#he changed things just Slightly from what the instruction sheet on canvas said. so i couldn't work ahead

[elprupneerg]

what if instead of going to class i was just sooooooooo sleepy

[smutbunny119]

Cornered; Taeyong x Reader ft. Sungchan and Jaemin

Description: He was powerful, an idol with an established career, money, and a company that could brush this incident under the rug in 5 seconds flat. And what were you? A chubby college intern learning how to do makeup from the staff. You had no power. No power to make him leave you alone, no power to make him stop his insults. He hated you, but even worse, he wouldn’t leave you alone. Lee Taeyong was your worst nightmare. But could Sungchan, a young member of NCT be the one to save you? Or even more unexpected, Jaemin?

WARNING: Contains verbal and physical harassment, sexual harassment, bullying, degradation, non con, and smut, eventual fluff, hurt/comfort, yuh

Genre: Smut, Angst, fluff, hate to love, slow burn.

This is explicit, contains dark shit, and will contain non consensual sex. Reader beware. I do not condone these behaviors at all, it is simply for the story. If it makes you uncomfortable, do not read it.

Chapter One- Idol unleashed

You were dead set on becoming a makeup fx artist for a larger entertainment company. Hopefully big enough to make a living and be a real part of the industry before your late twenties. But for now, any offer would do considering you were a college student struggling to pay off her student loans and needed all the experience you could get. So when you got a partially paid internship offer at SM entertainment (14,000 won/hour on weekends) You said yes without hesitation, even though you had no interest in that type of makeup artistry. Credentials were credentials, and working at SM entertainment was great resume fluff.

When you first arrived at the SM stocking facility to receive a quick vetting from the older makeup artist supervisors, the eldest woman (who looked very chic), gave you a harsh look. “You understand that being a makeup artist of your age, 21, and working alongside idols your age, you are to have no verbal interactions with them that extend beyond professional exchange?” She asked, eyeing you up and down suspiciously. You were confused. Working on idols makeup? You didn’t realize you’d actually have to do idols makeup. You assumed it would all be intern shit like getting coffee and paperwork. You nodded tentatively.

Of course you had no desire to fuckin flirt it up with random k idols you were doing makeup on. You had never really been interested in kpop, although you listened to a couple girl groups here and there. You preferred international music, classical music, oh and you loved Frank Sinatra. Besides, you were not in the mood to be booted from your first internship ever on account of hitting on some fancy idol who wouldn’t look twice at you. No thanks, you had pride.

The makeup artist Senior nodded at you, satisfied with your response.”Alright, I’ll trust you young lady. We usually don’t hire unwed makeup artists on account of the risk, but your professors went on and on about your skills that we decided to bring you in to do some of the strobe makeup for NCT 2020. Understood?”

You nodded, feeling a bit giddy. This was actually going to be exciting.

That afternoon, you collected your supplies from you *official* SM makeup cubical. It was amazing products you were allowed to keep! High quality brushes, velvet foundation, BB cream, glitter in pots, shadows, tints... your dream. Still clutching the quality products in your shaking hands, you walked to the elevator which lead to the 8th floor- The floor you’d be doing 10 of the 23 NCT 2020 members makeup. You had to admit, although you were by no means an NCT fan, doing the makeup of such talented and handsome men would certainly be nerve wracking. You had the concept and instructions on a sheet of paper for each member’s makeup, and you had already memorized it~ Yuta was getting bright red eyeshadow on the very edges of his lids with Mimimal dewy makeup, Jaemin was getting subtle glitter on his under eyes with a brown shadow and natural lip tint-    The only problem was, you didn’t know which member was which. You sighed. Oh well, you’d get the hang of it eventually. The elevator doors opened, and a heavy scent of setting spray, hairspray, sweat, hot lights, and a bunch of other smells flew into your face. You quickly exited the elevator into the room with a bunch of idols-23 to be exact- doing a variety of things. Getting their hair done, their makeup applied, changing their clothes (You quickly averted your eyes), and stretching. The minute you walked in though, everything went silent, and their eyes were fixated on you. Mixed expressions of confusion, annoyance, and fear on their faces. It took you a minute to realize that they must’ve not been used to younger women being their makeup artists, and assumed you were either a sasaeng... or confused rando.

The makeup senior woman quickly ran to the front of the room, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you towards the center. “Everyone, listen up. This is Y/L/N. She is a sophomore at Chengdu University of Arts, and will work for the next few months as a makeup artist. I understand you are not used to having college students work as your stylist, but she is very... gifted, and highly spoke of at her college. She has won several awards in the arts, and seeks to expand her portfolio. Thank you!”

You smiled curtly as the makeup Senior gave you a firm pat on the back. You looked around the room with a thin professional smile, nodding slightly to indicate respect and distance. Your eyes were briefly caught on one of the members, you weren’t sure who but he was looking at you very coldly, and began unpacking your supplies. You checked your member list hastily to find the first name on the list. “Sungchan.”

Looking up blankly, you scanned the room for some indication of a “Sungchan.” Realizing you had no clue who this could be, you walked up to a member who looked a bit younger than you with white hair, clearing your throat. The member looked up at you with a awkward smile. “Hello, sorry about this but would you mind directing me to the member who goes by ‘Sungchan?’ I’m not familiar entirely with memeber names yet.”

The idol looked back at you questioningly, before nodding. “Of course. He’s over there by the guy with medium brown hair on the vanity. I’m Jaemin, by the way.”

You nodded politely. “I will be doing your makeup as well Jaemin. I will return shortly.”

You walked quickly away from the idol, feeling your heart flutter slightly at the interaction. He was very handsome, with clear tan skin and a great canvas for dewy glittery makeup. He was gorgeous, and you couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of applying makeup to such a clean and fresh face.

Smack

You went crashing into a taller figure, stumbling as you crashed beside them. Instantly panic arose in your body, scrambling to your feet to help the person up. The minute you looked down at the person, your blood ran cold. It was him. The guy you had made awkward not-so-friendly eye contact with. Looking at his face, you were filled with a sense of uncomfortable dread. His narrowed cat like eyes were cold and black. He was gorgeous, easily the most beautiful person you had ever laid eyes on. With dark brown hair, pale smooth skin and an angular unreal face, you would already be intimidated enough to see his face in general. But he was glowering. Full on glaring at you, a look of pure contempt as he ignored you outstretched land, getting to his feet gracefully. Looking you up and down, the beautiful boy narrowed his eyes and leaned in menacingly. You took a step back, nearly tripping on your sneaker laces. “I’m so sorry sir, I didn’t mean to be so clumsy. My mistake.” You sputtered out meekly, bowing your head as you felt your face burn.

“Stop it.” You looked up as you heard his low gravely voice spit out the harsh words. You looked at him confusedly, tilting your head. The boy scoffed, leaning in once more.

“I honestly can’t believe the nerve. You walk in here, with your sloppy hideous clothes and pudgy body. You act as if you have never heard of us like some innocent little makeup artist. Cut the shit. Don’t ‘accidentally’ bump into me. Don’t look at me. Filthy sasaeng.”

You gawked at him. You? Sasaeng? You didn’t even know this boy’s name.

“Taeyong hyung, stop it.” You heard a voice from behind you and you turned around to see Jaemin, clearly concerned for the harsh words being spat at you.

The boy named Taeyong just glared back at Jaemin, eyes flicking between you and him. “Jaemin, zip it. Look at her. Fat little crazy fan girl who thought she’d get a chance with her favorite idol by stalking them. The nerve of her to come here looking like that. Dressed like this.” He made a disgusted face as you hung your head low. You weren’t the most confident in your looks, but you didn’t think you were hideous. You had always been a bit pudgy, but standards here were so strict. You liked your appearance.

The boy named Taeyong walked by you, shoulder knocking into the side of your arm as you scurried away from him towards the guy named sungchan. You were fighting back tears and embarrassment, and you pulled your hair hastily into pigtails before snapping on some latex gloves to keep your makeup sanitary. The guy in front of you, Sungchan, who had observed the whole thing (Everyone had), had a look of concern on his face.

Whipping out the medium beige foundation, you dabbed some of the glossy product onto you back of your glove with the brush. The guy named Sungchan looked at you expectantly, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You weren’t in the mood to be screamed and degraded again, so you wouldn’t take your chances. Dabbing a smooth hydrating toner onto the boy’s flawless complexion, you couldn’t help but feel a few tears slip out of your eyes. It was embarassing, but you were human. You had feelings, and self esteem. Well, you did have self esteem. Sungchan seemed to be concerned, or maybe he just thought you were weird.

“Hello, Y/L/N, I’m Sungchan. How old are you?” He asked kindly, bright smile on his face. You were shocked at the warm introduction, and returned his smile. “Nice to meet you, and I’m 19,” You replied, smoothing the product across his face. The boy’s smile widened, and he glanced at you in the mirror while you began to apply a light eyeshadow across his eyes. “So you’re my age then. Let’s speak informally then.” He responded, making you nearly drop your brush.

This idol wanted you to speak to him informally? Was he serious? You couldn’t help but blush at his friendly personality, and couldn’t keep a smile off your face as you continued applying the shadow. “Alright Sungchan, sounds great!”

***********

As you made your way down the list of idols, you found most were very kind to you. They were all stunning, and you found your eyes glued to their faces even when the makeup was finished. You did makeup for Yuta, who was so polite and courteous, Haechan, who was simply adorable, and the rest of the 6 idols. Including Jaemin, who chatted with you throughout the entire ordeal, complimenting your pink grubby sneakers, awkward hoodie over skirt with sweatpants outfit, and even you messy ponytail. You thought he was just trying to be nice after everything Taeyong said to you, but you still appreciated the gesture. After finishing the older boy’s makeup, there was only one more name on the list. Lee Taeyong. Your stomach lurched as you realized you would have to be near him, touch his face. As if he would even let you. Gulping dryly, you zipped up your products and snapped a new pair of latex gloves on. Your hair was tied back, you roughly put on a mask to minimize exposure to the idol. You didnt want him to stare at your face.

Walking curtly over to where he sat, you bowed politely before unpacking your makeup. Pushing on a pair of glasses to make your work as good as possible, you heard the idol’s chair push away from the desk. “Are you fucking with me?” He asked loudly, causing everyone in the room to glance his way, quieting instantly. “I don’t want this sasaeng’s sausage fingers anywhere near me.” He spat, making you cringe at his wordchoice. The guy you had done makeup on by the name Jaehyun sighed, leaning across the table. “Hyung, she’s a very quick makeup artist. You can request to have a different makeup Noona do your makeup next time.”

You gripped the brush tightly, anger and embarrassment searing through your body. You shouldn’t have to take this. This idol shouldn’t be talking to you this way. The idol scoffed and sat down loudly, causing your makeup bag to crash to the floor, colorful pallets clapping open, makeup spilling everywhere. You just stared at the colorful mess, feeling your face heat with anger. You couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks as you picked up hundreds of dollars of beautiful, destroyed makeup. Makeup you would never be able to afford otherwise. You looked up through your teary eyes at the idol. He was smirking at you, arms crossed and legs spread in a entitled position. What a jerk.

Plopping the wrecked makeup onto the table, you yanked a plumping toner out of the side pocket, shaking some onto a face pack. You felt his eyes on yours. Luckily the mask hid your sniffly nose and quivering lip, but your read teary eyes  were on clear display. “Take off the mask.”

His words cut through the once again quiet air. You heard someone across the room stand up from their chair. “Jaemin sit down.” You heard another voice say.

Taeyong looked up at you expectantly. “It’s rude to hide your face from your clients.” He said again, amusement across his face. You ripped the mask off your face, holding back more tears. Your face was undoubtedly puffy and red, not exactly the most flattering. You took the face pack out of the toner solution and lifted it to Taeyong’s flawless face, hiccuping still. He looked at you intensely, with an unreadable expression. “How old are you Noona?” Taeyong asked, and you nearly recoiled. Noona? You were six years younger than him. Was he insulting you? “19.” You replied sharply, ignoring his scoff. “I suppose you think I’m going to let you call me oppa.” He said, making a face to himself.

“I’d rather not.” You replied, dotting the makeup onto his skin. You felt a large hand grab your wrist, gripping it uncomfortably tight. “Cut the shit. You are younger than me.” He said, glaring up at you. You ripped your hand from his grip, slamming your makeup onto the table. “Do not touch me.” You said more harshly than you intended. Taeyong briefly had a look of shock on his face, and you could feel the tension in the room. “I will refer to you as Taeyong-Nim. If that is unsuitable I can do Taeyong Ssi instead.”

His face contorted into an expression of rage, and you resumed patting the product into his face. You were doing your best to ignore his gaze, but then you felt a hand on your stomach. you flinched back as the hand gabbed your lower belly, and you shrieked.

