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chilly-me-softly · 3 years ago

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fluff alphabet for jordan (henderson)

This is my first alphabet so hope I did it right and that you like it! x

A - APRON

Jordan wasn't the best cook in the world, he kept it simple and always made the same recipes sure that the result was more than acceptable. And you loved to see him in action, from the moment he put on his apron until he got to the cooker, his expression always focused as if he were in the middle of a surgical operation. And then his eagerness to know if it was good, the smile on his face when you complimented him, him enormously pleased with himself.

B - BALL

Of course he always has a ball between his feet, many times urging you to play with him. And you're not a professional player at his level, but you certainly manage to distract him in other ways...

C - CUDDLE

After a day of practice what better thing than holding you in his arms while you tell him what happened while he was gone or anything else that comes to mind. Your voice is better than any relaxing drink, so much so that many times he has closed his eyes without even noticing.

But it's the little circles you draw on his arm, the light kisses you leave on his chin from time to time that make his night. Because no matter how much he likes being around the boys, no one pampers him like you do.

D - DINOSAUR

The little dinosaur is supposed to be for your son, but ever since it was given to you, it keeps you company when you're alone. Or even to annoy Jordan as he often complains that you spend more time hugging that soft toy than he does.

"I swear, as soon as he's born, I'll let him have it"

"If you say so" Jordan strokes your eight month old baby bump with a smile on his face, "did you hear mommy? She'll leave you her toys" he leaves a light kiss on your belly as you gasp hitting him with the dinosaur head.

"You're really mean Jordan, go away I never want to see you again" you put on a fake pout as he looks at you softly getting up to be at your height.

"How about you keep this dinosaur, and our son gets another one? You can match"

"I don't need a stuffed animal, I'm a big girl now" but you don't believe it either, him raising an eyebrow clearly amused and you hitting him with the dinosaur again.

E - EXERCISE

Even on his days off Jordan had to work out, the home gym built for the occasion. And he loves showing off for you, when you go to sit on a bench and your gaze settles on his toned, sweaty body.

"Like what you see?" he sneers, gently passing the towel over his face and then laying it on your shoulders, you rolling your eyes faking nonchalance.

"Please my lover is in better shape"

"Oh yeah?" Jordan walks over trapping your legs against the bench and starting to lie on top of you.

"No Jordan you're sticky" you try to desist but he's already on your lips. So you draw him to you by the neck, the thin layer of clothing separating you starting to get annoying.

F - FAMILY PHOTO

Jordan literally loves family photos, a big one of you just on the fireplace. He claims that every year you have to redo it because you all change so much, especially the little ones. Plus that year there is a new member of the family so it has to be redone.

You smile, arranging the ribbon around the baby's head in your arms as a three-year-old runs past your side almost tripping.

"Careful" you sigh, "Come on come over here next to us so we can take the picture and then you can go play" you don't know how he hasn't gotten dirty in some way yet. Jordan and the light shirt obsession. It's cute but totally not appropriate for a vulcano like your kid.

Finally Jordan arrives after talking to the photographer about the shots, wrapping an arm around you briefly. He places a kiss on your temple and the forehead of the little one in your arms before stopping the baby who was about to run away again.

"Just two minutes okay?" he smiles, crouching down and resting his hands on the kid's shoulders, smoothing down his jacket and adjusting his little bow tie before guiding him back to his seat.

And at the end of the week all you have to do is choose the best photo.

G - GETAWAY

Especially in summer you used to disappear to spend some time alone away from schedules, appointments, dinners to attend, families. Nothing was better than disconnecting, just you and Jordan relaxing in a secluded place or being tourists in some unknown location. You did everything you could to keep your mind off your troubles for even a couple of nights and it was always worth it.

H - HUG

All you had to do was say that word and Jordan would drop what he was doing, his arms gently around your body. Sometimes you did it just for the sake of it, but most of the time you just felt the need to be held and he was almost always there to satisfy you.

I - ILL

Sick Jordan was absolutely something. His unkempt state, his bright eyes and his drawling smile made him so cute in your eyes even though he felt like crap.

"Stop looking at me like that" he complains as he always does trying to hide his head somewhere while you smile.

"I'm not doing anything"

"You're looking at me" his voice comes muffled from under the pillow as you try to take it off, stroking his slightly damp hair. You liked taking care of him for once, even if it meant he wasn't at his best. He always seemed so strong, always available for you and that was one of the few times you could somehow return the favour.

He got annoying but you couldn't really take it out on him, could you?!

J - JORDAN

You didn't use nicknames, his name was good like that and you didn't need to change it or not use it at all. And he loved to hear his name coming from you. With hilarity when you were having fun; with sweetness in intimate moments; and yet angry, joking, alarmed, every possible nuance brought a smile to his face.

K - KEY

You were having breakfast one morning, you were enjoying your bowl of cereal while his had become un-eatable by now as he kept throwing you glances not caring about it.

He continues to twist something between the fingers of the hand he has hidden from your view when suddenly Jordan reaches across the table, sliding something towards you. A key.

"This is the house key. I wanted to... well give it to you but don't feel pressured in any way" he doesn't know exactly what he's nervous about, many times he's left you his keys to get in or when he was out of town for emergencies. But you looking at him motionless certainly doesn't help him. Has he made a mistake?

"You're giving me the key to your house?" your gaze on that object, incredulous, not touching it as if it might shock you. "Really?" you always had his keys on loan, having your own meant he trusted you enough to let you into his space even unannounced, or that you wouldn't lose it and risk someone else finding it. It was a really great gesture.

"Yeah I mean I thought you could have your own copy, and use it even when I'm here" a huge smile breaks across your face as you stand up going to sit on Jordan's lap, him scooting his chair further back to allow you to be more comfortable.

"That's...I have no words. Just thank you"

"I like the idea of coming home to find you already comfortable"

"Oh I surely will" you chuckle as you finally take that key in your hands, snapping to your feet causing a confused expression to appear on Jordan's face as you leave for the door.

"I forgot something" you walk back inside using the key and going straight to leave a kiss on his lips as he stands up immediately wrapping his arms around your body. "Are you crazy? It's so cold out there"

"I have a key now" you state with satisfaction as you cling to him.

L - LAUGH

Definitely his trademark, you can recognise it even with your eyes closed. You couldn't be more different than that, you always trying to be as quiet as possible while he was always so loud. But you couldn't help but be mesmerised by his face when he laughed, from his squinted eyes to his head thrown back.

"If I were to lose my memory, I'm sure your laugh would make me remember you" a soft smile on your face as you looked up at him slightly from below lying on his chest as he raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? Why would you lose your memory?"

"I said if, it's a scenario" you roll your eyes pouting, him quickly running his thumb over your lips to remove it.

"Why do you always have to be so tragic?"

"Ugh Jordan it was a compliment, it's not my fault you don't get it" and that laugh is always there to fill your heart.

M - MATCHDAY

Every home game Jordan is sure to have you at the stadium cheering for him. Over the years that has never changed, only skipping games when you weren't feeling well or when you were really pregnant and Jordan would be more concerned about you and your safety than the outcome of the game.

A little unspoken routine between you, him always leaving home early no matter the kick off time to review tactics and you sending him a text to wish him luck with a picture of you - and later a picture of you and the kids - wearing his jersey.

After the match regardless of the result and after he has done any interviews, here you are together sharing a short but sweet moment. You remind him how proud you are of him, the children want to go and play on the pitch.

N - NOSE

His nose brushes your neck as he snuggles up against you to rest; his nose brushes yours gently in an Eskimo kiss before he makes your lips connect; his nose brushes your skin after you have just stepped out of the shower. You often teased him by saying he looked like a tracker but you liked that little attention, the build up to what came next.

O - OLD

You always tease him by claiming he's getting old, sprawled out on the couch after spending half an hour chasing his son completely out of energy while the kid would happily take another ten thousand steps in the backyard.

"If I'm old then so are you, you know that don't you?"

"Yeah" you shrug, "but I'm still younger than you"

P - PIXEL

It's no secret that Jordan travels a lot during the year, your pixilated face seen more times than he'd like. But you don't hold it against him, besides being work it's his dream and moving around so much means he's living it to the fullest; that he's required and indispensable to the team besides being its captain of course.

You have learned to live the moments when you are together, to cheer and not waste it. And every time he stops to look at you while you're sleeping by his side or even just at any other time, he can't stop remembering how much those pixels don't really do you justice.

R - RING

It was a normal day in your life when you realised as a teenager that you had a thing for guys' hands, and if they had rings for some reason it was a bonus.

And many times you'd literally froze as you stared at Jordan's hands moving as he talked or wrote or cooked, the addition of that ring after your wedding didn't help the cause. You were brought back down to earth by his laughter because it was always surprising how one minute you were actively participating in the conversation and the next you were like in trance.

S - SAFE

You don't think you've ever told him verbally but you were lucky enough to have met him. Jordan makes you feel safe and you don't talk about the need to be defended from the bad. You know that with Jordan you can talk about whatever is on your mind without fear of being judged, you know he will always be there for you no matter what. You're immediately heartened by the reminder that he's by your side because any moment is less hard if the right person is by your side.

T - TOMORROW

It is something you often talk about, tomorrow. Everything is unpredictable, you never wanted to make long-term plans because you never know what might happen but only one thing you know for sure that you want Jordan by your side. And your idea matches his.

"You are my tomorrow and as long as I wake up with you by my side I will have a reason to smile"

U - UNIVERSE

"You are my universe"

"Stop it"

"But you are, why wouldn't I tell you" he chuckles as you hit him trying to hide your face.

You are one who is always on the move, always available for others but at the same time doesn't know how to react to compliments. You do what you do not to be praised or anything else but just because you feel like it and every time after a compliment of any kind any word would seem unnecessary, making you stand in front of that person smiling embarrassed making you feel uncomfortable. There, if you had to find a word to describe it you could say that compliments make you uncomfortable.

And Jordan knows this very well, but every now and then when you're alone he starts showering you with compliments and sweet phrases for the sake of it. But the truth is that he likes it when you blush, your cheeks turning red as you do your best not to look him in the eye or hide your face in your hands.

V - VOWS

It seemed years away, but your wedding day had arrived overwhelmingly. You couldn't wait to experience that day and those emotions to the fullest. The thing that had been most challenging for you was the vows, so many things to say without finding the right words. Everything seemed already said, obvious, not perfect and several times you had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown for that small detail.

But on your wedding day, no one around you exists anymore. There's just you and Jordan and your hearts full of love for each other, his thumb caressing the back of your hand for support. You almost forget what you've been struggling to write over those last few months, the words that come easily from your lips just by looking into his eyes.

W - WINNER

Winner takes it all. Jordan watches from afar as you joke with some of his teammates and the only thing he can think about is how that year just ended was one of the most amazing of his life so far, both professionally and in his personal life. He had achieved extraordinary goals with the team, broken records and set new ones. And then he had you who had given him a child a few months earlier and he felt like a winner.

Y - YUMMY

"Yeah that's yummy" Jordan watches his baby close his mouth around the spoon and then bring his thumb to his mouth getting messy with his own food.

"Why do you do that hm? Why?" his tone of voice only makes the child laugh as he waits for another bite clapping his hands on the high chair. Jordan quickly satisfies him seeing the same scene repeat itself, the little hands that have now become sticky and are getting everything they touch dirty like they always do at feeding time.

Z - ZOOM

His professionalism never fails to amaze you as you watch him from afar managing to handle questions in front of a computer. It will be the third interview in which he's asked the same things over and over again and you have never seen him make any gesture of tiredness or annoyance. And you are waiting for him to finally get up from that chair to wrap him in your arm and give him the right amount of pampering he needs to clear his head of everything.

#thank you anon #jordan henderson #jordan henderson blurb

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aomine-ryo · 4 years ago

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A scenario please for my sunshine kiseee ahhhh ❤️❤️ um, basically, kaijo lost in such a close game; and kise cries because he gave it his all, but it just wasn't their time. And reader is in the bleachers/stands, and when she sees kise cry, she cries with him--then she rushes to hug him and comfort him. Angst, comfort, and fluff please!!! 😭❤️ Thank youu ☺️

Ah the pain 😔 I hope you like this one!! xx

Scenario: comforting Kise who just lost a game

Kise had been working hard— it goes without question. Literally anyone could tell you that he was determined to win the semifinals against Rakuzan. Almost all his free time would be spent practicing in the gym— and most of the time he never even had anyone to practice with. He just felt like he needed to be working his absolute hardest if he was going to go up against one of the top schools in the country, much less the captain of his former team.

You were very much aware about how much this game meant to him so you tried to support him as much as you could. You took the time to make him some snacks for training as well as kept him company whenever he was practicing alone. Every now and then he’d make you practice with him and while you’d usually refuse, you were much more tolerant about it now.

At last, it was game day. You made sure that you kept that day free of any plans because you intended on being there for your boyfriend the entire time. You were seated in the stands amidst a sizeable crowd after wishing Kise good luck. You could feel the anticipation in the air— the whole arena knew that this match was going to be a nail-biter and for some reason your stomach was turning. You weren’t the one playing— why were you this nervous?

Just as the teams were walking onto the court to warm up, Momoi and Aomine spotted you and decided to keep you company during the game. It didn’t really make too much of a difference to you whether you were alone or not though. Your sole focus was Kise. However, maybe a few explanations here and there from Aomine or Momoi may be helpful.

Somehow, in the crowd of a good hundred people or so, Kise managed to spot you in the front row. With a massive smile on his face, he waved, making you feel a little more at ease as you waved back excitedly as if you were one of his fangirls. Little did you know that Kise was going to puke from nerves. As soon as he walked on court, his eyes scanned the stands in search of you, the only one who he knew could bring him comfort. And of course, there you were, front and center, supporting him with all you had.

“Tch, that idiot is really that confident about this game that he’s taking the time to wave to you huh?” Aomine scoffed.

“One wave isn’t going to be the downfall of his abilities Dai-chan— I think it’s sweet,” Momoi snapped back at him for you.

You tried to chat with the two of them as you waited for the game to start, though your mind was filled with other thoughts.

Finally, it was time for the match to begin. The two teams lined up at the center of the court, each of them looking as strong as ever. At that point you already felt like you were about to explode— you were in for a long 40 minutes.

Straight off the bat, Kaijo managed to get a shot in, seemingly as a way to intimidate their opponents. And of course, it had to be Kise doing it, sending you and the rest of the crowd into a fit of cheers. Almost instantly though, Rakuzan returned the favour with a basket of their own— this wasn’t going to be an easy match.

The game went on, with momentum constantly switching between the two teams to the point where by the last quarter, it could still be anyone’s game. Kise was exhausted though. He’d been working his ass for for three quarters straight because he was determined not to lose, but the fatigue was finally beginning to hit him. He did his best to brush it off and endure it for just ten more minutes. If he could get through just this one quarter, that would be it. Victory was right in front of him and he was going to grab it for his team. Or so he thought.

It wasn’t an easy fight. With a few seconds remaining, Rakuzan managed to grab a one point lead. The entire arena seemed to come to the conclusion that Rakuzan had won this one. But Kise wasn’t ready to accept that. No, there’s two seconds left. If he could just make it to the halfway line—

The whistle blew.

For a moment everything went quiet around Kise as he stood there in shock; lungs feeling as though they were weighing him down. Eventually the crowd erupted in cheers but they were all drowned out by Kise’s thoughts. He gave it his all. He trained and trained and trained but it still wasn’t enough. He still couldn’t give Kaijo the victory they deserved. He still couldn’t prove that he was the strongest— there was always going to be someone above him and right now, that thought was suffocating.

A pat on the back from Moriyama snapped him back into reality. “Come on, let’s line up,” he said softly. Kise could hear the disappointment in his tone. And upon further observation, his whole team had their heads down in regret, causing Kise’s eyes to fill up with tears. This was the end of the Winter Cup for Kaijo.

After thanking his opponents, Kise did his best to wipe away his tears, but it was no use. The tears just kept falling and falling as his mind filled with regret. If he had just worked harder, if he spent just a little more time practicing, if he got just one more point... maybe the outcome would be different.

Meanwhile, you remained at the edge of your seat with one hand clasped over your mouth in disbelief while the other one gripped Momoi’s hand so tight that it might just break. Each match has a winner and a loser— you were painfully aware of that. But still, you weren’t expecting either team to lose, though this was the worst possible outcome.

Looking down at the court, you could see your boyfriend seated on the bench with a hopeless look on his face as tears streamed down his cheeks. It hurt seeing him like that. It hurt seeing someone who was usually so bubbly and full of life look utterly defeated.

Tears filled your eyes as you finally let go of Momoi and rushed out of the stands to meet him in the hallways. The place was a maze of crowded and buzzing corridors but you ran all over the place in search of Kise. You didn’t know if anything you had to say would comfort him, but you couldn’t stand to see him look so despaired.

Finally, you spotted his team heading your direction. Kise didn’t even notice you. His eyes were fixated on the ground. He was still crying. You immediately ran over to him and wrapped your arms around his body as tightly as you possibly could, taking him by surprise for a moment though your hug was quickly returned.

In any other situation, the team would’ve told you and Kise to walk along with them, but this time they just left you two alone after telling Kise to meet up with them outside. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better game to watch, Y/N-cchi,” Kise sobbed, hugging you as if his life depended on it.

“Don’t apologise, idiot. You did your best,” you said, trying to be the stronger one here though you were crying yourself.

“But my best wasn’t good enough,” he said, voice breaking and causing your heart to ache for him. You couldn’t even imagine how awful he must feel.

You pulled away from the hug so that you could look him in the eyes. Sniffling, you wiped his tears away with the end of your sleeve. “Listen, you played so, so well out there. I bet he won’t admit it, but even Aomine said that you improved a lot and that he wanted to play a one-on-one with you again— act surprised if he texts you about it by the way,” you joked, making him let out a small chuckle, which made you glad. “Even Aomine freakin’ Daiki said you played well, and that man doesn’t give out compliments for the life of him. Trust me, you were absolutely amazing— everyone thinks so. And I know you’ll absolutely crush it next time,” you said, cupping his face in your hands.

Kise felt his heart melt at the sound of your words. He was really so incredibly lucky to have you. How’d you even manage to make him smile after a loss like that? “I love you, Y/N,” he sniffled.

“I love you too, Ryouta,” you smiled at him before getting on your toes to place a kiss on his cheek. “Now come on, the team is probably waiting for you. Why don’t we go out for dinner together? My treat. We can go to that restaurant you like.”

“That sounds nice. You don’t have to treat me like a baby though,” Kise said. It was his turn to wipe the tears off of your face before the two of you began to walk hand in hand.

“Why not? You’re cute enough to pass off as one,” you smiled.

“Look who’s talking,” Kise retorted. Just like that, Kise was smiling again. He was still frustrated about the whole thing but for now, he had you by his side, and that’s all that mattered.

#kuroko no basket #kurokos basketball #kuroko no basket x reader #kise ryota x reader #kise ryota #kise ryouta #kise x reader #knb #generation of miracles #kaijo high

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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Growing Pains | TFW

Request: Hey! Can I please request a platonic x reader with team free will 2.0? The reader gets turned back to a toddler by a witch and they try to ask Rowena for help but, the spell lasts for a week and it's just plain chaotic. The reader is extremely clumsy and hungry but knows a few words like "Hungry" and "Thirsty". The rest is up to you 😊. Thanks in advance!

A/N: It is a little different from the request, so I hope you don’t mind, also it’s not great. And I’m terribly sorry for the wait, I hope you can understand why xxx

Walking around the lab, you screwed your face up at the mess. It was like toddler’s had been let loose in the room, there was glass broken upon the floor, paper thrown out of the shredder, and worst of all, no one to condemn for the death of the scientist.

Sighing, you shut your eyes, leaning back into one of the counters. “So, the guy that was killed had like a dozen or so kids and we can’t find a single one of them, or the mother?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose as Cas circled the room once more, seeing if he could find anything that your human eyes had missed. But alas, there was no ultimatum, nothing that could direct the pair of you to answers.

“That sounds about right.” Dean’s gruff voice came from the doorway, stepping on shards of glass as he came closer to the two of you. “Although at this time, I am calling shots on the mom being the killer.”

“We don’t even know if this is up our alley Dean.” You sighed, opening your eyes and looking at the older hunter. “Did you get anything from the co-workers?”

“Not a peep.” His tone was almost too cheerful, especially considering the circumstances. The group of you were nowhere near completing this case, and all he could think about was the burger joint around the corner. You were close enough to it, that you would give in and accompany him. “Who’s hungry?”

“After the sight of the guts strung in the ceiling fan,” you looked up to emphasise your point, “I think I may have lost what appetite that I had left.”

“Bad luck. You snooze, you lose.” With that he left the room, presumably heading off to stuff his face. It was impossible not to roll your eyes at his childish behaviour, although in all fairness, you should have been used to it by now. However your dear angel friend remained with you.

“We should meet with Sam and Jack, and see if they have found anything in the house.” Castiel spoke, confused by the lack of evidence in this death. There was nothing that could have helped, even the majority of the man’s body was gone.

“Why would someone have that many children?” It was a rhetorical question, but just the thought of your body going through it’s natural process that many times made you shiver.

“To repopulate.” Cas put simply, although that was a straightforward fact. But that was not what you had meant, admittedly you had a soft spot for kids, even missed being one sometimes.

“I know, but doesn’t that seem sort of strange to you?” Your mind was spinning with all sorts of possibilities, of what could and couldn’t be going on. Unless, well... “It could be like some sort of supernatural litter, or they’re breeding test subjects. Is there even any record of them having that many children?”

Your conclusions made your friend frown, and he pointed his finger up, unintentionally pointing to the tendril of flesh that was hanging from the fan above.

“We should check the records.” And with that he grabbed your bag from just outside of the room, pulling your laptop from out of it. Just then, your phone began ringing. It was Sam, and so you answered.

“Hey, you find anything?” There was silence on the other end, until you heard the shrill sound of what you supposed to be a child.

