pushes him away. “Love you, too.”

Bridges roughly grabs Matt dragging him to the front driver’s seat. “Get in, sit down and shut up.” When Matt is comfortable in the seat, she cuffs his hands together, then pulls the steering wheel down, and with a chain locks his cuffs to the wheel. “He’s locked in tight.”

“Great. Make your way around to the front. Green and I have the side entrances.” He looks over at Bridges, who pulled out her gun. “On my signal,” Kill points towards the building, and they all move forward in unison spreading out to their locations.

As soon as Bridges makes it around the corner to the front of the warehouse, she immediately opens fire on the guys standing there. 3 shots, 3 bodies drop. Damn, the front was only supposed to have one, maybe 2 guys up there. She carefully walks through them, shooting each one a second time to make sure they don’t get up.

Making her way to the entrance, she notices a wide-open space with a desk in the back. Bridges hears movement headed her way. Lifting her gun, she ducks as a bullet passes to her left. She runs behind a stack of boxes, peeking out before and shooting out at the two men running towards her. One drops and the other makes it to her as she puts her foot out to trip him. She steps over him and shoots him in the head.

She walks the rest of the warehouse floor, checking for anyone else and goes back outside. The front is now clear. Bridges moves back to the edge of the building to watch for any strays who might run out.

---

Gina looks up as her two personal guards and another man enter the room. They are dragging something behind them. “We found him tied up to the side of the building, Boss.”

A piercing scream shatters the once quiet basement as Laura looks up to see Matt standing between Gina’s men.

Jumping up, she claps in excitement, “Our guests have arrived. Go ahead and sit him next to Laura.” The men drop Matt on the couch; he reaches over and holds Laura, who is crying loudly into his chest. “Now, the fun begins.”

LaNyah says nothing as she watches the two blubbering idiots next to her. All she knows is that if Matt is here, so is everyone else. Her friends, the cavalry, and they are here for her. And them, or whatever.

Gina moves to stand near LaNyah and signals her men to stand near the door. The other man radios for back up but hears nothing but static on the other end. LaNyah curls up on the couch as they listen to the barrage of gunfire above them.

---

Green has his gun out and shoots down the first guy to approach him. The other two run out of the side entrance towards him, guns blazing, and he gets nicked on the shoulder right as he hits one in both knees. He rolls along the building, killing the man on the ground and shoots the last guy standing before slipping into the side entrance door.

Kill sneaks up on the first guard near the back of the building. He once again takes out his M9 knife and brings it across his neck. Lowering his body to the ground, he continues forward to the side door. Two men with guns turn around and let off a couple of rounds. Kill throws the knife and pulls out his gun, shooting the one who is still facing him. As the other guy swings away, grabbing his shoulder, Kill walks up and shoots him through the temple.

Green leans against the wall waiting for Kill to appear on the other side directly across from him. He hears a few more pops before Kill bounds through the side entrance. They nod to the other and move forward as one heading to the back of the warehouse where the stairwell and elevator are. Kill pulls out his phone to check for the location of everyone down below. They can make out 5 shapes down below. Moving towards the stairwell, they hear some shuffling and immediately turn their guns on the person approaching them.

“What the fuck, Bridges?”

“God damnit, Ashley!” Kill and Green exclaim as she bounces into view.

“What are you doing here? And where is Matt?” Kill quickly rushes out.

“I have him locked up outside of the building. Besides, I figured you could use the help.” She explains.

“Bridges -” Kill groans.

“No Kill, I want this bitch.” Bridges cuts him off, “I’m going down there with you. Done deal.”

“Fine, take the center.” He concedes and allows her to step in front of him.

Green leads them down the stairs leading to the basement. Bridges follows, and Kill pulls up the rear. They know everyone is located in the center of the basement. Walking along the right side, they slowly approach the door leading to the massive room. In a semi-circle, the group looks at one another before Green steps forward, kicking the down the door as Kill and Bridges rush through.

All three of them are standing at the top of the room, looking down at everyone when Gina’s men move in. 3 loud bangs are heard as each one of her men hit the floor. In the same order, they make their way down the stairs. Bridges notices Matt on the couch with Laura, motioning to Green, so he knows.

Gina watches all of them before snatching LaNyah up from the couch. She holds her right in front of her as all the guns in the room turn towards her.

“Hello Everyone! It’s nice to meet you finally.” Gina cheerfully greets the trio. Matt covers Laura as he watches all of them keep their guns on Gina. “See LaNyah; I told you they would come. It was only a matter of time.”

LaNyah looks up after gaining her balance when Gina pulled her off the couch. All her friends are here, but she has never seen them like this. If looks could kill, Gina would be dead where she stands, and Nyah would be caught in the middle. All the guns were pointed at Gina, but also her since Gina is using her as a shield.

Ashley is off to the left, hair in a disheveled bun with specks of blood splattered across her face. Mr. Green is standing near Laura and Matt on the right, keeping an eye on them with two guns up. Is that a hole in his arm? LaNyah shakes her head, and then there’s Erik. He is dead center watching her with that same intensity that he always does, but it just feels scarier somehow. Like a caged lion prowling the land, ready for action at the slightest movement. He also has a gun in each hand and blood all over the front pocket of his fatigues. There they are her friends, the soldiers.

“Everyone put your guns down.” Gina calmly requests, to no response. “NOW!” She yells. Still, no one budges. “Of course.” Pulling LaNyah closer to her chest, she whispers loud enough for the room to hear. “You know why he won’t shoot me, right?” LaNyah knows who she is talking about but closes her eyes, so she doesn’t have to meet his gaze. Gina shakes her, “Open your eyes! Go ahead and look at your Killer lover.”

