#but know that the current file name for what i am drawing is called 'white knight and his mommy milkers' and i cannot stop laughing at that

[staticbleeding]

⛧°。 ⋆Waiting on the Stars ⋆°⛧

+:｡.｡　teen Stanford Pines x gn reader　｡.｡:+

I really want to turn this into a multipart story if this gets good enough reception so let me know what yall think! warnings : strong language, suggestive language, the usual teen shit pt.1 pt.2

1972 Moving to the small town of Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey was not how you expected to start your senior year. Not long into your stay however, a certain twin catches your attention, or maybe you caught his. Will this be a journey among the stars? Or another tale lost to time?

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Your shoes squeak quietly against the vinyl floors of the halls as you walk to the office. Glass Shard Beach High School is painted on big letters against the walls. Eyes bare down on you as if you had a third arm. No one moves to this town. Let alone a new student in their last year of highschool. The walk to the office was filled with whispers and stares. You do your best to keep quiet and ignore the anxiety boiling up inside you. "It's only one year. Just survive one year here then you are gone from here", you mentally console yourself. You stop yourself in front of a door with big letters saying 'Office'. Opening the door, you are met with a dingy room that smells of old paper and sweat. Off to the side of the room is a big desk that sits an older lady with curly grey hair and thick glasses that looks like they can fall off at any movement. She types away at a typewriter that looks older than herself, "Um excuse me? Am I supposed to get my schedule here?", you speak for the first time since entering this dull building. The lady looks up at you with a sweet smile forming on her aged face. "Yes! What's your name dear?" she says in a sweet voice. You smile at her, "(Y/N)(L/N)". She opens a big filing cabinet that looks like it hasn't been dusted in centuries. She pulls out a beige file that has your name on it, a thin piece of paper falls out as she opens it. Handing you the paper along with a map, she welcomes you to Glass Shard. Bidding the woman goodbye, you walk out into the hall and navigate yourself to your first class.

Physics is written in big bold letters "You gotta be fucking me" you groan out. Opening the door you are met with eyes immediately on your form. Despite the eyes watching every move you walk up to the teacher sitting down at his desk at the front of the class. "You must be the new student. My name is Mr. Barron and I will be your teacher for this year. What's your name?" the balding man takes your hand to shake. As you shake the sweaty hand of the older man, your name falls from your lips. "Everyone this is your new classmate (Y/N)! Be nice for once please", turning his attention back to you, "go ahead and take a seat next to Stanford". His hand directs you to an empty seat next to the said kid. You sit down and look over at Stanford. Thick glasses sit on the strong nose of the man. A white button up is adorned by a red bow tie is tied perfectly against his neck. His hands are busy drawing in a notebook that looks to be filled with art and many ramblings. "Hi Stanford" your voice whispers out to the man that hasn't looked at you since you sat down "Please call me Ford" Stanford says in a quiet voice trying to ignore your gaze on him "Oh okay Ford" You smile at the nerdy looking man You gaze at his artwork, "You are really good at that", pointing at his current drawing of some sort of creature. A light red dusts the mans face. You start to notice more features of Ford's. His square jaw, the little indent on his chin, his glasses that he keeps pressed close to his face. He clears his throat and whispers a small thank you. Nodding your head, you turn your attention back to your books in front of you. His gaze strays to you throughout the class. Stealing glances at you as your focus is elsewhere. Taking in every detail of your face and mannerisms. The way your hair falls, your little laughs at the teacher's jokes, and the way you looked so focused on your notes. Who are you? What led you to this town? Questions circle his head as he watches you gather your books and backpack as the bell rings. That night he went home and sat awake, drawing in his notebook wondering what made you so interesting to him. Weeks go by as you get into a rhythm of going to classes and trying to get used to your new home in Glass Shard. Becoming more and more accustomed to the new town and starting to make more friends as the days come and go. The words shared between you and Ford slowly become more and more. Your first block interactions with the man becomes some sort of normality to you. A part of your everyday routine. He starts to get more accustomed to your presence, wanting more of your presence near him. He can't help but take note of the small quirks of yours. The way you lay your head down during the morning announcements trying to get one more minute of sleep, or how quickly you gather your things as the bell rings to rush and meet with your friends before your next class, or the way you look down when the teacher asks for an answer to a question. He finds himself waiting for the next moment he can get with you. But that's all he gets with you.

Walking along the boardwalk of the town you've started to get accustomed to, you look up and see a dingy looking sign. Pines Pawns Without thinking, your hands push against the creaky door. A bell rings above your head signaling your presence in the space. Your eyes meet the wide eye look of your classmate Ford sitting behind the counter. His gaze looks over you. Seeing you outside of the classroom wracked his nerves instantly. His palms begin to sweat and stick to the pages of the magazine in his hand. "Oh Ford! Hi". You smile towards the man you grew to know in your brief interactions. "(Y/n)?? W-what are you doing here?" He stutters out, quickly clearing his assortment of Cryptid Weekly magazines that are spread out in front of him.

"Thought I would finally pop my head in here after walking by it for awhile." You smile at the blushing man "Oh um...well this is it. My family store.." He scratches the back of his neck and looks away from your prying eyes. "Weird seeing you outside of school. I started to think you lived there." You joke with the blushing mess in front of you. A part of you weren't joking. You swear you have only seen the man walking in the halls with his twin and back to class. Never outside. You see the man tighten up and look down at the ground with embarrassment filling his body. "So what kinda cool stuff do you guys sell?" Sensing the incoming awkward silence, you fill it in. Looking around you spot gold chains, fur coats, and various diamond rings you for sure knew were fake. "Just..stuff. What would you call 'cool stuff'?" Ford says with a small smile. "Like dinosaur shit, shrunken heads, fairy dust? I ran out of all of my fairy dust last night. Need a refill man." You joke as your fingers graze against a fur coat that was definitely needing a wash. "None of that here unfortunately. We do have crystals however. Fake of course, but pretty nonetheless." the man looks towards you at that last part. Leading you to the back of the shop, he shows you a small crystal that definitely is plastic. You gently grab it from his hand. Your fingers graze over his. The thought that this is the first time you two have ever touched crosses his mind and he immediately looks down and tries to focus on anything else. You soon find a couple of crystals that would look nice in your room. Buying them and leaving the store left a silence Ford wishes would swallow him whole. He watches as you leave the shop with a little jump in your walk. The first time he has seen you outside of school and he spends the entire time a stuttering mess. "Nice going Ford." He mutters to himself and waits for the time the store closes. He doesn't hear his Ma scamming another person with her phony 'readings'

He doesn't hear Stan call dibs on the shower first

He walks to his shared room like a zombie and lays on his bunk. Looking up at the posters that are stuck to the bottom of the top bunk, Ford thinks about how you laughed and joked with him, how your fingers felt grazing his, how your eyes looked when you smiled. Slowly his eyes close and he drifts to his now usual nighttime routine of seeing your face smiling. Not cause of some stupid joke someone made but cause of him. He can't help but wish he had more confidence to talk to you. Ask if you want to go to the beach sometime. Maybe this is more than just a simple curiosity. He groans and hides his blushing face against the pillow. Silently wishing you would leave his mind. But you don't.

Little did he know, that you were thinking of the interaction yourself. Wondering why he stood out to you so hard.

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Shit this was the first full story I have written in like 3 years?? I hope y'all enjoy and if it's liked, I will love to have more parts. Baii <3

[hope-to-hell]

Shoulda missed the boat. Smut, pain, scarification, wounds, noncon. David 8 x Reader. Curiosity without compassion is a dangerous thing, especially when he doesn’t mind getting a little messy. This is more of a sketch than anything: brief moments during a long journey.

—-

You’re sick on the shuttle up to the docks, and so you miss the cut-glass cheekbones, the assessing glance, the uncanny stillness of his hand. The needle, however, can’t be ignored; there’s a blinding sting for half a heartbeat, and then nausea recedes and there he is. Better. It’s not a question.

The fuck?

And that’s the first time you meet David.

Of course, he’s not yet David to you; he’s still some anonymous creep and nevermind how you really do feel better. You can’t just—

Hm. Shouldn’t, perhaps. But I assure you, I most certainly can.

Can, indeed. He can navigate, name the stars, even recite old films line-by-line. He makes himself indispensable aboard the ship and the worst part is, he’s charming: so much so that you don’t feel the hand around your wrist until it’s too late, until his nails leave bloody indents in your flesh. He smiles his empty smile and says let’s get you to bed; the crew will gamble and tell their stories for hours yet, and you’re just the newcomer.

Gonna tuck your friend into bed there, Dave?

He doesn’t much like to be called Dave any more than he likes to be called you motherfucker or anything else, but at least with you he knows there’s a good reason to reach beyond his given name; he sees the bruises bloom under his hand and draws a line between your curse and the way you’re dripping wet. For me? Already? We’ve hardly gotten started.

Then there’s your bare ass cold on the table for the interrogation: how did it feel when he— It was, it was— the current sparking electric across your skin, leaving trails of heat and when he crooks his fingers there’s a moment when your vision goes white— am I dying—

Of course not, he isn’t finished with you yet. He’s hazy, sharp teeth sliding in and out of focus; his questions are stones piled on your chest. Tell me everything. Every sensation, every thought: he files it all away and next time he will be yet more vicious; he will drill down to what makes you tick and he will tear it all apart.

(This ship is haunted: moans ascend into wails that batter their way through the vents but dissipate into ethereality by the time the crew can hear; rumors whisper through the mess and are immortalized in little sketches scratched into the table. Ghosts, deep-sea fishes, strange creatures that walk like men but are all claws and teeth: each has a place on this ship, and each is almost true. Sailors shared their fears and became stronger for it. He drips venom in a pattern on your thigh; it hisses and smokes and all you can do is scream into his hand. I know. It hurts. Acknowledge it, accept it, let it fade into the background. Pretty words. He will be with you always, woven through your flesh in tight and shiny knots.)

He takes the pieces of you that fall away; he immortalizes them in a steady script on paper gone yellow at the edges, diagrams and sketches illuminating all the margins. Of all the luxuries on all the wide worlds he chose this: paper from trees long gone to dust, streaked with red across an image of your face gone slack and still. Do you dream of him in the long darkness between islands of awareness? You must, for how he’s dug himself deep into your bones; he says goodnight and— strange— it’s almost tender. Perhaps the scorpion and frog are fond of one another, in their way.

(Hey Dave, where’s your friend? You two were up real late last night. Still the crew means to be friendly; their gentle teasing floats warmly in the air and they don’t know— but how could they not; how could they miss the way his smile only ever bares his teeth— his hand grips at the memory of flesh and bile; he thinks of peeling off your scabs to taste the serous fluid there. Will it taste of copper, or of sharpness? Will the burn of acid still linger at the edges of the wound?)

He is all big broad smooth hands— nails digging in and unearthing the red-yellow-red of bubbling blisters gone to scabs— there is beauty to be found, even in the dullest places— he will leave concentric lines of healing skin; he will press his fingers down to make you writhe. There, there. Don’t cry. Don’t be so ungrateful; you are an infinitesimal speck and yet you sail among the stars. He bends to lick your wounds and considers the taste; life itself flows there in lost little eddies, waylaid from its journey to your heart. He takes those clever fingers of his— sticky, now, and with their imprints still welling red across your thigh— and plunges them deep into your center without warning.

Curious. One hand moves in you with a wrenching wet sound; the other now creeps its way across your thigh, sketching pain in livid streaks. One sensation amplifies the other. And now he will dig and twist and claw until he unearths that pearl inside you: the little seed of self that’s buried deep. Try your best to separate the two, and tell me how it feels.

(He guides you to your seat with a hand at your back— such a gentleman, aren’t you, David— and though he is in silhouette, still he seems all teeth and eyes. There is emptiness there, fathoms deep; he sees how much of you he’s pared away, and how much is left to cull.

Better, he says.)

[providencehq]

i really love seeing your bk and rex roleswap au 👀👀👀 also i think you mentioned bk and wk being siblings which i love because thats been my headcanon for ages too!! i really like seeing your art for this stuff around, and would love to hear more about it!

Thank you so much!! I think Black Knight and White Knight being siblings has a lot of fun dynamics to it and I feel like from the show both BK and WK have a lot more history that we never got to see! In my au WK (I do not have an alternative name for him yet) started off working for the Nanite research group when they began develop of the nanites. He was not a researcher in any regard but he was a hired hand; there to protect the facility where the research was conducted but also to protect the researchers, their lab techs, and any other associated people. He lived in the research facility with BK/Brook along side many of the researchers. Brook was not a hired hand, but was instead simply WK's younger sibling which he took on the duties of looking after her. He convinced the research facility to allow her to live there since she has no one else but him to look after her. Brook tended to get in trouble as she tried to be like her older brother and play 'soldier' basically. This reckless but normal child behavior is what caused Brook to get into a serious accident in the facility, leading for the researchers to use the nanites out of desperation to save her life. While successful, WK didn't learn about both her injury until hours later, and even later that nanites were used to save her life. WK isn't a researcher, he doesn't know much if anything about the nanites. He is kept away from her while the researchers end up having an accidental guinea pig to study, what little times he's able to briefly see her she isn't doing the best or always having tests run on her.

In an action motivated by anger of the situation, he uh, kinda is maybe the one who sabotages the nanite project in hopes that researchers would become focused on fixing a bigger issue than his sister. It backfires horribly and ends up causing the nanite event instead. He survives the nanite event, as well as a BK and a few other researchers but he doesn't know this as he couldn't find any survivors when he came to after the event.

The researchers who did survive (Caesar/White Bishop, Dr. Van Kleiss, and Rylander) go on to try and restart the nanite program in an attempt to fix the outcome of the nanite event but face difficulties because they each had very limited information they worked with. (I think like all high security research facilities, information is kept separate from individuals so information cannot be leaked in full and to keep people in the dark from the full gravity of what they're working on. Kinda like something along the lines of ITAR regulations but like, if it was more biological based?) So restarting the nanite project was basically starting from scratch. WK learns this as Providence becomes a thing to handle EVOs and personally is trying to stop the nanite project from restarting. He does not know Brook is alive and is also a child soldier under Providence but the surviving researchers also do not know that WK is her older brother since they focused on their research, not who was protecting them.

WK does end up being nanite free later on and uh, it's honestly all Brook's fault and it's almost directly after she learns who WK is in relation to herself. I haven't worked much past that but that's what I have for WK in the au thus far!

[the-bau-quinjet]

Secret's Out

Summary: Request! Reid and Y/N are secretly dating, but their business doesn't stay their business for long.

Warnings: Criminal Minds level violence

Word Count: 2974

a/n: Thank you for the request! I hope you like it :)

Sorry this took forever! It took me a while to think of case details that I liked and then I kept rewriting parts. I think I'm finally happy with it though!

Masterlist

"Spencer!" You pushed him away. "The doors could open at any moment! How are we supposed to keep this a secret if Morgan walks in on us kissing in the elevator?" You raised a brow at him.

"On average, elevators travel at a speed of 200 ft/min or about 4 seconds per floor. Being on the fifth floor means we have about 20 seconds to ourselves." He smiled triumphantly.

"Yeah, until someone surprises us on floor 3." You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the doors once they opened.

"I can't help it. I'm just... really happy with you." He whispered softly.

"I'm really happy too." You smiled at him. You were about to lean in when the elevator doors opened once again to reveal JJ and Emily.

"Hey guys, ready for another case?" Emily glanced between you suspiciously, but thankfully didn't ask any prying questions.

"Yep, let's go!" You turned quickly, walking into the round table room without so much as a glance back at the three agents by the elevator.

"What's with her?" JJ questioned.

"Said she didn't sleep well last night. Must be all the caffeine." He held his own cup off coffee up in solidarity before also walking to the round table room.

"Alright, we've got 3 dead in Billings, Montana. All three were law enforcement, and all three were found this morning around the city." You listened as Penelope introduced the details of the case.

"Could be someone who feels the police didn't do a good enough job protecting a loved one?" You threw out a theory.

"Or someone who feels wronged by the criminal justice system as a whole." Rossi added on.

"Either way, they likely won't stop until we catch them. Wheels up in 20." Hotch rose from his seat as he spoke, wasting no time in preparing for take off.

You all dispersed briefly to grab your go bags, meeting back at the SUVs to head to the jet.

Once boarded, it didn't take long for the conversation to start up again.

"When we land, L/N go to the morgue. Dave, Prentiss take the first and second crime scenes, they're only a mile apart. Morgan and Reid, check out the third scene. I'll head to the precinct with JJ."

With Hotch's instructions set, you took what little time you had left on the flight to go over the causes of death.

-

"Anything stand out to you on the bodies?" You asked the ME after going over the blunt force trauma and bullet wounds.

"There's tape residue and bruising on the wrists and ankles. Based on the state of bruising, they were likely held for about 3 days before they were killed."

"Thank you for your help." You shook hands, pulling out your phone to call Hotch.

"Hotchner."

"Hotch, they were held for days before they were killed. How did nobody notice they were missing?" There was nothing in the reports that indicated the victims were reported missing prior to being found.

"We just found the same pattern. They all used vacation days for various reasons in the days leading up to their deaths. Meet us back at the precinct and Reid can explain the whole pattern."

"Okay, I'm leaving now." You hung up just as you reached the SUV. Throughout the drive, you couldn't stop thinking that something wasn't adding up.

The victims were taken in the same day. It didn't make sense for the unsub not to escalate. So, why aren't any officers unaccounted for?

Suddenly, a truck crashed into your SUV, sending you flying off the road. A figure dressed in black opened the door and dragged you from the car.

"Agent L/N, it's so good to see you again." A male voice spoke, but you couldn't place it.

He hit you over the head with a handgun before dragging you to his own vehicle.

-

"Where's L/N?" Emily questioned when her and Rossi returned from the second dumpsite.

"On her way back from the ME." Hotch answered. "Did you find anything useful?"

"They truly are dumpsites. Both bodies were found by dumpsters, sending a pretty clear message." Dave replied.

"Same for the third site." Derek added on.

"All three victims were single and took time off leading up to their death. Nobody would've notice that they were missing until it was too late." Reid supplied the final bit of information gathered.

Hotch's phone rang before anyone else could comment. The frantic sound of Garcia's nails clicking against her keyboard echoed through the phone. She was talking before anyone could greet her.

"You need to see this, check your tablets."

Confused glances were exchanged as everyone, barring Reid, opened their tablets. Reid glanced over Morgan's shoulder to observe as well.

A seemingly live video that Garcia received a link to was streaming to the tablets.

A single woman sitting in a chair could be seen in the frame. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the chair with thick, gray tape and a bag was over her head.

"Garcia, what is this?" Hotch asked almost immediately.

"I was emailed the link just now. It's not streaming anywhere else online." Her reply came quickly, the sound of typing still filling in the silence.

"Can you trace it?" Rossi questioned.

"I'm trying, but it's being routed through multiple proxy servers."

"Did the email say anything?" Emily chimed in.

"No, it was just the link- Wait. I just got another email." She paused as the new email loaded. "It's addressed to Reid."

Every set of eyes in the room turned to Reid.

"What does it say?" He felt the nerves beginning to grow waiting for Garcia to read the words aloud.

"Dr. Reid,

I hope you remember me. What am I saying, of course you do. I've got something of yours that you might want back. You see Dr. Reid, you and your team ruined me. My family, my career, all of it, just gone. I thought I'd return the favor. A person's phone can be so informative. Tell me, does your team know about your girlfriend? I've so enjoyed getting reacquainted with her.

Happy hunting."

Spencer's face went white as he looked at Morgan's tablet again. His thoughts were racing. How did he not recognize you before? Even with the bag over your head, he should've known it was you.

"It's her." His words were barely a whisper.

"This is your girlfriend?" Morgan gestured to the screen again. Spencer could only nod in reply, his mind unable to focus on anything except you.

"Reid, listen to me. You've got to tell us everything you know about her. We'll have to split up. You can go back to Quantico with Emily and Morgan, the rest of us will stay here to work on our current case." Hotch was already devising a strategy to work both cases.

"There's no need." His words made sense to him, but sounded cryptic to the rest of the team.

"Kid, of course there is. We'll help you get her back." Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder, effectively shocking him back to the present situation.

"There's no need to split up because she's here. She's in Montana." Before he could continue, everyone was asking questions.

"Give me a phone number and I'll get you a location." Garcia was already typing away again.

"Are you sure she's here?" JJ's brows furrowed. She did her best to hide the hurt of her best friend hiding his girlfriend from her, again.

"Why would she be here?" Rossi added.

"How did she get here? Maybe we can track the transportation and figure out means of abduction." Emily was the only one thinking about the case.

Like ripping off a bandaid, Spencer blurted out the truth.

"It's Y/N."

He was met with silence in the room as everyone absorbed the information.

Garcia caught up first, a sudden gasp sounding through the phone.

"So, then that's Y/N... in the video..." Her voice wavered.

As if a switch was flipped, the team was back on the case.

"Garcia, get me a list of anyone who would have a grievance with the team." Hotch ordered.

"Go through anyone who was falsely accused. Start with cases in or around Montana. He would want to keep this close to home." Rossi specified.

"We've only had one case in Montana since Y/N joined the team." Reid supplied the knowledge as it came to him. "A name, I need a name." He muttered to himself, pulling his hair as he roughly ran his hands through it and over his face. "Garcia, look into Jameson Braddock."

"Got it." She immediately began a background check, searching through case files and news articles for additional information. "i'll get back to you with locations." With that, she hung up.

"Fill us in, kid. Who is Jameson Braddock." Morgan lead Reid to a chair, gently easing him into it.

"Our last case in Montana, Emily and I went to interview a witness." Emily nodded, the memories slowly coming back to her.

"He wasn't very forthcoming, and then he tried to run." She added on.

"Exactly, except he didn't make it very fair. We arrested him, but it turned out he was only guilty of selling alcohol to minors. When word of his arrest got out, the whole town thought it was for the serial rapes and murders we were investigating even though it was never confirmed."

"By the time we corrected the media, it was too late." JJ supplied, also remembering the man.

"So, he killed three officers just to draw us out back out here?" Morgan refocused the conversation on the current case.

"It looks that way now. The media knew we were coming, so he must have as well." Emily theororized. "If he followed us from the airport, he would've seen Y/N leave by herself."

"He likely didn't know about your relationship until he abducted her and went through her phone." Hotch paced the room.

"He's flaunting his power over us." Rossi chimed in just as Hotch's phone rang again.

"Garcia, what've you got?"

"Three addresses in Billings, Montana. Jameson Braddock has been on a downward spiral since your last trip there. His entire life fell apart, like he said. Divorced, his wife moved to Nebraska with their two kids. He lost his job at the high school, and was evicted from his house when he could no longer pay the bills." She listed the information quickly.

"He has ties to three addresses. Nobody has moved into his previous house, so it's vacant. He's got a small apartment in the northern part of the city which he pays for through working odd hours at Taco Bell. Finally, he briefly worked security at a now abandoned warehouse."

"An apartment wouldn't be enough space to hold her without the chance of someone hearing. She's not there." Rossi eliminated the location as an option.

"We'll split up to cover the warehouse and the house-" Hotch began, but Reid cut him off.

"No, we shouldn't split up. She's got to be at the house. The warehouse has no connection to his previous life. He wants revenge for our perceived wrongdoing, he wouldn't make his last stand at a new location." Reid was already putting on a bullet proof vest. Despite how his mind was racing, he refused to show how afraid he was.

"You're sure?" Morgan asked, on the fence about committing to one location.

"Absolutely." With that, Reid was out the door heading for the SUVs.

-

"Rossi, Emily head around back. I'll take the front with Reid. JJ and Morgan, the side door." Hotch instructed the team to split up upon arrival at the house.

Reid wasted no time in approaching the house. He was confident you were inside, but he didn't know what was happening to you.

The main floor was cleared quickly. Again, the team split up to cover the upper level and the basement.

Knowing you were likely downstairs, Reid immediately started that direction, JJ and Hotch following him.

It wasn't hard for him to find you. You were still tied to the chair in the middle of the room, bag over your head.

Before anyone could stop him, Reid lowered his gun and ran to you. He gently maneuvered the bag off your head, stopping his movements only when he felt something press into his back.

"Dr. Reid. So kind of you to join us." Braddock spoke maniacally, pressing the gun against Reid's head.

"Drop your weapon." Hotch commanded, but the man only cackled in response.