“Was that Jack or -”

“Hey!” The nephilim retorted. You could already picture the child like frown on his face, but before either of you could bicker about your comparison, the Winchester on call spoke first.

“She left one of her kids, and we found hex bags.” He breathed, relieved that this did in fact involve what you all were guessing to be a witch, yet also frustrated about how messy this all was. “But the thing is, this son of hers was closed in the basement, and the only thing down there for him to eat down there was a man’s leg...”

“We should get that tested, it could be the father.” You said, trying to think about this case adjoined with all of its new revelations. “So, what is her goal here, she’s trying to turn her own children into cannibals?”

“That’s how the ‘myth’ of the wendigo started in human folklore.” Jack commented, before he frowned. Him and Sam both let out shouts, making you fear for the pair.

“Sam?”

“She doesn’t have any children, nor did he.” Cas spoke, the content on the screen disarranging this entire predicament further. “What just happened Sam?”

His breathing could still be heard from the other end of the line. It seemed like he was in shock of some sort.

“You’ve got that right, Cas.” He breathed, referring to the fact that she had no spawn. “And I suspect the others are like him. He’s just turned into a grown man, we’re going to attempt to get an answer to who he is. Be careful if you encounter Mrs Fletcher, both of you.”

So, now you had a presumed answer on how Mr Fletcher had died, you had to tell Dean. Quickly, you and Cas left the scene, looking for the elder Winchester, remembering to take any of your items with you.

“Thankyou.” You nodded, doing all of the talking to any police whilst Cas held your phone at an arm’s length. “Got any clues on where our witch works?” You asked him.

Sam replied soon, making the matter of reaching Dean that more prominant. “West Street, not far from where you are. At the burger joint, Paula’s.”

“Shit!”

When you and Castiel arrived, Dean Winchester was nowhere to be found. That fact had you deeply concerned, more so than you would usually be on a hunt. This presumed witch was targeting adults, and not only did he and the majority of you fit the agenda, but you didn’t want to know what would happen if you ended up disturbing her crosshairs.

There was no one inside, excluding yourself and the angel. It was eerie, almost too quiet to be owned by a witch. Scratch that, definitely too quiet.

“Behind the counter.” You nodded towards the door, taking the lead first, lightly pushing it. The bell atop of it jingled, making you blink hazily, before all turned to a deep gaze of pixels.

Castiel walked closer to you, tapping your forehead, but to no avail was your state resolved. Instead, you felt the need to collapse and keep your eyes contained behind their lids. And so you gave into that feeling, only hearing the voices of Sam and Jack before it was over.

When you awoke, you were in your bed in the bunker, but it felt much larger than it ever had before. There was so much room to move upon the mattress, the duvet even felt bigger.

As you looked down at your hands, you realised they had shrunk significantly. For all you were aware, this could all have been a very lucid dream, but you doubted that. As a hunter, the strange things were never false, they were real.

Attempting to leave your bed, you dropped your legs over the side, although they were now incapable of touching the floor. Instead of landing upright, you fell, causing a thud against the floor.

The sound had obviously rendered, and it removed all thoughts that were rattling around in your mind. Memories flashed before your eyes, sending a haze of dizziness to your shrunken body, until they all left, making you aloof in your own adult room.

Dean rushed out of his own reside as he heard the thud. He had followed the witch around the back and shanked her, but there had been a second plan up her long black sleeves. And he should have known, as he walked into your room, only to find a little girl with a strong resemblance to you.

This was her charade when alive, and the issue still stuck even now even when she was dead. Dean rubbed his face, feeling the muscles that were tensing beneath the skin. And now they were left with the outcome that they and you had tried to resolve.

Looking down at your youthful silhouette reminded Dean as to exactly why he hated witches so much. They were deceitful and cruel, and unfortunately so much more. “Sam!” He called out in a hurry, cradling your small, whining body in his arms.

You tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but your once fellow hunter would not allow you to do so. There was no logic turning in the cogs of your mind, instead, you were much rather shy to someone that you were viewing as a stranger.

In a flash, Sam was at the threshold of your door, looking in as it was ajar. He saw Dean with a kid, and there was only one explanation for it. They had been hustled whilst the witch turned in her grave...

Cas examined a book in the war room, whilst Jack followed his actions. Sam was on the phone with Rowena, asking, some would see it as begging, the witch to come and fix you up. And thus, Dean was left with you, whilst he nursed a beer in his opposite hand.

You tried to reach the glass bottle, but Dean jerked it away from your grasp. “No.” He warned you, having continuously done so before when you were too lazy to fetch your own from the fridge. But that didn’t stop you, instead it humoured you, making you laugh at the perceived game.

“Stop it.” He spoke again, making Jack laugh at your stubbornness which clearly hadn’t changed. For once, it was nice for him not to be the youngest in the room, even though technically he still wasn’t. But all got distracted when Sam huffed a sigh of relief over the phone.

“Okay, great. Me and Dean will meet you there.” And then he hung up.

Rather than being in Dean’s arms once again, you had been traded to Sam’s as the eldest drove Baby to the destination that Rowena had proposed. “Thirsty.” You mumbled, a gurgle following your very short sentence.

Sam looked at Dean, who only shrugged. He was unsure of what to do, they couldn’t stop at a gas station, otherwise they would miss their meeting with Rowena, and as they knew far too well, she was a tricky one to get a hold of.

“No you’re not.” Dean told you, trying to convince your mind otherwise to its actual thoughts. For the moment of which you were silent, he thought it may have worked, however the peace was not eternal, for you spoke again.

“Hungry.” You managed to speak next, making Dean huff from exhaustion. He thought of your need for a drink, and then it clicked, he tipped his head back at Sam.

“There’s a beer in the back.” It possibly could have rolled under his seat, these roads to the witch were bumpy. Sam gasped at the statement, placing his hand on your back as he bounced you and kept you distracted from your desires.

“Please tell me that you’re not serious.” At this point, Sam would not be surprised with his brother. Quite clearly, as much as the man adored kids, he was getting quite fed up with you in this state. It was day in, day out and yet the effects still hadn’t worn themselves out.

“She’s technically of legal drinking age.” He shrugged, remembering all of the times that you would steal his beer from the fridge, or even sometimes his hands.

“Technically,” the younger of the two pried, glaring at his brother, “currently she isn’t,”

“We’re here anyway.” Dean cut the conversation short, putting the car in park. For the first time in his life, the hunter and legacy was eager to see Rowena. Never did he think that day would ever come, but somehow your obliviousness had landed you all here, and he hated it.

Sam got out of the car, carrying you to a bench that Dean had decided to park his own rear on. There was a nice breeze whipping his hair before his face, and this younger you mirrored the reaction the elder one would have had.

You laughed, watching the swarm of locks cover his face, and move to the other side, with the swiftest and slightest motions as the direction switched itself up.

Footsteps, clearly heels, could be heard clicking their way over. It was isolated in this park, presumably the redhead’s doing as she came into view with an amused grin stretching her chin.

“Well, if I was not already quite acquainted with the pair of you, I would presume the two of you were fathers to dear little (Y/N).” Rowena bent forward, ignoring the glares she received from the men, ogling at your youthful expressions. “Are you sure that you don’t want to keep her like this? She is quite adorable when she hasn’t got the brains to work with my son when the two of you dimwits think it fits into your narrative. Or hold a gun to the back of my neck and blackmail me with my own security.”

“Definitely.” Was Dean’s instant response. He could not do another day with baby you, he’d start going grey, or his eyes would turn black all of a sudden from pent up rage.

“Yes, Rowena.” Sam answered, bowing his head, as your fingers decided to thread themselves through his hair.

“Shame.” She pouted briefly, before waving her hand, and then you were, dazed, but sat in Sam’s lap, full size. As soon as you came to, your eyes widened at the position you were in, and you were quick to launch yourself out of it. He however sat there stunned. “Told you we should have called her earlier.” Sam said, still feeling awkward from your exchange, and Dean only grunted in a reply.

Dean knew for sure though, you had been a pain in the ass. If it ever happened again, he would just leave you with Jack and Cas.

#supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural prompts #supernatural requests #tfw x reader #tfw imagine #team free will #team free will x reader #dean winchester imagines #sam and dean #sam winchester imagine #cas x reader

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xjoonchildx · 5 years ago

Text

danger | ksj x reader chapter one: good girl

summary: kim seokjin is a rich asshole. you are an ambitious attorney. smut ensues when he just won’t leave you alone.

pairing: seokjin/reader word count: 8.6K (Part 1 of 2)

rating: 18+

genre: smut | pwp | okay fine, porn with a thin plot | but it’s really thin

warnings: hate sex, language, terrible ethical decisions, blatant misuse of office furniture

Chapter 01 | 02

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

Are you fucking kidding me? What am I to you? Am I easy to you? Are you playing with me? You are in danger now Why are you testing me? Why are you testing me? Don’t get me twisted

-- BTS, "Danger"

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

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You look up from your phone to the bartender who’s just walked up to you. He’s holding a bottle of champagne.

“Yes?”

“The gentleman sitting just over there sent this for you.”

Your gaze follows the direction of his nod and immediately your blood warms to a boil.

The man who’s just finished wiping the floor with your ass in court has just sent you a bottle of champagne. Champagne is for celebrating, not for self-medicating after a brutal trial with a shitty outcome. But of course, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?

You’d spotted the hint of a smile on Kim Seokjin’s lips in the quick moment you’d looked his way. He was seated at a table -- surrounded by his adoring lackeys -- who were no doubt high-fiving themselves into a frenzy after this afternoon’s verdict. You’d been so busy drowning your sorrows in wine and furiously texting with Nari that you hadn’t even noticed his entire group’s arrival.

The absolute nerve of this man.

“I don’t want it,” you say. “Please send it back.”

The bartender looks flustered for a moment, glancing at Seokjin and then back to you.

“But Miss, this is a very expensive bottle of champagne,” he protests kindly.

“I know that,” you reply quickly, which is bullshit because you don’t know anything about champagne but you’ll be damned if you let this server or Kim Seokjin know that.

“I still don’t want it.”

“Alright then, I’ll take it back,” he says nervously, clearing his throat. No doubt he’s not looking forward to telling the pompous prick you’ve turned away his selfless gift. “If you’re sure, that is.”

You make certain to give the bartender your warmest smile because you know he is looking.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

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

Kim Seokjin has never had to think about concepts like student loans and overdue rent. He’s never had to lie awake at night praying for an opportunity to get ahead.

Status and success are his birthright.

If you had to guess, you’d say those broad shoulders come from weekends spent lugging a bag of golf clubs across manicured greens. Those muscular legs are probably the result of hours of vigorous tennis at his family’s estate. And the face? Word on the street is that his mother was a beauty queen which fits quite nicely into his rich boy trifecta.

Truly, you can’t stand the sight of him.

But if you’re being honest with yourself, the worst thing about Kim Seokjin -- the thing that really sets your teeth on edge -- is that he’s a damned good attorney.

Maybe daddy’s money got him into the best schools, but he clearly paid attention. So instead of spending his days playing polo or drinking manhattans or doing whatever it is obscenely rich people do all day, he spends his days in court litigating circles around some unfortunate opponent.

Just your luck that his last two opponents happen to be you.

Kim Seokjin has single-handedly put an end to your personal hot streak. You should be celebrating a big win right now but instead you’ve run straight into a brick wall.

A tall, broad, well-dressed brick wall.

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

“Do you think he’s gay?”

“What?”

“Kim Seokjin, dammit. Are you paying attention to me at all?”

You pull a face when Nari mentions he-who-should-not-be-named.

“Gay? How the hell should I know?” you grumble, stabbing a fork full of salad with more force than is necessary.

“I’m just saying. Everyone knows everything about everyone at the courthouse, right? But you never hear about Kim Seokjin hooking up with anyone. Anyone. And I mean, he’s -- you know, gorgeous.”

“I guess,” you say flatly.

Nari tuts at your unenthusiastic response. Gossip is her specialty and you’re usually game to hear what she’s been able to dig up but just the mention of this man’s name is enough to put you in a mood.

“Listen, I’d be salty too if I’d lost that case, but that doesn’t change the fact that the man is a four-alarm fire.”

“Two cases,” you correct. “And he’s two-alarm. At best.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Nari laughs. “Anyway, I picked up something super slinky for Judge Park’s party tomorrow so by then I’ll know one way or another which way he’s batting.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hope that works out for you. Either way, I really don’t want to talk about Kim Seokjin’s sex life.”

“Okay, fine,” she concedes. “But what about his professional life? Cause word on the street is that his firm is probably going to make him a partner. Like very soon.”

You chew on that for a moment.

He’ll probably be the youngest partner in his firm’s history or in any firm’s history, for that matter. It would be the only logical next step in the progression of this man’s obnoxiously charmed life.

“Good for him,” you grind out, silently willing Nari to drop the subject of the infuriating man entirely.

She smiles with satisfaction at having dropped a very juicy piece of information, but all you can do is frown into your salad.

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

You’ve been staring at this piece of art for a solid five minutes and at this point you are questioning Judge Park’s sanity. It’s objectively hideous.

“So you do drink champagne.”

The fine hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end at the sound of the deep voice that comes from behind. You’ve just lifted a flute of the aforementioned drink to your lips when he sidles up to you.

“When I’m in the mood,” you say tightly.

The low chuckle you get in response is very, very annoying.

You catch a glance of Kim Seokjin out of the corner of your eye because you refuse to acknowledge him with your full attention. As expected, he looks perfectly groomed, impeccably dressed, and irritatingly confident.

“So this is...interesting,” Seokjin says, gesturing at the art piece.

“Interesting,” you repeat. “Yes, well -- it’s definitely that.”

You know you’re sending him every signal that you’d rather be anywhere but here talking to him but he ignores the hostility pouring off of you in waves.

“I’ve been meaning to catch you,” he says, pausing to take a drink from an ornate highball glass. “I think it’s a shame we haven’t had the chance to speak one-on-one yet.”

Oh, please.

“Yes, what a shame,” you reply sweetly. “So glad you’re finally getting the opportunity to take your victory lap in person.”

“Ouch,” he laughs, tone light despite your obvious irritation. “I came in peace. I’ve had the pleasure of facing you in court but not the pleasure of a formal introduction. So I thought I’d make a point to get acquainted with the woman who’s had me up against the ropes in my last two cases.”

You lift an eyebrow at the thin compliment.

“I have to say,” he smiles, “I’m impressed.”

A flare of indignation ignites inside you at his casual condescension. As if you give a single solitary shit what Kim Seokjin thinks of your litigation skills.

“Well now that I know I have your stamp of approval,” you say, body rigid, “I can truly go on.”

You hear his faint huff of laughter as he takes another drink. A few uncomfortable moments pass before he seems to accept your silence as a sign that this conversation is over.

“Well it was nice to meet you anyway,” he says, and you hate that you can hear a smile in his voice. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

He leaves you fuming in front of that monstrosity on the wall.

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

“He’s an asshole,” you say when Nari drops a to-go box at your desk. “I mean, I always knew he would be, but now I know firsthand. A self-important, super-inflated asshole.”

Nari laughs. “Kim Seokjin, huh? I saw you two talking at the party and wondered what that was all about.”

She drops into the chair on the other side of your desk with her own to-go box.

“For the record, I can’t get a read off of him. And believe me, I tried,” she sighs. “So what did he say to you?”

“He was so damned patronizing. He told me I ‘had him up against the ropes’ in his last case,” you hiss. “That I’m talented.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Nari says, and you don’t miss her thick sarcasm. “Acknowledging your skill and whatnot. You’re right -- total jerk.”

You are immediately impatient with her lack of sympathy.

“You weren’t there, Nari. He wasn’t passing along some heartfelt praise, he was saying ‘close but no cigar.’”

“He’s professionally competitive, girl. A shark. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Manners, maybe?”

“Ugh, you’re such a baby,” she teases. “I think your sudden success has gone to your head. He’s not about to bend the knee just because you’ve got a great record.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “No one’s asking him to bend the knee, Nari.”

She smiles.

“Okay, princess, I’m gonna let you believe that. But I will admit that you might be right about the goading thing,” she says. “Last night, Sang Yejun told me Seokjin took over that last case from a junior attorney. Stepped in and snatched it right up and no one thought it was even on his radar.”

Well that catches your attention.

You’d wondered yourself why the great Kim Seokjin had stooped to take such a minor case.

“See what I’m saying, Nari? It’s like he’s purposely trying to get under my skin.”

She snorts.

“Girl you know I love you, but you really need to get a grip. Not everything is about you.”

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

Nari was dead wrong. Apparently everything is about you.

Three days after your cringeworthy exchange at Judge Park’s party, you have the displeasure of seeing Kim Seokjin again. This time, he walks right into one of your open hearings and helps himself to a seat.

Your entire body goes rigid when you spot him. He has nothing to do with this case, his firm isn’t involved in any way and yet here he is, taking time out of his precious day to sit in your hearing. You silently simmer over his unwelcome presence and the anxiety that comes with it.

Just what is he playing at?

Your second chair elbows you.

“You ready?” he asks and you nod.

You take one last look at your notes and will yourself to focus. The last thing you want to do is screw up this line of questioning and you certainly don’t want to screw it up in front of him.

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

You assume the coast is clear when court adjourns and everyone scatters. You look around for any sign of Seokjin while packing up your files and come up empty. You hate to acknowledge the tiny feeling of relief that blossoms inside at that observation.

That feeling of relief doesn’t last long.

As soon as you round the corner into the hallway you spot him leaned up against the wall, scrolling through his phone as you walk past. You stride quickly, praying he won’t look up in time to see you but no such luck.

“Hey,” he calls after you. You grit your teeth.

There’s certainly no way to avoid speaking to him, not without causing a scene. The hallway is packed with attorneys and paralegals from firms all over the city. You’d hate to give any of them the impression that this man has rattled you.

You stop and round on him.

“How can I help you today, Mr. Kim?”

He smiles, refusing to be intimidated by your acid tone.

“I got a chance to sit in on your hearing,” he says, as though you didn’t already know that. ”Not bad.”

You are in uncharted waters right now. If Kim Seokjin was just another asshole in a bar, you’d throw your drink in his face and leave him sputtering. But he’s a respected colleague and you can’t make a scene -- not here. You’re still trying to figure out how to respond to that gem when he makes another observation.

“You did miss an opportunity to pin your witness on that last question, though.”

You catch your jaw before it has a chance to drop.

“I thought you were going to go for the jugular for a minute there,” he says, lips pursing to suppress a smile. “But then you backed off. It surprised me.”

He’s baiting you. And you know he’s baiting you. And you still can’t stop yourself from reacting.

“So are you billing me for these hours or do I get to enjoy all this unsolicited legal advice for free?”

“For you?” He shrugs casually. “Totally free.”

He slips his hands into his pockets and turns to walk away, but you are the one to stop him this time.

“Why?” you call after him.

He turns back to face you.

“Why do you care? Why are you here grading me like this is some kind of performance review?” you ask, unable to keep the astonishment out of your voice.

The slow smile that spreads across his face is downright smackable.

“It’s my job to keep an eye on talent. Even if the talent is overly confident, bad at taking direction, and just a little…” he stops for a moment to appreciate the look of absolute outrage on your face, “...bratty.”

“Bratty,” you repeat numbly.

“Bratty,” he confirms.

He shoots you a wide smile before sauntering away.

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

“He said you were…” Nari pauses for effect. “Bratty.”

“Yes.”

You wait through a full thirty seconds of Nari’s laughter before you interrupt.

“You --” you say, pointing an accusing finger at her, “are supposed to be my friend.”

“Oh, I am your friend, sweetheart,” she says, chuckling between words. “And as your friend I have to tell you that’s the most accurate take a man has had on you in a minute.”

You ball up a piece of paper on your desk and throw it at her.

“Seriously,” she says, breathless from laughter. “That is the funniest shit I’ve heard in a while.”

“Glad you think so,” you mutter.

Nari finally manages to collect herself after a moment.

“Okay, so Kim Seokjin thinks you’re bratty. And he’s definitely toying with you. And it’s working. So what are you gonna do about it?” she asks.

You say nothing for a moment. This is the internal debate you’ve been having since your embarrassing little encounter the other day.

“I’m gonna tell him to go fuck himself,” you say, finally. “Whatever little game he’s playing — I’m done.”

Nari’s sly smile around a fork full of noodles indicates she can’t wait for the gossip that will no doubt come out of this showdown.

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

You have to wait for the right opportunity to confront Kim Seokjin.

You’ve crossed paths with one another a few times in the courthouse in the past few days, but the last thing you want to do is have this conversation in front of the prying eyes and sharp ears that always mill about the halls.

So you stew in your anger and wait for the perfect moment to strike.

The moment comes when you spot a box of files in the lobby of your office, with a large note right on top.

ATTN: Kim Seokjin

Lee & Kang Law Firm

“What is this?” you ask the receptionist, pointing at the box.

“That’s a load of files that has to go over to Lee and Kang. I’m having them delivered,” she replies.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly. You check your watch. It’s end of business already, but you’re certain he’s still at his office. He’s far too ambitious to be the type to pack it in early.

You pull out your phone and shoot a quick text to Nari. Her response is immediate.

you: going to give seokjin a piece of my mind tonight [ 5:49 PM ]

nari: i expect nothing less than a detailed play-by-play [ 5:50 PM ]

The receptionist quirks an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to get off your phone.

“You don’t want me to call for delivery, then?”

“No,” you smile. “I’ll be happy to hand-deliver them myself.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

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

The offices of Lee and Kang are opulent.

Marble and glass and shining fixtures all paid for by hours of top-dollar billing. It’s one of the best firms in town and they clearly spared no expense in decorating the massive space.

When you walk through the heavy glass doors in the lobby there is no receptionist on duty. The main lights are down, leaving only accent lights and the glow coming from a few open offices.

You spot one lone woman still working at her desk in the common area.

“Kim Seokjin?” you ask, as you carry the box past her desk.