“Leave her alone, Gina!” Kill yells out, lowering his guns. “I get it; you want us all. But I did it, so deal with me.”

“Look at him, trying to be all chivalrous. It’s only because I have you.” Gina continues to speak in her ear. “Just look at him.” LaNyah opens her eyes to see Erik lowering both of his guns to the floor, and kicking them away from him. The look on his face, what is that? LaNyah bows her head, looking away from him.

“Let her go. You can take me instead, and no one else has to die.” Kill lifts his hands in surrender.

Locking LaNyah’s arms to her side much tighter now, Gina looks at him. “Now, you want to show some compassion? Where was your sympathy when it came to my brother, huh?” Gina slowly walks back towards the table, “Fuck you, Killmonger!”

Ashley has been watching LaNyah the whole time, and when she finally catches her eyes, she makes a signal to her. As soon as Gina reaches back to grab something from the table, she shouts, “NOW NYAH!” LaNyah stomps her heel down into Gina’s foot before ducking and rolling out of the way. Bridges aims for Gina taking her down with a double-tap to the chest.

Green goes over to Matt and Laura, leading them out of the building. While Bridges and Kill watch Gina drop, they can hear her struggling to breathe. She grabs at her neck, choking on her own blood, just like her brother did nearly 20 years ago. Bridges approaches Gina and aims one last time, shooting her point-blank in the head.

LaNyah banged her head against the table, rolling away and tries to sit up as Erik rushes towards her. When he leans over with his hands out to help her up, she scoots away, backing up into the wall and bursts into tears. Ashley makes her way over, grabbing her into a hug. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.” She sits down next to her, rubbing her back and starts crying along with her.

Kill stands up and walks over to Gina’s dead body. He looks at the table to find what she was reaching for. There on the edge is a remote clicker with one button. Probably a bomb linked to the whole building. Damn, she was going to take everyone out, including herself. That was one crazy bitch. He disables the remote, leaving all the pieces on the table.

Green returns and taps Kill on the shoulder as he makes his way to Ashley and LaNyah. “Are we good, ladies?”

Ashley looks down at LaNyah, who is sniffling now, “It’s ok, LaNyah. You’re safe now. We got you.” Nyah looks up at everyone, including Kill, who stands besides Green. She nods and follows Ashley’s lead to stand. Ashley takes Green’s hand, and LaNyah just looks at Erik’s outstretched hand. Once Ashley is up, she turns back to LaNyah, who reaches for her. Ashley helps her up and holds her hand.

Erik drops his head as he pulls his hand back. Ashley watches him and smiles sadly in his direction as she and LaNyah walk out of the room. Killmonger vanished as soon as the threat was over. So, now Erik is left to feel the hurt caused by LaNyah being scared of him now. He would never hurt her, but there is no way for her to know that. And even if he would give his life for her, it wouldn’t even matter. Erik is a monster in her eyes.

Alex and Erik walk the room once more to check for any other surprises before leaving out of the warehouse.

---

All is quiet as the group heads towards the SUV. Alex and Erik stand back as they watch both the women they care about get inside the vehicle, safe and sound. Before Erik walks around to the passenger side, Alex pulls him aside.

“Stevens, thank you.” Erik shrugs him off, “I don’t just mean for today.” Erik stops at that. “For everything. For Ashley. Being brave enough to handle McCoy and not letting the military give him a slap on the wrist for what he did. And LaNyah, too. You are the best protector that she could ask for, even if she doesn’t know it.”

Erik looks at him before opening the door to the SUV. “And she probably never will.” Looking inside, he sees Matt and Laura curled up on the 2nd row while LaNyah and Ashley are in the back on the 3rd row. He can hear hushed whispers coming from them. She still wants to be as far away from him as possible. Erik shakes his head and leans back in the seat, closing his eyes. It’s going to be a long ride back to Orange County.

Chapter 13

Taglist: @killmongersaidheyauntie @muse-of-mbaku @panthergoddessbast @youreadthatright @princessstevens @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stark-red19 @kreolemami @bidibidibombaclaat @iamrheaspeaks @missumuch1918 @simplyyamberr @cheychey10142 @ajspencer1892 @chrismarcs @loosewindmill @sydneebleu @semianta @eyeknowmywrites @alexundefined @itsjustmezari @goddessofthundathighs @guccixcucci @kissmyafropuff @gimmeface @fd-writes @jozigrrl @soufcakmistress @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @shaekingshitup @localtrapgod @post-woke @theesotericqueen

#erik killmonger #erik killmonger x oc #black panther fanfiction #the firm #thadelightfulone

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brightcinnamonroll · 4 years ago

Text

Day 5 & 6

Poisoned & Betrayed.

(5 & 6 trigger warning for: revenge killing, morphine overdose, but not death)

---

“I can’t believe you crashed Gil’s rental car. That’s the second car you’ve totaled this year.”

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t about to let you get shot.”

Dani smiled, despite herself. “Yeah, and look what it got you. A broken rib and a fractured leg. You’re gonna be in the ER till morning.”

Malcolm angled his head to look at his leg and thought back to the moment in question.

They were investigating a series of bodies washed up on the Hudson shore. Three men, all in their thirties, no priors or obvious connection to one another. Except they had all died of an overdose with ligature marks on their wrists and ankles, indicating they’d been restrained prior to death.

Further examination revealed they had been involved in a fraternity hazing gone wrong years ago. A lot of money had been paid over the years to the family of the victim, but it looked like not everyone was satisfied or could be bought. Clearly, someone wanted revenge.