You heard loud laughter from him, and you looked up in horror. “Holy shit your stomach is so fat. What the fuck you are fucking chubby as fuck.” You sat there, face numb and body shaking. He had touched your stomach. “God i hate fat and ugly bitches, you are fucking disgusting.” You felt tears finally stream down your cheeks. You couldn’t do this. “Taeyong hyung that’s enough!” Someone yelled across the room and you looked up to see Jaemin running across. He put a hand around your shoulder and lifted you off the ground carefully. You were grateful he was defending you, but you honestly were too scared to thank him. Taeyong took a step towards you, eyes dark and angry. “Stay out of this Jaemin,” He iced, hands clenched tightly into fists. Jaemin didn’t budge.

“Taeyong Hyung please. I really think it’s enough.” Jaehyun spoke to Taeyong over his shoulder, and finally Taeyong clenched his jaw, turning away from you. He stood up, stretched, and peeled off his shirt, letting it fall to the ground. He turned to you and walked past, unclothed shoulder bumping into yours as he passed. He was going to get changed for the show.

Originally posted by haechan

******

The next few days were... hell. From harsh remarks, from Taeyong’s aggressive attitude which was solely reserved for you. It seemed never ending. In addition, Taeyong had begun encouraging you to do his makeup as opposed to avoiding you. Constant insults on your work, appearance, outfit choice, weight.

At night you had nightmares about the pretty boy insulting you, yelling at you. His harsh words and insults seemed never ending.

The following day you walked into work early, hair pulled back in two sleek pigtails and faint pink makeup applied. You were to attend  a special party later that night, so you had a fluffy baby pink sweater on with a short white tennis skirt, pink floral necklace, and adorable espadrilles. You may not have looked sexy, but you certainly look adorable. Your older brother had commented on how you looked precious when you FaceTimed him. When you walked into the near empty room you plopped your products onto Taeyong’s makeup table, collapsing onto the chair with exhaustion. It was only 4 AM, and work didnt start for another 2 hours. You tried to focus on staying alert, but before you knew it you were out cold.

You woke up to find a figure standing over you in the chair. You were groggily aware of your surroundings, and noticed the “5:36″ time on the wall clock. Snapping to your senses, you nearly tripped out of the chair when you realized the figure standing over the chair was Taeyong.

“I knew it.” His voice was like ice, and the only light shining behind him in the room made him a shadow, unable to make out any of the features on his face. As he stepped closer and his face came into the light it was like  a villain coming out of the shadows. Pure terror clutched your body as you shuffled away from the intimidating figure frantically. Leaning down towards you, you saw the coldness on his expression. The blank gaze that lay behind those beautiful, horrible eyes.

“Stop it Taeyong, that’s enough!” You yelled, trying to push yourself off the ground. Taeyong laughed coldly at your pathetic state, and you felt his large hands shoved you back into the wall painfully. “Dropping honorifics, are we?” He asked, pacing back in forth like a predator. You attempted to run to the door but his hand intercepted you, shoving you back again. “No. You came here early just to rub yourself all over my chair. You really do want me, don’t you you ugly bitch?” He asked, a combination of disgust and crazed amusement on his face.

“I was tired!” You nearly screamed, shoving him back with just as much force. His lips curled with disgust as he continued glaring at you. “I don’t buy that shit. I’ve known enough sasaengs in my life to recognize one.”

You glared back at him. “Taeyong, leave me the fuck alone. I’m done putting up with your unprofessional behavior. I have no interest in your childish games, and I refuse to do your makeup any more.”

Taeyong’s eyes widened in shock for a brief second, and then it was replaced with rage. But you were done. You walked up to your makeup bag to move your stuff over to Doyoung’s desk. He was your first client for today, now that Taeyong was no longer- “You have no right to refuse me.”

Your blood ran cold as those words came from directly behind you, and before you could whirr around you felt yourself harshly pressed into the vanity in front of you, large hand shoving you. You screeched, kicking back to break from Taeyong’s hands, but he was a much stronger than you. “You are nothing, you ugly slut! If I tell you you’re doing my fucking makeup, you’re doing it!” He was full on yelling, and you could barely breathe under his crushing hold.

 “T-Taeyong Ssi, st-” You croaked out, shoving him back. He flipped you over, anger and derangement flooding his eyes, You felt his hand wrap around your neck, and you began to gasp as it tightened. He was strangling you, you couldn’t breathe. What the fuck was this psycho thinking? You faintly heard a clinking sound, the clinking of a belt. Your stomach filled with dread as you realized what was happening. He wouldn’t.... would he? You thrashed harder. “Fucking bitch” You heard him say when you landed a kick to his thigh. In an instant you were thrown to the ground, and he was on top of you, straddling your torso. You fought with everything you had, screaming and crying with everything in you. He was so much stronger and taller than you, and you had no defense against him. “Stop, stop stop!” You sobbed, hitting him on the chest, only to have your wrists pinned over your head. Taeyong leaned over so his face was directly above yours. Those dark, soulless, empty burning eyes. Cutting into you. Looking at your fear, your pain, smiling. With his free hand he undid his jeans, eyes never breaking contact with yours. You felt your skirt being hiked up, and you underwear was ripped from your body. You cried harder, begging someone to help you. Taeyong swallowed your cries with a violent kiss, tongue fucking into your mouth painfully. You couldn’t breath. You couldn’t see anything but those eyes, those dark eyes you had thought were so beautiful.

 He shoved into you agressivly, fucking into you with violence and anger. Ripping your comfort, your happiness, your freedom away from you. With every painful thrust, your tears came faster. His kiss was bruising, and his lower body’s connection with yours was stretching, painful and cruel. It felt like it lasted for hours, when finally his thrusts became sloppy, uneven. He began moaning, placing a hand around your throat as his grip around your wrists became tighter. You were drooling, tears spilling out and eyes glazed over just hoping for it to end. You couldn’t think, not with him hurting you over and over and over. He let out one final breathy moan and came deeply within you, head throne back and semen spilling out onto the floor. When he finally released you from his iron grip and pulled out of you, you heard him utter “Show you your place fucking bitch,” Before neatly buckling his belt and walking away. As he walked out, he bumped into Sungchan, who said, “Whoa dude, why are you all sweaty and shit?”

Taeyong didn’t reply, only walking out. When Sungchan walked over to his vanity, he heard raspy breathing from across the room and walked behind Taeyong’s vanity. There you were, lying on the ground, skirt hiked over your hips, neck bruised and purple, drooling with blood and cum dripping out of you onto the floor. Sungchan paled, covering his mouth from shock. Rushing to your side, his hands hovered over your body, confusion and fear on his face. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, and you rasped out, “T-Taeyong. He f-forced himself inside me and wouldn’t stop. I t-tried to stop him.” You could barely get out the words. Sungchan was as white as paper, and he grabbed a cloth off the table, hastily cleaning your thighs and skirt. “I’m so sorry Y/N, I never would’ve guessed he would ra-... do this.” Sungchan looked sick.

You looked up at Sungchan, feeling sick to your stomach. You didn’t deserve to be treated like this, you were not a piece of meet, or a punching back, or a fucking flesh light. You were a human being, and you were not going to let Taeyong ruin your career, let alone your life. Gripping Sungchan’s face with a cupped hand, you spoke softly. “I have no intention of quitting. And no intention of submitting to Taeyong’s cruelty.

[boymeetsweevil]

SS6 - MYG, FLUFF, 2900w

For @bangtancentricsblogsmain​ because i wanted her to suffer :)

At 3pm, on a Thursday, there’s a knock on Yoongi’s bedroom door. He had come through that very same door not an hour earlier to lock himself away from the world after a particularly draining day. After dropping his bag somewhere on the ground, he showered, removed his contacts, and pushed the laundry waiting to be folded over to the other half of his bed in record time.

Normally he would have joined his roommate and their mutual friend circle who were seated on the couch in the communal living room, eating snacks and watching a game. But this time he begged out with a quiet mumble about needing rest.

When Hoseok knocks, Yoongi makes a feeble sound to signal he’s still, unfortunately, awake.

“What,” Yoongi grumbles. 

He attempts to sit up on one pale elbow and then decides against it. Hoseok’s lips twitch up at how cranky Yoongi is pre-nap before sinking back down as his expression darkens into a pitying and somber mix.

“She’s here. And, uh, she’s asking for you.” Hoseok’s eyes dart back to some unseen spot in the living room.

“Tell her I’m asleep.”

“I know you’re not asleep, Yoongi!” Your voice rings from outside the bedroom and Hoseok cringes sympathetically.

“I’ll just leave,” Hoseok says when you shove your torso through the crack in the doorway.

You wait to start speaking until the bedroom door is shut and the noises from the TV outside wash away.

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” is all you get.

The backpack you carry drops unceremoniously to the ground with a thud and any dregs of sleep cloying to Yoongi’s brain vanish with the sound. It’s with a valiant effort that he shoves his face deeper into his pillow. You cock your head to look at your best friend and snort at him.

Yoongi’s glasses are skewed across his face. There are thin pink lines marring the left side of his face from lying pressed to the wrinkled sheets with glasses on. The platinum blond waves of his hair, normally coiffed styled, are squashed flat against his forehead. Rarely ever does he look this rumpled and it’s hilarious.

“That’s okay, I’ll just tell you what I wrote in the texts,” you say as you make your way further into Yoongi’s small room. 

A look down at your feet shows him that you’ve shoved your feet into the pair of bunny slippers he got for guests you when he and Hoseok first moved in almost a year ago.

“Basically,” you continue. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Pick one.” You help yourself to his desk chair and swivel it so it faces him.

“Bad news first,” Yoongi says after some deliberation. He pulls the covers up to his chin more securely.

“Smart choice,” you nod sagely. “The bad news is I’m gonna have to paint your face.”

“What the hell,” Yoongi barks.

“But the good news is that I have a new job as a face painter at the kids’ section of the farmer’s market this season!”

“How is that good news for me?”

“It means I’ll be slightly less broke and I can stop asking you to buy me breakfast before our 9am.”

Yoongi doesn’t really know whether to laugh or to cry. Firstly, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you paint his face. You’ve always been shit at drawing and letting you showcase that on his skin doesn’t do him any favors. Secondly, he’s in his twenties and he doesn’t even go to the farmer’s market. There’s no reason for him to set foot on the town commons during sunny Saturdays for local produce, much less to get his face painted next to a pen full of smelly goats and screaming kids. He’s just not seeing the connection between you getting this job and him getting his face painted. He stares at you with the hope that you’ll back off but he finds that you’re just blinking back at him with a huge, proud pretty grin.

For a moment Yoongi wants to smile back like things are normal. He wants to put on a groan and act like he’s annoyed that he’s been “forced” to order you sugary coffee drinks and muffins using his own money for longer than he can remember. He wants to gently muss your hair to see you make that cute shocked face you always make. But he can’t. 

Because if he does all that, he might slip up again like he did last weekend. 

At 10:24pm, Friday of last week, Yoongi told you he loved you while one small bottle of liquid courage was sloshing away in his stomach. After seconds of silence ticked by like the bangs of a gong, you replied. A sing-songy ‘Aww. I love you too, Yoongi’ and a light pat on the arm. Your words were basically the mirror image of his, but somehow also starkly different. Disappointment walked him home early that night and embarrassment laid him low the following week.

But it was just a week, he’d reasoned with himself, you’d hardly notice anyway...

“Yoongi? You okay?”

“No,” he hisses and shakes his head gently to dislodge memories of that pathetic weekend.

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you need to paint my face?”

“For practice! The market doesn’t open for another month but I need to get good. Jungkook said that if I do it really well the parents will leave bigger tips.”

“So Jungkook is behind all this.”

“Yeah,” you chirp. “He’s been really helpful in the last week. Usually I’d vent to you about how broke I am but since you were so busy, I ended up hanging out with Kook. He’s honestly really resourceful and he got me the job really fast.”

The hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck bristle at the mention of the younger “peer”. Jungkook was a constant presence at group hangouts for a long while but Yoongi could only ever think of him as a friend of a friend. There was something smarmy about the guy’s smile that he didn’t like. And the way he was always draping himself over you, teasing you, buying you food that was all his job. He can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but something about Jungkook always put Yoongi in a shit mood.

Yoongi curses under his breath. “Why couldn’t he get you a job at the cotton candy station or managing the photo booth or something?”

“What’s up with you lately? Do you really hate the idea of helping me that much?”

“It’s just annoying,” Yoongi huffs childishly from under the blanket.

“Fine, I’ll just ask Jungkook, then.”

“No! Wait!” Your eyes flash with hope. “I’ll do it. Just—don’t bother him. Since he already gave you the job, I mean.”