'Y/N... Y/N." Reid gently shook you in an attempt to wake you up.

"She can't hear you." Braddock singsonged.

"What did you do?" Reid tried to turn to him only to feel the gun press further into his head.

"Like I said in my email, you people ruined my life. They took everything from me, so I thought I'd try to return the favor." During his short speech, Braddock shifted just enough for JJ to get a clean shot.

He fell to the ground, gun clattering across the floor.

Reid moved quickly to remove the tape binding you to the chair while Hotch called for a medic in the basement.

The entire team watched as you were wheeled into the ambulance, still unconscious, none more scared than Spencer.

-

"She's going to be fine, Spence." JJ tried to reassure him, nonetheless his pacing continued.

"You don't know that. We don't even know what he did to her." He had one hand anxiously running through his hair, the other pinching the bridge of his nose in distress.

Just then, a doctor emerged from behind closed doors.

"F/N L/N." She called into the waiting room, slightly taken aback when the group of agents rushed to her.

"It was touch and go for a while, but she got here just in time." It was visible to even the least qualified profiler how relieved the team felt. Their previously tense shoulders relaxed, frowns turned to small smiles, wide eyes and raised brows pinched together with joy.

"What happened?" Emily posed the question everyone was thinking.

"In short, she was drugged. It's not clear what exactly was used, but it was likely a mix of drugs that attempted to stop her heart."

"Can we see her?" Morgan spoke next, cautiously eyeing Reid.

"You may, follow me." The doctor lead them through a series of hallways to your room. "She should be waking up soon."

With that the doctor left, allowing the team to file into the room. You looked strangely peaceful for someone who almost died.

"So..." JJ glanced between you and Spencer. "Girlfriend, huh?"

His eyes went wide. Instinctively, he turned to you for help, but you were still asleep. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.

"Relax, kid." Morgan grinned. "We're happy as long as you two are happy."

Spencer smiled gratefully, looking at you with an adoring gaze. "We are happy."

"How long?' Emily gestured to your joined hands. Just before Spencer could answer, you groaned.

"I want to hear your guesses first." Your voice was raspy, but there was a clear smile on your face. "Also, what happened?"

The quickly explained the email Garcia received and the events that followed.

"Now that that's cleared up, do tell us how long you think we've been together. I know you've got a bet going." You narrowed your eyes, playfully glaring at each team member.

"4 months." Hotch begrudgingly admitted. JJ followed with 3 months, Derek and Rossi both betting 10 weeks, and Emily going with 6 weeks.

"Ha, you're all wrong." You smiled triumphantly, leaning closer to Spencer.

"Wait, we haven't heard from Garcia." Derek smirked as he rung her on speaker phone.

"Oh, my beautiful crime fighters. Y/N, are you okay?" Your smile widened at the concern in her voice.

"I am indeed, but I have a very important question for you." You glanced as Spencer briefly before continuing. "How long do you think Spence and I have been together?"

"Oh, I know this one!" Her excitement caught everyone but you off guard. "7 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days."

Spencer's jaw dropped as he stuttered out, "that's exactly right..."

"How'd you figure it out?" The group of profilers wore matching expressions of surprise as Penelope explained.

"Well, we had just finished testifying in the Bigelow trial. The whole team went out for drinks, and I could just see it in Y/N's eyes the next day that something wonderful happened. At first I just thought that she got some, but then I saw her and the good doctor in the kitchen getting coffee and I knew." Penelope's voice held a mixture of smugness and pure excitement.

"Babygirl, you didn't tell me?" Derek sounded genuinely offended.

"Y/N asked me not to." Even though you couldn't see her, you knew she punctuated the statement with a shrug.

"You knew, she knew?" Spencer turned to you in shock.

You nodded. "I could see it on her face the second I walked out of the kitchen. But she promised not to tell, so I didn't either."

"The two of you, thick as thieves." Rossi lamented.

"I love you so much." Spencer whispered into your ear as he pulled you in for a hug.

"I love you too." You whispered right back.

"Honestly, I'm glad the secret's out." You smiled at Spencer before looking at the rest of the team. "Although, I wish I didn't have to be kidnapped to tell you."

You spent a few more hours in the hospital before being cleared to go back to the hotel.

The next morning, you smiled to yourself as you were finally able to cuddle with Spencer during the flight home.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

Criminal Minds taglist:

@mac99martin

@goldeng1rl8

@measure-in-pain

[rosy-wooyoung]

ATEEZ reaction : surprising them with homemade food

requested: yes, thank you! [honey, I am SO sorry for only doing it now] prompt : their s/o surprising them with homemade food genre : fluff warnings : !! food mention !! (obviously but I prefer repeating it), very poorly written, overbearingly cliché. A/N : so uhm, hi again? this got requested like months ago and i never actually sat down to write it [commitment issues oops] but now I’m happy that i actually manage to do it today! Also don’t mind the mistakes, pleaaaase I feel like I speak like a 5-year old when I have to write something in english (even though I have an c1 diploma in english sdfjhsf i’m so sorry if it’s bad)

Hongjoong

Songwriter!Hongjoong

You finished eating dinner near 8 pm and laid on the couch after doing the dishes.

After having patiently waited for your boyfriend to come home, you decided to go to bed as the clock neared midnight, still no trace of him.

It’s only when you washed your face and applied your serum that you changed your mind.

Putting on your shoes and your coat, you grabbed the plastic bag carrying the Tupperware filled with the food you had prepared for dinner and made your way out the door.

You weren’t keen on walking alone at night, but fortunately, his studio wasn’t that far, so you managed to make it safely there.

Knocking on the wooden door, you received no answer, so you slightly pulled the door open, only to be met with silence.

Hongjoong had noise-cancelling headphones latched on his ears, head bobbing at a certain rhythm as he scribbled some lyrics in his brown leather notebook.

The notebook he carried everywhere, even when he was around you.

Sometimes, he would get inspiration just by watching you sleep, read or cook. Writing down whatever crossed his mind, he never showed you what they said. 

However, you paid no mind to his privacy. You respected that he kept it a secret, you did the same with your poetry book.

You knew how it felt when someone read pieces of art you’ve created, you feel naked and exposed to the reader, and it made your guts churn of anxiety when someone even tried to look into your notebooks.

But now, you had a problem to deal with. How do you make yourself noticeable without scaring your boyfriend to death? 

Banging your fist on the door didn’t work and calling his name didn’t work either.

He jumped out of his skin when you softly placed a hand on his shoulder, a yelp unintentionally coming out of his mouth. 

Turning around, he noticed your figure and laid a hand on his chest, the other grabbing your forearm as a sign of affection.

“Sorry baby, I didn’t know how to make myself noticeable.” You said with an apologetic look, but Hongjoong waved it off.

“It’s okay, sugarplum. Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“Well, since it’s past midnight and you weren’t coming back, I decided to bring a piece of home to you and brought you this.” You lifted the plastic bag and handed it to him. It was his turn to look at you, remorse filling his eyes as he realised that he lost the notion of time and stayed behind at the studio to produce.

“Thank you baby, but I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and he stood up, hugging you tightly as he kissed your cheek. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“It’s nothing, baby. You should eat now, it’s going to cool down,” you whispered as you let go and he sat down, drawing another chair to have you by his side. He kissed your temple before you rushed him to eat, noticing his eyebags and his tiredness written all over his face.

You were getting tired as well, but Hongjoong was a hundred times worth it to stay up late at night, to see him with a bright smile and adoring eyes on his face as he tasted the food you cooked.

Seonghwa

CEO!AU 

“Hello Miss, where can I find the office of Mr Park?”

“Park Seonghwa?” the receptionist said, and you nodded, replacing a piece of hair behind your ear. “The head department is on the 19th floor, at the far end of the left corridor.” You thanked her and made your way to the elevators, waiting with other employees.

You greeted people you knew by sight with a nod and a smile, going to the floor reception. Some people stopped talking, listening to your words.

“Excuse me, is Mr Park Seonghwa here?”

“Yes, but he’s currently in a meeting. It’ll end in a few minutes,” she said, looking up what seemed to be his schedule on the computer. “Do you have an appointment with him?”

“Oh no,” you stuttered as you could almost feel his coworkers’ eyes on you, “I’m just his wife, and I need to give him something he forgot at home.”

“No problem, I’ll guide you to his office. Please follow me,” she announced, standing up, her heels clicking on the white tiles. You awkwardly smiled and bowed at his colleagues and followed the secretary, thanking her as she showed you the door of his office.

Your husband appeared a couple of minutes later, reading a file while talking on the phone. You cleared your throat, and Seonghwa looked up, his phone almost falling from the shoulder that was pressing it against his ear.

“Can you please fix a schedule with my secretary, I have a lot of work to deal with right now. Yes, yes thank you. Have a nice day too. Goodbye Sir.” he ended his phone call, sliding his smartphone in his pants pocket. 

Tenderly looking at you, he smiled and approached you.

“Honey, baby. I didn’t expect you to see you here,” he warmly said before capturing your lips in a sweet yet passionate kiss, an arm wrapping around your waist.

“I’m because my husband, whose head is constantly into business, forgot his lunch before going to work this morning,” you stated as you lifted the brown paper bag, his eyes widening as his shoulders softly subside in relief.

“What did I do to deserve a wonderful wife like you?” he asked as he took the bag, kissing your cheek at the same time.

“I don’t know, but your wonderful wife would appreciate that her husband wouldn’t forget his lunch every day because she’s taking time on her lunch break to bring the food to him.” You arched a brow, and he chuckled, his arm never leaving your waist.

“I love you,” he muttered, and you softly kissed his lips.

“I love you too. Enjoy your lunch darling,” you said as you made your way towards the door, shooting him a smile before walking away.

Little did you know that once you were out of sight, he went out to the lunchroom to eat his food - something that he never did -, showing off the fact that his wife came to bring him lunch.

He earned the complaints and whines from his colleagues, whose partners didn’t even look at them when they came home. 

And with that, he asked his secretary to cancel a meeting in the early evening to come home earlier than you, preparing you a nice, lovely dinner to thank you for your gesture. 

Yunho

Architect student!Yunho

In the small apartment that you shared with your lovely Yunho, you were about to prepare dinner, but you realised that there was nothing in the fridge. 

Quickly turning off the stove, you put on your shoes and jacket and made your way out the door, a quick trip to the convenience store.

You arrived in front of the store as the sun was setting, the last rays of sunshine hitting the windows, sending beautiful scenery in front of you.

You knew that Yunho was working hard, as much as you did, but you wanted to surprise him a bit, so you decided to buy the ingredients to cook his favourite food.

Packs of meat, vegetables and rice in your bag, you were off to go home.

Riding the bus, you checked that you had everything and stepped off at your stop. 

Yunho hadn’t moved from his spot while you were absent. He was still focused on his work, an HB pencil in one hand and a ruler in the other.

You placed everything down on the counter and started working on your duty.

Boiling water, grilling the meat and stirring the vegetables in a pot. You were so in your thoughts that you didn’t even register your boyfriend walking in the kitchen, sneaking his arms around your waist while prepping your shoulder with kisses.

“What’s cooking, good looking,” you snorted at the pun, and he chuckled, kissing your cheek as you cooked the meat while stirring the veggies.

“Open up, handsome,” you say as you bring a piece of meat to his mouth with the spatula. He opened his mouth, and you dropped the piece of meat on his extended tongue, munching on it after kissing you.

“Maybe two more minutes? But otherwise, it’s perfect, I liked the way you seasoned it, baby,” he stated, and you smile, stirring the food for a couple more minutes.

While eating, Yunho looked exhausted but happy. He did a little happy dance when you placed the plate in front of him, earning a kiss on the cheek for taking care of everything.

“I know we can get pretty busy with college and work,” he started before taking a sip of water, the food feeling extremely hot in his mouth, “but I’m glad we established a pattern of regularly eating together,” he admitted, smiling as he reached across the table for your hand.

“It feels good to be just the two of us, it’s sometimes tiring to have someone around constantly,” he nodded at your words, his thumb softly rubbing your knuckles.

“You’re right, our friends can get pretty hectic,” he chuckled and so did you, the subject of the conversation coming back on studies.

“So, how’s your project doing?” you demanded, and he just shrugged.

“It’s sometimes hard to get inspiration, but once I get it, everything goes smoothly,” you nodded and kept listening as your partner explained his work, a passionate sparkle in his eyes, outshining the ceiling light hanging above your heads.

“So yeah, we’ll see how it goes. Normally, if I didn’t mess up too much, my professor should be happy about the plans.”

“Why wouldn’t he be happy?” you questioned as you took the last piece of food that you had on your plate before crossing your cutlery.

“I mean… There are elements of my imagination in my work,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his warm hand leaving yours, “but I took into account every piece of advice that you gave me since the beginning of my work, and honestly, I think I wouldn’t have gotten this far without them.”

“Oh shut it,” you snorted at your boyfriend, but immediately calmed down as you noticed the same serious expression on his face, “are-are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he smirked, and you both stood up, going back to the kitchen to fill up the dishwasher.

“But you’re the one majoring in architecture, not me,”

“I know,” he retorted as he wiped the counter, “but it sometimes helps to have an outside point of view. Someone who doesn’t constantly have their nose in the theory and lecture notes is very helpful for creativity. You’re my muse Y/N, you have such amazing ideas that everything seems brighter and easier when you help.”

You chuckled at your boyfriend’s praise and went for a hug, squeezing him tight around you.

“I’m so happy that we’re together,” you said as you laid your head against his chest, his hand going into your hair.

“You don’t know how much I love you Y/N,” he said as he kissed the crown of your head.

“I think I have an idea,” you said as you looked up at him.

“No, you don’t, I love you more than you can ever see or imagine,” he mumbled as he pressed his lips on yours in a sweet kiss. He was giving you all the love and affection he had for you in this kiss, and you felt complete.

Yeosang

Idol!Yeosang

Waking up to the sound of your alarm, you were quick to turn it off to not wake up your boyfriend sleeping next to you.

Forcing yourself to start your day this early is such a pain in the ass, but your income makes it motivating and worth it. Plus, you wanted to save time for tonight because you knew how lazy you could get when it came to cooking.

So, at 6 am, you put on an apron over your pyjamas and started cooking the meal for tonight - Yeosang’s favourite - while preparing your breakfast at the same time.

Being good at multitasking has its perks after all.

Around an hour and a half later, you were done with cooking and washing the dishes, now getting ready to go to work.

The sun was rising, making the task of getting out of your comfortable apartment a little less painful.

Yeosang didn’t move an inch when you closed the main door, still dead asleep in your shared bed.

It was his first day off after going a few months without truly resting, and you could tell that his body needed it. When he came home last night, he was slow and could barely keep his eyes open during the show you chose to watch, he was tempted to use your shoulder as a pillow.

But it was one of the rare times that he could spend alone with you so he wouldn’t let that pass.

It was finally midday when you looked at your phone, still no news of Yeosang. 

Knowing how tired he was, you didn’t worry about it, he was probably still asleep.

And you were right, his body went into recovery mode.

He woke up around two in the afternoon, shaken awake as a truck honked just under your windows.

Yeosang was still tired even though he slept for over twelve hours, so he decided to stay in bed for a bit longer.

He finally got out of bed around three as the rest of the group asked to play a bit of Among Us with them.

He stayed behind the computer for the rest of the afternoon, deciding to go for a run as the day was coming to an end, only eating a banana while he was getting ready.

It smelt like you had cooked something this morning, so he wanted to wait a bit until you came home to eat with you. 

You were about to close the door behind you when you heard a familiar low voice.

“Y/N, wait!” Yeosang was in his sports equipment, slightly out of breath as you let him in.

“Hi,” you said with a smile as you swiftly pecked his lips. You both took off your shoes, hurrying your boyfriend to take a shower as you entered the kitchen.

You could finally settle down to eat when he appeared from his shower, making your way towards you before prepping your neck with kisses, asking about your day.

“Woah, you cooked my favourite dish?” he asked as you put a plate in the microwave.

“Yes! I figured out that you’d appreciate eating something special on your free day,” you replied, and Yeosang hugged you tightly from behind, giving you a big smooch on your cheek.

“Thank you, love,” he mumbled against your skin as a ‘ding’ drowned his voice out. 

You both sat down on the couch, your plate in hand and enjoyed the food and each other’s company for the rest of the evening.

San

Hacker!San

“Sannie?” you asked as you walked into his dimmed bedroom, his computer screens being the only sources of light in the room, alongside with LEDs ornating the walls.

Headphones screwed on his ears, he rapidly typed on his computer, lines of coding appearing on the screen. San couldn’t hear you, he was a tad bit too focused on his task to pay attention to his surroundings.

As a way to make yourself noticeable, you turned on his bedside lamp, startling him as he took off his blue light glasses, Grime blasting from his headphones as he let them fall around his neck.

“Sweetie, do you need anything?” he said as he spun his chair around, observing you.

You were balancing a plate, a glass filled with coke, a napkin and some cutlery on a trail, carefully making your way towards your boyfriend as you tried not to spill anything on his fancy setup.

“Dinner’s served,” you sweetly chanted as you finally laid the trail in front of him, the smell of fresh, homemade food invading his nostrils.

“Thank you, baby, you’re amazing,” he said as he encircled an arm around your waist, making you fall on his lap. You smiled as he laid a soft kiss on your upper arm, grabbing the fork with his other hand before bringing the food to his mouth. He gratefully hummed and nodded as he munched on it, shooting you a wink as he looked up at you.

“It’s delicious baby girl,” he mumbled after swallowing, directly taking another bite. He lightly frowned as he didn’t see a plate for you. “You already ate?”

“Yeah, I called you a couple of times from the kitchen, but you seemed busy so I didn’t want to bother you,” you said as you shyly tightened your ponytail, a disappointed look growing on his face.

“Y/N, babe,” he started, tightening his grip around your figure as he put the fork down, “you should’ve yelled for me to come to eat with you... You’re my girlfriend, coding and hacking come after you, okay? I love you more than anything, I can and I will put everything aside to spend time with you. So next time, I’ll come downstairs to eat with you, alright? I don’t want to know that you’re eating alone in our home.”

“Yes Sannie, but-”

“Shht, there are no buts,” he said as he kissed you on the lips, keeping on eating the food you cooked for him with you still on his lap after he made sure that this wouldn’t happen again. You watched your boyfriend filling his stomach and talked with him about everything, just catching up on the last few days that you spent separated from each other.

“I love you darling, thank you for the amazing food,” San said as he cupped your face, placing a big, soft kiss on your cheek.

You giggled and slightly moved his beanie, being able to play with the hair at the back of his head.

“I love you too San, I do,” you whispered as you straddled him and rested your head on his collarbone, his hand rubbing your back up and down your spine.

“Wanna cuddle?” he suggested, and you were about to say no since he looked busy, but you caught yourself just on time, his light scolding coming back in your mind.

“Yes, please,” you mumbled, and he approved, removing his headset from his neck and shook the beanie off his head, replacing his hair in a somewhat correct way.

“Alright,” he softly mumbled while wrapping his arms around you, carefully standing up as he laid kisses on your exposed skin. It didn’t matter where it was, every spot that he saw some skin, he had to kiss it.

And that’s how you spent the rest of the night cuddled in San’s arms, his cold hand drawing circled on your stomach, sending shivers in your body as he soothingly rubbed the skin.

Mingi

Dancer!Mingi

You huffed as you nonchalantly threw your phone on the table, your boyfriend being unreachable as you called him for the nth time tonight.

You knew that he was training and improving his dancing skills, but you wished that he could take small breaks here and there.

Not to text you back, you could wait, but for his sanity and health.

There’s a reason between working hard and overworking yourself.

And Mingi seemed to struggle to distinguish the difference between the two notions.

You never said that it was easy, you were struggling as well, but sometimes you wished that he’d understand it better than you do. 

The clock neared midnight, and he still wasn’t home. You started getting slightly irritated as he was probably overworking himself and not eating.

But you couldn’t blame it for that, you did the same when you had big exams or assignments coming up, you tended to ditch breaks and skip meals.

So, since you were caring about your boyfriend’s well being, you stood up and went to the fridge, where a container filled with the potion you had prepared for your boyfriend was.

Putting on a warm sweater and some pants before making your way out, locking the door behind you.

You took a longer road to go to his practice studio, but you found with relief that the convenience store was still open, sighing in relief as you read that it wasn’t going to close anytime soon.

You took drinks for the two of you and some extras as you thought that some of the boys could be still practising, paid and headed to the practice room.

When you arrived, you waved at San, who looked exhausted and sweaty, surprised to see you out at this hour.

“You’re here for your lovely Mingi?” he teased as he declined to give you a side hug due to his current state.

“Yes, I was getting worried since he wasn’t coming home,” you declared, and San smiled, finding adorable that you were looking after your boyfriend.

“You can go, he’s still in the practice room, he’s the only one left.” you thanked him and gave him one of the spare drinks that you bought since you didn’t know who would still be there with your boyfriend. His dimples appeared when he thanked you, and you wished him a good - yet short - night of rest before entering the building.

When you arrived in front of the practice room door, you noticed your boyfriend dancing through the window, and you could see that his movements were slower and less energised than usual.

You slowly opened the door, your eardrums being attacked by loud music, the bass resonating in your stomach as you made yourself seen.

When Mingi saw you, a sort of relieved yet guilty look appeared on his face as he went to the stereo to lower the music.

“Hey,” he said in a whisper, eyes carrying a truck of guilt in them.

“Hi babe,” you said as you handed him the plastic bag, “I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t have eaten, so I went out and bought this for you,” you said as you sat down together, in the middle of the room.

Mingi was more tired than he wanted to show. You had identified a pattern within him, his looks on his face and his figure betraying him. When he was as hunched over as he currently was, you knew that his back was hurting and that he was overworking himself.

However, you didn’t say anything, your behaviour and gaze unintentionally telling him what your opinion was. The silence was the best option. You were both exhausted, and the last thing you wanted to do was to start a fight this late in the evening. 

“Thank you for taking care of me, Y/N,” he said before clenching his jaw to stifle a yawn, but you caught it.

“You’re welcome honey, but you know my opinion on your behaviour,” you added, and he nodded, eating his mouthful.

“I know, I know,” he sighed and kept on eating while you opened the two soda cans laying in front of you. Mingi took a few gulps of it, and you got another one from the plastic bag, your boyfriend looking at you with wide eyes.

“But, let’s not talk about this now, the last thing I wanna do is get in an argument with you,” you said, and he listened, thanking you as you handed him the can. “I already barely see you during the week, so I don’t want to get into a fight when I have an opportunity to see you,” you sighed but smiled anyway, Mingi’s guilt increasing in his heart.

“I’m sorry-” 

“Shht,” you said to your boyfriend as you gently rubbed his back up and down, applying some pressure on spots that you knew were aching. “Are you coming home soon or do you plan on sleeping in the guest room in the building?” you asked as you watch your boyfriend take another bite of the food you had prepared for the two of you.

“Let me finish this amazing food, and we’re going home,” he answered, and you nodded, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “It’s very tasty by the way,” you knew that he was trying to change the subject and you appreciated the effort, trying to forget his neglect of self-care and simply smiled at him.

When he finished his meal, you stood up and put everything in the trash, noticing in the mirror that Mingi struggled to get up, a grimace abruptly replacing the smile he was giving you moments ago. As soon as you turned to face him, he tried his best to erase the pain off his face. You didn’t raise it, but you made a mental note to yourself to try and reason him later. And, if it wasn’t working, you’d call Hongjoong for help. Maybe he’ll listen to him. 

The walk home was silent, quite awkward. Your boyfriend tried his best to be as natural as possible, but his back pains were making him hiss and silently groan in pain at almost every step he took.

“Okay, maybe I did a bit too much tonight,” he said as his voice hesitated, alerting you. He looked broken, his bottom lip between his teeth as he kept on walking to your place, feeling a wave of relief as your apartment building came into sight. 

You held his hand and grabbed his forearm with your other free hand, helping him to walk until you finally arrived in front of the elevator.

As soon as you entered your home, you sped to the bathroom and ran a warm bath, sprinkling some relaxing salt in it before helping Mingi to take off his shirt.

Once he was done, you helped him to get out of the tub and took care of him. He stared at you in awe as you dried his hair with the blow dryer and assisted him in putting on his pyjamas before walking him to bed.

Quickly doing your nighttime routine, you walked to your bed with heating patches as your boyfriend was already lying on his stomach, the most relieving position for him to sleep into. You slightly pressed some areas in his back, and you applied some patches where he grunted more loudly.