They traced the cover up and found the family members of the victim dispersed throughout the country. Apparently, the tragedy had been enough for the parents to divorce and the siblings to lose contact. But there was still one older brother in the area and he had motive and plausible cause. Tenants in the suspect’s apartment complex noted a strange smell coming from his space and watched him leave and come home at odd hours.

Gil argued the odor might be another body and organized his team.

Gil and JT would investigate the apartment and Dani would wait downstairs for the suspect to return. And Malcolm…

would wait in the car.

As dissatisfied as Malcolm was with this arrangement, it proved to be the right decision. Because eventually their suspect returned in a very sour mood. He pulled his car up to the sidewalk where Dani was waiting and began asking questions. From his vantage point parked down the road, Malcolm couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he watched in horror as the conversation escalated and the man drew a gun on the detective.

Jumping into action, Malcolm climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, throwing the car into drive and pressing down on the gas pedal. Hard. Admittedly, he might have blacked out a bit after that, because when he finally came to, he was fighting with an airbag and broken glass on the dashboard. Dani was checking him over for cuts and bruises and Gil and JT had their guns drawn on the suspect. Twenty minutes later he was being checked into the ER.

Malcolm quirked his lips into a smile, despite the situation. It wasn’t ideal but he was glad to see Dani was safe.

“You know, you could just say thank you?”

Malcolm watched her, waiting for her to yell at him for being so reckless. Instead she smiled, turned silently and walked to the door.

“Thanks… for being so stupid.”

Malcolm stifled a laugh and thought to himself, There it is.

Alone in his room, Malcolm lifted his head and angled it toward his leg. It was resting in a sling, tied to the ceiling of his room. He’d been afforded a little extra privacy in one of their four-wall rooms, the standard being three and a curtain. He was very appreciative of that, since he knew Dani was right. By the time they finished their preliminary examination and administered the first few scans of his broken rib, four hours had already passed and it would be morning before he was released.

That was alright. It gave him time to think. After all, there was one thing he didn’t understand about their case. They’d found the bodies, they knew who killed them, but how? An overdose sure, but where did the killer get the morphine? Was there an accomplice? All the other siblings had an alibi.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door.

“Hi, I’m here to check your IV,” the nurse informed Malcolm and shut to door behind her.

Malcolm offered her his arm and shifted his weight to become more comfortable, but the pain in his ribs shot up through his abdomen and he winced at the pain. The nurse noticed his discomfort and placed a hand on his shoulder to ease him back down.

“Try not to move too much until we fix that rib of yours.”

Malcolm tried to ignore the discomfort and instead tried to focus on his thoughts. But as time passed, he found it increasingly difficult to do so. His eyes started to itch with sleep and he turned his head to watch the nurse.

“What did you put in my IV?”

“Just some morphine to help with the pain, Mr. Bright. Don’t worry.”

He blinked his weary eyes and shook his head, “No, nothing to make me tired, please. I don’t want to fall asleep.”

“I promise it’s just standard procedure. You’re going to need something until we can administer the anesthesia for your surgery.”

“No, I… how much did you give me?” He was starting to feel woozy.

“5 mg is the starting dose.”

Malcolm felt a cold sweat on his brow. He wasn’t cold a moment ago… He reached for the blanket on his bed, but stopped short. His arms felt like lead and he was starting to worry something might be seriously wrong with him.

��It, uh, doesn’t feel 5.”

The nurse ignored him, instead leaning over Malcolm to pull out the restraints meant for unruly patients. “That’s because I gave you 30.” She punctuated the sentence with a swift pull on his cuffs to test their strength. Malcolm didn’t put up much of a fight despite being restrained. He found it hard to focus on what was going on, let alone resist.

“Why?”

“Because if I start at 30 mg, I can gradually increase it to 200 mg and soon you’ll slip into a coma and eventually stop breathing.”

Malcolm must not have heard her correctly. Did she say stop breathing?

“…What? Why are you doing this?”

She sat in the chair opposite his hospital bed and glanced at the door. He followed her eyes and felt the cold sweat increase. She wanted to get him alone, but why?

“I’ve read about you in the paper. You’re pretty smart. I’m surprised you haven’t put it together already, but I guess I can’t blame you. The morphine can cause a lot of confusion. Or melancholy, or euphoria depending on the person. Frankly, I think it’s the most humane way to kill someone.”

Despite his confusion Malcolm forced himself to focus. Why she wanted him dead might very well save his life. He’d talked his way out of worse situations. If he could just keep her talking, she wouldn’t be able to increase his dosage and hopefully Dani would come back to check on him.

Then it clicked in his brain. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the supplier.”

Her eyebrows shot up, impressed. “That’s right.”

“But why?”

“Because he was my boyfriend, and they killed his brother. When I found out they were paying him to stay quiet, I knew it wasn’t right. They had to pay for what they did.”

“So why kill me?”

“Because you have to pay for what you did.”

Malcolm was starting to feel nauseous. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Yeah, the morphine will do that to you..”

They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity after that. Malcolm was exhausted but fighting every second to stay awake. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the nurse, worried she might increase the dosage or he’d slip into a coma. He tried counting the seconds on the clock, each tick occupying his thoughts until Dani came back.

Evidently, the nurse hadn’t counted on Malcolm fighting the morphine as much as he was. She looked frustrated as she got up from the chair and started messing with the machines. Malcolm turned his head weakly and begged her with a pained expression to please stop.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Are they taking him into surgery already? I didn’t think they were doing that until later.”

Malcolm snapped his attention back to the door, where Dani had entered unexpectantly. He silently cheered her arrival, even if he was too tired to say anything.

“Yes, we’re prepping him for surgery. You need to leave,” the nurse tried to show her the door, putting a hand on Dani’s back and turning her around. But Dani wasn’t so easily fooled.