For a moment, it looks like she is going to ask you who you are -- because clearly you’re not a deliveryman -- but she sees the note taped to your box and points you in the right direction.

A corner office.

Of course the pampered asshole would already have a corner office.

You take a deep breath before knocking and immediately you hear Seokjin’s deep voice responding to invite you in.

The first thing that strikes you when you open his office door is that he does not seem surprised to see you.

At all.

The man’s beautiful, infuriating face stays entirely neutral as he looks up from the papers on his desk. His total lack of a reaction is unnerving.

The second thing you spot are the massive windows. Seokjin certainly gets to enjoy the perks of his high-status, high-rise office because the backdrop to his workspace is stunning. The sun has already set and the city is lit up behind him, a stark contrast to the night sky.

The last thing that you notice is that his office is a mess. You’d expect someone as anal-retentive as Kim Seokjin to be a neat freak, but there are boxes and papers all over the floors and even his pictures and degrees are leaning against the walls instead of hanging on them.

“Doing some redecorating?” you ask finally, when he does absolutely nothing to end the awkward silence.

“Something like that,” he answers smoothly.

“We owe you these documents,” you say, motioning to the box. You drop it unceremoniously on the floor in front of his desk.

He stares at it for a moment before finally deciding to speak.

“You --” he starts, “ -- hand-delivered a box of documents to my office? Can your firm not afford couriers anymore? You guys going out of business?”

“That’s a lot of questions at once, Mr. Kim,” you fire back. “Have I walked into a deposition? Am I being videotaped?”

“Would you like to be videotaped?” he counters evenly.

You search his face for any hint of humor -- any indication of teasing -- and come up empty. The look on his face suggests he’s just asked a serious question that deserves a serious answer.

Alarm bells begin to sound in your head.

“You seem to be at a loss for words tonight,” he says, finally. “Which from what I gather is a bit unlike you. So I’ll ask you again, what is a gifted attorney doing playing errand girl with a box of files?”

You stand silent, irritated at your sudden inability to string a simple sentence together. Moments ago you’d walked in here ready for a confrontation, ready to read this man the riot act. In a matter of seconds your momentum has died. You can almost feel the power shift in the air.

“I -- “ you start and falter.

Seokjin raises one perfect eyebrow.

“I am not bratty,” you say finally, lamely, and it’s laughable because it sounds exactly like something a brat would say.

“Not bratty,“ Seokjin repeats dryly. “Noted. Anything else?”

“Don’t do that,” you hiss. “That dismissive thing you’re doing right now. I don’t know who you think you think you are, or who you think I am -- but you are all wrong about me.”

He stands up from behind his desk, long fingers moving to loosen the tie around his neck and somehow the simple act comes across as painfully intimate. You very nearly look away.

“All wrong.”

“Yes,” you repeat firmly.

“Oh, I somehow doubt that,” he demurs, moving slowly around his desk to step closer. Not once does he take his eyes off of you.

A flutter of panic spreads across your chest.

“Just...leave me out of whatever game you are playing, Mr. Kim,” you say, the words spilling out in one nervous breath as you turn to make for the entrance of his office. You register the sound of his footsteps but don’t realize he’s made up the distance between you until it’s too late. He reaches past you to push the door closed.

It slams shut with a heavy thud and for a second all you can do is stare at it.

Slowly you turn to face him.

“What do you want from me?” you say after a moment, breathing a bit harder than you’d like. Your tongue slips out to wet your lips, a nervous gesture that his eyes follow with keen interest.

“You,” he begins slowly, “are in my office. You came to me.”

He’s crowding you with his body, guiding you both so incrementally you barely register movement until the door is nearly flush against your back.

“So why don’t you tell me what you want?”

You stare back at him dumbly.

What you want at this moment is to find the choice words that will take him down a peg. You’d love nothing more than to deliver some scathing, elegant takedown but you fail to find the words. You fail to find any words, in fact.

“You are obstinate,” he whispers, so dangerously close you can smell his aftershave. “Haughty. Smug.”

Your mouth falls open in silent protest.

“And clearly in need of a firm hand.”

Heat floods your cheeks.

It’s embarrassing, being spoken to like this. It’s humiliating to have Kim Seokjin of all people dress you down in this way . But the most mortifying thing about this bizarre exchange is the way your body warms immediately, blood humming in response to his words.

“Fuck you, Seokjin,” you whisper back, but the words come out thin and weak.

He leans forward, bracing his palms on either side of the door -- on either side of you, dipping his head low to bring his gaze level with yours.

“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer.

“Ask me for it. Better yet --” he leans close to whisper in your ear, “Beg me for it.”

He hasn’t touched you but that doesn’t stop the pang of arousal set off by his words from hitting you like a slap. The sensation that starts at the apex of your thighs spreads into your legs and across your arms, into your fingers like a current.

Seokjin continues speaking in that same even, unsettling tone.

“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

He is too close, too warm, too aggravating, too tempting. You have to shut your eyes for a moment to block him out and give your brain a moment to catch up. No one has ever spoken to you this way, and this -- your body’s immediate, damning reaction to it -- is something new.

Something scary.

You’re certain he can see it all over you, the beads of sweat at your temples, the high color in your cheeks. Nari was right — Seokjin is a shark — and he’s looking at you right now like he smells blood in the water.

You stare back at him, conflicted and incensed and aroused beyond belief.

“I’m leaving,” you say finally, voice brittle.

He gives you one long look before reaching behind you for the handle to the door. He pulls it open and waits for you to walk through, but you just stand there for a moment, dazed.

“Get home safe,” he murmurs.

You nearly scream. He’s maddening like this, in complete control while you feel ready to fall apart at the slightest provocation. You look from him to the door and back to him.

You know you have to make a decision. You can walk out that door on trembling legs with your entire body on fire or you can swallow your pride and submit to the most infuriating man you have ever met.

He quirks that eyebrow again.

“Wait,” you say after a long, tense moment.

“For what?”

“Do it,” you whisper, barely meeting his gaze.

“Do what?”

You want to slap him for feigning ignorance but instead take a deep breath in and out before speaking again.

“Fuck me,” you say quietly into the narrow space between your bodies.

For the first time tonight you see a tell -- a tiny giveaway that Seokjin is as affected as you are by this charged encounter. The look of heat that flickers in his eyes is hypnotic. He shuts the door again and rubs his fingers across his lips before speaking.

“Fuck me, what?”

You grit your teeth -- irritated with him, irritated with yourself for being in this position. For not telling him off and leaving with your head held high. Your feet feel rooted to the floor.

“You are an asshole,” you whisper tersely.

“I am,” he admits in that infuriating placid tone. “And I’m still waiting to hear you say it.”

You take a deep breath, then swallow the taste of humiliation that makes your tongue feel heavy and thick.

“Fuck me, please.”

It’s damned near painful to choke out those words and the second they escape you expect him to gloat. You expect him to dangle your submission over your head, to weaponize it and use it against you. What you do not expect is the eerie calm when he reaches behind you again to cut the lights to his office.

His voice is low when he leans close to your ear.

“Good girl.”

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

#seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #kimseokjinsmut #kimseokjinfic #btssmut #bts fanfic #bts

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stonefreeak · 4 years ago

Text

I hope everyone is doing well in these times. My hands are still giving me trouble, and life never seems to calm down, but at least I have this! I hope this fic can bring you all some joy in these times! <3

The Senate may have been a bust, and unfortunately the scene of the crime isn't shaping up to be much better. Quinlan had hoped that he'd stumble upon something his fellow Jedi had missed, however unlikely, but no such luck materialises as they move through the damaged rooms in the roped off area.

Quinlan hates not finding anything new. He doesn't like the way the whole investigation is slowing down. Even though they found the assassin, she's already been killed. Even though her guild is helping with the investigation... Their primary weapon, so to speak, has yet to bring any sort of results.

Not that Quinlan wasn't already aware that finding a single person in a sea of people like the Senate would be difficult, especially considering all the aides and extra personnel moving about, but he'd still had some hopes. As it is, he'll just go bother Kenobi a bit to get his mind off of everything.

Besides, it'll be good to see him up and about. Last Quinlan saw him, he was in a bacta tank and entirely unresponsive.

"Where are we going now, Van?" La says, anxiety bleeding into the Force around her.

Quinlan gives her a lazy grin. "I'm going to go visit an old friend of mine. You're just coming along."