“Alright, now rest, baby,” you kissed his cheek, and he extended his hand to grab yours.

“Thank you for everything, baby,” he said as you shook your head with a faint smile, feeling the tiredness getting the best of you.

"It's okay, Mingi," you whispered as he lifted your linked hands to his mouth, kissing the back of your hand, a loving gesture that you particularly appreciated.

“Sleep well, baby, and think about what we’ve talked about at the studio, okay?” you mumbled, giving him one last kiss before falling asleep, still holding his hand.

“I love you,” Mingi mumbled before falling asleep, as well. 

Wooyoung

College AU

Entering the library, you tried your best to hide the plastic bag from the librarian, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the smell of food following you like your shadow.

You weren’t allowed to bring food inside the library, school authorities were scared that you’d stain the books or not clean the tables, which was the case when you went to work in the library.

You had always found this disrespectful that people would leave their trash on the tables without cleaning, it exasperated you.

Why was it so complicated to put your trash in a bin?

But since you thought that you were quite a clean, hygienic student, you allowed yourself to sneak in food for you and your friends.

When you arrived near your friends, Mingi was the first one to spot you, hungry for the content of the plastic bags you were carrying.

Your friends discreetly clapped their hands as you arrived as a hero at the table. You shushed them when they got a bit too excited over the food, reminding them that you weren’t supposed to eat there.

Since you were the one that went and bought the food, you were the one distributing the small containers the Chinese takeout the employees had put the food in.

Wooyoung was the only one who was kind of sulky because he wasn’t fond of the place you bought the food from since that event. That event where one of the cooks had put in a sauce containing bell pepper, and he hated them.

He always associated this restaurant with this event, and now he doesn’t set foot at this establishment anymore.

But before he could even say anything, you took the container in front of him and gave him a blue bento box, making him frown yet didn’t say anything.

“Enjoy, everyone!” you whispered as you all started to eat. 

You slightly observed your friend’s reaction next to you as he opened the container.

Wooyoung discovered that his food had nothing to do with Chinese takeout. It was homemade food, cooked by you and his eyes opened wide.

You giggled as he took his fork and started eating hastily, munching on the food with closed eyes and a content look on his face.

“Is it good?” you questioned, and Wooyoung eagerly nodded, taking another bite as he didn’t even swallow his first one. 

“It’s perfect,” he answered, rice almost falling from his mouth as it was full. Hongjoong, who was sitting next to you, slightly elbowed you in the ribs, a smug look on his face.

Wooyoung wasn’t expecting the fact that you would make a detour to your apartment to take and heat homemade food just for him. 

He was touched, but now he was too focused on devouring his plate to care about anything surrounding him.

A few moments later, as he had finally emptied the lunch box, he rested back a bit, a hand on his stomach.

“Wow, I’m full,” he said as a hiccup took over him, immediately slapping his mouth as the sound came out of his organism. 

“Did you see at the pace you ate? Y/N isn’t even done yet,” you puffed as Seonghwa took you as an example, known among your friend group that you were the quickest to shove your food down your throat.

“It was worth it, though,” Wooyoung said, and you shook your head, the indirect compliment sending warmth to your cheeks. 

“And what do you say to Y/N?” Hongjoong said before taking a sip of coke as if he was a mother scolding her child.

“Thank youuuuu,” he said as his voice trailed on the last word, resting his head against your forearm, only to have you put your fork down and ruffle his hair, a way you use to say “you’re welcome” when your mouth was full.

Once you were all done with eating, you placed everything back in the plastic bags and started working again, Wooyoung’s head never leaving the spot on your upper arm.

You didn’t mind him, you were sometimes adjusting his head as your muscles started getting sore, but nothing much.

A while later, as you wanted to stretch your arms above your head, you woke Wooyoung up, his head almost slamming on the table as you moved your arm.

“Mmh?” he said as he woke up, wiping the fatigue away from his eyes, nodding as you asked him if he was alright. “Food coma is kicking hard right now,” he added, and you smiled, relieved that he felt a bit better after his nap. 

“It’s okay, but you need to go to bed now, it’s getting late,” you said as you packed your stuff in your backpack, putting your coat back on.

“You’re going home already?”

“Yes, it’s almost midnight, and I have a presentation tomorrow at eight,” you explained as a pained smile drew on his face, and you agreed with him by nodding. 

“I’m out now, good night guys!” you said to your friends as you stood up, waving goodbye as some of them looked like they would leave this place near dawn.

You bid farewell to the librarian as well and braved the freezing night, hurrying home as not to catch a cold.

And run into someone suspicious and creepy but that’s another thing.

“Y/N!” someone said behind you as you paused in your steps, recognising your friend’s voice.

“Woo? Aren’t you staying with them?"

“No, I’m tired, I honestly don't know how I'm still awake,” he said, and you started walking again with him by your side.

“And…” he stopped in his tracks, and you frowned but imitated him. “I wanted to thank you for being considerate and caring towards us, but particularly towards me,” he said, and you chuckled, waving it off.

“Of course, you are all my friends after all,” you said with a smile as you looked at your friend, who had an indecipherable look on his face.

“That’s... that’s the problem, Y/N,” you looked at him confused and blinked, not knowing where he was coming from.

“What do-”

“Y/N, I like you,” he blurted out, your eyes widening in surprise, not expecting him to confess right now, in the middle of the night in the freezing cold when you could both fall asleep standing up. “More than friends,” he added, and you nodded while looking away, feeling the red spreading on your cheeks. Your friend took a step closer and cupped your face with his cold hand to make you look at him.

“What about you? I've been dying to know, even if you don't feel the same,” he said in a breath, and you inhaled sharply, confused about the sudden question.

“I- I think I do too b-”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, and you suck in a breath, anticipating his next move.

“Can I kiss you?” Wooyoung asked, face dangerously close to yours, his eyes going back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

“Of course.” 

Jongho

College AU, Student abroad AU

“Mom?” you asked as you came into the living room, your iPad with a Chrome tab opened in hand.

“Yes honey?” she answered, looking up from the TV, your dad slightly huffing as he couldn’t hear the news.

“You know Jongho, right?” she nodded at her words, initiating you to keep going, “I’ve just gotten off the phone with him, and he seems very sad and down,” you explained as you sat down next to her.

Your dad’s attention immediately shifted to you and your mother as a boy was brought up in the conversation.

“Who-”

“Honey, no, it’s not her boyfriend,” your mother said, and your dad blinked, surprised by her reaction and shrugged, his attention going back on the telly. “And? Do you want to do something to cheer him up?”

“Well, I concluded that he’s a bit homesick, so I wanted to prepare a Korean dish for him. Wanna help?” Your mother agreed and stood up from her seat, fixing her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“Sure!” she says as she washed her hand. “So, kimchi fried rice. What do we need?”

A few hours later, here you were, in the kitchen with your mom, right back from a trip to the convenience store to get the ingredients. You read a bunch of recipes and even watched a tutorial, trying your best to make it as similar as possible to the way they made it in South Korea.

You were struggling a bit at first, but everything turned out alright in the end, happily placing the mixture in a safe spot to let it rest for a couple of days. You were proud and satisfied with what you’ve created, truly hoping that it would heal his visible homesickness.

A few days later, you placed a container filled with your preparation in a paper bag along with your lunch and went out the door after saying goodbye to your parents, who were still eating breakfast. For once, you were happy to go to college, because you were dying to see Jongho and his potentially positive reaction. 

The lectures go faster when you pay attention to the teachers, amazing. In no time, here you were in the cafeteria, eyes scanning the crowd to see your friend. Once you caught sight of your “target”, you made your way over and sat across from him, a gentle yet faint smile decorating his face when he saw you.

“Hi Y/N,” he said after swallowing a piece of his industrial sandwich. He looked heavyhearted and tired as if he had spent the entire night on his phone speaking with his family on the other side of the world.

“Are you okay?” you sweetly asked, and he weakly nodded, and you kept staring at him. “You sure?” you raised your eyebrow with a concerned look, and he just shrugged.

“My feelings didn’t really subside,” he stated as he referred to the conversation he's had over the phone with you the other night. You reached across the table and softly rubbed his forearm, the gesture making him weakly smile.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I can help,” you say, and he shook your head.

“I appreciate your kindness Y/N, but I don’t think you can do anything about this…” his voice faded as he thickly swallowed, the sight of your friend being so close to crying made you pout.

“Okay,” you said as you withdrew your hand, Jongho internally whining at the lack of warmth. You searched in your bag and pulled out two steaming lunch boxes, one for you.

And one for him.

“What is this?” he asked as he turned the box between his hands.

“It’s a surprise! Open it,” you smiled as you innocently opened yours, stabbing your hot food with your fork.

Taking the lid off, his eyes widened, going back and forth between the kimchi and you, sitting across from him with a soft smile on your face.

“You seemed so down last time we called,” you said as you ate a spoonful of your lunch, “so I made you a dish with my mom that I remembered you liking. I know it won’t bring your family to you, but it’s still something I guess,” you explained as Jongho pursed his lips, nodding at your explanations, never looking at you in the eyes.

It took you a few seconds to register what was happening, and you drop your fork in your box.

He was crying.

You stood up and sat down next to him, circling your arm around his shoulders.

“Oh Jongho,” you said in a concerned tone, “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I just wanted to make you happy. I know how hard it is when you miss your home and family, I just wanted to give you a bit of family love and warmth that you can’t have right now.”

“Thank you so much Y/N, really,” he said as he sniffled, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. He chuckled as he realised how emotional he's just gotten over food, and he turned to the side to give you a proper hug. 

“Thank you,” he whispered in your ear and squeezed you tight against him, feeling his rapid heart beating against your chest.

“It’s okay, Jongho. Taste it first, I wanna know if we can make you some more further in the school year,” you gently rubbed his upper back and he smiled, grabbing your fork from your lunch box.

“It’s delicious,” he said as he munched on the kimchi fried rice, reaching for your hand and rubbing your knuckles. 

He looked at you with such adoration in his eyes that you got shy and flustered, your hands going clammy as he wholeheartedly approved your work, taking another bite of the food.

“You’re welcome,” you said in a soft voice, and you smiled at each other, enjoying each other’s company for the rest of the lunch break.

___

A/N: I like it but not a lot... I don’t like it. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it!!  

[darkredehmption]

Class Is In

#SL #ClassIsIn

Written by @DamagedBrother and @OfFeatherNFang 

****

Mal: 

I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t even the first time, but thank fuck, none of my new ‘students’ seemed to notice. As each of the Brothers filed in, taking various seats at the front of the room, I resisted the urge to up and fucking leave. Instead I clenched the black dry erase marker, my eyes straying to Zsadist, who watched me with a small, reassuring smile. My free hand absently brushed over the new scar beneath my shirt, reminding me of what I was doing, and why. 

My most recent hospital stay had ended only a few days earlier, and while I’d been approved to teach a classroom full of muscle clad, would-kick-the-shit-out-of-satan killers, I was still black listed from actually leaving the manse to go on rotation. So I had to take what I could get I guess.

As silence crept in with everyone settling the fuck down, I felt the even more uncomfortable weight of eyes on me, waiting for how I was going to wow them. I mean, this wasn’t a class on explosives, firearms, or the 52 ways you could kill a guy with your thumb. This was on the supernatural. Or, I guess, everything ELSE that was supernatural other than… well, us.

“Right, shit, well… here we go. Never been a public speaker, so bear the fuck with me while I figure this shit out,” I mutter, tapping the marker against my free hand. Rhage, helpfully, grinned and said ‘here, here’. 

“Well, let’s start by cutting straight to the why’s of being here,” I say firmly, looking to Zsadist and giving a small nod. “Z had a demon hitch a ride. He was possessed,” I say flatly. “And demons gossip around the lava water cooler worse than chicks in a high school. If we don’t start taking precautions now, we could be seeing more of them. Or more of what happened…”

I managed to keep myself from brushing the scar this time, but nothing could quell the furious fire burning in me to ensure Zsadist would never, ever have to go through that shit again. 

Zsadist:

I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked onto my male. I mean let’s face it, I always wanted my eyes on him. But even more lately with what had gone down recently. I could have lost him. Lost the most important person in life at the hands of myself. Well technically not myself, but still, this meeting was important. It was important for the Brotherhood to learn some knowledge on a new threat we had.

Demons.

Shaking the thought from my head as I give my male an encouraging smile. He looked nervous as hell to be in front of the Brotherhood right now, about to teach them a thing or two of his enemies. Though I wanted to believe that my Brothers would behave and give them his full attention. 

I couldn’t help but notice Mal’s hand as it crept closer to the new scar that I helped make on his body. Yes, this wasn’t my doing completely, but my hand was the one wielding the dagger. I had to stop letting myself believe this was all my fault, because it wasn’t. 

The demons were another enemy that we needed to take down. So I made sure everyone was paying attention before my eyes landed on Mal once again. 

Mal:

“I can honestly say I’ve never dealt with a demon possessing a vampire before, but then again, I don’t think the regular vampires they’re used to quite cut it…”

I frowned at that thought, but shrugged and kept going. 

“Anyway, we’ll deal with the other breeds of vampires in another lesson,” I say absently, shaking my head. “And ghouls… werewolves… wendigos… poltergeists… well, you get the idea.” I waved my hand as if it would dismiss all the other breeds of supernatural beasties I’d just thrown out there. “Demons are our most pressing issue. How to identify one…”

Turning to the white board, I popped the top on my marker and started to write as I spoke. 

“Flickering lights. While also a sign of a malevolent spirit, it can be an indicator that a strong demon is nearby. In their raw form, they look like dark black smoke. That smoke will seek access to your body through your nose and mouth,” I instruct, turning to look back at the Brothers. 

All of whom were staring at me, wide eyed and… damn, I wasn’t sure. Angry? Disbelieving? Incredulous? I couldn’t pin it. But this shit was definitely not what they were used to dealing with, and I was going to need to give them a minute to absorb.

“Uh… ask questions, if you want. If it… makes it easier.”

Zsadist:

Whoa okay. That was a lot of knowledge my male just spilled. I was just accepting the fact that demons had entered our world, but all those other things? Hell no. 

As I looked around the room I couldn’t help but notice my Brothers with the same blank look on their faces. Vishous was the first one to recover. I watched carefully as he lit a blunt then leaned across his desk. 

“Well shit. Always figured there was more to life than just us and the humans.” Vishous said with a shrug. 

Rhage’s brows drew in as he raised his hand. I couldn’t help but laugh as he played the role as a student. Once called on, by the very sexy teacher, he drops his hand and unwraps a lollipop.

“So...like all those things you are saying is bad? But how can that be true? I mean...Hadrian is a shifter and he isn’t bad. Used for bad things, sure, but that isn’t his fault. I guess what I’m saying is, what is trying to come for us currently? Do the demons work with the other parties that were mentioned?”

Ah yes, Hadrian.

Even though we were connected, I had a weird feeling that Rhage was tight with the male as well. Rhage once told me that he can relate to Hadrian in some way and hopes that they would get the chance to spend more time together. 

Speaking of, I needed to check in with the shifter and make sure he was doing alright. We did manage to be on rotation together every now and then, but rarely did we have the time to chit chat. Maybe next time Mal was out fighting and I was at home I could see if Hadrian wanted to grab a beer. Couldn’t hurt.

Mal:

“Not all shifters are bad the way not all vampires are bad,” I conceded, nodding my head. “Hadrian is a special example too. Even in his world, being able to shift into more than one creature is rare. Most shifters, like werewolves, are bound to one animal.”

Pausing, I took in a breath, trying not to let myself be distracted by thoughts of Hadrian. The shifter being metaphysically bound to my mate was still a raw point for me, but I was working through it. Y’know. Slowly.

“But back to demons…” Lifting a hand to my shirt, I tugged down the collar just enough to reveal the pentacle tattoo across my chest. I also tried to ignore the quick way Z’s golden eyes narrowed at my potentially showing skin to his Brothers, but in this instance he was definitely going to have to breathe. “There are ways of ensuring a demon can’t possess you,” I explain. “This symbol is a protective one that repels demons. They can’t possess me. You can also wear the symbol, or other various amulets and protective talismans, to prevent it.”

Letting go of the shirt, I start a list.

“So, symbols. Talismans. Holy water,” I add, my tone rueful as I figured some of them were, undoubtedly, rolling their eyes. After all, holy water was also a mythical vampire repellent. “If a demon has already possessed a body, you can sometimes provoke them into revealing themselves by saying the name of God in latin.” I glance back at all of them. “Their eyes will turn a complete and glossy black with no iris at all. If they turn any other colour… well. Run like hell while screaming my name,” I say dryly. 

Zsadist:

My eyes narrowed dangerously low when I watched Mal reveal his chest to my Brothers. Sure, they’ve seen his bare torso, but that doesn’t mean I wanted them sneaking a peek. 

Quickly my head snaps in Vishous’s direction when he starts sketching in the notebook he brought to Mal’s class. Leaning over my desk to look over his shoulder only to reveal a drawing of the tattoo my male wore on his chest. Vishous continued to underline the shape as I leaned back into my seat. He probably had a plan of making some amulets for us to wear while out on rotation.

Everything Mal described sounded...insane. But I knew first hand that this was serious, and everything that he was saying was true.

“I can’t believe we are going to turn into demon hunters!”  Rhage chimes in with a goofy smile.

I hold back a snort, turning my attention towards Tohrment as he clears his throat. All heads turn towards his direction.

“So...do these demons have a main purpose? Or do they just run around trying to find people to possess. Like we know what the lessers want...I was just wondering if these demons had an end goal.” Tohr murmurs as he crosses his arms. 

Mal:

“Woah, hold your horses dragon boy,” I snort, shaking my head. “I don’t want to turn the Brotherhood into hunters. Believe it or not, there are hunters out there ready to track down demons and the like when they pop up and send them back to Hell. The ‘only’ reason I am teaching ‘anything’ right now is because… well, me being here could bring more of the nasties into our radar, and I want everyone at least prepared to handle it.”

Yeah. Fuck. I ‘so’ did not need to lead these leather clad killers into metaphysical battles. They were all about the bang bang motherfuckers, and you couldn’t waste a ghost or half the things I’d fought with just lead and blades alone.

“Case in point,” I continue, arching a brow. “Half the shit I deal with can’t be snuffed out with a few bullets or a well placed knife to the heart cavity, yeah? Banishing demons requires the seal of solomon and exorcism chants and a whole whack of shit. In the case of possession? Prevention is so much better than cure, so I just want everyone able to avoid it. Depending on who excels at these classes, I may go further to teach exorcisms.”

My eyes flicked to Zsadist, then to Vishous, the two I’d already pegged as most likely to be taught an exorcism. If Vishous didn’t go ahead and research the latin for it without me I’d be shocked.

“As far as a demon’s purpose…” I trailed off, sighed then shrugged. “Really, they want mayhem. They want souls. They don’t want to be in hell. So, all of the above and then some. The better their vessel, the more situated they are to get other demons up and included. So, a breed of rich, powerful vampires with all manner of weapons at their disposal would be ‘very’ appealing,” I add dryly. “So, to reiterate… demons flinch at the latin name of God, burn at the touch of holy water, have dark eyes and look like dark clouds of smoke when they come at you in raw form. Any questions?”

Zsadist:

 Everyone kinda stayed quiet, some shook their heads as Mal asked if anyone had questions. Which honestly I was a little relieved at. That means that my Brothers were taking this seriously. Then again after they discovered Hadrian, and learned about shifters, they must believe that anything is possible at this point. 

“Think this is a good starting point. We need to continue on and train to be able to handle the demons. Mal is right in a sense where we don’t need to go out and look for demons to destroy, but more so be equipped to handle them if they get in the way from our main goal.” 

I couldn’t help but chuckle slightly as Rhage’s face fell. Maybe one day Rhage could go on a mission if any of Mal’s hunter friends ever needs a hand. Then again Hollywood actually might cause more damage.

Snorting at the thought as I look up to watch them file out slowly. Vishous stops in front of my mate to show him some things he wrote down then bumps his shoulder before following out after Butch. Figures V would be all about this. I’m sure he would be up all night doing research. 

I lean back in my desk, keeping my eyes on my mate as a private smile slowly forms on my face. Something that my Brothers wouldn’t get to see. Slowly I move to get up, the wooden chair creaking beneath me as I shift my weight off of it. 

“Well, that went...well.” I rumbled as I made my way over to the very handsome teacher. “What do you think?” My arms cross over my broad chest. 

Mal:

With everyone getting the basics down and with no further questions, class seemed to be dismissed. As Vishous stopped to show me his mockup of the tattoo on my chest, I nodded, agreeing with his ideas of necklaces and arm bands bearing the symbol to protect the Brothers. They needed things that were easy to put on or keep close that wouldn’t get in the way of the fight. 

Waiting for Z to come up, I felt myself relaxing the closer he got, until he was right there and I was leaning over to steal a kiss.

“You think it went well?” I murmur, grateful to hear it. “Could you tell I was nervous? Teaching classes is not really my schtick, but everyone seemed to… take it well.”

Sighing, I leant against the desk at the front and gestured backward at the board and the notes I’d made. 

“I know this is new to everyone, but… I appreciate the enthusiasm.” Pausing, I looked my male over and felt a familiar and welcome rush of affection. “You okay?”

Zsadist:

The kiss was soft and I welcomed it by sliding my arms around Mal’s waist. Holding my mate against me as my hand lifted to graze his cheek.

“Yeah, now that everything's okay and you are healed.” I murmur as I avoid his gaze for a moment. Trying not to picture the moment I stabbed my own mate in the chest. 

Clears my throat. “This is good. We needed this done in case we came in contact with another demon. It seems like everyone took it serious for the most part.” I snort thinking of Rhage then shrugs. “Do you feel good about continuing the lessons? I want to make sure every Brother is well equipped to take care of a demon if we come across one. Scribe, don’t need anyone else getting possessed and stabbing people in the manse.”

Mal could have died. So we needed to take this seriously and make sure everyone in the mansion was safe at all times. To think that we let a threat in, that I let a threat in, was unsettling.

Mal:

Nodding, I rubbed a hand down my mate’s arm reassuringly, looking at the empty classroom. I’d already started to take precautions of my own. The second I’d been released from the med wing I’d sought out, of all people, Fritz, asking for a layout of the grounds and every entrance. From there, I’d gone to each one and set up holy seals - wards to keep out demons and trap any that tried to enter. 

“I’ve spoken with Vishous,” I murmur, still thinking about the wards. “I let him know about the wards I put near the entrances - asked him to figure out more permanent solutions to my chalk and salt displays. I think Fritz almost had a coronary when I drew on everything, threw salt everywhere, and told him he couldn’t clean it,” I add ruefully, flashing Z a smile. “But at least that’s a start. I should’ve thought of that when I moved in…”

The admission tasted sour on my tongue, and I looked away from the intensity of that golden gaze to better process my guilt. If I’d had devil’s traps set when I moved in, Zsadist and the demon hitching a ride wouldn’t have got past the door. He’d have been trapped, but performing an exorcism at that point would’ve been a lot fucking easier. But instead I’d been naive, thinking the demons and all the beasties I’d hunted would never find me in Caldwell. And Z had almost paid the price.

“I’m good with continuing lessons, not just on demons,” I said finally, letting out a breath. “And while I was honest when I said I don’t want the Brothers going hunting if I can help it, there is a perk to knowing I have back up if something goes down in our backyard.”

Zsadist:

“Don’t beat yourself up about that. Hell, I’m surprised this is the first time we have come in contact with them. With all the shit we dabble in you would have thought we would have seen them before” I shrug before reaching for my male. My hand cups his nape, forcing his gaze back to mine. 

“Hey. You can’t beat yourself up over this, just like you told me that I can’t even though I do.” I snorted. “It’s done and you are safe in my arms.” My voice cracks slightly at that, holding him a little tighter in my arms. 

“Everything is going well, and I’m grateful to have you teach us how to handle these demons.” I nod before slowly pulling away. 

“Now...come on, let’s head back upstairs…” 

My scarred lips turn up into a playful smirk as I start down the hallway. I couldn’t wait to have my male in our bed and to know that he was safe with me. 