“Why is he restrained?”

“Standard procedure.”

Dani wrenched herself from the nurse’s hold. “I don’t think so. Bright, are you alright?” Worried for his wellbeing, she approached the bed but was stopped short in her tracks as the nurse pulled her back, hand twisted at the base of her scalp.

Dani cried out in surprise and reflexively pulled her gun, only to have it knocked to the floor. The two grappled on the tile floor, throwing punches and reaching for some aide. Malcolm hoped the commotion would be enough to get someone else’s attention, but time passed slowly.

Malcolm watched Dani land a punch to the nurse’s throat and she gasped for air. With her opponent in a stupor, Dani scrambled for her gun and aimed it with serious threat.

“I will shoot you,” he huffed, still dazed from the quick encounter. The nurse sat back against the wall in defeat.

“Bright? Are you okay?” Malcolm didn’t answer. Dani stood and kept careful aim at the nurse, never taking her eyes off the woman for even a second. She slowly approached the bed and felt for his pulse. Slow as it was, she felt her own pulse quicken.

“I need a doctor in here! Security!” she yelled. She spared Malcolm a quick glance. “It’s going to be okay Malcolm. I promise.”

All the doubt he’d been holding on to the last hour melted at her reassurance. He closed his eyes, confident in his partner when he heard a crowd rush into his room.

He was going to be okay.

#prodigal son #whumptober #tw: overdose #betrayal via nurse might be a stretch #but i wanted to get this one out and done lol

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halorocks1214 · 5 years ago

Text

the law of rhythm

AO3 Link

Word Count: 5366

Summary: The Law of Rhythm states that everything vibrates and moves to certain rhythms. These rhythms establish seasons, cycles, stages of development, and patterns. Each cycle reflects the regularity of God’s universe. Masters know how to rise above negative parts of a cycle by never getting too excited or allowing negative things to penetrate their consciousness

Previous Parts (in order): Alan | You Are Here! | Gordon

just trucking along, toot de too de toooooo. ive also been sick for the past couple of days so thats been grEAT. thanks again to @gumnut-logic for the prompts. its giving me a challenge to write the stories i want to write but with a twist. that being using required words. its been fun. this time i used "I'm trying!" and hard

Warning for mentions of torture I guess

His mom used to say he needed to think of his emotions like playing the piano.

6-year-old Virgil just yelled at 5-year-old Gordon for breaking one of his favorite toys, leaving the strawberry blonde in a state of utter sorrow. While Jeff took the youngest to be consoled in another room, Lucy, nearly due with their surprise bundle, gently led Virgil over to their baby grand.

“You mentioned you wanted to know what this did, correct?”

Anger simmering below the surface, Virgil curtly nodded his head.

Lucy patted the place on the bench next to her, motherly smile working wonders on calming Virgil down. The black-haired boy reluctantly sat down next to his mom, staring at the white keys of the device he heard his mother sit at over the past couple of months. For a couple of seconds, she didn’t say anything, which prompted Virgil to look up at her face. Once she saw the chocolate eyes of her boy, she tilted her head toward the piano indicating that Virgil could touch it if he wanted to. Looking back at the mysterious object, Virgil lifted a finger and pressed down on a random place.

A ding came from the piano. Virgil would come to learn that it was Middle C.

Virgil jumped in shock while Lucy couldn’t stop her laughter. She remembered her reaction being very similar when she first touched a piano. Bringing her second-youngest child into her side, she brought her right arm around his shoulders and placed her right hand on the piano, “Here, watch this.”

Virgil’s eyes widened as his mommy pressed three keys in succession, the pitch on each going higher and higher. An arpeggio in the key of C major. Mouth open, Virgil tried repeating his mother’s actions. While he got the same pitches, the way he played the keys were much more jagged and jumpy, a slight pause in between each note signifying that the player double-checked to make sure their finger was in the right spot.

Crinkling his eyebrows in confusion, Virgil tried again more aggressively. It was the same notes, but it didn’t sound right. It didn’t sound like Mommy. Trying one more time with even more force, he was interrupted halfway through by mom’s hand gently gripping his with her whispering in his ear, “Shhh, sweetie, don’t play so hard. Just press, then let the piano do the rest.”

Nodding his head along to his mother’s words, Virgil looked back at the keys with newfound determination. With Mommy’s hand still laying over his, he took her advice to heart and let the piano do the rest. That time, the arpeggio that filled the room, while still not as polished, was much more legato than what Virgil was playing before.

Virgil was proud except for one thing, “But it’s…”

Lucille finished for him, “Quiet? That’s okay, just press a little harder.”

Virgil enthusiastically nodded his head and did as told. Once again he found himself aggressively pounding the keys with a little more force than necessary.

Lucy stopped him once more, “Virg, no--” she had to giggle a little bit, “It doesn’t take that much for a piano to be loud, honey, I promise.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. How could you be loud without being forceful? Regardless, his mommy was usually right, so he listened to her again. He played with only a little more force, but it still created a drastic change in volume. Virgil widened his eyes at the revelation.

Placing her hands on his sides and receiving childish giggles, Lucy explained in-depth what she was trying to get at, “See, Virg, think of life like playing the piano. More often than not you want to be “piano”, and while there will be times you need to be “forte,” even then, you don’t need to be so… hostile about it. The hardest blows are always delivered the softest. Soft but hard. You hear what I’m saying?”

Virgil was listening, he was, but… “How can I be the piano?”

Blinking, Lucy had to laugh once more. She was so caught up in the euphoria of her comparison, she forgot tiny Virgil didn’t know piano terminology just yet, “Oh no, sweetheart, “piano” is a term that means “quiet”, and “forte” means "loud". Those two come up a lot when learning how to play. It’s important in making your song sound even cooler.”