“Oh, thank god. I felt really bad about asking him for even more help.”

You turn around and pull out a face painting kit from thin air and begin scooting the desk chair towards the bed. When you’re close enough, you frown.

“What?” Yoongi sniffs at his sheets for good measure. All clean.

“Nothing. It’s just...” You look down at the ground and then the chair and then at Yoongi before looking at the chair again. “I usually practice on shorter surfaces so I can get used to working with the kids.”

“Oh, just pull the little lever underneath the chair. Raising and lowering the chair is Hoseok’s favorite thing to do when he comes in here, I swear.”

You reach under the seat like Yoongi instructed, find the little lever, and tug. There’s a low hissing sound before the seat suddenly drops 5 inches. You let out a yelp while Yoongi tries to stifle a laugh at your terrified expression.

“I guess—I guess Hoseok pulled the lever too much,” Yoongi’s voice creaks with laughter. Even when you flick him in the forehead he keeps laughing.

“Yoongi, this isn’t funny. I need to practice.”

“Just so you know there’s no way I’m getting on the floor. I’ve changed my clothes and I’m actually in the bed.”

He knows he’s being a bit of a dick at the moment, but he’s only trying to rile you up. He’s not expecting you to start to get up on the bed after flipping him off. The laundry he placed on his bed that morning to force himself to fold now laughs at him from its position shoved against the wall.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I need to be higher than you to paint your face. And you’re not getting up, right?”

“Well, no. But—”

“So this is where I’m gonna work.”

You shrug like it’s not a big deal that you’re straddling him. Like it’s not a big fucking deal that your soft thighs now rest on either side of his torso, that you casually rest a hand on his ribcage while setting up the painting kit along his sternum. He hopes your hand stays further south only to prevent the rapid beating of his heart from being discovered under your palm.

“What design do you want,” your voice is quiet now that you’re closer. 

Makes sense. No need to yell. But it still drives Yoongi crazy that you’re basically whispering in his ear as you lean over him to grab at the unused cup of water behind the bed frame. You revive your paints with the water while he tries to keep his breathing in check, lest he cause your paints to tumble off his torso and stain his sheets in a pastel rainbow.

“Uhh, how about an old style tiger?”

“Really,” you deadpan, “I tell you I’m just starting to learn to paint and you ask for a tiger?”

“Fine. Stars, then.” He gulps when you look right at him, face flushing to create the perfect pink canvas.

“Oh, I can do that. No reference needed.”

It seems deadly quiet in Yoongi’s room. The sounds of the living room long since died down when a crowd favorite started playing and captured everyone’s attention. Now there’s only yours and his intermingled breathing and the sound of your brush tinkling against glass.

You lean down from your perch to focus on carving out a swatch of night sky to blanket Yoongi’s stars. Your breath softly puffs low against his left cheek at the same moment the wet tip of the paintbrush hits his skin. His breath hitches a little and he’s not sure which is the culprit.

“Hold still, okay?” Your words come out in a whisper. 

“Okay,” he whispers back.

Minutes pass and two shaky stars are born on Yoongi’s cheekbone. You shift around on his chest to stabilize yourself and in your movement you lose your footing a little, your right leg slipping off the edge of the mattress.

“Ah—”

“I got you,” Yoongi grunts a little as his hands fly to your hips.

He easily stops your momentum and your paints, clutched desperately in your hands, remain safe from the ground. The pads of his fingers are still dug lightly into the meat of your hips and waist. In that moment you remember just how big Yoongi’s hands are.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem.” 

A slow grin spreads on Yoongi’s face when he notices that suddenly you can’t make eye contact like you were just a few moments prior.

You do your best to continue, but your gaze keeps flitting to his, only to find that he’s already looking at you. It sets something hot aflutter in your chest. The points of the stars that you thought you had a handle on turn soft and wobbly once more. 

“Look up,” you ask when you’re out of other options and keep having to paint over your work.

Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at how jittery you seem. It feels good to know that the effects of this proximity are mutual, that you’re feeling just as lightheaded from sitting in his lap as he is from having you sit in it.

“You almost done?” He drawls. He’s been counting the small irregularities in the paint on his ceiling to keep entertained.

“Uh, yeah, almost.”

He feels the cold kiss of the brush tip once, twice more before it returns to its makeshift home of the water glass with a clink.

“Do you...wanna see what it looks like,” you sit up then. 

There’s a small hand mirror across the room that you’re eyeing. But he stops you with a squeeze to your hips, reminding you that his hands have been resting there this whole time.

“Just use my phone,” he nods to the device lying abandoned in the sheets. “Take a picture.”

“Okay.”

For some reason, your hands are shaking even with the paintbrush gone and the need for focus lifted. Mechanically you wake Yoongi’s phone from sleep and access the camera app to take a photo, shifting your weight to your knees to get above him and snap a pic. Curiosity makes you open the photo album app to see the photo you just took instead of showing it to him first. The result takes your breath away. 

Yoongi looks blissfully content, almost smugly so, as he gazes up at the camera. The stars under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose look like glowing yellow freckles amidst the banner of deep navy and rich purples you used to craft the sky across his cheekbones. The paint looks good and it’s probably even your best job yet, but you can’t help yourself from looking elsewhere.

Yoongi’s tousled bed head, soft sleep shirt, and dreamy eyes bring a cloud of butterflies to your stomach. The final killer touch of the photo is the fact that your knees just barely enter the bottom of the photo. Yoongi’s hands rest on each one like they belong there.

“Yoongi.” You breathe his name like a sigh and that’s when he surges up, as if to catch his name on your lips.

The kiss takes you by surprise and you tumble down to him in a soft pile of limbs. He hums a long, pleased sound when your weight settles on top of him. The hands he had on your knees suddenly grow restless and they amble up your thighs, up your waist, around your back. His hands are ever busy gliding over as much of you as they can in the moments that you let your lips press firmly against his.

Idly you pick out the details you notice with your eyes drifting closed. Yoongi’s breath leaves his nose in puffs against your face and his sighs echo quiet in your ears. His hair is soft between your fingers and so is the collar of the worn shirt that he’s wearing. The sheets that have raised around you like makeshift linen mountains smell just like Yoongi’s sweet soap, warmed with sleep.

“Shouldn’t we—”, he plants a kiss on your mouth, “shouldn’t we talk about this,” you mumble against his lips.

Yoongi’s hands stop in their tracks along the midpoint of your spine. The sigh he lets out is long suffering.

“Sorry. I just—I got carried away.”

“I mean, you don’t have to apologize for it. I just...thought you saw me as a friend.”

“Do friends confess their love for each other? That’s new.”

“L-love?” Your eyes turn wide and starry. “When have either of us ever confessed our love?”

“Well, I did. At the bar. Or did you have to block that memory out?”

Your brow furrows at the self-deprecating turn his smile takes and you clasp one of his still-wandering hands.

“You mean—Yoongi, I thought you were just being mushy. I thought you meant, like, ‘I love that we’re all here together as friends right now’. If I had known that was a real confession,” you trail off.

“You what?” 

Yoongi’s mood elevates once more, enjoying the sudden turn your rambling is taking. Teasingly he bucks his hips under you, startling you out of your bashful silence and forcing you to press two hands to his chest for balance. A cute little sound leaves your lips and he’s tempted to do it again.

“You were saying,” he grins up at you and his hands start to wander once again.

“I would have—”

“Baby, speak up.” He’s all coos but there’s a little venom in his voice. He likes how embarrassed you are.

“I would have left with you that night. If I had known.”

His shirt wrinkles up where your fingers twist anxiously. Normally you trample through Yoongi’s space, no shame or hesitation in the way you leave him on his toes. It had always been a fun game for you to see how close you could get before he’d have to draw a line, before his besotted smile would become too hard to hide. But now you’re not so sure you can handle it directed at you in all its glory.

“That’s a nice idea,” he says. 

In one moment he looks like he’s really weighing the idea, serious in his appraisal. The next moment he’s tugging you down when you least expect it, bringing a corner of the blanket to envelope you both. Under the cover of weak darkness, he threads a hand through the hair at the base of your neck. 

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Canvas

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook 

Word Count: 1,470

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to The Holi-Date. This drabble takes place after the events of The Holi-Date and follows Jungkook (a side character) + attending an art class and drawing nude models. 

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

Adjusting the easel before him with one hand, Jungkook concentrated on the blank sheet of canvas and not on what lay beyond.

An entirely nude model spread out on the chaise.

Jungkook had decided to take this class on a whim; it had been recommended to him by Taehyung and really, he should’ve known better. Taehyung tended to have a chaotic streak masked beneath that uber-straight-faced exterior. Still, when Jungkook had mentioned wanting to try out an art class, in order to better understand the work he curated, he had never suspected Taehyung might lead him this far astray.

It wasn’t that Jungkook had a problem with nudity, per se. He was fine with it and obviously, he liked being naked with certain people, but to have a stranger so brazenly displayed like the model before him – Jungkook couldn’t help it; he blushed.

Dabbing his paintbrush in the cup of water before him, Jungkook chanced another glance at the model.

She was attractive, which he found to be part of the problem. At the start of the class, their instructor had recommended separating the model from their painting, but Jungkook found this advice to be somewhat contrary. His favorite works at the museum were those which captured the humanity of their subject; those which solidified the intangible with paint.

It was one thing to accurately display a likeness on canvas. It was another thing entirely to convey a soul, to grant another person insight through a window unseen.

Hesitant, Jungkook lifted his gaze from the canvas again.

The model’s gaze remained fixated on a point over his head and somehow, this made Jungkook relax just a little. Oddly enough, he felt like he was the one on display, not the model. The fact that she was entirely open about her nakedness wasn’t what made Jungkook embarrassed. More embarrassing was the fact that looking at her made Jungkook realize he could never do the same.

Frowning at this, Jungkook fiddled with his brush. When he glanced to either side, he saw both of his neighbors were well underway. It seemed no one else had spent the first twenty minutes of class having an existential crisis over the fact that they’d never dropped trou for a room full of people.

Forcing himself to look once more at the model, Jungkook refused to blink until his eyes watered a bit. He made himself see her – truly see her – until some of the novelty began to wear off.

There; that felt a bit better.

Teeth gritted, he bent and made his first broad stroke on canvas. The teacher had gone over different techniques at the beginning of class; how to hold their brush, how to angle their bristles to create different textures. How fast you needed to paint at some points of the painting; how slowly at others.

From what Jungkook had gathered, this wasn’t a beginner’s class. Again, he cursed Kim Taehyung in his mind. Well, Taehyung would see who got the last laugh when Jungkook banished Vante’s next exhibit to the museum’s back alley, or something.

Actually – Jungkook tilted his head. He might be onto something there.

A teaching assistant had set up their easel before him, showcasing the students how he laid out the model on canvas. Jungkook glanced at this for a moment before he finally began.

In time, his wrist gradually loosened, posture relaxing as Jungkook fell into a rhythm between brush and canvas. He grew less awkward with each glance at the model until eventually, his gaze was as bold as she’d been when she dropped her robe.

By the end of the hour, Jungkook had to shake himself free when the instructor called for them to stop.

“Paintbrushes down!” she said, clapping her hands. “I’ll see you all back here next week to continue – please place your canvases on the drying racks in the next room. You should clean up your stations according to the instructions on the board. Thank you!”

Jungkook busied himself with said instructions and by the end, he felt vaguely pleased as he untied his apron. His painting wasn’t the best in the room, but it was by no means the worst among those on the drying racks.

Assuaged by this fact, Jungkook adjusted his sweatshirt as he turned, nearly tripping when he ran into the model behind him.

“Oh!” he blurted, hair flopping forward as he straightened himself. “S-sorry!”

Noticing his stammer, the model just smiled. “It’s okay,” she laughed, ducking her head. “I kind of snuck up on you there.”

“I – well, yeah,” Jungkook said, a bit embarrassed.

He forced himself to look only at her eyes, and not on the curves he knew lay beneath her clothes. The determined way he stared must have given him away though, since she knowingly smiled and – oddly enough – did not look displeased.

Jungkook belatedly registered this.

“This was your first time in class, right?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head. “I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook managed to nod. “I’ve actually uh, never taken an art class before… I only draw in my spare time. When I have the time, that is. I’m a curator at the Art Museum? Do you know it?”

Looking vaguely amused by his question, she nodded.

Jungkook nearly face-palmed. Of course, she knew it – this woman modeled for a fucking art class. Cheeks feeling about the same temperature as the sun, Jungkook wished the earth would open and swallow him whole.

Unfortunately, the earth refused to listen and remained stubbornly solid.

“Anyways,” she said, tucking her bag close to her chest. “You’ve got a really solid attention span. Very focused. Very deep.”