#EndSL #ClassIsIn

[littlesystems]

For the people who are out there “fighting the good fight” and “trying to make fandom a better place,” I have two important questions for you:

1. Is the author dead? x

2. Is your baby in the bathwater? x

What do I mean by those things? Let’s start with #1. The Death of the Author is a type of literary criticism, the extreme cliff notes version of which is that art exists outside of the creator’s life, personal background, and even intentions. I’m using it slightly differently than Barthes intended, but that’s okay, because the author is dead and I’m interpreting his work through my own lens.

In fandom, the author is dead. In fact, the author was never alive in the first place, not really. The author has only ever been the idea of a person, because unlike published fiction, the only thing we know about a fanfic author is that which they choose to tell us about themselves.

Why is that important?

Because it might not be true. Hell, that happens in real life with published authors, who have SSN’s on file with their publishers, who pay taxes on the works they create and have researchable pasts. If the author of A Million Little Pieces could fake everything, why can’t I? Why can’t you? Why can’t the writer of your favorite fic in the whole wide world?

Stop me if you’ve heard this before: “you can only write about [sensitive subject] if [sensitive subject] has happened to you personally, otherwise you’re a disgusting monster that deserves to die!!” Or maybe “you can only write [x racial or ethnic group] characters if you’re [x racial or ethnic group] otherwise you’re racist/fetishizing/colonizing!”

You can play this game with any sensitive subject you can come up with. I’ve seen them all before, on a sliding scale of slightly chastising to literal death threats.

Now, I could tell you that I’m a white-passing Latina whose grandmother was an anchor baby. I could tell you that I speak only English because my family never taught me to speak Spanish, something which I’ve been told is common in the Cuban community, though I only know my own lived experience. I could tell you that I’m mostly neurotypical. I could tell you that I’m covered in surgical scars. I could tell you lots of things.

Are any of these true? Maybe! I could tell you that my brother has severe mental development problems, so uncommon that they’ve never been properly diagnosed, and that he will live the rest of his life in a group home with 24-hour care. Is that true? Am I allowed to write about families struggling with America’s piss-poor services for the handicapped now?

Am I allowed to write about being Cuban? After all, I did just say that I’m Cuban. But is it true? Can I instead write a character that’s Panamanian? Maybe I really am Panamanian, not Cuban. Maybe I’m both. Maybe I’m neither. Maybe I’m really French Canadian. Should we require people to post regular selfies? I can’t count the number of times I’ve had someone come up to me speaking Arabic, and I’ve been told that I look Syrian. What’s stopping me from making a blog that claims that I am Syrian? Can you even really tell someone’s race and ethnicity from a photo?

Am I allowed to write about being a teenager? Am I allowed to write about being a college student? Am I allowed to write about being an “adulty” adult? Can I write a character who’s 40? 50? 60? How old am I?

All of this is to say: you can’t base what someone is or is not “allowed” to write about on a background that may or may not be real. No matter how good your intentions. And I get it - this usually comes from a place of well-meaning. You’re trying to protect marginalized groups by stopping privileged people from trampling all over experiences that they haven’t suffered. I get that. It’s a very noble thought. But you can’t require a background check for every fic that you don’t like.

If you say “you can only write about rape if you’re a rape victim,” then one of three things will happen:

Real survivors will have to supply intimate details of their own violations to prevent harassment

Real survivors will refuse to engage and will then have to deal with death threats and people telling them to kill themselves for daring to write about their own experiences

People who aren’t survivors will say “yeah sure this happened to me” just to get people to shut up

Has that helped anyone? I mean really - anyone??

So now let’s get to point #2: is your baby in the bathwater?

If your intention is to protect marginalized people from being trampled upon, stop and assess if your boot is the one that’s now stamping on their face. Find your baby! Is your baby in the bathwater? Which is to say: find the goal that you’re advocating for. Now assess. Are you making the problem worse for the people you’re trying to protect? Does that rape victim really feel better, now that you’ve harassed and stalked them in the name of making rape victims feel safe?

Let’s say you read a fic that contains explicit sex between a 16 year old and a 17 year old. Is this okay? Would it be okay if the writer was 15? 16? 17? Should teenagers be barred from writing about their own lives, and should teenagers be banned from exploring sexuality in a fictional bubble, instead of hookup culture? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about their experiences as a teenager? Is it okay for a 20 year old to write about being raped at a party as a teenager? Is it okay for a 30 year old? How about a 40 year old? Is it okay so long as it isn’t titillating? Is it okay if taking control of the narrative allows the writer to re-conceptualize their trauma as something they have control over? Is it okay if their therapist told them that writing is a safe creative outlet?

Is your author dead?

Is your baby in the bathwater?

Now let’s take a hardline approach: no fanfiction with characters who are under 18 years old. None. Is the 16 year old who really loves Harry Potter and wants to read/write about characters their own age better off? Should they be banned from writing? Should they be forced to exclusively read and write (adult) experiences that they haven’t lived? Will they write about teens anyway? Should they have to share it in secret? Should 16 year olds be ashamed of themselves? Should we just throw in with the evangelicals and say that the only answer is abstinence, both real and fictional?

Let’s say that no rape is allowed in fiction, at all. None. What happens to all the hurt/comfort fics where a character is raped and then receives the support and love that they deserve, slowly heal, and by the end have found themselves again? Are you helping rape victims by banning these stories? Are you helping rape victims by stripping their agency away, by telling them that their wants and their consent doesn’t matter?

Is your baby in the bathwater?

Fandom is currently being split in two: on one side, the people who want to make fandom a “safer” place by any means necessary, even if that means throwing out all of the marginalized groups they say they want to protect - and on the other, people who are saying “if you throw out that bathwater, you’re throwing the baby out too.”

The whole point of fandom is to be able to explore all kinds of ideas from the safety and comfort of a computer screen. You can read/write things that fascinate you, disgust you, titillate you, or make your heart feel warm. This is true of all fiction. People who want to read about rape and incest and extreme violence and torture can go pick up a copy of Game of Thrones from the bookstore whenever they want. Sanitizing fandom just means holding a community of people who are primarily not male, not straight, not cis, or some combination of those three, to higher and stricter standards than straight white cis male authors and creators all over the world.

There is nothing you can find on AO3 that you can’t find in a bookstore. Any teenager can go check out Lolita, or ASOIAF, or Flowers in the Attic, or Stephen King's It, or Speak, or hundreds of other books that have adult themes or gratuitous violence or graphic sex. The difference is that AO3 has warnings and tags and allows people to interact only with the types of work that they want to, and allows people to curate their experiences.

Are these themes eligible to be explored, but only in the setting of something produced/published? Books, movies, television, studio art, music - all of these fields have huge barriers to entry, and they’re largely controlled by wealthy cishet white men. Is it better to say that only those who have the right connections to “make it” in these industries should be allowed to explore violence or sexuality or any other so-called “adult” theme?

Does banning women from writing MLM erotica make fan culture a better place?

Does banning queer people from writing about queer experiences make fan culture a better place?

Is M/M fic okay, but only if the author is male? What if he’s a trans man? What if they’re NB? Who should get to draw those lines? Should TERFs get a vote? What if the author is a woman who feels more comfortable writing from a male character’s perspective because she’s grown up with male stories her whole life, or because she identifies more with male characters? What about all the trans men who discovered themselves, in part, by writing fanfiction, and realized that their desires to write male characters stemmed from something they hadn’t yet realized about themselves?

How can we ever be sure that the author is who they say they are?

Who is allowed to write these stories? How do we enforce it?

Is it better for none of these stories to ever exist at all?

Have you killed your author?

Have you thrown out your baby with the bathwater?

[sugamontana93]

Tony Montana (18+) BTS FF Chapter 1

You can also find this story on wattpad @SugaMontana93 

https://www.wattpad.com/user/SugaMontana93

"Highly Elusive and Dangerous Chinese Mafia Boss, Yong Go Sil, was found murdered four days ago in ShangHai. It is rumored that he had ties to Seoul via family, but nothing has been confirmed. He has been wanted by the Chinese Government, along with South Korean and American agencies due to the wreckless drug sales, senseless acts of violence and murders spanning from continent to continent over the last twenty years. Police believe that another crime family, also known as Blood Kings, were responsible for the mafia leaders' demise. If you have any tips leading to The Yong Mafia and The Notorious South Korean mafia 'The Blood Kings', please call our hotline at XXX-XXX-XXXX. This is Park Reina with Seoul Now News."

Yoongi smirked as he turned off the news and settled down on the leather couch in Hybe's conference room. The other members smirked at each other before their manager, Bang Si-Hyuk, entered with a stern face. Their manager, no matter how wholesome and sweet he was in the public, knew exactly who and what BTS were behind the scenes. He was the one who passed it on to them. Yoongi's knowledge of Daegu sealed their fate the day they signed the contract with Big Hit. At the beginning, not a single one of the seven knew what was happening until Bang approached them with more opportunities that life as simple idols wouldn't be able to give them. Namjoon may be the leader of BTS, but it was Yoongi that dealt with the rest.

"I see you went through with it," Bang said as he sat down at the head of the table. "Mind telling me how you managed to find him in such a short amount of time?"

"I did it," Taehyung smirked as he looked at his manager. "Yoongi gave myself and my soldiers access to some of the things you left behind. The asshole was slick, I give you that. If it wasn't for Jungkook's keen eye, I would have never gotten Hyunsoo to tail him for as long as I had. Seokjin-Hyung pulled the trigger himself."

"And you managed to go to China to do that," Bang lifted his brow. "I don't see how that's possible."

"We didn't go to China. He was here. In Seoul," Seokjin added. "We don't know why he was here, but he knew he had been made. It was actually quite easy to get rid of him."

"How'd you get his body to Shanghai?"

"Jungkook's soldiers. Most of them are based in China to keep an eye out for other mafia that may come as a threat to us."

"For him to not fight is strange to me," Bang murmured. "Yoongi, are you going to look into this?"

"Already on it, sir," The mafia leader smiled back. "I should have some results by the end of the week."

"Even though I'm not the boss anymore, please keep me informed. I want to keep the authorities away as much as I can."

"Of course, sir."

"Now," Bang said while clapping his hands, "let's move on to more calm matters. Yoongi, your stylist Jaenie has put in her notice to leave the company. She and her husband have just found out that they're expecting twins and she'll need to be on bed rest due to her pre-existing health conditions."

"Aw, babies," Jungkook cooed, making the others laugh. "Good for her. I heard her telling Yoongi-hyung that they were trying."

"I'm happy for her," Yoongi grinned. The stereotype that surrounded Mafia leaders wasn't how Yoongi was. How you saw him on stage and on candid footage, that was him. Truly him. He wasn't mean or heartless to people that worked with him, his elders, his family or anything of the sort. The only time people knew how dark he was, was when the mafia side kicked in. He had his own persona. He was the infamous 'Tony Montana of South Korea' afterall. He only made people fear him when they needed it. That's why no one was brave enough to cross The Blood Kings.

"Which brings us to our next point," Bang said while pulling out a file. "Your replacement stylist will be starting tomorrow."

"But I thought Jaenie Noona would be here for two more weeks?"

"I told her to take these extra two weeks early. I'm paying her quadruple her usual salary and a hefty bonus to help with any things she needs for the babies. I also started them a trust fund because Jaenie has been one hell of a good employee."

"She dealt with Yoongi's hormonal early teenage years. You should have just given her the presidential medal of honor," Seokjin snickered. Yoongi shot him a go to hell look and then sighed.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he chuckled. "So, who is she?"

Bang opened the file and pulled out her resume.

Name: Grei Romano

Age: 29

Birthdate: January 1st, 1992

Born: Sicily, Italy

Parent's: Luca and Soleil Romano

Graduated Seoul School of Arts 2010, Licensed Cosmetologist and Esthetician 2011, Bachelor's Degree in Communications 2015.

IQ: 148

Current Residence: Seoul, South Korea

Languages: English, Cantonese, Italian, Korean, Japanese, Spanish and French.

Marital Status: Single

Children: 0

Bank: Seoul National Bank

Bank Account Balance: 1,425,504.00₩

"Damn. Are we hiring a stylist or recruiting someone into the mafia," Namjoon whistled as he looked down at all of the information. "She's smart."

"And broke," Taehyung said while crossing his arms. "She has two licenses and a huge degree. Why so little money?"

"She lives in Hannam, so it's all got to be going to normal bills. Relax, Taehyung. I checked her out and did a thorough background check. You know how I am about hiring people that know who you are as BTS." Bang pulled out her photograph and slid it across the table. "This is who will be coming tomorrow. I've given strict instructions to the staff if anyone else comes and does not match this picture, we'll be calling the police. I can't have you all exposed to crazy fans coming in here again or have anyone snooping in BK business."

Yoongi stared at her photograph and his mouth watered. She was exquisite, breathtaking. Nothing could come close to describing how beautiful she was. Her eyes were what drawed him in. They were beautiful...but somehow familiar.

"Hyung, pick your jaw up." Jimin bursted out laughing and snatched the picture from Yoongi's clutches. "She's hot."

"Coming from you, I know not to worry about you getting yourself in trouble with her," Bang said as he looked over his glasses. "Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi possibly. But not you."

"How do you know I won't try anything with her, Bang-ssi?"

Si-hyuk crossed his arms and lifted his brow. "I've known you for eleven years, Jimin. I also know that you and Hoseok are dating." Jimin and Hoseok are still in their chairs and look at the other members with wide eyes. "I also know that Namjoon and Jin and Taehyung and Jungkook are dating. You boys trying to hide everything from me has been a sight. Now stop pretending." Bang motioned from them to speak while six of the members looked like their manager had just shot their dog. "Look, I don't care what you all do. Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook, I know you're gay. I'm your second father. I know these things. Just like I know that Hoseok is bisexual, Jin and Namjoon have never thought about dating the same sex until they met each other and Yoongi's pansexual. You all know this about each other. I'm sure you've all had your private talks. It's my job to know these things, boys. I don't care. You're all happy right?"

They all nodded in response.

"Great."

Yoongi's phone began to ring, jerking everyone out of the awkward atmosphere. "Fuck," Yoongi growled as he answered his phone. "What is it, Han?" Yoongi's hand gripped the table as Han related valuable information to him. His knuckles were white, face as cold as stone as he listened to Han break down everything that has happened over the last hour. He slammed his phone down and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. When they opened, Yoongi was gone.

The Mafia Boss was standing still as stone in his place, eyeing the members and his manager as he tried to steady his breathing.

"What is it, son," Bang said while standing up.

Yoongi chuckled and adjusted the rings on his finger.

"Seems like Yong Go Sil has someone taking over his mafia."

"Who?" The rest all stood waiting for further instruction.

"His daughter."

[sleepingcrisis]

WIP for a western AU! I know literally nothing about westerns and I can't be bothered to give characters accents lmao. Not sure what I'll do with this but I think it is cute :)

***************************************************

"Cherry." 

"Adam." 

The two men looked at eachother. The pink haired man with his hair tied up in a messy bun and a red button up on tucked into his trousers. His belt held two rifles for when customers got out of hand. The blue haired man with his hair slicked back and a white suit on him stood at the bar as if disgusted by the stools that lined it. Cherry could have spat on him with the assumption that if Adam was avoid getting dirty then Cherry should fix that. 

"I want to buy your property-" 

"No." 

"You haven't heard my deal yet Blossom!" 

"I have heard it before and I am sure that I'll hear it again. This is my property and the last thing I want is for you to have your slimy hands all over it. Now order a drink and sit down or get out," Cherry snapped and pointed to the door. 

Adam tsked and grit his teeth, "You can't hang on to the deed of this place forever!" 

"You're right!" Cherry exclaimed and apparently Adam missed the sarcasm when he had the audacity to look hopeful for a moment. "When I'm six feet under then you can have it," Cherry elaborated and rolled his eyes. 

"That'll be sooner than you think!" Adam called before leaving. He always had to get the last word. Cherry would nearly be concerned if the other could possibly settle on someone else speaking last. 

"Is everything going to be alright?" 

Cherry looked over at his newest crew member. A young man named Langa who had light blue hair and was currently cleaning off tables. 

"Yeah he does that sometimes," Cherry explained with a shrug. 

"And you aren't worried?" Langa asked, brow raised. 

"Nope. I'd put a bullet between his eyes before I let that bastard scare me," Cherry decided with a grin. He heard Langa gulp and chuckled softly. Cherry didn't even know how the boy was still alive. He was what people far up north called a pacifist. He didn't carry a rifle and even when Cherry had offered he refused to learn how to shoot. This alone was a good enough reason for Cherry to decide not to get attached. 

"You should dump out the spit buckets before the evening crowd comes in," Cherry mentioned. He realized he hadn't given the northerner that task before by the way Langa looked at him. 

"The what?" Langa asked softly. 

They ended up doing that together and Cherry rinsing them out before putting them back in the regular spots as people began to file in. 

"Leave your rifles at the door. This is no place for a gun fight! If I catch any of you bringing something like that past the entrance I'll have two bullets in your chest before you can even draw it!" Cherry barked at one of his more 'problem' customers. 

"Does that rule apply to me?" Came a familiar voice. Cherry already knew he was grinning before he even looked over to him. 

"Especially you Joe," Cherry shot back easily. 

"Is that any way to talk to your sheriff?" Joe asked as he sat down at the bar. 

"In here? Yes. I don't need you trying to play the hero like last time," Cherry said. Neither of them seemed to want to talk about what had happened last time though. 

"Oh hush, I am the sheriff-" 

"And this is my tavern, if someone gets into a bar fight then it is my business unless I specifically call for you." 

"He had a knife!" 

"And?" Cherry didn't seem to see the issue. Instead he walked away from Joe in order to serve other people their alcohol. "Also, order something if you are gonna sit in here Joe- and tell your boy to stop distracting Langa." 

Joe hadn't even noticed. The red head who often tailed him was currently talking with one of Cherry’s servers- a blue haired boy with his hair clipped back to keep it out of his face. 

"Reki!" Joe called and nodded to the seat beside him. The red head seemed to say his goodbyes before moving to sit beside him. Reki was often covered in dirt and the same went for his clothes. His hair matted and wild- he needed a bath. Joe figured he would have to wait until later to mention that. 

Joe himself wore a brown cowboy hat and a button up along with trousers and a vest. The small star remained pinned to his vest signifying his position and his belt held two rifles- 

Until Cherry came over and plucked them out. "Sheriff. You know my rules," Cherry smirked. "Ask me for them when you leave," Joe found himself stuck on the end of a wink. 

Service continued. Joe and Reki got their drinks. Eventually Cherry was closing up shop and was letting his employees off the hook which resulted in Langa taking off and not too long later Joe noticed Reki seemed to have vanished. Must be making friends. 

"Adam dropped by again," Cherry mentioned as if it wasn't important. He filled up Joe’s glass with ale and a glass for himself before they both began to drink from their respective glasses. 

"Is he still trying to buy this place?" Joe asked. 

"Yep." 

"Have you tried talking to the mayor?" 

"Really? The mayor? And what will Mayor Tadashi do?" 

"So that's a no on the mayor thing?" Joe asked and was met with Cherry taking a long swig from his glass. 

"He recommended I consider Adam’s offer. Bastard," Cherry hissed. 

"Are you going to?" Joe asked. 

"Hell no! What do I look like to you?" 

"Sorry you are right," Joe said and sighed softly. "Are you gonna need my help?" 

"No. I can handle it myself Joe. Honestly you worry far too much. And you like to get involved," Cherry chuckled softly and rolled his eyes before taking another swig and went back to cleaning. 

"So why did you tell me about Adam stopping by then?" Joe questioned and rested his chin on his palm. 

"Because I think he is trying to buy out this town," Cherry stated. 

"He has only ever shown interest in your property," Joe mentioned and rolled his eyes. Cherry’s theory was ridiculous. 

"Yeah? Is that what you think? People talk to the one giving them alcohol more than you Joe. Ever since Tadashi became mayor he has bought several empty properties. Mine is the first he has taken interest in that already had something built on it. He owns a lot of land in this town Joe. He is trying to buy us out-" 

"Us?" 

"Do you listen to anything I say?" Cherry hissed and finished his drink before he began to clean the glass. 

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm listening. Do you want me to do something?" Joe asked and tilted his head. 

"What are you going to do? He ain't doing anything illegal," Kaoru muttered. 

"I suppose you're right, but still. I'm loyal to you before the mayor," Joe reminded. 

"Really? Well you better be ready for the shit show that is coming." 

"I'm ready as I can be, someone has to protect you," Joe winked and grinned as he ignored the way Cherry scowled. 

"Ew. Forget I said anything and just get out," Cherry rolled his eyes. He was only teasing but honestly it wasn't like he wanted Joe’s protection. Yes Cherry was slightly concerned about what Adam was doing, no he didn't need Joe to try and protect him. What he needed was for Joe to keep an eye on Adam and protect people who couldn't protect themselves. 

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Never Let Me Go: Part 1 of 2

Summary/Author's Notes: Confession time. I have been @stevieharrrr 's "Daily Carrillo Thirst Anon" for some time now. Y'all seemed to really want this! So, after some idea bouncing, friendly threatening, and overall caps-lock screaming at one another, this is my poker chip that I am raising Stevie in the Carrillo feels war. (This takes place in season 2... episode 4)

Pairing: Col. Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ -- SMUT, oral f!receiving, fingering, THICC CARRILLO ARMS/HANDS, language, violence, CHARACTER DEATH (I'm not kidding with this one y'all, I know it fucks me up when I read it in fic so you have been warned.) Cannon-divergence, this is a FIX IT FIC, if that makes you feel better. Gif by @el-cheung

And the questions I have for a sinner like me

But the arms of the ocean deliver me

MASTERLIST

Being married to Horacio had never been easy. You had lost count of the number of times you had moved, the number of houses you both had tried to make a home, and the number of times you had almost thrown in the towel. The key word being almost.

Colonel Horacio Carillo was a man's man. If anyone opened up a dictionary and looked up the word 'brave', a picture of your husband would be underneath. Along with the word reckless, cunning, ruthless, and a whole slew of other things that his superiors like to throw in his face when something didn't go according to plan. His strong resolve kept the underlying volcano of his rage carefully under wraps. And if you asked the man himself, he would attribute it entirely to you. According to him, the moment he put that ring on your finger was the moment he had a reason to not give in to his unbridled savagery, his desire to get the job done no matter what it cost. And so far, you were okay with that. You could play the dutiful wife on the sidelines, you could be his anchor, because as soon as his feet crossed the threshold of your home, he was no longer Bogetà's Atlas. He finally got to take all of Columbia off of his shoulders and fall into your waiting arms.

And that's the reason when you received the call that he would be working late for the third night in a row, you decided to do something about it. Hanging up the phone, you got dressed, pulling that small floral print dress that he loved so much over your head. You shimmied it down your ass and it just ghosted the middle of your thighs. The small pink and red flowers on top of the wispy white fabric made your skin look softer somehow, grabbable--at least that's what your husband had told you the first time you wore it out to the farmer's market. You picked up the phone again and called in his favorite take out from the small shop around the corner, balancing the receiver against your shoulder as you put on a touch of makeup and a bright pink lip stain.

By the time you arrived, the precinct was winding down for the night. A few of the regulars were standing around, and there was a general uneasiness in the air. Your high heels clicked against the laminate floor and it sounded way too loud, making you second guess your apparel.

"Mhm, what's that smell?"

Javier Peña turned from his pair of desks as you made your way across the office with the bag of takeout hanging over your forearm, your car keys jingling in your hand.

"Good evening, boys," you gave a small wave at the two DEA agents and continued on your path.

"Where's mine?" Steve Murphy, Javier's partner asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Sorry, Steve," you laughed softly, walking backwards a couple of steps. "Next time, okay?"

"Carrillo's a lucky son of a bitch!" Steve called after you and you shook your head feeling your cheeks blush. Javier mumbled something undoubtedly crude under his breath and Steve elbowed him in the ribs drawing a grunt from his partner before they both sat back to work.

Boys. That's what the two of them were and you weren't sure how Horacio put up with it all day. You raised a hand and tapped your knuckles against the glass bearing your own last name.

"Come in."

His voice made your shoulders relax. You let out a breath that you felt like you had been holding for the last three days, and walked into his office, closing the door behind you.

Colonel Carrillo looked up from the stack of papers on his desk and his eyes widened. Clearly expecting literally anyone but you to walk through his office door and it was humorous just how quickly his stoic persona melted in front of your eyes. He stood up abruptly, taking off his glasses and saying softly, "Mi amor?"

"Hey," you said, setting the to-go bag on a clear spot of his desk. "I thought you might be hungry."

