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yandere-daydreams · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Caged.

Word Count: 2.0k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Yaoyorozu’s always loved your wings. She takes care of them, grooms them, keeps snow-white feathers clean and undamaged and just perfect... You just wish she took care of the rest of you, too.

TW: Graphic Violence, Broken Bones, Kidnapping, Captivity, Dehumanization, and Delusional Mindsets.

She’d said it hadn’t been because of your wings.

That was all she said for the first few weeks of your captivity, really. Momo was many things, but she wasn’t subtle, nor did she make an effort to watch her tongue around the civilian chained down and (more often than not) unable to respond to her one-sided conversations. She said everything a kidnapper could have to say about their hostage. She claimed that she fell in love with your personality, that she’d spent months dutifully noting down your interests and your hobbies and every piece of information that could be gleaned from careful surveillance. She told you that your wings were just a bonus, that they didn’t really matter, but they just made her precious, darling songbird a little easier to find.

But, for every second she spent singing your praises, she spent two gritting her teeth or crossing her arms or making it clear that she’d love you more if you were obedient, if you were affectionate, if you were different. Your hobbies faded into the background, considering how few opportunities she gave you to indulge them, and unless she was bringing home a gift to make up for the night you’d spent trying to cry yourself to sleep, she didn’t seem to pay your interests any mind. But, she gave your wings the utmost attention, keeping your snowy-white feathers pristine and taking far too much time to prune and pluck anything she didn’t deem ‘befitting’ of you. She adored your wings, she loved your wings, and she never hesitated to tell you that.

As much as she claimed they weren’t her motivation, she cared for your wings. She couldn’t deny that.

That was more than she could say for the rest of you.

You supposed it wasn’t so bad, having her focus on one part of you so heavily, she tended to overlook most of your minor shows of rebellion. You were allowed to drag your knees into your chest and cling to the idea of safety as she looked over your wings, the appendages outstretched to their full length as Momo hummed and pulled at anything loose, anything bent, anything that wasn’t perfect. While she was perched on the edge of her bed, you were left to settle on the cold, barren floor and fight the chill your thin clothes did little to keep out. The basement - your bedroom, as she called it - was sizable, but the space was lost on you, considering how Momo chose to use it. After your last escape attempt, she’d declared furniture a ‘distraction’, something that took your attention away from her. You had a cot, just enough blankets to sleep, and whatever Momo thought was necessary for your basic survival. She’d said that you’d be able to earn things back, but that’d been weeks ago, and she seemed to like the way you were forced to look forward to her daily visits. She liked knowing she was the only thing on your mind.

She liked making sure her pet had nothing better to do than beg for her attention.

“What’d you get yourself into?” She asked, drawing you out of your thoughts. The question was more for her than for you, posed under her breath, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel like you had to answer when every other word was accompanied by another tug, another feather at her feet. “It’s worse than usual, today.”

A dozen excuses played on your tongue. Last month, you’d told her it was molting season, and you’d managed to quell her worries by saying that this kind of damage was normal for avians in new environments before that, a trick that worked for longer than either of you would like to admit. You doubted she’d forget so quickly, so you settled on something simple. “It’s just the stress,” You explained, the statement only half untrue. “It makes maintenance harder than it has to be, but it looks worse than it is.”

That earned a pause, a more careless jerk to one of your primary feathers. “You’re stressed?” Now, she was talking to you, expecting an answer. Paying attention to the way your hands twitched at your sides every time her fingertips brushed a tender spot of lean, thin muscle. A hint of something playful traced the edges of her tone as she continued, and you weren’t sure whether to relax or reinforce your barriers. “Don’t say it’s because of me, angel.”

A pet name. Pet names were good. Pet names meant she didn’t see you as human, right now, making you another one of her infallible, unblamable creatures. It didn’t mean you could be honest, but you wouldn’t have to lie, either, not really. Not as much as you’d have to, otherwise. “It just happens,” You admitted, giving a noncommittal shrug. “Animal-based quirks are complicated, like that. When I’m inside for too long, or… like, when the room I’m in is too small, my wings tend to notice before I can.” You allowed yourself a breathy laugh, loosening your hold on your legs. “When I moved into my first apartment, my roommate had to start complaining before I--”

“You think I’m not taking care of you.”

If her words hadn’t been enough to silence you, the feeling of her fist closing around a handful of something downy and sensitive did the trick. Reflexively, you went rigid, stretching your wings out to their full length and bowing your head, but Momo’s threats were never hollow. With one strong, steady pull, a patch of your left wing was on fire, bare and blazing and burning as you slapped your palm over your mouth and tried to stifle the shriek that threatened to escape. You kept it there, for a moment, attempting to suppress the tears building up in the corners of your eyes, but Momo took your silence as resistance, a low growl reverberating through her grit teeth as she took hold of the base of your wing, the length of exposed bone between skin and feather. She didn’t squeeze, didn’t shatter, but the idea of the pain was worse than the eventuality, forcing your breath to hitch in your throat, your whole body to go stiff. Forcing her to hold you tighter, her irritation more than apparent in the sternness of her grip alone.

"It’s such a shame,” She started, a patronizing lilt weighing down the simple sentiment. You couldn’t see her, not when you were abruptly incapable of even turning your head, but you didn’t have to. You could practically hear her shaking her head, her expression somewhere between a frown and a pout as she lamented over whatever mistake her poor, stubborn little captive made, this time. “I really do try to be patient with you. There’s such a nice nest waiting for you upstairs, but it feels like I can’t let you out of your cage without having to worry about my baby bird trying to fly away.” There was a click of her tongue, a tap of her manicured nails against your shoulder blade. You felt her eyes prying into your skin, flitting across all the places your wings rooted themselves in place, as if she’d be able to tear them out with her gaze alone. For a moment, you wondered if she could. “Maybe if you stopped trying to get yourself into so much trouble, you’d wouldn’t have to be locked up. You’d be able to accept all the wonderful things I have to give you, and I wouldn’t have to watch you throw your tantrums and pretend I wouldn’t do anything to make you happy.”

“That’s not what I meant,” You managed, curling your nails into your palm as you willed yourself not to raise your voice. Yelling at Momo was never a good idea, and playing dumb would only make her more determined to remind you of your offenses, even if you couldn’t name the incident she seemed so focused on, today. “Please, Yaoyorozu, please, I didn’t mean to--”

“This is why I have to be so strict with you,” She sighed, her free hand falling to the arch of your wing, spreading the appendage to its full span. No longer giving you the chance to refuse. “You’re so quick to lie, and so slow to regret it. You don’t even know what you did wrong.”

You flinched, your lips parting, but your mind going blank as soon as you processed the accusation. Your stupor couldn’t have lasted for more than a few seconds, but a few seconds were more than enough for Momo to come to a resolution.

It wasn’t that she was stronger than she looked. She was, technically, but it wasn’t just that, it couldn’t have been. She’d done her research, she’d prepared, she’d practice, and you could only be thankful her new skill had been refined, polished into an undeniable talent, albeit a grisly one. There was a minute of pressure - crushing, awful pressure - and a snap, and then the pain.

Always the pain.

It was a clean break, halfway between the base of your wind and the bend, shock provided little comfort, adrenaline flowing in-time with the throbbing, the tight ache now coursing through your left wing, joints loosening in their sockets and tendons contracting in an effort just to keep something so broken where it should be. Resistance wasn’t an option. It was an animalistic instinct that had nothing to do with your avian features, you were struggling before you could think to hold yourself back, willing your injured wing to fold against your back as you flailed, kicked, clawed, doing everything you could do to get away from the predator that was so content to watch you writhe in agony. Fighting was pointless, though. Momo didn’t try to restrain you, didn’t try to hold you back. Why would she? All the doors were locked, the windows nonexistent, and it wasn’t like you could actually hurt her.

There was nowhere for you to run, nothing for you to do.

In the end, there was nowhere to go but up.

It was difficult to get off the ground at the best of times, but you were desperate. As soon as you were on your feet, you were in the air, struggling to gain elevation without momentum, without an upward draft, without a single factor in your favor. It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible, even if every muscle in your back strained at the effort, your lungs burning and your uninjured wing taking up a frenzied speed just to get you a handful of meters off the floor. It must’ve looked pathetic, one wing struggling to keep you aloft and another, crooked and weak, twitching in an attempt to keep up with the pace its twin set, and it hurt so, so much, but you didn’t care. For a few seconds, Momo couldn’t reach you. For a few seconds, she couldn’t touch you and pull at your feathers and hurt you and…

And then, you hit the ceiling, and went plummeting back to the cold, unforgiving floor, as if you’d never left it at all.

Your shoulder took the brunt of your fall. It wasn’t far, but something in your arm still cracked as you collided with the solid cement, pulling a ragged sob from your chest that came out as broken as it was pitiful. You weren’t sure when you’d started crying, but suddenly, it was all you could do to curl into the tightest, smallest ball possible and hide your face, if only because you doubted you’d have the strength to wipe away the tears now blurring your vision. Momo didn’t seem to mind, though. She hadn’t taken a step since you’d gotten away from her, but that only meant she was still calm and collected and so, so composed as she kneeled at your side, barely nothing to brush your hair away from your face before her hands trailed back to your wings, always so eager to make sure her favorite parts of you weren’t more damaged than they had to be.

To make sure her favorite toy wasn’t beyond repair, after she’s had her fun.

“I hope you got some of your energy out,” She said, her tone sweet, but her voice devoid of all warmth. You’d say devoid of all love, too, but you were beginning to think Momo never had any to lose, in the first place. Not when it came to you.

“It’s going to take me hours to take care of all this damage. The least you could do is sit still, especially when I take such good care of you.”

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years ago

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U N P L A N N E D, part four

Knowing what Harry wanted was a relief. It made you sleep better, even that first night after you drove home and reported back to Lexi over dinner.

Sure--the stakes were now higher in a sense, right? You were going through with it. Something about that felt completely surreal and still somehow impossible, but deep inside of you, buried beneath the fear and the doubt, was a tiny speck of hope. And it was decidedly apple-seed shaped.

When you were five or six, you insisted on pushing your dolls around in a carriage, so much so that you refused one day to go to kindergarten without them. Your mother had you all buckled in the car, your doll beside you and the toy-sized stroller folded in the trunk.

It had always been something you wanted, something you saw in your future--but you’d always thought that it would be in a different order. In fleeting moments, when you made your peace with that, the hope managed to fight it’s way through all of the other feelings, letting you know that it was there and real and maybe things would work out okay.

The reality was this: you were pregnant. You’d decided that you were going to have the baby. Harry seemed involved enough at this stage, and frankly, you were fine enough for now to just push any other thought out of your head.

Where would you live? Where would he live? How often would he see the baby? Would you even have full custody or were you making a terrible assumption? Would he be on tour when you went into labor?

There were a thousand questions that tried to keep you up at night, but apparently growing a human took enough out of you that you fell asleep easily these days. And Harry had warned you it was coming--a quick text to give you a heads up.

310-324-9090 (8:24am): Spoke with Jeff some more last night after I got home. He thinks it’s best if we have a meeting with some of my team. Can you call me later and I’ll give you some details?

You did as he asked--stepped out on your lunch break and spoke to him in the courtyard, careful to keep your voice quiet.

It wasn’t that people at work were nosy--it was more that a random Facebook employee getting knocked up by a famous musician was sure to be a good headline that someone would be killing to write if they got wind. So for now, you tried your best to speak in code.

“They want to have a meeting. Just to talk about some logistics and privacy things and whatnot.” He made it sound so casual.

“The logistics of the current situation?”

He sounded a bit confused. “Of you being pregnant with my baby--yes.”

“This feels like something I would need a lawyer for.”

“You don’t need a lawyer.”

“Aren’t you the opposing side? Isn’t this going to become some weird negotiation around what I can and can’t do with your--you know.”

“I don’t know…”

“Your baby,” you whispered the word quietly, a hand over your mouth to be safe. “Who is mine, too, by the way.”

“Y/N--this is just a meeting, okay? There’s a few things for you to sign--basically just saying that you’re not going to sue me or try to blackmail me.”

Glenne had mentioned that. She threw back another margarita that night in your kitchen and said you’d have to sign an NDA. It’s just something a bunch of people sign, confidentiality, basically. You’ll be fine.

It made sense. Jeff wanted to be sure you wouldn’t sell your story or try to cash in on the undoubtedly pricey offspring you were producing--that’s what Lexi had joked about. Can you imagine how much someone would pay for his baby?

You reminded her that it was yours, too. She threw her head back and laughed, yeah, but his DNA would make it more expensive--like a purebred.

And this was the easy phase, after all--that’s what your mom had told you on the phone when you told her you’d be keeping it. Things were still normal. You weren’t showing, you had no symptoms. Other than the apple-seed growth in your uterus, everything was still completely normal. For now.

You agreed to meet Harry on Saturday afternoon--some office building in Westwood that felt eerily empty on the weekend. Hallways that all looked the same, meeting rooms and conference tables stared back at you.

He’d met you in the lobby, offered a quick hug when you walked in from the fresh air. He took you up in an elevator, fourth floor, second room down on the left.

Jeff was inside with a few others, a small smile when you walked in behind Harry, clad in a graphic tee.

“Hey,” he said, standing and rounding the table to give you a hug. “How are you feeling?”

You could hear the guilt that laced his voice. “Good--I’m fine.”

“I’m, uh--I’m sorry about the other night. I was just--you know, kind of freaked.”

Harry let out a quick laugh, sarcasm threaded through his words. “We were doing totally fine--not freaked out at all.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, sat back down and introduced you to the other faces in the room. Lola, Harry’s publicist, John, a PR guy from his label, Dave, a lawyer. His assistant, Emma, a small smile on her face when you made eye contact.

You turned to Harry quickly--he sat on the other side of the table beside Jeff, fumbled with the top of his water bottle. He said you didn’t need a lawyer--but for some reason, he had one.

That’s when the anxiety kicked in--the swirling questions of what they all thought. They offered smiles when Jeff began talking and you did your best to wipe the sweat from your hands every few seconds on your pants.

“So--obviously, this is big news for everyone here--uh, we wanted to have this meeting, really, to just get a few things agreed upon.”

You nodded, watched Harry for a second until he looked at you.

Dave spoke now--black rimmed glasses sat atop his nose. You wondered what his life was like. A lawyer for top musicians? He probably drove a Tesla, too.“We have to have you sign something, Y/N--just saying that you won’t discuss any of this with the press. It includes no social media posting, no interviews, limited disclosure to friends and family.”

Another nod--that was a given, and it seemed to be for your own protection, too. Lexi had brought it up first. What happens when people find out he’s the father?

“We don’t expect you to hide the pregnancy altogether--to be clear. But for now, the parentage needs to be confidential.”

“Okay,” you said. “But not like, with everyone, right?” Maybe it was a dumb question. “I already told my mom.”

“No--your mom is fine.” Harry answered the question for them, which is when you realized that you were the only one on your side of the table. They sat in a line, the five of them elbow to elbow, their team and against yours.

The only problem was that right now, no one was on your team.

“How much did you tell her?” Dave’s head tilted like you’d said the wrong thing.

“Just a little--she knows it’s his,” your eyes went back up to Harry’s now. He held your gaze for a minute, looked over to Dave and cleared his throat.

“That’s fine,” Harry said.

The look on Dave’s face told you otherwise. “We need to keep the number of people who know to a minimum.”

“Well I certainly don’t expect her to not tell her mother,” Harry retorted, anger more present in his voice than before. You shrunk in your chair, feeling incredibly isolated as they sat across from you.

“Who does know?” Jeff leaned in, hoping to ease the tension between Harry and Dave--a welcome distraction when he looked towards you.

“Aside from people in this room, my mom, Lexi, Glenne--and my doctor, but, I think she’ll be fine.”

Dave started writing on the notepad in front of him. “I can draw up non-disclosures for them, too.”

Emma sipped at her water--you peered past her out the window. It was sunny--a good day for anything but this.

“So--we can move to the financial aspect,” Dave put his pen down and thumbed through some papers. “I know this is always the worst part, but--has to be done.”

You looked around the room, still feeling a step behind the others, confused. You watched as Harry twisted his hands together, stared down at them on the table. It felt like no one even wanted to make eye contact with you, like you were somehow wearing a scarlet letter.

“This agreement details the child support he’ll pay. Monthly until the child turns eighteen. Visiting rights, partial custody if he so chooses. If you sign, it means you agree to the terms and conditions and will hereby agree to share custody, barring any legal changes, of course. Anything you don’t agree to will be settled in arbitration, along with any changes to the agreements set forth here.”

He pushed a packet across the table, the paper was crisp and thick, stapled in the top left corner.

You looked up at him. “Do I get time to read it over?”

“Of course,” Jeff spoke quickly. “We’ll need it either way by Monday.

You tried not to roll your eyes. A whole two days. You swallowed, nodded, ignored the pen that Dave flipped over in his hand, apparently hoping you’d agree to sign now.

“We also have this,” he said, lifting another packet of papers from the stack in front of him. “We’d like a paternity test. This can be completed after seven weeks gestation. The previous agreements and contracts will become null and void if the paternity test proves Mr. Styles is not the father. That’s all detailed in here, though.”

There was a heat on your cheeks, one that felt like it threatened to bring tears. You stared down at the paper already in front of you, words like custodial and proprietary suddenly left your mouth feeling dry.

You didn’t have a chance to respond, Dave slid more papers towards you, this time the pen came with them. “We need you to sign the agreement to DNA testing for paternity confirmation and the basic non-disclosure today.”

You looked up at Harry--he watched as Dave fumbled through more papers, seeing if there was another dotted line for you to put your name on. Jeff stared at the glass of water in front of him, avoiding your gaze like you weren’t his friend, someone who came to his birthday parties or texted memes to his girlfriend.

“I need a minute,” you said, voice hoarse and unsteady. You pushed back from the table, turned and headed for the door without a response from anyone in the room.

“You can have time with the other documents, it’s just the paternity testing we need signed,” Dave’s voice faded when you got to the hallway, you counted the stripes on the carpet as you put more distance between you and your side of the conference table. The hallways were a maze, more rooms and tables and rolling office chairs that didn’t help calm your nerves.

There were footsteps behind yours--Harry’s, no doubt--but you kept moving, the end of the hallway was in sight, a door to a balcony, fresh air, a moment to breathe.

He was right behind you when you pushed it open, the cool metal of the door was prickly on your skin, hot and flushed. You squinted in the sun, he was quiet for a moment, the door shut.

“M’sorry,” he said after a second. You looked down at the cars that were parked on the streets below, people on sidewalks, a breeze from the ocean. “We have to do that--they’d never just believe it was mine without the actual proof.”

You turned around to face him. “Feels kind of shitty, though. They’ll think I’m lying until I can prove that I’m not.”

He rolled his eyes a bit. “Well people lie, Y/N! You might not be crazy but people out there are--so we have to just, I don’t know, they have to take precautions.”

“This isn’t just happening to you, Harry! I know that’s all that they care about--all that Jeff cares about right now--but this is happening to me, too! This is changing my life, too. You’re not the only one with a career and a family and a life.”

“I know!” He said, looking up to the sky as if it were the hundredth time you said it. “I know it is--I’m doing the best I can, okay? I need to know for sure that it’s mine, too, okay? I trust you, I do--but I have to know for sure.”

“Right--cause somehow this is my fault and it all falls on me at the end of the day, right?”

“I never said that,” he said, more hushed now.

“Well, this is on you, too. You’re the father and if I have to take a fucking paternity test I will but--you’re the only person I’ve slept with in the last, like, year.”

His eyes went a bit wide at that--you let out an annoyed laugh and turned back to the view, wishing you were home, beneath the tree in your mom’s backyard in Santa Paula. A good book and a sense of calm, something that felt all too fleeting these days.

“Really?”

“Really.”

You tried to ignore the smirk on his face, crossed your arms over your chest when you turned back to see him again. “So--there’s literally no chance it’s anyone else’s.”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth still lifted toward the sky.

“What? What are you smiling for?”

“Dunno,” he laughed a little. “Just--I kind of thought you left that night because you were seeing someone or something like that.”

“What? No--I haven’t--I had a boyfriend a while ago but we broke up.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

He shrugged, dropped your gaze for a moment. “Well, when I met you in the fall at that dinner--I don’t know, I asked Glenne about you and she said you were kind of,” he glanced back up at you, “unavailable. Or, you were dealing with something. So I figured when you left and never called it just--had to do with him.”

You thought back to that first night in October, long before the sex and the sneaking out. Sushi and drinks and butterflies when he walked in to the restaurant. You always knew that they knew him--heard his name and heard his songs on the radio. You’d seen him from afar once, a party at Jeff’s old house, you were on your way out when he strolled in, sometime in 2017, hugging other people and shaking hands with beautiful women. You never even thought he noticed you until you found yourself drunk on his couch two years later.

You knew why Glenne said it. You’d ended a relationship in the spring of 2018 and it took you all summer to even want to go out again. Lexi would beg and plead and apparently, a celebration in Glenne’s honor was what it took in the fall for you to finally put on a pair of heels and have a few drinks.

“I wasn’t unavailable--I just--I don’t know, her and Lexi can be protective.”

He nodded, quiet for a minute when he looked out over the hills in the distance.

Your break up was tough, not so much about losing him, but losing the vision you had. There were plenty of red flags--so big that even Lexi could pick up on them. But you brushed it off, pretended like it didn’t matter that he was unreliable and immature. When you finally had enough, you were more upset about the fact that it threw you off course.

What am I supposed to do, now? You’d asked Lexi in the living room, crying on the couch with a glass of wine in hand. How am I supposed to get married at 27 and have a baby at 29 if he’s not the one?

He wasn’t--he was far from it. Lexi poured more wine and said she’d order you a vibrator on Amazon. He’s a fucking dickface, dude, you’ll meet someone else. And fuck that timeline. It’s bullshit.

Maybe it was a gust of wind or the thoughts of how terribly off track this put you, more tears in your eyes when you sighed.

“I’m sorry you have to sign all this shit.”

You bit at your lip, a tiny thud in your chest when his eyes met yours.

“S’not how it should typically be and that’s because of me--or my job, at least.”

You nodded. He was right. If this was anyone else it’d be a lot easier. A lot less paperwork, a lot less questions.

“Do you want to go get dinner?”

“Right now?”

“Well,” he looked over his shoulder--Jeff was down the hall, his figure blurred through the glass. “You probably have to sign at least the NDA if you want them to let you out of the building. But--after that.”

You took a deep breath, wishing you could ignore the guilt that sat on your shoulders. He shouldn’t have spend time with you. You didn’t want him to feel tied down, trapped, you didn’t want to be the ball and chain that would inevitably be blamed for changing his life and ruining his career.

“No, no, we don’t have to, I should go home.”

“It’s Saturday,” he said. “What do you have to do?”

You didn’t expect his question--or pushback at all, really. “I have to clean. I have to organize stuff.”

“Stuff?” A smirk on his face told you he was on to you.

“You don’t have to take me to dinner. We don’t have to pretend like we’re friends.”

He watched you for a second, his eyes scanning your face as if he didn’t know what to say. He pushed his lips out in thought and then scratched at the back of his neck.

“Am I at least allowed to get to know you? If you’re having my baby--if we’re doing this--you’re kind of stuck with me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you tried to backtrack.

“However you meant it--I still want to take you to dinner.”

“Fine,” you said, heat on your cheeks when he smiled, eyes crinkling by the side. “But I have some things to sign first.”

“Right,” he nodded, a stifled laugh under his breath. He turned around and grabbed the door, gesturing for you to head back inside. “After you.”

Another burger, this time, hold the pickles. He teased you at the drive through window that you’d be keeping them in business alone for the next nine months, you parked this time near a beach north of Santa Monica.

“You said I didn’t need a lawyer,” you didn’t look at him, focused instead on the half-eaten burger in your hands before you took another bite. “Feels like I do.”

He looked over at you and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I mean--I didn’t want to freak you out. You don’t need one. You could have someone read over the papers for you. Do you have one?”

You racked through your brain. Maybe Simone would be your best bet, you could bring them into work on Monday and let her give it a read, but, then again, there was no way Dave and Jeff would let you tell another person before the paternity test results came in.

You shook your head. “Lexi watches a lot of Law & Order.”

He stifled a laugh, sipped from his soda and adjusted the dark sunglasses perched on his nose. “I don’t think she counts, love, sorry.”

You picked up your own drink and took a swig, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach when he smiled down at you.

“Hey, it’s alright. I can, uh, I can have Jeff find someone--not Dave--who can read them and you can meet with them, maybe. Go over it all and make sure it makes sense.”

You nodded, a feeling of gratitude swept through you. You offered a small smile of appreciation, another bite of your burger before Harry let out a laugh.

“See? M’not the enemy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

“Hey, I mean it,” he turned towards you now, the sleeve of french fries on his lap shifted, one fell down to the clean carpet of his car. “I know they’re requiring the test, but, I trust you. And we’re in this together.”

You crumpled up the garbage of your dinner, tossed it in the bag that sat by your feet, suddenly too nervous to sit so close to him in the confines of his car. “Let’s take a walk,” you said, unsure of how to respond to his words. It was hard to believe him, he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and walked beside you towards the beach, another stark reminder of the difference between your life and his.

It was obvious again, when the teenager behind the ice cream window at a beach front shop begged for a photo. You took it and prayed she didn’t even remember that you were with him. Hopefully the adrenaline in her system would wipe your face from her memory.

“This is the most beautiful ice cream cone I’ve ever gotten,” he said, sitting on the bench of a picnic table a decent ways away from the counter where you’d ordered. He twirled it around, inspecting it from all angles when you pulled the straw of your milkshake up to your lips.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen one before,” you teased, reaching for a napkin from his other hand.

“S’just so perfect looking.” He reached for his phone, lifted his dessert up in front of the setting sun that sprawled over the ocean’s horizon. “Wow--do you see this?” He clicked the button on his phone, his thumb successfully capturing the moment.

You rolled your eyes, took a quick peek around to make sure no one was nearby. He’d already warned you that he couldn’t stay long. Typically only 30 minutes after you take a photo with someone, otherwise people start to show up.

“I’m sending this to you,” he laughed. “I understand if you want it framed or just as reminder of this beautiful evening.”

He pressed a few buttons and then your screen lit up on the bench in between you.

He peered down at it, then brought his eyes back up to yours. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth before he took the first lick of his ice cream. “Ever gonna save my number in your phone?”

You laughed, a bit embarrassed that a part of you had refused to do it. What if one day you woke up and he backed out? Said you were on your own and wrote you a check to never seek him out?

“Yeah, I just--I dunno, it felt weird at first.”

He raised his eyebrows a bit, finally took another lick from his ice cream. “Too personal?”

You laughed, “a bit.”

“Nothing quite as personal as having a baby together, if you ask me.” He took another lick and then dropped your gaze, a small smile on his face when he looked back at the sunset. “M’not going anywhere. Promise.”

When Aarav showed up at your desk on Monday morning, you knew you’d fucked up. When Simone showed up only ten minutes later, you knew you’d really fucked up.

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I totally forgot it was tonight.”

“You forgot our bi-weekly Monday night bitch session about work was on a Monday night? On the Monday night after we didn’t hang out last week?” Simone tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at you. Aarav let out a sigh.

“I’ve been busy, I’ve been so busy.”

“Well are we still on? Simone and I are free as birds, so--we’re waiting on you.”

You looked at your work calendar, pulled up on your screen. Your last meeting was 3pm--then you were supposed to head towards Westwood to meet Harry and Dave and Jeff and probably the other people who had been at the first meeting.

“Yes, I can--I just, I have to cancel something else. But it’s fine. Not a big deal. That’s on me.”

You picked up your phone and tried to open the message discreetly. Simone pulled up her own and kept talking. “I’ll make us a reservation at Diego’s, yeah?”

“Sure,” Aarav said, “that’s the place with the good guac, right?”

“Right,” she said, clicking her phone shut and bringing her eyes back to you. “But also--can we talk tonight about how Carson told me he heard Levi mention something about talking with someone at Apple?”

Your eyes went wide. “Shut up--did you actually?”

“I’ll fill you in tonight,” she smiled, taking a step back from your desk and heading for the door of your office. “Over a nice, tall, frozen margarita.”

You leaned back in your chair and groaned, playfully insinuating that waiting that long would be torture. Aarav laughed and picked up a stress ball on your desk. He tossed it in the air once Simone walked away.

“You alright lately?”

You looked up from your screen, a half written text to Harry was typed out.

Hey--any chance we can rain check the meeting tonight? I know I have to sign it but something at work

“What?” You looked up at him and clicked your phone to sleep. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You seem distracted, or just stressed.”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he said, a lilt in his voice like he didn’t quite believe you.

You mulled it over for a second. You could tell him, you could tell both of them. They were good people and they’d sat through many intolerable staff meetings when Carson tried his best to shit on your team as if he wasn’t everyone’s least favorite coworker.

You swallowed it down and looked up at him. “All good--just, busy, really. Really hoping that there’s some movement here, soon.”

He knew what you meant--he was the one you’d been most transparent with.

“I think it’s gonna happen, don’t worry.”

You nodded, let out a sigh, wishing you could tell him that the apple seed in your uterus made things slightly less black and white than just getting a promotion.

And you wished you could have explained that to them that night--especially when they grilled you for not drinking. You shoveled chips and dip into your mouth like it was going out of style--only coming up for air when Simone reminded you about her news.

“So do you want the scoop on Levi or what?”

“Do not get my hopes up,” you warned her. “I’m not in a good place for getting jerked around.”

Aarav laughed and sipped on his margarita. “Jerk her anyway.”

“I think he had an interview.”

“No he didn’t,” you whined, worried it was either false or too good to be true. You loved Levi. He was funny and talented and he taught the three of you a lot. Plus, he didn’t really care that you’d been working from home a lot more often lately.

But you’d been hoping he’d leave Facebook for the last eight months. Ever since he told you that he’d certainly recommend you to the higher ups as his replacement.

“I swear on my life. On Mark Zuckerberg, even. I heard Levi telling Dan from Tech Support about it in the cafeteria the other day.”

Instead of responding, you shoveled in another mouthful of guac, wide eyes when they looked at you for some sort of response. But what were you supposed to say? How were you to supposed to be excited for something that had long been building, moving in that direction, but was now suddenly threatened by a one night stand?