The corner of her mouth quirked, as though she were laughing with him, not at him and Jungkook felt a strange sort of buzz in the back of his throat. Was she flirting with him? The answer seemed like yes, but Jungkook had left the museum so little recently, it had become hard to tell. Everything about dating felt rusty and strange.

Hell, he hadn’t even managed to work up the courage to ask out the girl he had a crush on. Admittedly, Mina had just broken up with her dickwad fiancé and was in no place to date, but Jungkook wouldn’t even know how to go about asking her out if he wanted.

Eyeing the model before him, Jungkook straightened his spine. She seemed nice, was very pretty and had actually sought him out at the end of the class. Jungkook usually wasn’t the type to casually date, but wasn’t that why he’d sought out this class in the first place? To broaden his horizons, try something new and gain different experiences.

“I didn’t think that you’d notice,” he finally said with a smile. “You were so busy staring at the wall over my head.”

“You really were absorbed in your painting, huh?” Gently, she laughed. “I was actually scolded by my boss for missing the time I was supposed to turn.”

Jungkook blinked. “Turn?”

“Mhm,” she said with a conspiratorial wink. “I’m supposed to turn around halfway through class. I didn’t, though. I wanted to keep facing you.”

Jungkook found his mouth had gone suddenly dry. “You did?”

He was aware he sounded a bit like a parrot, but he’d never been very good at the small talk thing. Give Jungkook a museum and he could talk your ear off, but every day wordplay and chitchat? No good. 

Maybe he could get better, though.

“Yeah,” she said, fiddling again with her bag. “I saw your painting of me and thought it was nice!” Bashful, she smiled. “Will you be here again next week?”

Jungkook, who had been at the start of class seriously considering not returning, felt something entirely different unfold in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said, hair falling into his gaze when he nodded. “I think that I will.”

She smiled and turned, walking out the door and Jungkook was left all alone in the room. He fixated on the podium for a moment, wondering if he’d ever feel bold enough to be a model himself.

It seemed near-impossible, but then again, Jungkook would’ve deemed this entire class to be impossible mere hours ago. He’d been stuck in the same place for so long that any sort of change seemed inconceivable. That didn’t mean it couldn’t happen, though – after all, two new things had happened to him in one day. Who was he to say what would happen tomorrow?

Feeling slightly more excited about next week’s class, Jungkook turned on his heel and he walked out the door.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[writingfandomfeels]

Jack x reader x Crutchie

Summary: You like both Jack and Crutchie and they seem to both like you too. Deciding between them will prove to be a hard decision

You never were the type to get crushes easily, so when you found yourself fancying two of your closest friends at the same time you were shocked to say the least. Both boys had incredible features that made your heart leap in that head-in-the-clouds, sing-your-heart-out kind of way, despite being fairly different from each other. Although you would have loved for something to spark up between you and either of them, if you were honest with yourself you were too nervous to make the first move. Not to mention you hadn’t the faintest idea which you’d make that move on. So for the moment, you were perfectly content being friends with them while secretly giggling over the way they smiled or said your name. This changed though when one of them decided to make a move. 

You were with Jack at the theatre he liked to paint backdrops for. Sometimes if he was in the mood for company he would let you hang out while he painted. Usually you guys would talk or you’d read a book (sometimes out loud to him while he worked). It was pretty chill which was always nice. 

“Well, I think I’m done and ready to go. How ‘bout you?” He asked, taking off his painting smock. 

You nodded, gathering your things and getting ready to leave. 

“Want me to walk you home?” He offered. 

“Sure.” You smiled. 

During the walk to your house Jack seemed somewhat nervous. He didn’t say much which was unusual for him. Or at least for his relationship with you, you were always chatting about something. 

“Is something wrong?” You finally asked him as you approached your house. 

“No. Just… umm.” He paused to gather his thoughts before deciding to just spit it all out. “Do you wanna go out sometime? Like, on a date type thing?” 

“A… date type, thing?” You repeated, amused by how flustered he seemed. 

He let out a frustrated sigh, annoyed with himself for being so nervous and sounding stupid. He could charm the pants off some girls, why did he have to be nervous with you? All he had to do was think of you as the girl he liked more than he thought of you as his friend. But you were both, and really that was the best part of liking you wasn’t it? That you were friends first? He had to stop overthinking it. 

“I just have a good time whenever we’s hangin’ out, you know?” He said. 

“I do too” you replied. 

“Well it just got me thinkin’ that maybe we’d also have a good time hangin’ out like… a couple.” He finally said it. He was so nervous but he said it. And now he just needed to wait for your reply. 

“I’d love to.” You grinned. You knew how you felt about Jack, and even though you may also feel the same things for Crutchie, Jack was the one in front of you right now, asking you to go out with him. It would be silly for you to wait in hopes that Crutchie would do the same. You’d be passing up a perfectly good opportunity with someone you really like. 

“For sure?!” He asked, surprised by your answer. 

You nodded. 

“Okay, I uh-I’ll come get you Friday?” He added. 

“Sounds good Jack.” You replied then walked into your house. 

It wasn’t long before you heard a knock. Had he forgotten something? But when you opened the front door it wasn’t Jack. 

“Crutchie” you said with surprise as you faced the boy who was holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“Hiya Y/N,” Crutchie beamed and stared a moment. “Oh! These are for you.” He quickly handed you the flowers after realizing he’d been staring. 

“Aww, thank you!” You exclaimed. “But what’s the occasion?” 

Crutchie took in a deep breath, still smiling with excitement. “Well, I been wantin’ t’ tell ya for a while now but I just got up the courage today. I said ‘that’s it! I ain’t waitin’ no more, I’m tellin’ her!’ and so I rushed on over ‘ere before I could talk myself outta it.” 

“What is it?” You asked, unable to keep yourself from smiling back at the boy. 

“Y/N, I like ya’. And not in the ‘just friends’ way, in the ‘I’d like to take you on a date’ way. You’s more beautiful than anythin’ I ever seen in my whole life and if you’d have me I’d be sure to treat you like one of them fancy royals in those pretty castles. You’s one in a million and I know I’d be the luckiest guy alive if you’d say yes.” 

Your heart raced as you tried to come up with the words to say. 

“Crutchie I like you too! I have for a long time now.” You admitted. 

“You do?!” If his face hadn’t been lit up before it certainly was now. 

“I do! But…” you paused, knowing you had to break the news to him, “I also like Jack, and well… he was just over here asking me out too.” 

Immediately the blond’s expression fell. “Oh.” He blinked. “That’s okay. Jack’s a good guy, he’ll make a good boyfriend for you.” He turned to leave. 

“Crutchie wait!” You called after him. “I want to date you too!” 

“But you already said yes to Jack.” He reminded. 

You thought for a moment. Never in a thousand years would you ever have thought that you’d find yourself in the current situation. 

“What if… what if I dated both of you? Not as a full relationship and not forever, but just... until I can decide?” You suggested. 

His smile wasn’t quite as big as it had been when he first came to your door but at least it was something. “Sure Y/N, whatever you want.” 

After updating Jack on the situation you had an agreement set and two dates. But what you didn’t know was that both boys planned to sabotage their own dates so the other could have you. 

For Jack’s date, you met him at Medda’s like usual. Although his unknown intent had been to try and make it less special than taking you somewhere nice, you felt more relaxed coming to a place you normally went to with him. It took off some of the pressure for you and you thought it was very considerate of him to do that. 

Realizing his plan wasn’t working, he decided to implement phase two. “I made ya’ somethin Y/N.” Jack pointed to a canvas covered with a sheet. 

“For me?!” You gasped, taking the sheet off. 

“It’s you!” Jack declared, gesturing to the painting. He’d never worked so hard to make something so awful in his life. He purposefully disproportionated your entire body and made it so your face was unrecognizable. Hideous colours smeared the canvas in an obnoxious way. Proudly he stood back, waiting for your bad reaction. 

“Jack! I love it!” You marveled. 

“Huh?!” 

“It’s incredible! So abstract! The abstract movement has really been taking off you know. You should make more like this!” You praised. 

Jack was dumbfounded. No way in hell would he be making another ugly piece like that. How could you have possibly liked it? It was hideous! 

You grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you so much!” 

“Ya’ welcome…” Jack mumbled, still staring at the canvas in disbelief. 

Crutchie’s plan was a little different from Jack’s. He thought he would bring you on a romantic date but then ruin it for you with his clumsiness. 

“Keep ya’ eyes closed Y/N.” He instructed as he held your hand and guided you through… what sounded like a park. 

“I hear trees.” You noted. “Where are we?” 

“I told you’s it’s a surprise!” Crutchie said. A moment passed before he stopped walking. “Okay. Open your eyes.” 

You opened and saw before you the cutest picnic you’d ever been invited to. Crutchie had laid out a blanket on the green grass in central park, as well as a couple pastries, a bottle of grape juice, and two cups. 

“Crutchie!” You stared. “This is amazing! You did all this?” 

The boy blushed. “Took me a while to save up, but yeah. I been plannin’ this for months. I never thought it’d actually happen though.” 

“You are so sweet.” You said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. 

Immediately his entire face turned a bright red. 

You hurried to sit down in the picturesque scene. Realizing it was time to begin the ruining of this date, Crutchie sat down next to you and offered you the grape juice. 

“Sure, I’d love some!” You grabbed one of the cups and held it up. 

But he completely missed the cup, pouring the staining dark juice all over your clothing. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N!” He gasped, pretending to act surprised. 

You began laughing. “No use crying over spilt juice.” 

“You mean… you’re not mad?” Crutchie asked. 

You shook your head. “Of course not! How could I be? You were so sweet to set this whole thing up. Besides, I know some washing secrets to get it out.” You winked. 

Crutchie nodded and smiled, though he didn’t feel much like smiling knowing his plan hadn’t worked. 

You’d been waiting for hours for Jack to pick you up. At first you wondered if something had come up but as time went on you couldn’t help but worry that he’d forgotten about you or didn’t care. Maybe you liked him a lot more than he liked you. As you grew more and more frustrated you began to walk to the newsies lodge to confront him, despite the gloomy clouds threatening rain overhead. Before you got to the lodge you found him walking down the street, seemingly as if he hadn’t been in any kind of a rush to get to you. 

“Hey!” You hollered, getting the boy’s attention. “Where the hell have you been?!” You stomped over to him. 

He stared blankly at you. “Oh was that today?” 

“Yes that was today!” You shouted. “How could you forget? What, was this not important to you or something?!” 

Jack shrugged, infuriating you even more. 

He felt bad to upset you like this but he knew that if he just said that you should pick Crutchie you wouldn’t listen and insist that he was just as good for you. This was something you had to think was your own decision. And although a part of him felt guilty for it he knew it was the best thing to do for both of his friends. 

The rain started, slowly sprinkling droplets of water onto your hair and face. Though the water prickling your skin was cool, your blood was boiling. 

“Jack Kelly I cannot believe you! You are so-” you groaned angrily, pushing him slightly. 

“So what?!” He egged you on.  

Thunder rolled and the rain began to increase. 

“I can’t even find the words!” You yelled over the storm. “You just have me feeling so-” 

“So what?!” He repeated, badgering. “How am I making you feel?!” 

You couldn’t hold in all the pent up feelings any longer. You felt similar to the sky in that moment with so much energy just begging to be let loose. But instead of letting the rage consume you, your emotions tangled together like the swirling clouds then released in an act of passion. 

Violently you pressed your lips against his, holding his face in your hands. 

Jack was beyond shocked but didn’t miss a beat. Immediately he pulled you tightly against him, his heart racing by holding your body against his. 

You began to pull your mouth away but he met with yours again, deepening the kiss. His tongue ran against yours as you both let yourselves give in to the emotions. 

Your hands tugged on his wet hair as you pushed yourself against his chest, feeling as though you needed to get closer despite that not being physically possible. 

Jack’s fingers slid up and down your back, your wet clothes clinging tightly to your skin. Feeling how good it was to have you with him like this he couldn’t remember for the life of him why he would have started this fight at all. All he wanted now was to keep kissing you and for you to be his. 

Eventually when it had stopped raining and you’d both come up for air, you agreed to give Jack another chance that evening. But in the meantime you would both go home, dry off, and he would come to pick you up later. On your way home you ran into Crutchie. 

“Geez Y/N! You’re soaked! Don’t tell me you were caught in that storm a few minutes ago.” He said. 

You smiled at the memory. “Yeah, I was. I’m on my way home now to dry off.” 

“Can I walk ya’?” Crutchie offered, unable to hold himself back from any opportunity to spend time with you. 

“Sure!” You thanked him and began talking as you walked. 