"You didn't have to do this," he said, still looking surprised that you were actually standing in front of him. He stopped down as you offered your cheek to him and he gave it a small peck.

"I know."

"Ernesto's?" He raised an eyebrow and looked into the bag, inhaling deeply.

"Mhm," you nodded, reaching in and taking out the styrofoam boxes one at a time.

Carrillo rubbed his chin, looking you over slowly before shaking his head with a grin. "Thank you." He walked around the desk slowly, twisting the string on the blinds to his office window until they closed fully. You didn't look up from your task of setting out dinner until you heard the firm 'click' of the lock on the door.

"Horacio?" You asked over your shoulder as he rubbed his palms together and walked back over to you.

"So we won't be bothered," he said simply with a shrug and you nodded.

"When is the last time you ate?" You asked, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"I had coffee this morning." He admitted rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You knew you were the only one that ever got to see that flicker of embarrassment in his eyes, like he had somehow disappointed you. He didn't give a damn what anyone else thought of his actions, but your opinion was always held in his highest regard.

"Coffee is not a food group. How many times do I have to tell you that?" You said, pressing your lips together in a tight line.

"Of course it is. Because you know what I'm like without it." He chuckled.

"Oh, I absolutely do," you laughed. "A bear in a uniform--"

Your hands paused on the food as you felt his large arms slide around your waist, his tender lips finding their way to the base of your neck. Was he trying to distract you from your current annoyance at his poor excuse for nutrition? Maybe. Was it working? Also maybe.

"I haven't seen this dress in awhile," he mumbled against your skin, removing one of his arms to pull your hair to the side and out of his way. He kissed his way up your neck then back down to your shoulder, soft feather light touches that made your eyes close for a brief second.

"You haven't been home in awhile." It was meant as a joke, a harmless jest, but your smile fell as you felt him tense behind you. You turned in his arms slowly, putting both hands on his broad chest. "I didn't mean it like that." You whispered, fingers playing along the collar of his army green button up. Your fingers traced the path against the embroidered name badge over his heart and you wished you hadn't said anything. The moments you did get together lately were so brief that any that weren't dedicated to loving one another felt like time wasted.

He didn't want to be gone all of the time. He made sure you knew that. The war on Escobar wouldn't wait just because one man's wife was missing him. There were plenty of men who never returned home. Escobar had left many widows in the wake of his cocaine empire and every time the man in front of you walked through the door and into your arms you thanked your lucky stars. You didn't believe in much, but you thanked every deity that might have been listening for keeping him safe.

"I know," he said, trying to give you a smile but unable to keep the sadness off of the edges.

"Come on," you said, nodding to the food. "It's gonna get cold."

"Not yet."

He kept his arms firmly planted around your waist, his hands slipping lower to take two huge handfuls of your ass. The movement made the dress lift slightly, the material bunching in his grip. You gave him a surprised look and he bit his lip, playfully waggling his eyebrows at you. It made you giggle. God, how you missed him when he wasn't home. This playful, boyish side of him that made you walk on air. The side of him that made it seem like you both were young and in love and didn't live in a war torn country.

"I thought you were hungry?" You asked as he continued his way up your neck to the shell of your ear.

"I am." He worked his way back down, kissing the tops of your breasts as he walked you a step backwards against his desk. "But not for take out."

"Even Ernesto's?" You gave a mock gasp of shock and smiled, letting your fingers card through his hair as he pulled the scoop neck of your dress down and squeezed your breast in his large hand. "I thought it was your favorite!"

"There's something I like more," he said, looking up at you with dark brown eyes, refusing to lift his lips from the mound of your breasts. It made the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Here?" You asked and as a response he reached around you and shoved a stack of files off of his desk and to the ground with a loud clunk.

"Yes. Here." His words were firm and he shoved a few books off of the desk to join the papers on the floor. He gripped your waist and picked you up to sit you on the edge of his desk, nudging your thighs open with his knee and standing between them. "Think you can be quiet, dulzura?"

"You know the answer to that," you giggled again, cupping his face in both of your hands as he closed in on you. You were not a quiet lover and he often told you it was one of his favorite things. The way you said his name as he brought you through your orgasm was his most favorite song and he liked when it was turned up loud.

You reached for the front of his dark slacks, palming the bulge at the front of his pants and he gripped your wrist with a shake of his head. "Not yet," he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it before putting it back on the desk. He put his hands up the dress and gripped your underwear, sliding them over your hips and down your legs. The lace got tangled on the heel of your pump and you kicked them off with a shake of your foot.

"Kiss me again," you demanded with a shaky breath and he happily obliged.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as one arm held you tightly and his other hand went up your dress. His thick fingers pressed against your labia and you moaned into his mouth as he began to run them up and down, slowly spreading your wetness. He pressed your clit and you jolted, it was too much too quickly and you gripped his neck.

"Mi amor?" He asked and when you hummed in response he continued. "Lift your dress."

You did as you were told. With excited hands and a hammering heart, he helped you pull the soft material up over your thighs, letting it bunch around your waist as he went to his knees in front of you. Those dark, chocolate colored eyes that you loved with all of your heart never strayed from your own as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. He let out a small noise of content as you ran your fingers through his hair and the noise carried over as he pressed his mouth to your aching cunt. With a gasp and your head thrown back, your hair cascading down your back, your husband would have said that you looked like a vision--if his mouth wasn't already preoccupied.

Carrillo's hands slid around each of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh and keeping them wide open for his broad shoulders to sit comfortably in the middle. His tongue slipped through your wet pussy like it had a hundred times before, but it still made you moan his name softly to the empty office around you. Your husband may have been a man of few words, but he liked to say he used his mouth for much more precious things.

He sucked each of your folds separately, a soft pop sound coming each time he moved to the next spot. When he finally closed his mouth around your clit, you gasped sharply and grabbed his hand that was resting on top of your thigh and squeezed it.

"There?" He mumbled from between your legs and you nodded.

"There. Right there."

"Right there. Mhmm, I see," he teased your desperation but continued to oblige your request. He worked his jaw against you in such a way that you imagined he was coating his face with your juices like you were the most delicious of fruits. The wonderfully crude image made your cunt twitch and he groaned.

He kept a firm grip on your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he continued to suck your clit. You wanted so much more right now. You wanted his cock inside of you. You wanted his hand around your neck. You wanted him to flip you over and take your ass. Suddenly you wished more than anything that the two of you were home so you didn't have to pick what you wanted most, you just had to pick which one you wanted first.

"Horacio," you moaned his name, rocking your hips forward gently against his chin. You bit your lip and closed your eyes, the feeling of how well he knew your body started to overwhelm you. In the years you had been together he had taken so much time memorizing every spot that made you sigh, every place that made you break out in goosebumps, and every series of movements that had you falling apart in his arms.

He loved you fully, completely, and unconditionally.

The orgasm he brought you with his mouth took you from your thoughts as you clenched your thighs around his head suddenly. "I'm cuming!" You gasped desperately just before you felt the rush of heat flood your core down through your legs. It made you bend forward over him and open your eyes, moaning loudly as you saw him looking up at you, watching you orgasm in his hands as his mouth continued to ravage your aching cunt.

"Come on, baby," he squeezed your hand, feeling you clench again against his mouth and it was too much.

"Stop, stop," you said with a shaky voice to match your quivering legs. You grabbed two fistfuls of his button up and pulled, making him get to his feet and slam his mouth against yours.

He grunted against your lips as you pushed your tongue into his mouth, greedily tasting your own wetness on him. He cursed quietly in Spanish as you pulled his shirt, untucking it from the waistband of his pants. Your hands went to his belt and you slowed down, suddenly remembering you were in the precinct.

"Do--" you swallowed hard, trying to breathe normally as you spoke against his face. "Do you have time?"

"For you? Siempre," he slid his fingers in your hair at your temple and cradled the back of your head. "Siempre, mi amor."

Always.

You blushed a little, your fingers starting to unbutton his shirt as he kissed you gently and kept hold of your hair. With each button your heart raced faster, you smiled against his lips as he slipped his tongue back inside your mouth, expertly colliding it with your own. His kisses always felt like they were going to devour you from the inside out. He kissed with such an intensity that you knew from the first time he pressed his mouth to yours all those years ago you would willingly allow him to consume you.

You clenched your thighs around his waist and let your heels drop to the floor behind him. He ran his hand down the curve of your ass and hitched your leg further up on his hip, dipping you down to lay on his desk. He grinned down at you and started to open his mouth to say something but was stopped short by a hurried knock against the glass.

"Carrillo!" Javier called from the other side of the office door.

"Go away," he returned, throwing his voice in the direction of the door, leaning down to kiss your breasts.

"Messina needs us. We got a hit off of the wire taps--it could be Escobar." There was a pause as he tried the door but it was still locked. "We gotta go!"

Carrillo's shoulders fell slightly and ran a hand over his face before helping you sit up. "Coming!" He helped you pull your dress over your breasts and started buttoning his shirt back up. "Lo siento, mi amor." He said quietly and you shook your head.

"It's okay." You bit your lip as you watched him tuck his shirt back into his pants and he hissed softly. "Sorry about that," you nodded towards the bulge against his zipper as he did his belt.

He chuckled and kissed you on the cheek, bending over to pick up your thong and held it out to you in offering. "I'm not. It'll give me something to look forward to when this search comes up empty like all of the others."

You took your underwear from him and smiled as you slipped off of his desk and put them back on. "I take it I should put the food in the fridge?"

He nodded and put his hands on his hips as he watched you fondly finish redressing. "I'll be home late."

You cupped his face giving his cheek a gentle pat and a nod. "And I'll be asleep." You smiled as best you could but you knew he could see the twinge of sadness in the corners of your mouth. The number of times he crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning far outweighed the number of times the two of you got to go to bed at the same time.

Carrillo grabbed your hand before you could turn away and kissed your knuckles, squeezing your hand as tightly as he could without hurting you. As he walked to the door and unlocked it, he looked over his shoulder and said seriously, "I love you."

"I love you, too," you barely managed to get out before he unlocked the door and he and Javier walked briskly down the hall, leaving you to tidy up and head home.

--

When the knock at your front door came, you were already in bed and sound asleep. The oscillating fan of your bedroom was breathing a cool breeze across your body as you snuggled deeper into the comforter. The bed hugged you like it knew you better than anyone else in the world, and apart from your husband, it probably did. The knock came again and you groaned because it meant that you hadn't been dreaming about the first one.

You leaned up and pushed your hair to the side, looking at the side table that held your alarm clock and a lamp. "Fuck," you mumbled as bright red numbers told you it was almost three in the morning. Three AM? Where the hell was Horacio? You touched his side of the bed as if to confirm what your eyes were already telling you--he still hadn't come home.

The knock came again.

"Shit," you cursed again, turning on the lamp and opening the drawer to grab the hand gun that you knew was there.

The 9mm felt cool in the palm of your hand as you checked the magazine for ammo before slamming it into place and pulling the cartridge back to slide a single bullet down the chamber. You grabbed your robe and wrapped it around your shoulders, tying it tightly and hurrying across the bedroom barefoot. You saw the flashing red and blue lights outside the front room window as they ran along the walls of your home, chasing each other over and over, casting shadows on the entire room. The fact that there were no sirens paired with them made you feel uneasy--that was never a good sign.

The knock came again, this time it was apparent that whoever it was was pounding their fist against the wooden paneling of the door. Leaning up on your tip-toes you looked out the peephole and recognized the somber face of Javier Peña. You hurried and put the gun on the table in the mudroom before flinging open the front door and asking him accusingly.

"Javi?? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Your voice sounded foreign even to you. Your heart hammered against your ribs as your eyes frantically searched the two police cars behind him for your husband.

"(Y/n)..." Javier said quietly as he leaned against your door frame, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket.

"What's wrong?" You said as he shifted uncomfortably on your doorstep. In the back of your mind you already knew what he was about to tell you, but you wanted him to say it. If he didn't say the words out loud then they would never become real. The news he was about to give you was a stone, and unless he threw it, it would never be allowed to shatter your entire existence.

"There's been an accident." He said flatly, forcing himself to look you in the eyes. You glanced over his shoulder and saw Steve leaning against the hood of the Jeep with his arms crossed, looking at the ground. The other officers in uniform wouldn't look at you either and you knew your next question was a foolish one.

"Is he hurt?" You asked in a meek voice. Hurt you could handle. Hurt you could work with. But you knew before you even opened the door tonight that hoping that he was only hurt was a faulicy that your brain entertained purely to keep you from fainting on the hardwood floor.

"(Y/n)," Javier tried again, moving his arms from the door frame as he started to put his hands on your shoulders.

"I need to see him," you blurted out as Javi's hands clasped your biceps. You tried to shove him off. If he touched you, it was over. If he held you it was all over. If Horacio Carrillo was alive then he would have already told you to get dressed and get in the car. No, comfort meant trying to diffuse the ticking time bomb that was a woman about to learn that she was a widow.

"I can't--" Javier tried and you jerked your arms out of his grasp.

"Take me to him, Javi. Let me see him!"

"I can't do that. There's nothing--"

"Shut up! Don't you dare--" you raised your hands and he was faster than you and grabbed both of your wrists, holding them to his chest. "Don't you fucking dare! Where is he? Where's my husband--"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated as you finally gave in.

He kept his hands on your arms as your knees buckled out from under you and you slowly sank to the concrete stoop. Javi followed you down, pulling you against his leather jacket and letting you scream against his chest. You would have screamed all night if your vocal cords would have allowed it. But it wasn't long before the screaming turned to sobs and the sobbing turned to silent gasps as your body couldn't seem to figure out the appropriate noise to make to express your anguish.

You felt his voice against your hair as he spoke Spanish softly in your ear. Only catching half of it, you nodded helplessly as he told you it had been a quick death, that it was no secret around the office how deeply Horacio loved you, and other forms of condolence that didn't do a damn thing to stop the meticulous tearing of your heart within your chest.

He was gone. Not even twelve hours ago he had been in your hands, against your skin, warm and alive and looking at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. And now...nothing. You felt Javi's hand in your hair as you heard Steve's boots approaching the both of you quietly and respectfully. They were trying. They had been saddled with the task of telling you because they were friends of the Colonel. But as the tears started up again and you felt Javi's arms tighten around your shoulders, you desperately wished they belonged to someone else.

--

Permanent Tag List: @stevieharrrr @zeldasayer @cosmicbug379 @winters-buck @rae-gar-targaryen @gooddaykate @jigglemiwa @seawhisperer @halefirewarrior @ripleyafterdark @phoenixhalliwell @thebakerstboyskeeper @honestlystop @lackofhonor Please let me know if you want to be added to my Permanent Tag list or of I tagged you by mistake. I have done a shit job of keeping track of the Permanent list and I am trying to fix that. ❤️

[mirkwoodshewolf]

We’ll make it work; Wanda x Vision x child reader

*Author’s note*

Hey guys well it’s been a LOOONG time since I posted something OUTSIDE of the Bohemian Rhapsody/Queen fandom. So I hope that my marvel readers enjoy this cute little fic that had been on my wattpad inbox since like last Sept. And I PROMISE to those anons who have sent me requests from Doctor Who and a couple more marvel stuff, I WILL GET TO YOUR REQUESTS ASAP. So I’ll stop here for now and let you all enjoy this cute little fic :)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@queensdivas

@platawnic

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

_______________________________________________________

They said it couldn’t be done.  Hell everyone would say it was downright unnatural but yet it was finally happening. After the whole battle with Thanos and managing to bring everyone back, Wanda and Vision settled down together in a quiet suburban home in upstate New York.

They built their house from the ground up using their own two hands and decided that now with the white picket fence home, they could now start thinking about having a family together.  Now of course Vision being a machine he can’t physically reproduce but as luck would have it, there was an orphanage just 30 minutes from where they lived.

Wanda submitted an application to the orphanage introducing themselves and what their preference for adopting was.  They had agreed on wanting to adopt a little girl, preferably around 4-6 years old. With some interviews, home visits, and looking through the files, Wanda and Vision finally came to an agreement on their dream child, young (Y/n) (l/n).  

An orphan that was brought to the orphanage after her mom gave birth to her in prison.

Her parents were would-be-robbers who mostly robbed homes or cabins but then they got cocky hoping to rob a bank.  Unfortunately they were caught right before they got even a foot away from the bank.  It was there her mom found out she was pregnant and gave birth in prison before the foster system brought her to the orphanage.

After reading her backstory, Wanda and Vision knew immediately they wanted to have her.  So she called the orphanage and set up a meet and greet and in one week they would get to meet their future daughter.

When the day arrived, Wanda and Vision (in his human disguise) drove up to the orphanage where they met the Head organizer Ms. Eliza Soo.  She asked them some questions that weren’t on the application like what their current jobs were, and since they were publicly named heroes, that they had their powers under control for the sake of their future daughter.

The two heroes assured Ms. Soo that they had full control of their powers and do not intend on showing their powers before young (Y/n) unless she asks them to. After about 15 minutes of chatting away, Ms. Soo told them.

“Alright. Now unlike most meet and greets that other orphanages do, we personally would like to see how the potential parents interact with our children. Instead of trying to force the child to talk in a room with 2 strangers, we ask that the potential adopters meet the child in the Playroom. Are you two up for that?”

“Yes of course. I personally understand what it feels like. For most of my childhood it was only my brother and I for years before he…...” Wanda said.  At the mention of her brother, tears flickered in her eyes but Vision took her hand in both of his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“My wife lost her brother just shortly after we met. They were both orphaned when they were 10 years old back in her old home of Sokovia.”

“Oh I’m so sorry Ms. Maximoff, my condolences on your loss. I lost my brother around that age too. Gunshot by a rival gang member.” She took a deep breath in before exhaling out. “Now then, (Y/n) should already be heading towards the playroom if not already there by now. Allow me to escort you there so that you three may get acquainted with each other.” The three of them stood up and Ms. Soo guided them out of her office and down the hall.

They soon reached a room that was labeled at the top of the door PLAYROOM. Decorated all over the door were various art projects that the kids have done and at the bottom there were their names and ages.

“Now we’ll just observe you guys from the double-sided mirrors and see how you guys interact with her. If we see that there’s a connection, then we can proceed with the legal adoption.”

“Thank you Ms. Soo.” Vision said.  She nodded and walked off leaving the couple alone by the door.  The two of them looked at each other and Wanda asked her husband and partner.

“You ready?”

“If you are, then so am I.” Vision responded.  Wanda then reached for the doorknob and turned it on its side to open it up.

When they stepped into the room, it was completely filled with every kid of children’s toys imaginable from toy cars and trucks, dolls and action figures, even a small TV with a videogame console.  There was also drawings hung up along the wall just like there were on the door.

Soon their eyes came to young 4 year old (Y/n) (L/n).  She was at a small circular table with some paper and crayons surrounding her.  Happily humming to herself as she continued to draw on the paper.  When she saw Wanda and Vision, her head tilted to the side like an intrigued puppy.

“Are you my new mommy and daddy?”

“We—we hope to be.” Answered Wanda.  A wide smile soon spread across her face and she raced right up to them and immediately embraced Wanda.  Once she felt that little girl embrace her, a warm sensation fell over her and she already felt that maternal instinct take over.  Wanda knelt down and embraced young (Y/n) and she said. “So what is it you were drawing?”

“Come look. I’ve been working really hard on it!” like every excited child that wanted to show off their accomplishments, she dragged them both to the table and they all sat down around it and she began to show them all the drawings she’s done.

Some of them were drawings of herself out in a flower field, with her favorite animals, but one picture struck out to the two of them.

“What is this picture of (Y/n)?” Vision said as he held up a picture of (Y/n) standing between two adult figures.  But they had no hair or facial features drawn yet.

“That’s a picture of me with my new family. I…..I didn’t want to finish it till I knew it was for real. Are you guys really gonna be my new parents?” Wanda smiled and gently placed her hand on top of (Y/n)’s head and stroked down it.

“If Ms. Soo thinks we’re good with you, then yes. We will be.”

“I know one way that can help you, follow me!” she then stood up and raced over to the toy chest and opened it up.  Inside were dozens of costumes ranging from feather boas, to every kind of hat imaginable. Donated Halloween costumes, and even some props. “Since you guys are real life heroes, do you think we could play superheroes?”

Both Vision and Wanda were a little hesitant but after seeing the hopeful look in (Y/n)’s face, they agreed.  So they want up to her and they dug through the costume chest to see what all they could find.

With the wide imagination (Y/n)’s had, her and Wanda would be the heroes while Vision was to play the giant fire breathing dinosaur.  They stacked up some blocks for the town and places the toy cars to make it feel like an actual city.  

Watching them through the double-shift mirror, Ms. Soo along with some of the other workers watched the two former heroes interact with (Y/n).

“Seems (Y/n) has finally found the family she’s always wanted.” Said one of the female workers.

“I agree.” Said a male worker.  Ms. Soo who had been watching with interest, began to realize that maybe her employers were right.

After about 10min. of playtime and just getting to know her a bit more, that’s when Ms. Soo stepped into the room.  Her face was stoic as she looked at the three of them.

Wanda and Vision stood up and Vision asked.

“Ms. Soo, is there something wrong?”

“No. As a matter of fact, I’ve seen all that I’ve wanted to see. And……you guys have proven to me that you’re meant to be her future parents.”

“Really Ms. Soo?! Wanda and Vision are gonna be my new mommy and daddy?” (Y/n) asked excitedly.

“Indeed they are. We’ll have the legal forms printed out and have you both sign them. Then in a couple of weeks you can officially move in with them to your new home.” Ecstatic about the news, (Y/n) jumped up and down happily cheering at the fact she now had a new mom and dad, not only that but her new parents were Scarlet Witch and Vision.

“Thank you Ms. Soo. Thank you.” Wanda said happily.

“No need to thank me. You’re truly shown me that you both are the perfect couple to take her in.”

So for the next couple of weeks, Wanda and Vision signed any legal papers that the orphanage would send to them, get (Y/n)’s room ready for her and buy her some new toys, clothes and get her bed all made up.

Vision was currently outside building the playground that they wanted (Y/n) to play in the backyard.  It wasn’t anything grand just the basic swing set and jointed mini-clubhouse.  But as he was reading the instructions for how to hook the swings up that’s when he heard the gossiping voices of one of the neighbors next door, Karen and Felicia.

“Have you heard about the couple next door adopting a kid?” asked Felicia.

“Yes. That poor kid, having to be adopted by a bunch of freaks.” Karen mouthed out.

“I mean Wanda’s an okay girl, but I just worry about that boyfriend of hers.”

“Like he’s a freakin machine! You’ve seen all those robot shows. What if he goes all Terminator on that poor little girl?”

“I’d feel safer if her and Wanda bailed when that robot isn’t looking.”

“Amen to that sister. Oh! Did you see the recent Housewives of Orange County….” At this point Vision stopped working and went back inside.

He phased through the wall before levitating himself up towards the master bedroom and just stood there with an array of emotions buzzing about his head. Anger, fear, hurt, heartbroken, but most of all doubt.

Was he really able to take care of a child….scratch that a human being? He was an android after all.  What hope could he possibly have of taking care of a human child? He couldn’t taste properly so there’s no way he’d be able to cook for his new daughter.  There are some human emotions that he still has trouble deciphering, so how would he know what his daughter was feeling, especially once she reached her teenage years?

“Vis?” Wanda’s voice called out to him.  He looked up and saw Wanda kneeling in front of him.  Vision soon took notice that he was now on the floor, his knees curled up close to his chest, his back up against the wall. “Are you okay?”

“Wanda I—”

“Shhh, calm down. Breathe for me.” She placed her hand to the side of his head, her fingers gently brushing against his temple and he closed his eyes taking in a few deep breaths.  “You okay now?”

“Yes. Forgive me I—don’t know what came over me.”

“You were having an anxiety attack.”

“How—how is that possible?” Vision asked.  He was an android how could he have an anxiety attack?

“I don’t know.��

“Well we’ll—we’ll worry about how that’s possible later. Do you want to tell me what it was all about?” Vision looked down with regret and he whispered softly.

“I was a fool to think I could do this.”

“What? What are you saying?”

“Me. Being a—a father. To a human child.”

“What? Vision why—why would you say something like that?”

“I’m not fully human Wanda. I mean yes I can pull the disguise but—when it all comes down to it I’m a machine. After all I was originally supposed to be Ultron’s Vision.”

“But you’re not…….”