You’d worked at Facebook longer than both Aarav and Simone. Simone came on only a few months after you, but Aarav was a whole year behind. They were also marketing geniuses, Aarav came from a top school in Chicago, Simone from the Bay Area with a degree in New Media and Internet Marketing. Your small team was responsible for digital promotions, those run online or in commercials. As the team’s Visual Designer, you worked closely with the rest of them to bring their ideas to the screen, however that looked.

So when the Team Lead, Levi, had started making mentions about heading to a new job, he casually tried to gauge your interest over coffee in the first floor cafe.

But this was shitty timing. How were you supposed to take maternity leave in the first few months in a new job? Would someone fill your spot while you were gone? The questions that started to race through your mind felt overwhelming, so much so that you wished you could reach for the margarita in Aarav’s hand.

But you didn’t. And you bit your tongue when they asked you again why you weren’t drinking. You didn’t tell them, though you wanted to, that the reason you had to miss work in the afternoon the next day was because you had to sign an NDA, agreeing to keep them and others in the dark about what was sure to be the most wild adventure yet.

And when you hugged them goodbye in the parking lot, you blinked back tears, hoping that one day, they’d know the truth.

You sent the documents to your mom. She was far from a lawyer, but she was likely the safest option you had. Lexi tried to grab them when you left them on the counter, push some sunglasses on her face and read the biggest words she saw in a posh Transatlantic accent. Both individuals agree that any proceedings will be confidential, she giggled and pretended to rip it up, collapsing on the sofa beside you to watch Netflix before bed.

It didn’t make much more sense to your mother, either, she sighed over FaceTime and apologized for not being able to help. That was your cue to text Harry. Is there actually someone I could meet with to go over these papers? Aside from Dave?

He set it up--claimed that Jeff found someone easily and then two days later, a woman with short blonde hair stood on your front step, Jeff in tow.

She sat at your small dining room table--one your mom had tucked away in the basement when you were little--the perfect spot for arts and crafts. You prayed, while your blonde-haired lawyer looked over all the words on the endless pages, that she didn’t notice the paint splotches or pools of glitter that had long been stuck on the dark, stained wood.

You sat there for hours, Lexi came and left twice in the time that the three of you huddled around the papers, Jeff with a baseball cap on as he told you about why these things were important. Rita--who you learned was a connection through Harry’s record label--had already signed an NDA and promised to explain the clauses and constraints in layman's terms.

So you felt slightly less stupid and insecure walking back into the same conference room Tuesday afternoon, alone on your side of the table.

Harry was already seated when you arrived, he offered a smile and a nervous scan over your body before you sat across from him. Jeff ended whatever call he’d been on, Dave’s hand immediately extended to receive the manila folder he’d previously sent you home with.

Another sunny Los Angeles day smiled through the window, Harry’s assistant was nowhere to be seen, the label rep wasn’t there, either. Three against one, this time.

You didn’t admit it to them, but your hand shook a bit when you reached across the table, handed over the packet of papers that somehow felt like you were giving up freedom, giving up your say in things and like you didn’t even know what you’d now lose. It was all in writing now. You were carrying this baby to term and that was the one thing that would keep Harry in your life, for better or for worse.

The only thing you took solace in was the fact that you had access to Jeff and Glenne, and maybe Rita, now, too. You could ask questions or get clarification over cups of coffee or take out.

So maybe that explained the calmness in your gut when you sat on top of an exam table in Doctor Weston’s office, Harry pacing nervously in front of you.

“Can you relax?” You asked, finally letting out the breath you’d been holding for the last few minutes.

Was it okay for you to say that? You still felt like you were walking on eggshells around him, unsure of what would tick him off and how to react. The truth was that you were still strangers--he was still someone you didn’t know. Someone who had his own pet peeves and his own fears and anxieties. He’d met you in the parking lot, he was already out of his car when you pulled in beside him the next week and met him after work.

You’re kind of late, he’d said. A frown on his face when he used sunglasses to shield his eyes.

You’d been in a meeting. You left as soon as you could. Now, he still couldn’t shake the nerves after he’d listed off the things that were keeping him up at night.

“I can’t relax,” he retorted, his words charged. He turned on his feet, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I have to figure out a lot of stuff right now. And I’m nervous, okay? This is a big day.” He motioned over to the sonogram machine, a box of purple gloves was tucked alongside it.

“You’re not the one who has to have someone’s fingers in her--you know.”

He rolled his eyes at that, let out a breathy sigh and sat in the chair against the wall. He clasped his hands together but then looked up at you. You wondered if he thought you looked stupid in the blue and white gown the nurse had left for you on the table. You’d locked him out of the room when you changed, now he smirked up at you.

“Cute dress.”

“Shut up.”

“S’nice!”

“It’s ratty and old and--not very flattering,” you plucked at the fabric with your fingers, looking back at him when he sighed again.

“M’sorry--I just--I had a meeting with Jeff today and we decided to push the album back.”

You were quiet, the air in the room felt stiff and cold. Goosebumps on your skin when you swallowed back the thought: it was all your fault.

“I--”

He cut you off before you could string any words together. “S’fine, Y/N, really. Gives me more time to sit on it and plan some music videos and talk about marketing stuff.”

You would have asked more about it. Asked about the songs or the process or anything in between, but the door opened and Dr. Weston smiled when she stepped into the white-tiled room.

“Hello, hello, how’s mom feeling?”

The m-word got caught in your throat, color drained from your face when Harry looked between you and the doctor. “Good, right, love?” He stood and took two steps over to you, some sort of instinct in him took over, a hand on your back when he realized how frozen you were. “Headaches, she’s said, a funny taste in your mouth, right?”

You nodded.

Dr. Weston sat on the rolling stool and moved towards the sonogram machine, an apologetic smile for the panic she’d caused in you. “Are the headaches helped by something over the counter? Advil? Tylenol?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Advil. Is that alright?”

“Perfectly fine. Just take the recommended dose, no more than it says on the bottle.”

You and Harry both nodded at that--as if he would remember her advice, too.

“Alright,” she reached for some gloves and looked up at you, eyes wide. “Ready to lean back? The gel will be cold but it will give us a good look at what’s going on in there. This will be the first of many ultrasounds.”

You did as she told, pushed your bum back on the table and let your back rest flush against it. She was right--the gel was sticky and cool and the probe that came from the machine poked at your stomach. You ignored the nervousness that pooled in your chest when you exposed your skin in the room, that last time Harry had seen you like this, it was dark and his vision was likely blurred by the alcohol.

“Okay,” Dr. Weston’s voice was calm, she moved along your lower stomach for a few seconds, all eyes were glued to the screen. “So, the big dark circle there in your uterus,” she pointed at the screen and clicked something to capture it. “That’s the lining, there, where it turns to a lighter gray.”

Harry nodded, his lips slightly parted as his arms crossed over his chest.

“And that, the tiny little thing inside of it--” she adjusted the probe again and pointed to the screen, tugging at the whole machine a bit so you could see it more easily. “That’s your baby.”

Quiet for a second, the first time in a while that your pulse slowed and you felt alone again, even if it was just inside your head. The thoughts slowed, your breathing slowed, and Harry’s hip bumped against your arm when he looked down at you.

There was a small smile on his face. One that looked genuine but slightly terrified at the same time. He pointed towards the screen, “s’right there, that’s it.”

“I see it,” you nodded.

He tilted his head to the side. “It’s more--like a pea now.”

You laughed a little, immediately bringing levity to the room. “It wasn’t going to be an apple seed forever.”

Dr. Weston smiled, rolled away from the machine when you pushed yourself up on your elbows. “Do you want to do a vaginal ultrasound? We can possibly hear the heartbeat that way--obviously less comfortable.”

Harry looked over at you, all you did was nod. She asked you to slide off the hospital shorts you’d tugged on beneath the gown. Harry twisted around to offer privacy, this time, the probe was more uncomfortable and there was a tinge of pink on your cheeks when he turned back to face you, his gaze trailed down to notice Dr. Weston’s hand under the blanket that was now splayed out on your lap.

Quiet for a second, then she smiled. “That sound, the whooshing--that’s the heartbeat. That’s the baby, again,” she pointed. “Right there.”

“Huh,” you said, once again, eyes on the screen and hands clasped over your stomach. Harry looked down at you when Dr. Weston captured the image again.

“So,” Dr. Weston’s voice was quieter now, she removed the probe and discarded her gloves into the trash. “Still too soon to tell the sex. But--we’ll do another one in about four weeks. If anything changes, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out. You can email me on the patient portal or just call the front desk.”

“Okay.”

“I'll print these for you.”

“Can you print two copies, please?”

She nodded, another reminder of how off track things were from the plan. You ignored the weight on your shoulders, the guilt that passed through your veins when she shut the door behind her and left you alone in the room with him.

You sat up, the paper crumbled beneath you and Harry stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

“I, uh--I still haven’t told my family.”

You bit at your lip, unsure. Was it because he was ashamed? Embarrassed? Angry? You didn’t ask.

“I want to, I just--I haven’t seen them in a bit. So. I’m supposed to go home for a while next week.”

You nodded. “You should go.”

“It’s supposed to be for, like, six weeks.”

“That’s fine.”

“No--I’m not--I can’t miss whatever happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

He pulled his head back, confused by your words. “I don’t think that’s how pregnancy works.”

You stood from the table and hopped down, suddenly much shorter than you felt before, barefoot on the tile. “Just go.”

He let out a sigh. “I might for a week, but, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you snapped suddenly. “You don’t have to come to every appointment and act like we’re actually--I don’t know, together, or something. We can still live separate lives.”

“I’m not acting like that,” he said, eyebrows pointed inwards now. “I’m just doing what’s right. I’m in this, too, Y/N.”

You turned around, shimmied the shorts down from your hips and held the gown in place. You grabbed for your underwear on the chair beside his, neatly folded in a pile as if your life wasn’t a mess.

“I think you should do it. Tell them in person.” You pulled up the elastic band over your hips, still keeping the gown close to your body.

He handed you the black shorts you’d been wearing earlier, the gesture didn’t match the tone of his voice. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m not like anything,” you said, one foot in first, then the other. “I just don’t want you to feel trapped in LA with me. I’m fine.”

You dropped the gown now, holding it to your chest when you turned to reach for your bra. He averted his gaze, stared directly at the vagina poster on the wall. “Right.”

You tugged on your bra quickly, reaching for your shirt and pulling it over your head. “Right what?”

“You’re right. You’re fine. You don’t need me,” a shrug of his shoulders. “Is that what you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to relax.”

“Well I’m sorry that I can’t,” he spoke quickly now, the anger on his face stopped you in your tracks. “But the last thing I need is for you to act like none of this is a big deal.”

You didn’t mean to do it again--you didn’t feel it coming until the tears were already on your cheeks, wet and falling towards the floor. He sighed at that, steadied his own breathing and pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, words broken by the heavy breathing. “It just happens now--I just cry on command.”

He shook his head, watching as you folded the gown neatly on the table, left it there to be discarded by the nurse. “No--I--it’s fine. You can cry as much as you want.”

You turned to look at him, a few breaths to try to steady your pulse. He stepped forward, his arms wrap around your shoulders. You were still for a moment, unsure if you were allowed you let your arms wrap around his waist, or if it would make the crying worse. But you did, and when you did, he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“S’alright. I’ll go home for a week. Then I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” you said. “Okay.”

table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list

author’s note: longer than usual!!! so excited for all of you to read what’s coming! I hope everyone is staying safe and staying home. I wanted to put this chapter out a bit early since I know everyone is (hopefully) stuck inside. keep all of the messages coming i love chatting with all of you about Harry and Y/N and their little apple seed!!!!

tag list: @stepping-into-the-light @thurhomish @afterstylesmadeit @iconicharry @stylesfics-xx @harryspirate @mellamolayla @harryinsweatersandbandanas @stylesfantasy @clorenafila @mell-love @anssu-amry @yelllowgrass @littlesoldierelleora @styles217 @rachkon @c-h-e-r-r-y-y @myhat @rosegoldbel @passionate-dreamerr @grammyforstyles @haute-romance-quotidienne@dontgiveupthedayjob @ursamajor603 @craic-head-horan @heavenspidey @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry @blackxxmagicc @winter-soldier-007 @ssllbb @wanderlustiing @jdcharliewhiskey @caritocp @kaybee87 @wildbeee @hsunflowervol @harrys-medicines @tobe-sogolden @theresnooneheretosave @1d-tommo5 @soullikestyles @mrsfstyles

#unplanned #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles black #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles spotify #fem!reader x harry styles #fem!reader x harry #harry styles reader insert #idkthisisjustforfanfic

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dearest-bucky · 5 years ago

Text

I think I’m in love... just a little bit (One Shot)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: An undercover mission brings to surface some underlying feelings.

Words: 2.9K

Warnings: mutual pining?

A/n: This fic is inspired by one scene of the movie “The man from U.N.C.L.E” that I saw a few days ago after Meg’s @searchingforbucky post on her blog. I really loved the movie and I wanted to write something similar. p.s Meg I’m sorry you’re getting a second notification for this. 🙈

Originally posted: August 12, 2020

"I hate this." He grumbled from the chair he was sitting, positioned behind the large window to keep an eye on the street below.

Y/n let out a sigh, but didn't say anything to him. What could she say really? Ever since they'd arrived in the hotel yesterday morning he'd been complaining the whole time, so Y/n just let him let it all out, let him whine as much as he wanted while she prepared for her part of the mission.

She was drawing her winged eyeliner in front of the mirror, carefully gliding the flat tip of the brush on her lid, then angling it a little upwards to draw the wing. The precision with which she moved her hand, the careful movement; Bucky glanced her way in wonder as he saw her put on make up. She was so invested in it. Truly, an art in itself.

Yet, he still couldn't help but be annoyed with the entire situation in general. "I'm not even a spy. I'm a fucking soldier." He said as she finished the eyeliner on the other eye, completely unbothered by him talking.

"I don't know why I agreed to this mission in the first place. I just think it would be better if- "

For the first time in the last hour, she finally decided to reply to him. Putting the eyeliner down and turning towards him, she spoke up, interrupting his rant. "Because T'Challa is your friend and he asked this as a favor from you. Now quit whining and start getting dressed. We'll have to make an appearance in less than an hour in the ballroom downstairs."

That shut him up effectively. He got up from the chair he was previously sitting, put the binoculars on the small table next to the chair and walked to the closet where his suit was hanging, fresh from the dry cleaners.

In just a few minutes he was dressed and his hair slicked back, gathered in a low man bun at the nape of his neck. He cleaned up nice, if he dared say so himself.

Y/n on the other hand, had moved to the adjacent bathroom to change into her gown for the night, a floor length navy blue dress that hugged her curves beautifully. She walked back in the room, holding the front of her dress with her hand. "Can you please help me zip this up?"

He picked his head up to look at her, mouth going dry in an instant. She looked so beautiful. No, the word beautiful didn't do her any justice. Bucky thought there was no word in the English language - or in any of the other languages he spoke - that could truly describe the way she looked, standing there in front of him.

After a short moment, he broke out of his stupor and moved to her. "Yeah, sure." He mumbled as he positioned himself behind her, flesh hand reaching for her zipper and the metal one resting lightly on her hip. He could feel her shiver in front of him as he slowly glided the zipper up. "You're shivering." He spoke and she turned her head slightly to the side, their eyes meeting for the briefest second.

"Just nervous about the mission."

He finished with the zipper and placed his flesh hand on her other hip, holding her in place, his warm breath hitting the skin of her neck. "Don't be. I'll be with you the entire time." It was supposed to be a reassurance and it worked, but as he kept her close to his body, she started shivering for a whole different reason. She simply nodded her head and moved away from his touch, suddenly too overwhelmed to be in his presence. The tension in the room were palpable. The unspoken feelings kept secret inside their chests.

"Are you ready to head out?"

Another nod and she looped her arm to his and they walked out of their shared room, entering the elevator in the corridor and moving down to the ballroom where a party was being held in honor of a politician neither of them couldn't care less about.

However, in the same place was secretly happening the illegal sale of some stolen piece of Wakandan vibranium. One of the acquaintances of the aforementioned politician was to do business with some weapons dealers from Middle East and apparently the business would take place during the party where everyone's inhibitions were low because of the flowing alcohol and they'd be unsuspecting of what was really going on.

That was about to be ruined though, because king T'Challa knew all about the plans of that thief so he'd send Bucky and Y/n to put an end to the whole thing.

They walked slowly in the ballroom, discreetly looking around to take note to all the exit points, scanning the place around for any unexpected but still possible threats. To the untrained eye, they were just another fancy couple attending the party, both dressed to the nines, enjoying the expensive party.

They made their way to the bar, Bucky ordering both of their drinks. She sipped a small sip from hers, hoping the alcohol would help her relax a bit. It wasn't her first undercover mission, however it was the first one where she was alone with Bucky and she wanted to succeed, to prove to him that she was as good of a spy as Natasha. Not that he doubted her abilities, but still.

They'd been there for at least an hour when his eyes fixed on something behind her head. As they were looking around the place, Bucky caught one of the weapons dealers walking to the exit. "Stay here, I'll be right back." He whispered to Y/n in a rush and pecked her cheek, trying to keep their cover.

She wanted to ask him where he was going, but Bucky was already gone, leaving her alone at the bar. She turned to the bar counter and picked up her glass, taking another small sip, enough to wet her red lips.

She was playing with the seam of her glass, tracing its outline with her finger in circular motion when she felt another presence behind her.

"It's truly a shame to leave such a stunning lady as yourself alone at a party." The voice said and she turned her head to look at the new man who was now at her side. She gave him a tight smile, seeming uninterested and turned her head towards the party, ignoring the man.

This wasn't part of the plan, but seeing that the man came to her like the lamb in the slaughter, she wasn't stupid to pass this golden opportunity.

"Allow me to buy you a drink." The man spoke up again after a short moment of silence and she wanted to scoff at how bad he was at this, picking up women.

Her mission required her to be serious and collected, so she acted exactly that. "No, thank you." She replied curtly, knowing that her refusal would only spur him to insist more with her.

Just like she thought, the man wouldn't give up, and after a few minutes of acting totally indifferent and uninterested, she knew she had to change tactics if she wanted to win him over. She felt disgusted with herself, but it had to be done. The things she had to do for a mission!

"I would love it if you'd be able to accompany me tomorrow for a business lunch." He said over a glass of expensive whiskey that was so strong even its smell was enough to get Y/n drunk. "Then after that we could go anywhere you'd like. I'm sure there are many interesting things to do in this city." His hand that wasn't holding the glass moved to touch her bare arm and she wanted to crawl in her skin just to not feel his touch but she had to act flattered and interested for the sake of the mission. She knew what the 'business lunch' was and if this man was dumb enough to invite a total stranger to his illegal deals she wasn't going to complain. He probably thought she was a brainless bimbo who only lived by her looks and that's exactly what she wanted him to keep thinking.

A smile made its way to her face and just as she was about to reply and accept his offer, Bucky returned again, his eyes darkening when he saw the man's hand on her arm, looking at her as if she were a piece of meat and he, the hungry wolf. He hated that look and he did his best to not break the man's fingers, opting to just loop his arm around Y/n's waist rather possessively and throwing daggers with his eyes to the man. "Sorry I was away for too long baby." His words were spoken sweetly and directed to Y/n, but his eyes that were still on the man said another story. "I'm afraid we have to cut this night short."

This was confusing. They weren't supposed to leave. She gave a questioning look to Bucky but couldn't read him at all. Damn Winter Soldier. His hand around her waist just tightened a bit, squeezing her hip lightly and she didn't question him anymore.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, mr. Teller." She spoke to the man on her other side rather sweetly, trying to keep the cover intact. "I'm afraid I have to leave now."

The man was left a little confused too by the presence of Bucky, but he didn't comment on it. He just put his hand in his pocket and fished out a business card, handing it to Y/n. "My number, so we can talk about tomorrow."

When she stretched her hand to grab the piece of paper he swiped it and kissed the back of her hand in a chivalrous manner, slightly bowing in front of her. "And believe me, the pleasure has been all mine, my dear."

Bucky couldn't wait to get away from him. He didn't know how he controlled himself to not punch the man right then and there, but he was glad he did, otherwise they'd fail in their mission. And the last thing he wanted was to let T'Challa down.

They moved quickly to the exit, walking across the long lobby of the hotel towards the elevator again. When the doors of the elevator finally closed, that's when Y/n voiced her questions. "What happened? Why did we leave? I was about to gain access to their meeting tomorrow, their deal would take place in that lunch."

He only released his bowtie, not answering her questions, so she kept asking. "Do you understand that I had him? You almost cost us this mission, and for what? For what Bucky?" She didn't realize she'd been raising her voice with each question she asked.

He finally picked his head up to look at her, his eyes had returned to their usual soft blue but his face was set in a scowl. "You don't know that."

She only scoffed at his words. The doors of the elevator opened to the floor their room was located and while they walked through the corridor to their room, none of them said a word, not wanting to be heard from the wrong people.

Bucky opened the door and entered the room first, Y/n following him and closing the door behind her back, locking it just in case. Just as the lock clicked she spoke up again.

"I'm going to that lunch tomorrow."

"Not happening."

She sighed in frustration, suddenly feeling as if she was speaking to the wall. "Look, all I know is that Teller being all over me would help us with the mission more than we can imagine."

"What help can he be? He's a thief. He's up to no good." Bucky threw the jacket of his suit on the bed, the bowtie following too.

"If by up to no good you mean he's trying to steal me away from my 'fiancé' then yes, he's up to no good."

"Exactly, a thief!" He exclaimed and Y/n scoffed in annoyance at his reaction.

"I don't know why you're so upset about it. You're not my real fiancé Buck."

At that, he turned to face her again, nostrils flaring in anger, but he controlled himself before he said something he could regret later. He drew in a short breath, calming himself relatively before replying to her. "As far as he is concerned, I am. And for the purpose of the mission, I am. So like I said, not happening."

She wanted to punch him in his beautiful face, she was so mad at him she couldn't even look at him anymore, but the mission was more important than their fight, so she willed herself to calm down too and ask him again, albeit a little harshly. "Okay then, my dear fiancé, how do you suggest we do this?"

"We don't." He replied shortly and Y/n could only stare at him, dumbfounded by his answer, but she waited for him to continue speaking and explain what was happening.

"When I left earlier I followed one of the dealers Teller was going to sell the vibranium to and I found out the place of the exchange of the vibranium. The lunch tomorrow is only a formality, a way to close the deal in papers. The real exchange will happen somewhere else."

She processed his words for a while and then she asked. "Where do we have to go then?"

"Us? Nowhere. I spoke to T'Challa and gave him the location of the exchange, he and Okoye will take care of it. Our mission is over now." He explained.

"Oh." Was the only thing she said. If she was being honest with herself, she'd been looking forward to a little real action with those bastards, but apparently T'Challa had other plans, so she couldn't do anything about it. "Okay then."

By now Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed, having unbuttoned the two upper buttons of his white dress shirt. "Tomorrow we can head back home." He said to her and she only nodded in response.

She walked to the bathroom silently to remove the make up and get out of the dress she was wearing, changing into a mismatched pajama that consisted in a large shirt she had borrowed from Steve? Or was it Sam? and a pair of cotton shorts.

When she returned to the room she saw Bucky had changed too, instead of the suit he was now wearing grey sweats and a tank top. "Do you want me to order you anything for dinner? I'm calling the room service."

"No thanks. I'm just gonna hit the sack."

He picked up the phone and ordered something to eat for himself, while Y/n got in her bed, fluffing the pillow before laying down on her side, facing Bucky.

There were two single beds in the room, so at least she didn't have to worry about sharing with him for the night. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself to fall asleep, but the thoughts in her head were too much. She still couldn't make sense of Bucky's earlier outburst about Teller but despite the fact that she was dying to know what was he really thinking, she knew better than to poke the bear.

Soon enough, exhaustion took over and she was out like a light.

Bucky could tell from the very first second she fell asleep. Her breathing evened out and her heartbeat slowed down considerably.

After he had his dinner, he tried to read for a while before bed, but after a while closed the book, not wanting to bother Y/n with the light that came strong from the bedside lamp. He laid down and closed his eyes with a silent exhale, thinking back to everything that happened earlier.

He guessed he had overreacted, but he couldn't help himself but see red when he noticed that bastard touch Y/n as if she were his. Y/n was no one's but her own and Bucky knew that, despite his reasons for getting mad at the other man being totally selfish.

He didn't have the courage to come clean to Y/n about his feelings for her so he used the mission as reason for his outburst. Truth is, Bucky had the hugest crush on Y/n since the first time he saw her but another truth is that Bucky is a coward when it comes to his happiness, so he never said anything to her, never even tried to give her any hint about it.

Now as he laid down, facing her from the small distance that separated their beds, he felt like the biggest idiot in the world. He acted like a jerk with her.

Sleep didn't come to him for most of the night, thoughts plaguing his mind incessantly. However, the last thought that went through his head before he fell asleep, was Y/n and how much he wanted to tell her how he felt about her. If only he could find the courage to do so.

Maybe one day he would do that. Maybe.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagines

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jackbabewang · 5 years ago

Text

Head over heels

Genre: Another nose bleeding ceo Jae, Fluff, Mature content

Word count: 5,818

Currently, in your mid-20s, studied for a degree in Administrative Assistant at a four-year college and working as a secretary in a major corporation. You have a good salary and excellent benefits, earning enough to rent an apartment of your own, but your workload may be more than you can realistically handle and no matter how motivated you are, it will be beyond the realms of human possibility.

Working with your superior, Jung Jaehyun, is more like a profession. There is always a sense of moral obligation to do more than the minimum laid down in the job description when the man himself works like a monster. You were prepared for the immense sacrifice as well had you accepted the offer. It was agreed.

With great reluctance, you have grown one hell of an addiction to caffeine, which is clear when you go without it for even one morning, like today. You feel foggy and crabby. None of the words seems to penetrate beyond your mind of half-conscious blank. The pen that is unfailingly in your hand, starting to draw elaborate doodles on a clean page in the notebook which is largely useless at this point.

Surprisingly, Jaehyun is not listening to the presenter as well. He has crossed and uncrossed his legs six times, peeked out the window eight times. His fingers plow through his hair, messing up the always-neat style he has probably struggled half the morning to achieve. The generality however appears to be interested in the object of the meeting, behaving orderly and attentive. Their intention is, of course, to impress their boss. However the man is probably scoffing inwardly at their obvious acts.

He is looking around, when out of the corner of his eye he caught movement. The strain on your face, your lips pressed tightly together, your body slumped almost sliding off the chair, as if your backbone has been pulled out through the top of your head. Amused, he brings his attention to what exactly you are struggling with and he sees your right foot: bared. Stretching on your toes, you try to snag your lone shoe but it is an inch out of your reach. And inside, you curse yourself to lose that annoying habit of swinging your feet.

He watches a moment more then drops his pen, letting it roll over. He bends and pretends to pick it up, catching you off guard as he picks up your shoe instead and holds it so you can slide your foot into it. You cannot quite comprehend of his gesture, and try not to think about it—even when his hand, lightly touching your ankle in turn, sent coils of heat twirling all the way up your leg and through your whole body. Nothing comparable to this has ever occurred which requires direct bodily contact with your boss, to be exact. You slightly choke on your own saliva, but refuse to look at him in the face, visibly embarrassed. In the meanwhile, Jaehyun glances at you the oftener, thus noticing your reaction of an interesting one.

Weeks have gone by, you never spoke of the incident, and he never brings up the subject either as though nothing ever happened, despite the tension that is sometimes evident in the way he watches you like he demands a “thank you” after the act and thinking you are a woman so ignorant, unmannered and … immodest. That thought troubles you more than the other, though.

Troubles always, somehow, never come to an end, never reach exhaustion; they are new every morning, one woman in particular is trouble herself—Park Sooyoung, the embodiment of your day-to-day horror. You have to admit, from head to toe, she is more beautiful than any female, including yourself in this workplace. She is gorgeous with a perfect figure and has all the attention of the men here, except for the one enclosed behind glass doors on the 45th floor. Mr. Jung, Jaehyun, is eye-candy extraordinaire. Or ‘sex on a stick’, which you overheard her conversation that day in the pantry.

The employee manual says, “Keep the dating scenes away”, as it is most likely to ruin the workplace or kill your career. She interpreted otherwise, eagerly looking for her dear ones. You do not understand her, her constant attendance at Jaehyun's office with a stack of papers which she claimed as her legitimate reason to meet the CEO. And every damn time, exercising intense self-control, you refrain yourself from laughing seeing her walk out a minute after with her ‘documents’ left untouched, indubitably not a single glance from the man.

Then you know you might be in trouble when the buzzer system, a companion to the intercom, alerts you with two buzzes to indicate that you are to come into Jaehyun’s office. Knocking twice as a courtesy and you enter after hearing his bid and shutting the door behind. You utter no word, make no sound as you cross the thick carpet. You know the instant you set foot in there is something about the air that gives you a bad feeling. The familiar prickle ripples over your scalp and spreads down your neck and shoulders. You gulp.

He stops, looks up, then back to the chaos on his desk. “Could’ve stopped her…” Phew!

“Yes, Mr. Jung. I should. Next time.” Your sentence breaks into phrase, phrase separates into words, you speak out like a robot, totally expressionless.

“No more next time, please.” He has never used the word before, rarely hear it from his lips, which sounds like an exasperating term because it shows the helplessness in him. “And put this away,” he orders, without lifting his head.

The bittersweet fragrance of coffee curls enticingly around your nose, the porcelain filled and still warm in your hand, whereas he has not even touched the beverage. Sooyoung needs to step up her game if she is ever so determined to get into his pants. Brown is the colour of the milky coffee that Jaehyun absolutely dislikes. He has them dark brew, no milk, no sugar, no creamer. You have tried it once and it tastes bad, it tastes awful as its poisonous-looking black. You switch the flat-out rejected beverage for the one to his liking and not so long after he finished with nothing left in the bottom of the cup.

He works all day, and you work all day. As the saying goes, “A good boss does not leave until after his last employee does.” But if it is the other way round, does that make you a good employee? Totally. The corporation has an extra busy month with the expansion to take all the business it can get. To demonstrate how busy it is, longer hours of work on the same day has been introduced. Even on a Sunday, you are with your friends having brunch when you receive a call to work where your boss has clearly heard the munching of food and clanking of silverware against China over the line. How sucks it is even when you have not drive today and given ten minutes to be there, you have to pay the additional for cab fare.