Crutchie nodded as he watched you talk. He thought you looked so magnificent, even drenched. How was that even possible for someone? He quickly looked away, remembering the situation. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be flirting with you walking you home. He had to be pushing you toward Jack and not wanting himself. An idea struck Crutchie in that moment. Although he had no problem keeping up with you with his crutch, you didn’t have to know that. With the next step he moved his crutch over just a little bit, so that it went down on your foot. 

“OW!” You yelped. 

“Oh! Sorry Y/N! I guess I wasn’t payin’ attention. You just been walkin’ a little fast is all.” Crutchie lied. 

“Oh! No, I’m sorry.” You apologized. “Here, let me help.” In one swift movement you picked up the boy, bridal style. 

Crutchie gaped in shock. You… could pick him up? How were you that strong?!! He always knew you had some muscle but had no idea you would be able to lift him.

You continued walking to your house (which wasn’t far now), carrying him with ease. When you let him down at your front door, he hardly noticed you inviting him in. He was still so baffled that once again his plan didn’t work. Absentmindedly he followed you. 

“I’ll just be a second.” You said, stripping off your wet clothes behind the changing screen in your room. 

Crutchie gulped as he caught a glimpse of your form in the mirror, your wet undergarments clinging to your body. He quickly turned, exiting your bedroom. 

When you returned to him you found him sitting by the fireplace looking very uncomfortable. You blushed a little as you realized what must have happened. 

“Crutchie…” you smiled. 

“Yes, Y/N?” He responded timidly. 

“Did… you happen to see me changing?” You asked, still smiling. Honestly you kind of hoped he had, scandalous as it may be. 

His eyes grew wide as he began to stammer, apologizing profusely. You giggled, quieting him by pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It took him a moment to recover from the shock and kiss back, but once he did he didn’t stop. You moved so that you were sitting on his lap, straddling him, with your arms draped around his neck. Lightly teasing you, Crutchie grazed your bottom lip between his teeth, skyrocketing your emotions. Where did he learn to do that?! His hands gripped at your hips and you thought about how you really wouldn’t mind if they traveled a little lower.

A week had passed and you were downtown, running some errands with your mother when you spotted Jack and Crutchie selling. 

“Hey look, it’s Y/N” Crutchie pointed out. 

“Y/N!” Jack called over to you and you went over to greet them. 

“Hey, how’s selling going today?” You asked the boys. 

“Not great.” Crutchie admitted. 

Jack held up the paper which had an uneventful headline. 

You nodded, understanding. You hadn’t noticed that your mother had also come over to join you. 

“Hello,” she greeted the boys. “Y/N, I don’t believe you’ve introduced us.” 

“This is Crutchie Morris and Jack Kelly.” You stated. 

“Lovely to meet you.” She smiled. “We’d better be on our way though. Plenty to do today.” 

After saying goodbye to the two and heading down the street you watched as a curious smile grew on your mother’s face. 

“What?” You asked.

“Nothing, just, I’m a very intuitive person you know.” She stated. 

“Uh huh… and?” You waited for her to continue.

She could hardly contain herself now. “Are you seeing either of those boys? Because I was certain I sensed a spark of sorts between you, though I couldn’t quite detect with which.” 

“Uhhhhhhhhh……” You had no idea how to even begin to answer that question.

Although your stormy makeout session with Jack was amazing and you wouldn’t trade it for the world, it did unfortunately land you with a bit of a cold. Your nose kept running and you could feel yourself coming down with something. Choosing to spend the day focusing on getting better, you set yourself up with your favorite books and a blanket by the fireplace. In the evening you were visited by Crutchie. 

“I gotta scare her off, make her not want me and want Crutchie. What should I do?” Jack asked Davey. Right after the first date hadn’t worked in Crutchie’s favor, he had gone to his friend’s house to get advice. But of course that included getting the input of his two siblings, Les and Sarah, as well. 

“Maybe over exaggerate your flaws?” Sarah suggested after overhearing the conversation. 

“Pfft! What flaws?” Jack and Les both joked. 

Davey chuckled. “Well... and now don’t get me wrong Jacky, you’re great,” 

Jack watched his friend, both curious and concerned where this was going. 

“But sometimes you can be,” Davey winced a bit, “just a wee bit over dramatic.” 

“Over dramatic?!” Jack stood, offended the boy would suggest such a thing. “When have I ever been over dramatic?” 

Davey shrugged awkwardly. “Remember that time with the strike when we were printin’ our own pape?” 

“I hardly think that was overdramatic Davey. I was just gettin’ us our rights!” Jack defended. 

“Yeah not that part, I’m meaning the bit when you said to print the pape in blood or ink and that it would be the same either way.” Davey reminded. “It’s not the same Jack. Blood and ink are very much not the same.” 

“.....Oh. Right. I uh… forgot about that.” Jack admitted. 

“You could always pick her up late?” Les suggested. “I once was late for Sally, on accident of course! But she was real mad.” 

Jack nodded. “I can do that.” 

[ambereyesandwine]

We’ve Got Soul: Chapter 6

WC: 3034

Warnings: Cursing, Leo is a fuck, Character death, Violence (nothing major shown), Blood (2 kinds), Angst, Continued references to pop culture that is already considered “outdated” but I don’t care  

Beta’d By: @teaspacebar

Notes: With this chapter, we have started into game content! There will be some places where Fantasia’s story directly intersects with pieces and scenes from the game, but for the most part, Fantasia’s story will continue to be her own. In the places where they do overlap, obviously some things will be altered slightly so as to fit Fantasia into those conversations, but I will be staying mostly true to source content in these areas. Anyway, here it is, have fun :)

Chapter 6:

November 5, 2038

10:11 A.M.

           Fantasia let herself in, as was now the norm, and crossed the entryway of her mentor’s home. She heard the piano being played in the sitting room and went in to find Markus was playing, while Carl sat quietly listening. A smile spread across Fantasia’s face as she hung in the doorway and listened to the intimate tune.

           “Something has changed in the way you play. Sometimes I think you have more humanity than most humans.” Carl’s tone was sincere and warm as he spoke to Markus. “One day, I won’t be here to take care of you anymore. You’ll have to protect yourself… and make your choices… Decide who you are, and wanna become.” Carl took note of Fantasia’s presence with a small smile and nod before continuing his thoughts for Markus. “This world doesn’t like those who are different, Markus. Don’t let anyone tell you who you should be.” Carl did not wait for a response before abruptly switching to a new train of thought. “Let’s go to the studio,” He said as he motioned for Fantasia to follow.

           The trio made their way quietly into the studio and Markus made quick work of connecting Carl’s chair to his painting lift.

           “Let’s see where I left off. Remove the sheet.”

           Carl’s request was simple and Markus promptly followed the instruction. Fantasia and Markus stood back and watched as Carl swept his brushes across the enormous hanging canvas.

           Fantasia leaned slightly closer to Markus and spoke softly so as not to disturb her mentor. “He’s right, you know.”

           “Hmm?” Markus hummed in question.

           “I heard you playing the piano earlier, and what Carl said to you, and you do have more humanity than most people do, but it’s not just when you play.” She looked to him and found him staring back at her with confusion covering his face. “Markus, you’re kind, and thoughtful, and you have so much good in you.” The smile she gave him was genuine and sweet. “You could change the world if you wanted to.”

           The only reply Markus had time to give was a smile that pulled at one side of his mouth before Carl began to lower himself from the lift.

           “So, do we have a verdict?” The man asked as he sat himself back into his wheelchair.

           Markus turned from Fantasia to the painting and looked over it before responding, “Yes, there is something about it. Something I can’t quite define.” He thought carefully for another moment and said, “I guess I like it”

           Carl huffed. “The truth is, I have nothing to say anymore… Each day that goes by brings me closer to the end… I’m just an old man clinging to his brushes.”

           Fantasia’s expression turned dejected. “Carl, that’s not-”

           “But enough about me,” The man interrupted, “Let’s see if you have any talent, Markus. Give it a try, try painting something.”

           “Paint? But what I- painting what?” He stumbled through the words.

           “Anything you want! Give it a try.” Carl said as he handed Markus a palette and brush.

           Markus looked around for a moment and began to paint, producing a dead-on picture of Carl’s supply desk.

           Carl shook his head. “That is a perfect copy of reality. But painting is not about replicating the world, it’s about interpreting it, improving on it. Showing something you see.”

           “Carl I don’t think I can do that. It’s not in my program… I…”

           “Go on, go, try, grab that canvas.”

           Fantasia handed Markus a new canvas and watched as Carl coached him through creating a painting all his own.

           “Do something for me,” Carl said, “Close your eyes. Trust me.” He waited for Markus to do as he asked before he continued, “Try to imagine something that doesn’t exist, something you’ve never seen. Now, concentrate on how it makes you feel, and let your hand drift across the canvas.”

           Markus pulled the brush back and forth across the canvas and moved like he’d let something else entirely take over him. When he backed up, Fantasia gasped.

           “Oh my God.” Carl seemed just as lost for words.

           The three stared at the canvas, now covered in reds and oranges that formed a portrait of Markus. The expression he’d painted was somber, but the image was distorted, like it was meant to show confusion or doubt.

           “Hey dad.” The silence was broken by Leo’s voice, shaking as he called across the studio.

           “Leo,” Carl addressed as he approached his son slowly, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

           Leo smiled, but something about it made the hair on the back of Fantasia’s neck stand up. “Oh, I was in the neighborhood; thought I’d stop by,” He said it non-chalantly like these visits were normal. “It’s been a while, right?”

           Carl’s concern was evident on his face. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

           “Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Hey listen, uh… I need some cash, Dad.”

           Fantasia huffed and rolled her eyes in annoyance but stayed otherwise silent, knowing it wasn’t her place to interject in the discussion.

           “Again? What happened to the money I just gave you?”

           “Uh, well, it just goes, you know?”

           “Yeah…” Carl trailed off, coming to a realization he’d hoped to avoid. “Yeah, you’re on it again, aren’t you?”

           “No, no, no, I swear it’s not that.” Leo quickly attempted to defend himself.

           “Don’t lie to me Leo.”

           “What difference does it make?” The younger man’s irritation seemed to explode. “I just need some cash, that’s all!”

           Carl’s voice was laced with sorrow and disappointment when he responded, “Sorry… The answers no.”

           “What? Why?”

           “You know why.”

           Leo looked over to where Markus and Fantasia were standing, resentment covering his features. “Yeah, yeah… I think I do know why.” He released a short and dark chuckle as he continued, “You’d rather play house with your plastic toy and orphan barbie than take care of your own son, eh? Tell me dad, what do they have that I don’t?” Leo walked toward the pair and took it as a challenge when they didn’t back away, “What? Cause she’s more artsy than I am?” He pointed toward Fantasia as he stared his father down before he moved to Markus. “Is it that this one’s smarter? More obedient? Not like me, right?” Markus held his ground as Leo got in his face and continued ranting. “But you know what? This thing is not your son. IT’S A FUCKING MACHINE!” Leo yelled as he shoved Markus.

           Fantasia was quick to help Markus catch himself, wrapping a hand around his forearm to pull him upright and help steady him as Carl yelled, “Leo, that’s enough!”

           “Are you okay?” Fantasia’s words were rushed and quiet, meant only for Markus, and he nodded slightly in reply.

           “Enough.” Carl repeated weakly.

           Leo began to shake his head in resignation. “You don’t care about anything except yourself and your goddamned paintings. You’ve never loved anyone, you’ve never loved me, Dad,” He said as he turned toward the door. “You never loved me.”

           Carl sighed heavily and pulled a hand up to his forehead as soon as the door closed behind Leo. “Markus, are you alright?” He almost whispered the question, but the android heard it nonetheless.

           “I’m fine, Carl. Are you okay?”

           “Yes, but I’m done in the studio for today, and I’d like to lay down before we have to leave for our event this evening.” He sounded worn and out of breath.

           “Of course, Carl,” Markus responded as he began to move, only to realize Fantasia still had a hold on his arm. He stopped and looked down at her hand and then to her eyes before she noticed the extended contact and immediately pulled her hand away.

           “Sorry,” She mumbled as she turned away to hide the red tint spreading over her cheeks. “I can get things together in here while you take him upstairs, if you’d like.”

           “That’d be great.” Carl called to her before Markus had a chance to respond.

           “Great,” She said, all too eager to have something else on her mind. Fantasia began to clean the studio and was relieved to hear the door close, telling her she was alone. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and felt herself relax a little. “All good, let’s just finish cleaning and pretend nothing happened.” She spoke to herself as she tidied the room. When she finished, Fantasia exited the room and was greeted by the smell of strong coffee. She hummed as she walked toward the kitchen. “You made coffee?” She questioned happily when she saw Markus pouring from the pot.

           “I figured you’d want some.” He said as he handed her the mug with a smile. “While we wait for Carl, would you like to keep working on the song I was teaching you to play?”