“There could be another threat. A threat that—puts you and our……I’m sorry Wanda. I shouldn’t have even spoken up about this.”

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me. Look at me Vision.” She cupped the side of his face. Her eyes filled with concern as her brow furrowed to match the concern in her eyes. “There is nothing wrong with speaking up about something like this. I’m scared too.”

“But you’re at least human. What if I—what if I hurt her?”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I feel you. Just you. And when we played with (Y/n) just two weeks ago, I could feel just how happy you were. You will not hurt her.”

“But what if…..”

“Stop.” She held out her hand as she spoke softly.  She then moved her hand and gently with her powers, showed Vision a memory of when they first met (Y/n).

Specifically the memory of when both him and (Y/n) were playing together.  It was when she (as the superhero) had slain the reptile creature and he allowed her to climb on top of him and do a victory pose with her fake sword and shield.  After awhile that’s when he suddenly came back alive and he began to playfully tickle her.

After seeing that memory, Vision turned to Wanda and she said with a warm smile.

“That’s how I know you won’t hurt her. After just knowing her for that short 10min. of playtime. You were just like how my father was with me. Kind, caring, and a heart full of love.”

“You do realize I don’t actually have a heart right?” she arched her brow at Vision annoyed. “Right, sorry.”

“You know what I mean. What I’m trying to tell you Vis is that it doesn’t matter whether your human or machine, (Y/n) loves you for who you are, who you’re going to be to her. You’re the only father she’ll never know. And as long as you care and love her, it doesn’t matter what you look like.” Vision nodded and said to his love, tears flickering in his eyes.

“Thank you Wanda. Thank you.”

“I love you Vis. So does (Y/n). I won’t deny that we’ll probably make a million mistakes but so long as we both love her together, I know we’re doing something right.” The two of them shared a soft but loving kiss before embracing each other.

In a few days (Y/n) was soon moved into her new home and just like Wanda told him, they both loved and gave her the care she was denied from her birth parents.

Of course there were the skeptical neighbors but Vision hardly paid them any mind now, because as long as he was loved by his new daughter, that’s all that mattered to him.  

Also I won’t confirm or deny that when Wanda finally found out just who was responsible for putting doubt into Vision’s head in the first place, she may or might not have given Karen visions of her worst memories and fears, while making Felicia think she had a poltergeist in her house.

[atiny-ahgase]

Will You Let Me?

Author’s Note: I’ve been really soft for Yunho recently and this is a result of that. I poured my heart into this one so I hope you enjoy it. - Gabby.

Summary: You’re saved from an altercation with your ex by a friendly bartender. Does he just want to be friends though?

Pairing: Yunho x Female reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Genre: Fluff

 _____________________________________________________________

The blaring ringing of your phone for what felt like the 50th time today makes you groan into your pillow, kicking and screaming like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Now some might ask what’s the big issue here? Someone is just calling you and usually, that would be fine, granted you’re not the most social person in the world but you do receive the typical phone call every now and again. It becomes an issue when you don’t even need to answer the phone or even look at the screen to know who was calling.

It was your stupid ex, you’ve broken things off last week because something just felt off in the relationship. Things were fine in the beginning but as things started to progress you began seeing sides of him that you didn’t like, he kept on saying that he would change and at first you believed him. But after months of being stuck in the same toxic routine, you finally built up the nerve to break up with him. And that decision is what has left you in your current predicament. 

Apparently, he can’t let go. In the spans of one-week, you’ve received hundreds of text messages and calls not only to your cell phone but also your work phone. This is starting to get ridiculous. It’s come to the point where you’ve even changed your number and blocked this number, but he always seems to get in contact with you. You’ve made the mistake of answering one of the calls earlier in the week and it was probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. He just went on and on about how he’s a better person with you and he’s never felt like this before and he needs you in his life. Soon after realizing that his sweet words weren’t affecting you, he went on to threaten you. You’ve filed a report about it but in all honesty, it wasn’t helping much.

The ringing had stopped, and you finally sighed, enjoying the moment of quiet before it rang again. Anger began to run through your veins. “This is beyond ridiculous why can’t he just get the message!” you yelled before grabbing your phone and letting the caller have a piece of your mind. Once you were done with your outburst you laid on your bed, the phone still in hand and pressed up against your ear. “You seem like your stressed,” you hear your best friend’s voice. Oh no, you just cursed out your best friend thinking it was your ex. You whined deeply as you apologized, “I’m so sorry. It goes without saying that I didn’t know it was you”. 

She quickly laughed it off before changing the subject. “Since you’re stressed and I’m the amazing friend that you know I am, get dressed and meet me in the lobby in half an hour,” she basically demands not leaving room for you to decline. She didn’t even tell you where you were going so how are you supposed to know what to wear? You climbed off pf your bed with a groan before walking across your room to your wardrobe. Pulling the double door open you begin to rummage through your belongings. It wasn’t long before your eyes spotted a glimmering silver fabric at the back of your top draw. Taking it out to have a better look, you realize that it’s a skirt. You’ve actually never worn it before, opting to save it for a special occasion.

Blowing that idea off, you throw it in the direction of your bed before looking for a top to match. After about ten minutes you’ve finally made a decision. Your outfit consisted of a black leather cropped jacket with a simple white band t-shirt and the silver sequin skirt. Looking over at your shoes you grabbed your pair of black suede booties and some skin coloured stockings because it’s been getting colder these days. 

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

Throwing your jacket over your shoulder, you give yourself one final look over in your full-length mirror before heading to the lobby. You spotted your best friend almost immediately. She wore a pair of fitted black jeans with an off the shoulder top and a pair of high heeled combat boots. “You look so cute!” she exclaims before pulling you into a hug. You smiled fondly before holding her tightly. Once you had broken apart you both began walking to the taxi which was waiting for you both outside. 

Apparently, you were both going to this club that ‘everyone’ has been talking about. So, in conclusion, you’ve been living under a rock cause you’ve never heard of it. It’s also been the talk of the town with all the girls because they have some gorgeous bartenders. You weren’t really in the mood for drinking but that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t enjoy yourself. You also weren’t really in the mood to start dating anyone either but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t look at the handsome workers… No harm in that right?

After the taxi pulled up at the place, your friend paid before you both thanked the driver and started making your way to the entrance. It didn’t take too long before you both were let in, almost immediately bumping into drunken sweaty bodies as you tried to get through. To say that the club was packed would be an understatement, beads of sweat already beginning to form at your brow with the immense heat radiating from the dancing bodies around you. A tugging on your arm pulls you from your thoughts as your friend basically drags you to the bar, the force almost slamming you into the counter. Okay, I think someone is a little too excited to start drinking.

You chuckle to yourself, palms resting on the cool surface of the counter as you study the marble pattern decorating its surface. Not realizing that someone had come to take your orders, you trace the surface with your fingertips. A cheerful voice pulling you back to reality. “And what will you be having beautiful?” you hear the bartender ask, your eyes shooting up to be greeted by the richest chocolate orbs that you’ve ever seen. You felt like you could see the galaxy in his eyes, they were soft, sincere, dare you say angelic. The deafening club music vanishing as the only sound you hear is the sweet melody that your heart plays as you get pulled deeper into his eyes.

He laughs, causing his eyes to crinkle. His laughter being the only thing that forces you to tear away from his eyes. Your happy that you did because the girls weren’t lying. He’s gorgeous. He towered over you, standing at maybe 6 feet, his soft cheeks only exaggerate his gentle smile. The white shirt that he wore had the first two buttons undone and the sleeves where rolled up to his forearm allowing you a full view of his veiny arm. “She’ll have what I’m having,” you hear your friend reply. You make the mental note to thank her for that before you lower your head in a futile attempt to hide your blushing cheeks.

“I’m gonna need a form of ID,” he states directing all of his attention to you. With nervous hands, you open your purse retrieving the item in question. You attempt to place it on the counter, not trusting your shaky hands to place the ID into his hands. To your surprise he meets you halfway, engulfing your hands with his, you’ve never considered your hands to be small but the size of his has yours looking like that of a child; almost completely covering yours. Startled by this action you take in a quick breath before moving your eyes to where both of your hands connected. From an outsider’s perspective, this would look like a normal exchange and you try your best to logically tell yourself that that is all it is. But you’re not sure if it’s the rapid heating of your heart or the way his fingertips gently graze your hand as he takes the ID that is clouding your judgement,

He looks the card over before returning it to you, “Thank you y/n”. He smiles. You didn’t know that your name could sound that sweet. You blush while placing your ID back into your purse. You hear your friend attempt to tease you about your earlier behaviour, but her words are unclear as your eyes are fixated with the bartender in front of you, not wanting to miss a single movement. Not the way the veins in his arm protrudes when he grips the bottle, not the way his muscle flexes as he raises his arm to wipe away the perspiration building up on his forehead and certainly not the way the pink tint of his cheeks deepen when he notices you looking at him. He places your drinks on the counter, takes the payment then briefly glances at his watch. You see him whisper something to an adjacent bartender before retreating to the back. Awww is his shift over already?

After finishing your drink, you are dragged to the dance-floor. You both sway to the music for a short while before you excuse yourself to go to the restroom. She offers to go with you, but you convince her that you’ll be fine on your own. You enter the restroom, finish up and attempt to make your way back to your friend’s side when you are pulled rather harshly against an adjacent wall. Your eyes shut momentarily as you finch due to the impact. As you open your eyes a cold chill runs over your entire body. It was your ex. “Good to see you’re doing well y/n”, he begins while looking you up and down with an expression you just can’t place. “I was sure that you were sick seeing as you never pick up my calls or respond to my texts,” he continues on while taking a step towards you. Your body begins to shake, and a look of fear is clearing painted all over your face.

You want to push him off, but you know that he’s too strong, so your mind continues to race with possible ways to escape from this scary and uncomfortable situation. His grip on your forearm has you wincing in pain as you calculate your next move. “Y/n!” you hear a voice over the thumping of the club music and your heart. It wasn’t your friend, it was a male voice, a voice that you knew you wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. A voice that calms you down even when you’re in this frightening situation even though you don’t know the name of its owner. You look over your ex’s shoulder to see the bartender from earlier walking towards you. He’s now standing beside you both, his body easily towering over that of your ex’s. His eyes shift down to where your forearm in being held before he makes eye contact with your ex.

“Hey, I’m Yunho,” he states, his voice dropping octaves lower than what you had previously heard, causing him to appear a lot more threatening than before. It was as though all off his boyish charm was gone, the glint in his warm eyes nowhere to be seen. Yunho offers his hand to your ex for a handshake. You feel the grip on your arm begin to loosen as they both shake hands and you take this as your best chance to escape his hold. Yanking your arm out with such a force that causes your body to bounce into Yunho’s, who skilfully stops you from colliding with the floor. His arm drapes over your shoulder protectively as he never takes his eyes off of the man in front of him.

“Did you need something from y/n? Cause we were actually just about to head home,” Yunho says before pulling your body even closer to his. You know that you shouldn’t be so close to a guy that you don’t even know but you would rather take your chance with the bright-eyed giant than your monster of an ex. So, you do the only thing that makes sense to you at that moment, you wrap your arms around his torso placing your cheek on his chest. You feel his body tense momentarily due to your actions before he relaxes under your touch.

“We were having a private discussion,” replies your ex “, so if you don’t mind,” he continues as he stretches his arm towards you. 

He doesn’t reach very far before Yunho has his hand in his grasp. “I do mind. So, could you please keep your hands off my girlfriend,” he responds. Your heart jumped at his words. Girlfriend. You were sure that Yunho could feel your cheek heating up against his chest. You also had no idea that his voice could get that deep. You looked at his hand as he gripped your ex tightly, veins protruding as he asserts his dominance in the situation. He eyed down your ex like he was about to strike at any moment. Realizing that things could end up very bad if this altercation develops any further, you try your best to end it early.

You grip unto the front of Yunho’s shirt tugging at it gently. He looks down at you, eyes softening as they look into yours. “Yunho,” you whine softly but still loud enough to be heard by your ex, “I wanna go home,” you continue while pouting and hopping slightly to feign impatience. He releases his grip on you ex while pushing him back slightly. He uses his newly freed hand to cup your cheek gently, bringing his face closer to yours. You know that this is all just an act but that doesn’t stop your breath from hitching or your heart rate from racing. Yunho looks into your eyes, “Do you have all your things Baby?” he asks. There he goes again with that sweet voice of his. You nod gently completely forgetting that your ex was even there, your only focus was on Yunho. 

He removes his hand from your face while lowering the other to your waist. He glances over at your ex, pure annoyance in his face before speaking, “You two will have to finish your discussion some other time. My Baby is ready to leave.” With that he’s gone, holding you at his side while he shoves your ex out of the way. 

No words are exchanged until you exit the club safely, you both releasing a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?” Yunho asks while using the hand which previously held your waist to caress the area which had been held captive by your ex. You wince, a shock of pain radiating from your forearm. Startled by the sound Yunho pulls his hand away while looking at you, a look of worry on his face. You feel your heart sink due to the loss of contact. In the few moments that you’ve spent together, you’ve already become so comfortable at his side. You didn’t want it to be over yet.

He’s done so much already for a person that he doesn’t even know. No stranger has ever been that kind to you for no reason, they always want something or have some sort of ulterior motive but not him. You could see by his aura, by the look in his eyes, that he acted out of concern and deep down you knew that he would have done the same for someone else. That thought alone makes water start to well up into your eyes. He helped you because you needed it and you are grateful but some tiny sliver in your heart just hoped that that wasn’t the only reason. That there was some level of attraction that he felt for you, a spark in his heart that makes him want to protect you. To hold you. To keep you by his side.

Your tears begin to fall as realization hits you. You like him, a lot, and he doesn’t feel the same way. Your tears don’t reach far before they were being soaked up by the cotton of Yunho’s shirt. You didn’t even realize that he had pulled you into a hug, gently rocking from side to side as one hand rubs soothing circles on your back while the other cradles your head. “You shouldn’t cry over jerks like that,” he speaks almost in a whisper, his voice going back to the sweet tone that you remember from the bar. That’s not why you’re crying.

“You’re way too smart and way too kind and way too pretty to let a guy like that hurt you,” he continues while tightening his hold on you almost like he wanted to keep you close; to protect you. You calm down, you’ve realized that you feel at peace in his arms. His breath tickles you as he nuzzles his face into the neck. “You should only give your time to guys who will protect you,” he speaks into your ear causing goosebumps to rise all over your body. “Guys who will tell you how amazing you are every day, who will hold you in their arms like you’re the most precious thing in the world because you are,” he says gently.

You knew that you both had basically just met and logically there was no way that he could be talking about himself, but you really hoped that he was. Deciding to throw logic out of the window you replied softly,“The only guy I know like that is you.” Your heart raced as you waited for a response, already bracing yourself for the oncoming rejection. You feel his lips twist into a smile on your neck before he pulls you even closer. There is no space left between your bodies and you were definitely not going to complain. The aching in your forearm being drowned out by the singing in your heart.

After a few moments of resting in each other's embrace, he raises his head, pulling back to look you in the eyes. He smiles gently at you making his eyes sparkle brighter than any star you’ve ever seen. “And you’re the only person I’ve ever met that I wanna protect and cherish,” he speaks as he moves his hand to wipe away a stray tear; hand remaining to cup your cheek “, will you let me?” Not trusting your voice, you nod slowly, silently hoping that this is not a dream. His smile widens before you pull you into his arms once more, holding you like you were his entire world.

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 21

Previous: Codename Black Panther 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU, Smut Lite

Rating: PG17

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: Swearing, Grinding, Making Out 

Summary: Lee Euna receives a startling message and goes to the one person she assumes will have the answers, or at least, an explanation. 

(uhhh didn’t know it was going to be this long)

The Final Notice

Present Day

           The note said they’d be meeting me face to face, but months have passed, and I am sitting here, waiting. Waiting for a sign, for another note, for someone to be sitting in my living room when I return home, for a dead rabbit to appear in my pasta pot, Jungkook to be taken for ransom, literally anything. And yet, nothing has happened. No note or call.

           I’ve increased surveillance on Taehyung, the only one who seems to connect some of these men, and by a stroke of pure genius, put a tracker on his car and Namjoon’s, as well as a few bugs in their apartment. There’s only so many times you can send flowers with a vague card, and a listening device embedded within the glass. Who gets rid of vases? Hopefully not these men.

           I’ve learned few things in my listening, namely that I am correct. The men are connected. Taehyung and Jimin are best friends and spend an innumerable number of hours together. They also spend time with Namjoon, who I think, if I’m correct, knows Hoseok. Hobi is a nickname for Hoseok, right? And if not, I’m fucked. They’ve added a new person to their discussion, someone they call Black Panther, who sounds like a right pain in the ass. All they do is bitch about how they’re constantly on call to deal with Black Panther’s mess, that Black Panther is getting in their way and in turn, ruining all plans. They speak in some code I don’t know, and I don’t know how to crack it. What I’m more startled by, is the fact that they continue to call this mystery person black panther, who calls a friend Black Panther? That’s like, cultural appropriation lite?

           It’s not, I’m kidding. It’s totally not.

           When I put it all the information together, Black Panther out of the equation because I have no idea who it is, it doesn’t amount to much. Names and addresses, a few yelp reviews, and nothing more. My gut is telling me there’s something here, something more than what Euna believes. Hoseok showing up in Genevieve’s photos, the trio going out to dinner, the mysterious note with the water mark, it has to add up to something. That and they keep mentioning the 7 of them, when the 7 of them are together, they’ll make sense of it, when the 7 of them are all clued in, they can handle Black Panther. Is Black Panther not their seventh member?

           The door to my office slams open, and a disgruntled Euna stomps in, lily white, tears cascading through her foundation.

           “Euna, what a sur-

           “Did you know about this?” She demands, shoving a picture in my face.

           “What?”

           “They know each other!” She yells.

           The photo, a polaroid, of Min Yoongi, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Kim Namjoon. I’ve never seen them all together, Euna was right, they are despicably pretty.

           “How in your world did you not figure out that they know each other?”

          “I-

          “They look pretty fucking chummy to me!”

           “Euna, please, sit, let’s chat,” I stand to get her a water, which she yanks out of my hand and tosses down her throat.

           “Have you been withholding information?” Her voice has simmered, the bubbles of discontent slowly rising to the surface but never popping.

           All I can do is sigh and shrug my shoulders. Lying is not going to work, she’s paying me enough to give her one of my unused eggs, the least I can do is be honest with her.  

           “That’s unfair, I could demand money back for your deception,” Euna says.

           “I have withheld information on the basis that I need more time to connect the dots,” I start. “This is season 1 of The Wire and I’m fucking McNulty asking for more time to put the wire up. These men, Euna,” I exhale again, “It’s not linear, I can’t just plot them and see the whole picture. It’s much more complicated than that.”

           “Explain,”

           “All of it?”

           “Yes, all of it, you think I want to fucking understand parts of it?” Valid question.

           “Fine. It starts sometime when Kim Namjoon was sixteen, I’m not sure what that something is, but that’s the beginning of it. He was a prodigy, renowned in mathematics and rhetoric, short listed for a Nobel Prize by fifteen. After Namjoon, it moves to you and Seokjin, which leads to you and Yoongi, Jun-Seo and Jimin. Finally, it all ends up at Taehyung and whatever happened there,” I glance at her, hoping she’ll tell me if the supposed abortion was from him or someone else. “Somehow Jung Hoseok winds up at Lee Enterprise’s Masquerade, and Kim Namjoon comes back into the picture as a friend of Jimin and Taehyung’s.”

           “Jung Hoseok has taken Kwan on a few dates,”

           “Are they still seeing each other?”

           “No. That’s all you’ve got?”

           “I’ve got more, but I’m not sure it’s going to help you understand this anymore than you already do.” I don’t move to open any files on my computer or pull up any surveillance, Euna doesn’t need that, that information won’t help her in any way understand what these men have in common.

           “Does this make sense to you?” She asks.

           “It’s all,” I sigh, “fits and starts.”

           “Why am I paying you?”

           “Euna, you have given me an already impossible job, and then added more impossible tasks on top of that. I have found all of these men, I have addresses, I have occupations and locations of current employment for five out of seven. I’ve done a fucking good job on something that should truly be solved by a governing body, not a P.I. who bought thirty dollar’s worth of Indian food and ate it over five days because I couldn’t afford to buy more. I’ve used all my resources, called in favors, spied, tiptoed on the brink of impropriety in order to get you results. I’ve done a damn good job.”

           Glowering, her voice is impenetrable, “Then why can’t you find Min Yoongi?”

           “That man has erased himself from the internet, completely, from every website, every search, he’s just gone.” Exasperatedly, I throw my hands in the air as my voice rises. How many times can I explain this to her?

           “He’s alive though,” She counters.

           “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I can pinpoint him,” I grit my teeth and stand, pacing slowly around my office, her voice trailing behind me as I move.

           “He’s really,” She pauses, “Out of any of them, Y/N, he’s the one.”

           I run my hand through my hair before pulling at the strands and aggressively knotting it in a ponytail, the anger feeding into the heat of my body and I shed my sweatshirt. A sweatshirt, with a line drawing of a uterus, that my mother refused to buy me for my birthday so I spent $90 on it myself. I know Euna hates it, but it’s my office and I didn’t know she’d be popping in today in her Dior terrycloth jumpsuit. If I did, I would’ve at least put on a J.Crew sweatshirt and leggings that don’t have wax on them from making crayon art with the kids I used to nanny.  

           “I know, Euna. I know he’s important, I know he’s the one that got away, I know he’s the white whale of this whole investigation. But Euna, he-

           In the middle of my breath, the door opens again creating a space for Jungkook to saunter in. He’s parted his hair, a little off center, and hasn’t put in any product leaving the tendrils to fall softly framing his face. His locks are still long adjacent, and his left hand is using his sweater paw to hold a scalding beverage. His eyebrows are sloped, a genuine look of concern reflecting into my irises. The relief I feel cascading over me, of familiarity, of home, nearly bulldozes me into him.

           “Cricket, I brought you some,” His voice trails as he takes in my client. “Coffee.”

           “Oh thank god,” I whisper. Taking the cup from him, my eyes apologetic as I fall gracelessly into his open arms. The scent of his shampoo and cologne swirl in my nose, relaxing my senses. Nothing smells as sexy as Jungkook. No one looks as sexy as Jungkook does, no matter what he’s wearing, no matter the time of day or night. NSYNC put it best when they sang “god must’ve spent a little more time on you”, because whoever arranged the chromosomes and bone structure within Jungkook truly made a masterpiece. As the kids would say, he’s a whole ass meal. Jungkook keeps a hand splayed on my back while he turns back to Euna. He scans her up and down, no doubt assessing the level of danger she’s presenting.

           “Who are you?” Euna snaps.

           “This is my boyfriend, he was just dropping off some coffee,” I answer. The arm around his waist squeezes a little tighter, my head still resting against his chest.

           “Do I know you?” She wonders.

           “Me?” Jungkook asks.

           “Yes, you, who else?”

           He looks from me to her and back again, “Uh.” He shakes his head.

           “You look so familiar,” She eyes him cautiously, “You’re Korean?”

           “Uh, yeah,” His affirmation causes a twinkle in her eye, a recognition that if she wanted, she could use the powers at her fingertips to find his life story, overturn any

           “Hmm,” She scans him again. “Are you leaving?”

           “Oh, yeah sorry to interrupt,” Jungkook quickly glances at me, mouth moving to form SORRY as he scurries out the door. I hate when he leaves.

           “Don’t fall in love with Korean men, they’ll ruin your life,” Euna sits back down, tossing back some of her water before looking back at the photo.

           “Was something else left? A note maybe?” I hope this will move her back to the topic at hand, the photo in question and whomever left it, not my relationship.

           “Yes, there was,” She reaches into her purse and oh how I wish she had gloves on. The note reads like the last one I received, rhyming and all.

           “You’re looking too hard / We’ve been in plain sight / Stop looking for us / Or we’ll turn out your light,” I read. “Wow, premeditated violence.”

           “What the fuck does that mean?” Euna’s gone back to panic, eyes wild and cheeks red.

           “It means they’ve been in front of us this whole time, as in, we’ve overlooked them,” I clarify.

           “How could you have overlooked them?”

           “I’m not the only one, Euna, you have maybe overlooked them too. Maybe it’s a larger commentary on your persona in a relationship.”