Inside, Jaehyun is leaning over his laptop and typing furiously. His fingers are almost a blur over that keyboard.

“Sorry, Mr. Jung. I’m—” you glance at your wristwatch, holding the tiny face of it between the fingers of your right hand and squinting, “—six minutes late. I was caught in a traffic jam.”

“It’s fine. Come sit.”

You do what he asks. You peek over his shoulder and see a screen full of words, you peer harder at the teeny-tiny letters and it takes a fraction of a second to realize he is doing your portion of work. Almost immediately you interrupt him, almost instantly you regret your harsh manner when he turns to you with eyes filling with confusion before his brows knit themselves together in concern.

“Move over,” his fingers wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands away from which you have shielded the brightness of the display.

“No, that’s my work. I should be responsible for it.”

“I don’t have time for this,” he warns.

You grumble right back, “Just this one, alright? And I’ll do the rest.”

“If you’re feeling sorry then stay until I leave.” Oh so easily he is keeping you captive, simply taking advantage of his position because he knows that he can. And of course, you will.

There is the occasional tap tap on a keyboard, turning of pages, then comes the restlessness where conversations are strained or non-existent. As you let the spin of the swivel chair stops on its own, it yields to face the spectacular turquoise tank behind the ornate desk where Jaehyun is sitting at. There swims a three foot long koi which his father bought for 1.4 million after a fierce bidding war at a fish farm in the city of Hiroshima. The bare tank with no gravel or decorations is built into the wall covered with white marble; its simplicity yet luxurious touching makes it a convincingly beautiful moving portrait. Staring at it for the rest of the afternoon, or a probable evening, is enough to elevate your somber mood.

“Mr. Jung—”

“Jaehyun,” he corrects. He has previously asked you to dispense with the “mister” treatment when you and him are alone in the office but you cannot drop the formality just because he said so. You have to maintain the dignity of his position and allegedly emphasize an atmosphere of collegiality.

Suddenly you are eager to initiate a conversation, “I like your fish tank. Salt water?”

“Fresh actually.” Right there. He is giving you the look again. “It’s a carp.”

“I know I sounded dumb… You don’t have to make it so obvious…” you mumble under your breath, but he heard you nonetheless.

The sky has sunk nearer to the horizon and everything is deep red. Your Sunday is like an ordinary weekday and ordinary rounds of filing, opening and sorting the mail, verifying facts and assembling data—which you have gotten everything complete by now. However the workaholic’s compulsive ass stay rooted to his leather seat, as if he is growing right into it. Only when you call out to him for food does he excused himself from the havoc on his desk, reluctantly. It fascinates you most of the time how he actually listens to you when it comes to reminding him to drink, to eat, and never not to eat, because he always, always got carried away and forego meals. At some point, you are like his mother for real and feel an obligation to take care of him his health; while it only increases his dependency on you. Pretty sure you can accurately state his likes and dislikes with the certainty that you understand him better than he understands himself.

Two years of working with Jaehyun, you have never once put your foot in his pantry and you assume he never does too. It fills with the distinctive smell of those new things untouched by humans; pristine white cabinets reach to the floor and ceiling, bisected by a tasteful granite countertop and subway tile backsplash. The warm glow from the overhead lights giving the place a cozy, homey feel (and hiding layers of dust). Rather, you will work in here instead of facing the boring office neutrals 24/7.

You eyed him as he slurps his bowl of jajangmyeon and chomping down the strands of noodles with his front teeth. He resembles a rabbit eating like that but in all honesty you are hyper aware of the black sauce being splattered on his white shirt.

Or what he thinks about the food, “Do you like it?”

He ponders momentarily before answering, “This thing is unhealthy.”

Well, you are unhealthy for your unhealthy eating habits!

Jung Jaehyun, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, is made for fine dining and ridiculously expensive food anyway. What will he even see in these cheap Chinese food?

“How about this— Try this—” Fried dumplings dipped into the red sauce of tteokbokki topped with a piece of kimchi. You pick up the salivating fusion with your chopsticks, before you know it, he leans forward and captures the heaping amount in a huge mouthful. It then follows by approving nods and satisfied hums, all the while your mind comes into play. Purposefully, you ignore the jolt of awareness, even though it twists you up like a pretzel.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. “Do I make you nervous?”

The hell is he talking about. His speech is all but business-like and you are internally freaking out at this cheeky side of your boss.

“N-No…”

“I think I make you nervous.”

“You don’t make me nervous,” you reiterate. Collecting yourself, you pick up overlapping circles of sliced radish and pop them into your mouth only to feel the choking burn of vinegar at the back of your throat.

“Why do you shy away every time our shoulders brush?”

“I don’t like being crowded.”

“You didn’t seem to mind so much before.”

“That was different.”

“What was different?” He wears an open grin of amusement, enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

As you continue to stuff your face, you glance over at him, and caught him staring at you. You look away for a moment, then look at him again. “What are you looking at?” you ask through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says. “It’s just that, I’ve never seen you dressed in casual clothes.”

You are always in a buttoned-up white blouse, black pencil skirt and matching fitted blazer. “Right, and I get tired of wearing the same thing all the time.”

While he has always dressed in fine shoes and classy suits, you have never before, indeed, seen him like this either—oversized cotton-poplin shirt and black ankle pants. Though someone else may look like a baggy, slouchy mess in the outfit, he looks like a whole meal. This Jaehyun radiates comfort and soothing kindness that for a minute you have forgotten about him being your boss.

“Well, you don’t look so bad yourself.” You tell him and he grins in that lopsided way.

Yet a man has his pride. So you add, “Ugly as ever.” The comment itself is certainly a rude way to speak to your boss and instantly you regret it, but he does not seem bothered anyway.

“I may be ugly, but I’m still better looking than you,” for which he retorts quickly. “Say. Why don’t we skip work tomorrow?”

You blink, taken aback by his idea, but in truth you desperately want to stay home and shed your responsibilities and act as lifeless and unrestrained. “We can’t skip work.”

“C’mon,” he whines, “I know you’re fucking tired of this shit.”

Though once again taken aback by his unusual words and speech patterns—which you can only assume the filters of polite society is not working when he is overtired—his facial expression implies reference to something else. But why the teasing tone?

Then it hits you. Your Twitter account, where you have been very active the last few weeks, as a platform to express your thoughts and emotions on working tons of overtime. Your rants are so insane that it is as if someone has pixelated your brain. The ungenerous, unladylike words blurted you regret them.

“You stalked me!”

“It’s not my fault that your profile is public.”

“Why would you even search my profile?”

“Just checking out what my employees been up to.”

He speaks about it so nonchalantly. You almost roared at him.

“There’s a meeting tomorrow morning with Mr. Kee,” you remind.

He groans only at the utterance of the name of the presenter. Recalling what has occurred in the last conference, he resents waking up early to another yawning dullness, however he chuckles at the reminder of the little interaction between you and him. That brings a pleasant recollection and something to look forward to. Under the table, maybe games of tic-tac-toe, dots and boxes, or maybe, just maybe he can play with your fingers. He stares at your hands to savor the lingering and wonder if you know how incredible they are. Hands like that—small and soft-skinned next to his—should be pampered. He can spin a dream of what those hands will feel like on his flesh.

Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling falls over him as he says, “I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“What?” you ask.

“Dinner. Food.” A few seconds lapsed, and he says, “It seems that I’ve been eating alone a lot lately, and I’d like some conversation with good food.”

“I have plans for—”

“You’re not married, are you?” he asks.

“Me? No, I’m not.”

“Engaged?”

“No.”

“Involved?”

“No,” you answer, a little offended.

“Then let’s have dinner.” That’s it?

“Like… on a date?” Stupid, stupid, stupid, you tell yourself. Dinner. That’s it. You know that you are not supposed to overthink it as a romantic appointment, not with him. Perhaps, he wants to talk about the company’s cash flow in a private setting, or he wants to inquire on the status of recent projects, or he wants to find out which projects are running. Perhaps, deep down, you want to casually talk about everything over good food, as a friend for the least.

“A real date?”

Date. He likes the sound of it, oh he likes it even more when you are the one clarifying it.

“There’s such a thing as a fake date?”

You roll your eyes at him.

“Call it a date then, as you wish.” And you resist scoffing out loud at his cockiness, while there is bursting red upon you the shyness of a young girl.

Hours elapsed upon return to work, but the ambience is more calm, peaceful and comfortable in the moment. Presumably Jaehyun had quelled his distress with food as he is adorable high-spirited than ever. The once deadly dull office is now filled with music of Cigarette After Sex’s and Frank Ocean’s, such that you poke fun of him being an emotional teen, while you secretly enjoy the songs as well.

By the time Jaehyun finally shuts down the computer, though the files are left open on his desk, it is already midnight. With a groan, you sink in the fact that you still have to wake up early tomorrow as per usual.

At the sound of it, Jaehyun turns to you with a raised brow, “What? Don’t want to leave?”

For a minute, he looked unusually handsome and resplendent, marked by deep-set brown eyes, little indentations in his cheeks. He is teasing and it does not help with how awestricken you already are by the look he gave you. For a second, you stand rooted to the spot with nerves twisting your insides; Jaehyun holding the elevator door open and waiting.

His fake cough brings you sharply back to your senses. “Oh, no— shit— sorry,” a smile pulling at the edges of your mouth with false gaiety.

The elevator comes to a stop. Later taking larger steps than you usually do and out to the ground floor lobby, there he cocks his head, confused, “Where are you going?”

“I’m not driving today. I’ll take the bus home. See you tomorrow, Mr. Jung.” You bow and wave in a polite manner but he is quick to stop you from taking more steps away.

“I’ll give you a ride. Come in.”

“It’s fine. The bus station is not so far away.”

And just like that the both of you end up arguing at a distance over the way to get yourself home, with him still pressing the ‘open’ button that his finger is most likely indented at this point.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” his eyes stern as he scolds (but with no harshness in his voice) yet you then are aware of this mistaken outburst of his and so you quickly step inside. His lips curled up in a victorious smirk unnoticeable by you, a clear winner once again.

Jaehyun drives this maddeningly slow pace when the road is not even under congested conditions at this hour. Inside this four wheels, you seem to get strangely awkward with all the fidgeting of fingers on the seatbelt despite being on the same ride for multiple times. But those times were with his private chauffeur as well. Have you talk about the Jung Jaehyun drives one-handed? Because that is freaking hot. Spicy.

Things take off another note—when the next morning you arrive with a cup of hot, steaming coffee and your favourite cinnamon sugar donuts on your desk. Judging that you appear to be showing up behind schedule for sleeping in—the reason being so, it is better not to be reminded of. You run a list of names in your head to figure out who that ‘secret angel’ could be. Aside from your only friend in the workplace, Chaeyong, who received maternity leave a few months ago. You hardly associate with the rest of the employees due to your position that you only need to deal with one person. And that only person seems to have been watching you the second you walk in, however, there he is sitting in his office, eyes trained on the documents from the night before.

It is of infrequent occasions he has the shades rolled up.

The said meeting with Mr. Kee goes by smoothly with the respective project itself taking form now and the next thing you know—you are sitting at a table of two in a fancy Italian restaurant located within the affluent area of central Seoul. You are still unable to stir the reality that the ‘date’ is actually happening, judging that Jaehyun could have or should have brushed it off when both are time-poor during the day. Here you have him twirling a glass of red liquid by its stem mindlessly and show no signs of initiating a conversation. It is frustrating at first, but you think that there is a need to make the most of the night when you could have been eating cheeseburger and greasy food back at your little chamber.

Unfortunately, what should have been a long-winded conversation dies down fast with Jaehyun answering questions by questions in straightforward and short factual answers instead of throwing the ball back to you in effort of prolonging. You bet your entire fortune that Jaehyun is a mo-ssol (one who has never dated since birth), judging the way he speaks in a manner so expressionless like a piece of log, so stubborn. All those meetings or business events do him no good.

Sigh. You have to do everything yourself around here.

It almost takes you off guard when he asks, “So… tell me about yourself.” You definitely knows him very well but it was never the other way round. Your heart beats with odd little jerks at the thought of his possible interest in you. Now, you do not want to give yourself a false hope of it being a romantic interest otherwise.

To make things easier, you suggest on the game of “I Like”, to which he shrugs and says, “Okay.”

You begin, “I like… visiting zoos, scented candles and everything chocolate.”

“That’s odd.”

A weird combination indeed but, “That’s how the game goes!”

“Well… I like…” he ponders for such a long time, as if mulling over the merit of finally revealing the side of him that you never knew of, nonetheless, “I like… turntable, pistachio ice-cream and Batman.”

Your chuckle comes in response at his last item, “Batman, really?”

“Hey, never judge someone’s favourite superhero!”

“Whatever,” you mumble a, “Superman is way better,” under your breath to which he catches on immediately and a childish bickering breaks out from then on who is the best superhero.

After paying the bill and a bit of you whining, “I don’t want to go home… It’s cold, dark and lonely, and cold…” after wine after wine intake. Jaehyun takes you back to his place and things escalated from there. You kick off your heels attempting to slide across the marble floor in bare feet, stumbling forward you slam him against the wall while still holding on to him.

Though genuinely surprised, he cannot ignore your eyes like cataracts producing the hazy look, blush tingeing your cheeks from too much alcohol and every inch nearer you get he finds himself having trouble refusing your anything. Letting your index finger, delicate, almost like a feather, trace the arch of his eyebrows to the tip of his nose and along his pouty lips.

“N-no… We can’t do this…” he groans in protest, holding onto a dangerous slippery rope that is ‘lust’. He finds it completely wrong to take advantage of you in this drunken state, but you seem to not care at all as you slide closer to him stepping on his sock clad feet. Your narrow rib cage with the pillowy softness of your bosom pressing against his chest, so alluring with your breath mingles with his own—that is his last straw.

He inches a hand downward and wraps itself around your waist as he gathers you close capturing your mouth with his in a dance of sorts, tasting with tender, tantalizing nips and slow strokes of his tongue. Feeling—yes—the excitement of his racing heart and the ragged edge of his breathing. You are so generous, so giving, so primally female. He has never done this before, but his body reacts, it is taut and hard and humming with impatience.

You ease his suit jacket off his shoulders and it drops on the floor behind him. Then he twists around, shuffling to his room until he falls backwards when his foot hit the edge of the gargantuan bed. Straddling atop him, you curl your hands into his pristine shirtfront and surrender to the consuming heat of his kiss. In semi-consciousness, your fingers flick open the buttons. He weaves his fingers into your silky hair as you continue to undress him. He spins your bodies around again, this time having his hips nestle their way between your thighs.

You want to touch him. You want him to touch you—all over—but all he does is touch you with his mouth and feed you kisses while devouring your good sense. He growls low in his throat as he abandons your mouth to drag his lips along your jaw. He licks at the delicate skin of your throat and closes his teeth on the tendon joining your neck and shoulder, sending sensation shooting through your body like a hot bolt of lightning. You shudder, half expecting your head to explode.

“Jaehyun… it tickles,” turning into a giggling mess when he slides his lips over your neck, kissing from the front to the sides to the back. He chuckles boyishly all the way and those giggles turn into breathy sighs, gasps when he lingers on the tender skin behind your ear. You moan, moving restlessly against him and nearly combust when the long, thick ridge of his arousal presses against you. Right where a painful, empty ache blossoms.

Every stitch of clothing removed and your entire body gives a single shiver as he enters with perfect precision, penetrating slowly all the way inside. He is so tender, so gentle with each thrust, making you cry out in blinding ecstasy and only crave him more. He revels in the new sensations of you enclosed around him so tightly, and how good your bare skin feels against his. It is a level of heaven he has never known existed.

“Oh God, you feel so good,” he curses under his breath, closing his eyes as he savors each moment rising towards his own orgasm, “Want to come inside you, is that okay? Can I?”

You cannot even form an answer properly with your mind fuzzy with absolute pleasure that adds to your intoxication, giving him a weak nod and clenching around him so he is moaning your name loudly. As you both reach the edge and shatter, you hold onto each other and squeezing whatever is there to reach out. Breathing deeper and faster, hearts pounding in your chests, laying there limbs tangled for quite some time.

Your internal clock wakes you up at eleven and you glance around trying to assimilate something of your surroundings. Your eyes, squinting in the sunlight that dance through the large windows. Your body, dressing in a pair of silk pajamas that is of luxuriousness you will never possess. Immediately, you head in the direction of what you assume is the bathroom. And your reflection, astonishingly clean and tidied up of the makeup from the night before besides the remnants of waterproof mascara and some semi-permanent “stains” on your skin.

Jaehyun looks to you popping out from behind the wall like a thief, his eyes falling to the shirt you are wearing and the corners of his lips twitch upward at the sight. You have not acknowledged his presence yet as you continue marvelling at the large apartment until you hear a soft chuckle from a distance. You shriek, there sits your superior at the dining table with a tablet propped up in a case.

“W-we’re… late for work,” you blurt out awkwardly, glancing at the clock on the wall.

There is a short pause before he speaks, “Well, good morning?” and tells you that he has called in to say that you are both away on a business trip. Skipping the fact that you are walking funnily.

The tips of his ears a cute shade of pink and it hits you, “D-did we…?” Such a stupid question when your neck and chest all over have hickies that match the big one on his clavicle. Boy, were you wild last night. He only answers with fake coughs and avoids looking directly at you.

Your eyes squeeze shut with a heavy sigh upon an internal breakdown. How are you supposed to maintain a great performance at work when the embodiment of your disaster is only a few feet away. Things will never be the same. Heck, it was never the same since the incident from a month ago.

“Please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid…” if sleeping with your boss is not dumb enough. You just have to be reminded about it over and over again. Is there any way you can shut down your brain or even better, trade it with someone else?

“...besides dragging me around by my necktie,” he mumbles, the shade of his ears intensifies and spreading to the column of his neck. Anyways, “Are you hungry?”

You are about to reject and scram off to your apartment just to hide this enormous feeling of embarrassment you are suffering at the moment but heaven does not help you. Your belly rumbles in hunger and he is instructing you to take a seat.

The smell of lightly burnt toast with a side of eggs and delicious bacon as well as the aroma of caramel coffee makes your mouth water. Though it is just a combination of simple brunch menu, he manages to get the job done perfectly and you are inhaling the food with a childish grin. The humiliation from before has whisked off and thrown to the back of your mind, replacing with the appreciation of having someone to fill you up instead. Wait— that sounds wrong. You choke on food and on the air itself at such polluted thought.

“Are you okay?” he rushes to your side giving gentle pats on your back.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, just—” you find yourself going red again when you see that maroon mark on his skin.

His hand finds purchase on your head, stroking endearingly, “Don’t get all shy with me now. You’re practically all over me last night.”

Right when you are getting mushy from the affection, he has to add that so you remove his hand and sigh heavily, “Mr. Jung—” his brows furrow at the formal address, “Maybe we should just forget about the whole thing—”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he interrupts, “I’ve seen the way you look at me and you should’ve known better. I would’ve transferred you to another department if I were so against it but I kept you by my side, didn’t I? You knew that I could hardly work with anyone else, I am stubborn at times and couldn’t even take care of myself, but the fact that you are always there when I need you… You understand me more than myself and you’re…” he heaves a sigh of overwhelming relief for finally getting off these words from his chest, “You’re just amazing…” There are sparkles in his eyes with the utmost sincerity.

Oh my Lord, is this a confession? Is it? This is a confession!

“So… you took me on a date to fuck me?” Your mind chooses to betray you at the very moment, being equally submerged by the revelation.

“I’ve never said that.” Bending, he leans closer, “But we had a great time. True?” and kisses your lips you stiffen unprepared. Seeing that you did not answer, he adds, “I don’t mind going for another. If you’re down for it too.”

Things do change afterwards. The atmosphere of that particular 45th floor of the office building has now blossomed with bubbles of pink. Jaehyun has the shades rolled up ever since and sometimes sending you flirty gazes. It is surely distracting but you do the same and never fail to grasp the chance just staring at him in awe and thinking, “Oh, this handsome man is mine!” The oftener he catches you watching and the intercom goes, “Missy, get back to work.”

Even so, Sooyoung still pay her regular visits. As she finally leaves his office, you are called over immediately and the first things you say, “What does she want this time?” not realizing your tone of speech.

He grins, victorious, “Were you jealous all this while?”

With a scoff, “Jealous my butt.”

“Had I known…”

“What?” What are you gonna do? I dare you!

“I would’ve kept her in longer,” he says nonchalantly, though you are fuming with his ridiculousness (knowing that he is only teasing). But still!

He is quick to catch your wrist when you turn to leave, and tucks you in the warmth of his embrace. Your nose filled with the scent of him. His cologne makes you think of green, grassy meadows covered with yellow flowers. So fucking good.

“Mr. Jung, it’s against the rules— Keep the dating scenes away,” you warn in a stern voice, feigning annoyance from his previous remark.

He leans closer instead and invades your space, capturing your mouth in a scorching kiss like he has been holding himself back for hours.

“My rules, my way.”

#nct jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct scenarios #nct smut #nct fluff #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun smut #pardon me I have no idea what I'm writing #this has been sitting in my draft for quite awhile

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frangipanidownunder · 5 years ago

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Objects in the Mirror: fic

This is for my anon who asked: ‘what happens when Scully sees Mulder kissing someone else during their “separation”. This is set pre-season 10.

Willowy. That’s the first word that pops into Scully’s head. The second thought is that at least the woman isn’t a brunette too. Type, much, Mulder? The third thought is that it’s none of her business what Mulder does these days. None. At all. Unless it’s a health issue, he’s an adult. He’s not her…The mental conversation doesn’t supply a word so her brain leaps to the fourth thought, which is how the fuck could he do that? She stops short of adding ‘to her’, so she pulls herself back to the third thought, repeating like a mantra as she strides out, eyes to the sidewalk, desperate to unsee what she saw.

But now there’s a burning itch in her gut, the kind that used to see her pumping more rounds out at the firing range or sending local law enforcement officers running for cover with her machine-gun observations of their sub-par work. Pity she can’t blow her anger/disappointment/betrayal/jealousy off like that anymore; she’s no longer FBI.

Pity she can’t blow off being Scully.

She takes her writhing anger/disappointment/betrayal/jealousy into the café over the road and orders a large latte and a white chocolate and raspberry muffin. She knows she’ll regret it almost immediately and spend a week denying herself any other treats but she needs the sugar hit. Mulder’s still talking to Willow-Blonde, so while Scully’s waiting, she teases ‘Louis’ the barista with a slow smile, holding the seam of her wallet against her cheek, hugging her waist with the other arm and slowly twisting her torso side to side so that her hair falls over her face, then swings back off it again.

It’s a pointless mating dance. It’s reactive. She’s aware of that, but tries not to fall further down the Mulder-profiling-her rabbit hole. The slow-combustion of what she recognises as a misguided sense of dispossession is still taking place in her veins. She hates herself for this weakness but here she is swaying for a bearded barista. Louis blinks her way, finishing the latte art on her order with a flourish. For him, this ritual is part of his training. Keep the customers happy. Especially the older, professional women. They’re the ones who’ll return to the same café time and again, spending their disposable income on cakes and romantic hopes. She’d fuck him though. He’s pretty enough. She wonders what the male equivalent of willowy is. And then tells her mind to shut the fuck up.

Outside, where people are actually living with purpose, instead of imagining petty sex-revenge scenarios, the street is busy. Through the thrum, she spots Mulder again. His outline, his figure, is imprinted indelibly in her mind’s eye. She believes she could find him anywhere, in a ballgame crowd, in the darkened corner of a jazz club behind drifting dry ice, through the misty rain at the end of the yard, arm raised against the twisted apple tree, raging at the brutal sky above him. There was a time when she so desperately wanted him to return home from her imposed exile that she saw him everywhere: in the parking lot, at the line in the bank, across the street pushing someone else’s baby in a stroller.

“Latte for Day-nah,” Louis sings, and as he hands over the cup his fingers brush hers. They’re thin, girlish, two knuckles decorated with calligraphy tattoos. She doesn’t hold his eye, just whips the coffee and cake bag from his hand and heads outside.

The woman has gone but Mulder’s still there, brown paper cup in hand, sunglasses (those ugly sports ones he got from eBay because they were called SpookMeister, what? they’re so me, Scully) across that familiar, broad nose, hair an inch past unkempt and stubble on his chin that hides that fat bottom lip just a little too much. She dips her face to her own cup and watches a moment longer before a car pulls up and he climbs in.

He calls her later. She doesn’t answer the first time, lets the cell buzz and slide over the table top while his name flashes at her. When she does pick up, she feigns breathlessness and gets the desired response.

“Did I catch you at a bad time, Scully?” There’s disappointment laced through his words.

“No, it’s fine. Just doing a workout.” She wheezes out a cough for extra measure.

“Keeping fit for all those kids, huh? You’re a good doctor, Scully. Always going above and beyond for that place. I hope they know how deep your affections lie. Is there some kind of Olympic Games for paediatricians? The Doctors Games?”

It’s hard not to bite back, but they’ve played this game for so long their dysfunction is beat-perfect. “Keeping fit for one’s own personal health and wellbeing is a key component in living a fulfilling life, Mulder.” If only she could convince herself as easily as the words flow.

There’s a shuffle, a few clicks and bumps. He’s changing channels. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve found a new therapist. One that seems to really get me, you know?”

His tone seems genuine and she softens. “That’s good, Mulder.” Despite their issues, she’s only ever wanted him to be well. “I do want to know these things. As your physician…”

“Not that I didn’t like the other one you recommended, but,” he takes in a sharp breath as if to punctuate his point, “we’d run our course.”

She sinks into the chair, letting her head flop back on the rest. One step forward, two steps back. “How often do you see him?”

“You’re letting your unconscious bias show, Scully. Her.”

The small word stings like a needle. She refrains from asking him if she has blonde hair and legs like a foal.

“Fortnightly. We’re still at the heady getting to know you stage.” There’s a small silence where she imagines he’s assessing if he’s done enough damage yet. “She’s young enough to understand Instagram but mature enough to get Prince.”

She laughs gently. The tension diffuses again and she feels a rush of emotion. She can’t help herself. He drags her down then lifts her up with a simple switch of tone. “I saw you today. In town.”

“I do go out in the wild without my Ghillie suit sometimes, Scully. Why didn’t you say hello? I don’t bite.”

Not literally, she thinks. Well, not for a long time. She crosses her legs at the unexpected surge of arousal but the image of him kissing another woman creeps behind her eyes again. “It felt…” If he were here with her, in the same room, he’d lean in to her, tilt his head, quirk his lips, draw the truth from her. But there’s a distance more than miles between them and she can’t say the words. “I was running late.”

“That’s unlike you, Dr Punctual. Is everything okay?”

The way he switches from teasing to caring leaves her off-balance. She waits for the world to right itself.

“Can you schedule me in for an appointment, Scully? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Not medical. Are you free on the weekend?”

Tightness in her chest makes her breathing hitch. She adjusts the phone in her grip, gives herself time to respond. She’s faced mutants and monsters, her own mortality and his death, the loss of her children. Surely, his confession shouldn’t be elevated to those ranks. Yet her hands tremble and nausea roils in her stomach. Her brain rocks. It’s stupid, dumb to feel like this. She left him. She turned her back one last time and got herself away before the darkness swallowed her whole. The guilt that followed stripped her bare like a never-ending winter but recently she’s begun to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin again.

“Sure. I’ll come over,” she asserts. That way she can simply leave again. Walk the same walk.

“No, let me take you to dinner,” he says, unexpectedly. “That Thai place you like.”

Her sigh is sharp enough to graze her throat. He can’t be that insensitive as to invite her to eat at the same place they celebrated getting the keys to the house or her news about the job at Our Lady of Sorrows.

“Or the Ethiopian restaurant. You loved their shiro wat.”

“We could order pizza and stay home.” Home. She says it without thinking.

He chuckled. “Like the old days?”

“Something like that,” she says, knowing it will be anything but.

In the end, they agreed on a lunch at the vegetarian café and she orders an omelette she knows she won’t eat. He tucks into his feta and pumpkin quiche with salad and tells her he’s trying to eat cleaner. She doesn’t ask what’s brought on the change.

“What was it you wanted to tell me, Mulder? If it’s just to prove you’re finally paying attention to your diet, you’ve demonstrated it adequately. I believe you.” Her fingers clasp around a napkin and she twists it to a sharp point.

His expression is the same one he used for the victims of the most bizarre kind of crimes. She feels panic welling in her throat and crushes the napkin into a tight ball.

“I wanted to tell you that I met someone. I figured I owed you an explanation. Not an explanation, I mean I haven’t done anything wrong…fuck, this is hard,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Jeez. I feel like a teenager. I…I just didn’t want you to find out from someone else.” He pauses and she nods her head at him, encouraging him to finish, not only because he’s clearly still got stuff to get off her chest, but also because she just wants it over. “Not that anyone else knows because I don’t have friends…so, anyway. I…” The noise he makes is a sad laugh. For her or for him? “That’s, that’s my news.”

His fingers have crept across the table and they’re drumming on the surface, disturbing the small jug containing packets of sugar so that it chinks in time with his beat. He adds a low “sorry.”

If she takes a deep breath, what signal will that send? If she speaks too quickly, would that show a callous disinterest? She tries to smile but her lips refuse to co-operate. She’s never been good at hiding negative emotions, despite her tendency to stoicism. “How did you meet her?”

“Online,” he says. “Where else does someone who spends days at a time in his den meet other humans?”

He’s blushing and it’s charming and she hates it. “Is it serious?” The words are dry on her tongue.

He looks away and she tries to interpret the clench of his jaw. A beat. It softens and his mouth changes from grimace to lop-sided grin. “What does it mean if she left a copy of Why Men Don’t Listen and Women Can’t Read Maps on the coffee table?”

“Well,” she starts, trying to hold his eye despite a rush of conflicting emotions churning through her. “I would jump in the car and take it back to her, but I’m not sure how to get to her place.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence, then his head tips back and he laughs. She sips her tea and enjoys the sound. It always pleases her so profoundly to make him laugh. Not many people could claim to draw out true joy from Fox Mulder.

When he’s collected himself, he rubs his chin. “She took me out last week for coffee, took me out to tell me it was over. At least she did that, I suppose. She…she told me I was too insular. Can you believe that, Scully?” He plays for light. “According to her expert opinion of my psyche, that, I might add, she gleaned from two coffee dates and a meal at some over-priced French place where a dessert the size of a pin cost $50, I was still stuck in the past. With you.” He lowers his eyes and she rolls her lips together to stop herself from adding ‘and your demons and truths’. His shoulders move as he chuckles. “She didn’t really leave me that book, Scully. She didn’t come to the house.”