           “Absolutely.” Fantasia smiled over the lip of the ceramic cup and followed Markus back into the sitting room toward the piano.

November 5, 2038

9:41 P.M.

           The car pulled slowly into the driveway of the Manfred household, and Fantasia thanked the driver as Markus helped Carl get out of the vehicle.

           “Thank you so much, have a good rest of your night.” She waived to the man as she closed her door and walked around to the other side. “Do we have everything?” She asked openly.

           “The only thing you had to bring home was me,” Carl stated shortly.

           Markus chuckled, “You can be very hard to keep track of.”

           Fantasia couldn’t help but giggle slightly.

           “Funny.” Carl rolled his eyes fondly at Markus’s comment. “I think it’s time for a drink.”

           “Actually,” Fantasia started, “I think I’m going to turn in for the night.”

           “Already?” Carl asked.

           She smiled, “It’s been a long day of keeping track of the two of you. I’m tired.”

           “Fine, be a party pooper. Markus and I will just go in and have a drink ourselves.” Carl began to wheel himself toward the front door.

           “Have a good night, Fantasia.” Markus smiled and nodded at her.

           She shook her head good-naturedly. Fantasia had reminded Markus on the regular that he was welcome to call her ‘Tasia,’ but he had never made the switch. “Good night, Markus.”

           Fantasia walked down Carl’s driveway and up her own, ready to turn in for the evening. After she had taken her makeup off and pulled her hair up, not bothering to brush the hair sprayed curls out, Fantasia was getting changed into pajamas when she heard sirens outside. She walked outside cautiously to see what was happening, only to find two police cars parked in front of Carl’s house, and Chris Miller standing outside.

           “Chris, what’s going on?” She approached the officer with confusion.

           “Fantasia?” He was surprised to see her, “You live here?”

           “No, I live next door. This is Carl’s house, what’s going on?”

           “We got a call about a possible break in, but-”

           There was a gunshot from inside.

           “Shit.” Chris muttered the word and immediately radioed for backup. He saw Fantasia start to walk toward the house and caught her by the arm. “You can’t go in there.”

           “What if they’re hurt?”

           “That’s what we’re here for, you stay here.”

           Fantasia’s worry was evident on her face, but she stayed focused on Chris’s words until she saw movement out of the corner of her eye a few moments later. It was two police officers carrying an unmoving person down the walkway from the door.

“Markus?” Fantasia questioned softly. She looked down to see that he was not walking, but being dragged, and was covered in thirium. “Markus?” It was more urgent this time. She still received no response of acknowledgement from him and her thoughts and voice became frantic. “Markus!” Fear welled in her chest and she called his name again before they put him in the back of a police car.

           Chris stepped in front of Fantasia, hoping to calm her, but her eyes were set beyond his form. She watched as Leo came out of the house, escorted by a police officer toward the ambulance that had arrived only moments ago. His face was covered in blood and he cradled the back of his head in pain.

           “Leo,” She seethed.

           Upon hearing his name, the man looked up, but gave no verbal recognition to the woman.

           “What did you do, Leo?”

           A cruel side-smile was all the response Fantasia received from him.

           A rage crossed over Fantasia’s face like Chris had never seen before and she lurched forward, leaving Chris with barely enough time to catch her around the middle before she pounced. “What did you do!?” She yelled to him from across the driveway. Fantasia struggled to free herself from Chris’s grip, but he held steady, fearing for what might happen if he let her go. She continued to yell at the younger Manfred, her anger only growing with the man’s refusal to acknowledge her. Fantasia’s vision tunneled so far that she failed to notice her mentor sitting solemnly on his porch, observing, or her best friend’s car screeching to a stop only a few feet from her.

           Gavin jumped from the driver’s seat and made a beeline to Fantasia, who was yet to see him.

           “Gavin,” Chris panted, “A little help?” His stamina was running out far faster than Fantasia’s and his grip was loosening.

           Gavin put himself in front of Fantasia, but her eyes were focused past him, still on the man now sitting in the open back of an ambulance. “Fantasia.” He searched her eyes and found no recognition, only anger and pain. “Tasia, hey!” She stopped moving. “Look at me.”

           Fantasia slowly met Gavin’s eyes as hers began to fill with tears.

           “Hey,” He said calmly, “Hey, you’re okay. Okay,” He directed his attention to Chris and the officer now walking up to the trio. “What happened?”

           The other officer was the one who answered, “We got a call about a possible break in and when we came to investigate, we found the household care android had attacked the Manfreds.”

           “No.” Fantasia’s voice was barely above a whisper, and the gloss began to return to her eyes.

           “We took care of it.”

           “Meaning?” Gavin questioned.

           “We shot the android, Detective. It’ll be dismantled and sent to the junkyard.”

           “Fuck,” Gavin mumbled. He didn’t need to look at Fantasia to know she’d be destroyed by this information. “Okay, I need a minute and then we can get started.” He turned to Fantasia and found what he’d expected. The look in her eyes was shattered. “Come on.” Gavin pulled Fantasia to the passenger side of his car and opened the door for her before sitting her down. “I need you to stay here while I do my job and then we’re gonna go, okay?”

           Fantasia did not reply. She felt Gavin move her legs inside the vehicle and then close the door softly, but that was all she could register. Her focus was blurred at best and her entire body felt fuzzy; she couldn’t move her fingers or toes. For a while, Fantasia stared blankly out the window of Gavin’s car, unable to see past the droplets of water racing down the glass, obscuring the images behind them. She hadn’t noticed the car moving until Gavin spoke to her again.

           “Tasia, we’re here.”

           She slowly turned her head to him.

           “Earth to Fantasia,” Gavin searched her eyes for any form of recognition. “Are you alive in there?”

           She hummed shortly and turned back toward her door. Her movements were sluggish as she pulled the handle and rose from the car. She stood quietly for a moment with her arms wrapped around her stomach for warmth.

           Gavin came around to her side of the car to collect Fantasia. “Okay, let’s-” He stopped mid-sentence when he looked down and noticed for the first time that Fantasia was not wearing shoes. “Jesus, you are absolutely helpless right now, aren’t you?” He leaned down slightly and scooped her into his arms to carry her across the rocks and up the stairs.

           Fantasia gave no reaction until he set her down at the door to unlock it. She went inside and sat down on the couch as though by muscle memory and pulled her knees up to her chest.

           “No. No,” Gavin scolded her, “You’re soaked, and you are not ruining my couch and getting hypothermia at the same time.” He disappeared to his bedroom for a moment and returned with a long sleeve shirt and a pair of sweats in his hands. “Go put these on, I’m gonna make coffee.” He waited until she left the room to make the coffee, and already had it poured into mugs by the time she sat back down on the couch. “One cup of coffee, black as night,” He said as he set one mug down on the coffee table in front of her, “And one with just a little bit of milk and sugar because I’m not a terrorist.” Fantasia’s lack of reaction told Gavin that she was still in shock, which meant she needed more than Sarcastic-Asshole-Gavin from him. “Okay, why don’t I put on that old movie you like? That Disney cartoon about that city…” He thought for a moment before the name came to him. “Atlantis, right?”

           She made a small, dazed, noise of approval, which Gavin took as all the go-ahead he’d get. He put on the movie and watched it with Fantasia next to him on the couch, neither of them making a sound. When the movie ended, Gavin looked over to find Fantasia asleep, curled as far into the corner of the couch as she could get. She hadn’t touched her coffee. Gavin only nodded slightly to himself and stood up, gracefully taking Fantasia in his arms to put her to bed. He tucked her neatly into his bed before grabbing a pillow and blanket for himself. Fantasia made no move that suggested she’d be waking up anytime soon, so Gavin quietly put their dishes in the sink and got settled on the couch for the night.

[layce2015]

Detroit Become Human (Connor x Reader)

Chapter 1: My Name Is Connor, I'm The Android Sent By CyberLife

Nov 5th 2038 

*Beep*

*Beep*

*Beep*

You groan in frustration as your alarm wakes you up. Just five more minutes....You thought as the alarms keeps going. You turn over in your bed and shut the alarm off and see that it is sometime past nine in the morning. "Ugh...better late than never." You mutter to yourself as you slowly get up from bed.

As you get up from your bed and go to your dresser to dig up some clothes, your phone goes off. You turn back towards your bed to the sidetable by the bed and pushed the answer button. "Hello, (y/n) speaking." You answered as you try to hide the sleep in your voice.

"Good morning, Detective (l/n)." A familiar voice speaks. "Hey, Jeffery. What's up?" You asked as you rub your eyes. "I'm letting you know that you and Hank are assigned to deal with any cases involving androids." Fowler replied to you. "So...it's gotten that bad, huh?" You asked. "Yes, it has. CyberLife just informed me that they are sending an android to assist you and Hank." He said. 

You slightly cringe at this and said. "Oooh....are you sure about that, Jeffery? You know how Hank feels about androids."

"I know. I know. But unfortunately we have no choice. So I'm hoping you will keep Hank in check and make sure he doesn't tear the thing apart." Fowler said and you let out a breathless laugh. "I'll do my best, Captain." You said. "Thank you, (y/n). I knew I could count on you." Fowler said with relief.

"No problem. So, CyberLife is starting to make detective androids now?" You asked as you put your phone on speaker and began to change clothes. "Yes, they say this one is a prototype." He replied as you chuckle once you finished putting on pants and a white button up dress shirt. "Man, what will they think of next?" You said, sarcastically. "When is the android suppose to arrive?"

"Sometime this afternoon....maybe in the evening. So you better get your ass here." Fowler said. "Aye, aye, Captain." You replied. "I'll be there as soon as I can. I just have to do something real quick and I should be at the station."

"Good. I'll see you when you get here." said Fowler. "See ya." You replied. You end the call and began to finish up your outfit with black shoes and a dark blue jacket. You place your phone in your pocket then grabbed your gun holster and looped it around your waist.

After freshening up, you walk out of your home and hailed a taxi to head over to an old friend's house before heading to work.

***

The taxi pulls up to the very familiar large brick, very rustic, looking building. You smile as you step out of the taxi and made your way up to the door. "Alarm deactivated. Welcome, Miss (l/n)." The automated voice greets as the front door opens. You walked through the door when Carl's android, Markus, comes through the door at the end of the hallway.

"Good morning, Miss (l/n)." He greets as he walks up to you. "Hello, Markus." You said with a smile. Which suddenly faded once you saw that part of Markus's shirt was torn. "Markus, what happened to you?" You asked with concern. He looks down at his shirt then looks back up to you and said. "It's nothing..."

"Was it those damn protesters?" You asked. He doesn't reply and you took that for a yes. "They didn't harm you, did they?" You asked. "No, no, I was just pushed around. That's all." Markus replied. You grimace at this. 

You hated those people protesting about androids. Honestly, you didn't mind them. You were raised by the term treat others as you would want to be treated. Yes, they were androids and made of wires and plastic but they looked like humans and sounded like humans, so to you....they were just as human as any other normal humans. And if that made you a fool then so be it. You didn't care.

It really pissed you off everytime you walk down the street, or ride a taxi, and see people abusing their androids. You really wanted to arrest people like that but, unfortunately, there is no laws to say you can't abuse them. Things like that made you want to quit being a detective.

You look up at Markus and sigh. "Well....I'm glad you're okay." You said. "Is Carl around?"

"Yes, he's just now eating his breakfast." Markus replies and he takes you through the door to the dining area where you see Carl sitting by the table, finishing up his food. "Well, well....if it isn't my favorite officer of the law." Carl said and you chuckle as you walk over, lean down and hug Carl.

"How are you Carl?" You asked as you straighten back up. "I'm doing good. You?" He asked. "I'm fine. I just thought I'd come and check on you, make sure everything is okay." You said.

"Oh. You don't have to do that." He chuckles.

"I know, but I just can't help worry about you." You said. You've know Carl since you were born as he was a good friend of your dad's. Your father always liked the paintings Carl created, heck Carl let your dad have a couple for free until your father passed away.

Carl just smiles at you. "Well, I do appreciate it. Um, do you want anything?" He asked. "Oh, no. I can't stay long. I just wanted to check on you guys to see if everything is in order." You said to him. "Well, before you go. I wanna show you something. Let's go to the studio." Carl said as Markus comes up behind Carl's wheelchair and starts to wheel him towards the door at the other end of the room.

The door automatically opens as the three of you walk in to the room as the curtains open up to let the bright sunshine in. Markus takes Carl over to this mechanical arm and the arm picks Carl out of his chair and lifts him up to the wall that had a curtain covering it. "Let's see where we left off. Remove the sheet." Carl said and Markus walks over to the curtain and pulls back to reveal a large blue and black painting of a side view of a face.