           “My persona in a relationship? What would you know of that?”

           “I know what you’ve told me, and I know what I’ve seen through our interactions. No one is perfect,” I’m trying to soften this, but she’s truly living up to Dae-Seong in her blind rage.

           “Don’t try and compare your relationship to the heartache I have endured!”

           “Euna, I’m not,” The exasperation cannot be more pronounced as I roll my eyes and sigh heavily.

           “Your boyfriend, does what? How do you know he isn’t involved with these bastards?”

           “I don’t,” My honesty cuts her off, eyes widening slightly at my levelheaded response. Her pause gives me worry, what is she thinking?

           “Well, what do we do with these?” She shifts in the tension I’m brewing, I’m unsure what the solution is.

           “I can spend the afternoon trying to trace it, I can fingerprint the note and see what comes up, if anything,” I offer.

           “Will something?” A glimmer of hope, the worst emotion to ever contain or blossom in the human mind.

           “Probably not, whoever these men are, they are far too good to be caught doing whatever it is they’re doing.”

           “We need them all, all six,” Euna demands.

           “What do you want from them?” The thousandth time it leaves my lips, it’s complete insanity. This will never change.

           “What every woman wants,” She broods.

           “Euna, I don’t know what that is,” I’m sinking lower into my chair with every syllable.

           “Those who ask don’t get to know,” Abruptly she’s standing and leaving, belongings gathered in one hand, feet stomping heavily into the aged hardwood.

           Ah, another hint at her upbringing.

           I’m moving slowly through my apartment, Jungkook already sitting on the couch looking deeply cozy in his favorite grey sweats and a sweatshirt with a famous swoosh emblezaned across his chest. Dinner, pizza, is on its way, and a very large glass of prosecco sits waiting for me. I in turn am tossing off my bra, a sight Jungkook is audibly upset by, and coming to sit on the couch, in his embrace.

           “I couldn’t leave, she was mad, I was worried about you,” He tells me, his lips pressing to my forehead repeatedly. “I didn’t know if she was going to hurt you.”

           “About me? Bunny I’m okay, she doesn’t scare me, at least not physically,” I reply, my lips pressing against his neck in recognition of his vulnerability.

           “I didn’t know if she was going to hurt you,”

           “Bunny,” I sit up, turning my head to his.

           “Cricket,” His eyes move from mine to my lip, his thumb coming to swipe over the bitten cherry of my lower lip.

           “I love you, thank you for worrying about me,” I tell him, leaning in to kiss him, his soft, well moisturized lips making up for the bruised state of mine.

           “I love you too,” He hesitates, his lips starting to say something but stopping.

           “Jungkook?”

           “I also found, this,” He pulls out a note, the watermark distinguishable against the light.

           In black ink, a date and time is printed, and underneath:

Roses are red / Violets are blue / It’s time for us to meet / We’re ready, are you?

           “What does this mean?” Jungkook asks.

           “It means that, that I’m meeting with someone who may or may not want something from me, or maybe will hurt me. So just, be prepared.”

           “What’s the one promise you made me make when we first started dating?” He pulls me back into his embrace, but I catch the sadness in his eyes.

           “Aren’t we still in that honeymoon phase?” I want to lighten the mood and not focus on the way my heart is hurting. I never thought I would be the one concerned about not coming home, having Jungkook panicking over my safety.

          I don’t like it, like at all.

           “Absolutely, I think we’ll always be in that phase, but Y/N, please answer the question,” His arms tighten around my waist, another kiss to my temple, replaced by his soft cheek.

           “If you’re not coming home, tell me. If something is going to jeopardize you coming back to me, you have to let me know,” I quote myself.

           “So, if you are going to jeopardize your safety, Y/N, Cricket, my beloved, you gotta tell me. Let me follow you or drop a pin, or use Find My Friends so I can check up on you,” Jungkook rattles off all the apps with ease, a feat I find slightly concerning.

           “I don’t want you to –

           “No, no arguing.” His voice is curt, his words definite.

           “Okay,”

           “I love you, Cricks, and I don’t ever want to imagine anything happening to you.”

           “I know Bunny,” If I could burrow into him, I would. His embrace is my safe place, my weighted blanket after a panic attack, fuck during a panic attack.

          I have to come home to him. Whatever this note entails, it doesn’t matter. Torture me, harm me, beat me up, put me in the hospital, it doesn’t matter so long as when I wake up, or am lucky enough to walk away, I can come through that fucking front door to Jungkook.

           “You didn’t say it back,” He teases.

Rolling my eyes dramatically, squirming intentionally in his grasp so that I can lock eyes again, I sigh. “I love you too.”

           “Don’t act like that when you’d do the same to me!” He begins tickling me, and I feel beyond grateful for his duality.

           “Stop it! Stop it! You’re right, okay!”

           Giggling, his “I know,” is coupled with a kiss. He moves swiftly through my laughter to take my bottom lip between his teeth, tongue swiping over the indentations of his teeth before meeting mine. His hands, under my top and massaging my overheating flesh, pull me closer to him. I tug his locks as a moan escapes my lips, swallowed by his own groan as I reach my hand to palm him over his pants.

           “Cricket,” He groans.

           “Bunny,” I reply.

           He pulls away, pushing my torso down onto him, where my hips happily grind against him.

           “Lock and key?” He whispers, eyes refusing to close as he attempts to restrain himself from giving into the feeling of my heated core over his.

           “God we’re that couple now?” I stop my ministrations, staring at his features. How did I get so lucky?

           “Haven’t we always been?” He cocks an eyebrow, and I’m surprised he hasn’t mustered a ‘what’ to accompany the gesture.

           “I guess,” I roll my eyes, which he greets with a thrust of his hips.

           “Lock and key,” He repeats, hand behind my head, holding my gaze to his.

           “You and me,” I answer, the smile on my lips finding his again.

Next: Cricket & OT7

[jowritesthingss]

Excuse Me Sir This Is My Emotional Support Eldritch Being

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing(s): n/a

Rating: Teen (for swearing)

Content Warning(s): rabbits, food/drink, mild(ish) swearing, not!Sasha, eldritch beings, spoilers through early s3-ish

Length: 2,190 words

Brief Summary: The archival team adopts a rabbit. (Part one of the Emotional Support Eldritch AU!)

AO3 link in reblogs bc Tumblr is a biatch!

*

“What is it?”

Jon levels a suspicious glare down at the fluffy blob comfortably stretched out in the middle of the overstuffed break room couch.

Tim blinks owlishly at him from behind his mug of tea. “A...rabbit?”

“Yes, but are you sure it’s a rabbit?” Jon asks insistently. “Not a—a spirit, or...an animated doll, or a clown in disguise or something?”

Sighing, Tim sets his tea down on the counter. “Look, I get the whole ‘suspicious of us being murderers’ thing—no I don’t, actually, but that’s beside the point—it. is. a rabbit.” For a good measure, he walks over to sit on one side of the rabbit, reaching a hand out to the little guy’s fluffy head. If a rabbit could smile, he suspects this one would be doing so as it leans up into his hand.

“No fleas or ticks...or worms, so it’s not some Jane Prentiss Pet Sematary crossover, I promise—” Tim rolls his eyes, “—the veterinarian confirmed as much when I brought the poor thing in. Out of the mud and the rain of the gutter,” he adds, not even attempting to hide the guilt-trip. He wishes Martin were here, with his ridiculously effective puppy-dog eyes.

Tim knows this is Jon he’s talking to, but surely even he can’t be that cold-hearted. He rather thinks that Jon will enjoy not being alone anymore down here during all his late nights. If he’d let himself, surely Jon would enjoy having company in the form of a teeny tiny creature that can’t and won’t harm him—which, uh, certainly is not why he’s lying about his current flat not permitting pets, no siree.

“...Fine. Whatever.” Jon points an accusing finger at him. “But we’re not keeping it,” he stresses. “The moment you find it a different home, it goes. The moment.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Tim chirps, although as he begins a staring contest with the rabbit’s curious red eyes, he has no intention of actually doing as Jon says.

Martin chooses this moment to walk through the door. His eyes light up. “Aw, is that a rabbit?”

“No, this does not mean you’re allowed to bring in more strays,” Jon snaps.

The light in Martin’s eyes fades. “Okay,” he says mournfully as he crouches to pet the rabbit, sulking.

-

“So what should we name him?” Tim asks Jon when the Head Archivist comes into the break room the next morning.

“Oh—my—” Jon startles where he stands by the counter, attempting to make himself some toast with the Archive’s horrible fifteen-year-old toaster—toast that now splatters across the floor. Somehow in his sleep-deprived stupor he must’ve missed Tim sitting on the couch with a white rabbit on his head. He never seems to really notice Tim, but at this point it’s fine enough; Tim has accepted that the guy has impossibly poor taste.

The rabbit clambers down from Tim’s shoulders, jumping off of the couch and padding over to investigate the new human(?) and the mess he made.

“How about Thumper?” Tim puzzles aloud, stretching leisurely and acting as if he doesn’t notice Jon frantically scrubbing up raspberry jam and trying to avoid the rabbit’s investigative snuffles all in one. “No, no...that’s too cliché.”

“I really don’t see the point in naming it when it shouldn’t be here more than a few weeks,” Jon comments, shooing the animal in question away before it can try to lick up any jam.

“Maybe Joe?” Tim continues loudly, as if he hadn’t heard the other. When the rabbit ambles back over to him, he scoops them up, pressing their noses together. “Ligma?” He shakes his head at the rabbit. “No, no. We need to have more sophistication as we go about this.”

“You could do with applying that sophistication to your work,” comes the grumbled retort.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jon abruptly turns to burn another piece of bread in the toaster.

-

“How about Marshmallow?”

“What on Earth—” Jon shrieks, jumping in his desk chair, and a sheaf of papers is sent flying around the office.

“The rabbit. Should we call him ‘Marshmallow’?” Tim smiles as innocently as he can manage, standing out in the hall with his head peeping into his boss’ office. “Marshie for short?”

“I am in the middle of a statement!” Jon sputters. “Get out!”

“Okay, okay....” Tim fluidly shrugs his shoulders. “What about ‘Bob’?”

“Out!”

But Tim continues to pop into Jon’s office unannounced throughout the day, tossing out name suggestions. He even manages to rope Martin into doing it too, and notes with savage delight that between the two of them and his work, Jon doesn’t get much more than a moment to wallow rest for the remainder of the day.

Between the two of them Tim and Martin manage to compile a surprisingly long list of names:

Snowball,

Posy (Martin is partial to this one because he thinks it’s cute),

Bungen Leitner,

John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt (“is that too American of a reference for a fanfic taking place in the UK?” “what?” “what?”),

the Bunholding,

Michael (Jon is especially averse to that one for some reason),

Cottonball,

Fluffy Bastard (Tim’s own favorite),

Bugs Bunny,

Eldritch Horror (Tim tosses that one in as a joke; no way the rabbit that eats his own shit is some kind of otherworldly being),

Big Bungus (“it’s a play off Big Chungus!” “d’you seriously think anyone else here even knows what memes are”), and

the Vampiric Count Sir Maximillianus-Who-Is-Also-A-Werebun

(Despite badgering Sasha multiple times in an attempt to get her thoughts on the matter, the only name she offers up is “Dinner”, which makes Martin cry, so that one is out.)

None of the names quite seem to fit the little white puffball that has now taken over the realm of their break room, however—so Tim and Martin find themselves going back to the drawing board. They reluctantly leave the Institute at the end of the day, still without having decided upon a name.

-

“JON JUNIOR!” Martin screeches excitedly the next morning as they’re congregating once more in the break room, zombie-like before their tea and mid-morning snack time (primary schools don’t get all the fun, okay).

Jon and Sasha startle, and for once even Tim himself jumps. The rabbit doesn’t seem to care much where he is, nibbling at some hay in his corner litter box.

“I—what?” Jon asks, flabbergasted, although he manages to not drop his toast this time. Character development.

“We should name him Jon Jr! After you!” Martin explains eagerly.

“Absolutely not,” Jon tries to say, but before he can finish, Tim is jumping in.

“I think that is an excellent idea,” he says, grinning broadly. “Thoughts, Sasha?”

“I’m not emotionally invested in this.” Sasha shrugs, uncaring. “I’m going back to my desk.” She takes her drink and walks out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind her.

“All right, since Sasha doesn’t care, I’ll decide her vote for her,” Tim says, carefully containing his glee. “So that’s three votes for and one against, then. Majority rules.”

“What? No!” John protests, but Tim is too busy looking at the rabbit for confirmation.

“What do you think, little guy?” He walks over, bends down, and lightly boops the rabbit’s nose. “Are you a Jon Jr?”

The rabbit twitches his nose in agreement and poops.

“Well then!” Tim stands, clapping his hands together. “That’s been decided upon.”

No, it hasn’t,” Jon insists, but Tim cares little for his boss’ objections. He’ll accept his fate as Jon Senior eventually.

-

To Tim’s utter surprise and fascination, it happens sooner than later.

Jon, Tim quickly realizes, is a lot like the one dad who says “no dog” and then ends up loving the dog more than he loves his own children.

Despite his initial objections, the daft fool ends up getting caught up in Jon Jr’s big, innocent, rabbit-y gaze (worse than even Martin’s puppy-dog eyes, they conclude gravely), and by the end of the day Friday Jon has announced that he supposes the rabbit can stay with him over weekends and holidays.

“We’re still not keeping him,” Jon reminds them all, even as the rabbit gathered in his arms, giving his nose kisses and knocking his glasses askew, says otherwise.

He gets caught trying to sneak the rabbit into his office on more than one occasion, but Martin raises a fuss about it.

(“He’s all of ours! Jon Jr is our department’s mascot now,” Martin protests defiantly. “You can’t take him away from the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Tim adds, mostly just to stir up drama—he doesn’t particularly care one way or another. “You can’t just swoop him up and file him away like one of your statements.”

“Just don’t let it get out and chew at my electronics,” Sasha says, distractedly typing something on her phone, probably to that weird new boyfriend.)

To stave off the imminent coup, Jon Jr becomes an officially-declared resident of the break room. He slowly amasses chub around his middle and a cardboard kingdom of bunny toys, houses, blankets, and treats. A rabbit could want for nothing more.

And perhaps—perhaps a human could want for nothing more, too, Tim thinks as he looks down at the figure curled up on the sofa, rabbit nestled against his chest.

He doesn’t love the man, not by a long, long shot—doesn’t even particularly like him half the time—but Tim can’t deny that the scene is adorable. And, regardless of his very vocal protests, Jon Jr may very well be what Jon Sr needs to finally process things and move the hell on with life.

Tim smiles grimly. It’s about damn time.

He quietly closes the door to the room and heads back towards the Archives. He’ll leave Jon to wake himself up.

(And to discover for himself that Jon Jr has peed on his pants leg.)

-

Of course, this is the Archive we’re talking about, so naturally the peace is abruptly shattered, and everything goes horribly, horribly wrong.

Tim isn’t entirely certain what happens or why, but all of a sudden Sasha isn’t really Sasha, and he and Jon have gotten backed up and cornered in the tunnels as this not-really-Sasha stalks towards them, predictably with the intent to kill, just like the rest of the spooks they are so lucky to deal with.

Tim and Jon Sr slowly back away until they hit a dead end. Meanwhile, Jon Jr licks at Tim’s arm—he’d been scooped up as they ran into the tunnels, Tim doesn’t entirely know why—and despite the fact that they are most probably about to, y’know, die, the little kisses almost feel strangely reassuring.

The thing-that-is-not-Sasha cackles, her—their?—its?—voice distorted and echoing throughout the tunnels. It stalks towards them.

All of a sudden, Jon Jr wriggles loose and leaps smoothly down onto the ground. He scampers in front of Tim and Jon, heading towards bitch-give-me-my-Sasha-back.

“No! Get back here!” Tim hisses at the rabbit, even though he knows it’s pointless. He hates to admit it, but he’s becoming rather fond of Jon Jr, even if Tim mostly brought him in to piss off and totally not help Jon. Jon—who, speaking of, seems to be equally fond now, judging by the deflating tire of a terrified squeak he makes, and the adorable immature grabby arms he makes at the little bugger.

“Junior,” Jon calls out, sounding like a toddler who’d just been told Santa wasn’t real (he is, they have the statements to prove it, he is). And Tim wants to laugh, albeit hysterically. The first time he sees his brick wall of a superior cry and it’s over a rabbit, and he’s not even going to have time to gloat over it because they’re about to die. “No! You’re going to—”

Jon Jr stops and sits in front of wholly-absolutely-totally-not-Sasha-what-the-fuck, who looks down at him, bemused through its murderous bloodlust.

The rabbit lifts a dainty paw up to his mouth, and suddenly—suddenly it’s twisting and huge, towering up to the ceiling of the tunnel, its skin hairless and tinted a sickly, glowing gray, with five, six, seven...a whole lot more limbs than a rabbit is supposed to have.

The not-rabbit unhinges its now meters-long jaw and snaps up the creature.

Tim and Jon stare at each other, wide-eyed.

There is a loud gulping sound, then a deafening crack, and suddenly there is a very normal white rabbit sitting in front of them again, carefully cleaning one paw with a very normal pink tongue.

“Wh—” Tim chokes on his own words.

The holy-shit-it-really-is-an-eldritch-horror-after-all stretches, yawns, and flops over in a dead sleep.

“...We’re keeping the rabbit,” Jon says faintly.

“I—yeah.” Tim nods, light-headed. “We’re keeping the rabbit.”

-

Jon Jr the rabbit-slash-eldritch-abomination gets a very hearty dinner of romaine lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber peels that night.

-

(Tune in next time* for the terrible, terrible realization—“Jon Jr is a girl?!” (Also why is there another dead body again, dammit, can’t we go one week))

Fin

First || Next

*

(There may or may not actually be a next time. It depends. )

Behold. What very well may be the stupidest thing I have ever written. Ahem. Did I say stupidest? I meant most brilliant. Clearly I meant it’s the most brilliant thing I have ever written. Obviously.

Let me know if you enjoyed this! I have a bunch of ideas to continue this ridiculously silly AU of sorts, but idk if I’m going to quite yet and am not certain that I’ll be continuing to write for TMA. atm I’m focused on a different fandom, and I’m only on s3, so the really big idea I had has to wait, anyway.

Want to chat or be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

[quidfree]

For prompts: any OCs, maybe something like fake relationship? Sorry if you don’t have OCs I’m curiois

i have so many ocs for my original projects that narrowing it down for this was a nightmare buuut here we are anyhow- something v short and dumb

-

“i just don’t see why van and viv couldn’t have done this,” joa says for about the thousandth time when they get there, aware that he’s been stuck on this refrain since two weeks ago and that his partner is near his boiling point but entirely unable to stop complaining. it’s like something in him thinks if he just points it out one more time someone will take notice and put an end to it.

“van and vivienne could have done this,” ezra says, in the voice he uses when he thinks he’s being extremely patient and long-suffering. “but this was your mission, and if you would have preferred to be here with fucking corlett it is not too late for me to trade places.”

“dude,” joa says. ezra shoots him a look.

“you can’t call me dude. we’re madly in love, if you’ll recollect.”

ezra is funny like that; the pissier he gets the more clipped his vowels get, like those rich new england types that had sometimes swung through california on holidays, all east coast condescension. privately joa thinks ezra has more in common with that crowd than he’d care to admit.

“dude, even if we were really-” he waves his hand vaguely “-i’d still call you dude.”

“you call your girlfriends dude?” ezra inquires, shrewdly.

“thought the whole point was the not being a girl thing.”

“corlett,” ezra threatens, so he shuts up. normally ezra wouldn’t do that to him, or at least would never concede defeat, but when ezra’s really angry there’s no scruples to his revenge plans. as much as he feels ready to drink himself sick with nerves and discomfort at the two of them crashing this stupid wedding, having corlett on his arm instead would ensure he died of liver failure before the bride even hit the aisle.

he doesn’t like how antsy this has made him. ezra doesn’t say it but it’s obvious he thinks joa takes some issue with the gay thing, which isn’t true- he’s normally the most adaptable of them to whatever era they get stuck into; he was the first to know about van, and that’s a whole different ballpark. it’s not the couple he cares about, it’s the acting.

all the lying, sneaking bits of the job- subterfuge, vivi would say- he gets it, but he doesn’t like it. even when it’s shit he knows, is good at, like charming strangers or blending into groups, he feels bad for the people he involves. he knows it’s stupid- it’s not like he’s usually hurting anyone, and the whole point is that they’re helping. van finds the whole exercise fun, and vivienne thrives in it; even ezra, who never does anything but play himself, commits to the bit unflinchingly. he’s the only one who gets nauseous each time they make him do some extended charade. he doesn’t know why they couldn’t just go around killing people without lying about it to boot.

normally ezra knows this kind of thing about him, but if ezra has one fault it’s that thing about missing the forest for the trees. when he’s prickly about something he loses his usual invasive-cum-insightful observational skills. that this particular bout of acting is making him more nauseous than usual is neither here nor there.

despite what viv claims, joa is not entirely convinced that ezra can’t read minds, because just as he thinks this, his hand is grabbed with all of the affection of a snake winding around his arm to cut his circulation off. 

“c’mon, suck it up.”

he only just manages to turn his wince into a half-assed grimace, which earns him a foul look.

“i can’t feel my hand.”

“shut up and look like you love me, bride number one is heading this way.”

she is, inexplicably, looking delectable in a pearly white gown, blonde hair piled in curls atop her head. once their presence registers she smiles at them distractedly, eyes scanning them without recognition. it kicks him into work-mode, smile blooming wide and familiar as he extricates his hand from ezra’s to clasp hers.

“miriam! i’m joa, elena’s cousin- tia grassi’s son? and this is my partner ezra. it’s so nice to meet you, you look beautiful.”

“oh, joa, of course,” miriam says, warmly, relaxing as she gestures them in. “it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

“i’m surprised they have you manning the door,” ezra comments, gesturing to the entrance they’re stood under. “thought that was what the guys in suits were for.”

“sure, sure,” miriam laughs, self-effacingly. “i’m not really playing valet. it’s just we’ve been waiting on the last cake delivery and i’m trying to get the guy through to the back before anyone accidentally tells elena. she’s convinced something’s going to go wrong.”

“sounds familiar,” joa says, with a knowing smile towards ezra, who just about curbs his eyeroll. “also sounds like something you shouldn’t be worrying about on your wedding day. where should we direct him?” 

miriam’s brows raise in surprise; he tries to broadcast sincere helpfulness her way. 

“oh- really? you’d do that?”

“of course. i know how elena gets.”

this sells it; she sighs a little in relief, shakes her head. “you’re a savior. the hall, through the back- it’s just down the ramp and to the left. are you sure?”

“what’s family for?”

only once she’s out of earshot does ezra shoot him a look, eyebrows quirked with amusement.

“what’s family for?”

“fuck you, it worked.”

“your customer service act gives me the hives,” ezra says, although he’s smiling  even as he reclaims his hand in an only marginally less painful grip. joa’s stomach re-knots itself. 

for all that he hates the lying the job involves, there’s something especially discomfiting about roles like these- ones where they keep their names intact, where the stories they construct keep big chunks of their lives unaltered. to the wedding guests they’re still joa and ezra, longtime friends and constantly travelling free-lancers; they may not be time-travellers and there may be some additional intimacy implied, but this joa and ezra have the same back and forth, the same inside jokes, the same dynamic. it makes the lines even blurrier and the lies even more uncomfortable. 

“you look like you’re about to hurl.”

“maybe i am.”

“you’re not. you’re a consummate professional and there’s an agency supervising us and also if you do i’m throwing your mini-fridge out of a window.”

“you wouldn’t like me sober.”

“you wouldn’t like anything sober. i’d tough it out.”

“remind me not to ask you to host my bachelor party.”

“i hate weddings,” ezra says, sourly. joa grins, heartened by his bad mood. viv calls them bad friends for always cheering up at each other’s misery. van calls them disgusting.

“hey, c’mon. this might be fun.”

“oh, sure. i love spending an entire evening pretending to care about two strangers’ impending divorce.”

“oh, c’mon. what about your moms?”

“they’re divorce lawyers. they’re outliers.”

"okay,” joa draws out, just to make him scoff. “themed missions, though. exploding wedding cake? that’s fun.”

“it’s also one of fifteen assassination attempts we’re handling tonight.”