She’s stupidly relieved to hear that.

“It seemed wrong, somehow,” he says. “And it got me thinking, after her Dear John speech, that maybe this is what we’re…I’m destined for. A kind of relationship limbo. Prevented from going forward because I’m still snagged on a Scully branch. Do you think she’s right? If you…if you met someone, Scully, do you think you could give your whole self to that person?” He blinks slowly. “Or will there always be a small part of you left here?” He pats his chest with the side of his fist.

Her own heart speeds up. She’s had a few dates, a few flings. She hadn’t told him because he wasn’t in the headspace to process her attempts at moving on. And she can see now they were just ‘attempts’. There was an emptiness to the experience. And there’s a grain of truth to his question. It’s exposed just how indelibly tied they are because of their past.

She doesn’t answer him and he plays with the lollo rosso on his plate. “I like the weight of you in here.” He looks down to his heart. “It keeps me balanced.” A waiter retrieves their plates and Mulder watches her for the entire time he’s cleaning the table.

Her chest constricts, burns with such intensity that she’s certain her face is aflame. His fingers meet hers, mid-table, and she lets him squeeze them, such tenderness, such affection, so far removed from the angry, impotent man she’d left.

“Have we fucked each other up entirely, Scully?”

“Is that how she put it, your mystery woman?”

He grins. “I told her I liked being fucked up. It’s the only life I’ve ever known. That’s when she threw in the towel.”

“I don’t blame her,” she says, rubbing his knuckles. “Imagine meeting Spooky Mulder all grown up. At least back in the day your paranoia was justified. Government conspiracies and all.”

“If Dr Dana Scully had met me now, she wouldn’t have lasted one date with Ole Spook, would she?”

She lowers her head as she giggles. “You showed me many things, Mulder. Opened my eyes to wonders and closed them to the black and white life I’d known. I’m a better person because of you. I wouldn’t change a day.”

“You told me that once before.”

“And I still mean it.”

Outside, the day is cooling, sun leaching away behind thickening cloud. They walk in amiable silence down the street. There’s a bookshop she loves and he nods as she lingers at the door. Inside, the comforting smell of words on pages wafts over her and she browses the dark-shadowed shelves.

Mulder emerges with an armful of books from Squatchin’ for Novices to Meals for One. She swallows at the sight of that one. She’s picked up a mystery thriller, and couple of romances that he side-eyes. She bats him over the arm with one. Then she spies the main prize. She picks out two copies. A his and her pair. The teller scans them through and she hands one to Mulder.

He’s still laughing as they walk to their cars. He puts the other books on the passenger seat of his car and clasps his copy of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck to his chest.

“Shit is fucked,” she says, reading from the blurb.

“And we just have to live with it.” He drops a kiss on her head and smiles a full-wattage beam. “You’re still a good date, Scully.”

“You too,” she says. “And I’m glad you told me about…your…”

“Tiffany. That was her name.”

She can’t help the sharp burst of laughter that comes out. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That…was unexpected.”

He snugs a hand in his jeans pocket. “I know. It should have been a warning.”

“Well, unfortunate name aside, it’s good that you’re getting out there.”

“Out there. Where the truth is? I don’t think I’ll be doing it again in a hurry.”

She pulls a sympathetic face, reaches out to touch his arm. “I don’t want to be your snag, Mulder. I thought I was setting you free.”

“We’ll never be free of each other, Scully. And I don’t want to be free in that sense, not if it means never having days like this. I…miss you.” He bounces his toe off the ground and the lump in her throat wedges itself firm.

“I’d better be going,” she whispers. Turns to leave.

“Maybe we can make this a weekly thing,” he says after her. “Just two fuck-ups having lunch, you know?”

She stops, turns back around, smiling through her tears. “Maybe.” And she watches him in the rear-view mirror. Objects in the mirror may appear closer than they are, she thinks as she drives away, and sometimes, they actually are.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #msr pre-season ten angst #objects in the mirror

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excelsi-or · 5 years ago

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17/01/19 - jealous (woozi)

to a boy i love right now

w.c. 2.1k (lol longer than i thought)

A/N: who doesn’t love a jealous woozi?

December 27/28/29, 2018

January 17, 2019

She rolls her eyes at Taehyung’s dumb expression, a smile on her face despite her exasperation. “Stop. We really need to finish this report.”

“We’ve been here for hours,” Taehyung whines, his chin dropping to the table. “We’ve read so many papers. Are you even retaining anything?”

“Not a matter of retaining, it’s a matter of getting it on the page.”

Taehyung huffs. “All I’m saying is that maybe we should call it a day.” He motions out the library window. “It’s dark out.”

She sighs, conceding to his point. Their formal lab report was taking longer than either of them expected. With all the references that the professor wanted to back up their evidence, their eyes were starting to go cross-eyed. And to be fair, she’d lost focus long before Taehyung had.

As they exit the school library, Taehyung promises that he’ll get the conclusion done by Friday morning so they can go over it on Saturday.

“No, no,” she snorts. “Done by Thursday morning so we can look over it Friday and hand it in by midnight.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “I’m just teasing.”

They’re about to part ways, as she’s planning to meet Jihoon. “So I’ll see you in class tomorrow? As in are you planning on showing up?”

“Missing me in microbi?” Taehyung snorts. “I’m sure Chim is keeping you company.”

“Since Ara came along, that man isn’t talking to anyone else in that class.”

Taehyung smiles wide and she slows for the pathway to the music building. From this distance, she can see Jihoon locking up.

“So you are missing me,” Taehyung chuckles.

She waves her goodbyes and turns to Jihoon when he saunters up. His eyes watch Taehyung’s retreating figure as he heads towards the parking lot. Taehyung is one of those lucky students that has his own vehicle. Jihoon gives her a once over, but says nothing.

“You ready to go?” she asks him, adjusting her backpack straps.

Jihoon offers his hand, but remains mute; which is fine. It tends to happen when Jihoon hasn’t slept much. With graduation looming, he’s been skimping on sleep. She thinks that his trip down to Busan has also sapped a lot of his energy. From all the stories he returned with, it didn’t sound as if the man had had much time to rest. So she fills the silence for the both of them, talking about how the work session with Taehyung had gone and how much of an idiot he is for skipping classes.

“Least he shows up to lab every week,” she mutters. They get off at her bus stop. Seungkwan has been raving about his mom’s food that she’d sent. His mom’s made so much that Seungkwan is inviting everyone over to share.

She’s pretty sure she and Jihoon are the last to arrive.

“Are you okay?” she asks him as they get into the elevator. Jihoon’s a quiet man, but he’s unusually quiet tonight.

Jihoon squeezes her fingers and rests his head on hers as they watch the floors light up.

“Are you and hyung fighting?” Seungkwan asks after everyone’s gone home. Hansol insisted on staying the night. He’s made himself comfy on the couch and refuses to get up anymore. She brings Seungkwan a stack of dirty plates.

“No, why?”

“I don’t know. You guys weren’t acting like you usually do.”

She stops from collecting the cups together. With rapid-fire speed, she breezes through the night. Jihoon had been distant most of the night, but also hadn’t really left her side. If anything, he’d been more touchy than usual, his hand always on her somewhere even when they were playing board games.

Hansol groans from his spot on the couch, stretching his arms over his head. He curls around a couch pillow. “Seungkwanie is just overanalyzing again.”

“He wasn’t his usual annoying self. That’s all I’m saying,” Seungkwan says.

She passes him the cups over the counter. Resting her chin in her hands, she frowns. “I didn’t really notice anything and he hasn’t said anything.”

“Well, that’s good,” Seungkwan replies quickly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“I think we’re good.”

“You know best.” Seungkwan’s voice is definitive. “If nothing’s wrong, nothing’s wrong.”

Except maybe Seungkwan wasn’t wrong. After dinner at their apartment, Jihoon has been near unreachable. He responds to texts if she sends them, but each time she extends an invitation for dinner, the man claims he’s busy. From what she’s learned of Jihoon the last four months is that he likes the idea of relationships, but struggles with actually having them. So it’s been a learning curve for her to figure out where the boundaries are and what boundaries Jihoon will let her cross.

At this point in time, she wonders if Jihoon’s keeping his distance to reflect on their relationship. A lot of her friends were still in the honeymoon phase nearly a year in, so four months feels extremely soon to be reevaluating. But Jihoon has proven time and time again to be doing this relationship differently. So she knows that once he’s ready to come find her, he will.

“Taehyung, focus!” she laughs. “You asked me to help you study and you’re being impossible.”

Taehyung grins at her and adjusts himself in his seat, leaning forward to demonstrate that he’s listening. She shows him the molecule again and explains how there are two sigma d symmetry planes.

He stares hard at her drawing, but she recognizes that there is no understanding there. So she pulls out the Play-Doh, something that she figured would also help his focus. She passes him the purple-lidded tub. Then she pulls out a handful of toothpicks.

“It’s easier to make the molecule and since the set is expensive, I found this cheap alternative works too.”

Taehyung is already busy making a tiny snowman, but rather than scolding him again, she uses the small balls he’s made to use as atoms. Once he’s made enough, she shows him the molecule in 3D. His jaw drops.

“Oh my god, I can see it now!” He takes it from her and rotates it so that they’re looking down the plane. “You’re a literal genius.”

She snorts. “Genius, no. Decent teacher and patient friend, yeah.”

Taehyung rests his face against her arm and she pats his head. “This is game changing.”

“It is. So let’s do the other ones.”

When they leave the café, Taehyung asks, “So how’s your boyfriend?”

“Jihoon? He’s good.” Probably.

Taehyung smiles his kilowatt smile. “That’s good. Jungkook keeps suggesting a double date since apparently I rave about how fun studying with you is.”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “I’ll mention it to Ji next time I see him.”

He offers to walk her home since the café is near her place. She doesn’t argue, as she’s missed having someone walk her home. She hadn’t realized how accustomed to Jihoon she’d gotten until she had started making the bus ride home on her own again. It made all the dark alleys a little bit darker.

“How’s all his music going? I know Yoongi hyung was at his wit’s end near graduation.”

She shrugs. “Ji’s good under pressure. He’ll suddenly whip up four songs without blinking. Real genius at work.”

“Speak of the devil,” Taehyung says as they wander up to her apartment. Sitting on the front steps is Jihoon. Taehyung smiles at the man, but Jihoon barely musters anything in return. Taehyung shoots her a pitying smile, which must mean that he assumes Jihoon’s exhausted.

But she knows that look on Jihoon’s face. He’s mad.

Taehyung wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

She hugs him back and nods. “Yes, because you’re showing up to class.”

“I’m showing up to class,” he promises. He waves over his shoulder.

“Text me when you’re home!”

“Shall do!”

Then she turns to her angry boyfriend. He’s not mad very often, but the tightness in his jaw and the dark circles under his eyes tells her he’s also sleep deprived.

She stands there, hands on the straps of her backpack. Jihoon’s eyes are on his hands and she waits him out. Jihoon doesn’t waste words when he’s angry.

But they wind up sitting in silence for so long that her fingers start to go numb. She buries her hands in her pockets and studies him. If anger were visible, she can imagine ripples of anger on his spine.

“You’re mad,” she finally states.

Jihoon’s eyes lift to hers.

“It’s keeping you up at the studio all night.”

He waits.

“And you’ve stopped answering my texts all together, so it’s probably my fault you’re mad.”

Her mind whirs. He’s gonna make her work for it. He’s cut off communication for about a week and a half. A few days before that, she’d told him that she was going to study with—

“You’re jealous, Lee Jihoon.”

Jihoon frowns and looks away, his jaw clenching again.

Tentatively, she takes a few steps towards him and takes a seat. She leaves space between them, because she knows that Jihoon fires off if he’s angry enough. They haven’t had enough arguments for her to gauge how angry he is right now.

“Is that why you’re avoiding me? Because of Taehyung?”

“I wanted to think,” he mumbles. His voice comes out gravelly as if he hasn’t really used it much.

“And what have you been thinking about?”

“That maybe…”

She holds a hand up to stop him. “If the thought was that I’d run off with beautiful Taehyung, then Ji, you have nothing to worry about.”

“How do I have nothing to worry about?” he exclaims. Jihoon turns to her, his eyes sharp and his hair falling messily out of his face. She wants to run her hands through it desperately, but now is not the time. “He’s tall and good looking and your type.”

She blinks in surprise at the last part. “My type? I didn’t know I had a type.” She smiles slightly. “And if I had one, it’s you, Ji.”

This seems to stun him. She quickly explains. “Taehyung is beautiful, in all sense of the word. I like him; he’s a good friend to have around. But Taehyung is a lot of maintenance.” Jihoon sits up a bit straighter as she talks. “But I adore you, Lee Jihoon.” They’ve been dancing around the ‘L’ word, neither of them quite ready to drop it, but feeling it all the same. She’s put off by the weight of it; he’s scared of the commitment in it.

“I adore you and that’s not going to change just because a beautiful man breezes through my life.” Gently, she reaches for his hand and he lets her intertwine their fingers. “I have you, my own perfectly beautiful human, to entertain me.”

Jihoon snorts at the phrasing. “I’m a play thing?”

“Mm, but you don’t care, do you?” she teases.

Jihoon sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t like feeling as if I’m competing for your attention.”

“Then tell me what you want, Ji.” Jihoon tilts his head at the request. “I’m testing boundaries with you. If you know what you want, tell me.”

“I… what I really want is for you to stop talking to him.” From her expression, he quickly adds, “But I know that’s not fair. I don’t know what I want. I want…” He lets the end of the sentence hang in the air.

She brings the back of his hand to her lips and she gets up, her bum already numb. “Are you gonna come in?”

“Seungkwan home?” Jihoon stands.

“He’s home,” she confirms.

Jihoon nods and lets her lead him into the apartment. His arms wrap around her waist in the elevator, his head knocking back into the wall. “You’re getting into bed when we get upstairs,” she tells him.

Jihoon hums.

Her hand disentangles them and she tugs him after her to the door.

“Seungkwanie!” she calls, though the man is sitting at their dining table. “Ji’s here.”

“Hi hyung!”

Jihoon grumbles a response and heads straight for her room. Seungkwan watches him shuffle across the room and the light doesn’t turn on when he goes inside. Seungkwan glances back at her. “It’s only 6:30.”

“He hasn’t been sleeping,” she informs him. She places her backpack in the chair directly across from him. “Apparently we were fighting.”

Seungkwan lifts a curious eyebrow.

“Resolved now, but he’s been fighting all alone. I didn’t even know.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Couples. I’ll never understand.”

“Don’t worry, Seungkwanie, I don’t either.”

Next: January 24, 2019

#woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen #svt #lee jihoon scenarios #tabilrn

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sadistic-second · 5 years ago

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ShinRa Company Policy

//So I wrote a little something. Nothing fancy. Just trying to explore ideas that I come up with. This was inspired by an audio I heard on tiktok. I managed to find the whole song and well. @turkoftheslums indulged and helped me a little bit with this. So please, enjoy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The plate drop had been on his mind for several weeks now. Most of his injuries had healed up. There were a few bruises that felt like they refused to heal. Something that worked as a constant reminder of what he had done. And sure, okay. He hadn’t even really been the one to push the button. All he had done was set it up. His hesitation at the computer had forced Rude to hit the final button. His best friend, his partner in crime, one of three men he would sacrifice himself for. He had tried to apologize, make it up to the man the best ways he knew how. No matter what Rude said or did, Reno felt like it wasn’t enough.

How did one ease a burden like this upon their own soul?

It was early morning when he walked into Tseng’s office. Sure he’d knocked, but that hadn’t stopped him from waiting for an answer. Papers of resignation had been thrown onto the man’s desk. The only words Reno had said was, “I quit.” He knew the consequences of these actions. Under the old regime, that meant a bullet to the back of the head. While that had been what he’d figured Tseng would do the moment he turned his back. When it didn’t come, he found that he was allowed to walk out of his office. Unsure with what to do actually do now, he decided his best course of action was to clean out his workspace and go home.

The space that he called his own was messy at best. Picking the trashcan up from the floor, he started throwing discarded candy wrappers into it. He didn’t really want to take down his wall of pink slips, but that would have to go, wouldn't it? He’d keep them, maybe shove them into a drawer in his apartment for safekeeping. Everything that could be thrown away was. Everything else was put into a box for him to carry out. There wasn’t much worth keeping in his office.

Lifting the box from his desk, he turned to walk out. Waiting for him outside was his Director. Or well, his former Director. All the man did was look at him and gesture in the direction in which he wanted him to walk. Now, a thought occurred to Reno: Tseng wasn’t his boss anymore so there was no reason to just blindly follow his orders. So when the redhead took a step in the other direction, he heard the distinct sound of a cocking gun. Alright. Swiveling on his foot, he began to walk in the direction that had been previously indicated.

Now, what the ex-Turk thought was going to happen included being taken into a room with all the other Turks and an example being made of him. Or perhaps they wouldn't even give him that. Tseng might just end him right there in the hallway. Each footstep scared him more than the last. His breath quickens, his heart rate rose rapidly. An anxiety attack seemed imminent. However, they stopped in front of the elevator. Was he just going to be escorted to the lobby? Perhaps he would be allowed to leave after all.

The elevator went up. That alone was a good sign. Or so he would have liked to believe. They traveled past the lobby. Nervous eyes watched the people below get significantly smaller as they ascended. A glance towards the display let him know exactly where they were going.

"Hey man, there's no need to get the President involved." A pause to see if the man would respond. Silence. A pair of canines lodged themselves into a tender section of cheek hard enough to draw blood. "Seriously, just let me leave, man. This doesn't have to escalate any further." Still nothing. The air was growing heavy between them. It was only a matter of time before the redhead had a panic attack.

Finally, the doors opened. Immediately upon instinct, Reno tried to make a run for it. When Tseng didn't make a move to stop him, he figured that he could getaway. But that's where he was wrong. Rude had been waiting for him outside the doors. Almost as if everyone knew the idiot would try and run. Now escorted by his former partner and director, the ex-Turk had no choice but to walk down that path towards the unknown.

Rude had been told to stand guard and prevent the redhead from leaving should he choose to run once more. The redhead knew exactly what was awaiting him on the other side of that door. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t moved. The two Turks beside him were discussing something that fell on deaf ears. His mind had chosen to wander in a different direction; if Tseng wasn’t going to be the one to put him down, was that job being entrusted to Rufus? Imagine having his brains blown out all over the floor with a shotgun.

Oh, but then again, didn’t he have an aversion to blood? So perhaps there would be another way that his life would end. Or maybe, and this was the one that he was banking on, they would just let him go. Cut any and all ties necessary and then just boot him off somewhere. The middle of nowhere sounded nice. Maybe a little island or something. But could Reno get that lucky? One would like to think this, but given the streak of things that had been happening lately, that wasn’t very likely.

A nudge to the small of his back and he was being brought back to reality. Another nudge and he was being forced through an open door. When in the blazes had that opened? Not that he had much time to really think. Eyes were wildly searching the vast open room before him. There was no sign of the blond at first glance. Either his eyes just didn't register another person from the sheer amount of panic now coursing through his veins or the man simply just wasn’t there.

“Director Tseng tells me that you’ve decided to quit.”

The voice came from the side. When his head whipped around, Rufus ShinRa came into view. Hands seemed to be clamped behind his back, his gaze never seeming to leave the redhead. There was something of a shiver running down his spine now. Said mentioned Turk had slipped from his place behind Reno and was now standing off on the opposite side.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what I’ve decided to do.”

“And why might that be?”

“Can’t live with the guilt.”

Everyone in the room knew what the redhead was referring to. Here again, even if Reno hadn’t been the one to push the final button, he had initiated it. That, in his mind, was just as bad. Rude seemed to be handling this a lot better than him. Seemed to be alright with what they had done. Little did Reno know that his best friend was battling some of the same feelings that he was. Just seemed better at handling it than he did. If only they had talked about it instead of this impulsive idiot acting alone.

“It would seem to me that you’ve forgotten something, Reno. Did you not read the company policy? It clearly defines you all as my own property.” There was this sickeningly sweet smile on the blond’s face. That alone was enough to terrify Reno.

“Sir, wha-”

“It waivers your say in autonomy. I hope you know your life will always belong to me.”

That wasn’t really something that Reno could argue against. The man had pardoned them and in a sense, that did more or less mean he owned them. But as far as the man taking possession of their lives? Was that really something that the redhead was going to stand for?

Whatever his own thoughts on the matter might have been, they seemed to vanish the moment he watched the President start to advance towards him. His hands had unclasped, they were now raised to his sides.

“We put the loyalty back into disloyalty. If you’re upset, that’s a vulnerability.” The look on Reno’s face was that of someone who was upset. This whole situation for one didn’t make much sense. The redhead wanted to quit. What was with this display? Was he being toyed with right now? “We’re a family forged in mass tyranny.”

The closer the man came to him, the more he backed away. Tseng hadn’t moved from his spot, silent as ever, merely watching these events unfold before him. The redhead started to stutter, stammer. Fail at attempting any sort of words. This was starting to scare him a little bit.

“Sir, I don’t thi-”

“Tut tut. There’s no ‘i’ in ‘team’, Reno, but there is a ‘die’ in ‘diversity’.” A pause to consider the horrified look on the Turk’s face before continuing. “You thought your service was over? Are you really that dumb? Reno, you’re not sober. This exposure is making you bolder. So why don’t you venture back down to your slum.” An arm was waved somewhere behind him as if gesturing to where the plate had just fallen. A somewhat meticulous grin spreading across the blond’s face.

“Just know that we'll always have eyes on you. Is this really worth the trouble you're going through?”

The redheaded Turk just kind of backed himself into a corner. Or rather, tripped himself into a corner. He misstepped in his need to get away from the other. Landing flat on his ass, he was staring up at an almost immaculate sight. The way the man shielded him from the lights created what he would have called an almost genuine halo-like effect. Too bad he couldn't be sure that this man was really an angel. More like a devil in disguise at this point.

Despite whatever words fought to escape from betwixt his lips, they were all swallowed. There was frustration written all over his features. A faint ‘tch’ was the only sound he made. His gaze eventually broke away from the blond’s face and he was looking off to the side, staring at the wall. Fingers had curled up, hands balling into fists.

Every single thing this man had said to him was true. Maybe the redhead really was that dumb. Stupid enough to think that he could actually just walk away as if nothing had happened. If ShinRa didn't kill him, the other Slum Rats would. Their reasons would vary, of course. Turks. The scientists. SOLDIERs. The civilians. Literally, anyone or anything could end his life at any moment. But as long as he worked for the Turks, he would be perfectly safe.

Though saying that he was safe was relative at this point. There he sat on the ground in this corner, cowering. There was no trying to hide it. The redhead was scared. Anyone looking at him would have seen it written all over his face. Where was the warning shot? Half expected a shotgun to press itself under his chin. Feel the warmth of the metal against his flesh. Leave a burn as a reminder of what happened here. When no such thing came, he opened his eyes. When they had closed he wasn’t sure. But he found himself staring back up at the man. That’s what he seemed to be waiting for. A hand had reached into his pocket and that’s when Reno flinched. After several moments of silence and no echoing gunshot, his eyes opened once more and there was a hand in front of his face.

But placing in the palm was something that he had never seen before. It looked metallic. Chain links? They appeared to be stuck together in a way that was impossible to break apart. The hand shook just enough for the chains to jingle. So it wasn’t as rigid as it first appeared. But he could tell that they couldn't easily come undone. The blond toyed with it, manipulated it this way and that. No matter what he did, the three links stayed together.

“Do you know what this is?” Reno shook his head. “It's a . . . Metal puzzle of sorts. One of those ‘impossible puzzles’, I’m told. These three chain links aren’t meant to come apart, but if you somehow manage it? I’ll let you leave your service.”

This puzzle could be solved. They were meant to be incredibly difficult to take apart, however. The truly intellectual would be able to pull them apart. Not to say that Reno wasn’t smart. But he lacked the particular set of logic required to figure it out. This toy would sit in his possession for quite a while. He would either figure it out and get to leave. Or he would eternally be in this man’s employ until he was dead.

Rufus tossed the puzzle into the Turk’s lap and ruffled his hair before turning around and dismissing him. Tseng walked over and nudged the redhead with his foot. Motioned for him to get up, follow him to the door. There was a lot of work to be done and so little time to do it. It was a bit of a struggle, but once he was on his feet, they were leaving the office. Rude was rejoining them and the redhead looked down at the puzzle in his hands.

This, this was never going to get solved, was it?

Well fuck.

#ShinRa Company Policy #Written By Asher #Inspired by The Stupendium THE FINE PRINT | The Outer Worlds Song #Parodied and Edited by turkoftheslums #Man if only this translated the way I wanted it to #Brain words and written words differ a bit #But I mean #I like the overall final product #:genhappy:#What I would do to roleplay this or something similar though #OOF

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meganshinsou-tm · 6 years ago

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Vermilion. (m)

↳ chapter seventeen: weakness

❧ genre: pro-hero’s bakugou/kirishima, poly, happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: hospital setting, bandages/wounds/bruises, self-doubt/blame, panic attack, anxiety

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

“I swear to god old lady, tell me where the fuck she is or –“

“Bakugou, chill! Go stand over there and let me handle this, we’re not going to get anywhere with you treating these people like this!”

The explosive hero glared at the nurse behind the desk and clicked his tongue as he roughly turned away and planted himself in a chair. Kirishima turned to the nurse and apologized continuously for his friends outburst.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, we’re just extremely worried about our girlfriend, we came as soon as we got a call and he’s only been able to see red.”

The woman behind the counter quirked a brow at Kirishima then at Bakugou.

“’Our’ girlfriend?”

Katsuki growled, this shitty lady was more concerned about the definition of your relationship rather than giving him and Kirishima your room number so they could finally see you.

“Yes you backwards old bat, our girlfriend!” He yelled over, making Kirishima scold him and causing the nurse to scoff.

“Can you please, please just tell us where she is, we have to know she’s okay.”

The red-head pleaded, his voice almost breaking. Both men were shaken and scared to death the second they received a call from Shouto about an ambush that occurred during your normal patrol, apparently you had gotten the worst of it, so much that you ended up in the hospital. The nurse could see the fear and heartbreak in both of the heroes faces as they looked at the ground, Katsuki not being able to keep from tapping his booted feet as his fists were clenched together; Kirishima sniffling and holding his face in his hands at the desk.

“What was her name?” The nurse asked softly.

At the same time the heroes looked up with mouths agape, Eijirou rubbed his nose with his forearm and gave the nurse your name. After a few clicks of the keyboard and mouse she found your information.

“She’s in room 1156, it’s on the 3rd floor, she is able to take visitors now.”

Before the nurse could even finish her sentence Bakugou lunged from his seat and took off in the direction of your room. Kirishima sighed and thanked the nurse for all her help and tried to catch up with the blonde.

Eijirou was right, Bakugou was seeing red the entire time since they got that gut wrenching phone call. He wanted everyone dead, the villains and Shouto, most of all Shouto for not protecting you better!

“That fucking half and half piece of shit, I’ll kill him!”

Katsuki didn’t have time to waste with elevators, he sprinted up the stairs to your room, so many worst-case scenarios running through his head. Your frame laying in the rubble of a destroyed location, bloodied and beaten to a pulp, air barely escaping from those lips that formed that heart stopping smile. Hot and anger filled tears started to form in the corners of his eyes as he ran up the stairs and tripped. Gritting his teeth he slammed his fists down on the concrete step, on his knees he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the surface and sobbing. “Stupid fucking girl!”

Meanwhile, Kirishima wiped the vomit from his mouth as he sat back on the bathroom floor, his bare back touching the cold door behind him. His nerves were shot as he took the elevator up to your floor and he dodged for the nearest toilet before he threw up everywhere. Tears fell from his crimson eyes, falling onto his knees.

“It’s happening, all over again! Why … I’m so fucking useless!”

Middle school memories flooded back into the heroes head, flashbacks of him not being able to stop a villain from hurting that group of girls, or him not being able to stop a simple bully from picking on someone. He thought he had gotten past all his failures but now his biggest fear was coming true and he failed once again. Kirishima knew that he should be knocking down your door right now, but he was terrified, terrified to see you in such a state that wasn’t happy and bright. His heart couldn’t take seeing you bloodied and covered in bandages, sure he knew it could happen one day but he hoped it never would.

“What kind of man am I? She needs me.”

You were such a sharp and focused hero, your quirk gave you distance from danger, the most you ever come home with was a scratch or bruise. You were always the one having to doctor him and Bakugou up, they were the reckless idiots not you.

After a few more minutes, he finally rose to his feet and washed his face before making his way out and to your room. As Kirishima got closer he could hear yelling and nurses running towards the commotion, his heart dropped and he thought the worst. Finally, his feet started to work and he sprinted towards your door.

“Give me one good reason not to blast your ass into oblivion mother fucker! Who the fuck do you think you are sitting in here!”

“Katsuki, please! It was an accident, calm down, he can’t breathe you fucking moron!”

Kirishima walked in to see Bakugou holding Todoroki in the air by the throat, his teeth bared and small explosions emitting from his free palm he displayed in front of his victims face. Shouto clearly was struggling and nurses tried to contain the situation but Katsuki was too strong.

Kiri bolted for his friend and gripped his shoulders, “Hey man, let him go! You don’t want to do something stupid!”

Bakugou smirked and chuckled, “I don’t? Tch, I’d love nothing more right now than to see this piece of shit in her place!”

“Look, I know you’re mad and scared right now, but this isn’t the way. Just fucking drop him man or it’s you that’s gonna need a doctor!”

Kirishima growled, patience running thin with his friend. He expected this reaction, honestly, but it didn’t mean he had to be cool with it. Most of all, this isn’t what you needed right now, you didn’t need your boyfriend pitted against your friend.

The blonde growled and gave Shouto’s throat one last squeeze before releasing him and making his weak body drop to the ground. Kirishima was by his side, a hand on his back and helping him stand to this feet.

“You okay Shouto?”

Todoroki nodded as he rubbed his neck, coughing and trying to let air back into his trachea.

“I’m so sorry, t-they came out of nowhere, we had no idea!” Shouto apologized.