Your jaw dropped at the beautiful site as Carl begins to put the finishing touches on it while Markus goes to clean and straightening up the studio. After a few moments, the arm lowers down to Carl's chair and places him back on it as he says. "So....what's the verdict, you two?"

"Carl, you never cease to amaze me." You remarked in awe. Carl smiles then he turns to Markus. "What about you, Markus?" Markus stares at the painting for a few seconds before he speaks. "Yes, there is something about it. Something I can't....quite define. I guess I like it."

You smile over at Markus as Carl looks back up at his painting and said. "The truth is I have nothing else to say anymore....Each day that goes by brings me closer to the end.....I'm just an old man clinging to his brushes."

You look over at your old friend with concern as Markus said. "Carl...."

"But enough about me..." said Carl as he turns his chair towards Markus and said. "Let's see if you have any talent!" Markus looks at Carl as Carl said. "Give it a try! Try painting something."

"Paint? But, what....Painting what?" Markus asked. "Anything you want!" Carl said then he points at an empty canvas and said. "Give it a try!" Markus looks at Carl then over at you as you shrug and said. "Go on, Markus. Show us whatcha got." Markus looks over at the blank canvas then turns to you and Carl, smiling. Carl picks up the little board with all the different colors of paint on it and hands it to Markus.

Markus grabs a brush then looks around for a subject to paint. Finally he settles with the workbench next to him and begins to paint that. After a few minutes, he steps back to reveal his picture. You smile as Carl said. "That is a perfect copy of reality. But painting is not about replicating the world, it's about interpreting it, improving on it....showing something you see."

"Carl, I don't..." Markus started to say as he looks back at his painting. "...think I can do that. It's not in my program. I..."

"Go on, go, try, grab that canvas." Carl said, softly, as points at the blank canvas next to Markus. Markus looks at him then removes his painting off of the stand, grabs the blank one and places it on the stand. 

"Do something for me, close your eyes." Carl instructs to Markus, who stares at him in slight confusion. "Close your eyes. Trust me." Carl said, softly, and Markus turns to the canvas and closes his eyes. You looke between the two as Carl says. "Try to imagine something that doesn't exist. Something you've never seen. Now concentrate...on how it makes you feel...and let your hand drift across the canvas." Markus's LED continuously blinks yellow as he does as he is instructed and begins to paint. 

After a few more minutes, Markus's LED goes back to blue as he opens his eyes and reveals to you and Carl his painting. It was a face of a man with a look of determination. Across his eyes and forehead it was red but the rest of his face was covered in blue.

"Oh my God." Carl mutter in shock.

"Markus that's beautiful." You said. Markus looks over at you and makes a small smile. You look over at Carl and said. "Seems like you got some competition on your hands." Carl chuckles as the door to the studio opens to reveal a younger man walking in, well stumbling and limping was more like it.

All of you look at him to see that it was Leo, Carl's son. "Hey, dad." He greets, shakily. "Leo....I didn't hear you come in." Carl said. Leo shrugs then said. "Ah, I was in the neighborhood...thought I stop by..." Leo then noticed you were here and he started to tremble. "What are you doing here?" He asked you, a hint of anger in his voice. 

You glare at him and said. "I was visiting your father....what are you doing here, Leo. And don't give us that piss pour excuse of I was just in the neighborhood." You knew just by looking at him that he was using Red Ice again. He used to be a good kid but when he got older and met some people, he started using it. Last you heard, he claimed he quit but you could tell from his body language that he didn't.

"I...I just...need some cash, Dad." Leo said as he turns to Carl. "Again?" Carl asked, confused. "What happened to the money I just gave you?"

Leo smirks and chuckles then said. "Uh, well it just goes, you know?"

"Yeah...yeah, you're on it again, aren't you?" Carl asked him.

"No, no, no, no. I swear it's not that..."

"Don't lie to me, Leo..."

"What difference does it makes!" Leo shouted, angrily. "I just need some cash, is all!" Carl looks at his son then over to you and Markus then back to his son and said. "I'm sorry but the answer is No."

"What? Why?" Leo asked, angrily.

"You know why!" Carl replied, harshly.

Leo stares at his dad then at Markus and said. "Yeah yeah...I think I do know why. You'd rather take care of your plastic toy here than your own son, eh?" He glares at Markus then walks up to him and said. "Tell me dad, what's it got that I don't, hm?"

"Clean veins for one." You remarked, making Leo turn his head, sharply, to you. "You shut your fuckin' mouth!" Leo shouts at you. "That's enough, Leo!" Carl shouts but Leo stares at Markus then said. "This thing is not your son, dad. IT'S A FUCKING MACHINE!!" And Leo shoves Markus a few feet back, his LED light turning red. You go and stand in front of Markus and place your hand on Leo's chest. "I said enough, Leo! Enough!" Carl shouts.

You and Leo glare at each other for a moment before he scoffs then begins to back up and faces Carl while you lower your hand. "You don't care about anything except for yourself and your damn paintings. You never loved anyone! You never loved me, dad." Leo said then he begins to walk away. "You never loved me." He whispers then he leaves the building.

You turn to Markus and asked. "You alright?" His LED turns yellow before he nods. You smile then turn to Carl. "Carl, are you...?" You started to asked but Carl interrupts you. "You should go ahead and head to work, (y/n). Thank you for stopping by." He said, softly. "Any time." You said as you go over to Carl and give him a quick hug before you go over to Markus and said. "Take care of him, Markus." 

His LED flashes yellow again before it goes back to blue a she nods. You pat his shoulder and head out of the house and head to the station.

****

God, is it never-ending with these stupid papers! You thought as you look over all the paperwork on your desk. It was getting pretty late in the evening as you glance over at Hank's desk, which was next to yours. Unfortunately, he hadn't arrived at all today and you sighed at this. This Android is gonna show up any minute and he's not here. I bet he's at...

"Detective (l/n)." A voice said beside you, making you jump in your seat. You turn around in your chair and saw a tall man with dark hair and brown eyes, wearing black pants and shoes, a white button up shirt with a black tie and a gray jacket. On the left shoulder of the jacket was a sky blue triangle and on the right side it said RK800.

This must be the android Jeffery talked about. You thought as you look up at him and said. "Yes?"

"My name is Connor, I'm the android sent by CyberLife. You and Lt Anderson were assigned to take cases involving CyberLife androids. A homicide case was just filed moments ago." He said as you look him over. Damn CyberLife....You thought. I can't deny....He's really handsome. 

"Uh...yeah, yeah....the Captian informed me about that earlier today." You stammer as you close your eyes and shake your head, shaking away your thoughts. "Is everything alright, detective?" He asked you and you noticed that his LED flashed yellow before it turns blue. "Uh, yeah...sorry. I was just think over some things. You just caught me off guard, is all." You replied as you smirk at him. He nods then asked. "Is Lt. Anderson around?" 

"Um...no. That's what I was just gonna say. He's not here but I have an idea where he might be." You said as you stand up. "When he's not here, he's usually out for a drink at one of the many bars nearby. Come with me."

****

The rain pours down on you and Connor as you two walk up to Jerry's bar, which was the fifth bar you two looked through. Connor was flipping a coin as you look at the door and noticed the No Androids Allowed sign. "Shit." You mutter then you turn to face Connor, who puts his coin back into his pocket. "Stay close behind me, Connor." You said as your raise your right hand up to him and placed your left hand on the door. "The attendees might not appreciate you being here so stay close." You said as you open the door. Meanwhile, Connor's LED flashes yellow once again before turning blue.

You open the door and see a few men inside, some you knew since you were involved in their arrest, but you were able to locate Hank. One of the men turns to see you walk in and was about to greet you until he spots Connor standing behind you.

"Shit, I thought androids weren't allowed in here!" The man exclaims, angrily. "Not now, Gray." You said, warningly, to him. Hank, hearing your voice, looks up at you in shock. "(Y/N)? What the hell are you doing here?" He asked. Then he sees Connor and groans as he turns back to his drink.

Connor walks up to him, to Hank's right side, and said. "Lieutenant Anderson, my name is Connor. I'm the android sent by CyberLife. I tried to find you at your office but Detective (l/n) said you would be out having a drink. We were lucky to find you at the fifth bar." Hank looks up at you then mutters. "Thanks alot." You walk up to him, on his left, then lean down and said. "I'm sorry, Hank. But we have a job to do." 

"You and Detective (l/n) were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators." Connor explained. "Well, we don't need any assistance. Specially not from a plastic asshole like you." said Hank. "So just be a good lil robot and get the fuck outta here." And he begins to sip his drink.

"C'mon, Hank...." you whispered as Connor said. "Listen, I think you should stop drinking and come with me and Detective (l/n). It'll make life easier for the three of us." Hank nods but he continues to down his drink. "Hank, you have to come with us. You know Fowler will have our ass on a platter if we don't do this ASAP." You said, firmly, but Hank ignores you. You sigh at this. You loved this man like a father but sometimes this man can really get on your nerves. But you've done your best to be understanding.

"You know what?" Connor said. "I'll buy you one for the road. What do you say?" You look over at Connor in surprise. Connor turns to the bartender, Jim, and said. "Bartender, the same again, please!" Jim turns around as Connor pulls out some cash out of his pocket and lay it down on the surface. "See that, Jim? Wonders of technology....Make it a double." said Hank as Jim pours out his drink.

Connor glances over your way and you smile at him. Good job. You mouthed, silently, at him as you winked at him.

Software Instability 

Hank Status: Netural increased

(Y/N) Status: Netural increased

Connor's LED flashes yellow for a second as Hank chugs his drink then sets his glass down on the bar. He let's out a sigh then looks between you and Connor and said, with a chuckle as he leans back on his stool. "Did you say homicide?"

[onceuponamirror]

heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 6

summary: It wasn’t an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister’s college graduation. That’s it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 25k chapters: 6/?

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

Well, I've been afraid of changing 'Cause I've built my life around you

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“Knock, knock,” comes a familiar voice, quickly followed by Veronica’s dark head peeking around her bedroom door.

“Hi, V, come on in,” Betty says distractedly, standing back to get a better look at the organized piles on her bed. “Where’s Kevin?”

“Downstairs, being interrogated-slash-interviewed by your mother. She says she wants to do an article on the pageantry of parade floats.” Veronica takes a seat by Betty’s pillow, crossing her legs as she presses one hand into the soft florals of the bed sheets. She’s wearing a short black sundress and her sunglasses are perched on the top of her head. She glances around. “Are we going somewhere tropical?”

Betty looks up. “What? No. I’m just making sure I have everything.”

“There’s like two weeks worth of sun products here, B,” Veronica replies, her lips curling upwards. “We’re going to Sweetwater, not Waikiki; you don’t need four towels and SPF three-thousand.”

“I’m just going through my options,” Betty insists. “Besides, Polly texted me this morning and said she and the kids are going down to the river today too, since it’s so nice out. They need high SPF; they’re so fair.”

“Let Polly bring her own kids’ sunscreen.” Her look is pointed.

“I’m sure she is. I thought I’d have it just in case,” Betty says, throwing the jumbo bottle into a bag anyway. Veronica throws a hand into the air, but doesn’t say anything else. “Anyway, what suit should I wear? I’m sure you have an opinion.”

“Mais oui,” Veronica preens, standing up and coming around to the selection of suits laid out on the bed. She immediately reaches for the stringiest bikini available and dangles it in Betty’s face; a tiny pink thing that Betty hardly ever wears and, right now, wonders why she even still has it.

Betty grabs it out of Veronica’s hands and puts it back on the bed. “Not that one.”

“I thought you might say that,” Veronica grins, something glittering in her eyes. “You’d look so Bikini Kill in it, but I get it. It’s a lot for just Sweetwater. Okay, what about this one? One-pieces are very in right now. I’m wearing one too. Granted, mine has quite a few more cut-outs in it.”

Veronica has selected a simple white one-piece with a low back and high hips, and Betty smiles and takes it, going behind her closet door to change.

As she’s pulling her cutoffs on over the suit, she hears Kevin enter the room and immediately exclaim, “Oh my god, am I going off to war?”

“You two are so dramatic,” Betty huffs, slipping an open pink button up over her arms and coming around the door. “I just wanted to have enough food and sun protection for everyone. You’ll be thanking me when you’re hungry and want one of the sandwiches I made.”

Kevin and Veronica exchange looks. “True,” he admits, shrugging. “Alright, I’m loading up the car. Gimme something to carry.”

Throwing the rest of the snacks into one of her large canvas bags, Betty passes it and the cooler to Kevin, who accepts them with a theatrical grunt and a poorly repressed eye roll.

“I’ll take this one,” Veronica offers, grabbing the second beach bag, and then they’re both gone.