The stars were back in Virgil’s eyes, “Ooooooh, can I learn to play? How do I learn?”

Lucy looked at him with all the fondness she could muster, “Of course, my little black bean.”

She promptly tickled him into submission, followed quickly by happy tears. Later in the night, she would find her two youngest cuddling each other at the base of the bench, small grins indicating that there were no hard feelings leftover, and all was forgiven.

Virgil went to his first piano lesson two weeks after Alan Tracy was born.

---

Jeff was certain piano playing shouldn’t be happening at three in the morning.

Yet ringing throughout the house was the familiar Canon in D. Jeff couldn’t help but flinch at how the fast part got a little more aggressive than it probably should have. Virgil was always hit the hardest when something bad happened, yet he was always the calmest during the aftermath. Even more than Scott sometimes, which Jeff was pretty sure the eldest regretted a lot.

Around five notes were hit out of tune one after the other, followed by a groan of frustration and two hard objects hitting the keys. At the familiar clashy sound of, well, smacking the keys of a piano, Jeff went against his judgment and walked out to see his third eldest son. The engineer in question had his elbows on the piano and his head in his hands.

Stomping his feet in a way that would let Virgil know of his presence beforehand without scaring him, Jeff meandered up to the black-haired man and gently placed his hand on his shoulder, “Hey, Virg. Piano messing with you again?”

The watery chuckle from behind Virgil’s hands was a win in Jeff’s book. Virgil brought his hands away to look his father in the eyes, “You know it always does…” Virgil looked forlornly back at the shiny black of the grand.

The two men stood and sat in silence, both deep in thought and unsure of how to talk to one another. Clearly, any topic of conversation that wasn’t the obvious elephant in the room would sting, but even if they talked about the elephant all day and night, there still wouldn’t be anything for them to do about it.

Jeff needed to start somewhere, though, otherwise, he would scream, and he knew that would be bad for his body right now, “The power rack in the gym… you upgraded it?”

Virgil flinched before absorbing the question, “Oh, yeah, I decided to add some stability stuff and give it some colors. I use it the most, so I thought I could make it a little more personal. I can change it back if you--”

Jeff squeezed his son’s shoulder with a little bit of force, shutting him up, “Virg, no, that’s not why I brought it up. It’s just… why? You hated weight lifting. You were pretty determined to stay the beanpole of the family, and that’s saying something when you have a sibling like John.”

Virgil’s chuckles were more hearty that time, which meant Jeff still got it. Virgil sighed, “Yeah, you’re right, I originally wasn’t that thrilled at the prospect of getting beefy, but something happened, and I was more inclined towards the culture, in a way.”

Thinning his lips, Jeff thought he connected the dots. His son hated heavy-lifting, then, Jeff disappeared and came home to what was easily the strongest member of their family. At least it was a healthy way of dealing with grief, as long as Virgil didn’t strain himself in the process.

Virgil read his father’s thoughts loud and clear, “Dad, it wasn’t because of you going missing.” Jeff raised an eyebrow and Virgil cleared his throat, “Well, I guess a little bit of it was, but there was a different reason. It happened a couple of months after the Zero-X, I swear.”

Jeff sat down on the bench like Lucy used to and confidently spoke, “Believe me, Virgil, I have time.”

Virgil gritted his teeth. At least this was the conversation his dad was deadset on having, not anything else, “... Promise not to tell Scott or John?”

Oh no, “Uh, maybe?”

Virgil bit the bullet, “Weeelll, Scott and John weren’t taking it very well, none of us were, but they especially. Their reactions kind of hurt even more when I thought about you and how you, uh, reacted to grief… sorry.”

Jeff flinched but paid no mind. Virgil was shutting down and that’s the last thing Jeff wanted, “It’s okay, Virg, you’re not wrong. None of you boys can be wrong about those years after Luce left us.”

Taking a deep breath at the okay, Virgil started up again, “Scott had just left for the Air Force and also decided to stop calling, probably so he didn’t have to think about it, John was, actually, John was focusing on graduating high school early-- which he did, don’t let him downplay it when you talk to him about it.”

Jeff nodded and put the reminder in his back pocket.

Virgil continued to truck along, “And Grandma was out shopping, so that left me, a slightly depressed 15-year-old with a 14-year-old that didn’t want to swim anymore and a 9-year-old that stopped talking. Again.”

Jeff sharply inhaled. He would have to know more about his sons’ lives after the Zero-X, of course, but that didn’t make it easier to listen to how his sons essentially slowly self-destructed because of the man that was also causing them to self-destruct once more in the present.

Damn The Hood. When Jeff got his hands on him--

Virgil didn’t hear or sense his father’s wild emotions, too lost in his memories, “Gordon, who wanted something of yours because of obvious reasons, got Alan roped into it. Alan probably wanted something of yours too, especially since the three of us weren’t doing any comforting ourselves.”

Jeff was familiar with self-recrimination. This was slowly delving into self-hate, which was happening way more than the old father liked at the moment, “Son, from what it looks like, Scott and John and you eventually picked up the slack when you shouldn’t have needed to in the first place. Hell, you’re only a year older than Gordon! If you didn’t hold it against me, don’t hold it against yourself.”

A dark laugh came from Virgil like he didn’t believe his father. However, the way he held his eyebrows indicated he was more or less joking (hopefully), “Who says we don’t hold it against you, old man?”

Alright, Jeff had to laugh at that one. It hurt to see his boys so grown up without his help, but he couldn’t have been any more proud all the same.