Out of all the commotion Kirishima didn’t get a chance to seek you out, he finally looked from the two toned hero and towards the bed where you sat. A busted smile crossed your dark and grimy features, a chuckle left your lips causing you to cough.

“Sorry I look so rough Red, these fuckers won’t let me wash up until my statement is taken.”

“Shut up! You look fine!” Katsuki blurted out from the chair next to you.

Kirishima smiled and walked over, placing a kiss to your forehead and searching for your hands but they were hidden under the covers. Your lip was busted and a scratch crossed your cheek, you had wraps and bandages variously placed across your arms. You noticed him trying to assess all your wounds and smiled.

“I’m fine Red, really.”

“No you’re fucking not, go ahead, show him!”

You looked over at Bakugou, giving him a death glare and swallowing harshly. Kiri looked back and forth between you, an obvious question in his eyes.

“Show me what?”

Shaking your head, you kept trying to brush off his question with bullshit excuses until Katsuki growled and stood from his chair and pulled the covers from your body.

You bit your lip and looked at Shouto who sat by the window, looking at the floor. Kirishima gasped as he took in the worst of your wounds, both of your hands were wrapped generously in bandages as well as your thighs.

“What is all this, what happened?”

You refused to answer, knowing that once Kirishima knew he’d lose it and worry more than he already did, so Bakugou took it upon himself to inform his friend.

“They tried to break her hands beyond repair and skinned the runes from her thighs like fucking animals!”

Shouto finally looked up from the ground and caught you staring at him, he gave you an apologetic expression. He felt terrible for what had happened, wishing he could’ve helped more than he did but he too was incapacitated. Bakugou clicked his tongue and threw the blanket in your face, catching it, you looked down at your lap and sniffled. His reaction stung and made you choke down a pathetic cry. Bakugou didn’t like weakness, you couldn’t show him that.

Kirishima threw the blonde a warning glare, placing a hand on your back and rubbing reassuring circles on it until you leaned into him and relaxed. He reached out his free hand, asking if it was okay to hold your own, you nodded with a forced smile as he very carefully took one.

His thumb brushed over the bandages and he grit his teeth, “Why would they do this?”

Shouto stood from his chair and rubbed his neck, “To break her and make it to where she couldn’t use her quirk. It’s obvious most of her power comes from her hands, without them she can’t use telekinesis or draw runes onto her skin. The mind and her hands work together to make her levitate, so without them she can’t do that either.”

Bakugou leaned against a wall and crossed his arms, an angry pout on his face.

“She’s been kicking ass and making a name for herself lately, it’s not unusual for villains to want to take out heroes they deem a threat. If she slipped and they got their chance, there’s no doubt they wouldn’t take it.”

At Bakugou’s assumption you sulked even more into Kirishima. He looked down at you and frowned, his red eyes shooting back up to his dumb-ass friend who wasn’t helping your situation.

“Hey man, lighten up, nobody is fucking perfect alright? Even you fucking slip, she doesn’t need to hear that shit from you, do you have a fucking brain?”

The blond raised a brow at Kirishima, as if he were challenging him in some contest and he couldn’t believe it. Before he could bite back, your voice was in his head.

“It’s fine Red … it’s just how he is. I have to be s-stronger I get it. Please just let him be … I c-can’t cry here.”

Bakugou froze and looked at you blankly, noticing how you clung to Kirishima and looked up at him.

Those words, they weren’t meant for him, they were meant for Kiri.

Usually you had fucking amazing control over your quirk and Bakugou assumed that since the accident you were still a little off, shaken and … hurt, so you accidentally spoke to his mind instead. Guilt quickly flooded the hero and he hung his head low. It was happening again, he was making it seem like he didn’t think you were strong. That you couldn’t so much as even fucking cry in front of him. He had only officially been your boyfriend for a few weeks now and already he was fucking up.

“Can you give us a moment?” Bakugou finally spoke, his voice low.

Shouto and Kirishima looked at each other before looking at you. You shrugged and squeezed Kiri’s arm, letting him know it was okay. He nodded and leaned over to place a kiss on the top of your head before him and Shouto left you and Bakugou alone in the room.

There was an uneasy silence between you, your hands busying themselves with tracing the bandages that wrapped your legs.

“I’m sorry.”

You swallowed and turned your head to look at Bakugou. He slowly walked and made his way to the chair next to you again and pulled it closer, his head remaining looking at the floor and his hands clasped as they rested between his knees.

“You didn’t do anything Suki, there’s no -”

“Bullshit,” he cut you off and finally looked up, “You got into my head, not his. I heard everything.”

At this you paled and looked down, teeth chewing on your bottom lip.

“I - I can explain.”

“You don’t need to, I do. (Y/N) … never have I ever thought you were weak, even back in UA, I thought you were so fucking strong. I say the wrong shit at the wrong time, I know - I’m just scared alright? I’m not thinking straight. Not once in my life had I have to worry about someone I love more than fucking life itself getting hurt and being in danger. My dumb parents don’t count, they’re safe, they’re not heroes. You, you’re right there on the front lines with me, with us. Just like me, you get sent into danger head on without any fucking fear and at the same time I now have one fear and that’s … it’s fucking this! That phone call, this whole situation … it’s my worst nightmare coming to life. And I don’t know how to handle it, you’re safe thank god but there’s no promise that this won’t happen again, that you won’t be here again … or worse.”

You never broke eye contact with Bakugou as he poured out his heart to you. His own red eyes slowly but surely started to pool with salty tears as he continued, reaching out a gloved hand for yours and a sigh leaving him when you quickly took it in your bandaged ones.

“You don’t have to act tough around me 24/7, you don’t have to act indestructible. You’re fucking human too and I of all fucking people know that crying is not a sign of weakness. I also know that it’s fucking okay to be weak! There’s not a damn thing wrong with it! You should feel comfortable being weak, being vulnerable or sad around not just Kirishima but me too! We’re both here for you, I want to be there for you when you cry too dammit because I need you to be there for me when I cry. You’re not weak, you’re fucking strong. If you slipped up that’s okay, we all do, I do! Just … please, don’t be afraid of me, don’t be afraid to open up to me please! Let me be a fucking good and supportive boyfriend for you!”

The second Bakugou finished, you were flinging yourself at him, his arms quickly catching and embracing you as you hung off the bed and into his lap. His face nuzzled into your neck and hair, breathing in the faint scent of your shampoo that mixed with blood and dirt. He let a fresh wave of tears flow at the feeling of your warm and breathing body in his arms, holding you tighter. Your own arms held him close as you cried into his neck, ignoring all the pain in your body.

“I’m sorry Suki … I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t mean to make you and Kiri worry.”

Bakugou shook his head and kissed you cheek, pulling back to brush your hair out of your face and press his forehead to yours.

“Some things we just can’t fucking control princess, it’s part of the job. All that matters is that you fought, that you’re fucking alive and you’re right here! No matter what, we’re always going to worry, we fucking worry about you in the shower cause you’re so fucking clumsy,” you both chuckled and he kissed the corner of your weak smile. “But what makes us worry just a fraction less, is that fact that you’re a fucking fighter, you’re powerful and you can handle yourself and if we’re with you then you know damn well that we’ll be there to protect you and make sure that you can keep fighting - with us.”

A bandaged finger traced the strong line of Bakugou’s jaw and he melted into the touch. You smiled and leaned in to capture his lips with your own. The two of you shared a sweet kiss before it broke and you looked at each other and wiped the tears from your faces.

“I love you so much Katsuki.”

Bakugou smiled and kissed your forehead, “I love you too princess. Now - let’s get you back into bed and get the rest of this shit taken care of so we can get you home.”

You nodded and let him pull away from you enough to get a good hold under your arms to help move you back on the bed. When you were comfortably seated again, you couldn’t help a cackle that left your mouth, making Bakugou look at you with confusion.

“The fuck is so funny?”

You held up one of your hands and winced as you tried to bend your fingers in an odd way, “T-take my strong hand.”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes and sighed as he grabbed a pillow and lightly put it over your face. “Shh, I’ll make this fast and peaceful you fucking dork!”

#vermilion #bakugou x reader x kirishima #kirishima x reader x bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #polyamory #poly relationship

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simply-ellas-stuff · 6 years ago

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Batwoman Episode Three Talk *Spoilers*

Are we not doing the normal Arrowverse monologue? I miss it. The diary narration is cool but... I miss the opening monologue.

Nightmare flashbacks, I wonder who the fuck Beth was living with? Who turned her into Alice? Did Alice live with a serial killer?

Who the fuck is running Wayne Enterprises besides Luke & Kate??

Hand puppets to get Batwoman's attention, childish.

Alice is blunt as fuck, Horny for Batman, did she take notes from Bo from Lost Girl.

Why does Alice have a boyfriend in the first place?

Negotiations? Innocent peoples lives for a boyfriend? Sounds weird but nice try.

Is Kate the Younger Twin?

Does Beth have split personality? Alice is the girl she became to protect herself from her hellish post-accident life but Beth is buried somewhere inside her mind??

Fucking commercials always indicate someone dying. Poor fellow.

Elliot Estates? Dumb name.

Training with your husband while thinking of your ex-girlfriend you never told him about? Go. To. Therapy. Sophie boxing? With her husband? I guess that's healthy? I mean, if they were working on their own personal issues instead of Sophie's issues with Kate... maybe.

Commander must adore Soph to be that much of a considerate shade of Asshole. Also because Soph is too blunt for them to not be close in some way.

Why is Soph wanting to protect Mary? Its not going to get her closer to Kate.

Vesper, you beautifully voices woman!

Mary is a sweetheart, and decent at acting drunk/hungover to safe face for her clinic.

Mary is so fucking sassy to her sister's ex-girlfriend.

Why blame Commander Kane for your idea Soph?!

Kate getting defensive over the desk, aww.

Tommy Elliot is already a cunt before he showed up at that desk.

'Candy Kane' would be a cute nickname, if this guy didn't immediately give me a bad feeling.

Fuck Tommy for bringing that shit up to Kate like it doesn't already fuck her up. How the fuck does Tommy Elliot know Bruce is Batman?

Tommy Elliot wants to prove he's the most damaged, bigger ego-ed, richer, jerkwad of Gotham. And instead he goes psycho. Kate was right, Bruce's is bigger - He didn't go psycho. Even though, that comment was inappropriate but also forgivable given how she was attacking his ego not the physical aspects of Tommy vs Bruce. Metaphorical not realistical.

Wayne Tech, how the fuck is it still up and running?

I like how they reference weapons and explain them in a slightly normal way before Kate uses them later.

Pretty sure the dummy and faux blood and spray paint was Tommy Elliot, not anyone else.

Is there a Tommy Elliot Comic Counterpart that becomes a villain?

Vesper sassing Batman is fucking hilarious.

Mary checking out that guy and Soph interrupting it, cockblock.

Soph grilling Mary for information about Kate is fucked

Luke yelling while wearing the noise cancelling headset is cliche but funny. I wonder if they had to have Ruby say screaming because her accent came out too much when she said Yelling.

A gun that can penetrate the Batsuit? Why in the fuck would that exist without a fail safe?

Kate feeling the sting of being hit with a bullet while not actually being in the suit, she's already formed a relationship with the suit even though she refused to take up the mantle.

Kate sassily decides to go ask Tommy about knowing about Bruce and Batman only to be shocked about Luke telling her to put on the suit.

I still wanna know how Alice broke into the Kane house.

She messily puts in the lipstick, finds the perfume gross smelling, wears a crow uniform, Licks a cupcake and puts it back, downs a martini, reads the invite, smashes the family picture, kills a crow that knows her name with no hesitation but mocks Kate's disappointment. All of these acts seem to mean something to her, and I wonder what that is.

I still wanna know how Alice broke into the Kane house.

Why is Alice dicking around in a crows house??

Why did Alice kill him? and How did he know her name??

Kate looks hot as fuck - Hair a little less upwards, one singular dangle earring, p/leather leggings or jeggings, black over-sized suit jacket, a lacy shirt, heeled boots (that i'm pretty sure are from Hot topic? with the metal backing on the heels), Minimal dark make up, one singular shiny bracelet/watch, and her tattoos peaking out. Why did Sophie marry a man again?

The fucking shock, confusion, and pure "what the fuck" that crossed Kate's mind when she stepped into the elevator lmfao. Great acting on Ruby's part.

Mary's facial expression then Kate's "I’m sorry" makes me aww. Did anyone else think the conversation about "Go radio silent on socials" was actually code about the Clinic in a way?

Awkward fucking elevator ride, Love the broke tension Mary.

The blond is pretty. I think I have a similar, longer version of her dress. I'd definitely let Ruby Rose check me out like Kate did Reagan.

Tyler you poor unsuspecting fool.

I'd love it if Reagan is telepathic, like a meta human, and that's how she knew that stuff. Bartenders can be good but, she was a little too spot on with Kate.

I love how Kate was impressed by Reagan pouring herself a shot, like she didn't expect it.

Tyler and Kate talking makes me feel... sad for Tyler. Soph never told her husband she secretly fucked Kate Kane at the academy.

Reagan is hot, and if Kate doesn't fuck around with her - I will.

Daddy Kane and Kate Kane have similar taste in people, they both hate Tommy.

I love how Kate brings up twin intuition even though she made a deal, and her father walked a way uncomfortable because he can't bear the idea of Alice being Beth.

Kate setting her sights on Tommy, she looked hot albeit out of place.

Mary trying to convince her mom to let her have more elbow room, just so she can sneak out to her clinic.

Tommy is a fucking dickbag "took five years but I'm finally looking down on Bruce Wayne", You are competing with someone who you already won against - you have your parents, family, the weight taken off your shoulders, a fuck ton of money, and could have any girl you want. Fuck the fuck off.

Kate's "Here I thought I was his favorite cousin, not even a phone call" was so well said as to point out she knows Bruce better than Tommy thinks he does. It was subtle, sarcastic, but right on the money.

Nice lie Kate, make him find the gun even though your bullshitting. Nice, very 'Oliver Queen' of you. I'm proud, sure he would be too.

Fucking Bach. Can people pick another one of his songs, its the same fucking one in ever fucking movie and show. Pick something different, or fuck just pick a different artist all together.

Alice tormenting Commander with the instrument, the song, and just toying with the idea that she might really be his daughter makes me laugh for some reason, its oddly well thought out. She will get in his head though, eventually.

Alice bearing the disappointment and heartbreak Beth felt being left behind... heart shattering.

King of the Crows... he should become scarecrow... maybe.

Alice just casually waltzed away from the window, sifted through the box, and the likely promptly ditched the fuck outta there.

That box is all of Beth's life, and Alice still feels the pain of it.

Maybe Alice is to Beth what Frost is to Caitlin? At least she saw the search Map.

Aww poor Mary basically getting dragged away by her guards.

Kate... you smart girl, following him right to the gun. That conversation about Tommy being less than. Tommy is psychotic in every aspect.

Tommy talked to the fucking Riddler?! The Riddler knows Bruce's identity? [If they follow the Gotham story line that kinda makes sense]

Tommy hates his mom that much? The fuck

Kate didn't expect him to have a contingency plan to draw Batman out... not smart sweets.

Kate immediately going to help the victims is why she's a good hero.

I wonder how many people actually did in that fall, we only saw a handful still moving during Kate and Mary's scenes with them.

Kate's concern for people is what makes her a hero, she even apologizes to the man she pulls attention too. Her obsession with Alice/Beth, her dedication to Bruce, her hatred towards Batman then forgiveness towards him, her affection of Sophie, all of that doesn't matter. Her heart does.

Tyler had the worst fucking timing, you are stuck in an elevator, have this martial spat in private in your home. Shut the fuck up.

Step Mom Kane doesn't seem as maternal as she acts, she also seems to be rooting for someone's death... get a divorce.

Mary and Soph would be cute friendship - if Soph wasn't in a triangle.

Luke and Kate having a heart to heart with honesty towards Bruce ever coming back.

Mary saves a life like a bawse!!

Where did they get the spray paint from? Did Luke spray it or did Kate? Where did they get a wig? Did they go shopping while this time limit is happening.

Dicking with Tommy by 'flying' around him, how "Flash/Firestorm vs Tokamak" of you. I fucking 🎶Love🎶 it.

Did she seriously Now get a voice changer? Her voice seems edited whereas with Dodgson it wasn't.

[[I keep getting Ads for The Tomorrow People, should I watch it? Is it any good??]]

Batman's side piece? Gross.

She forgot to charge the glove... cute. She's still learning.

She just stabbed him in the leg... I think they cut Luke's question of "What are you doing?" because her "Stalling" sounded like an answer not a confirmation.

She saves her Dad and Stepmom, without knowing whose in the elevator, but lets the other elevator drop... she didn't know it was empty??

She forgot to charge the glove?! LMFAO I'd do that!

Kick his ass Kate!!!!!

She saves her dad, but let the other elevator drop not knowing if there were other people in it???

He's so psychotic that he literally steps on her hand.

Alice to the rescue!!!

"and im the crazy one" I love that. She's literally insane yet the red wig is the drawn line lmfao.

Alice saving Kate makes me happy.

She took off the cowl yet has almost perfect hair... woman. really mess up you hair!! You'd probs looks hot as fuck.

Kate's appreciation of Alice saving her life only for Alice to crash the moment. Kate wants her to leave to keep her safe yet Alice is annoyed.

The red being the color of the birthstone is a nice poetic touch.

Alice ruined the moment again, jerk.

Alice touching Kate's face is probably because she hasn't seen her in so fucking long its a wonderment for her to feel her sister again when their Twins and have been connected their whole lives.

The laugh about the wig having roots, nice joke Alice.

Kate trying to talk Alice back into Beth.

So Alice wants Kate to stop thinking of her as Beth? But she was willing to prove she is actually Beth by cutting her palm? Alice really does seem like Season Four Killer Frost "Beth is gone"/"I'm not Caitlin"

Sending Tommy to Arkaham... Smart.

Reagan is cute, I love how she was worried for Kate whom she just met and Kate checked in on her. I love the bluntness between the two!! Please tell me she isn't a bad guy!

Is Soph really jealous?? She's fucking married?! Soph, don't be jealous, your married. Mary slap her for us.

Two of Hearts, Eight of Cloves, and Three of Diamonds?? What does Alice, Catherine, and those numbers/cards have in common?

Commander Kane is finally starting to believe!!! Yes! Catherine, you do not live up to the legacy of your name you dick.

Batlady? Batchick? Really?! Did Sophie call that name in? otherwise it won't stick...

I hope Soph phoned in that name, otherwise we'll end up with something stupid.

Sophie definitely knows that Kate is Batwoman.

When is the reference episode to the Arrowverse cross over going to happen? I need to know and understand the fucking timeline.

I kinda think that Alice is Beth's alter, like she had disassociative identity disorder and Alice is her protector. That's why Alice remembers being Beth but "Beth is gone" because Younger Beth is 'asleep' in their shared mind or too afraid to come out yet Alice is acting out with anger now because she had to go through the hell that she was made to protect Beth, Maybe as an alter she's resentful towards the host? Is that possible? Maybe she blames Beth but because she can't hurt her, she hurts her family via payback and revenge.

☆Side Note:: I watched this episode only twice instead of my normal three, I've been a bit busy -Which is also why this is a day later than it has been-, so excuse me if anything is wrong or they explained something in the episode☆

#Arrowverse #Batwoman #Batwoman episode 3 #Batwoman season 1 episode 3 #Kate Kane #Beth Kane #Alice #Jacob Kane #catherine hamilton kane #mary hamilton #Mary Hamilton Kane #Catherine Hamilton #Catherine Kane #Flash Season 2 episode 4 The Fury of Firestorm #The Tomorrow People

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nancywheelxr · 6 years ago

Text

it’s no better to be safe than sorry (read on AO3)

Penny, in true Penny form, rolls his eyes, stepping aside to impatiently motion them out of the elevator and into a shockingly white room. “Calm down, you guys don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine down here,” he hands them two glasses of what turns out to be an also shockingly good Scotch. “You’re here for Quentin, right?”

“Yeah,” Julia nods, eyeing his suit and tie suspiciously, “are you going to try and stop us?”

It brings a burst of laugh out of Penny. “God, no. Please, take him with you,” he shakes his head, “do you have any idea how much trouble he’s causing here?”

And that brings an almost-smile out of Eliot, because yes, that does sound like him. “Please, do tell.”

* or, first, Eliot grieves. Then, Julia finds a hare-brained solution that's right up their alley. After that, a lot of talking happens.

Alternatively titled, Eliot and Julia's adventure in the Underworld.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Margo asks because she’s off to the library– the one in Brakebills, lower case, less fascist, less likely to stab them in the back– and Eliot has probably been staring out the window for too long now. It’s been three weeks since Fillory, and it’s been three weeks since Eliot woke up, and it’s been three weeks since– it’s been three weeks, and she’s given up on asking him to join her, on dragging him with her, on leaving her eyeball on the desk, staring at him, daring him to do something stupid.

“Of course,” Eliot says, because yeah, he’s been staring out the window for too long now and she needs an answer and he can’t drink while he’s on pain medication, he knows that. The orange bottle is on her coat’s pocket or maybe on her bedroom and she’ll either be back on time to hand him the pills or send Penny 23 to dutifully stand in her place. “Call me if you find something. I’ll look into some books while you’re gone.”

That’s a lie, a well practiced one that falls off his tongue with ease. It’s the one that convinces Penny to give him an extra pill because today, oh dear, the stitches are hurting to breathe. What’s the point of getting prescription Vicodin if he can’t even get high while he’s at it.

“El,” her forehead creases, eyebrows knitting together, and Eliot reaches for her, drawing her into a hug because Margo has a whole Kingdom to worry about, she shouldn’t add Eliot to the list. There’s been enough worrying over him. There’s been– Eliot’s fine, or fine enough at least. He wishes he were a better person, a stronger person, the kind that would follow her to the library and help find a way to go back to Fillory in the right time and stop this dethroning business, but while Fillory as a land is alright for him to think, the books– Fillory and Further, El, look, the answers have to be here somewhere, we just have to look– the books are off limits for him.

“Go, Bambi,” he presses a kiss to her hair, and pulls back, smiling the closest thing to a smile, “I’ll be fine.”

She nods, straightening up and visibly pulling herself together. A warrior queen, once again. High King Margo, the Destroyer, he thinks fondly and watches her walk out of the cottage, head held high.

The thing about grief is that Eliot is no stranger to it, and yet, it still catches him off guard, even after he mourned enough times, enough things in his Happy Place. How ironically fitting it is that here Eliot is again, in the Physical Cottage, grieving for things he can’t fix and opportunities he can’t change.

“Why did you do it, Q?” He asks the ceiling of his bedroom, “did you want to be a hero? Did you think it would be okay?”

Predictably, he gets no answer, except for the low chatter downstairs and the birds chirping outside.

“It’s not. Okay, I mean,” Eliot continues, imagining the nervous way Quentin would fidget, looking away from Eliot and hiding behind his hair. “Didn’t Margo warn you, Q? Because that was one dumb decision and–” his voice breaks, and it would be embarrassing if there wasn’t already a shit load of things broken with Eliot, “no one likes a dead moron, Q.”

Fleetingly, Eliot thinks of Quentin and Alice’s disastrous seance spell from their first year, so, so long ago, a lifetime ago. He wonders idly who might come through this time, with no more Beast to terrorize them, and he’s in the process of letting it slide off the hazy static floating around his mind when there’s a knock on his door.

Quick, direct, but still gentle. Julia, then.

He waits in silence while she decides if she truly wants to come in, not particularly feeling like talking with her. Nothing personal, truthfully, it’s been a while since he wanted to talk to anyone, really.

His door opens slowly, Julia peeks her head in first before slipping in. “Hey,” she says, holding a cup of water like a white flag and on her cupped hand there are two little white pills. “Painkiller time. How are you feeling?”

A standard question that begs for a standard answer. “Fine,” he shrugs.

“Margo is busy at the library and Penny is busy at, well, the Library,” she explains as if she needs a legitimate reason to be there, as if Eliot might kick her out otherwise.

Julia hands him the pills and the water.

“So you’re on nurse duty,” Eliot surmises, nodding sagely, then swallowing down the Vicodin like a shot and wishing it would leave him half as numb. “There, you can report back to Margo now. Tell her I took my medicine like a good boy.”

The look she gives him is not one of the pitiful, understanding ones, or the confused, accusing ones. It’s clear and dissecting, like she’s peeling away his patchwork, fragile armor he had hurriedly built up after leaving the hospital. “Eliot,” Julia sighs.

“Julia,” he counters.

Her sigh is heavier now, and she closes the door to Eliot’s bedroom, taking a seat beside Eliot, on Eliot’s bed, without asking for permission. She’s a warm weight beside him and the dip of the mattress to accommodate another body is painfully familiar, but Eliot still feels terribly cold.

“I know you loved him,” she says, staring at the wall opposite them, legs crossed at the ankle. “And I know you’re wondering why I’m here. So, that’s why.”

Eliot refuses to look at her, refuses to give away more than she already pieced on her own. He means to be brave, but it’s so much harder when he can’t even remember how to be a full-fledged functional human being anymore. Time is an illusion, like he said two lifetimes ago, nevertheless, he thinks he might need more of it. “Shouldn’t you be consoling the actual widow instead? You know, short, blond, and pretty?”

“Alice is,” Julia searches for words, pulling a complicated face. It’s a journey to watch, half-amusing, really, so he gives in and turns to gaze at her, until she settles into something almost diplomatic. “Diving into work. With the Library. And Kady. However that’s gonna work,” she adds, quieter, then shakes her head. “She’ll be fine.”

“So will I,” he tells her honestly. Or, he hopes it’s honest. He would like to be okay again, someday, maybe. It feels helplessly impossible now, but it’s a nice dream, like Fillory– like a rundown cottage in the forest with a garden of peaches and plums and a mosaic to finish, like Quentin, like being in love, like being happy. Then, something occurs to him. I know you loved him, she had said, and Eliot remembers he’s not the only one who did, who does. “What about you, Julia?”

“I know,” she smiles sadly, patting his knee, and her voice is wobbly and brittle and sounds as cracked as Eliot feels. “I’ll be fine, too. It’s just– I still miss him so much.”

A choked out sob breaks through her clenched jaw, and Julia grips his arm with claw-like fingers, nails digging into his skin through his shirt. Eliot feels oddly empty, watching her overflow like this, as if all the too much– ness that had been weighing him down lately had been drained, taking the stuffing out of him as well. “Do you ever,” he pauses, swallowing thickly his own sob and closing his eyes briefly to steady himself, starts again. “Sometimes, I find myself looking at the door–”

“Expecting him to come home?” Julia guesses, wiping a tear track with the sleeves of her coat. “It’s like I’m still waiting for him to just, I don’t know. Show up here, awkwardly apologizing for making us worry and ready to drag us into another quest.”

“With his ridiculous little smile,” Eliot half-smiles himself, imagining the scene so clearly on his mind like a memory or a dream. “And tripping over the new rug in the living room.”

Julia hiccups a laugh and rests her head on his shoulder, shifting so she’s curled around him more comfortably. They had never been very close, but once upon a time, Eliot had offered her a hand to bring her out of her downward spiral and Julia had the same kind of Monster-flavored guest on her body not too long ago. It’s enough of a bridge to share this loneliness between them– Quentin left a differently shaped void in both of them, but when Julia asks if Q ever told him about that time when we tried to skip class and ended up trapped in the school’s kitchen, and Eliot repays her with did he ever tell you about the time when he accidentally saved a talking cow– it feels a tiny bit less empty.

After that afternoon, Julia turns up in the cottage enough times that Eliot now is privy to an assortment of sort-of secrets that he’s not sure what to do with. He now knows Alice and Kady are working with the Library, capital L, allegedly ex-fascist organization, and the situation between the Hedges is not looking so good. He is not to talk about that too much, it’s all very delicate. Julia can do some magic, but not all kinds and it’s just as screwed up as the rest of magic around the world. He is also not to talk about that, see, Penny 23 is the only other who knows.

Eliot, for some reason, finds that keeping these secrets is easier than he thought it would be, but he figures he’s got a lot of empty space within himself to hide them in.

And it’s not like they are actual secrets. They’re just sort of secrets, so if Margo hears bits and pieces of them, definitely not enough for her to figure out the big picture, only for her to send him odd looks, half concerned, half confused, before shaking her head and kissing his cheek, it’s okay.

It becomes almost a routine and Eliot finds a calming blanket on that. He knows what to expect and he feels less like he’s drifting at sea, no land in sight. There’s peace in habit and it’s during one of her visits that he finds hope too.

“Eliot,” she says, dragging him upstairs and closing the door behind them. Her eyes are alight with a wild gleam and Eliot is forcefully reminded that she used to be a goddess. “I think– I have an idea.”

She doesn’t have to elaborate further for him to understand the fine writing in between the lines. About Quentin, on how to fix this, to bring him back.

His own heart kicks up the dust and cobwebs to drum in his ribcage as he takes in a ragged breath. “Tell me,” he orders, pulling the last shreds of himself together.

“Back when we were looking for the keys, Josh and I, we found one of them in timeline 23, right?”

“Yes, no need for the recap, I was there for the first time,” he waves her off, impatiently gesturing her to hurry up and get to the point.

Julia nods, grinning. “Yeah, so. Quentin had,” she hesitates so briefly, stumbling over the word nearly imperceptibly, “died there too. But Alice23 brought him back.”

It takes a moment for what she’s saying sink in. Quentin dies in the other timelines, that was a given, they all do, Penny23 and Marina23 are proof, and Eliot had heard Julia and Josh recounting their adventure at the time in all of its creepy glory. But for the first time since the keys, since the Monster, since, he shifts the emphasis from the key and the Beast to–

Alice23 brought him back.

“You can’t tell Penny,” is the first thing he says, because one of the sort-of secrets is that Julia and Penny23 are having a thing and Eliot won’t have her little love affair stop them from saving Quentin.

“I know,” Julia nods back, decided and giddy and spilling her relieved excitement all over the place. She pulls him into a hug and wraps her arms around his torso, burying her face on his chest. It reminds him a bit of Margo, in the early days after the hospital, when he still had a cane. “We’re going to get him back– Eliot, we’re gonna get him back.”

Something warm and light and syrupy bubbles up on his chest, filling in the blank spots around his lungs, under his ribcage– with a start, Eliot realizes what it is. Hope. Because this plan is absolutely crazy and desperate and insanely dangerous, but it’s a plan.