She rolls her eyes, but Quinlan doesn't pay that any mind. He's got Kenobi to bother.

~~~~

"By the Force, what are you doing here?" Obi-Wan looks extremely tired, but in a good way. In a way that's not "dying or close to death".

"Well, you know, La and I decided to get investigating, but we didn't find much. So I figured I'd pay you a visit!" He gives Kenobi a huge smile and takes more than a little pleasure in the arch look he receives in turn.

"Pleasure to meet you, La," Obi-Wan says, no doubt ignoring Quinlan now.

La, of course, is discomfited and anxious. No doubt she doesn't want to be anywhere near the Supreme Chancellor and all of his Clone Trooper bodyguards. Especially not when she's out in the open and they can see her.

"Pleasure," she says, voice faint.

Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, Obi-Wan sighs. "Well, I hate to be a bad host, but I'm afraid I'm swamped. I'm sure you can find some ways to enjoy yourself on your own. Please don't make a nuisance of yourself and let me get on with my work."

Quinlan grins. "I'm sure we can. Especially considering all the plants you've got here. Want me to see if I can tell who sent them to you?"

"Plausible deniability, thank you." Kenobi doesn't even look up from his datapad.

Quinlan shrugs and turns his attention to the rest of the room instead. There's sure to be some interesting things to be found in here, especially since some of it is left-over from when Palpatine was still the Supreme Chancellor. Maybe there is some dirt to dig up from his stuff!

Quinlan closes his eyes and stretches out his senses with the Force, seeking anything of interest. Sometimes you can find stuff like that just through the Force before you even touch it at all.

There's a sense of.. chill in the room, and a sense of danger from farther inside. Frowning, Quinlan opens his eyes and starts moving towards the direction of the cold first.

It's... a chalice, of some sort. Not especially pretty to look at, and with not much in the way of distinguishing features.

"What is it, Van?" La murmurs, stepping in closer.

"There's something about this thing..." Quinlan isn't sure how to explain it to someone who doesn't have the Force. The fact that this thing feels cold in a way that isn't in the temperature sense is... Well, if Quinlan didn't have the Force he would probably think someone trying to explain it was crazy. After all, most people can't feel the way this thing seems to make you feel cold in your spirit because most people, people who aren't Force Sensitive, simply can't feel their own spirit. Can't feel their connection to the Force and the galaxy around them.

"Is it some Force mumbo-jumbo that I can't hope to understand?" La does the togrutan equivalent of a raised eyebrow and Quinlan lets out a small laugh. Despite the fact that she's a frustrating and closed-mouthed assassin, Quinlan finds himself liking La. He tries not to think too much about it, because they're hardly going to be able to be friends...

Then again, she'll most likely be a useful contact to have in the galactic underworld. And if he helps her find the person who hired and murdered her colleague, she and the Hissleet Endai might become very useful allies in the future... If... Not exactly the kind of allies you speak about in polite company.

But Quinlan is pretty much never in polite company anyway, so it hardly matters to him.

"If I say that this thing makes me experience a chill in my spirit, as if it's cold in a way that has nothing to do with temperature... Does that make sense to you or do I sound nuts?"

La makes a face. "I mean... I suppose it makes sense, in a way, but you also sound crazy."

Quinlan throws his head back in a laugh and shakes his head. Fair enough, he thinks. That's not so bad, it could be far worse than that.

Still... There's something about this thing. Where has Kenobi gotten it? Of course, considering Obi-Wan is sitting right over there, Quinlan can just ask him. Sure, Obi-Wan might have asked him to not make a bother of himself, but eh, this seems important. Even if it's possibly only important in the way of settling Quinlan's curiosity.

"Hey, Kenobi!" he calls out, leaning back slightly to try and see him from behind a large bush. Seriously, the number of plants in this office is ridiculous. Quinlan always thought it was Master Jinn who was crazy about plants, not Obi-Wan.

"What is it?" Man, Kenobi doesn't have to sound so tired and put upon.

La looks torn between amusement and horror. She's probably still not sure how to react to Quinlan's very much casual relationship with the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic.

"This chalice thing! Where did you get it?"

As Quinlan watches, Obi-Wan freezes. Well now, isn't that an interesting reaction?

"What about it? It was here when I took over the office, it's part of the objects confiscated from former Chancellor Palpatine."

Well now, isn't that just a most delicious little morsel of information. Quinlan grins.

"Well, you've felt it, haven't you?" He's not going to let Kenobi play dumb about this. There's no way Obi-Wan Kenobi, one of the youngest Masters of the High Council in recent times and a well regarded Jedi Master hasn't been able to feel the weird vibes this thing is sending out.

"... I have. I wasn't sure if I was only imagining it, and I have no idea where it comes from. There are no records of information about it to be found, I'm afraid."

So it was Palpatine's before Obi-Wan commandeered his offices and that's all they know about it. That really is interesting. How does a regular man, no more Force Sensitive than any other random person, somehow get his hands on something as interesting as this? Not just that, but also decides to place them in a prominent position in their offices to boot. It's not exactly pretty or valuable looking, it’s not made from precious metals and there are no valuable stones...

Why did Palpatine have something like this on display?

Quinlan's not going to ask him, because if Palpatine is hiding something then he doesn't want to tip his hand... Well, he'll need to look into Palpatine more. Well, as soon as the investigation results come in and they know how well off he's gotten on the whole deal with the corruption charges. Because even if he gets off easy, that doesn't mean that he doesn't have other skeletons in his closet. It just means that whatever bodies remain, they're very well buried indeed.

Of course, there's nothing that says for sure that investigating Palpatine will be worth his time. After all, an investigation into his conduct was just concluded and is going to trial in just a few days' time. He doesn't think that they could have missed that much, could they?

Unless... Well, the investigation was into his professional conduct, not his personal business, wasn't it?

It's an interesting food for thought if nothing else. He'll run it by the council later when he gives his report. That way they'll know the outcome of the already ongoing investigation and they can take some time to consider whether or not another investigation would be worth it. Better have them make the decisions than Quinlan. At least that way, they can't blame him if it blows up in their faces!

Rolling his shoulders, Quinlan starts looking around the office again. Maybe he should go search for whatever is giving off that warning feeling. Though again, he doubts Kenobi has missed it, and if he hasn't done anything about it yet...

Eh, he'll have to see when he finds it. Maybe he'll get something through his psychometry.

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

#Supreme Chancellor Obi Wan Kenobi #star wars #my writing #Quinlan Vos #obi wan kenobi #update

197 notes · View notes

nymphigeon · 4 years ago

Text

Someone you love(d) || KTH

• Pairing: Taehyung x Reader(f)

• Genre: break up au, angst with a happy ending, fluff? (just a lil' bit at the end :))

• Rating: PG

• Words: 7.2k

• Warnings: swearing, mention of weight, they kiss like once, if you don't like cheesy things....skip this one lmao

• Summary: You thought he loved you, you really did, but the way he left told you something else.

Or alternatively;

Taehyung is an emotionally constipated idiot who doesn't know how to deal with his feelings.

• A/N: Okay it took me waaay too long to write this, I'm so sorry T_T I really wanted to get this out earlier, but well things happened....

I only proofread this like once and had some trouble getting everything into the post properly so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes! Please let me know if you find any so I can fix them asap.

Thank you for the request @mytaetaey! I hope it matches your expectations!!!

It honestly hasn't even been that long since the day he showed up at my house.

"Let’s break up."

Although I really wouldn't be able to tell you how much time had truly passed.

"W-wait why?"

Days felt like weeks, weeks felt like months. Everything just seemed to last a lot longer than it should have.

"Did I do something wrong? I-I can fix it, just tell me!"

It might have happened last week, or the week before that. Wasn't it three weeks ago?

"No, no you didn't do anything wrong y/n. I'm sorry this just isn't working out."

Bottom line is, the passing of time hasn't really been on my mind. Any day without him is a day lost, a day to forget about.

"What do you mean this isn’t working out? I thought we were doing well together..."

I remember the confusion that went through me. All of a sudden the four years we spent together seemed to have disappeared.

“You thought wrong.”

He had been acting weird for a while, never quite getting close to telling me what was going through his mind. I hadn’t anticipated it ever ending like this though.

“Not everything you believe is a fact.”

The years I had to get to know him ended too soon. They went by so fast, they might as well have been non-existent.

"I... why? I don’t understand…

This all came too sudden. Just a few days before he had been laying on my bed, smiling as I told him about my day.

"I just don't feel the same anymore."

I just needed a little more time. A little more time to adore him. A little more time to say goodbye.

"I don't love you anymore."

But I still did do. He didn’t seem to care though. After he took care of me for a while, he decided I’m not worth it. Not even as someone who he just passes by.

"It's best if we don't see each other anymore."

If you cherish what you have you'll never be left unsatisfied.

"Goodbye."

I did. And it broke me.

“Y/n? Helloooo?”

My daydreams get interrupted by a waving hand in front of my face, followed by a harsh flick against my forehead.

“Ouch! Mina that was too hard!” Both my hands shoot up to the stinging spot between my eyes, one to prevent the evil hand from handing out another flick, the other one to rub at the red spot forming.

“Class ended a few minutes ago, you should probably pack up. Really, did you just stare off into space for the entire class?” Spotting my close to empty notebook, Mina sighs and shakes her head. She’s trying to look disappointed, but under the scolding exterior she’s putting on, there is a hint of pity.

It’s not the first time this week that not a single word has made it into my notes. Each time again the pages are either filled with lazy doodles and meaningless scribbles, or a space of absolute nothingness, not even a drop of ink staining the white paper.

“I’m sorry, I really did try to pay attention, but you know I hate his classes with a passion.” We both know that’s not the reason for my absentness, and neither of us speaks up about it. It’s what I requested myself, not being able to cope with the sadness I was causing my friends to feel. They care too much, I don’t want to burden them for too long.

“I know sweetheart, you did do your best. I’ll send my notes later, if you want I’ll help you understand them too.” Though no matter how hard I try, I still rely on them. They keep convincing me to, their kind souls not being able to leave me alone. “If you could I’d really appreciate it.”

A sweet smile appears on Mina’s lips as I accept her offer, being more than happy to help me. She has always been the type to give more than she received, and despite me believing she deserves more than she gets, I adore her for it. “Of course, any time.”

I finish packing my belongings into my backpack, first making sure I didn’t leave anything behind before leaving the classroom with Mina close to my side. She talks about everything and nothing as we roam the spacious hallways filled with tired looking students. I wouldn’t be surprised if more than half of them slept until the end of their lectures.

Most of Mina’s words fall on deaf ears as I think back to the thoughts that occupied my mind the entire time my teacher was trying to explain the principle of quantum mechanics. I wouldn’t have understood it regardless of whether I was paying attention or not by the way.

“Ah you don’t have any more classes today, do you?” An unannounced weight falls on my left side as Mina whines into my shoulder, effectively bringing me back down to earth. Some brabbles about life being unfair escape the muffled sounds she produces, clearly not looking forward to the rest of her day.

“I’m going to be so lonely, me and Daeun aren’t allowed to sit next to each other anymore.” Mina raises her head to catch some air, her hands still clinging to the fabric of my shirt. The scowl on her face isn’t hard to miss, as she isn’t doing much to hide it.

“I was just going to head home straight away.” On any other day I would’ve probably teased her, wishing her good luck while I go and enjoy the free life. Today however, I don’t. My face stays in it’s boring resting position, even as Mina waits for the non-existent twist at the end.

It doesn’t take long before she finally sees I’m not poking fun at her. The moment of realization is clear, her whiny expression disappearing and her hands falling back to her sides. “Oh.”

“Well since it’s Friday how about I come hang out at your place when I’m done here? I’ll drag Daeun along with me too.” Mina’s voice is unsure, scared that I’ll reject her offer. A thick tension hangs in the air as we both wait for my reply.

I want to be alone. I want to be able to overthink in peace without others insisting that my mind is wrong. Though on the other side, I do know that I’ve been pushing them away. All the more reason for them to worry about me.

“Yeah sure.” I manage to convince myself to decide on the option I’d like the least. Somewhere I may be hoping that I’ve been missing out on a distraction I needed. I will never know until I experience it.

“Great! I’ll bring snacks too, let’s make it a movie night!” And off she goes, not waiting for any kind of confirmation from my side. Most likely it’s a way to keep me from refusing, forcing me into a situation that’s best for me, according to her.

I might not be looking forward to the events to come, but even I can’t deny the dull blossoming of my heart. The corners of my lips tug up, together with a hand to wave the girl off.

Yeah, perhaps, just maybe, I’m excited to spend some time with them.

I wasted a lot of time trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. Did I gain too much weight? Did I not text him enough? Was I going down the wrong path?

No matter what I wrote down, which new question I thought of, it didn’t seem right. Crumpled up paper balls and clothes littering the apartment show of the frustration occupying my mind.

No aspect of me changed for the worse. I’m still the same healthy weight, we texted almost every day, and I’m running up the path to a successful career. There is nothing wrong with me, so why am I blaming myself so heavily?

Because for some reason I believe that if I had done things differently the outcome would have been better. Because maybe he would’ve changed his mind if I reacted differently. Because it could never be him who was in the wrong.

A knock on the door and the pen I had been holding drops. Focussing on the paper in front of me once more, the harsh worded sentences ending in large written question marks stand out. I’m yearning for answers to questions I don’t even understand myself and it’s terrifying.

Three knocks on the door this time and I’m up, quickly discarding all the papers littering around. Some I tear to pieces, making sure none of the written sentences are visible anymore, others simply get hidden.

The door creaks as it opens, broadcasting it’s old age to the world. I should probably replace it sometime before someone decides to break in. Not that there’s anything worth taking here, I am a student after all.

“Hey dea- Oh no you look horrible.” A slight gasp interrupts Daeun’s cheery greeting when she notices the birds nest that is my hair. After having acted out all my annoyance on the poor strands, they’ve taken to each other for comfort, gladly intertwining. To my dismay, of course.

“I feel horrible. Come in.” The chuckle meant to lighten the statement doesn’t do it’s job properly. Both don’t say anything more as they enter the tiny apartment I call home, but they might as well have been screaming ‘I feel sorry for you.’” If they won’t do it, their faces definitely will.

“I won’t let any of you chose a movie tonight, I’ve got way too many good ideas.” Mina drops the overfilled bags she was holding on the dinner table while she talks. From the few items that stick out it’s safe to deduce that they’re filled with snacks to the brim.

“Also I was thinking we could order some pizza for dinner. All on me, I just got payed.” Like she owns the place, Mina reaches for several bowls high up in the cupboards of the kitchen. “We’ll use these tonight..” She says it more so to herself than to anyone else, not bothering to ask me anything. Not that it was really needed, I would have given her permission anyway.

“How was your day?” Sitting down next to Daeun, who has made herself comfortable on the couch after walking in, I try to start a basic conversation. Even though I’m not particularly in the mood for anything, I decide it’s probably best to try before I ruin the fun.

“You shouldn’t have to pretend that everything is okay, you know.” My question is completely ignored, switched for a statement that sets a heavy atmosphere in the room. The little excitement I had for their visit disappears. Instead, irritation starts taking over.

“Look Daeun, I-”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but this is not the way to cope with whatever may be happening inside you right now.” The tone she uses tells me she isn’t about to back out anytime soon. I hate it, hate how she feels like she can tell me what’s best for me.

“If this is what you came here for then I think it’s best that you leave. I’m not playing around here.” I turn away from the both of them, showing my back instead. This was supposed to be a fun evening to get my mind off him. Turns out, it’s the exact opposite.

“She’s right y/n.” It didn’t sound like Mina initially wanted to talk about this. She has always been unsure of when and how to address things, usually rather staying silent. With the right help however, Mina too will spill her words.

“This will always be a part of your life now, no matter how hard you try to erase it, you can’t. I know you’re hurting, and you’re allowed to feel hurt, we just want to help you. We’ll distract you all you like later, but for now, just confide in us please?”

It’s the way I feel both of their eyes burning into my back, the way she isn’t exactly sure how to convey her thoughts, though has the best intentions, the way a gentle hand softly lands on my shoulder. Sooner or later the dam would have broken. Apparently that time has come.

“I gave up so much for that guy! I moved to a more expensive apartment closer to his so we could see each other more, I started working more hours so he wouldn’t need to pay every time we went out together,” I never really got the chance to complain about the negative side to the changes I made, always feeling like it should be worth it, since I did it for him.

“I studied late into the night just so I had time during the day to hang out with him, do you know how much sleep I lost? I couldn’t even go home to my parents regularly anymore, for the distance was too much.”

Not exactly having expected me to rant so much, the two girls seated next to me stare in surprise. Never have I expressed any discomfort with what I was doing, always plastering a smile on my face.

“I don’t even mind that he broke up with me, I mean I do, but he was so cold! I had done my best to keep things going between us and he just gives me an ‘oh I don’t like you anymore’ like it’s common sense. I didn’t even get a thank you for all those years or a sorry for breaking it off! I just wish he’d…”

I take in a deep breath after having forgotten to breathe for the past minute, all the tears I kept in finally making an appearance as my anger get replaced by the same sadness I felt all those days ago.

“I just wished he’d at least given me reassurance I hadn’t been a waste of his time.”

The volume in which I spoke had drastically lowered, coming out in an almost-whisper. All the objects in front of me blurred as a non-stop stream of tears made it’s way out, my cries just mere silent sobs.

The hand resting on my shoulder becomes an arm pulling me into her side, the rough material of her shirt revealing her identity. Daeun doesn’t say anything as her other hand strokes through the strands of my hair, detangling any knots on the way.

For a moment I feel guilty about the tears wetting her shirt. It’s when she pulls me against her a little tighter that the feeling disappears, giving me the opportunity to fully bask in her embrace.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart.” Feeling left out, Mina pats my thigh and breaks the silence. “You worked hard didn’t you? Because you loved him.” I can hear her clothes rustling first, before her arms too wrap around the space Daeun left.

“I still do.” No matter how much I try to forget about him, I can’t seem to do it. He has engraved himself into my mind, forever stuck. If he’d ever leave is a mystery, though for now, it seems impossible.

You know what? Fuck you Kim Taehyung.

“Dude, what do you want for your birthday?” It’s Jungkook who has slammed down my door and completely disturbed my peace.

“Huh? Nothing in particular really.” Despite the rude entrance, I don’t look up from my tv screen, having already gotten used to the lack of announcements before he comes in.

“Didn’t you ask me that already two days ago?” Once again ignoring any form of politeness, the younger one makes grabby hands towards the bag of potato chips laying next to me. I don’t make any move to stop him, knowing very well I can’t win from him in a fight, ever.

“Yeah because I thought maybe you changed your mind. Usually you’re so excited for your birthday, but you just seem so… Unenthusiastic?” There is almost no way to take him seriously when he’s scarfing down my dear food like it’s water. Surely when were out next time I’ll make him get me a new bag.

“Well yeah that’s because…” What exactly was I going to say?

Finally grabbing his full attention, Jungkook puts down the bag of chips and lets himself fall down next to me. “Because?”

There is no mistaking his smirk for a smile, although he does his damn best to hide it. He knows exactly what I was about to say, and I’m not about to admit anything.

“Because I realized it’s nothing to be overly excited about. That’s it.” Challenging Jungkook to prove me wrong I stare right back at him, not planning on chickening out any time soon. It seems to have worked, as he looks away first.

“Ah is that so? I’ll just see if I can find something you’ll like myself in that case.” The boy who has silently admitted defeat removes himself from the couch, moving to his room at the other side of our apartment. “Good luck buddy.”

No longer having to pay attention to him, I rewind the movie I was watching back. That muscle bunny just made me miss the absolute best part.

“So why exactly are you dragging me to town again?”

It’s not too busy today, which should have been a given as it’s a normal weekday. Everyone is either yawning behind a desk or running around in circles depending on their career choices. Compared to them, I’m making the worst possible choice by letting my best friend convince me to skip class for a reason I wasn’t even familiar with.

“I’m having none of this ‘I don’t care what you get me’ nonsense. We’re going to find something you like, and that’s why we’re here.” Jimin takes a pause from pulling me along by hand to put both of his on his waist like a proud toddler.

“So in other words, we’re here so I can choose my own birthday gift?” Slowly I begin to understand how much of a waste of my time this is. I could’ve been doing fine trying to understand whatever Mrs. Wilson wanted to go over today, but instead I’m going to be reminded of my ex all day. Great.

Well, if she was still here it wouldn’t have mattered whether I knew what I wanted or not, she always had something great for me, and I always looked forward to it. Once she jokingly told me how she felt pressured, having to live up to my expectations. Though honestly there was nothing for her to live up to, I liked her gifts because she gave them to me. Because she always managed to make each and every birthday a fun one.

“Any ideas yet? Jewellery, clothes, games… Wait, nothing too expensive, I’ll go broke!” Jimin’s sudden panic manages to bubble up a chuckle in me. He doesn’t really seem to appreciate it though, as he scowls at the sound. “What? Your taste is too expensive!”

He knows me well it seems. Not that it was ever a real secret. When the contents of your closet is worth more than someone’s rent several times anybody would want to show that off right? Well so do I.

We walk into several stores for inspiration. No real shopping haul, just a quick in and out with Jimin trying to get a reaction out of me by stuffing things he thinks I like into my face. So far no real success, my only reaction being something along the lines of ‘ah yes that looks nice’ at everything he proposes.

It’s not like I’m purposefully trying not to find something I truly like, but more that honestly nothing catches my interest. And I promise it’s not even the price, some of my most prized possessions are the cheapest things I own. This just isn’t doing it for me.

After having been pulled into the what feels like the hundredth store, my stomach decides to make the loudest noise known to mankind. “Can we like, maybe take a break?” There is no doubt that my face is bright red at this moment, instantly heating up when Jimin laughs equally as loud.

“If you were hungry you should’ve just said so. Let’s go find something to eat.” Is probably the only sentence he said today that I’ve fully agreed on.

It sounded so easy, just find somewhere to buy food. Unfortunately, getting our tummies filled wasn’t written in our future so soon. No matter where we look, everything is either closed or completely full with customers. Who knew so many other people were hungry at this moment. Not like it’s close to dinner time or anything.

Eventually, I manage to convince Jimin to eat at a small fancy restaurant down the street on my expense. Despite him agreeing after a few attempts, a set pout is still present on his face, which doesn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. Together with some murmurs about how this isn’t fair, he makes himself look incredibly adorable.

Soon however, I would come to regret my decision. The fancy tablecloths and nicely plated food wouldn’t be looking so appealing anymore. Because even if I had convinced my mind of the truth my constant lies hold, there was simply no way for me to convince my heart too.

“Hey isn’t that y/n and… I don’t think I know him.”

The male opposite her had somehow won her over with that stupid perfect smile he wore, his eyes an annoyingly beautiful ocean deep blue and his blonde hair styled in an awfully neat way. Everything about the sight annoys the heck out of me, including the way she was smiling back at him. Why does she look so happy? When was the last time I saw her like that?

“Oh are they… I’m sorry Tae.”

I was the one who broke up with her. I was the one who walked out with a load haven fallen off of my shoulders. I was the one who ran even though she cried. There is no reason for me not to be completely fine.

“I don’t care, she can do whatever she wants now.”

So then why am I the one hurting this much?

It came sooner than expected, my birthday. Just sort of snuck up on me. After the restaurant incident Jimin himself magically decided to end the shopping trip and go home to eat. Nobody ever mentioned my birthday again in the following days.

It was pretty clear that someone had told the others about what happened, although none of them spoke about it. That someone obviously being Jimin.

“Soooo… any plans for the day?”

The question comes from Jungkook, who is fidgeting with the hem of his oversized hoodie. He stands quietly in the doorway to my room, waiting for an answer he already knows.

“Go to class and study after.”

“You’re not going out of the house? No party planned?” The suffocating nervosity radiates off of him in waves, displayed by the still ongoing fidgeting and his eyes that can’t seem to focus on one thing at a time.

“Nope, no other plans.” I sit up in bed, slowly coming to terms with the fact that I won’t be getting any more sleep. Despite him looking like he’s scared I’m going to get mad, he doesn’t actually give up, which isn’t appreciated on my part.

“Well the boys thought we could maybe go out together, get a few drinks.” On any other day besides my birthday I would’ve most likely agreed to the plan. Today however, I can’t help but relate every proposition to my birthday, which I, in case you hadn’t noticed yet, want to forget about as soon as possible.