Virgil then promptly soured the mood, “So, anyway, Gordon tried climbing to the top of your dresser in your study while Alan just stood right next to him. Two plus two equals two screaming brothers stuck under a dresser with only me as their savior.”

Jeff couldn’t quite stop the jump he made. Well damn, that wasn’t what he was expecting. Virgil clearly handled the situation, however, as both Gordon and Alan are-- well, were fine, plus, Scott and John apparently didn’t even know about it so there was that too.

Virgil had a grin on his face as he recounted the dark experience, “It was scary, but looking back, I can’t help but chuckle, just a little bit. Gordon full-on breaks down laughing at the memory anyway. His face had more annoyance on it than pain, really, and the squawks he let out, man, here I thought I was the potty mouth of the family.”

“Could you be any slower than a wheel-chair lift up a stairwell?!”

“I’m trying, asshole!”

Suddenly, Virgil’s laughter was dark again, “God, Alan’s account of it though, he was trapped underneath it in the other direction. His legs were incredibly still as I desperately tried getting the furniture off... I know he laughs about it now in his own, Alan-way, but… I’m pretty sure the kid experienced a pretty bad PTSD attack of... you know.”

Jeff inhaled slowly for a change. From what he’s albeit briefly heard, Alan loved snow nowadays, but for a while, the poor kid could barely go outside during the winter months. Jeff remembered finding out about it from a phone call from the school. Alan had thrown one hell of a tantrum when he refused to go outside with his peers. Jeff came and Alan jumped right from fury straight to panic and hastily explained how ”he just didn’t like it anymore.” He was worried Jeff would be disappointed in him for being scared.

Virgil’s grin was back to being cheerful, easing Jeff’s dark thoughts for the time being, “The kid wouldn’t let go of me all night, kind of how like we couldn’t get him to release Scott when we found them after the avalanche. Gordon joined in the fun just because Gordon,” Jeff snorted, “We all camped out in my room, blanket fort and all. Halfway through Back to the Future with Gordon snoring up a storm against my back and little Allie still snuggled into my “teddy bear arms” as he calls it, I realized… I wanted to protect them. I wanted to be a 'Scott' or a 'John' to the only two little brothers I had.”

Jeff felt his chest swell at the soft-spoken confession. Virgil continued with growing enthusiasm, “But I realized if I could barely lift a dresser off of them, how could I protect them from anything else? So, I worked on that and focused on more, er, “productive” means of helping someone, you know? I continued to study medical information, worked on becoming an engineer so I could fix things, getting physically stronger, et cetera. It made sense to me.”

Jeff just mindlessly nodded his head, proud of his son’s mature decision. He briefly closed his eyes to think about other eventualities, but then he abruptly opened them at the sound of Virgil starting to cry. Jeff could only keep his eyes wide as Virgil tried wiping away the damned liquid and chuckled in that way that stabbed a metaphorical knife through your heart, “I don’t think I did a good job of that recently.”

Jeff was verging on speechlessness, but not enough to where he couldn’t comfort his child, “Virg--”

It didn’t matter when the engineer didn’t even listen, “Why can’t we ever just be a full family again? Why does life hate us?”

Oh, this really was a mess.

One the father was determined to make right.

Jeff, with the sounds of cricks and cracks in his joints, stood up and firmly planted his hands on his son’s shoulders to get him to focus on his fatherly words. Pressing their foreheads together, Jeff stared intensely into those beautiful, brown eyes, “Virgil, I don’t care what that maniac said. I don't care if we have zero information to go on. We’re International Rescue. We’re getting him back.”

Virgil sighed, his breath shaky as he continued to wipe away tears, “I want to believe you, Dad, I do, but--”

Suddenly, a non-holographic voice spoke from the middle of the room gaining the two men’s attention. Looking over to where the couches were, both Jeff and Virgil full-bodily flinched at the sight.

John was anxiously standing in the living room.

Right next to an even more anxious Fuse.

“International Rescue, we… I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

---

John was fucking crazy.

On certain days when he was tired or exceptionally cranky, Virgil wondered why they put him up on ‘Five in the first place. Sure, John blew his temper the least out of all of them, and he knew how to calculate and strategize more than most computers Virgil came across, but that didn’t make him any less fucking crazy. Did Virgil even need to mention all of his insane plans before now? Sure, the man could pull them off, and he did it well, but trusting the Chaos Crew? Right now?

However, despite how much his brother could be stupid, Virgil was seeing the appeal as he hauled ass through this rickety compound containing a heat signal half the Chaos Crew gave them that was just the right kind of small to be their baby brother.

John was fucking crazy, crazy genius, and Virgil couldn’t physically love his older brother anymore right now without fear of bursting into a giant pile of pride confetti.

Scott and Gordon also were running through the compound somewhere. They knew that splitting up was the first thing the Scooby Gang did whenever they got into trouble, but they were already running on borrowed time. It was like a maze, no brother knew which route would be the fastest, and not even EOS could map it out for them. As soon as The Hood knew they were there, well, they didn’t even want to take the time to think about what Alan might have already gone through, God knows what could happen if The Hood realized he had been betrayed.

The Hood was a crime boss: crime bosses don’t take kindly to mutiny.

Frankly, that’s the least he deserved, Virgil thought darkly. The only sliver of luck the bald creep could potentially get is if the rest of the Tracys found Alan first. Soft but hard. If Virgil were to come across The Hood there were no promises to be made for what the plaid-wearing brother might d--

“---gil, Jesus, stop! You’re right next to the damn signal!”

Screeeech! Squeak! Bang! Pop! Smack-a-doodle-doo!