It’s enough.

“We will, darling,” he whispers into her hair, his tears falling unprompted. It’s an unspoken decision that this will be another one of their sort of secrets, that they need to hash out a few more details beyond it’s our only idea before telling people. They don’t need their friends throwing an intervention, gently guiding them away from what they would call stupid, grief-induced plans.

Sure, Eliot will be the first to admit it might be a terrible, insane plan that did not work all that well in the 23rd timeline, but in his experiences, it’s exactly the kind of Hail Mary they’ve pulled off over the years.

“Wanna run that by me again?” Margo asks, eyebrows raised impressively high as she looks between Eliot and Julia. Then, her forehead creases in that worried frown of hers, “you two are up to something.”

“Of course not, Bambi,” Eliot reassures her, slipping an arm around her shoulders and leading her towards the cottage front door. “I’m merely helping our cause. Julia is now the closest thing to a Fillory nerd we have,” he tells her in a stage-whisper, and a piece of his heart falls to the floor but he barely notices it. None of it will matter once Quentin is back. “Go look in the dusty library. We will get Julia’s books in her old apartment. The doctor said fresh air might do me some good, anyway.”

Margo pins him with a suspicious look, glancing behind his shoulder to narrow her eyes at Julia. Then, her shoulders sag and she sighs. “You know what, fine. You’re out of bed, you showered, and now you’re back to scheming– in my book, that’s progress, baby,” she smiles fleetingly, relieved beyond belief, before steeling herself and pointing a finger in their general direction. “But whatever this is, it better not come bite us in the ass, hear me?” To Julia, she adds, “and you better return him in pristine condition, or I’ll fuck you up, alright? Sorrow and Sorrow are still in my bedroom and they work just fine to cut a bitch,” she exhales, adjusts her clothes, “and please, make sure he eats something.”

With that, Margo is gone, hurrying through the campus to get to the library.

“Well, she’s still terrifying,” Julia comments, lips quirking up amusedly.

“Yes, the axes do suit her, don’t you think?” Eliot can hear himself softening as he watches Margo disappear in the crowd of students. God, he had missed her. A part of him feels guilty for keeping this from her, but Eliot knows he wouldn’t have been able to bear if she had looked at him again with wide eyes brimming with teary understanding that had felt so much like pity. He’ll tell her as soon as they get solid proof it can be done. “What shall we tell your Penny, when he comes in?”

Julia scrunches up her nose. “He’s not my Penny,” and oh, the lady doth protests too much? “But I told him we needed to talk with Alice about the Fillory situation.”

A sting of pain echoes on his chest as Eliot thinks of Fen, alone and dethroned, but he can only help one dead friend at a time. After they get Quentin back, after the world is once again right in its axis, then they will save Fen and Josh and Fillory. Would you look at that, Q, another noble quest for you to tag along.

“Sounds mildly believable,” he graciously allows, just in time for Penny23 to pop into existence in the middle of the living room without warning. “Why, do make yourself at home.”

Penny ignores Eliot, making a beeline to Julia, fussing over her in a way that Eliot has to look away; it reminds him a bit too much of a time when he had been the one searching for his own little nerd and checking him over for any injuries. Perhaps, staying in Brakebills might have been a mistake. Perhaps, Margo was right, a place with fewer memories would have been preferable.

“Eliot?”

Julia’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts and both she and Penny are looking at him like it was not the first time she had called his name. Oh well. Spacing out is hardly the worst of his attitude lately. “Are we finally getting a move on?”

“Yeah,” Penny drawls, studying him for a drawn-out minute and sounding like he’s been talking about Eliot. With Margo, most likely, and Julia, although he expects the latter to have been more skittish about the topic recently. “Are you sure you’re alright, man? I mean, the whole possession thing must take a toll, right? And with–”

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” Eliot cuts him off before Penny could say something ridiculous like– something Penny hasn’t the slightest idea of what he’s talking about. “Now, if you would be so kind?”

He raises one eyebrow, waiting for Penny to take Julia’s hand and offer him the other, one last warning look sent his way, and then the world blurs as they travel to the Library and hope talking with Alice, their Alice, isn’t a mistake.

The Library is under renovations.

It should not come as such a surprise, Eliot thinks in hindsight. With both Alice and Kady in charge of things, some fundamental changes were bound to come. Though he’ll admit he had expected them to be more philosophical than literal, he won’t complain about the new color palette.

Grey is terribly dull.

“Are you insane?” Alice hisses, her glasses glinting off the artificial light, and she looks beautifully sad. Melancholy has always suited her, Eliot supposes, even in the early days of their little ragtag family. “Look, I miss him too, you know I do, but this is too crazy, even for us.”

She pushes away from the desk, her new Head Librarian desk on her new Head Librarian office– no, sorry. Co-Head Librarian. Julia trades a warning look with Eliot, her patented don’t be a dick look, and steps closer to Alice approaching her like she’s an injured animal. “I know how it sounds,” Julia begins, choosing her words carefully. “But think about it. We already know what went wrong in the 23rd timeline. We can do it right this time, here.”

Her arms are wrapped around herself like Alice needs to physically shield herself from this conversation. She shakes her head several times, purses her lips. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

“Help us save Quentin?” Eliot can’t help prodding. It’s not fair, he knows, but it still irks him that she’s not jumping at the chance to get him back.

“You know it’s not that easy,” Alice glares, softening after barely a minute. Her grief seems to sharpen and dust off her edges in random intervals, and ever since the bonfire, what had once driven a wedge between them now makes her reach for Eliot with a shared sense of understanding. “You can’t just go to the Underworld branch and bring a soul back– and even if you could, you,” she points to Julia, “told us he became the Beast when I– when that Alice did it. Can you imagine what that would mean with magic the way it is now?”

“Then let’s make sure we bring his shade back,” he shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Stop pretending it’s easy!” She finally snaps, and Julia quickly slips between them, hands in front of her chest, but Eliot isn’t done.

This is their best shot at saving Quentin and they already took a big leap of faith in telling Alice about it. He hasn’t even told Margo. “Listen,” he says, walking around Julia to place his hands on Alice’s shoulders. “When you were a niffin,” at that, her eyes widen and she tries to move away, so Eliot holds her there tighter. “When you were a niffin, he stopped at nothing to bring you back whether you wanted to or not. When Julia was shadeless, he did his best to help her and never gave up on her, no matter what. And when the Monster possessed me,” he trails off. They all know how that turned out.

“So who cares if it’s not easy,” Julia joins him, giving him a sympathetic look, “it’s Q. We can’t give up on him now.”

Alice purses her lips, but something about the way she sighs, deflating under his hands, tells Eliot she’s giving in. “Even if we did bring his soul back,” she caves, averting her gaze and adjusting her glasses, “he would still need a body.”

“A golem?” Eliot suggests. It’s not a very good solution, but he knows from first-hand experience that you can’t feel the difference. And it certainly beats death. Alice, though, twitches in that awkward way of hers. “Unless you have a better idea?”

“When Penny died,” she confesses, “I tried to make him a new body. With Osseus Confervium.”

“Bone-knitting?” Julia’s eyebrows rise.

“Yes,” Alice nods earnestly, apparently warming up to the idea. “It’s difficult, but you said it yourself– who cares, it’s Q. And with magic overflowing like this, it’s probably the best time to do it.”

Eliot smiles something so close to a smile, he even surprises himself. “So it’s settled then,” he says, uncharacteristically optimistic, “all we have to do is make a new body and break Q out of the Underworld. Sounds like a regular Wednesday, no?”

As it turns out, bone-knitting is even harder than what they had expected, even after Alice had admitted failing to make Penny a body. It’s a long, drawn-out process and they take turns working the spell, unwilling to stop the process.

“You know,” Margo says, her fingers weaving smoothly over the ever-growing skeleton. Never let it be said this spell isn’t creepy as fuck. “When I said you should get a hobby, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Eliot huffs a laugh, his brow still furrowed in concentration, but he has to admit relief is there too because he hears the it’s okay, I get it, in between her words. And she really does, especially now with Josh long gone in Fillory, he supposes. “Then what did you have in mind, Bambi? Golf? Jogging? Book club, perhaps?”

Thank you, he hopes she hears.

The brilliant smile she gives him, relieved and hopeful, tells him she did. Margo snorts, and it feels almost like back to normal. “Like half of our problems didn’t come from those goddamn books.”

Is this brave enough already, Q?

It takes them two weeks to get the body ready and it takes Eliot until the body bag is zipped all the way up for him to breathe again. Seeing Quentin like that, so still and unmoving– a shudder wracks his body. It’s disturbing and wrong and Eliot can’t understand how Alice and Julia can pick it up without throwing up on the carpet.

No longer depending on modern medicine, he takes a swing from his flask, lets the alcohol soothe the shaking of his fingers.

“Let the record show, I think this is shitty ass plan,” Penny23 scowls from where he’s leaning against the wall of the cottage. For the last two weeks, he had refused to help, needlessly reminding them of what happened in his timeline as if they didn’t already know. As if Julia hadn’t already told every little detail about the pathetic state Alice23 had been, how it all went to shit. They all know the risks.

More importantly, they all know Quentin.

“Yeah, we heard you the first twenty times,” Margo glares; the shadows under her eyes, the ones so deep and pronounced her makeup can’t quite cover, betray her worry, though.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, fiddling jittery with the bracelets on his wrist. “If this goes sideways– like it probably will– I’m killing the motherfucker before he can go all psycho this time.”

Before Eliot could do anything, Margo takes his hand, holding it tight enough to hurt, to pin him in place. It’s not worth it, she means.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Kady do the same with Alice and oh, okay, interesting.

“Can we just go?” Julia asks, sounding hurt and weary. Her hands shake as she drags them across her face. “The sooner we do this, the better our odds.”

Penny steps away, his reluctance reminding everyone that he’s only doing this because Julia is asking, because Julia had been torn apart by– she’s been hurting as much as Eliot, as much as Alice. He holds out his hand to her and Julia reaches for Eliot and Margo while Alice grabs Penny’s other hand, taking Kady with her. Quentin’s new body is a heavy weight between them.

Traveling to the Library makes his stomach churn as always and everyone gasps, blinking to get their bearings inside Kady and Alice’s brand new office. “Okay,” Kady recovers first, marching to her desk to root inside her drawer. “Everyone knows the plan?”

“You and blondie over here keep the Librarians from reading our books out there while these two Orpheus the shit out this,” Margo’s summary is a pretty accurate one and her satisfied smirk as she caresses her axes is so Margo, a rush of fondness washes over Eliot. “I and Mr.Sunshine will keep guard, just in case.”

Kady produces two small bottles from her drawer, throwing them to Eliot and Julia, the bright red liquid sloshing inside. She nods at them, giving Alice a meaningful look before slipping out the door. “Right. The potion will stop your hearts and all brain activity for exactly an hour. Your bodies will be in stasis until it kickstarts again,” Alice explains, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear, “it should give you enough time to look for him in the Underworld, but you have to be back in the elevator before time runs out or you’ll be stuck out of your bodies forever.”

He trades a look with Julia. She nods. “Well, this is encouraging and all,” he says, exhaling heavily, “but we’ll be fine.”

Alice hesitates, biting her lip. “I would go with you guys, but,” she trails off, looking helplessly at the door.

“You and Kady are our best shot at keeping them in the dark,” Julia finishes, smiling knowingly, “we know.”

The door closes quietly behind her as Alice hurries out of the room.

And with that, there’s no more delaying it.

It’s now or never.

Eliot turns to Margo, finds her already watching him with worried eyes in a display of vulnerability she rarely ever shows, much less in front of other people like this. Although, Julia and Penny do seem to be completely lost in each other. “Hey, don’t cock out on me now,” he says softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes, “it’ll be fine. We’ll be back home before you notice, making that martini you love and most likely hearing about some other fastly approaching apocalypse.”

She slaps his shoulder, laughing quietly and involuntarily. “Don’t go around stealing my lines. Asshole.” She pokes his chest, trying to go for a threatening expression. “And you’d better make it back, hear me? We didn’t just get you back for you to disappear on me again, alright?”

“Of course,” he does his best to smile back, gently cradling her face to press a kiss to her forehead. “See you in an hour, Bambi.”

At his left, Julia moves, uncorking her bottle, and Eliot does the same. They knock it back like a shot and between a blink and the next, the world stays dark.

Dull, cheerful elevator music is playing when Eliot opens his eyes again and it takes him a second to recognize that he is, in fact, in an elevator. Another second, and Julia blinks beside him. “Fuck,” he breathes, “we’re dead.”

“Still hate this song,” she mutters, rolling her shoulders and readying herself into a fighting stance, and Eliot wonders if he should do the same. Between the two of them, he’s the one with reliable magic, after all. Not battle magic, but still.

With a loud ding! the doors slide open and–

“Hey, welcome to the– oh, thank fuck.”

“Penny?” Eliot stops short, lowering his hands, and beside him, he sees Julia do the same. “Penny 40, I assume?” Then, quieter, he whispers to Julia, “should we have made him a body too?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers back, eyes glued to Penny in front of them, “is this a double rescue now?”

“Yeah,” Julia nods, eyeing his suit and tie suspiciously, “are you going to try and stop us?”

It brings a burst of laugh out of Penny. “God, no. Please, take him with you,” he shakes his head, “do you have any idea how much trouble he’s causing here?”

And that brings an almost-smile out of Eliot, because yes, that does sound like him. “Please, do tell.”

“Since I left him at the station, he escaped security at least ten times,” Penny does tell them, “he refuses to board the train and move on, and since dead people don’t have books, he’s getting real good at evading security.”

Julia grins. “That’s Q,” she bites her lip, visibly relieved they won’t have to convince him to come with them. Or worse, Eliot realizes. “So you’re gonna help us?”

“I could get in trouble for this,” Penny admits, looking around as if he’s afraid librarians might step out of non-existent shadows, “but fuck it, follow me.”

The Underworld branch is weird, Eliot decides as soon as they go through a door that definitely had not been there before and end up in what looks like a perfectly ordinary parking lot, except for the inexplicable door in the middle of it. “That’s where he first went through,” he explains, handing them two brightly colored in blue metro cards, “this is as far as I can go, but I’ll keep the portal open for as long as I can while you look for him.”

“Thank you,” Eliot says sincerely, tilts his head, “you know, you are surprisingly nicer here. Is it a death thing?”

Penny laughs, shaking his head. “Why does everyone say that?” He claps Eliot in the back, makes a shooing motion, “yeah, it’s a death thing. Now go, before someone realizes we’re not supposed to be here.”

Once again, they go out of the blue and into the dark.

The door leads them into a metro station, busy bustling with people. They pass through them in a daze, and Eliot watches them enter fill in the wagons, not once looking back. A few seem to be sniffling, others openly crying, but most walk calmly away, letting the train carry them through the dark tunnels.

“It certainly smells like a subway,” Eliot comments, scanning their surrounds. Above, robotic voice filters through the speakers, announcing another train would be leaving the station shortly. “Points for realism, I suppose. Although, I could really do without the piss.”

Julia purses her lips, her fingers curling around Eliot’s wrist with white knuckles. “Don’t get lost,” she warns, frowning soberly at the crowds stumbling over them. “There’s something off about these people and it’ll be hard enough to find one person here.”

Eliot blanches. From what he can tell this place stretches for miles in both directions, with trains coming and going non stop and no ending in sight. There could be hundreds, thousands of souls here if this is where everyone goes when they die. And if Quentin is already hiding, it’ll be impossible to find him in half an hour.

Unless–

“Maybe we don’t have to find him,” he smirks, hope igniting in a flickering flame on his chest.

Following his gaze, Julia looks up at the sound system hooked on the ceiling. She grins. “Maybe he can find us.”

He offers her his arm with a flourish. “Shall we follow the wiring?”

“Yes,” she links their arms, tugging him forward, “let’s.”

For once in their godforsaken lives, things go slightly according to plan and the small broadcasting cabin is blessedly empty. The security is most likely still chasing after Quentin, then. Or, Eliot hopes they are, anything else could mean a scenario he doesn’t want to think of.

They didn’t come all the way here just to drown a few feet from the shore.

“Do you think this will work?” Julia asks, looking up from where she’s ripping cords and cables and replugging them in different exits. It looks random to Eliot, who has no idea where to even start, his degree has never been anywhere near technology, but he hopes she knows what she’s doing and the lost little shadow on her eyes is simply a case of the what ifs. What if Quentin is gone? What if he doesn’t hear us? What if it’s too late? What if he doesn’t want to come back? “Hey, try saying something on that,” she points at the microphone closest to him.

“It will work,” he reassures her, sounding way more confident than he truly feels, but considering anything else would render Eliot unable to carry on this rescue. He has to believe it’ll work or the weight of this world will be too crushing otherwise. “Hello? Good night– or good morning, I can’t tell, it doesn’t matter– listeners, this is your host for the duration of my stay in this truly dreadful place,” the speakers screech with static in the beginning, distorting his voice, but after Julia changes yet another bright blue wire, it runs smoothly, echoing around the station.

She crowds into his space, pushing him aside none too gently to hog the mic. “Q, if you’re listening,” Julia grips the receiver tightly, her tone tinged with a desperation she had been previously keeping at bay, “we’re here, just follow the wires– we have a plan, we’re bringing you back, Q.”

Since this isn’t a cell phone, there’s no reply beyond a few static hissing, and in the silence that follows, Eliot can hear his own heart drumming up a circus in his chest. “Q,” he says, hesitating briefly and clearing his throat. “You have to hurry, we don’t have long now,” the watch on his wrist ticks on mercilessly, counting down to their deadline. “And I was hoping to get another fifty years with you.”

Julia squeezes his shoulders, unplugging the microphone and gently setting it aside. “Now we wait,” she says quietly, “he’ll find us.”

“Do you know,” Eliot can’t help asking, not when they're so close to making or breaking it, not when she’s politely averting her gaze from the way his eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Do you think he knew?”

Did he die thinking I didn’t love him back?

“I– he wondered. I think he didn’t not know,” Julia answers hesitantly.

The answer is yes, then.

They fall silent after that, tension and anxiety humming in the air like a tightrope ready to snap, and if Quentin doesn’t make it to them in the next fifteen minutes, there won’t be time to go back to the elevator in time, and Margo would kill him if Eliot gets lost outside his body and it’s not fair of him to make her worry like this again, not after all she went through in the past year and all she sacrificed to get him back.

Eliot wants more than anything to stay and wait forever if that’s what it takes, but he owes it to Margo to survive at the very least.

“Five minutes,” warns Julia, glancing at her own watch.

Neither of them moves.

Then–

The door bursts open, slamming hard into the wall, and Quentin dashes inside, hurriedly locking it behind him, and–

Quentin leans against the metal door, panting. His black hoodie stands out in stark contrast with the light blue paint–

Quentin looks up, his eyes– impossibly dark, melted chocolate eyes– find Eliot and he smiles– beautiful, and shy, and happy, and heart-stopping– and Eliot stops breathing, stops thinking, stops–

Quentin smiles, says, “hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” someone with Eliot’s voice speaks, except it can’t be Eliot because Eliot’s mind is still in a loop–

Quentin, Quentin, Quentin–

“Q,” is all Julia gasps before flinging herself at Quentin, clinging to him as if she’s afraid he might disappear if she lets go even an inch, as if her life depends on it, as if the world is ending and this is all there is.

In the meantime, Eliot looks away and tries to remember how to breathe.

She finally pulls away and she’s crying, but that’s fine, Quentin is crying too, and Quentin is still ridiculously mesmerizing, even if his hair is shorter now, too short for him to hide behind it, and the artificial lights are framing his silhouette in a way that reminds Eliot of a priest preaching about angels a long time ago in a dusty town surrounded by corn fields, and this time Eliot agrees– it’s all terrifyingly beautiful.

“Hey,” Quentin says again, takes a step closer, pauses. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for Eliot but isn’t sure if he’s allowed and Eliot wants to say he’ll give Quentin whatever he asks for, it’s all his already anyway, it always has been.

So instead, he thinks show, don’t tell, and crosses the space left between them and draws him in a hug, marveling at how easily Quentin fits against him. They curve around each other– Quentin buries his face on Eliot’s neck and Eliot cries quietly into Quentin’s hair, and arms wrap around waists with a familiarity that comes from fifty years of muscle memory. “It’s really you,” Quentin murmurs, half in awe, half in disbelief, and entirely in longing. “I missed you so much, El.”

“No more than I have missed you,” Eliot whispers back, feeling for the first time like his chest isn’t collapsing into itself, like he’s one breath away from toppling down like a house of cards. “Q,” he says helplessly, “Q.”

The letter falls heavily from his lips, packed with so many more words, it dissipates in the air like cigarette smoke, the kind that he could shape into anything at all– a dragon, a ship, a heart, a cottage in the woods, a little boy laughing in the backyard, two people growing old.

Julia chokes on a laugh, hand flying to her mouth. “Sorry guys,” she blinks back tears, wiping her cheek, “we gotta go.”

Quentin pulls away, and takes Eliot’s hand. “I’m ready,” he says, sounding like means it, and smiles, “lead the way, Jules.”

The walk back to Penny is a giant blank space in Eliot’s memory.

He’s too distracted with how solid, how warm, how alive Quentin feels to pay attention while Julia explains their plan. Everything feels like a dream and Eliot is too scared to pinch himself to check, isn’t sure he wants to know the truth, because does it even matter if it feels this real?

They might have been chased by security, they might have run for their lives, Eliot might have thrown someone in the rails and Julia might have cracked someone’s skull against a light blue concrete wall, Penny might have said something about thank fuck, you little shit, do you know how much of a pain you’ve been? to Quentin, but it all happens from a distance– for a second, Eliot almost worries he’s slipping back to the Happy Place, but Quentin’s hand is still warm and sweaty and clinging desperately to Eliot’s to the point of his fingernails breaking skin in tiny half-moon shapes, so it must still be Eliot at the wheel.

It’s only when the elevator’s doors are sliding closed and the godawful song starts chiming again that it dawns on him.

They did it.

“We did it,” Julia exhales, breathlessly and giddy, hugging Quentin again, and they’re both laughing and jumping together in a mess of limbs. “Q, we did it!”

Eliot lets them celebrate with an amused half smile, an overwhelming wave of fondness rushing unbridled inside his ribcage.

Idly, he notices Quentin has let go of his hand. Then, the world goes dark and the music abruptly cuts out–

– and Eliot sits up, gasping for air, heaving in a breath like a man drowning at sea.

“Oh, thank god,” Margo gathers him in her arms, and from behind her shoulder, he sees that Julia is already on her feet, leaning heavily against her Penny, and oh, Quentin is holding Alice like a lifeline, or maybe Alice is holding Quentin, it’s hard to tell with how entwined they are, but yes, that checks. Margo draws back to glare at him, shakily fussing over his hair. “Always had to make a fucking entrance, didn’t you?”

“I thought you appreciated being fashionably late,” he teases, hoping to balance himself in their usual banter. I’m here, I’m alright, he means.

“I’d appreciate you not giving me a heart attack every other week,” she shoots back, helping him up gently, and her hand stays firmly at his back even after his knees no longer threaten to give out.

“Just to check,” Eliot calls out, waiting until Quentin disentangle himself from Alice and look back at him. “Before Penny 23 here decides to undo all of our hard work, do you happen to feel any murderous urge? An irrational liking to moths?”

Quentin scrunches up his nose in his adorable puppy way, and Eliot’s traitorous heart skips a beat obediently in response. “No? I– should I? I mean, I’m hungry, I could definitely eat, but– not moths?”

It works to loosen up the room, as if the building itself had been holding its breath and now it’s suddenly let go. Julia and Alice chuckle softly, wetly, and even Penny rolls his eyes, looking less like he might be hiding a knife behind his back.

“Hey,” Quentin continues, shaking off his confusion to beam down at his hands, “my arm is not made of wood anymore– nice.”

In the days that follow, not a lot happens.

Except for a lot of serious conversations, it seems.

Having Quentin dying on them, sacrificing himself like a goddamn martyr, like he never heard of live to fight another day, may have kicked them all with a sort of urgency to resolve their unfinished business.

Because their group of sort-of patchwork family has never been particularly good at talking things out but have always excelled at sneaking around, Eliot never quite catches these talks, only glimpses.

He sees Quentin helping Margo clean her axes one afternoon, talking in low voices, but their eyes are suspiciously shiny and Quentin’s hands shake as he wipes a cloth over an already pristine patch of iron.

There’s a morning, Eliot wakes up to the smell of eggs and bacon and when he enters Marina’s kitchen, Quentin and Penny are silently having breakfast.

That same night, Julia asks Quentin to teach her a card trick, but when Eliot walks past her bedroom later before going to sleep himself, the sounding of crying is unmistakable. He doesn’t know which one of them is sobbing, but the next day, they trade a hopeful smile over coffee, the it really is going to be okay kind.

Then, it’s suddenly Eliot’s turn.

“We’re ordering pizza,” he says, knocking on the open door and leaning against it. Quentin looks up from where he’s sprawled on the bed, drops his phone on his chest. “I have been tasked to find out which topping you would like. Please,” he holds up a hand, “before you decide, do take into consideration that there is a wrong answer.”

“Are you threatening to kick me out of Marina’s flat if I ask for pineapple on my pizza?” Quentin snorts, raising one eyebrow.

“It’s technically Kady’s apartment now, she already paid this month’s rent to the Babayaga downstairs,” Eliot informs him mildly. “But yes, absolutely.”

“You know,” he sits up properly, his phone falling to the side and nearly to the floor. The expression on Quentin’s face is so softly amused, Eliot’s chest aches. “That would’ve been more threatening if you hadn’t just broken into the Underworld to rescue me.”

Eliot finds that sighing theatrically is better than overthink the sentence in his head. Be brave, he thinks. Be brave, even if it’s scary, even if it hurts, be brave, you promised. “You got me. I love you, but that still doesn’t mean I’ll allow that crime against humanity inside this apartment.”

A pin-dropping silence blankets the room. Quentin’s eyes are wide and dark, and if the curtains had been open, Eliot is sure the whole night sky could have reflected off them. “Did you just– I mean–”

“Q,” Eliot deflates, ignoring the urge to flee from this, from the chance– from the possibility– and sits at the edge of the bed, carefully keeping a good distance between them. Quentin could still cross it, could still cover Eliot’s hand in the mattress with his own if he wanted. He doesn’t, though, and Eliot tries not to be disappointed. “I love you. I thought– I hoped you knew by now, but in case you don’t, there. I love you.”

“But, I mean,” he blinks, forehead creasing in his confusion and he runs a hand through his hair, just like old times. “That day, in the throne room–”

“I was scared,” Eliot admits, the words rushing out of him like a bursting balloon, “and I thought not knowing was better than having and then losing.”

Quentin pauses. “That sounds familiar– is that a poem?”

“Sort of, it kind of goes the other way around.”

“Sorry, that doesn’t matter,” Quentin shakes his head as if he could physically disperse his thoughts. They tend to get tangled in his head, Eliot had noticed. “I– so when you said– back when you broke out of the Monster for a minute, and then at the metro station– you really meant it?”

“Yes,” he simply says, “but I’m not expecting anything from you, don’t worry your pretty little head. I just– I’m trying this new thing, being brave, so I promised myself I would tell you. You deserve to know the whole truth.”

You deserve to have the chance to choose, he doesn’t say.

“Eliot,” Quentin breathes, and for a second it looks like he’s leaning forward, but there’s a knock on the door and it startles them even further apart.

It’s Penny, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world except here. “Hey, huh,” he clears his throat, “Margo’s asking what you guys want? She’s on the phone with the pizza place and, well. We need an answer.”

“I’m fine with anything, thanks,” Quentin stumbles out his reply, still looking caught like a deer in headlights.

So Eliot shoves his feelings into the back of his mind and pulls himself together, getting to his feet. “I should go relay the message,” he says, smoothing out his clothes, “someone should stop her from scaring away the delivery guy.”

He forces himself to leave the run in a sedated pace, and he never looks back.

After that, Eliot pours himself into helping Margo find her way back to her Fillory, tearing through books like he never did in his time at Brakebills. They raid Marina’s library and camp out on her living room, and only when it’s late at night, when everyone else is asleep, when it’s only him and Margo and the low light from the candles– only then he lets her hug him and spills the aching sadness that had pooled where his heart used to be.

To be honest, it’s neither better nor worse. If anything, the only change is that he sees even less of Alice. She leaves them for the Library more often than not, Kady defiantly in tow, so Eliot figures she knows.

And Quentin– he avoids Eliot, or perhaps Eliot avoids Quentin, or they avoid each other, or there’s no avoiding, there’s only Eliot losing himself in his research and Quentin taking his time to process things. Either way, it takes him three days and two hours before he seeks Eliot out.

“Can we talk?” Quentin asks, fidgeting in the threshold of Marina’s library, and Margo kicks Eliot hard under the desk.

So he nods, wincing at how loud his chair screeches when he pushes it back, away from the table.

“Look,” he says, closing the door to his room beside them. Quentin looks decided, serious, nervous. “A lot of shit happened since the last time I saw you. I mean, you you, and I– things got kind of twisted at the end, I was in a really bad place, and then in the Mirror World, I thought– I don’t know– wait, hey, did you know I figured out my discipline?” No, Eliot had not known. “Yeah, Mayakovsky told me. Minor Mendings.”

“That’s great, Q,” Eliot smiles honestly, “it really suits you.”

Quentin grins back, wide and brilliant before huffing. “Thanks. Anyway, that wasn’t– what I’m trying to say is, dying puts a lot of things in perspective, I guess? No, that’s no right. It’s just, after Penny gave me that metro card and I was suddenly there, at that station, and I was supposed to fucking move on– I realized I didn’t want to. There was so much shit I still wanted to do, that I wanted to say, and I had never even gotten to talk to you after the Monster was gone, and I– all I wanted was to come back, to take it back.”

“Yeah? Penny said you caused a lot of trouble down there,” he says slowly, studying Quentin’s face, trying to decipher the look on his eyes. It seemed familiar, but Eliot couldn’t quite place a name.

“Yeah, they really didn’t like that,” Quentin shakes his head, “but it didn’t matter, because I knew– El, I knew you would come for me. Do you know why?”

“Why, Q?” Eliot asks, feeling his heart suddenly clawing its way up his throat.