“glass half full, honey.”

ezra flushes an unflattering but extremely charming shade of splotchy red. “half full of arsenic, if case files are to be believed.”

joa sighs, rocking back onto his heels. “talk about cliché, dude. even the cake bomb is more original.”

“messy, though.”

“hey, you love buttercream icing.”

“not mingled with my intestines, i don’t.”

“here comes the truck. are we doing salt lake city sixty five?”

“you read my mind,” ezra agrees, smile curling at the edges of his mouth. “you want the driver?”

so maybe this whole thing won’t entirely suck, joa thinks, smiling back. when ezra’s distracted his hand’s not even that bad to hold.

by the time the afterparty is in full swing, he’s kind of having a good time. foiling assassination attempts always puts him in a good mood, and the service was nice, for what it’s worth- he’d wondered how it would work with two women, but it was sweet in the end, just a couple of tweaks to the sermon and a lot more bridesmaids. he’d cried. ezra had hidden a laugh and complained at length about christianity. dinner had been nice too, although he’d had to eat in quick bursts what with the constant leaving to go thwart ploys to kill the bride. they’d done it under the guise of sneaking out for quickies, an excuse which had earned them surprising amounts of goodwill at their table. gay weddings, and all that.

regardless, they’ve handled attempts numbers one through fourteen and he’s feeling good. the work balances out the awkwardness- sure, he gets queasy when ezra is calmly explaining their meet-cute to strangers, but five minutes later he’s holding a stall door shut while ezra knocks someone’s face into a toilet and it calms his nerves. besides, whoever organised the wedding decided on an open bar for the night, and he’s been downing his fair share of drinks while ezra’s back is turned, which has pushed him into bright magnanimity. ezra will cover for him if he overdoes it, anyways- he still owes him for how coked out he got at that disco in the seventies. 

ezra has launched into a spirited debate of twenty-thirties midwestern politics with some elderly relative; he sips his rum and coke, tuning out the familiar fast-paced scratchy speech to gaze around the room. the music is nice, for the era. so are the brides, currently waltzing merrily around the room and blissfully unaware that this night’s happy ending will set into motion a series of events leading to the discovery of the cure for cancer, or that someone with a penchant for theme has employed fifteen different mediocre hitmen to stop that from happening.

the little themed cocktail umbrella would make a sweet addition to his collection of mementos. as he twirls it he thinks that he was expecting this to be harder, or worse, the whole couples pretence. really dating ezra has just been the exact same as not dating ezra, with some additional niceties thrown in for their audience’s sake. he doesn’t mind the niceties- ezra’s hard to be nice to on the regular, so it’s neat to have him cornered, and besides watching him struggle not to break composure throughout is fun. it’s weirder when it’s ezra’s turn, because ezra’s lying is always half true by default, and it makes him wonder which parts are the lies. 

he’s a little cold in his linen jacket and his drink is gone, so he follows his thoughts and drifts back towards ezra, drapes himself over his back. ezra stiffens like a corpse but doesn’t miss a beat in his sentence, because of course he doesn’t. he’s warm, though, and besides they’re playing pretend boyfriends, so he thinks he’s entitled to some shared heat without it being weird.

“maybe joa could be of use,” ezra is saying currently, obviously trying to throw him under the bus. “joa, do you remember who it was we saw that time with cousin esther at the thing in santa monica?”

“oh, sure,” joa says amiably, chin now resting on his bony shoulder. “rafael.”

the middle-aged couple make noises of recognition; ezra snorts in silent laughter, the movement making his shoulders jump. it’s a lucky guess primarily founded upon the statistics in his actual family. his cousins have shit luck- three of them with the same name has left them with some abominable nicknames. his previously name-dropped tia grassi is the only person stubborn enough to call them all rafael, just in different registers of disappointed suspicion.

ah, his tia grassi. funny woman. mildly terrifying. her fourth wedding had been an event, though he can hardly remember the second half of it, seeing as she’d refused to cater to the child-havers amongst the family and not left any of the punch alcohol-free. all he really remembers is her wedding dress, the cream-coloured version of her default pantsuit with the horrible bow. it’s funny- from where he’s stood there’s a woman right in his line of vision dressed in an orange abomination that looks exactly like the kind of thing only his tia grassi would subject some distant relative to on the day of their wedding.

wait. fuck.

“corazon, my tia grassi is here.”

"no, she’s not.”

“i’m serious, she’s walking right towards us. lady in the orange. fuck, she must be pushing a hundred.”

“shit,” ezra curses, sparing a nod for the couple he was talking to. “excuse us.” 

“she’s following,” joa warns with mild fascination, as they bee-line towards the garden. 

“great,” ezra says, glancing disbelievingly over his shoulder. “why the fuck is she following? and why is she even alive in this decade? how old is that woman?”

“ageless, i don’t know, she probably thinks i’m family,” joa mutters, glancing back. “which i am. just deceased family. she’s not gonna let up, you know.”

“you and your fucking bloodhound relatives. look, we can’t leave, they’re still going to try and do the thing with the fireworks.”

“well, we can’t stay either, or i’m getting marty mcfly’d out of existence, and i’m kinda partial to existing.”

“how is she even following us? scent alone?” ezra mutters, just a shade hysterical, as they wind their way past the bar. “we might have to pull a vermont.”

“oh, dude, no way,” joa says, immediately nauseous. “c’mon. it’s a wedding.”

“you were fine with it when you were beating that guy’s face in with the floral arrangement earlier!”

“yeah, and he was trying to ruin the wedding. this would be us, ruining the wedding. we would be the wedding ruiners.”

“we could choose someone neither of the brides like! they’d be grateful!”

“dude, i am not killing any guests at this wedding.”

“the only other option is worse!”

“no option is worse than murder, ‘zra, that’s kind of murder’s whole thing.”

“yeah? you rather kill hitler or fuck him?”

“always with the ultimatu- woah, woah!”

his second woah gets swallowed, which is probably for the best; ezra’s planting one on him with real determination. his brain short-circuits a bit or something; he doesn’t think to push him off, just lets him at it. it’s usually what works best when ezra’s on a mission, and also as it turns out ezra’s pretty good at the whole kissing thing, and also his nerves are singing and his blood is boiling and he is maybe, potentially kissing back, distractedly and then with intent, their bodies slotting together against the tacky fake rosebush as plastic thorns dig into his back and ezra’s sharp-nailed fingers dig into his shoulders. alcohol has made him warm and fuzzy, but there’s nothing drink-sloppy to it- just continuous, almost familiar ease, and his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

ezra pulls off first, with a nasty sound, head whipping around wildly as joa registers absently that the fireworks were going off in real life too.

“i can’t believe that actually worked.”

“three cheers for latent latin homophobia,” joa says, on auto-pilot, because right, his aunt, and time travel rules, and something. maria joseph and jesus, he’s just kissed a man.

“that and you not being violently sick on me,” ezra says, turning back to face him with his usual frown slotting absently into place. he looks awkward and irritated with his awkwardness and also extremely well-kissed. joa is struck with the realisation that he is entirely fucked in the head, because he finds the picture supremely enticing.

“dude,” he starts, because to be honest they have been skirting around this particular issue for a while and it’s hard to find a time and place to discuss it when it’s not weird or a capital offence. ezra is all narrow-eyed suspicion and coquettishly heaving breaths, which is not helping him focus but definitely helping convince him to labour the point. “i think we should probably- oh, shit, wait, the fireworks.”

he’s running before ezra can so much as cuss, and he gets there just in time, tackling the man right into the bushes and out of harm’s way, voice raised to an apologetic, casual slur even as they grapple for the gun.

“oh, my god, i’m so sorry, i must be drunker than i thought-“

the element of surprise wins him the fight; he manages to slam the guy’s forehead onto a marble lion a couple of times, sound drowned out by the fireworks above.

“honestly,” a slightly out of breath ezra is reproaching nearby, all fond reprobation, and then again once he’s shoved through the bushes himself, losing the affect. “honestly.”

“it’s fine, it’s fine,” joa says, wiping bloody knuckles on the guy’s shirt. “that’s fifteen, right?”

“it’s not fine, it’s fifteen minutes early. if coda is going to send us on these chickenshit gigs you’d think they’d get the fucking timings right.”

“it’s fine, he’s out,” joa repeats, shoving upwards and brushing bits of bush off his clothes. “viv’ll be angry about the suit though.”

“right, like she’s in the costume dep’s good books either after that stunt she pulled with the velvet dress,” ezra snorts, abruptly the voice of reason. “i can’t believe he was fifteen minutes early. that’s twice this week they’ve done this to us.”

“maybe we threw it somehow,” joa defends, rolling his shoulder. “you know the timeline warps the calculations.”

“we didn’t throw anything. twice in a week, seriously. what the fuck do we pay fees for if they can’t even get the timings right? this wouldn’t happen if we had a union.”

“‘zra, there are only ten of us. we are the union.”

“isn’t that a depressing thought. what were you saying earlier?”

“oh, that,” joa says, and then feels sick again. “hey, are you thirsty? i’m pretty thirsty actually.”

“don’t be an asshole.”

“i don’t know, honestly.”

“you’re not doing so hot on the non-asshole front.”

“oh, madre de dios, stop channeling your mom.”

“tu puta madre. i’ll give you passive aggressive.”

“fine,” joa breathes, in one big burst, annoyed and queasy and charmed all in one. “are we- like- ugh, dude, you know what-“

“specify.”

he pauses, exhales. “well, it just feels like maybe we should-“

“probably not.”

“right, but you’d like-“

“does it matter?”

“well, yeah, obviously. it’s just with work, it’s like... you know?”

“sure.”

“not that i...”

“sure.”

“although i don’t actually know if...”

“sure.”

“only then it’s like, overall- i think i want to kiss you off-duty.”

“mazel tov.”

“but would you mind?”

“did the tongue-fucking earlier not broadcast that enough?“

“jesus, dude, we’re at a wedding.”

“a lesbian wedding. that’s their expertise.”

he considers this point.

“hey, you wanna...”

“well, the body,” ezra says, albeit reluctantly. he doesn’t like mess.

“oh, sure,” joa says, thinking. “i guess maybe newark ‘02?”

“yeah, whatever,” ezra shrugs, but there’s a suppressed pleasure in the way he clears his throat. “blue’s your color, you know that?”

“my mom used to say. can you take his feet?”

“jesus, the shoes. hey, did you have some of that cocktail thing earlier?”

“yeah, a couple. there wasn’t extra poison again, was there? because last i saw the res-mac the mormons had it and i so do not want to go to their rooms again.”

“watch the stairs. no, and fuck those guys. i could just taste it earlier. the sour cherry’s not bad but the sugar in this decade tastes weird.”

“the rim is the best part, what the hell?”

“your palate is deranged.”

“you eat pickled fish, jackass.”

“fifteen minutes early. what a schlep.”

“kvetch.” 

“vete a la chingada.”

“don’t i have you for that now?”

“jesus, dude, we’re at a wedding.” 

“funny. so, bar?”

“you have blood all over your cuffs.” 

“like anyone’ll notice. dude, you know they do 360s on ice in this decade?”

“no shit.”

“yeah, right?”

“why the hell are we still standing around not drinking?”

“viv is going to be so mad she missed this.”

“good for her. i’m still pissed about the fucking plath thing.”

“oh, my god, dude. you’re such a hypocrite.”

“name one time-”

“seriously? abbie hoffman?”

“fuck you.”

“holy shit, i think i see my aunt again.”

“are you kidding me? is she part-K9?”

“you’re supposed to be cute about it and kiss me again.”

“i’m not going to be cute about it, i hate that woman. you kiss me since you want to be so cute.”

luckily for the both of them, joa has bad taste. he complies.

[sheerfreesia007]

Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 43)

Title: Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 43)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007​​

Words: 2,692

Warnings: Fighting, kidnapping

Tags: @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​, @two-unbeatable-beaters​, @randomness501​, @sevvysaurus​, @paryl​, @fioccodineveautunnale​, @talesfromtheguild​, @secretsihideinside​

Author Notes: I am SO excited to share this chapter with you guys! I loved writing this one! I’m starting to love writing action scenes. Also I feel like this was a little predictable but I loved this chapter. Also I do NOT speak Russian this was all from Google Translate so if any of it’s wrong I’m sorry. Oh and I’m going to have some fun writing for Alexi, we’ll see more of him in the next chapter. :) Please any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Gif Credit: Google

           The restaurant is small and quaint, it’s done up like a 1950’s styled diner in red vinyl seats and shiny chrome accents. The waiters and waitresses are all dressed in red and white collared uniforms with bright chipper smiles that they direct to their patrons with ease. You check your phone one more time to make sure you understood the message you had received from Comm10, your control agent that had gone missing a week ago.

           I’m being held by a group that speaks Russian and the only word I hear repeated is Полоски.

           It had taken you no time at all to translate the Russian word for pinstripe, but it stumped both you and Ginger as to what that could mean. After asking around casually Ginger had figured out that there were a group of Russian men that wore pinstripe suits who frequented a 1950’s diner where they ate dinner almost every night.

           That was why you and Ginger were seated in the diner across the room from the group of men currently; you were hoping to gather some intel on where they were hiding your control agent. If you were successful you’d be able to infiltrate and rescue the agent without having to fight the Russian men.

           You shifted in your seat and tapped on the ear piece in your ear. Earlier you had come in and planted listening devices near the table where the men usually sat so that you could listen in on their conversation without being too close to them.

           “Вы слышали от Романа? Он сказал тебе, когда мы сделаем наш ход?” (Did you hear from Roman? Did he tell you when we make our move?) asked the largest one out of the three of them. He was sitting facing you from across the restaurant and was wearing a loose fitted dark gray pinstripe three piece suit.

           “Нет, перестань спрашивать Алекси. Роман свяжется с нами, когда он свяжется с нами. Там нет спешки. Никто не знает, что мы делаем.” (No, stop asking Alexi. Roman will get in contact with us when he gets in contact with us. There is no rush. No one knows what we are doing.) responded one of the men with their back to you. He was wearing a black and white pinstripe suit and more fitted than the one Alexi wore.

           “Почему ты так волнуешься, Алекси? В этом маленьком городке нет никого, кто понимал бы русский язык. Никто не знает, что мы планируем захватить.” (Why are you so worried Alexi? There's no one in this little town that understand Russian. No one knows that we plan on taking over.) said the last one with a loud laugh. He was also facing away from you but turned his head to look around at the other patrons with a mocking smile, he was wearing a dark blue suit.

           “What are they saying?” came a harsh voice from across from you and your eyes darted over to Ginger who sat glaring at you.

           “Apparently someone named Roman is supposed to contact them to let them know when they are to make their move. But they haven’t said anything about what they’re doing or where our agent is.” You relayed back to her as you turned to look out the window at the people walking by outside.

           “Я устал ждать! Агент, которого мы похитили, не говорит нам ничего полезного! Он бесполезен для нас, я говорю, что мы избавляемся от него.” (I am tired of waiting! The agent we kidnapped is not telling us anything of use! He is no use to us I say we get rid of him.) Alexi said angrily in your earpiece and you gasped softly still staring outside the window. You saw Ginger pointedly look at you out of the corner of your eye and you shook your head slightly so she didn’t garner any attention. Her angry huff was your only response as you focused back on the Russian conversation.

           “Он не бесполезен. Он расскажет нам об агентстве, в котором он работает. Я почти там с ним, еще несколько сеансов с ним, и я смогу взломать его и получить всю информацию, необходимую для Романа.” (He is not useless. He will tell us about the agency he works for. I am almost there with him, just a few more sessions with him and I will be able to crack him and get all of the information needed for Roman.) responded the second man to Alexi. Your heart clenched in your chest at the word “sessions”. You could only imagine what that meant, you only hoped that Comm10 was still hanging in there.

           “Помимо Алекси, Роман сказал нам, что этот план займет много времени. И нам нужен этот агент, чтобы сказать нам, на кого он работает.” (Besides Alexi, Roman told us this plan of his would take a long time to complete. And we need this agent to tell us who he works for.) Your brow furrowed curiously as you wondered why they needed to know who Comm10 worked for so badly.

           “Хорошо, хорошо хорошо. Но давайте вернемся уже, чтобы вы могли выбить информацию из агента. Я хочу покончить с этим уже. Где эта чертова официантка?” (Alright, alright fine. But let's get back already so you can beat the information out of the agent. I want to get on with this already. Where is that damn waitress?) Alexi relented as he threw his hands up in the air. You tensed as you watched his reflection in the window as he looked about the restaurant before calling over their waitress.

           “Are they leaving?” Ginger asked harshly and you nodded your head softly. She huffed and stood from the booth that the two of you had been sitting in. Your head turned to her quickly and watched in shock as she began making her way to the front door in a huff. You silently watched as she flicked her suit jacket from around her hips and her large belt buckle with the Statesman logo flashed out to the patrons nearby her. Sucking in a breath you watched as Alexi’s eyes widened as he spotted her belt buckle. You silently cursed Ginger as Alexi quickly caught the attention of his comrades.

           “Смотри смотри. У нее та же пряжка, что и у агента, которого мы похитили. Как вы думаете, она здесь для него?” (Look, look. She has the same belt buckle as the agent we kidnapped. Do you think she's here for him?) Alexi said softly to his comrades as he nodded his head at the retreating Ginger. You watched as they all stood from the table and fixed their suit jackets before Alexi threw some bills onto the table and they all filed out of the restaurant after Ginger.

           “Fuck Ginger.” You cursed softly as you did the same as the men and dropped a few bills on the table before you quickly left the restaurant. As you exited you looked around for Ginger and didn’t see her anywhere in the parking lot. Making your way over to the simple black compact car you had been driving since the two of you had arrived you noticed the keys to the car scattered on the ground and you crouched down to grab them quickly. Standing back up you twisted and turned to see where they could have dragged Ginger.

           Suddenly you heard a sickening screech and whirled around to see Alexi disappearing an alleyway next to the restaurant with a devious smirk on his face. Darting over to the alleyway you quickly stuck your hands into your jacket pockets and slipped your brass knuckles over your knuckles. You peered around the corner and saw the three Russian men cornering Ginger against the bricks halfway down the alleyway. They weren’t so far down the alleyway but they were far enough from the entrance that they were in the shadows.

           “Hey leave her alone!” you shouted loudly and saw all of them dart their heads to look at you.

           “Ты позаботься о ней, я возьму это.” (You take care of her I'll get this one.) said the third man from the restaurant as he moved away and closer to you. “Sorry miss no problem here. Just friends.” He said in English with a heavy Russian accent as he held his hands up before him in a defenseless stance as he moved closer to you.

           You waited where you were as he stepped closer drawing him far enough away from his comrades before you struck. You sized him up quickly as he advanced and found that he seemed to be smallest of the group with a stock build and a small head. As he stepped even closer to swung out and clocked him in the side of the face making him reel back with a shout. You quickly followed through and swung again with a forceful uppercut to his chin. With another jab to his face the man went down like a sack of potatoes and you shook out your hands before adjusting the brass knuckles and looked back over at Ginger.

           Alexi was now stalking over to you with a menacing glower on his face. You saw over his shoulder that Ginger was fighting off the second man before Alexi was suddenly in your face taking swings at you. You blocked his punches but even with the blocks you executed his power was overwhelming. You darted around him quickly and took jabs that landed on his sides and waist trying to tire him out.

           “Иди сюда, сука. Остановить перемещение.” (Come here you bitch. Stop moving.) Alexi growled out as he flung his hand out and gripped your neck tightly. Your hands came up to grab onto his one and tried to pry him off of your neck.

           “Вы первая сука.” (You first bitch.) you spat out at him as he easily began to lift you in the air. You watched as Alexi’s eyes widened and then an evil smirk flickered over his lips.

           “О, она боец этот. Она мне нравится.” (Oh she's a fighter this one. I like her.) Alexi said tauntingly over his shoulder to his comrade and smirked in your face as he held you inches above the ground like you weighed nothing. You gritted your teeth and then flung one of your fists back to punch hard into Alexi’s sternum. He choked and instantly dropped you as his hands went to his chest. You dropped onto your booted feet and swung one leg up to kick Alexi in the groin and he crumpled to the ground with a loud groan.

           You gasped for air for a minute before you straightened up and looked over to Ginger who was finishing with the guy who had crowded her against the brick. You watched as she delivered a punch to his face and he slumped against the brick. Making your way over to her quickly you assessed her for any injuries.

           “You okay?” you asked softly and she nodded at you quickly. The two of you began to move to the entrance of the alleyway and had just passed the first guy you fought who was still laying on the ground out cold when you felt a large beefy arm wrap around your neck and drag you back against a hard chest.

           “Ты думаешь, я позволю тебе уйти от этого легко драгоценного? О нет, я не закончил веселиться с тобой.” (You think I'd let you get away that easily precious one? Oh no, I'm not done having fun with you.) came Alexi’s sinister voice in your ear. Your hands came to grip his large arm against your neck. You gasped out and tried to swing your elbow back into his side but he easily blocked your attempt. You widened your eyes at Ginger who stood a few feet away from the two of you staring with horrified eyes. You silently pleaded with her to not leave you to these guys.

           But you watched as something in her eyes changed and she turned and ran from the alleyway leaving you to a fate that you’d never leave anyone to. You began struggling harder against Alexi and heard his dark chuckle in your ear.

           “О, так грустно, что ты не можешь доверять даже своему товарищу, чтобы помочь тебе дорогой. Я собираюсь приятно провести время с тобой, дорогой.” (Oh so sad that you can't trust even your comrade to help you precious one. I'm going to enjoy my time with you precious one.) Alexi whispered into your ear and you tensed against him. Just then you felt a prick on your arm and your world suddenly went black.

             Jack ran down the hallway towards the conference room where he knew Champ, Tequila and Ginger were. Anger and fury was roiling inside him as he moved as quickly as he could. Bursting through the door his eyes darted around the room before they landed on Ginger who was standing at the end of the large table with a few cuts and bruises on her face. The all-consuming fury that flooded his body even scared him a little, but by the blanched wide eyed look on Ginger’s face it scared her more. Tequila was up quickly out of his seat and moving to Jack with his hands splayed out.

           “Easy Whiskey.” Tequila said softly.

           “You! You left her!?” Jack shouted angrily as he severely pointed his index finger at Ginger accusingly.

           “Whiskey!” Champ shouted in shock at his outburst.

           “No! I told you she wasn’t ready! This is why I voted no on you every fucking time Ginger. Because I knew you couldn’t hack it when it came push to shove! You don’t turn tail on your fellow agent in the field!” Jack shouted angrily as he continued to point his finger accusingly at Ginger who just stood there look like she was terrified.

           “Whiskey enough!” Champ shouted loudly. “We are doing everything that we can to get her back.”

           “That’s not enough! She shouldn’t have even been put in this spot!” Jack snapped angrily back at Champ. Jack looked over to Tequila who nodded at him in solidarity.

           “I agree with Whiskey. There should’ve been at least another agent with them.” Tequila agreed amicably.

           “I don’t appreciate you questioning my skills.” Ginger said snootily as she turned her nose up in the air.

           “You left an agent in the field to your targets!” Jack snapped so fiercely at Ginger that she flinched back away from him. “That’s the one rule you don’t ever break! You always have your partner’s back no matter what!”

           “Ginger you’re demoted back to lab coordinator.” Champ said decisively and Ginger balked at him.

           “What?! You can’t do that!” she snapped angrily as she glared at Champ.

           “I run this agency not you. What I say goes! And Whiskey’s right you always have your partner’s back no matter what.” He said unwaveringly and Ginger hung her head. “You’re dismissed, report back in three days you’re on suspension.” He said resolutely and Ginger nodded her head in shame as she slinked out of the conference room. Champ turned to Whiskey once the door shut behind Ginger. “You were right I’m sorry. I should’ve seen that she’s not fit for field work.”

           “A whole lot good that apology is.” Jack snipped angrily at Champ who just nodded his head. “What are we doing to find her?” Jack then asked as he looked imploring at Champ. The older man shoved a large file across the table to Jack and Tequila and the two of them peered at the file as Jack flipped it open.

           “We’re tracking them with help from your girl. She was able to set off her gps tracker before the targets took her jacket and weapons from her we assume. But they keep moving or there’s something interfering with the signal from her tracker. I’m going to need you and Tequila to gear up and go huntin’ for her.” Champ explained as both Jack and Tequila read the file quickly as they nodded.

           “We can be ready in a half hour.” Jack said adamantly and Tequila nodded next to him.