I had already given him enough opportunities to stop. All it would take was leaving me alone. His constant persistence ends up getting to me, successfully causing me to snap at the younger boy. If he expected an outburst, he’s getting it.

“Why the fuck does everyone expect me to celebrate today? If my birthday is the day on which I can do whatever shit I want then let me do whatever I want!” It wasn’t meant to come out that way, and the guilt sets in the moment I realize it, but I don’t have time to apologize.

“Dude, you seriously need to do something about your feelings for y/n.” He sighs the words as he casually leans against the wall, his arms crossed. In an instant the awkward energy around him disappears, replaced by a very prominent eye roll. It’s not hard to guess that this has been on his mind for a while.

“Don’t mention her. This has nothing to do with her.”

“This has everything to do with her and you know it.”

I don’t have anything to say against that. We both know it’s the truth, though only one of us is trying to deny it. The dumb one.

“You know what I think? You spent your past 6 birthdays with the girl of your dreams and now that you pushed her away you have no idea what to do. Am I right?”

He is. I don’t say anything as my head lowers, slowly realizing there is no hiding anything from him. She’s still on my mind. I still wonder what she’s doing, where she is, if she’s safe. I still care. “You’re right.”

I broke up with who I considered my other half, convincing myself that I didn’t need her anymore. Who exactly was I trying to protect?

“I had to, I’ll hurt her.” I already did.

“And suddenly breaking up with her is supposed to make her happy?” I was hoping it would in the long run.

“You’re not the same as him.” Though I am. The same parents, the same group of friends growing up, the same sense of humour. We got along so well. What if we still do?

“He’s my brother Kook. We were so alike. You know he once too adored her.” We don’t talk anymore, I’m disappointed in him. He would’ve been too. I don’t understand what changed.

“He used her, nobody saw it coming. The signs were there, he just hid them too well.” Jungkook leaves his spot against to wall to comfort me, tucking my head into his neck.

“You’re not him and he isn’t you. The fact that you no longer want to be associated with him proves everything. He didn’t care about Hyeon.” So he can look straight at me, he pushes me away with his hands on my shoulders. The expression on his face tells me he’s serious.

“You love her, and you’ve got to fix this mess.”

I don’t like agreeing with him, but once again, he’s right.

As soon as I open the door I want to slam it right back into his face. Or I might want to run into his arms, I can’t decide yet. Regardless, I wasn’t expecting Taehyung to be standing on the other side when the doorbell went off.

“Umm… Hi?” All the words that have been building up in my personal dictionary seem to disappear the moment I lay my eyes on him. He still looks as good as the last time I saw him, even though the circumstances were heart-breaking.

“Hey, um I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. I didn’t really think this through…” Everything about him screams awkward. From the way his feet are pointed slightly more inwards than normally, to the way he doesn’t seem to be able to smile naturally. Instead there is this weird, tight expression on his face.

“Oh um… Would you like to come in though?” I don’t wait for an answer as I step aside, my memory helping me remind that nine out of ten times the answer to that question is ‘yes’. “Oh yeah, thank you.”

“Do you want anything to drink?” Not really having anything to say I cycle through the set few sentences I usually need when I have someone over. I’m not happy that he’s here, but I’m not the type to lash out at people.

“Ah no, I’m okay. Look I’m just going to get straight to the point, I messed up big time. I got insecure and closed myself off to everyone including you and I’m so fucking sorry that I did.”

My lack of reaction surprises me. Sure, my insides are doing somersaults, but I don’t feel the need to express any of it. Like an unused sheet of paper, my face stays blank. “And now you’re here to win me back I presume?”

Somewhere in between his statement and mine, the tables shifted. Slowly, I’m gaining the confidence he is losing.

“Well, not really, I mean yes, but-”

He catches himself rambling, shutting his mouth before any real nonsense can make it out. Taking a deep breath helps, the words coming out more fluently after. Not a great start, but it’s okay. I have patience. Sometimes.

“I just wanted to let you know that the words I shot at you that day weren’t true. I hurt you and I didn’t want those words to roam your mind not knowing they weren’t even close to what I was feeling.”

The deep breath he drew in earlier escapes in a deep sigh, followed by his mouth opening and closing a few times without any sounds making it out. “And?” It was meant as a way to encourage him to continue. Sadly, it came out rather rude.

“I do still care about you, damn I still love you more every day. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you please let me know, I don’t want to have to live in a world where my last words to you made you cry. Obviously I would want a second chance at being the proper lover you deserve, but you’re in charge here. If you want me to walk out the door I will.”

There’s a hopeful look in his eyes making my heart beat erratically. In the past I would’ve instantly dropped to my knees, making sure every wish of his came true. I am no longer that girl.

“Tae it’s been months, you can’t just suddenly drop by and tell me you’re sorry. I spent days wondering why you broke up with me, wailing over the fact that you suddenly just didn’t care anymore, and even now you’re not giving me an answer. Why did you suddenly turn your back on me? Why did you not talk to me about whatever was bothering you? Even now you’re making me feel like you couldn’t trust me. Fuck, you just left me there like I was a piece of trash!”

What was once a hopeful look in his eyes, turned into defeat. He won’t give me an answer.

“You can’t just come in here exclaiming to love me after I’ve worked so hard to get myself over you. You can’t just come in here trying to steal my heart when I’m learning to give it to somebody else.”

“The blonde haired dude?”

Perhaps I shouldn’t feel a sense of accomplishment at the clear jealousy in his voice. However, this man did break my heart in two for apparently no reason. Is it weird I would want to get back at him a little?

“His name is Yejun and he’s a great guy. Look, just leave please. I have nothing more to say or hear. We’re done.” Turning away from him I mark the end of this conversation. It takes a while before there is any movement behind me. Slow steps make their way to the front door before pausing.

“I hope he treats you well, but I’m not going to simply give up on you like that.”

And secretly, I was hoping he wouldn’t.

Two, three four days, before I realize it it has been an entire week since I last saw him. Some part of me is scared, scared that he has decided otherwise and I will never hear from him again.

I had told myself getting over him would be easy when I finally accepted the help of my friends, and for a while it was. Or so I thought, because the moment he walked in here I was right back to square one.

I’m in the middle of working on a new project when the doorbell rings. Standing up, I go to open the door wondering who it could be. If he had come back for me after all. Too bad I would soon be disappointed, as the man standing in front of my door was just an ordinary mailman.

“Umm I didn’t order anything?” My eyes fall on almost gigantic package behind the man. If I ordered some furniture I would’ve surely remembered right?

“Are you not y/f/n y/l/n?”

“No I am.”

“It clearly has your name and address on it miss.”

The building up confusion hasn’t left my head yet, but knowing there is nothing else I can do I decide to accept the package. After thanking the courier I close the door and carefully carry the big box into my living room.

The moment I open the big thing up, a bunch of big balloons float up to my low ceiling. There’s a transparent one with little hearts bouncing around inside, one that’s just one big heart itself, another one has the words ‘I love you’ written on it in a neat font. If I hadn’t checked my calendar this morning I would’ve thought it was valentine’s day.

Diving deeper into the box I find a relatively big fluffy teddy bear, hugging what seems to be a letter in a white envelope.

‘When I was 16 a miracle happened, I met the most beautiful girl. Me not being able to contain myself I immediately introduced myself to her. She said he name was y/n. I think it was back then that I decided her voice was my favourite. I was too much of a coward to ask her out at the time. I eventually did, though looking back I wish I did so sooner. There was never a boring day with her by my side.’

That’s all there is. Just a few words on an otherwise empty piece of paper. No signature at the bottom, no name, and still I knew exactly who wrote it.

The next day another package came in. This time a different set of balloons, a different stuffed animal, but the exact same white envelope.

‘When I was 22 my brother and his fiancée broke it off. Just like the piece of shit I have to call my dad he betrayed his partner’s trust, cheating on her without a second thought. My mother heard about it and accused both of us as being just like our father. You know after a while, I really started believing her.’

Each day a new box would come in, always containing a present with a letter attached.

‘I was terrified of hurting you, terrified of you seeing me the way my mom did, so I hid everything from you. I should’ve known that I can’t hide anything, you know me too well. I panicked and left you, the biggest mistake I could ever make. One that made everything that was already happening so much worse. I tried telling myself I didn’t need you, but I just couldn’t.’

I believed him, believed in the words he wrote down.

‘I’m so fucking sorry for everything I put you through. It’s all my fault and I’ll spend forever owning up to my mistakes. I love you and I don’t want to live without you. Please just give me one more chance to prove myself to you. One is all I need.’

I’m sorry Yejun, I can’t forget about him after all.

Actually he should be the one who is nervous, and well maybe he is, but I’m the one standing on his front porch with my knees shaking and my heart beating right out of my chest. At one point I was even scared he would be able to hear me through the door.

Shaking my head I gather all the courage I can to knock on his door before I turn around and run back in the direction I came from. However, when I hear the sound of my fist on the hard wood I briefly still consider hiding somewhere.

Luckily I don’t get the chance to. While still going back and forth between the options staying or coming back some other time, the door creaks. I stiffly force my hands to stay still at my sides. The time it takes for the door to actually open seems like an entirety. If you were to count the passing seconds it would at most be like 5, which doesn’t sound like much, it feels like much.

“y/n?” His stance looks like a ‘what are you doing here?’, but his eyes give more of a ‘please say you’re here to forgive me’. Well, the latter would be right. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah of course.”

It’s not hard to notice that he is uncertain of his actions. It pleases me on one hand, as it gives me some sort of confirmation that he doesn’t want to make any more mistakes around me. On the other hand, I don’t like seeing him uptight around me. I wish he was more comfortable when I’m near.

“I received the letters you wrote.” He knows I received his letters, he was the one who wrote them and sent them out. Surprisingly though, he almost audibly swallows at the information like he did something bad.

“Why couldn’t you tell me in person?” It takes me back to the day he suddenly landed on my doorstep. Even when I explicitly asked for it, he gave me nothing.

“I was scared, I couldn’t get the words out. I wasn’t at all prepared.” He takes a pause before continuing. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just didn’t know what else to believe at that point.”

Carefully, I reach out my hand to place on top of his laying on his lap. I don’t touch his skin yet, patiently waiting for him to give me some sort of consent. It comes in the form of him softly raising his hand to meet mine.

“I know, we all have our insecure times. You’re not obligated to tell me anything. I can’t and shouldn’t force you to. I’m sorry I doubted you. I was only upset about the way you left.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I thought that if your last memory of me was a bad one you’d forget me faster.”

It didn’t work the way he wanted it to, but he already knows. Already having been hit with that fact multiple times, I decide to spare him. I don’t mention it again.

“Did you ever stop loving me?” At the time it seemed like he did. Like he wasn’t simply acting, like those harsh words were what he truly felt. “Be honest please.” I don’t want any more lies. I’ll accept whatever comes out, even if it throws me right back to where I started.

“I-I don’t know… I really thought my mother was right. That what I had for you wasn’t what it seemed to be.” His gaze briefly drifts to the ground, before focussing on our touching hands. Like magic, the uncomfortableness he was feeling seems to shift. “No matter what she or I tried to convince myself of, something was always missing. I couldn’t put a mask over my own hurting and guilt anymore.”

He spoke the truth. Well at least I think he did. And so I accepted it.

“Okay, thank you for telling me.”

This talk was long overdue. Something we both needed and completely missed. No screaming, no crying, no accusing. If only it went this way from the start. We’re not all perfect though. Even if someone out there is, I’m not, he isn’t. They must be laughing at us.

“Your letters were cheesy. The gifts too.” I’m not sure if this is me trying to lighten the mood, or if I’m just stating facts. Regardless, it makes the both of us smile.

“I know. But you love cheesy things, like the roses I buy you on special occasions.” When he looks back at me I have to resist the urge to jump on him. The smile he wears look good on him. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it. “You know me too well.”

“Well did they work?”

I had already made up my mind a few days back. While staring at the floating balloons occupying my living room I had decided for myself that he’s worth it. He is.

Tilting my head up like I’m still thinking, I make clear ‘hmm’ sound. I had thought that the answer is quite obvious, seeing as I came to him myself, but when doubt takes away his smile I drop the act. I’ve been through enough. We’ve both been through enough.

“Yeah, yeah it did.”

Unlike myself, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me. Burying his head in the crook of my neck like he used to do, he lets out a few low ‘thank you’s’. It doesn’t take me long to return the hug, feeling just as safe with him as I used to.

“What about.. Ah I forgot his name.” It’s not hard to guess who he’s hinting at, the sourness in his voice giving him away. I understand, I wouldn’t like it either.

“I ended things.” His answer just comes in the for of a small nod. There is no need for anything more.

“I honestly thought you were going to reject me again.” He ends his sentence with a chuckle and completely relaxes in my hold. Now that the tension is gone, we can go back to where we left off, slowly rebuilding what was lost.

“I was just playing with you, I’m sorry. But no more being an asshole okay? I promise I will kick your ass.” My giggling might undermine the threat a little to others. Luckily, he knows I’m serious.

“I will give you full permission to, but you’ll never have to. I’m going to dump so much love on you that you’ll regret ever even thinking about taking me back. You’re stuck with me now though, so you better be prepared.”

Pulling himself back a little, he plants a gentle kiss on my lips. And then another one, a second one, three more, each kiss more passionate than the last. A fire spreads throughout my body, burning away the few doubts I had left with success. Eventually, to my dismay, I have to pull back for air. Damn humans for needing oxygen.

“Oh? I’d like to see you try.”

Just in case you were wondering, I never did regret it.

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taeyungie · 3 years ago

Note

Since you've mentioned friendships lately, how well do you deal with friends which you still love so so much but you can truly feel that there isn't the same connection anymore? We know it's super natural and can happen for many different reasons, but I for example never got used to it :( it still is painful for me

hello sweetie! i'm sorry it took me longer to reply again, i didn't have much time to be around yet :( but i have some free time now, so here i am! i still really hope you will see this.

what you said really makes me sad and i'm so incredibly sorry that you feel that way, love. i know how it feels and i just don't wish that to anybody. no one deserves that but also it feels like it's no one's fault and it just... happens sometimes. i know you asked what would i do in such situation and to be completely honest with you... i don't deal with situations like this well :/ i don't deal with them at all, actually. i just, watch it happen, when i'm sure there's nothing else i can do. but in case there's anything i could do to fix it or make it better, i always try it first. i'm usually very vocal about my worries and thoughts in general, but i know not everyone is confident in that. but in my opinion that's the only way, you know. you have to be honest and you have to talk about it. just tell them about what exactly is worrying you, ask them what you need, ask them to be honest. they owe that to you. no matter what they say, it's gonna be okay, you know? you shouldn't hold onto someone who isn't making you feel comfortable anymore or who doesn't see you in the same light as before. i know it's hard, and that you don't want to do it, and you'll probably have a hard time catching up on everything that would be happening. maybe that person isn't even aware of what they're doing? you need to make sure what's actually happening too, to find out how they're feeling, what changed. but you're gonna be okay bub!! it will be okay :) i know it's scary, i know, but i promise you whatever the outcome will be, you'll be okay eventually. and don't belittle it too, you know? your feelings are important! losing connection with close friend isn't something small that we could just ignore and move on, it's painful and difficult most of the time. and at hard times like this make sure to take care of yourself, yeah? please, no matter of the outcome - remember to eat and drink, and rest a lot ❤️ I'll keep my fingers crossed for you, and i'm sending you all the luck and love ❤️

#anonymous #answered

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atinymonster · 4 years ago

Text

confusion

ateez 9th member.

when jiyu makes the first move with sunwoo—with the help of yunho.

➴ masterlist

taglist ➴ @banhmi07, @galacticstxrdust, @jiyeons-closet

Jiyu bit on her lip as she continued to text Sunwoo.

It’s been a regular occurrence for the two to text a lot at night since they were both busy during the day. And since The Boyz were on Road to Kingdom, Jiyu didn’t want to distract or be a nuisance, so she didn’t really message him much during the past few months—with the exception of the encouraging and “good luck!” messages she would send on their performance days.

Unfortunately, with Road to Kingdom over, now it was Jiyu’s turn to be busy since ATEEZ was preparing for a comeback. But they still kept their nightly texting traditions, even if Jiyu was physically exhausted.

[SUN(SHINE)WOO ☀️] go to sleep, silly. i can literally see you yawning through the screen.

[TINY PRINCESS 👑] you texted me first though...? besides, we haven’t talked much since literally the beginning of the year ㅠㅠ

Sunwoo couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at her adorable behavior. As much as he wanted to continue talking, he knew how tired Jiyu must’ve been from practicing all day.

[SUN(SHINE)WOO ☀️] silly, we can always talk tomorrow.

[SUN(SHINE)WOO ☀️] now that i know you’re not overworking yourself from your comeback practices, go sleep and rest. please? 🥺

Much like Sunwoo, Jiyu couldn’t wipe the tiny smile off her face. “Aish, this isn’t good for my heart,” she mumbled to herself. “He’s too adorable for his own good.”

[TINY PRINCESS 👑] sheesh, alright alright (｡•́︿• ̀｡)

[TINY PRINCESS 👑] goodnight, sunwoo!

[SUN(SHINE)WOO ☀️] goodnight, jiyu :)

She sighed as she fell back into her bed, the familiar conflicted feeling brewing in her heart. ‘What goes through his head when we text?’ she thought. Yeah, they both saw the article about the dating speculations between them after that Weekly Idol episode, but they never mentioned it in their conversations.

Deciding to get help, she left her room and went to the one person she knew she could get some helpful advice from.

“Yunho...” she quietly called out to the male as she entered his and San’s shared room. San was already asleep, so she didn’t want to wake him.

Luckily, Yunho was scrolling through his phone. He perked up in his bed. “What’s wrong, Ji?” he asked.

“I–uh,” she paused. “Can we talk?”

Yunho quietly got up from his bed. “Sure, let’s go to your room though,” he suggested, gesturing to a passed–out San.

The two laid on Jiyu’s bed side–by–side, facing the ceiling. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well...” she trailed off. “I think I caught feelings.” she meekly admitted.

A moment of silence passed. She nervously looked at Yunho, finding him slightly grinning. “Is it Sunwoo?” he asked, startling Jiyu.

“How did you know?” she asked. Was she that obvious?

Yunho chuckled. “Anyone could tell after that one Weekly Idol episode. Even ATINY thought the two of you were cute,” he teased.

Jiyu groaned in embarrassment. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I don’t even know how I feel.”

Yunho carefully thought of ways to help. “How do you feel when you’re talking to him?”

Jiyu took a moment to think about her next words. “Like there’s thousands of butterflies in my stomach. Cliché, I know,” she chuckled. “But at the same time, I don’t think it’d be such a good idea to date or get caught in a dating scandal since we’re still rookies.”

Yunho thought about her point. One side of him knew she was right, but the other also wanted to see her happy, like a normal teenage girl who didn’t have to worry about being in the spotlight. As a matter of fact, all eight boys shared the same feeling. Even Wooyoung who slightly had a crush on her.

“Are you going to tell him? About how you feel?” he quietly asked.

“...I don’t think I will,” Jiyu responded. “Even if Eric said Sunwoo reciprocates, I’m still scared of the outcome.”

“I think you should just tell him,” Yunho concluded. He took Jiyu’s silence as a sign to continue. “You’re a normal human being before being an idol. Besides, ATINY seem to approve of the hypothetical relationship,” he lightheartedly added, elicting a tiny laugh from the girl next to him.

“You can also just date in secret,” he mischeviously suggested.

Jiyu dramatically gasped. “I didn’t know you were that type of person, Jeong Yunho,” she teased.

Yunho shrugged. “Can’t blame us for wanting you to be happy,” he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Look, you’re getting gray hair from thinking too deeply about it,” he teased, ruffling her newly-dyed silver hair.

Jiyu playfully scoffed as she mulled over her options. One, she could make the first move and confess—even if there was a chance she would be rejected and she could possibly ruin their friendship. Or two, she could just not say anything and wait to see how events play out. The only major thing that Jiyu was worried about was the company’s reaction.

Taking a deep breath, she sat up in bed and reached for her phone. Turning back to look at Yunho, a sheepish smile crossed her face. “Can you get tissues ready in case?” she asked, half joking.

Yunho sent her a comforting smile before leaving her room to get a tissue box. Whilst she was alone, Jiyu drafted up multiple messages, however, none of them seemed...right.

She lightly slapped her cheek. “Come on, get it together, Jiyu,” she encouraged herself as her fingers flew across her phone keyboard.

Sunwoo felt and heard his phone vibrate. Confused at who was texting him at such an ungodly hour, he turned his phone on and squinted from the bright light.

Alarmed at seeing Jiyu’s contact name, he immediately opened the text message. He furrowed his eyebrows in wonder at her message.

[TINY PRINCESS 👑] i know you told me to sleep...but! there’s something reeeeaaaalllly important that i want to tell you °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

[TINY PRINCESS 👑] just text me whenever u see this message.

[SUN(SHINE)WOO ☀️] is typing...

Jiyu’s eyes widened and she held onto Yunho’s arm. “I thought he was asleep! I was going to prep what I was going to say tonight and tell him tomorrow!” she frantically whispered.

Yunho pat the girl’s head to comfort her. “It’s okay, calm down. Just be glad it’s texting and not in person...?” he comforted, although it came out more as a question than a statement.

Her phone vibrated.

Tensing at the sound and feeling, she nervously read his response.

[SUN(SHINE)WOO ☀️] i’m awake...although 2 AM is a really ungodly hour...

[SUN(SHINE)WOO ☀️] is something wrong? what do you need to tell me?

to be continued...

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managedmischiefs · 4 years ago

Text

north//chapter two

ta da! chapter two for you! I am so incredibly close to finishing writing this fic (I’m halfway through the second to last chapter) and once that’s done, I have a shit ton of editing to do. I’m sure that will take a while but it will just be jazzing up the writing style and cementing the plot holes. once I’m done then I’ll have a set posting schedule and I’ll let u know what it is.

again, if you want to be added to the tag list then comment under this post or send me a message! thank you for reading and enjoy. please leave feedback, it makes me vv happy!!

genre: fluff

pairing: season nine spencer reid x female oc

warnings: none! fluff!

word count: 4.7k

SPENCER

"Reid."

I struggle to hold in a groan as I hear Hotch calling my name from his office when I try to leave the bullpen after returning from our most recent case. Alex gives me an understanding smile, one that says sorry you can’t get out of here as quickly as the rest of us, collecting her go-bag and heading into the elevator. Rossi pats my shoulder as I head up the small staircase to Hotch's office, closing the door behind me as I enter. I don't say anything as I enter, for fear of incriminating myself for whatever it is I’ve probably done wrong. After all, I’ve never been called in here to be given a pat on the back and thanked for my hard work. It’s always been to be scolded for whatever reason. So I figure for now I’ll just stay quiet until I’ve been told what the issue is.

Hotch just barely glances up from the paperwork he's doing as I stand in front of him, my bag in my hand, lingering by the closed door so I can make a quick getaway when this ends. "Is everything okay with you?"

"Yes," I say, probably a bit too quickly for him to actually believe it’s true. "Everything is fine,"

Hotch sets down his pen and stares up at me with the same intimidating, stoic expression he always has. "Reid, you were very distracted throughout this last case. You clearly weren't focused. It didn’t impact your work very much but it nearly did. One slip up means catastrophe and we can’t afford that. We can’t afford our personal lives mixing with our work lives. You know that,"

"It won't happen again,"

It's true. It won’t happen again. I’ll text Amelia and two things could happen. She could either ignore me and therefore, my infatuation with her will dissipate because I'll have no fuel to my emotional fire. Sure, that situation will hurt incredibly bad but at least I’ll have some level of closure and I’ll be able to block her out from my mind. On the other hand, she could answer my text and I'll get to see her again, and my thirst to see her again will be quenched and I won't be so plagued with a single image of her. I won’t be left to daydream of her blonde hair and her blue sweater and white nail polish. I’ll be able to see her again and hear her voice and learn more about her. But that’s contingent on if she actually answers my text. That is if I can actually get myself to reach out to her and not get swallowed up in self-doubt and anxiety.

"Good," Hotch picks up his pen again and gets back to work, ducking his head almost completely out of my view. And just when I think this conversation is over and I can get home at a reasonable time, he speaks again. "So who is she?"

My eyes widen slightly, but I manage to compose myself before my face gives away too much. My hands tighten around the leather strap of my messenger bag and I clear my throat. "Excuse me?"

Hotch gives me the tiniest of smiles, not even lifting his head or stopping his work. "I can tell. Who is she?"