“Because if it was the other way around,” he says, smiling, and takes a step closer, then another, and another, until there are only a few inches between them and Eliot can count his lashes, each of the freckles he got from walking in the park with Julia every afternoon since coming back, “that’s what I would do. I guess, what I’m really trying to say, is that I love you too.”

Time stops and the world spins out of control as Eliot lets these words sink in, wondering if this is a dream, if he’s still in the Happy Place– how can it be real?

But Quentin is smiling up at him softly and his hands are tugging Eliot down, burying in his hair, and then they’re kissing and it has to be real because none of Eliot’s dreams have ever felt this good.

“What about Alice?” Eliot has to ask, pulling away to breathe in oxygen into his aching lungs, and waits to see if his heart is going to be handed back to him battered and bruised in a silver plate.

“Broke up a week ago, get on with the program,” is all Quentin laughs, breathlessly against Eliot’s lips, and Eliot is more than happy to swallow the sound and the moan that follows.

There’s still so much to do– they have to find a way to save Fen and Josh, and the Library isn’t happy with them for stealing Q back from the Underworld, and magic is still haywire, and the situation with the Hedges is precarious at best, and there’s a lot of shit to talk about, therapy possibly, but. Quentin loves him and Eliot is terrified but there’s strength in numbers and look at all the things they already survived.

For tonight, they kiss and it tastes like peaches and plums, and a cottage in the woods, and a golden tile. It tastes like magic and it tastes like stars, and Eliot knows, whatever happens from here on out, they’ll be alright.

#the magicians #quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #queliot #the magicians fix it #alice quinn #julia wicker #penny 23 #margo hanson #god the finale destroyed me #so here it is my coping method #fix it fic #i guess i go here now

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noussommeslessquelettes · 6 years ago

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Oh fun! Things you said mini fic? 11 or 20?💕💕💕

MM OKAY SO! Ever since I first started writing kl fic I had this idea for a fake relationship AU. I never managed to complete the plot of it so it never got written, but I’ve always wanted to write one particular scene from it, and when I got this I jumped on the chance to write it!!!

Background on the fic: fake dating AU. Lance’s brother is getting married, and they’re out of town for a long weekend for the wedding. Hunk was invited, and with that Lance and him brought Keith and Pidge as their plus-ones.

When they get there, they find out that Keith and Lance’s exes were invited to the wedding too--what’s worse, they’re attending the wedding as a couple. Keith makes the executive decision that the both of them are going to fake date and be obnoxiously in love to make them jealous. Hijinks ensue, along with feelings, the latter of which are under the cut!

Send me a ship with one of these and I’ll write a mini fic

11. Things you said when you were drunk

Preview: Keith liked to think that the phrase had been better formed in his head, but what came out ended up being, “I thought vodka crans were a Sad Lance Drink.”

Lance huffed a humourless laugh. “Well, you’re lookin’ at a Sad Lance Lance, buddy.”

CW: drinking/drunkenness, (American) underage drinking, mentions of vomit

Keith had never imagined being a fake boyfriend to be more effort than being a real one had ever been. Then again, he’d been a bit foolish to assume that anything could be easy when it involved Lance McClain.

But because Lance’s family wasn’t privy to their little secret, it meant that when the wedding party lost the Nuisance of Honour, the immediate suggestion from Lance’s mother was that Keith, as Lance’s Real Boyfriend™, lead the charge on the search efforts. And come one A.M., it meant that Keith made the call to relieve the others of their duty, and to continue the search alone.

And yes, it might’ve been Keith’s decision to start this fake relationship in the first place. But it didn’t give Lance permission to go AWOL past midnight, on the night before the wedding, when the two of them had to wake up at fucking seven o’clock tomorrow. But the world didn’t trade in the currency of ‘should’s, and that’s why Keith was riding the elevator down to the front lobby at half-past one instead of sinking back into the plush sheets of the king-sized bed waiting for him 25, 26, now 27 floors above.

At this point, he was about ready to tell the concierge to phone the police about a missing person, then fuck off and go to bed. He indulged in the fantasy of shucking this mess off onto somebody else, as he stomped up towards the front desk—squinting his eyes to contend with the reflection of the chandelier against the counter’s polished brass. Turning his head askance as he passed the hotel bar—

Wait. He froze in his tracks. The bar.

It was so obvious he could’ve smacked himself—they’d checked the fucking pool in the first ten minutes of the search, and they didn’t think of the bar?!—but he focused what little energy he had left on diverting his path, moving close enough to peer past the glass into the darkened room, and locating the one patron perched alone on a barstool. He raised a glass in cheer towards the bartender, then knocked back a swig of the drink—far from his first, judging by how very nearly he toppled out of his seat.

“Fantastic,” Keith deadpanned under his breath as Lance managed to steady himself with a hand on the bartop, his laughter ringing out clear as a bell when Keith pushed through the glass door, shadows falling over him as he moved toward the counter. “Hey asshole,” he called out, holding his tongue past that to judge just how drunk Lance was, lest he waste a castigation on someone who’d not remember a word of it come morning.

Lance perked up at the appellation, spinning in the stool and hoisting his glass up once more. “Hey, babe! C’mere.” He set down the drink—thank god—and pat a hand on the stool next to him. “Join us—whatever y’order, ‘s on me.”

Keith bit down a groan—he’d been here all of five seconds, and already Lance’s behaviour was drawing looks from the other patrons, inscrutable in the dark, but undeniable all the same. He closed the distance between them, but refused the invitation, grabbing Lance’s elbow instead and giving a tug. “I’m not doing that—let’s go.”

“Wait, wait wait wait—” his other hand pumped a five-finger ‘stop’ that bumped against Keith’s chest. He laughed, then brought the hand up between them, curling his index finger to beckon Keith closer. When Keith didn’t oblige, he added a pull with the arm in Keith’s grip.

Keith sighed, leaning forward until their eyes matched, until the humidity of Lance’s vodka breath washed uncomfortably on his face. “What.”

“They didn’t card me,” he stage-whispered. He then failed to stifle a snort, and elbowed Keith away. “Guess that’s what ‘cha get with these bougie-ass places—don’t give a fuck as long as you’ve got the money to back it up!”

Keith folded his arms over his chest. “Please tell me you opened up a tab.”

Lance shrugged, reaching for his glass again. “Told ‘em to charge it to our room.”

He groaned—Sober Lance was definitely going to try and macgyver a way to pawn the bill off on Keith. But he supposed that was a problem for later, because in the moment Lance was tipping back the last of his current drink, slamming it down on the bartop with needless fervour, and waving the other hand to catch the bartender’s eye.

“Nope.” Keith reached out for his wrist and pulled the hand down. “You’ve had enough.” He looked up to the bartender, who cocked an eyebrow at him silently as Lance whined unintelligibly in his ear. “He’ll have a water.”

“Nooo…” Lance squirmed to get out of his grasp, only to reach back out for him as his ass slid off the stool. Keith caught him reflexively, arms wrapped around Lance’s waist, Lance with two hands fisted in the front of his shirt.

He brought his eyes up, nose brushing against Keith’s cheek with the act. Keith’s heart fluttered, a stammer building in his chest that ultimately turned into the word, “Okay.”

He hoisted Lance back up onto his perch. Once he was firmly seated, Keith crashed back onto the stool behind him—the one Lance had offered him initially—and eyed the bartender as they returned with a tall glass of water.

“And the vodka cran?” They asked.

“We’re good,” Keith dismissed immediately.

They moved on to the next customer with no further ado. It took Keith a split second to register what had been said, but when he did he turned to Lance, who now pointedly stared into the countertop, his smile fallen.

He liked to think that the phrase had been better formed in his head, but what came out ended up being, “I thought vodka crans were a Sad Lance Drink.”

Lance huffed a humourless laugh, reaching for the water. “Well, you’re lookin’ at a Sad Lance Lance, buddy.” His eyes slipped shut as he tipped back the glass, downing a third of it in one go.

Keith turned to rest an elbow on the table, his fingers drumming against the varnished wood. “So you came down here to drown your sorrows?”

Lance massaged his fingertips into his eyes. “What else ‘m I supposed to do?” He dropped the hand, looking straight ahead.

“Talk to someone? You usually love doing that.”

He made a sour face. “Don’t want to. I want to forget about it.”

Keith cocked an eyebrow. “And how’s that working out so far?”

“Honestly? Pretty good ‘til you showed up.”

Keith took it on the chin—it was no secret that their friendship wasn’t always on the best footing (that is, to anyone who wasn’t tricked into thinking they were in a relationship.) And while Lance usually wasn’t a belligerent drunk, he often got a little too truthful. Frankly, Keith had sort of suspected that Lance continued to harbour a little honest animosity towards him, despite the progress their relationship had undergone, and the unfortunate feelings Keith had developed in the process.

And he supposed he should accept responsibility for that, too. What kind of dumbass suggested to his crush that they pretend to date for the weekend of his brother’s wedding, just so they could make their respective exes jealous?

(The desperate kind, probably.)

“Well… then talk to me.” It was the best he could offer—because like hell he was leaving Lance drunk, depressed, and alone in a hotel bar. “I’m your boyfriend now, after all.”

“Fake boyfriend,” Lance amended pointedly.

Keith frowned—the whole weekend, they’d been calling each other their boyfriends tongue-in-cheek, even when they were alone. It was the first time Lance had expended the effort to correct him. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“It’s—” He groaned, running his hands through his hair. “I’m way too drunk for this right now.”

“We’ve only got one more day,” he offered in consolation, “and we don’t have to do any couple shit if you don’t want to.”

“Mm-mm.” He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” He asked. Lance shrugged, taking another long swig of water. Keith huffed. “Lance, let’s go up—”

“Y’know why we started this in the first place? Like—” He gestured between the two of them. “Us—”

“I know—”

“Dating.” His hand hung in the open air, forgotten as his eyes went unfocused, lost in thought. After a moment, Keith reached out for his wrist, lowering it back down to Lance’s lap.

“I got it. We did it ‘cause… well, to get back at our exes.”

Lance snapped his fingers, grinning. “Exactly! Look at you, smarty pants, ‘n here I thought Hunk and Pidge were supposed to be the geniuses.”

Keith rolled his eyes, nudging the water back towards him. “Focus up, Lance; what about it?”

Lance polished it off, pushing it away so he could rest his elbows on the tabletop. “Guess it leaves me as the only dumb one.”

“Not—” He groaned. “Don’t start with that shit. I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” he murmured, the brief smile slipping off his face. “I’m not that dumb, Keith. Look, we were trying to make Nyma ‘n Rolo jealous, but we failed. They’re still happy, and in love, and they think that we’re happy and in love.”

Keith nodded. “Okay..?”

“But I’m not happy.” His voice started to waver as his volume control went to the wayside. He pushed off the bar to face Keith, a desperate kind of sadness shimmering in the corners of his eyes. “We’re not in love.”

Keith took that on the chin too, though it was noticeably harder to bear. Lance is the drunk one right now, not you, he told himself. Don’t say anything that you’ll both regret. He swallowed whatever protest he’d had down, and nodded for Lance to continue.

“I want to be,” he spoke it softly, like a confession. “I want to be so bad.”

“It’s not enough to want it,” Keith admitted. He knew it all too well.

Lance sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “And it’s not enough to pretend. But it’s nice for a while, at least.” Keith offered a wry smile, and Lance’s gaze slipped to the floor again. “I don’t know, it’s hard. The two of them are, like… you can tell. It’s like they were made for each other. No one’s ever felt that way about me.”

Swallow it down. Keith reached out a hand, placing it on Lance’s knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I knew all along Nyma didn’t love me, even though I did.” He covered the back of Keith’s hand under his palm, holding it there.

“I’m sorry, Lance.” He’d had no idea that Lance had been so serious about Nyma. For his part, he’d never once believed he was in love with Rolo. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have suggested—”

“It’s okay. It was stupid for me to pretend that it was real.” He sighed, threading their fingers together clumsily. “But it felt real, sometimes.”

“I know,” he lied. It felt like the right thing to say—and besides, what would Lance even care in his state?

“It felt real with you sometimes, too.”

Keith’s breath caught, his fingers twitching in Lance’s grasp. He’s drunk, he reminded himself. He’s drunk; he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He eased the tension in his body with a deep breath. “It’s not stupid, Lance. You… you care so much. You have so much love to give, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to share it—and you do; you share it with your family, and with your friends. And I guess sometimes, you share it with the people who don’t appreciate it.”

“And it sucks.”

Keith nodded. “I know.” And this time, it was the truth. “But one day, you’re going to find someone who’s stupid in love with you too—someone who’s never going to let you think otherwise.”

Lance scoffed. “Right.”

“I mean it. You’re worth a love worth fighting for, Lance, and you’re going to find it. And when you do, you’ll be the boyfriend of the luckiest person in the world.”

Lance smiled softly. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m drunk.”

“Well, I wouldn’t need to convince you to come to bed if you were sober,” he admitted. “But I still mean it.”

“Thanks,” he breathed. “Y’know, whatever guy manages to finally lands you’s going to be one lucky bastard, too.”

Keith sighed. “We’ll see about that.”

“You’re a pretty awesome fake boyfriend, ‘n I bet you’re an even better real one.”

He slid off the stool, wrapping an arm around Lance’s waist. “Well regardless, I’m about to be one hell of a great friend, and drag your sorry ass back to our hotel room.”

Lance hummed contentedly, wrapping his arms around Keith’s shoulders and leaning into him. “I want a piggyback.”

“No chance.” He tugged Lance to his feet, bracing himself when his weight inevitably slouched into him.

“Stop, stop—hanggon,” he slurred, his head slumping. “Guh, dizzy…”

Keith stilled, tapping his foot impatiently. “Have you hurled yet?”

“Mm-mm.” Lance took a step forward, and Keith took the charge onward once more.

Keith rolled his eyes—Lance was so lucky his fake boyfriend happened to be real in love with him. Keith, on the other hand, would have the misfortune of needing to watch his crush hopefully not choke on his own vomit for the next six hours. “How many drinks did you have?”

“No clue, ‘m too gay to count.” He giggled, then whispered, “Don’t tell my mommy, Keith.”

“What, that you’re gay, that you’re drunk, or that you can’t do math?”

“None. Be like… the KGB.”

“Okay, Lance.” He pushed through the glass door with a toe, marching them through before it swung back on them.

“The Keith Gay… Butts.” He dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Keith’s not proud of the laugh he had to stifle, too. “Oh, you’re so lucky I don’t have the hands to dial Pidge right now.”

“What can I say, I’m a lucky guy! Who needs a real boyfriend, anyway? I’ve already got a fake one with a cute butt who takes care of me.”

Keith typed up their floor number on the touchscreen by the elevator door. “God, you’re going to be so hungover tomorrow.”

“D’you got Advil?” Keith shook his head. “We’ll go to Marco’s room—his wife’s usually got some.”

The elevator bell rang, doors opening up for them, and he pulled Lance in. “You think you can act sober enough to face your brother?”

“Pshh, oh yeah, I got this.”

He pushed off of Keith, staggering a bit but ultimately gaining his footing. Then the elevator lurched into motion and he stumbled. Keith was ready to catch him the moment he did, Lance steadying himself with hands on his shoulders. Once stable, they brought their eyes up as one, and dissolved into a short fit of laughter.

When it eased, Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck, squeezing him close. “Sorry for being sloppy.”

Keith shook his head, returning the embrace. “Don’t be; you’ve held my hair back enough times to earn it.”

“Then thanks,” he said. “For being a good boyfriend.”

He twisted his fingers in the hem of Lance’s shirt. “Anytime.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened up.

#voltron #klance #squelette writes #I got a headache after uploading the last one so I had to lie down #still have a headache and will probably lie down again lol #mysticalnights2 #demandez la squelette

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bygosscarmine · 5 years ago

Photo

LOVE SHIFTS SHAPE

Sky High: Magenta x Ethan, post-canon

a multi-chapter reunion story, in continuity with Love, Unspoken

Magenta is dreading the reunion in a mild “I’m in a successful band that has nothing to do with my powers” sort of a way, but she looks forward to seeing the friends she’s kept up with at the party.

Then, for a second she doesn’t recognize Ethan in his adult form, and things long forgotten (like her break-up with Zach) feel all too relevant again.

Read Chapter One here.

Read Chapter Two here.

Read Chapter Three here.

Chapter Four: With Friends Like These?

In the morning she woke to a few messages from Layla, and a series from Ethan. She read Layla's first. One was reassuring her that the doctors thought Warren would be fine, but getting him released would take some time in the morning. The next said Magenta didn't need to bring her anything.

Don't be ridic, Magenta texted back. I want to see you, and I leave this afternoon.

She did not open the texts from Ethan, not particularly won over by the preview she saw of the latest one. She dressed, packed, checked out, and went to the best coffee place in the hospital's vicinity, picking up three coffees in various styles for herself, Layla, and Warren, as well as some baked goods.

She turned down the hallway she thought held Warren's room, then all doubt disappeared.

"You didn't read my texts," Ethan said, by way of explanation.

"I came to see Layla," Magenta said, outraged.

"She's busy checking Warren out right now. Come on, I have to talk to you."

He looked tense. Magenta rolled her eyes, but she knew she'd do what he asked.

"Let me get the coffee to her. Is she in the lobby now?"

"They both are."

"Warren looking OK this morning?"

He turned back with her, said, "Yeah, if you like that kind of thing."

The elevator doors closed around them, and Ethan took up a spot leaning against the wall so he faced her.

"You know how I said we sometimes revert around people we knew at a different time in life?"

"Yeah," she said, refusing to make eye-contact.

"I'm guilty. I did something dumb last night, because I reverted to a seventeen year old prick."

"Please don't tell me anything about your fight with your girlfriend until we are off this elevator and I have given this stuff to Layla."

He obliged by staying silent, putting his back to the elevator wall instead of turning toward her. This meant she could look at him out of the corner of her eye. He was in another suit, though this was a neutral gray with a plain white shirt. He filled it well, and she suspected it was tailored the way her band got their tour clothes done. His hair still had the same curl but his haircut was sharp--shaved close at the sides of his head, a quarter-inch length at the top shaped neatly.

She remembered the anger he'd slipped into revealing the night before, about being a person of power that had no heroic applications, what he said about compensating.

"I don't think we need to hide behind anything anymore," said Magenta. "We've done more than many people do, whether they have powers or not. And if you ever need a subject with a weirdly lame shapeshifting ability, you know who to call."

He looked at her sharply, but didn't answer. The elevator opened at their floor.

Layla was easy to find in the scatter of the clerks, after which Magenta spotted Warren sprawled only a little too stiffly on a chair close by.

"Have some coffee," Magenta said, trying to sound casual. "I'll be hanging around when you're done."

"Thanks," Ethan said to Layla, mysteriously.

Then he led Magenta to a somewhat sad landscaped area with a bench. Magenta plopped onto it and with a dramatic sigh opened her texts. "Okay, what did you have to say so late last night while you were..."

He stood just an arms-length, at attention, almost as she read:

I was a little startled about you

tonight I mean

I mouthed off like a stupid teenager and now I have to backtrack

stop being difficult and call me

She looked up.

"What startled you?" She felt immediately like she didn't want to know, and added, "The fact that I was wearing jeans without holes in them?"

Ethan ignored this bait, though.

"I thought I was over it. We were gonna say hi, and it would be just like messaging you through the game, where you're some ambiguous memory of a teenager, just slightly less moody. That we'd hit it off talking about Call of Sacrifice and stupid bets on speed-runs. And then it wasn't like that."

Warily, Magenta said, "I mean, we could talk about games now, if you want. I'm back in a baggy tee shirt, if the silk blouse was bothering you."

"It still is bothering me," Ethan said. Now they were looking at each other, he sat on the bench, getting intimidatingly close. "I saw you go through a moment of not recognizing me, too. Then I got mad when you asked me over, because I couldn't help remembering the last time I asked you out. Do you even remember?"

Her face got hot.

She had just broken up with Zack, and Ethan had come over to play X-Box. He'd casually said, "I'd take you out," when she'd made some bitter comment about Friday nights (as if she and Zach had done anything interesting on Friday nights), and she'd laughed.

It had taken her a few weeks to realize that there was a correlation between that and the way Ethan had slowly tapered off coming by her place, and sitting with her at lunch.

"Wow, you can hold a grudge, huh?"

"I can hold a crush, more like." He tilted his head to look at her, as if assessing. "I was embarrassed you'd ask me over just like that, when I spent two years trying to be not in love with you. I figured maybe it was an innocent invitation. Then we were in that waiting room last night, and I didn't really care, either way, but I had dug myself a hole with a fake girlfriend I had to get home to."

Magenta dropped her eyes down to her hands, unable to handle the intensity of his look. "I still leave town this afternoon," she said.

"And you go home where you can install Call of Sacrifice, finally," he said. He leaned in close, and said softly, "Where they have a voice-chat feature now."

She shivered, but when he moved toward her, she didn't draw back. This hug wasn't awkward, because if she buried her face in his collar to smell his restrained sandalwood cologne, it wasn't creepy anymore.

"You have your revenge," she finally said. "You grew up sexy, and I didn't notice over text-chat."

"Don't make me kiss you senseless in a hospital garden," he murmured, lightly brushing his lips on her temple. "When is your flight today?"

"It's not until 4:30."

He pulled back, and she stood up, finding he was holding her hand. Was reluctant to make him let go.

He got a text message, and looked at it. "Oh. Layla is hinting that they're about to leave the hospital."

Magenta told him, "I am going to spend some time with her."

He let go of her hand, and stood, too. "Then I'm going to go check in at the university, and I'll see you later."

She didn't like this practical attitude at the moment at all, so she put her hands up to draw his face close and gently kiss him.

The small breath he puffed out when their lips stopped touching told her what she needed to know.

"Am I going to meet you at the university or at your place?"

He considered this a moment, eyeing her speculatively.

"By which I mean, are we going to talk for two hours somewhere quiet, or are we going to cuddle and shoot aliens before you take me to the airport?"

"There is zero chance you can keep me from talking anyway, so let's shoot some aliens while we're at it."

If Warren and Layla noticed them walking a little too close to each other as they rejoined them, they didn't mention it.

After depositing Warren at home, Magenta took Layla to the pharmacy to fill his prescriptions and listened to her vent about her worries about Warren, her regret at missing the reunion, and how much she liked The Wastelanders' newest album. Only once they were in the backyard garden, with Warren napping in the house, did Layla finally say, "So, Ethan, huh?"

"What about him?" Magenta asked.

Layla rolled her eyes. "You two have only been the most annoying non-couple I know for seven years now."

"I was dating Zach six years ago," Magenta protested.

"So?" Layla said. "Even Ethan, the completely clueless, knew that wasn't going to last."

"Poor Zack might be the only one who didn't," sighed Magenta. "I had no idea about Ethan, though. I mean, about him now. I literally didn't recognize him for a second."

"Yeah," Layla got a cat-like grin on her face. "He's been getting finer and finer. Someone really needs to stop him."

"Back off, you already have a boyfriend," said Magenta, amiably.

"Oh, Warr is way sexier than Ethan. But he's never going to be suave like him."

"He was really good with you last night," said Magenta, "I was surprised. Where did he get social skills? I still haven't found any."

Layla laughed. "So what's next?"

"We're meeting up this afternoon." Magenta's attempt at casual was almost as transparent as Layla's skin.

"Is it going to be hot and heavy, do you think?" Layla was blushing slightly, though that didn't mean much. The hibiscus behind her also seemed to bloom a little more furiously, though that could have just been because Layla was there. "Or are you going to take it slow?"

"I honestly can't say," Magenta answered. "We left it kind of open. The theory is some video games and some necking. It's very weird, but also a relief."

Layla nodded sagely. She glanced at the house and said, "By the time Warren and I worked it out we had a lot of tension built up. But we hadn't been long distance, either."

After a thoughtful pause, she asked, "Why not delay your flight?"

"Because then I'd have to go visit my mother. And while visiting her with a boyfriend finally would thrill her, especially since he's genetically a super, I probably want to be more sure of the whole thing before I give her that string to clutch."

"I heard she did a job despite her retirement recently. Did she talk to you about it?"

"Not as much as Will Stronghold's Facebook page did," Magenta said drily. "Is he who you heard about it from?"

"No, I don't follow him on Facebook," said Layla, quite seriously. "My mom was telling me about it. She occasionally has a desire for a last fling. But I'm not surprised Will was starstruck."

Majesty Notani's mother was Radiance Arete, who shape-shifted into a hawk, and had the distinction of being the first female super honored with her own Saturday morning cartoon run. She occasionally brought this up when Jetstream Stronghold was being praised too highly in her own home. It was funny to think of a similar dynamic playing out in a different house.

Talk about parents and glory days and the inevitable comparisons filled the next hour until Warren woke up and tried to make himself nachos, which required intervention from his partner. Magenta wished him well not getting killed by his own girlfriend, and went out to her car.

She texted Ethan, as if replying to his last text.

Am I being difficult if I say it's time to send me your address?

He wrote back, Come and ask me in person and included his apartment location.

#Sky High #Sky High 2005 #fanfiction #fic #Magenta x Ethan #Magenta #Ethan #Warren Peace #Layla Williams

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fatandnerdy30 · 6 years ago

Text

Little Orphan Spider Chapter 5

Monday morning was a good one for Peter. After talking to Ned, he felt calmer and was able to get some sleep. So, with a yawn, the boy got dressed and chucked shoes on when he heard a knock and Mr. Martin poked his head in.