Surely one of those noises happened when Virgil dug his heels into the ground and smeared the bottom of his feet to stop running, but he wasn’t listening. He really couldn’t, not over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears after nothing but pure sprinting. He was right next to a doorway, some kind of storage closet with locks hastily added as an afterthought.

Leaning one arm against the wall and having one of his hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath, Virgil had all the time in the world to examine the makeshift cage. He knew it was kind of unhealthy, but dammit, he needed his adrenaline back. What better way to rebuild his levels than to aggressively glare at an inanimate object that made his blood boil more and more every second?

If anyone deserved to be treated like an animal, it was The Damn Hood.

“--ou be able to do this by yourself? If you want us there, we can pick up the pace.”

“Yeah, we’re all in this together!” Despite the severity, the aggressive humming of a familiar High School Musical song could be heard. Everyone knew who that had to be. They still let it go. Jokes were how Gordon got through negative emotion.

An example being violent anger.

Right, the problem at hand. Shit, Virgil was usually so good at listening to everything that happened over the comms. He was really dropping the ball tonight, “N-No, I’m fine. Sorry, I just needed to catch my breath. You two should keep mapping, actually, I don’t think either John or EOS have found a way to scan the entire place just yet.”

Virgil could feel the disappointment from two different comm lines. Not that he blamed them, but he was sure his brothers didn’t blame him either. Gordon still wanted to get something in, “Right, be sure to keep us updated. We’ll be listening carefully.”

Standing up straight, Virgil stood directly in front of the door, “Actually, I think I’m going to go dark for a while.”

Gordon objected, “WH--”

Scott interrupted, “Okay.”

Gordon double objected, “--AT?”

Virgil imagined Scott’s flinch as if the older brother were in front of him right now. Regardless, the field commander spoke confidently, “We don’t know what’s in that room. The comms could be more of a hindrance than not.”

John chimed in abruptly and out of nowhere like he always does. It was graciously welcomed just as usual, “Besides, it’s not like Virgil’s going off the radar. I may only be able to see parts of the compound you mapped, but I can still see you. I can always tell when my brothers are in trouble.”

The elder brothers spoke logic and safety, and Gordon’s heavy breathing calmed considerably, “Yeah, okay. Good luck, Virge. Bring our baby home.”

Despite its redundancy, Virgil nodded, “Of course.”

Virgil felt a little selfish, but the danger of having an open comm line was only partially why he wanted to go dark. He felt bad, but in reality, he wanted a little bit of Alan to himself. Virgil knew it would be smothering from all angles when they got Alan home (which they will get), and he could easily be patient and wait for his turn to be alone with the littlest when the time came, but…

He wanted it now. It felt like water slipping through his fingers, but if he gripped hard enough, he could save just a little bit that, with love and care, could become part of a giant puddle once more. Besides… Virgil could count on one hand the similarities he and Alan had. That wasn’t bad in any capacity, and if anything, it made their bond stronger in ways the bonds they had with the others would never understand, but it did make the time they hung out considerably smaller than time with, again, the others.

Virgil and Gordon were wingmen. Virgil and Scott were each others’ best friends. Virgil and John were the voices of reason. Alan and Gordon were partners in crime. Alan and Scott were the bread of the Tracy family. Alan and John were the space bros. Virgil and Alan?...

Were endlessly supportive of each other, sure, and Alan understood that Virgil was just as viable of an option to go to for help as the rest of his brothers, but they didn’t have anything special. They had love, laughter, and memories, but other than that, they were simply brothers. That was enough, yes, of course, but Virgil wanted more, to be more.

He wanted to help plan (even more) pranks, he wanted to help with college applications (geez, when did their little bro get so old?), he wanted to sign permission slips, he wanted to be more than just ‘one of Alan’s brothers’. He wanted to hold the world in his hands for Alan too, but he couldn’t do that without Alan there.

Virgil knew Alan also wanted more for his own, youngest-related reasons. Thank fuck the world granted them a second chance. Now Virgil just had to make sure he didn’t screw this up. Taking a deep breath, Virgil used his body mass to forcibly break open the door. That was iffy. Why was it so easy to break open? The Hood clearly didn’t want to give Alan back to them. Virgil was now on high alert, which did not help the rage building in his gut in the slightest.

His heightened senses allowed him to over-examine every detail in the room. It wasn’t the worst in terms of space, but it sure as hell wasn’t the best. The bed in the corner of the room was something akin to a wooden board nailed to the wall to be lying horizontal, and, Jesus, that wasn’t a blanket, that was a bunch of paper taped together to be a big sheet! Plus, there was no pillow, and even worse, no indication of how food got in and out--

Virgil choked on the air.

On the opposite side of the cage, not that far away from the bed (tiny space, soft but hard), sat a blonde-haired boy. Those freckles nearly made Virgil fall to his knees and cry from joy alone, but those precious, blue-eyes had something in them that kept Virgil vigilant. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t happiness. Shit, did Alan not think this was real?

Well, that response made sense. The kid looked like he had a hellish couple of weeks. There were no bruises or marks to indicate The Hood did anything physical, at least, none the family doctor could see (if The Hood did try and hide something though, hoo boy), but the eye bags he sported were veering off the edge of a cliff right into ‘Are those actually black eyes?’ Ville. Alan’s complexion had seen better days too with how closely he resembled a piece of printer paper. Trembles vaguely shook down the kid’s spine indicating a loose grip on reality. Alan was trying to hold it together, trying to convince himself not to get his hopes up.

Alright, Virgil could handle that. Time to step up and reassure the younger ones that everything was okay like the older ones always do.

Virgil moved forward.

Alan flinched because of it.

And time simply stopped.

Virgil heard his heart tear in half.

Alan.

Flinched.