I run my fingers through my hair and let out an exasperated sigh, and I know that no lie I could try and come up with would get past him. So I guess I’ll just tell him the truth and hope that he won’t ask too many questions now or in the future, if anything even transpires in the future. "Just some girl I met when I was getting coffee,"

"Must be some girl if she's been on your mind for four days," Hotch remarks. "Well, you better text her now that we're back. Head home and get sleep. That's an order,"

///

It takes me hours to actually grow the courage to text Amelia. I get back to my apartment after leaving work and I shower, do laundry, eat dinner, and read a few books before I even think about reaching for my phone. But even after I reach for it, I pick it up and put it down a few times before I force myself to sit down on the couch and open up my contacts to search for Amelia’s name.

I type and retype my message to Amelia what feels like a million times, but it actually turns out to be seven times. I wind up sending her a simple text, and even after seven attempts at a perfect message, it still feels completely wrong.

Hey, it's Spencer. We finished the case and I'm back home.

I should have said more or maybe less. Well, she told me not to text her until I got back home so isn’t it implied by the existence of the text that I’m home? Did I need to reiterate that I’m home by putting it into words for her? And she has my number so she knows it’s me texting her. I didn’t really need to tell her my name again.

I stand from the sticky leather couch and cross my apartment, standing in front of one of my many bookshelves, searching for a book to read. I might as well read to distract myself from the text that surely just ruined any chance I had with the most beautiful, interesting, and intriguing girl I’ve ever met. But before I can even find a book that is compelling enough to distract me, my phone dings. I audibly gasp, and I almost hit myself for acting like this. I've never been like this. It's dumb, really, to be acting like this. But no matter how dumb I try to convince myself I’m being, I can’t help the excitement that bubbles up in me as I rush back to my couch to grab my phone. Is this what it's like to be a teenager and have your first crush? Is this what it's like to stay up late and talk to your crush on the phone, having to whisper to not wake your parents? Is that what this is like?

how did the case go?

It's an interesting question and I'm surprised she even asked. I'm not sure what I was expecting her to say, but it wasn't that. Maybe I'd expected a text about the four day gap in communication, but nothing. Just a simple question about the case. It still takes me too long to answer as I grapple, yet again, to come up with a proper text.

It went pretty well considering the circumstances. It was an abduction case of a few women and we managed to save all the women in the end.

She responds almost immediately this time. Was she sitting and watching her phone and waiting for me to respond? Is that something people do in this situation? Is that what I’m supposed to be doing? Should I call Penelope and ask for advice on this? No. Absolutely not. The entire team would know in minutes and that’s the last thing I want.

that's great! good job. it's always nice to hear of good outcomes. I hear about way too many cases with horrible outcomes.

I'm about to type a response, but she sends another text before I can.

will you be getting coffee tomorrow?

Most likely. Why?

do you want to get coffee with me? we could talk a bit more before you have to go to work

I can't help the smile that comes to my face. She actually wants to see me again. Even after I didn't text her for four days, she still wants to see me. She asked me out. That has never been my luck.

There's a small tinge of doubt that starts to grow within me. The Pessimist in me starts to scream, telling me to run in the other direction. It’s telling me to delete her number and curl up in bed and never go to that cafe ever again, just so I know I’ll never see her again. The Pessimist is telling me to stop talking to this angel and not get her tangled up in this horrible job that I'm enveloped in. Too many people have been hurt because of me and I don't want to ruin another innocent life. But I can't help the way I get excited when I see her name pop up on my phone, and I can't stop my shaky hands whenever her face renters my brain. It's wrong, I know it is, but I can't help myself. So against my better judgment, I respond.

I'd love to get coffee with you. I'll meet you there at 8?

sounds perfect! see you then

I barely sleep at all that night. I doze off a few times on the couch with a book my book falling onto my stomach, but that's all. I'm far too excited to see Amelia again to actually spend more than an hour asleep at a time.

It takes me almost an hour to get dressed. I just can't decide what to wear. It takes me an hour to decide on an outfit, and I wind up wearing clothes that I would wear to work on any normal day, not on a day where I’m meeting a pretty girl for coffee (and tea). A button-up, a tie, a sweater vest, a peacoat jacket, jeans, and my beat up black converse. Yet again, it feels like it's not enough but god only knows what today could have in store for me. Plus, it's cold and I don't feel like freezing to death on my walk to the cafe.

I grab everything I could need for my walk and sling my messenger bag over my shoulder before locking up my apartment. I almost stumble down the stairs in my daydreaming daze but manage to keep my feet steady, letting out a breath and calming myself down as much as I can. I’ll need to be as calm as I can when I arrive because I know I won’t have much opportunity to when I get there.

I arrive at 7:45 and stand on line, waiting patiently to get to the barista. I order my coffee and then relay Amelia's tea order as well, the one I had noticed in her hand five days ago. Once I pay for the drinks, I sit down in the same booth we had been in previously and hope that Amelia will have the same thought process as me and will find me here.

I'm determined to make myself seem more comfortable than I was last time, so I put my messenger bag aside and straighten my tie around my neck. I make sure it's even with the hem of my sweater vest and smoothen down my pants, then run my fingers through my hair to make sure it's not too unruly. I've gotten a new haircut recently and I'm not too fond of it. The sides are too short and the top is too long but I haven't gotten a chance to go back to the barber to get it fixed. I'm not sure how to style it yet but I guess I have to figure it out eventually. But once I’ve dealt with my appearance, I roll my shoulders to loosen them up and take a few sips of my coffee, hoping that the caffeine will course through my veins at rapid speed.

"Hi, Spencer," Amelia pops up beside me with her stunning smile, pouring out her energy onto the table and setting the tone for the morning. Maybe I won’t even need my coffee if she’s with me.

I take a refreshing breath as soon as I see her, smiling back. I push myself out of the booth in an attempt to greet her properly, as best as I can. "Hi, Amelia,"

Despite it being five incredibly long days after our first meeting, Amelia is just as stunning to me now as she was before. Her skin is glowing and her eyes are still harnessing the beauty of the ocean. Her hair is up in a bun today, just a little bit messy but just perfect enough to be put together. She's wearing a black turtleneck with a red plaid skirt, black stockings, and the same black heeled boots as before. There's no camera around her neck today, but I see the straps of her leather backpack around her shoulders and I assume it's tucked away in there. Her nails are yellow now and her fingers are still full of rings, and now that her hair is up, I notice a handful of piercings in each of her ears. She looks different, sure, but I still have to keep myself from swooning at the mere sight of her.

"Okay," Amelia holds her hands out in front of me, as if halting me from coming any closer, "so I was thinking about you when you were off at work-"

That's nowhere near the end of her sentence, but it catches my attention the most. I couldn't stop thinking about her, but she was actually thinking about me. Maybe she was thinking about my coffee order and my tie and my messenger bag like I was thinking about her heels and her blonde hair and her choice of tea. It's not one-sided. I've never been successful with girls but I somehow did something to this girl to make her think about me and to wait for my text and actually want to respond. What could I have possibly done?

"Or more specifically," she corrects herself, "about how you don't like shaking hands and I totally agree with you. I looked up more statistics on handshaking and it's so disgusting and so germy and I totally get why you hate it and, honestly, I don’t blame you one bit. So," she annunciates the word with a huge smile, and she bounces just a little bit on her toes out of excitement. That sight is truly the most adorable sight I think I’ve ever seen. "I came up with alternatives,"

I furrow my eyebrows. "Alternatives?"

"Yeah! For handshaking," Amelia tells me, her excitement never faltering. "I thought maybe we could high five, but that wasn't my favorite option because it’s kinda lame, and it’s still touching hands, just for a really short time. We could fist bump, or we could elbow bump, or we could do like," she holds up her hand with her pinky out, "almost like a pinky promise but then I thought that, again, it's still technically touching hands, but we're not covering as much surface area as a whole handshake would. And, of course, I'd assume that hugs are off the table, which is fine. As much as I love hugging, I get that hugging strangers is super weird so it’s not that big of a deal to me." Amelia lets out a loud breath as she finishes her speech, a speech similar to the ones I deliver daily to my coworkers, and as she speaks, my smile grows and grows and I can’t seem to stop it. "That was a lot all at once. Sorry about that,”

"No, it's okay," I tuck my hands in my pockets and bow my head, trying to wipe the stupid grin off my face. "It's actually really, um, it's really sweet that you put so much thought into how to greet me. Most people think I’m weird because I don’t like shaking hands,”

Amelia presses her lips together in a shy smile and she just bounces on her toes once more before her eyes dart towards the growing line of people towards the front of the cafe. "I should go get on line before it gets too long. I'll-"

"Actually, I-"

"Spencer!"

My cheeks turn pink as the barista shouts out my name with impeccable timing, cutting off Amelia’s sentence. "I noticed your order when we met and I ordered your tea when I ordered my coffee, if you don’t mind. I hope it’s okay,”

"That's really sweet of you, Spencer, thank you," I find some sort of odd comfort in the way that Amelia seems to get shy at my tiny gentlemanly gesture. Maybe the comfort comes in knowing that I’m not the only one who’s getting bashful.

"Sit, I'll go grab them," I gesture back to the table before rushing off to grab both of our piping hot drinks, hurrying through the growing line of customers before they can cool off too much. I sit back down and slide the cup over to Amelia, which she grabs with a grateful smile. "So how are you?"

Amelia takes the first sip of her tea as I pull off the top of mine and blow gently. "I'm pretty great, actually. The weather isn't so nice out today so I don’t think I’m gonna be able to get that many good pictures. What about you?"

"I'm," I weigh my options of what I could say for a moment, "happy to be here,"

Amelia's eyes widen slightly and her cheeks get pink as she hides in a long drink of her tea, but I can't tell if her blush that's because of her scolding drink or because of my implication that I’m happy to be with her. "So, Mr. FBI, tell me more about you. I know we don't have too much time but I wanna know more about you," she goes quiet then, giving me her full attention. Her eyes are locked with mine and she's facing me straight on, giving me her full and undivided attention. I don’t give myself enough time to get anxious over this attention and I just focus on trying to tell her the basic details about myself that seem to be most prominent in my life.

"Well, I'm a behavioral profiler for the FBI, but you already know that," I almost roll my eyes at how dumb it was for me to say that first, because Amelia already knew that, but I move on just as quick as I did when I sent her that stupid text with my name in it yesterday. "I have an IQ of 187,"

Amelia's eyes go wide and she quickly sets her cup down, nearly slamming her hands down on the table as her jaw falls open in disbelief. "You're serious?"

I laugh at her reaction, even if her reaction is much more dramatic than the ones I’m used to seeing from police officers and other FBI agents. But at least her first reaction isn’t to call me weird or freaky for being so abnormally smart. "Yes, actually. And I can read 20,000 words per minute. I've got three Ph.D.’s and three BA's,"

"Oh my god," she puts her elbows on the table and presses her fingers into her temples, "I'm in the presence of a literal genius! I don't even deserve to be sitting at this table," her words contradict her body language though because despite what she's saying, she seems to become more comfortable and sinks impossibly further into the leather booth. "So," she takes a breath and drops her hands from her head, collecting herself just a little bit, "you're a doctor?"

"Yes," I say, taking the first sip of my coffee, now cooled off enough for me to actually drink it, "but not a medical doctor,"

"So you're Doctor Spencer-" her voice trails off and her eyebrows raise as she expects me to fill in the blank.

"Reid,"

"Doctor Spencer Reid," she says it as if she's testing out the way it rolls off her tongue. And if I thought if my first name coming out of her mouth sounded magnificent before, my full name escaping her lips so effortlessly sounds breathtaking and glorious. I almost miss it when she speaks again because I’m so caught up in trying to recreate the sound of her voice in my head. "Wow. You work for the FBI, you're a genius, you're a doctor with three Ph.D.’s, is there anything you can't do?"

I choose not to answer that because I could give a laundry list of things I can't do. But this is not the time to be self-deprecating. I want Amelia to actually like me, not be scared away by my incompetence. But thankfully, before I can try to think of anything to say to pivot the conversation to a new topic, Amelia does it for me.

"And what else? That's just work stuff. Tell me about you as a person. Your hobbies, that kinda stuff,"

"Well, I read a lot," I tell her. "I always have books with me. I like classical music," I take another second to think, my eyes wandering around the relatively empty cafe as I struggle to think of more things about myself that would seem intriguing and wouldn’t make me seem completely lame. But I’m starting to get the impression that Amelia doesn’t think that way. She hasn’t given me any reason to believe that she thinks I’m weird, even as I reveal more and more details about myself. "I like magic,"

"Magic?" Amelia smirks, the topic clearly piquing her interest. "I didn't peg you as a magician, Dr. Reid,"

"Well, I'm from Las Vegas so it's kind of imperative that I know some magic tricks,"

"Then you'll just have to show me some tricks next time, won't you?"

Next time.

"Y-Yeah," I stutter out, trying not to sound too taken aback by the revelation that she is willing to see me again, "I'll come prepared next time." Amelia beams at my response and now that she’s distracted, I figure now is the perfect time to divert the conversation away from me. "Okay, now you go. Tell me about you and your hobbies,"

"Oh, okay," she wiggles in her seat from excitement, brushing her fallen pieces of hair behind her ear when they stick to her long lashes and obstruct her sight, "art is what I find myself doing the most. It’s my job but it’s also my main hobby, considering I’ve already told you I walk around with my camera a lot. But apart from art, I really love thrift shopping. I don’t know if that qualifies as a hobby but I really love seeing what I can find. I have this system that I follow and it’s top secret but it ensures you find something really good every time. Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day. Other than that, I’m a Taurus. I moved here right after college with my best friends but I live alone now. What else? This is lame but my favorite color is-”

"Yellow," I cut her off but I barely even mean to.

Amelia's smile falters for a moment, but then it grows even bigger than before. "Y-Yeah, it is. How'd you know? Well, you're a profiler and you’re supposed to notice behavior but how do you know what my favorite color is based off of my behavior?"

"The scarf on your head five days ago had a pattern on it but was mostly yellow. The rings you were wearing also had yellow in them, as do the ones on your fingers now," she glances down at them as I talk. "Your nails are also painted yellow now, but they were white before and they weren't chipped. That means that you took the white polish off and changed it to yellow even though the white polish was perfectly fine. So that means your favorite color is yellow,"

"You-" she lets out a breath, absolutely baffled, "you remember the scarf I was wearing and that my nail polish wasn't chipped?"

"Yeah," I bob my head up and down in a nod, clutching my coffee cup tighter in my hands, "ironically enough, I forgot to mention that I have an eidetic memory,"

Amelia tilts her head to the side. "What's that?"

"It's also widely known as a photographic memory. I can see or read something once and then I'll remember it. I don’t necessarily remember every word of a conversation but I remember books I read and I’ll remember our texts and I remember what we were both wearing-"

"It's why you remembered my order," she has a moment of realization, her fingers curling around her almost empty cup of tea. "You just keep getting more and more impressive, Dr. Reid. But unfortunately," I see her eyes wander over to the watch on my wrist, "you're not the only one who remembers things. This is about the time you left last time,"

"You'd be correct," I sigh begrudgingly, my hand slowly reaching for my bag, dreading the fact that I have to go to work yet again and leave her warm presence. I know I can’t possibly leave her without expressing my need to see her again. So once I’ve managed to get my bag over my head and inhale deeply, I quickly blurt out the first sentence that pops into my head that articulates my thoughts. "I'd love to do this again,"

"You better! You need to wow me with your magic skills!" Amelia exclaims with a casual tone to her voice that makes me wonder if I even needed to tell her that I wanted to see her again. Maybe she just expected that we would see each other again. "Tomorrow, same time? Of course, that’s contingent on your job. If you have to work then it’s fine. We can rain check,"

"That sounds like a plan to me,” The giddiness and the excitement build up in me as I stand and wait for her to button up her jacket. She flashes me her millionth smile of the morning as we head towards the door, and I make sure to hold the door open for her to make sure she gets out first. "So I'll text you or call you later and let you know if I get a case,"

"I'll be waiting,"

We pause in front of the window of the cafe, just waiting for one of us to initiate a proper goodbye. But nothing seems to feel right after the perfect morning we had. No smile, or wave, or verbal greeting can wrap up an encounter so absurdly perfect. But then as I see Amelia glance down at her shoes and as she lets her anxieties shine through for one of the first times since I met her, I remember what she had told me when she first arrived at the cafe this morning. I hold up my hand with my pinky sticking out, and I'd do anything to immortalize the smile that comes to Amelia's face in that exact moment.

"I knew you'd like this one," she murmurs to herself happily, even though I can obviously hear her, wrapping her warm pinky around mine. "I'll talk to you soon, Dr. Reid,"

"You know, you can call me Spencer," I respond, reluctantly letting go of her hand as she takes a step in the direction opposite to where I need to go.

"I'll think about it," she smirks and turns on her heels, bouncing on her toes again before rushing down the sidewalk. I watch her go, too entranced by her to even move or think about attempting to catch my train. Every tiny detail about her draws me into her world and just watching her walk away makes me want to run up and sweep her off her feet, literally and metaphorically. Leaving her is the most disappointing thing I can think of, and all I want is to drag her back into the cafe and back to the booth and sit down and talk for hours upon hours. But I shake my head at my intrusive thoughts and force myself to turn around and get to the metro before I miss my train. I can't afford to be late. I can't afford anyone asking questions.

///

We got a case today. I'll be headed to LA for a couple of days. Raincheck on coffee and tea?

coffee and tea and magic tricks! don't you dare forget magic tricks!

if you’ve read this far then please let me know your favorite color. i really wanna know. thank u sm. also let me know what you thought of the chapter. love u all <3333

TAGLIST

@etheralgubler @babybobbybones @whollytaciturn @reidswords @thegingerfairchild @matthewreid @shrimpyblog @garcias-batcave @anamelessfacelessnerd

#nikos north fic #nikos writing #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #matthew gray gubler #mgg

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kpopfanfictrash · 5 years ago

Text

The Supers and the Not

Member: Jimin (BTS)

Prompt: Okay. The original request was for Cyborg!Jimin, but I made a few tweaks. I’ve been recently intrigued by this Stephen Hawking excerpt, where he warns about the future of designer genetics v. humanity. So.... Jimin is not a cyborg, but a genetically engineered superhuman. AND, GO. (OH, + this dialogue: “Are you warm enough?”)

Rating: PG-13

WC: 3,637

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

The term superhuman has held many meanings throughout history.

In comic books, superhumans are superheroes. They are beings who use their powers for good, who protect society from unnatural adversaries. The term has changed greatly since then. When science grew bolder and human curiosity surged, the word superhuman began to transform. It became a label; one which separated a new category of human from old.

The supers from the not.

Back in the old days, designer babies (as they were called) were edited merely for defects. Scientists easily identified potential genetic diseases like sickle-cell or Huntington’s, sending in nanotech to modify and fix the code. Obviously, there was debate around this and obviously, humans were wary – but the benefits were proven to outweigh the cost.

Scientists did not stop there. No longer did they research disease, but the human psyche itself. As the map of human DNA filled in its corners, their research became riskier, more complicated and far more exciting. Once all human defects were eliminated, what else remained but the good traits?

Good traits – which could become great.

The first superhumans were not called super. Super was a nickname generated by an overenthusiastic media before they grasped what their existence truly meant. The supers were a class of human beings all on their own – able to see further, hear better, run faster. They were taller, more beautiful and far more intelligent. This was the real kicker – humans have survived extinction based on their wit alone. The appearance of supers meant regular humans could no longer compete.

The so-called supers were turned against the not.

You are not super. Your parents could not afford you to be. While many your age were conceived in a tube; their embryos tested, operated on and perfected; you were conceived the old-fashioned way, with a virtual roll of the dice.

Still, you have always done well for yourself. In a world where you were born at a natural disadvantage, you have always managed to survive. Survival is truly the best-case scenario given your circumstances. Always, you have harbored the unique ability to assess a situation, determine its risks and choose the right outcome. Some call it luck, others skill, but you know it for what it truly is – the only option.

Take now, for instance.

Currently you sit in a white, pristine lobby on a white, pristine couch in front of a white, pristine receptionist. She keeps glancing your way, wrinkling her nose as though you have a strange smell. Warily, you shift in your seat and wonder if somehow you do. Maybe her sense of smell is so acute she can pick up on an aroma you cannot.

Or maybe she is only an ass. This option seems more likely to you.

When the door to the waiting room swings open, you look up. A woman holds it ajar with her hip, checking the hologram hovering above her wrist.

“Y/N?” she asks, sounding utterly bored.

“That’s me,” you say, rising to your feet.

Swiftly, she looks your way and wrinkles her nose. “Follow me.”

She turns, the door nearly falling shut behind her. You are forced to run in order to catch it, barely grasping its edge before it closes on your hand. From behind you, the receptionist snickers and, glowering, you step through the door. The hallway beyond it is equally pristine and white.

The assistant is already halfway down the hall.

“So,” you pant, practically jogging to keep up with her stride. “The ad didn’t mention what specifically I would be doing. Do you have an overview?”

For the first time since meeting, the woman smiles. Paused in the middle of the hall, she looks at you as though you are something to be pitied and you repress the urge to slap the look from her face.

“And yet you still answered the ad. Most peculiar.”

Drawing yourself to your full height – which is still several centimeters below hers – you glare. “As though I have a choice,” you say coldly. “There aren’t many jobs left which accept normals.”

“Pity.”

She walks past you, opening a doorway you had not yet noticed. The seams of it blend into the wall, barely even noticeable unless you have super vision. The room beyond seems darker than the hall. Finally, the walls surrounding you are not white – it takes you a second to adjust to the lighting.

“He’s waiting,” the assistant says, as though you are a gigantic waste of her time. Maybe you are.

Walking forward, you hear the door fall shut behind you. The new room is utterly silent, nothing to be heard but the sound of your breathing – and his. Your potential employer stands behind a large desk, as though this were a formal gathering of businessmen, and not a rather sketchy job interview.

Fuck, supers are beautiful.

It is hard not to be dazzled by his outward appearance. A sculpted jawline, bright gaze and sharp nose – standing before him, you feel rather meek in comparison. Before you can speak, the man clears his throat.

“Sit,” he says, waving at the chair opposite. “Please, Y/N, sit. Are you warm enough? Sometimes the temperature of this room is far too cold.”

Of course, he would need confirmation of this. Most supers can sustain greater temperature fluctuations than normals. It is one of their many improvements.

Warily, you take a step closer. “You know my name.”

He smiles politely. “You did fill out an application, you know.”

“I know.” Stiffly, you pull the chair back to sit.

Silence stretches between you, both of you staring and trying not break first. Finally, he speaks.

“How silly of me.” Chuckling good-naturedly, the man ducks his head. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Park Jimin, but you may call me Jimin.”

“Most supers prefer to be addressed by their surname.”

Jimin’s smile falters. “Yes, well… Ah. All the same, I prefer to be called Jimin.”

“Alright.” You say this as though it is neither here nor there. “Jimin, it is.”

“Wonderful.” Jimin flicks a hand over his desk. A blue hologram appears. “Down to business, then. You’re probably wondering why my ad was so cryptic.”

Uncaring, you shrug. “Not really.”

“Why not?” Jimin pauses. “That would have been my first question.”

He seems genuinely curious and in response, your gaze narrows. The underlying implication is obvious – you normals do not think things through before acting. Not in the same way they do. Normal thought is somehow ages behind that of the supers.

Gritting your teeth, you lean forward. “The ad didn’t surprise me because, based on prior experience, supers tend to be vague about illegal requests.”

Jimin’s cheeks color. Slowly, he lowers his hand and the blue hologram fades. “I see.” Quickly, he glances at the door you entered from. “You’ve answered this kind of ad often, then.”

“Not a question.”

“No, merely an observation.” His gaze becomes shrewd. “I can see you don’t trust me.”

Not wishing to implicate yourself any further, you remain silent.

Jimin arches a brow. “Well, do you?”

“No,” you say simply. “I do not.”

“I can hardly blame you for that. My kind can be… well, cruel to yours.”

Again, you say nothing. Part of survival is knowing when to hold your tongue. Part of survival is knowing when to play the part of the lower, sub-species and when to let them know you understand.

“I need you to trust me, though,” Jimin says quietly. “I need you to trust me, since I’m going to be very, very honest with you.”

Despite your best interest, his words pique your curiosity. Supers do not often care about honesty.

“It will be difficult to undo years of training,” you note.

Jimin laughs. The noise escapes before he can help it. “Yes,” he muses, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose so. Perhaps it would be good, then to tell you who I am.”