"Morning, new Intern!" the man said with a happy smile. Peter jumped at that. It was today!? "Oh shi-oot!" he corrected at a look from the home's director. "I completely forgot about the internship!" Now excitement and terror fluttered through his heart, but the boy couldn't keep a smile from his face. "That's good! Breakfast is being served right now, so hurry up, or you won't get your usual amount. I seriously don't know where you put all that food," he said good naturedly. "Well, growing boys and all that." Peter grabbed his bag, checked his web shooters were there, and headed downstairs. As usual the 'cafeteria' was packed full, all the boy's talking about their classes, or just goofing off. It made Peter smile, but it also hurt his too sensitive ears. He had to know if there was a way to turn down his hearing, or if it would stay like this forever. Getting online, he smiled at the cook, who winked at him and gave him a huge helping of oatmeal with three slices of toast and a big scoopful of eggs. Peter downed the school-type food in minutes and took off, following a few of the boys that were going to school. The minute the brunette walked into the hallway, he noticed everyone was staring at him. At first he thought there was something on his face, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. But, when nothing came off, he had to wonder what they were all staring at until he saw Ned talking to MJ. MJ was a pretty girl, with curly brown hair and eyes that shone like topaz in the sun. But, Peter didn't like her at all. Nope. So when he got closer, and Ned turned, he smiled at them both. "Hey loser," MJ said with a smile. "Hey yourself. How was your weekend?" Peter felt a familial connection with his two friends, and felt like he could be himself with them no matter what. But, that wasn't all the way true. MJ didn't know his secret, so he still had to be careful. "Protested for women's rights," the girl said, pulling a book out for homeroom. "Played Counter Strike," Ned lied. He was helping Peter all weekend with his patrolling. The bell rang and the trio made their way to their first class, and sat together. The class went by fast, the two boys arguing about who was the better Anakin, but decided to call it a draw when the bell rang. "See you, losers," MJ said with a smirk, shaking her head at the boy's antics. But, that frown turned into a frown when she noticed Flash coming towards them. He had a look on his face that was meant for his target; Peter Parker. Peter's senses tingled, but he didn't dodge the punch that was aimed at his back and let it hit him, crying out when his kidney took the brunt of the force. "Hey Penis! Getting ready for your fake internship?" the bully smirked, pushing the boy into a locker. "I'm sure the whole school's gonna want proof. So, maybe you can get the Avenger's autographs, huh?" He smiled evilly. "Or, maybe one of them will take you in! Awww, little Orphan will finally have a mommy and daddy! Or, they'll see how dumb you are and kick you out on the first day." With a final puch, the bully left, his friends laughing around him. Peter was boiling at the bully's words. Even though he was used to them, he still let them get to him sometimes. The bell rang and Peter forced himself to calm down. "Come on, guys, we'll be late." He walked away from his friends, head hanging as he walked towards his next class. After that, Flash left him alone, mostly. At lunch Ned continued their Star Wars debate, which was quickly settled when MJ threw a roll at both their heads and calling them 'super nerds'. Flash was still bothering his victim during the day, calling Peter Orphan instead of using the boy's name, but the brunette refused to listen. When Chemistry class finally came, Peter felt relaxed and sat at the table in front of the beakers and Bunsen burners. This was his world, his calling. So when the teacher started droning on about a new chemical compound they were making, Peter was busy mixing more spider webbing in the bottom drawer of the desk, making sure to take notes as well as mix. Once the class was finished, Peter quickly put his mixture into a brown bottle and slipped it into his backpack. Chemistry was the last class for the day, and then he was free....but he wasn't. Peter longed to be above the buildings as he usually was after school. But, he was still excited to be going to his internship, even if he wished he were going through the air, it was still pretty cool. Peter stepped off the subway at the bottom of Stark Tower and had to stare up at it. It was so beautiful, with the sun bouncing off all its windows....he had to wonder what it would be like to just hang off the top and see everything. He had been wanting to do so for the longest time, but with Mr. Stark on his tail recently, he didn't want to chance it. So, he had to go in through the front door. The boy walked through the automatic doors and had an automatic geek-gasm. Technology was all over the place, from the walls to the scanners, an Irish voice coming from each one after she had finished scanning each person. "This is so cool," he whispered. He wasn't looking where he was going, when suddenly he walked into what he could have sworn was a wall wearing clothes, but when he looked up, he stared into a frowning face. "School tours aren't scheduled," the slightly chunky man said in a firm voice. "O-oh! I know, um...I'm here for the, uh, the internship? Y'know, Peter Parker.." He waved at the last part. The man didn't move, just continued to stare at him, until Peter got his school ID out, showing it to the living wall. "Here? See? Peter Parker..." He flashed a smile, then it disappeared. "Front desk," the man said, his voice still firm. "Okay! Thanks!" 'Geeze that guy was happy,' he thought as he walked towards the front desk. "Bag," another security gaurd said suddenly, pointing towards the scanners. "Oh, oh yeah. Here ya go." The teen gave his bag over, glad he didn't have his spider-suit now, and walked through the scanners, waiting for a moment while the blue light ran over his body. "Clear. Oh, and congratulations on starting your internship, Peter Parker," the voice said, making the boy smile. "Thanks, scanner lady!" He grabbed his bag once it was cleared and walked to the desk. "Hi, I'm-" "Yeah, I heard Friday. So, you're the kid everyone's talking about, huh?" The blonde woman smiled, making Peter blush cutely. "Adorable. You already have an ID made." She handed over said card and gave the boy a wink, making him turn even redder. "Good luck, hun." Peter nodded and left, his face hot as he got into the elevators with a bunch of suit wearing adults. That's when it hit him, he didn't even know where to go! He was about to call out to the desk lady, but the doors closed at that moment and the elevator started moving. Peter looked around nervously, wanting to ask one of the adults, but they were all on their phones and he didn't want to bother them. So, he just rode the elevator with them until they all got off and followed them. He looked around for someone to ask, but he couldn't find anyone. So, he walked down the hall a little bit until he came across what looked like a gym. Seeing people inside, he peeked his head in. "Excuse me?" he called quietly, and nothing. "Excuse me!" he called a little louder and waited. Finally the people in the gym stopped what they were doing and Peter found himself staring at three Avengers. He stiffened when he noticed Hawk-Eye and Captain America staring at him, his face going white. "What's a kid doing here?" Steve asked Clint, who shrugged. "Damned if I know. Hey, kid? You lost?" It took a minute for the kid to nod and the man had to smile. This kid was cute. "What are you looking for?" "Um..I'm looking for the, uh, the in-intern labs? I st-start today.." Steve furrowed his brow. That voice...it sounded so familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Wait, intern? How old are you kid?" Clint put his staff down and walked over to the boy, noticing how he flinched back. "Um, I'm in high school....but, here's my ID! I, I just didn't know where to go." Peter blushed. He couldn't believe he was this nervous, when he'd already met Hawk-Eye, even though the man didn't know it. "I got lost, and there was no one to ask." "Why didn't you just ask Friday?" the archer asked, his brow quirked. "Leave him alone, Clint. He's just a kid on his first day, I'm sure he's nervous. Friday?" "Yes, Mr. Rogers?" the AI answered. "Can you please tell-what's your name?" "Peter," the boy answered quickly. "Peter here where the intern labs are?" "Of course, Mr. Rogers. Please go to the elevators, Mr. Parker. I will take you to the correct floor." Peter was about to leave, when he turned back, his face heating up again. "Thanks, Captain, sir. Have a good day." and he hurried down the corridor back to the elevators, knowing full well the two were still watching him. "I didn't know we were hiring kids," Clint said, shaking his head. "How old is he, twelve?" Steve chuckled. "He has to be pretty smart for Tony to take him on in any way. Just leave it at that," he said and walked back to the weights. "Intern labs," Friday's voice told Peter. "Thanks...Ms. Friday, was it?" "That is correct, Mr. Parker." "Oh, you can call me Peter, if you want Ms. Friday. Thank you so much for bringing me here." "You're very welcome, Peter. Have a great first day." "Thanks Ms. Friday! Talk to you later!" Peter rushed out of the elevator and into the lab just as it turned three-thirty, panting from having ran all the way. "Hello?" he called. A second later, a blonde woman came out from behind a machine and her eyes turned quizzical. "Hello, sweetie. Are you lost?" Peter was getting so tired of hearing that today. "No, ma'am. I'm here for the internship?" The boy held up his pass. "Peter Parker. It's my first day." It took a minute for the woman's face to light up. "Oh, you're adorable!" she squealed, running over to him. "I'm Gwen Stacey, Peter. It's nice to meet you." Instead of shaking his hand, she reached out a hand to ruffle the head full of curls, giggling as the boy made a face. "I'm glad you made it on time. I was starting to worry." "Oh, yeah...I got a little lost," Peter hurriedly said, then blanched. Why did he tell her that? Why couldn't he made something up that sounded cooler? "You too, huh? I admit, even I get lost in this building still. It's just too big!" Gwen lead the boy over to a station and pointed to a lab station, fully equipped with everything Peter had been wanting. "So here's where you'll be working, though, I will tell you, Mr. Stark made your project himself." At that Peter almost fell over. "Wh-what?!" he cried, his eyes getting to the size of dinner plates. "Yeah. He told me he called it the 'Baby Monitor'. It's just because you're so young, he didn't want you getting into the more advanced or dangerous projects." Peter's happiness ended right there. He made a face and groaned. Why did everyone have to make his age a thing? He could handle more advanced things... "I'll leave you to get settled. The coats are over there, but I don't think we'll have any that fit you, though...." Gwen tapped her pen to her lip. "But, I'm sure we can come up with something, so just take the smallest one for today." Gwen turned when she heard a voice calling her and sighed. "I have to go, but just have fun, okay?" She ruffled the boy's curls again and walked off. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tony Stark was angry. No, he was more than angry. He was pissed off. Fury had called him, reprimanding him for not getting the annoying spider on their side yet, or even finding out who he was...which was also getting on Tony's nerves. He had been trying to find out for months who the man was, but every plan he made, every drone he sent after the crime fighter, was dodged or foiled. He couldn't explain it. He pulled up a video of his last encounter with the spider and examined it. It seemed as if the small man knew exactly where Tony's drones were coming from without looking. So, he must have a radar, right? Or, could it be something else? Tony looked over the footage again and again, but each time left him further from any clues, and it was starting to get to him. "Tony? You okay?" The man turned to see his fiancee standing in the doorway, a cup of coffee in her hands. She walked over to him and handed the mug to him, looking at the video. "Spider-Man again, huh? Any luck?" Stark groaned, letting his head hit the table, wincing at the pain. "Not a single fucking thing....and I'm getting angry. Fury's been up my ass about this for weeks now, demanding I find out who this guy is, or at least turn him over to our side....but every time I try, the guy tells me the same thing." Pepper made a sympathetic noise, her fingers running through his hair. "Then why not tell Nick that the guy doesn't want to join and leave it at that?" Tony gave her a look from the table that screamed 'hell no'. "Why? Because it's personal now. I will find out who this guy is one way or another." Now his stubborn pride was getting in the way, but Tony didn't care. When he set his mind to something, he didn't let it go. The man sat up and sipped his coffee. "But, what do you need? Besides to bask in the glory that is me?" Pepper rolled her eyes at that comment. "This came from the King of Jordan today, about the little 'incident' that happened in his country that's now worldwide news?" She handed her fiancee the tablet which already had the article on the front page. "I have no memory of this, so it didn't happen. Tell Air Jordan that I was simply on vacation with my beautiful fiancee and I have no recollection of it besides the glorious moments in the bedroom." The strawberry blonde smiled and smacked his shoulder. "He wants a formal apology for destroying a temple, and as your CEO, the public also needs something that says you care, because that temple was being made into an orphanage." At that, Tony had a spark of guilt. "Then, apologize for it, and send the country some money to make a better place for the kids." Pepper shook her head. "Nope, not good enough. We have to show the world that you care about the children of the world, and throwing money at them isn't enough." Tony didn't like where this was going. "No...no, no, you know how I feel about kids. They get messy and their hands are always sticky, plus, how am I supposed to take care of a kid when I need parental supervision?" Pepper laughed. "I agree with that, but this has to be done. I'll make sure it's an older child that can take care of themselves, you'll be there to offer some guidance and a job once the month is over. Unless, you wind up wanting to adopt the child." She giggled at the face her fiancee made and shook her head. "Who knows, fatherhood may do you some good. I'll make the announcement and all the arrangements. You will have to keep the child for at least two months." Stark groaned at that, but then something clicked. "Hold on...the new intern. I remember reading something about him...Friday, pull up the file on the new intern." "Yes, boss," the Irish AI said, putting said file up on Tony's desk. The man's eyes read the boy's information and he clapped his hands. "Yes! This, this is the kid, definitely. Plus, he's a little genius, so it will be like talking to a past me." Pepper walked over and made a noise at the boy's picture. "He's adorable! Look at those curls! Ok, I'll make the arrangements." She kissed Tony on the cheek, feeling his rough stubble against her lips. "I'm sure he'll be great, Tony," and she walked out, already pulling out her phone to set things up. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Peter had logged onto his monitor and the first thing to show on the screen was the screen saver, which was a large pacifier installed with a baby crying. The boy's face went red as the other interns laughed at their own stations. He swore Mr. Stark was just trying to kill him of embarrassment. Clicking off the screen, he logged in, creating a password he would remember, and got straight to work on his first project. It seemed easy to do, create a system firewall. So, he set to work, trying to code in an algorithm, but he was denied at every turn. What the heck? He tried again, when suddenly Friday's voice came from his station. "I'm sorry, Peter, but that is certain programming is off limits for the Baby Monitor file." Peter groaned. How did Mr. Stark expect to get things done? But, then he had an idea. "Ms. Friday? I'll need your cooperation, if that's okay? I want to override at least a few of the 'protocols' in my file so I can work some projects. Can you help me?" The AI was quiet for a minute. "I don't think that's a good idea, Peter. Mr. Stark has made this system to keep you safe." "Yes, but I've been doing more complex algorithms in school for years now. Please? I want to impress Mr. Stark, show him what I can do." "Fine. But I will inform Boss on what you are doing." "No! At least, not yet. Let me get this done, then you can tell him?" He looked at his monitor with big, brown puppy eyes. "Please Ms. Friday?" "Fine. I will help you, but I will inform the Boss when it's complete." The boy smiled and hacked into the system, finding his protocol file. He wished Ned were here, this was more his thing, but he had to do this alone. So, hacking into the folder, he found the level of security and balked. He was at a zero? How old did Mr. Stark think he was? Shaking his head, Peter changed them all to level two's, to keep Ms. Friday off his back, and backed out. "Okay, done. Thank you, Ms. Friday!" "I still do not approve, Peter." "I know, but I had to do something!" With that, he got to work on the firewall, now so more challenging than it had been with the lowered security level. When he was finished, he had a full firewall in place, protecting all of his future work. He smiled happily as he double checked his work before pushing back, looking around the room for Ms. Stacey. When he found her, she was in a group that was arguing over something. Curious, the boy got up and walked over, peering over one of the older intern's shoulders. Oh, they were fighting about how to figure out a problem. He studied the equation for the chemical compound, completely in his element before going over to an empty board, still unnoticed by the group. He wrote down the problem, studied it for a moment, then got to work on it. Ten minutes later he was standing in front of a fully solved equation. "Uh, hey guys? Is-is this what you were fighting over?" Gwen turned and looked at the whiteboard with a stunned expression. "Oh my God!" she ran over to the board, her eyes flitting to everything. "This is....you solved it!" She gave Peter a hug, which in turn made the boy blush a bright red. "Oh, this is going to make Mr. Stark so happy! And, once he finds out you solved it, he'll definitely want to meet you! Oh, exciting!" She went back to her group, who were all giving Peter a thumbs up, which the boy blushed harder at, and he scurried back to his station alone.

#iron man tony stark #spiderman peter parker #IronDad #SpiderSon #MamaPepperPotts #ProtectiveAvengers

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edwardfuckasshands · 6 years ago

Text

We Can Always Come Home

Here it is :v @dbhevents My Secret Santa gift for @birooksun If you absolutely hate it, feel free to tell me and I’ll gladly write you something better.

Pairing: Gavin Reed/RK900 Tropes: Hurt/Comfort. Literally. Wordcount: 4,194 Summary: Gavin gets hurt, and like the man-child he is, he initially refuses help from his nonhuman partner. Ao3 Mirror

"You never fail to surprise me, Detective Reed."

Four hours. Six minutes. Thirty eight seconds.

Not a particularly long period of time. Less than a work day. More than a movie. Just long enough to make almost anyone uncomfortable if they were to sit in place for the entire duration.

It's even less ideal when said person is physically unable to get up and leave.

"I'm meant to adapt to the vast unpredictability of humans, yet I find myself unable to track you down in a reasonable amount of time. My apologies."

"I don't need your pity, tinman."

The rough, strained voice came from a bloodied and half-frozen man that'd been handcuffed to a chain link fence. For four hours and a fistful of minutes he'd been attempting to break free. To call for help. To spit in the eyes of his attacker. Despite his determination to leave, and even in spite of how badly he wanted to beat the hell out of the guy that left him for dead in all the same ways they did to him, he refused to call his partner.

"Hold still. I'll try and make this as painless as possible."

With his hands bound above his head as he sat helplessly in an alley, Gavin Reed didn't have much of a choice. He didn't eat breakfast that day, and after the first blow to his skull, his condition only went downhill. He couldn't stop his attacker from tearing holes in his favorite maroon hoodie or from getting blood all over his jeans. With the way his head swam and his stomach churned, he could barely manage to hurl insults at the toaster he considered his partner.

...Partner.

He used that term loosely.

If you consider an untied knot loose.

"Can you stand?"

"Does it f'cking look like I can?"

Nines, Richard, Conrad... whatever people decided to call the damn thing. He didn't care. Nines stayed out of his way for the most part, kept quiet, and knew how to use a gun. Even if it was just an over glorified Connor clone, Gavin liked him better than the talkative freak.

Maybe ‘liked’ was too strong of a word. Gavin tolerated him at most. Plus, the RK900 model, in Gavin's opinion, looked a lot cooler than its predecessor. For starters, he was taller and had striking silver eyes that worked like a charm when interrogating suspects. And instead of that dopey semi formal outfit you'd expect from Connor, Nines wore a sleek white suit jacket with a fancy high collar. It... still looked kind of dumb, but most androids were pretty stupid looking by default.

"There's a hospital less than two miles from here. I'll-"

"No hospitals."

Nines looked down at the shaking man being carried in his arms like a princess. Even after being beaten and left for dead, he still seemed far too proud to admit he needed help from a machine.

"This isn't the time to let your pride get in the way, Detective."

"Ain't about pride." Gavin glared at Nines to the best of his abilities, though numbness in his face made this difficult. "I can't afford it. Even with my insurance, I'll be in debt until I die."

Nines sighed- a useless action for someone lacking the need to breathe. "Fine. I'll take you home and do what is necessary myself."

"Just leave when we get there. You're not my babysitter."

"No, I'm not-" he briefly repositioned Gavin his its arms so his head could rest comfortably on his shoulder, "-but I may as well be at this point."

Even if Gavin had all his strength, his slaps and punches against Nines would have the same effect on him- that being nothing. Still, Nines didn't particularly enjoy being poked in the optical sensor, so like the manchild he was, Gavin's shivering body had been placed as gently as possible in the back of a police cruiser so he could drive in peace. Ah, but it should have known better. While he no longer had to worry about physical assault, Gavin still managed to run his mouth for the entirety of the trip to his rundown little apartment.

"Shoulda gone faster when you rounded that corner," Gavin said while being scooped back up into Nines' arms. "People on bikes are worth ten points."

"I probably would have if murder wasn't illegal."

"Nothing's illegal if ya don't get caught."

As much as they bickered and joked about each other getting run over or falling into a woodchipper, the two undoubtable had some kind of chemistry together. While it depends on how you look at it, they got along better than they did with anyone else back at the DPD. Nines could handle any of the insults thrown at him and heave them back with twice the speed and burn, all with a nearly deadpan voice. He enjoyed Gavin's gross sense of humor and, at the very least, understood his apathetic outlook on life.

"I'm serious, though. You don't have to stay here and look after me."

"And if I want to?"

"Then you better get to fixin' before I bleed out."

Nines wanted to comment on the fact that he stopped bleeding before he un-cuffed him. Or how he really would be perfectly fine after a simple shower and a warm meal, albeit a bit sore and with a few open wounds. Unfortunately, with Nines essentially being deviant the moment he stepped out of the box, he couldn't comfortably leave a poor, defenseless, injured human all alone. With free will comes responsibility, and sometimes he wished he had neither.

Gavin clutched at his side while Nines sat him on his couch before going off to do whatever the hell he wanted. Did the couch always make such a loud noise when he sat on it? He couldn't remember. He knew his shitty one bedroom open kitchen apartment could use a good cleaning, though. He also knew he didn't have time to do more than clean himself and take out the trash every now and then. Most days he just came home, ate, maybe showered, maybe threw some laundry in the washer or dryer downstairs, and went to bed. This obviously left his residence looking a little sad, perhaps even bordering on depressing.

"I've drawn you a warm bath," Nines said upon returning.

"You're not washing me."

"I'm not. I'm going to be helping you is all."

One cautious trip to the bathroom later, Gavin began to squirm around in Nine's arms. He was a grown man- one who fell asleep with an ice cream bucket on his head once, but a grown man nonetheless.

"If you want me to let you down so badly, then here." Rather coldly, Nines allowed his arms to fall and all but forced him to stand on his own two feet. "I won't get in your way. All I ask is for you to provide proof that you will not die if I leave you alone for five minutes."

"I'm fine, goddammit. Go make yourself useful and clean something, whydont'cha?"

As much of a front he put on, it soon became painfully obvious how badly Gavin required assistance. He couldn't take his hoodie off without lifting his arms, and whenever he tried to do so he took dramatically long pauses in an attempt not to scream. Every muscle in his upper body ached, his ribs were sore, and each breath made him aware of how much effort it took to draw air into his lungs.

"I'll help you if you let me."

"F'ck off."

Gavin gritted his teeth as he grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it up and over, taking his undershirt with him until the fabric tumbled off his bruised skin and onto the floor below. He shot Nines a triumphant smirk, showing it that he didn't need an overpriced ken doll's help. It wasn't easy, and he never wanted to do it again, but he proved the tincan wrong.

"I stand corrected. You didn't need my help after all."

A toothy smile made it way across Gavin's face. "Damn right." Dumb robot. Of course he could do it himself.

"I suppose you have the strength to keep your arms up long enough for proper cleaning."

Shit.

If he didn't want to half-ass his bath, he'd need to really scrub his upper body, which required him to keep his arms elevated for an extended period of time. Hell, he could barely stand on his own two feet for much longer. How did he expect to thoroughly wash up?

"If you're still eager to help and all, I mean- it's not like I need your help, but-"

"I understand, Detective. Things are naturally easier when someone else does them for you."

"Yeah! See, you get me."

Nines assumed things would go far less smoothly and would take a lot more convincing. After all, he'd never seen Gavin so exposed before. Prior knowledge of humans and their obsession with privacy lead him to believe he he'd be a little more... modest.

"I got an order for you," he began as he sat on the edge of the tub. "Don't open your eyes until I say so."

DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES UNTIL I SAY SO

Free will or not, Nines prided in being able to follow instructions to the letter- annoyingly so, most times. He very much had the ability to ignore him and do anything it pleased. If he wanted to, he could leave the DPD, become a fishman and never set foot in Detroit again.

"I won't open them until you tell me to."

However, shadowing a man who would fight a rabid raccoon for a breakfast burrito proved to be far more entertaining than the idea of catching salmon.

After waving his hands in front of Nines' face, Gavin got to work stripping down and setting foot in his bath. He groaned and bitched at his jeans and how his blood made them stick to his legs, thus causing his sore arms to cry in agony as he tugged them off. Thank fuck he worked faster with the incentive of a warm bath to soothe his aching bones.

"You just gonna stand there or what?"

"I hadn't realized you'd gotten in the water already."

"Shit, dude. You got ears, don't you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. How nice of you to notice."

"Shut up."

Nines knelt down and fumbled a bit looking for a wash cloth he swore he saw hanging off the side of the tub just a second ago. He wanted to lather it up and get right to scrubbing, though Gavin's various open wounds likely wouldn't agree with such hasty actions. For the time being, he used the damp cloth to gently clean away the blood and anything else sticking to his skin.

"Easy on my back, all right?"

"Understood."

Gavin quickly settled in to the feeling of someone else's hands touching him for the first time in ages. Nines did a fairly decent job not cramming the cloth into any of his cuts, and when said injuries needed to be cleaned next, Nines was incredibly gentle. His fingers traced along his skin to feel where he'd been hurt, and in the process of getting to know him so intimately, Nines discovered he had a few bruised ribs and a distinct lack of any broken bones or internal bleeding, leading him to believe that most of his pain came from general soreness and the various superficial scrapes.

What a drama queen.

"You have impressive muscle definition, Detective."

A wet hand quickly shot up from the water to clamp over Nine's closed eyes, which, for the record, was not a pleasant sensation for either of them. "I told ya not to look!"

DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES UNTIL I SAY SO

"I haven't looked. I'm merely commenting on what I can feel."

At the word ‘feel,’ Nines traced over a seemingly sensitive spot near Gavin's side, eliciting a rather interesting noise from him, the likes of which Nines never heard before. It almost sounded as if he was in pain- the way his heart rate increased indicated as much. Despite this, he didn't quite groan nor did he lash out at Nines for hurting him.

"Sorry. Did that hurt?"

Nines felt Gavin tense up.

"I'm fine-!" In a single swift motion, Gavin pushed him with a considerable amount of force, causing him to fall backwards. "You can open your damn eyes when you shut the door behind you. I'll shout if I need anything."

Nines gave a few adjustments to his suit after leaving the bathroom. What pain... He was just trying to help. Didn’t he see that?

Even if his words discouraged him some, Nines didn’t want to give up on being helpful just yet. Gavin would have to eat soon lest he risk his health deteriorating any further. What did he even have in that pathetic little fridge? Eggs, milk, butter... Nothing substantial, but it would have to do. He had bread somewhere, didn't he?

"Detective?" Nines knocked on the bathroom door with a free hand while the other daintily held a plate in its palm. "I made you something to eat."

The sound of frantic footsteps and rummaging through fabric rumbled on the other side. "Gimme a minute! Can't a guy get dressed in peace?"

"I'll leave this on the kitchen table, then."

"Wait, wait-" Gavin leaned against the door, causing a soft thud to resonate through it, "-uhhh can you put it on the little table in front of the couch? I don't... I don't really eat in the kitchen."

"All right. It will be here when you get out."

But what table was he talking about? He didn't have a coffee table or ottoman or... anything. Just a rundown grey couch big enough for one person to sleep on if need be. Upon closer inspection of it, leaning against on of the arms was a wooden TV tray; a simple, single-person table.

It's better than seeing him eat off the creaky hardwood floor.

Probably.

"You really went through the trouble to cook for me?"

Gavin emerged from the bathroom looking less like a greasy, bloodied weasel and more like his regular weasel self. He donned put on a less torn-up set of jeans and hoodie, and while they didn't appear clean enough to look straight from the dryer, they contained minimal holes and no visible blood.

"Of course. You haven't eaten in quite some time-" he stepped out of the way, giving Gavin room to sit down and eat, then sat beside him, "-and if memory serves correctly, all you had for breakfast was a stale bagel and a cup of black coffee."

"Yeah. Well, not all of us get our daily bread from that soylent blue stuff you suck down."

Nines remained silent as Gavin took his first few bites. The warm, sweet smell coming from his plate was unlike anything he ever experienced before. Even after downloading a cooking program and learning how French toast should look and smell in theory, being around it firsthand was an entirely different experience.

"Why you starin' like that?" Gavin asked prior to swallowing a bite of breakfast-for-lunch. "Don't tell me you're hungry."

"Physically, no. But I would be lying if I said I didn't want to try it."

Gavin furrowed his brow. "You didn't taste it before you served it?"

"There's no need since I followed a highly rated online recipe to the T."

A strong sense of... something... tightened itself into a knot in Gavin's chest. What the hell was it? It felt like guilt, just slightly to the left and upside down.

Setting down his fork, he gestured towards the plate. "You can just... go ahead and taste it if ya want. Not like you got any germs I gotta worry about. And, I mean you made it and all, so..."

His gesture, while flattering, didn't suit him at all. Where was the man who'd rather shovel the rest of the food in his mouth before sharing it with an android? Not sitting beside Nines, apparently.

"Either have some before it gets cold or f'ck off."

Ah. He didn't leave after all.

Oddly enough, the maple syrup drizzled and smeared over the ceramic plate caught Nines’ eye over everything else. What an odd concept- pouring what is essentially liquid sugar over your food. As if humans needed any more sugar in their diets, what with it lacing basically anything that isn't fresh vegetables.

"Yes. Of course." Nines scooched in close enough to touch Gavin by simply leaning an inch or so to his left. By doing so, he just so happened to notice a bit of the aforementioned syrup clinging to the corner of his mouth. At first, Nines thought nothing of this. Humans are imperfect and bound to make mistakes.

Then the theoretical lightbulb over his head couldn't have burned any brighter.

Nines grabbed ahold of Gavin's chin with enough force to move him but enough slack for him to pull away if he so desired. He briefly looked into his eyes, searching for signs of hesitation or fury, and after finding none, his own closed as he leaned in to decisively lick the corner of his mouth. The overwhelming amount of sugar from the syrup and rough stubble of his beard proved to be a unique and completely new set of sensations, and along with this new set of information he quickly found himself craving more than a lick.

Like a deer caught in headlights, Gavin froze completely up. Being touched so suddenly was one thing. Having someone like Nines behave tenderly... He didn't know what to make of it. His face burned and his heart pounded against his sore ribs. This just couldn't be happening. There's no way Nines licked his damn face. No way Gavin didn't immediately shove him off the couch and beat him with one of the cushions. No fucking way Gavin closed the distance between him and a machine until their lips were one word away from properly touching. Surely, he wouldn't be so desperate for physical affection that he'd resort to getting it from his non-human work partner.

And yet.

"You're dangerously close," Nines commented in a deep, whisper-like tone. Half-lidded eyes wandered down to Gavin's lips, hesitated, then slowly made their way back to meet his gaze. "I can back away if you're uncomfortable."

Gavin wanted to be smooth and reach up to grab the back of Nines' head or at least his neck or shoulder. With his arms in the condition they were, he hardly managed to weakly grasp at the front of his coat.

"Are you trying to push me away or pull me in?" The question fell sarcastically from his lips much like the puzzle of Gavin Reed fell into place. The noise he made after being touched, his constant insistence on being near Nines, the fact that he hadn't begged for a replacement or for him to continue his work alone all painted the most hypocritical of pictures.

Not letting go of his head, Nines dragged a finger along his jawline, earning himself the sight of his jaw clenching. "I may already know the answer, but I digress. I find myself unable to take any further action without your permission."

Gavin swallowed hard. His throat hurt. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest. The majority of his body felt as if it may spontaneously combust. What the fuck. He couldn't. He wanted to. Damn did he want to. More than anything.

"...I see. I apologize for misreading the situation."

And God help anyone or anything that got in the way of what he wanted.

Nines assumed Gavin didn't have the energy to properly turn him down. Maybe his pride got the better of him. Maybe Nines completely misunderstood his body language. No matter the case, he didn't want to make him uncomfortable. Even the least respectable of people have the basic right of personal space.

The very moment Nines backed away was the instant a shot of sheer determination ran through Gavin’s veins. In spite of the pain, he powered through it long enough to drag Nines forward until their heads nearly collided. He still couldn't reach the back of his neck like he aimed for, but he had a fairly decent grip on his shoulder, which turned out to be all he needed.

A sharp tug yanked Nines forward and he felt Gavin groan against his mouth in striking detail amidst a somewhat messy though not unwanted kiss. A momentary pang of pity stabbed him in the chest only to be rapidly washed away by his melting thoughts. He expected things to be a lot more rough- perhaps a bit of biting or being pushed up against the nearest surface that'd hold his weight. However, Gavin treated him with the same patience and gentle touch that'd been tending to him all afternoon.

Any and all pain floated outside Gavin's body just long enough for him to take everything in. From Nines' shoulder, a hand trailed up the side of his head and ran through short, tidy hair. He allowed his mind to cloud with lukewarm static as the remaining dead air between them grew smaller and smaller.

Nines nearly collapsed into his lap with as close as Gavin insisted on them being to one another. He snaked an arm around him in an attempt to keep him from falling onto his back, thus preventing any future bitching about how much it hurt to stay upright. Speaking of staying upright, Nines himself had trouble doing just that. He nearly slipped into him twice, and the moment his body decided to relax, his mind soon followed, which lead to quite a few unique thoughts popping up. Consequently, said thoughts caused both his mind and mouth to wander in places they arguably didn't belong. Lips steadily moved away from Gavin's, then took their sweet time kissing along his scruffy jaw and finally down to his neck. His head interfered with the latter, so like any sensible android, he used his free hand to tilt it and give him more room to work with.

Gavin kept shifting his weight around and making these... sounds. These soft, out of character grunts and hums that progressively became louder. His mind struggled to claw any sense of semblance together and found nothing amongst the haze of his flushed skin and the android exploring it with his mouth.

"Detective."

Air caught in his throat as the sound of a familiar, dominant voice brushed past his ear. Gavin's eyes fluttered open to see Nines pull away and stare him down with that striking silver gaze of his.

"Your temperature has increased substantially."

"Oh yeah?" The crack in his voice failed to keep his sarcasm is check. "Gee, I wonder why."

Gavin could have sworn he saw Nines smile and heard him let out the faintest laugh through his nose. If his temperature was high before, it certainly wouldn't be going down any time soon.

"Are you all right, Gavin? Were my actions too straightforward?"

Gavin.

Nines rarely ever used his first name, and when he did, the situation usually turned out to be far more serious. Gavin, don't do that or you'll get shot. Gavin, I warned you about this. He always said it in that stern, cold voice of his as well. Yet way he spoke to him on the couch didn't give of the impression of Nines being upset or annoyed in the least.

"I'm fine. Jus-" he held his abdomen and momentarily gritted his teeth "-tired and sore as shit."

Nines' LED swirled yellow. What a hassle to be able to feel pain. And what an almost equal hassle to empathize with those who suffer.

"I can carry you to bed if you'd like to rest up."

A pause.

"Yeah. Sure. Do what you want."

Bridal-style had been deemed Gavin's choice mode of transport as of late. He could easily hold onto Nines for extra support, and with him being in such a compact position, relocating him became easy as walking. But first things first, Nines needed to pull him into his arms before he could stand. Getting up first would only complicate things. So for a brief time, Gavin sat snuggly in his lap.

"Is it okay for me to stand now? Detective Reed?"

Apparently, being cradled in someone's arms while simultaneously having no energy left is the perfect recipe for even the most stubborn of men to fall asleep. Gavin's head rested comfortably up against his shoulder, and he could easily hear his deep, relaxed breathing. He failed ro recall having ever seen Gavin look so comfortable- and in the clutches of an android, no less. If he were more of the emotional type, he would have felt more joy from the smidge of pride welling up inside him.

Though he still managed to smile.

"As always, you are excellent at keeping me on my toes."

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