The kid didn’t think this wasn’t real.

No, he knew it was real.

But he was scared because of it.

Virgil was going to throw up.

He was called “The Hood” because of his endless disguises…

No, the bastard wouldn’t-- didn’t--

Oh, he definitely did. Virgil bet ‘Two on it, pods and everything. There was no way The Fucking Hood, who had what could’ve been considered one of the most important things to the Tracy family, didn’t do something. He was an angry man out for revenge, a venomous snake, and what better way to poison Jeff than to sink his fangs into the one thing that shouldn’t have been near him in the first place.

Holy fuck.

Virgil put his hands together, placed them against his lips and inhaled sharply. Hokay, he needed to rationalize this. He wasn’t sure there was a way to logically think about a man torturing your teenage brother, but the way Virgil was originally clenching his fists at his sides in red hot, fiery anger was bringing said teenager to hysterics, so he needed a different approach.

Hands still against his mouth, Virgil slowly sunk to the floor to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, his back stiff as a piece of metal. He was still taking calming deep breaths, but at this point, his eyes were closed and his eyebrows were scrunched together. Think, Virgil, think. Soft but hard.

With an exhale as gentle as the breeze, Virgil brought his hands to his lap and opened his eyes, both motions equally as lethargic. His grin was small and light. He remembered that one rescue in the Amazon where a rather frightened panther made its way onto ‘Two. Virgil was the only one who could calm it down before it attacked the families he was saving. It was funny in hindsight. Gordon asked if they could keep it.

Right now, Virgil really hated the irony in comparing Alan’s situation to being caged like an animal. It was poor foreshadowing on Virgil’s part. Remember the panther. Soft but hard, “You remember what you asked me for your 13th birthday? We haven’t used that racetrack in ages. You wanna help me clean it up? I worked hard on it, I’d hate for it to continue to go to waste.”

Once again, Alan flinched, but following the very well hidden swallowing of his anger, Virgil watched as the boy raised his eyebrows. It was half-confusion-half-’what kind of question was that?’ Of course, he remembered! After a grueling day of Virgil helping him with his math homework, the kid mentioned how he wanted a racecar. For his 13th birthday.

“Like, a toy?”

“No! I want a racecar!”

“So, a full-on car? One you can sit in the driver's seat and move around?”

“I want it bright red with shiny wheels and, ooh! I--”

Of course, everyone said no. Mainly because they had no place to put it, Alan’s age notwithstanding. But Virgil, who had seen John’s gift for the year, was determined to win for once. The 19-year-old had been meaning to test his engineering skills out anyway. He couldn’t make an actual car, but a go-kart, on the other hand…

The only problem, however, was that he literally had to do everything alone. Gordon was on the mainland for Olympics training, Virgil would’ve rather died than told John his plans, and he knew Scott would have said no, so, there was only uno.

He spent a week building the car, then the entire day beforehand carving out a makeshift racetrack in a part of the beach they never really went to. They never used it again after Alan’s birthday, but the look on all of his Virgil’s brothers’ faces that day was worth the exhaustion. They ranged from awe to disbelief to disproval with a hint of pride. At least Scooter gave him a hair ruffle later in the night.

Alan was so touched by it he started crying. Virgil apologized to a sobbing Alan at the same time the kid apologized from Scott’s arms. Virgil asked why. Alan just replied, “You wasted an entire day!”

Oh, Allie.

Virgil didn’t let Alan go from his arms for the rest of the day. Octopus hold was engaged, and Alan would never admit that those hugs were better than any physical gift he received.

They still are. Dammit, Alan wanted nothing more than one of Virgil’s hugs right now. Those broad shoulders could fix any problem in the world. The realization he would never get one again allowed Alan to shamelessly release one tear down his cheek.

Alan blinked a few times before realizing there was still someone else in the room. Oh shit, he was still with The Hood. Jumping out of his pants, Alan shoved himself against the wall, eyes wide and staring at the man. Alan felt sick looking at the asshole’s fake worry and concern.

Wait, it hit Alan… The Hood couldn’t have known about that story. Part of Alan’s paranoid mind was trying to convince him that the man could to prevent false hope (again), but… there was just no way. If there was anything his brothers were deadset on, it was making sure The Hood couldn’t ruin anything familial outside of the ‘Birds. Even the ‘Birds were aggressively protected as much as they physically could.

The Hood couldn’t steal memories, which meant that the person in front of him...

Virgil’s chest swelled at the recognition in his baby brother’s eyes, which were slowly getting wider and wider. Talk about holding the world in his hands. Letting out a watery chuckle, Virgil spoke at his normal volume, “Hey, bro, sight for sore eyes, much?”

Well, there was no holding back those tears now. Shakily getting up to his knees (Alan would’ve completely stood up if he could, but he was still a little weak), Alan leaped off of them into Virgil's waiting arms. Without even blinking, Virgil wrapped his muscular build all around Alan like a giant shield, shoving his face into that mop of blonde hair. Virgil inhaled the strands and trembled as he exhaled. He never thought he could do this again.

Neither could Alan, who shoved his nose into that broad shoulder and tried desperately to grab one of his wrists with his arms still around Virgil’s shoulders and failing because the middle child was just that wide. That got a laugh out of the youngest, who settled for just grabbing fistfuls of the IR uniform instead. The blue parts couldn’t be stained by tears, right?

Yeah, Virgil wasn’t sure how he could describe his and Alan’s relationship.

But whatever it was, it allowed tiny Alan to sit right in his big, teddy bear arms, and that was enough.

Soft but hard. Thanks, Mom.

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #lucille tracy #lucy tracy #jeff tracy #alan tracy #my post #my fic #series: rules of alchemy

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