“You’re Park Jimin. You’re a super.”

His eyes are dark brown with flecks of gold at the center. The effect inspires warmness, emotion and you trust absolutely none of it. Everything about this man is designed to draw people in. Idly, you wonder how much his father paid for it.

“True,” Jimin says. “But I am also Park Jimin, of Park Enterprises.” Launching into what can only be assumed to be his Wikipedia biography, he continues, “My father is Park Jiwoo, researcher and entrepreneur. I have no siblings. I am 169 cm tall, which is considered below average for a super and I –”

“Okay, none of that matters to me,” you interrupt, waving your hand. Jimin ceases talking immediately, blinking owlishly and you wonder if this is the first time he has been interrupted. “God,” you groan, slouching low in your seat. “You supers are all the same, aren’t you? Listing facts and figures like that’s all people care about.”

Jimin bristles. “That is what most people care about.”

“Not normals,” you say, softening a tad. “Not humans, really. Tell me something different. Tell me something personal.”

The blue light from his desk makes him seem almost haunted. Likely, the lights in his room are intelligent; designed to reflect his mood and adjust appropriately. You wonder what they glean from him now, since he seems stressed in your gaze. Dark circles shadow his eyes, his grip tense on the table before him. Uneasily, you wonder what a super could have to be worried about.

“I don’t really know what you mean.” His brow puckers. “Do you want my government ID number, or something? That’s personal.”

“God, no,” you choke out, trying hard not to laugh. “If you gave me that, they’d just think I stole it.”

His lips lift in a ghost of a smile. “You’re right, they would.”

“I know I’m right. I want something different. I want to hear about…” Glancing around, you wonder what could possibly make you trust this man. What could possibly make you relate to this super. There are photographs on his desk – a family photo, which is interesting. Looking up, you meet Jimin’s gaze. “Tell me the last time you cried.”

“The last time I… cried?”

“Or, can you not?” Politely, you cross one knee over the other. “Are you supers so far removed from humanity that you no longer feel? Were your tear ducts removed along with your defects?”

“I can still cry,” Jimin mutters, gaze heated.

“Then, prove it. Tell me.”

Slowly, he leans back in his seat. “Last Thursday. 10:12 AM.”

“And what happened to make you cry?”

“I learned information which scared me.”

His honesty catches you off guard. Either Park Jimin is a very good actor, or he is telling the truth. He truly does look fearful, which does not bode well for you. Fearful people tend to make bad decisions – and fearful supers tend to make cataclysmic ones.

“What information?”

Jimin shakes his head slowly. “I can’t tell you that. Not without you trusting me. Not without me trusting you.”

“Then, trust me.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Jimin slowly exhales. “Meeting you like this goes against everything I stand for. There are so many things which could go wrong... I have done the probability calculations over and over – twice while we were sitting here – and it is ludicrous to think I might find the solution, when –”

“Jimin.” Quietly, you interrupt.

He pauses before he looks up.

You meet his gaze. “Why am I here?”

Jimin’s expression morphs from stoic to helpless. “Because... you’re normal.”

“And?”

“And,” Jimin says, closing his eyes. “That means you are immune to the problem.”

The way he says problem sends a chill down your spine. He speaks as though he has exhausted every option and this is his last resort – and likely, you are. That is what tends to come from meetings like this.

This is not your first meeting from an unlisted number. This is not your first interaction where a person has disguised their voice while answering the phone. It isn’t your first time meeting someone in an unknown location and receiving details of a task said person needed performed.

You do what you must. You receive payment. You survive.

This seems different, though – Jimin seems different.

With his eyes closed, Jimin looks almost human. You suppose that he is, but not in the same way you are. His skin is flawless, the milk of it dusted with blue veins and dark lashes. When he opens his eyes, you expect the illusion of his beauty to fade. It does not.

“What’s the problem?” you say, pushing these distracting thoughts aside.

“It’s easier… if I show you.” Reluctantly, Jimin reaches out to pull up a hologram. Blue strands of DNA twist before you in mid-air. “There have been many accepted edits of the human genome. Some are more progressive than others. The ampliointelligens procedure, for example, is the most widely known. It is where –”

“A person’s intelligence is increased,” you interrupt, bored. “I know. It’s Latin.”

Jimin quickly covers his surprise. “Of course. Anyways, the procedure was considered the first of the… super procedures. The ones which diverted from genetic correction to genetic improvement. And, as with any new field… there were errors.”

“Errors?”

This fact is news to you – nothing about mistakes was reported to the public, which explains Jimin’s trepidation on the matter. In the entire history of the supers, there has never once been any admittance of error. Their strength is their narrative, after all. The supers deserve their positions, their wealth and their influence because they are better. Because they can foresee things normal humans cannot. All of this fails to be relevant if they are proven to be imperfect.

“The concept of intelligence.” Jimin uses air quotes on the word. “Is hard to understand and even harder to change. Gene editing is simple. Take something like Huntington’s disease – we know the genetic defect which causes it. We can simply screen the DNA, cut out the harmful bit and replace it. That’s an over-simplification of the procedure of course, but – there’s low risk of something going wrong.”

“If you say so.”

“However, with something like intelligence… there’s still debate about which portions of the human genome are the most impactful. There are several accepted versions of the ampliointelligens procedure because of this disagreement.”

Hearing him say this, you blink. Again, this is news not known to the general public and you wonder why Jimin is telling you this – any one of these tidbits would be worth a fortune if the supers have covered them up for so long.

The surprise on your face must be obvious, because Jimin then sighs. “The variables increase with intelligence. There isn’t one DNA strand to consider, but millions. Trillions. Each tweak a surgeon makes has far-reaching repercussions; ones which geneticists admitted were impossible to know definitively at the time. And yet…”

“And yet, people underwent the procedure.”

“People were greedy. They are greedy,” Jimin corrects with a tick to his jaw. “Once a reasonable procedure was created, people wanted it – no matter the cost, no matter the risk. If there was a chance their children could be super, they took it.”

You notice Jimin says the word super with a bitterness usually reserved by your kind. This surprises you, if nothing else. He doesn’t seem to enjoy what he is any more than you do.

“So.” You tap your fingers against your knee. “Back to the problem you mentioned.”

You assume this problem is why you’ve been asked here. There’s something Jimin needs and the sooner he asks it of you, the sooner you can leave. The sooner you can cease sitting before him, becoming oddly charmed by a man you despise.

He nods. “We’ve known about a mutation for years, but it has recently transformed into something insidious. One of the ampliointelligens procedures is the cause of this mutation. The DNA edit takes over, it spirals out of control and overpowers the human ability to empathize. This leads to rash decision-making, high levels of narcissism and the inability to relate to others. It can be… crippling.”

“Narcissistic and unable to relate?” Pressing your lips together, you keep them from twitching. “However will you separate them from the rest of the supers?”

“It isn’t the same,” Jimin says, a bit heated. “Supers can empathize, even if they place less value upon emotion than normals do. Supers still factor in an emotional response.”

“How noble.”

“You don’t understand.” Jimin leans forward. “Those afflicted by the mutation are incapable of decision-making – and what’s worse, they control every major resource in the country. Yes,” he says, spotting the look on your face. “The problem is bigger than just supers versus normals. If this disease spirals out of control, there won’t be a world left to save.”

“Is that what you intend to do?” you ask, unable to help yourself. “Save the world?”

“I intend to try,” Jimin says quietly.

Maybe it’s this that convinces to you how serious this is. Jimin stares, brow furrowed, and you get the idea he doesn’t lie very often. Slowly, you tilt your head and observe him.

“How many?”

His brow furrows. “I’m sorry?”

“How many supers are afflicted?”

Staring at you, Jimin seems to sag in his seat. If he had a glass of alcohol in his hand, you imagine he would drink it.

“About half the existing supers underwent the affected procedure,” he admits. “And it does not seem to be a question of if, but of when.”

“Oh.”

“Take my father, for instance,” Jimin continues, not looking away. “He began to exhibit symptoms last Thursday morning. I, on the other hand, have yet to show any.”

“How…” You pause, licking your lips. “If the procedure is as certain as you say, how does the public not yet know? How has it been kept quiet so far?”

“Those in power have methods of silencing.”

Not wanting to know more than that, you glance away. “I take it you think these methods will not remain effective for much longer?”

“I do not.”

“So, then why am I…” Glancing sharply upwards, understanding dawns. “You want me to be your guinea pig. You want to perform experiments on me because I’m immune. Because I’m normal.”

“Lord, no.” Jimin winces. “At least – not in the manner you speak of. I would like to compare samples of our DNA, yes. I’d like intelligence testing, brain scans – all of that would be on the table, but what I need you for most is observation.”

“Observation. Like, me in a glass room and a strait jacket?”

“It’s the other way around, I’m afraid. I need you to observe me.”

“You?”

“Like I said.” A sliver of desperation seeps into his tone. “I have no idea when my mind won’t be… my own. I’m seeing firsthand how my father has changed. I need someone neutral – someone not prone to the problem themselves – to weigh in.”

“And that person… is me?”

“Based on this meeting, I think so.” Jimin meets your gaze. “Y/N, has your intelligence ever been tested?”

“Are you serious? Intelligence testing is reserved for supers. Surely, you know that. Normals have no need to be tested.”

“And yet,” Jimin says calmly. “Since you entered this room, you’ve corrected me multiple times, synthesized complicated arguments and even translated Latin to English. Whatever you are,” he says, leaning forward. “It is more than what you let on.”

He sounds so self-assured in this statement, you almost believe him. Pushing the idea away, you glance at the door and gather your thoughts. No matter what choice you make, there’s no good way out. You were stuck from the moment you agreed to this meeting. Jimin has revealed too much to you – and yes, information is power, but not the kind that you hold.

Knowing weaknesses about the supers places a target on your back. Slowly, you return to him.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” you say softly. “If I don’t agree to your terms, you’ll just send people after me when I leave.”

“No. I won’t.”

“Why not? I would, if I were you.”

“Because.” There’s something hard, something unreadable to his gaze. “I really need you to trust me.”

Variables flash through your mind, a fight or flight instinct warring in your bones. Eventually, you ignore all of it and instead, listen to the voice which whispers in the back of your mind.

“Find,” you say slowly. “I’ll do it.”

Jimin sags into his chair. “Thank the fucking gods.” He sighs. “I didn’t really have a Plan B.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” Jimin says. “I’m afraid this is my final resort.”

“Then, why –”

“I think that’s enough chit-chat for today.” Pushing back his chair, Jimin stands from his desk. Pressing a button on the side, a noise buzzes in the hall. “I think it’s time you reviewed the terms of the contract. One of my assistants will show you to your rooms.”

“Rooms?”

Without thinking, you stand as well.

“Of course,” Jimin shrugs. “You’ll be staying with me for the duration of the work period. Everything is outlined in the contract – which you will have until the end of this week to make amendments to. Will that be that satisfactory?”

“I…” Blinking at him, your mind reels. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Clasping both hands before him, Jimin morphs back into the image of super. Banished is the distressed man you saw briefly but still, he lingers around the edges.

“I look forward to working with you, Y/N,” he says quietly.

The door opens to reveal the tall assistant from earlier. She glances in surprise from you to Jimin, as though she did not expect you to stay.

Seeing her reaction, your smile broadens. “I look forward to working with you, too, Jimin,” you announce, walking towards the door.

It is mainly for the benefit of the assistant, but you cannot help but realize there is some truth to the words. Despite all you have said, that voice still exists deep within you. The one which usually warns you of danger is unusually silent in his presence. This unsettles you for a moment and then you walk past, stepping into the hall.

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin drabble #bts drabble #bts scifi au #jimin scifi au

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19mrs-barnes17 · 5 years ago

Text

Not Kidding

Summary: “Hi! I hope you're having a good day. May I request a fic w/ Steve/Bucky where you're a cheery and bubbly person that's always asking him out (and always get rejected) to the point it's the team's inside joke. But then one day another girl gets introduced to the team and Steve/Bucky have an instant connection and it seems like she's essentially trying to replace you on the team. This is when you become more down to earth and sullen. You can end this however you like I just love angst! Thanks you!” - Anonymous

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: angst, I think that’s all

Word count: 1,440

A/N: Thanks for the request lovely! I decided between the two in true Harvey Dent fashion, coin flip. I hope you are pleased with the outcome! (Requests are still open!)

Fate was a cruel mistress with her jokes and games, always tearing away at your heart. It simply was not fair for you to pour your heart out only for it to be rejected and taken as a joke. Sure, at first your attempts were mere jests but, it was serious for you now and you only wished he could see that. If only he knew you truly meant it, you weren’t crying wolf. This was a genuine declaration from within and not some silly laugh for the rest of the team.

“Hey, little bird. You okay?” Clint stood in the doorway, leaning on it with his arms crossed and concern painted across his face.

“He laughed again, but this time he playfully punched my shoulder.” You stole your gaze back to the episode of Gilmore Girls playing, eyes on the screen but mind elsewhere. “It’s useless he doesn’t believe me.”

“Woah, that doesn’t sound like the woman I trained.” He sat on the corner of your bed and sighed, unsure how he could rectify the situation. “I think you need to sit him down and beat it into his head that you’re serious. He likes you ya know. I swear.”

“I highly doubt that. So, what’d you stop by to say?”

There was a new member. A woman. Scratch that, a beautiful woman who was witty and clever. Far more appealing than you apparently, seeing as her welcome was much more endearing and celebratory. Everyone seemed to love her and you couldn’t help but like her as well, she was kind. But when you saw Bucky look at her like she was made of gold your heart shattered onto the floor. Clint was the only to notice, everyone else making jabs at you when they caught you alone.

“Looks like you’ve got competition Y/N.”

“Uh, oh. Better make a move before she does.”

“Bucky seems smitten with her, better luck next time Y/N”

When dinner had ended you snuck out of the welcome party, far too easily, without a soul noticing that you were gone. Well almost. But it wasn’t exactly the one you were hoping for, though it was welcomed all the same. Clint leaned his back against the railing, eyeing you as he spoke.

“C’mon Y/N. Give it a chance, try telling him again.” You shook your head, growing tired of trying to appease to someone who clearly didn’t think enough of you. “Okay, that’s okay. You can drop it, or persist. But it is up to you, whatever makes you happy makes me happy. I just want to see the free spirited girl I used to know, and if it takes knocking some sense into Barnes I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You know what? Go for it. I really don’t care anymore, not when he’s clearly interested in someone else. Someone who is me but 2 years older. An archer, same hair color, same cheery and bubbly attitude I used to parade around with.” A tear slid down your cheek but you were quick to brush it away. “It’s fine, I deserve better anyway right?”

“Damn right you do, Barnes is an idiot.” Clint smiles softly at you, nudging you with his shoulder and bringing a soft smile to your lips.

“Why am I an idiot?” Bucky emerged from the doorway, confusion etched into his features as he glanced between you and Clint. The latter glanced at you for permission and you nodded before walking past Bucky without speaking a word.

“You really wanna know?” Bucky’s brow furrowed, arms crossing over his chest as he nods apprehensively. “Where to start. Well, how about how you are letting an incredible, caring, and understanding woman slip through your fingers.”

“What?” Bucky lowers his arms and his gaze softens, taking a step toward Clint. “What are you talking about?”

“You’d think you’d be able to work that one out for yourself big guy.” Clint raises a brow, head nodding to the now empty space next to him.

“Oh, jeez. You scared me, I thought this was something serious. Barton, she's roped you into this now?” Bucky smiled softly as he moved to lean over the railing, eyes scanning the skyline. “You two are gonna be the death of me.”

“Only if you don’t get your head out of your ass and realize she isn’t joking. Not anymore.” Clint sighs before pushing off the rail, stopping just shy of the door. “Not that it matters whether she likes you or not considering you’ve crushed her spirit and heart beneath your boot.”

He’s left alone on the balcony, mind running through the conversation repeatedly in an attempt to determine its sincerity. There was far too much honesty dripping from Clint’s tone for this to be part of Y/N’s usual schemes. Did she really care for him? Of all the people she could fall for, Bucky couldn’t fathom himself being the object of her affection. She was too good for him, too kind. He almost felt as though he would poison her light if he confessed what he had been hiding, he couldn’t bear it. Although, from what Clint was saying, he had already done it unconsciously. He had to fix this immediately.

You were by yourself at the bar, pouring yourself a mixed drink and looking peaceful in your own world. The celebration around you had left you unaffected, no silly smile on your lips or quick thinking quip from your lips. It hurt Bucky to see you so distant, and it pissed him off that everyone had fueled his rejections with their whispers. None of them thought you had genuine interest in him and he had listened to their cautions against getting lead on.

“Whiskey on the rocks please?” He held a soft and tentative gaze on you, a gentle smile on his lips when you nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“For?” She had paused in pouring the liquor but resumed after shaking her head softly as if to wake herself. “Laughing? Or the constant rejection?”

She slid the glass across without making any eye contact, sipping on her own concoction and smiling softly. He tore his gaze from her, eyes growing pitifully sad and pained.

“All of it.” His voice was soft and barely audible under the noise of the music and chatter surrounding them. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” She placed a hand on his and smiled softly, shaking her head ever so slightly at his regret fueled state. “Apology accepted, punk.”

A soft smile stretched across his lips, eyes meeting yours with a twinkle of hope. He stood from the stool and made his way around the bar, much to your confusion. Bucky held your hands in his, ignoring the party raging right next to him. You were the center of his focus and it made your heart skip a beat.

“I should never have laughed at you, and I should have taken your advances more seriously. I owe you more than an apology, I owe you the truth.” Your brow furrowed and mouth opened to speak but he shook his head. “I fell for you the moment I laid eyes on you. When I watched you work your way through that training simulation. Your smile and bright personality seemed too pure for my tainted heart to belong to. But it does. Completely.”

You could taste the salty tears dripping down your cheeks, sniffling as you scanned his steel blue eyes and discovered sincerity. He placed his hands on your cheeks and wiped away the tear trails, eyes never leaving yours. Tired, that’s what you both were. Far too tired of waiting and fearing that the other wouldn’t accept you. So you gripped the collar of his shirt in a fist and pulled him to you. Your lips moving in sync, a smile stretching across them as he moved his arms to your waist and hair.

There was a single clap that snapped the two of you from the kiss, heads turning to determine its source. Clint sat on the arm of a chair, hands continuing to clap as a bright smile grew. You could kill the man. Now all eyes were on you and Bucky, especially Steve’s. A knowing gaze and gentle smile from him had you blushing like a damn tomato. Bucky pulled away and stood in front of you with an arm protectively blocking you.

“Alright, get on with it. Move on, have some respect.” His defensive stance in front of you made you chuckle softly.

“Yeah perverts.” He glanced over his shoulder with a small smile before shaking his head at you.

Tags: @qtmeryr @broken-hearted-barnes

Send asks to join tags!

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #requested #send me asks #angst #kayla answers #marvel

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jimlingss · 5 years ago

Text

The Colour of Our Voices [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 4.5 OR Chapter 5

➜ Words: 4.9k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

Your breath is held in your throat. The phone rings. It continues, the ringback tone dragging on and on like a terrible song of suspense. Then, it stops. Your breath catches in your throat. There’s a crisp voice on the other end. “Ya-llow?” “Hi.” You swallow hard, trying to collect your wits, but it takes too long. “Hello?” “Yes, s-sorry. Hi. My name is Y/N L/N. I was wondering if you guys were having any auditions to take clients in—” “Sorry, we’re not. Have a nice day!” You’re hung up on, not like an unwanted telemarketer trying to make their living. But there’s nothing you can do, so with a sigh, you continue down the list of agents. Most of them don’t pick up. You leave voice messages that go unanswered, exactly like the emails you frequently send. Though occasionally, it picks up and it’s not just an automated voice. “Please stop calling us!” The woman hisses on the other line. “We only take referrals.” You’ve brought it up to the director again. But his brows always scrunch and he wears that visibly annoyed expression, giving an exaggerated sigh of feigned exhaustion. “Y/N, I told you what I told you. If you keep insisting on this matter, then I’ll have no choice but to be upset. No one likes it when they’re not being heard.” And that’s the kinder version. You’re spared on the speech that you need to work harder, that you’re not ready to be on actual Broadway, that you have a long way to go, that you need to be good as an intern first — like Jimin. Of course, he would mention Jimin. You don’t doubt that he has some kind of star quality that you don’t have. Everyone seems to love him. He could probably get a referral if he asked. Or get an agent who would want to sign him within a day. Your envy is boundless. “Okay, can you tilt your head a thirty degrees to the left?” “Ummm…” The brunette tries to follow the instructions. “Is this thirty degrees?” “It’s fine,” Namjoon mutters and puts an eye to the viewfinder. He snaps the shot on his Canon. The picture appears on the big screen seconds later. You muse that Jimin looks great with professional lighting and under the touch of a talented photographer. “Okay, now smile.” Instantly, Jimin gives a toothy grin. His plump lips spread into his rounded cheeks, eyes crinkling into half-moons. He’s overwhelmingly cute and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. Even Namjoon hums in satisfaction, turning his camera and snapping more pictures. After a moment, a break is called and Jimin comes hopping over while Namjoon fiddles with his device. “What do you think?” “Yeah, it’s good.” He leans over to the screen, unknowingly close to you, almost hovering over your body. The strands of his hair brush on your forehead as he looks over at the monitor. “You think I should put powder on?” “No, you’re fine. It’s fine,” you correct and clear your throat. “You’re supposed to be yourself. No glamour shots. The casting directors want headshots that look like you. If you come in drastically different, it’ll hurt you in the long run.” He hums and tilts to stare at you. “Thanks for showing me such a great photographer, Y/N.” You smile. “Just take it as a lesson on how to get onto Broadway. Plus, it’s not me who’s taking the photos.” “That’s right,” Namjoon pipes up and approaches, interrupting the two-way conversation. “You need someone who can capture your personality in two hours. It’s not such an easy thing.” “Thank you for blessing us with your talent, Namjoon,” you tease. “You’re welcome.” The photographer chuckles. “I’m just kidding. I’m happy to help. It’s not often that Y/N calls me up for a favour, and she’s certainly never. ever. brought anyone to my studio before, so of course I had to see who it was.” He eyes Jimin up and down as if choosing produce in the grocery store. “I can see it now. I can see the appea—” You bump into his shoulder roughly. “Alright, I think we get it.” “A friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine,” he says. Jimin dips his head in gratitude. “I’ll entrust all my headshots to you then.” Namjoon laughs, delighted from the recognition. “I’ll be leaving town for a few months on business excursions, but when I’m back, you bet. Let’s get a few more done, Jimin. I think we should take outdoor shots too to get that natural lighting.” “You got it, boss.” You watch them walk off, practically kissing each other’s asses. Then you turn back to the monitor, looking at all the photographs again. If you were a director looking at these headshots, Jimin would most certainly get the role. // It’s a streak of luck that your phone rings. Usually, you’re the one dialing. Though this time, it’s not an agent who wants to connect with you — but it’s just as good. “Hello, Ms. Y/N? You recently submitted an application for the role of a town girl in the production of Beauty and the Beast. We’re interested in speaking to you about it further. Would you like to come in for a formal audition?” You could sob from unadulterated relief and happiness. But as overjoyed as you are, you don’t tell anyone just in case. You never know what could happen, and you don’t want to place others in an awkward situation if you end up with a disappointing outcome. So you brace yourself. But Jimin can tell something great happened — your smile is infectious. “Is everything alright?” He starts laughing when your giggles spill. Your face hurts from your grin. Even the director was taken back earlier at your newfound enthusiasm to take the morning coffee order. “Oh, just you know, life. Sometimes things work out, huh?” “Alright then, silly girl.” His eyes soften and his smile becomes gentle. Jimin steals another glance at you again. You’re humming, uncaring that the two of you are carrying over thirty coffee drinks on a brisk Monday morning, and that you’ll have to walk down three flights of stairs to hand them out. “You know, you look really...nice happy. I mean you usually look nice, but when you’re happy, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying….never mind.” Your cheeks become warm and you take a glimpse of Jimin. At the same time, he takes another glance and you both divert your vision after your eyes accidentally connect. “Um...thanks.” Jimin’s distracted. Clumsy. He nearly trips off the curb of the sidewalk. But when he catches himself, he quickly rushes over to open the door for you. You try your best to hold back your laughter. For the next few days, you practice your part by yourself, singing it over and over again, watching your own expressions in the mirror. You practice for the audition enough to become confident in your role, excited even. If you make it, you wonder what Jimin would say. He’s the only person who would celebrate with you. He’s also the only person you would want to tell. Once the afternoon of the audition arrives, you excuse yourself, telling Jimin that it’s a dentist appointment. But instead, you sneak from the basement of the building to the second floor, down the west wing. There, it’s a whole other world. The room is full of strangers, pacing around, holding the paper with their lyrics, but shutting their eyes to belt. They’re all warming up, melodic notes that sound jarring when it’s overlapping one another. Still, there are beautiful folks dressed in extravagant clothing, having probably spent time at the spa to get facials and get salon blowouts. It’s clear that many have bold personalities. That they’re not scared of eye contact. You tug on your shrunken sweater, palms clammy. You take a seat in the corner of the room in the uncomfortable chair. The girl next to you gulps down her lemon water and leans over. “Intimidating, huh?” “P-Pardon?” “I was just saying how intimidating this all is.” She scans the premise and meets your eyes. “But it’s all for show. To make up for their lack of talent. You don’t need to flaunt your skills in front of other people if you know you’re good.” You relax, giving a polite smile. “I agree.” “I’m Yeonjeon.” She stretches out her hand. “Y/N.” You shake it. “Nice to meet you.” “Likewise.” The young lady oozes with the confidence you wish you had. She’s stunning, bright eyed and pretty smile. “What role are you auditioning for?” “Oh, just a townswoman.” “Really?” Yeonjeon cocks a brow. “I thought you would try out for Belle. I’m trying out for Belle. My agent called me about this casting call and I thought I would give it a try. I’ve always liked Beauty and the Beast as a kid.” “Good luck then.” She thanks you and just then, another auditionee exits the room and the woman holding the clipboard calls her name. Yeonjeon nods and gathers her belongings, casting one glance at you before leaving. “Hopefully we’ll be able to work together, Y/N.” You wish her luck once more before watching her go off. Afterwards, you shut your eyes to try to calm your nerves, hiding your trembling hands and humming to warm your throat. How many times have you been called back for a casting call like this? Not often. And you’ve never been called again to actually get the role. It was easier back in community theater. They’d find a place for everyone who wanted one. It didn’t matter that you weren’t bold, loud, glamorous, charismatic... You’re shocked out of your thoughts when you’re jolted, someone beside you poking your arm. “Are you, Y/N?” “L/N Y/N.” The lady calls and you stand straight up, so quickly that you pull a muscle in your calf and the bag that was in your lap was now on the ground. The lady sighs. “Come right this way.” “S-sorry, sorry.” You shuffle past the crowd to enter the large room after grabbing your bag again. It’s a bigger room than you expected and a lot more people. It’s spacious with just a long stretched table facing the empty floor and exhausted faces sitting behind it. They stare back at you, unfamiliar as they judge you from head to toe, from your demeanor to how your hair is. It’s the director, the music director, the casting director, two producers and a reader — six of them slumped in their chairs, bored. You swallow hard, approaching the center of the room where the masking tape is on the floor. “Do you have a headshot and resume?” “Y-yes, sorry.” You dig inside your bag, finding the papers wrinkled. You cuss inside your head and as you try organizing them, you accidentally trip on the carpet. Luckily, you don’t fall, but the papers go flying, coating the floor in white. You mumble more apologies, picking them up to hand them out. Your head is dipped, cheeks warm. It’s only been five seconds, but it was already going badly. “Can you introduce yourself?” one of them asks in annoyance when the silence stretches for too long. “Y-yes, sorry. My name is Y/N. I have experience in working in community theater, both on stage and behind. Currently, I’m working as an intern at the production of Phantom of the O-Opera.” You’re sweating at your hairline and you flinch when you hear a sudden snap, finding someone on the sidelines taking your picture. “Alright then, Y/N.” The stern lady straightens out her blazer and puts down her pen, having jotted down some notes. “And you’re auditioning for the supporting role of a townswoman, so part of the female ensemble?” “Yes.” “Pardon?” “Yes!” you exclaim in a louder voice. “Then what song will you be singing for us today?” “The Life I Never Led by the Sister Act the Musical!” You’re already straining your voice by yelling, but you pay no mind, quickly flipping the page after they nod and make hums of acknowledgment. The man’s deadpans in a monotone, “Start.” You clear your throat, steadying your breath. “I've never talked back, I've never slept late, I've never sat down when told to stand straight—” One of their hands raise. You pause. “Can you sound more…” He gestures with his hand. “Light? Right now it’s very serious, and we’re looking for something lively.” “Yes, of course, sorry.” You brace yourself and start again. But it’s happening again. Your hands have a sudden tremor. You feel your heart picking up its pace, fast enough that you’re scared of getting a heart attack. Your face twitches against its will. Your mouth goes dry. You feel dizzy. Like you might throw up before passing out. “I-I've never talked back, I've never slept late, I've never sat down when told to stand straight. I've never let go and gone with the flow, and don't even know, really, why.” The strangers are scrutinizing you. A cold sweat wash down your body, palms clammy, knees shaking. It’s an out-of-body experience and you cringe when you hear yourself go off tune. Everything that you’ve prepared yourself for goes down the drain. The self-assurance washes away, leaving in its place your most desperate state — a girl who tries hard but whose effort never shows. Your voice even warbles against your will. “I've never rebelled, or stood up and yelled, or even just held my head high. And all of the feelings unspoken, all of the truths unsaid, they're all I have left of the life I never led—” You inhale a breath as the note finishes off. But before you can continue singing, the woman in the center raises her hand to silence you. It goes quiet immediately. The sound of scratching pens on paper seem deafening. Then finally, the woman looks up and clasps her hands together. “Alright, thank you for coming. We’ll let you know the final results.” “T-Thank you.” You leave feeling sick to your stomach. Outside the silent room is noise, others still singing and warming up, sounding a thousand times better than you. They’re stable, excited, assured. You know you did poorly, and you’re not imagining it either. You never end up getting a call back from them. No denials or confirmations. The radio silence is loud and clear.

It’s early in the morning with you crouched over sorting clothes in a bin that two pairs of feet shuffle forward. Your head moves back to find the girls that frequently flock to Taeyeon looking down at you. The corner of her lips curl. “You went for an audition for Beauty and the Beast?” “What?” “I saw you,” the other girl sasses with a shrill voice and her arms crossed. “I was wondering why you weren’t here, but Jimin said you had a dentist appointment. Looks like you were lying to even him.” “I—” One of them squats down, meeting your eye level. “Do you really think you could make it? Thought you could sneak away and get yourself a big role to show the rest of us and make us feel bad? I don’t think so. Let’s be frank, you could never make it, Y/N. Shouldn’t bother trying. Why would you set yourself up for disappointment? But I guess the effort is cute.” She stands and her friend smirks. “The director knows you were lying and trying to jump ship and run away from your job. He’s pissed. So good luck trying to keep this position, intern.” They walk away and your eyes sting painfully. Your hand balls into a tight fist, the clothes in your hands wrinkling. Your nails sink past the thin fabric into the palm of your hand. Your knuckles turn white. It’s a privilege to work here. A privilege. You remind yourself of these things — that you will not punch them in the face. As much as you want to and as strong as the urge is, you won’t scratch their faces until they bleed and scream. “Fucking bitches…” you mutter out from your clenched teeth. At the same time, Jimin enters the floor. The timing is poor. He’s a moment too late, but it’s enough to catch them walking away and enough for him to read your angered expression that he mistakes as emotional distraught. “Hey, what’s going on?” Your ears perk once you hear the smooth timbre. Turning to find Jimin, you sigh and relax, rage fading. “Nothing. Can you help me fold this bin? I need to grab the other.” “Alright.” Jimin nods slowly, watching your backside. The director is indeed passive aggressive to you, making comments that you shouldn't lose focus on this job and whatever else bullshit he usually gives. But you don't care. The weight of your failures are heavier on your mind. // “Today, we’re going to brush up on some singing techniques and then talk about building your acting resume.” “I practiced.” Jimin smiles. “I swear.” “Good.” It’s humiliating, not because of other people’s perceptions of you. But it’s humiliating to yourself. You’ve always complained that no one would give you a chance, that all you needed was an opportunity, but once it was given to you, you messed it up. There’s no one to blame. Not your shitty life or because of the director. Not because of your bad luck or the world’s prejudice towards you. It’s no one’s fault but your own. You’ve lost a great chance. How many more will be given to you? How can you ever dream of standing on a world stage if you can’t even go through an audition? Maybe the director was right. When you stand in his shoes, it’s clear that you don’t know what you’re doing, that you’re not ready. Far from it. Your ambitions are bigger than your capabilities. You’re a sapling who wants to be a grand cherry blossom. Perhaps that’s why those girls laughed at you — why they were so condescending when they found out you were auditioning. You’re a foolish imposter. A sapling that wants to be a blossom tree. You’d laugh at yourself too. “Y/N?” “Huh?” “I asked you how I did.” Jimin searches your expression with his own brows scrunched in concern. “I just sang.” “Oh, sorry. You did fine.” You’re too distracted to teach. You’re mentally distraught, fatigued — and you honestly just want to crawl underneath your covers for a while and wish your entire life would be fixed. Or at least until everyone forgot about you and you could start over. But Jimin would never allow himself to forget about you. “Are you sure you’re alright?” “I’m just….at a bit of a low point,” you admit, mustering a smile. “I’ll be okay. Always am.” “It’s okay if you want to talk about it. I’ll listen to you.” His gaze is sincere and his attention is fully devoted to you. It goes quiet as you mull over your own thoughts, and then Jimin’s eyes light up, He digs into his bag for a flyer. “Actually, there was something that I wanted to talk to you about.” He hands it to you and you unfold the corners. The flyer is a dark blue with a streak of red, a young girl on it facing the horizon. You recognize it immediately. It’s the musical, Les Misérables. Jimin smiles. “They’re doing auditions.” “You want to try out?” Your eyes flicker up to him. “I think we should try out,” he suggests. “It’s a good opportunity.” There’s a thick lump in your throat. The paper in your hand crinkles where you hold it tightly between your fingertips. You wondered how many chances you would get after you blew them all. But with Jimin, came another chance. Yet you’re still humiliated. You still feel like an imposter. “I don’t...think I’m ready.” He’s befuddled. “What do you mean?” “You should try out for it, Jimin. I think I’ll sit this one out.” Jimin grabs your wrist before you can get up. His hands curl around your flesh, but his fingers are gentle, his touch tender. His softened eyes search your expression again, and you feel your face get warm under his attention. “I don’t get it. Why would you want to miss this opportunity? Didn’t you tell me that you should always take whatever chance you get? I really have a good feeling about this one. I thought we could try it out together.” “I just…..I don’t think I can do it.” “Why not?” “Because I’m not good enough!” you scream. “You are!” Jimin stands on his feet and when he realizes he’s yelling, he lowers his volume. “I know that you know that you are, so that’s why I don’t understand. Are you giving up?” “No.” It’s an outrageous question, but somehow your harsh whisper sounds like a lie. “I’m not giving up.” “Then do this with me,” he coaxes. “We can try out together.” For a second, you envision being on stage with Jimin, looking over during the grand finale and exchanging silent smiles with one another — but it seems like such a far-fetched dream. “Are you really satisfied being a ghost singer and performing behind the curtain?” he asks. “I’m not.” You divert your vision elsewhere. There’s a sudden pressure on your shoulders, and you can feel yourself break out into a sweat. “There’s nothing wrong with trying,” Jimin tells you and makes it sound so simple. “If we fail, we fail together. If we succeed, we succeed together.” You meet his vision, wondering why he’s trying too hard to convince you. You don’t want to be pushed — but maybe it’s what you need. “Okay. Let’s try.” He smiles and you shove away your hesitance. // The pair of you get your applications completed together in the coming days, sending in headshots, filling out your sheets, preparing the reel. You practice small sections of the available script, singing while watching your expressions. It’s exactly what you did not long ago — but this time it’s with Jimin. And his enthusiasm crumbles away your despair. You might be a sapling trying to be a cherry blossom, but Jimin is a grand flower bed blooming beside you. He makes you just a bit more confident of budding your own flowers and reaching great heights. The both of you submit your applications together, and anticipation bubbles at the pit of your stomach. As much as you try to keep it at bay, your hope creeps back in. Maybe this could be it... And then your phone rings days later. “Hello?” “Hello?” The voice on the other line is unmistakable. “Hi, is this Ms. Y/N?” “Yes, it is. How may I help you?” “I’m the casting director for the Les Misérables production here in New York. You recently sent in an application for an audition. We were wondering if you were still interested and willing to set up a convenient date to meet.” “I-I….” You inhale a deep breath to fill your lungs. Your vision is blurred, eyes stinging with tears that threaten to shed, but you keep yourself composed and professional. “Yes, I’m still interested. I’d be happy to set up a date and time for an audition.” There’s a flutter in your stomach. You feel like you might throw up — but it’s the first time that it’s for a good thing. Though instead of opting for spilling your food out from your guts in excitement, you find yourself throwing the front door open. There’s one person that you want to tell. This time, you’ll follow your urges. You won’t hold back. But before you can even knock on the door next to yours, you catch the brunette boy walking down the hall, having turned the corner of where the stairwell is. Jimin sees you too and his eyes light up. They shimmer in the corridor lights and he approaches with his hands dug in the pockets of his trench coat. It takes too long. You run and meet him halfway. “I...got a call.” His smile expands into a grin. He hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “I did too. Just now, right?” “Just now.” You confirm with vigorous nods, almost crying. If it weren’t for him…. You hop up to Jimin on the tips of your toes, your whimper is muffled into his shoulder with your face dug into his coat. And your arms wrap around his torso. The boy’s surprised, stumbling back from the impact, but blissfully giggles when he realizes you’re hugging him. Jimin’s arms quickly encircle your waist. His cheeks deepen into a rosy hue and his smile softens even more. He smells of lavender body wash and fresh linen. “I told you that you could do it,” he teases gently in an intimate whisper. Your gratitude is immense. You’re rendered speechless. You don’t know what to say, what to tell him. So you try to show him, squeezing him tighter. You were going to give up — you could only take so many failures — you could only last so long in a state of limbo. But with Jimin by your side, you feel like you could achieve anything. You finally let go of him, heart racing, making wild gestures. “We-we need to get started, Park. We have to go look for a song and start practicing. You told me we’re in this together, so why are we wasting time out here? Come on!” You grab onto him, pulling him towards his apartment as his laughter rings in the air. In the meanwhile, Jimin muses in his mind that he meant it when he said you were beautiful when you were happy. You’re practically glowing. // There’s more practice to be done, helping one another choose songs for the audition, giving opinions to improve certain parts, to use certain techniques. You’re more motivated than before, fueling your own morale instead of relying on his. You’re eager, especially knowing that you won’t be alone during the audition, that you won’t be entering a room of complete strangers. Singing in front of Jimin wasn’t as hard as it used to be either. Your palms don’t get clammy, sweat doesn’t start dripping, your knees don’t shake. It helps a lot to sing directly in front of someone. And you’ve gotten comfortable with him. Jimin’s attention is still a lot sometimes, but you know it’s coming from a good place. He’s not so much scrutinizing as he is listening and savouring. “What if they ask you to dance?” He pipes up out of the blue while you’re making dinner at the same time as practicing. “What?” He repeats the question and smiles mischievously. “What would you do then?” “I don’t think they would. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any dancing in Les Mis, Jimin. If there is, then not a lot.” “Hey, you never know. They can tell you to do anything and you have to be ready for it.” You scoff lightly. He’s still trying to convince you to teach him after all these months. And you give in this time. You allow Jimin to pull you away from the stove. You’re timid, uncertain, but he places your hands where they need to be — both on his firm shoulders, while his own are light on your waist. “Like this.” “What if I step on your feet?” “I’ll survive.” His eyes twinkle, playful. “Okay, step back once, then I’ll step forward. Now step forward and I’ll step back. One, two, three, one two three. Just follow my lead.” You look down to your shuffling feet, making sure not to step on his toes. You feel silly, but it’s also easier than you realized. Maybe that’s just because he’s a good lead. “Relax, I’m not that fragile.” “I don’t want to be responsible if you get hurt.” You raise your head, eyes connecting to his. Jimin smiles, and then twirls you suddenly, making you laugh. He holds your right hand, letting you sway back and forth. It begins to feel more like a swing dance than a slow one. But the giggles are infectious and he pulls you close to him, enough for you to feel his body heat and for it to warm your face to your toes. You feel light, butterflies swooping from your chest to the pits of your stomach. And Jimin’s the very cause of it. “Jimin!” You laugh, trying to pull away. “The water’s gonna overboil!” He stares deeply into you, corners of his mouth pulling. “Just let it.” “And burn down this apartment?” Jimin shrugs, but lets go anyhow. “I wouldn’t mind.” You feel colder when he’s gone, though your fingertips still tingle with his touch. His hands were soft. “When the time comes, I’ll happily teach you how to dance properly.” You know that time will come someday as long as you stay by Jimin’s side.

#bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #bts scenario #jimin scenario

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stillebesat · 5 years ago

Text

Chimney Sweep

Sanders Sides: Deceit (Devlyn) Cartoon Therapy: Emile Picani Blurb: Sure. It’s great to be able to see visions of missing children...but being able to find them still alive is another thing entirely. Fic Type: Hurt Comfort, Human AU, Kid!Emile Overall Fic Warnings: Negative Self Talk, Death Talk, Near Death Experience, Claustrophobia/Trapped

It was stupid.

So completely stupid.

Hadn’t he learned time and time again in this city that trying to help others only meant finding a body? Only meant that he’d be trying to speak comfortingly -which wasn’t his forte at all, mind you- over the ugly sobbing of the hysterically crying parents who had to confront the cold hard truth that he’d been too late to help and that their precious angel was now literally an angel because no matter what he did or how hard he ran or how long he stayed up, Devlyn could never find the child the visions in his messed up eye showed him until after they’d long gone still, cold, and...vacant.

It freaking sucked.

But it wasn’t like he could just ignore the visions of the missing children he saw.

Missing children like one Emile Picani who vanished on his way to school five days ago.

Sure. Devlyn did his best to avoid reading, hearing, or seeing any news in relation to this sort of situation. The cases were the children just...vanished.

But if the visions struck, and they often did with a vengeance despite his due diligence in avoiding anything like the hard to miss Missing Child poster on the freaking Grocery Store doors….it wasn’t like he could just say ‘too bad so sad good luck with your next kid’ and move on with his life.

Perhaps someone with a harder heart could have done it.

But not him.

“Someone.”

It was dark. Cramped. Like being shoved in a box. A long hard box.

“Help.”

A pair of bright blue eyes.

“P-please.”

His feet dangled, kicking freely. His shoulders were caught fast, the shirt pulled up to expose his stomach as he struggled.

“HE-HELP ME!”

Snow fell on his head, piling up despite his attempts to shake it free.

“Help me.”

Bright blue eyes flared, looking directly at him, searing him to Devlyn’s shredded soul, purpling lips quivering as Emile’s already faint voice whispered,

“Dee Dee.”

“S-sa-sa-save me.”

“Save…..me…...”

“..........save. Me…….”

Devlyn grimaced, blinking the memory of the vision from last night out of sight, pausing in his precarious climb up a rickety lattice to rub his gloved hand over his aching heart.

Not him.

As much as he wanted to pretend to not care like any other troubled seventeen year old teenager struggling with the weight of the world on their shoulders--Devlyn couldn’t just do nothing and let the kids he saw just...die. He couldn’t ignore the giant WHAT IF that seemed to hang over his head like an itch that needed to be scratched that he could never quite reach.

WHAT IF this time he found the child before they perished?

WHAT IF he actually reunited a family and they had this so called happily ever after everyone seemed to be looking for?

It haunted him. Those WHAT IF’s.

Sure the last three hundred times had ended in failure. But maybe...just maybe...this time would be different.

It had to be different this time.

Of course, Devlyn had told himself that like a hundred times already, but hey, if the lie was good enough to hold up over time, he might as well keep telling himself it.

But this time. This time the child had called out to him. Emile had called him Dee Dee. No other child had ever done that before in these cursed visions. It had to mean something this time. IT HAD TO.

He grunted, pulling himself onto the snow covered roof of an old abandoned house following the faint glowing imprint of a child’s figure that flitted across his bad eye like the shadows left after staring into a blinding light bulb.

What he wouldn’t give to be wrapped up in a blanket in front of a space heater right now instead of following things other people couldn’t see.

Gritting his teeth, shivering as the purely evil white bits of snow somehow made it through six layers of warm wool to melt against his skin, Devlyn pushed onto his hands and knees. “Okay kid.” He muttered, eyes darting around the silent, snow covered roof and then to the neighborhood beyond where he could barely, if he concentrated, hear people calling out Emile’s name two streets over. “Where did you go?”

If the vision held any useful clues it had to be somewhere tight.

Somewhere where the legs dangled.

Somewhere where the snow could fa--His eyes fell on the crumbling chimney. A narrow space barely two feet across if that...and the faintly glowing footprints on undisturbed snow leading straight to it.

Okay, Devlyn knew a thing or two about picking small tiny spaces to hide away from the world in...but this seemed a bit extreme.

Cold.

Still.

Silent.

Vacant.

“Please.” The word left his lips like a prayer as he inched forward on his knees across the roof, his heart climbing into his throat with each precarious movement that threatened to send him sliding down the slope and to the ground three stories below.

Please. Let Emile be alive.

Just once.

Let him succeed.

That still didn’t stop Devlyn from hesitating as his fingers closed on the edge of the chimney.

So many had been dead.

With the heavy snow storm of the past day and a half only now fading away--

What would make the outcome of looking for this child any different than the others?

“Dee Dee…….save…..me.”

How could he save him when the temperatures had been so cold for so long? When he’d only had the vision last night?

Devlyn gritted his teeth, shivering as he moved to his feet, carefully balancing on the sloped roof.

Come on coward. Look and face your failure.

But it had to be different this time. This kid called to him. This kid would LIVE!

He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and with a quick icy inhale of the winter air, shined it down into the dark empty void within.

Or…

Not so empty.

Bright blue eyes.

With the chimney uncovered like this, any snow would have to be at the very bottom. Yet there, only three feet down, where the chimney merged into the roof, the snow rested in a cone shaped pile.

A pile marred with thin dark lines sticking through it.

Hair.

A body.

Emile.

“KID!” Devlyn yelled, surging into the chimney, hissing as his shoulders caught on the edges.

Please.

Dontbedeaddontbedeaddontbedead.

His fingers brushed the very tip of the snow. “Come on! KID. Emile. EMILE! Wake up. WAKE UP! KID. ANSWER ME!”

Nothing.

No movement.

No signs of life.

Devlyn pushed himself out of the chimney, heart feeling like it would burst from his chest at any moment.

He had to get closer.

Come on come on. He had to---Devlyn threw himself against the crumbling brick, heedless of how his feet slipped on the snow covered roof. He had to break it. Had to get closer!

Again and again he hit the side of the chimney, using all the strength in his thin frame that he could to get the top half to shift. To deteriorate further. To--

He nearly fell off the roof as the chimney suddenly gave way sending him sprawling over the remaining portion.

Emile.

Come on come on come on!

Heedless of his precarious position, Devlyn used both hands to reach into the shorter space, brushing the snow from the child’s head first before he grabbed the bony shoulders to yank him up into freedom.

So still.

“Come on Kid!” He begged, trying to keep his vision clear in his good eye as it fogged over.

Dontbedeaddontbedead.

He pulled the small body from the narrow space into his lap.

“Say something! Come on! Anything.”

He--He was so cold. Like an icicle. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, Devlyn tore open his six layers of wool, pulling the boy in close to his chest, hugging his still form tightly. “Emile. Please.” His voice cracked as he tugged off a glove to rub the boy’s cheek. “Please. WAKE UP.”

WakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupicantdothisagainWAKEUP!

He couldn’t do this. Devlyn closed his eyes, rocking the body, breath hitching. He couldn’t deal with another dead child. He couldn’t--

“....Dee?”

He froze as the small form shifted against him, icy fingers pressing against his chest. His eyes flashed open as Devlyn looked down to see a pair of bright blue eyes staring up at him.

ALIVE.

He swallowed, nodding uncontrollably like a stupid bobble head statue. Alive. “Yes. Yes. I got you, Em, I got you. You’re safe now.” He hoped, he didn’t know--he’d never had to deal with finding someone alive before. Did the kid need a hospital? Probably. He was cold. Frostbite. The kid probably had it--should he call out to the other searchers? To the police? To the boy’s parents? They had to be somewhere nearby right?

Emile sighed, giving him a bright smile before he ducked his head, snuggling against him and pressing his button nose into the base of Devlyn’s neck. “DeeDee.” He whispered as a tremor shook his body. “Knew….you….come.”

“Of--” Devlyn cleared his throat, hugging the boy tight. “Of course. I--I’m here. You’re safe, Emile.” He whispered.

Alive.

Safe.

For once. FOR ONCE it had worked. For once the visions were a blessing not a curse. For once---

Devlyn let out a shaky breath, resting his chin on Emile’s head.

For once he could say, “Let’s get you home.”

Taglist in Reblog

#Chimney Sweep #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Deceit #Emile Picani #Cartoon Therapy #Kid!Emile #Negative Self Talk tw #Death talk tw #Near Death Experience tw #claustrophobia tw #trapped tw #small spaces tw

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