Betty moves in front of her little vanity mirror, staring at herself. She hasn’t quite gotten past catching her reflection in the mirror of her childhood bedroom; amongst the pink flowers on the wall and the old photographs, it feels like a looking glass into time, like she’s sixteen again and questioning everything, especially her own appearance.

But looking at herself now, she actually likes this look—pale pink, light washed denim blue, and crisp white have always been her colors. She reties her ponytail and tugs it through the back strap of her ratty old blue baseball cap, hoists the last bag over her shoulder, as well as her purse, and slips onto her Keds.

When she gets downstairs, her mother is typing away by an open window, a glass of fresh lemonade beside her. “I’m going now, Mom,” she says, and it’s a moment before her mother looks up.

“Have everything?” She asks, folding her hands together. Betty nods. “Sun-block?” Betty nods again, and Alice Cooper returns her gaze to her computer. “Then have a nice day. By the way, the fridge looked a little empty yesterday. Pick up some fruit and milk on your way back, would you?”

“Sure,” Betty says easily, waving goodbye. Kevin and Veronica are waiting for her outside, leaning against her big blue car and gossiping away. They fall suspiciously silent as they spot her, but move aside for her to throw the bag through the open window. Veronica slides into the passenger seat and Kevin climbs into the back, and then they’re off.

“So how was your date last night? I was very patiently waiting to ask until Betty was here so you wouldn’t have to tell the story twice,” Kevin says, leaning forward and resting his chin on the back of Veronica’s seat.

She twists excitedly. “It was quite nice, for a first date,” she says demurely. “We went to that French place in New Paltz you like, Kevin.”

“What does Archie do?” Betty asks, eyes on the road, realizing that if he’s sticking around with Jughead, he must also have some kind of freelance job.

Veronica laughs. “I can’t believe I didn’t open with that. He actually writes commercial jingles. Do you remember that one about the singing vacuum cleaner?”

Kevin and Betty simultaneously burst into the same hypnotically insipid tune, and Veronica giggles again. “Yes, that one. The twins were so obsessed with that commercial. Cheryl took the televisions out of their rooms because they were constantly singing it.”

“How could I forget?” Betty half-gripes. “That sounds like a fun job, though.”

“He says it’s just to pay his bills, and he wants to really be a singer-songwriter,” Veronica adds, with a slight sigh. “Which is cute.”

“Or potentially annoying, if he’s not any good,” Kevin quips.

Veronica waves a hand and her bracelets tinkle slightly. “I don’t think I’ll know him long enough to get annoyed. We’re just having fun. He’s leaving in, what, less than three weeks? How long do you think it’ll take you to fix that truck, Betty?”

“About that,” she says, sighing.

“So, have you slept with him yet?” Kevin asks, a smidge too excitedly.

“I have my rules, Kevin Keller,” Veronica replies with faux-offense. “I’m not quite as prone to playing with my food as I used to be, but I still like to wait a little bit. Probably date two.”

“You’re seeing him again, then? Besides today, obviously.”

Veronica nods. “Tomorrow night. I suppose this could count as a second date, but considering you two sprung his inclusion in our afternoon plans on me, I’m not partial to anything that wasn’t my own idea.”

“Well, it was Jughead’s idea,” Betty says, “and we did check with you.”

She notices Kevin and Veronica exchanging looks again. “Yeah, though we couldn’t exactly say no, with him making such big puppy eyes over at Betty,” Kevin says, after a moment. Betty exhales loudly. “I’m sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t meddle, but—”

“Then don’t,” Betty interrupts. Veronica opens her mouth, but Betty is faster. “Either of you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you two whispering already. Please, guys. I’m not going to be able to unwind at all today if I feel like I need to babysit your twitter feeds. And you both have been on my case about relaxation, so you don’t get it both ways. Pick one and stick to it.”

They stare at one another, then at Betty. “Very well,” Veronica pouts, shifting in her seat so that she faces the road again.

Betty reaches forward and turns on the radio, and the sweet crooning of doo-wop filters through the speakers. She’s always liked the genre; it has the chronic romanticism that can span to relevance of any part of her life, but it’s also as soothing as it is saddening. Like catching the eye of her reflection across the crowded room of her heart and not being able to close the distance.

She slips her hand out the window, undulating it against the wind, and lets her mind clear.

They reach their destination not much later, and it’s still early enough for the parking lot not to be madness. Sweetwater River is an inlet of the larger Hudson River, with a small stretch of patchy water mostly used by kayakers and other boaters, but largely a leisurely stream of floating inner tubes, frolicking families, and warm, coarse sand.

It takes a moment to gather all the things Betty has packed, plus the collapsible and utterly gigantic beach umbrella Veronica insisted on and secretly stashed in the trunk (“I never want to hear another word about my packed lunches, Ronnie.”), but eventually they heave everything out of the car and find an unoccupied patch of beach to drop anchor.

Betty texts Jughead instructions for their location, having gotten his cell number last night, and he replies with a thumbs up emoji, promising Archie is a slow-mover but they’re on their way.

She puts her phone on her towel, while Kevin sheds down to his swim trunks and pulls on an open, cuffed button up and Veronica starts lathering herself with tanning oil. Betty kicks off her sneakers and tucks her knees under her chin, peeking up at the sky from under the brim of her baseball cap.

She watches the trees rustle with an unseen breeze.

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She’s still sitting there, staring at nothing, when she hears a voice over her shoulder. “Hey there, Gilligan,” Jughead says, plopping into the sand beside her.

He’s dressed the same as usual, with dark pants and drooping suspenders, but this time he’s rolled his jeans up to the ankle and is only wearing a white undershirt. He’s still donning the beanie and he’s barefoot.

“You found us,” Betty greets, momentarily distracted by the surprising amount of definition in his arms.

“Wasn’t hard,” he scoffs. “Could spot that thing a mile away.”

They both turn and look at the big beach umbrella behind them. Archie and Kevin are making introductions under it and Veronica looks pleased to see him. Betty gives Jughead another once over, feeling a bit disappointed as a thought occurs to her. “You’re not dressed to swim.”

He rubs behind his neck in what she’s learning is a tell-tale nervous tick. “I’m not much of a swimmer, honestly. I’ve got a pair of trunks in Archie’s backpack, but…mostly I planned to read or write, if I’m lucky.” He pulls a dog-eared paperback and a moleskin journal from his back pockets and gives them a little shake.

She stretches her arms over her bare, tanned legs, sizing him up. “Have you ever swum in a river? It’s not like the ocean. The water is cool and calm and you just float along.”

“I can’t say that I have. Sounds almost nice,” he admits.

“It is. There’s nothing like it. It’s…well, I’m not the writer here, so I’m not quite sure how to describe it. But, peaceful.”

“Well, you make a hard case to argue, Betty Cooper.” She pretends to look offended, and he grins. “I’ve got an image as an aloof miscreant to uphold, but I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll want to once you realize how hot it’s supposed to be today.” She says it lightly, but Jughead’s eyes are lingering on her legs and she feels the heat of the day already. She quickly pulls the cooler over to them. “I brought drinks and water and snacks, also. And sandwiches for lunch.”

“And dinner, and desert, and The Last Supper, by the looks of it,” Jughead says admirably, peering into the snack bag next to it.

“Everyone always makes fun of me, but they all manage to eat whatever I bring anyway,” Betty huffs, halfway between a laugh and indignancy.

“I’m not making fun of you,” Jughead replies seriously. “I think it…I’m basically always hungry. So between my Homo neanderthalensis companion and me, you definitely don’t have to worry about the food getting eaten. On my honor, I swear to thee,” he adds wryly.

“Big words from a guy wearing a wool hat at the beach,” Betty jests, and he snorts, his fingers tracing the edge of his beanie. She reaches over and picks at one of his loose suspenders. “Like, did you confuse Hawaii 5-0 as Hawaii 50 and think it was about old men at the beach?”

“Ouch,” he whistles. “You know, I like my suspenders.”

She does too, but she won’t give him the satisfaction, so she just shrugs coyly.

He shakes his head at her, giving a good show of looking affronted. “So I take it my sacred vessel is in the hands of Joaquin today?”

“Yes, even though I told him I wanted him here,” Kevin says tersely from behind them.

“He wanted the hours, Kev, don’t blame me,” Betty replies, sweeping a look over at him. He’s stretched out on his stomach underneath Ronnie’s giant umbrella and looking downright petulant. He starts to reply, but something catches his eye beyond Betty’s shoulder and he seems to lose the train of thought.

“Oh my god, it’s Queen of the River Styx,” he drawls instead.

Veronica looks over, sighs, and then raises a hand in the air in greeting. “Hi Cheryl!” She calls across the water. Cheryl hesitates, then responds with a half-wave of her hand that is probably the same gesture she uses in a dismissal.

“God, she is so extra. I mean, I love it, but so extra,” Kevin mutters, and this time Betty actually agrees; Cheryl Blossom is floating downriver on a large, bright pink flamingo-shaped raft, wearing oversized sunglasses and a cherry red bikini.

It’s outdoing herself, even for Cheryl.

“I’m gonna go say hi,” Betty announces, mostly because she’s been aching to get into the water but didn’t want to rudely be the first one to leave the beach encampment without good reason.

She peels out of her cutoffs and shirt, tossing her hat onto the sand. Jughead is watching her, but when she catches his eye, he mutters a “have fun” and hastily turns his attention onto his book.

She dives into the water, enjoys a moment of the cool quiet beneath the surface, and then bobs upwards. She always loves that first meeting of the river and the sun. Betty starts swimming towards Cheryl’s raft, where the redhead in question is currently rubbing sunscreen into her pale, glossy skin.

“Hello there,” Cheryl says, not looking up. She deposits the tube of sunscreen into a cup-holder on the flamingo’s wing and trades it out for a bottle of water with a straw in it. She takes a sip, and then uses one finger to push her sunglasses up onto her forehead, finally glancing over.

“I didn’t know you’d be here today, Cheryl,” Betty says, treading water in front of the raft. She grabs hold of it, and it sweeps both of them slowly downriver.

“Came with the fam, don’t forget to come say hi,” she replies coolly. Betty and Cheryl’s dynamic had once been fraught with high school hierarchies, but years of therapy and mood-stabilizers have done wonders for their relationship. Betty is grateful for the shift, considering she’s now related by marriage to her and sees her quite a bit more than she ever expected, still after she and Veronica broke up.

Cheryl even once admitted that, since the split, Betty is the only other person besides her therapist that she talks to about her bipolar disorder—as Jason always tries to fix her and Polly couldn’t be trusted to keep it from him—and ever since then, the two women have grown closer. As close as one can get to Cheryl Blossom, that is; they still have plenty of off-days.

“So, who’s the tall drink of orange juice talking to my ex?” Cheryl asks, in an incredibly poor attempt at sounding casual. Across the water, though now farther away, it’s clear that Archie and Veronica are laid strewn on towels and talking closely.

“Cheryl, you can’t do this again,” Betty warns. “It’s been over a year.”

The redhead sighs heavily, palming her hands along the cool water as she adjusts against her raft. “Oh, spare me the lecture, Olivia Newton-John. I know. I’m not going to interfere, I just want to make sure he’s up to standard.”

“You both mutually agreed breaking up was the right thing to do,” Betty reminds her, because there’s something longing in Cheryl’s expression that worries her. “You know it was. The timing just wasn’t right.”

“Yes, but I always thought, after—well, it doesn’t matter. So who is he? She certainly has developed a type, at least.” She flips her long red hair over her shoulder.

Betty folds her arms on the edge of Cheryl’s pink flamingo raft. “His name is Archie. He and his friend were on a road trip, but their truck broke down in the parking lot of Pop’s. Veronica was covering one of her mom’s shifts, and, well.”

Cheryl sighs and flicks an invisible shred of dust off her bathing suit. “So he’s not sticking around long?”

“Should take me a few weeks to fix it all up, but no. They’ll be gone,” Betty says, digging her chin into her crossed arms.

“Veronica isn’t like us,” Cheryl says, after a long moment of inspecting Betty. Her voice is uncharacteristically tender. “She’s not as picky.”

“Are you serious? Veronica is the pickiest person I’ve ever met, Cheryl, you should know that better than anyone.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Cheryl sighs impatiently. “With shoes and jewelry and dresses, yes, she is, of course. But she gets back on the horse right away. She’s fearless. She sees something she wants, and she goes for it, because she knows she’ll always land on her feet. I always loved that about her. Me…I don’t do anything I can’t control, can’t predict. And neither do you, Betty dear. That’s where we’re alike.”

“I’m not like that,” Betty says quietly, knowing it’s a lie. She’s good Betty Cooper, she who does everything for everyone, but Cheryl has a point. The sun shines brightly on the water and her eyes find Jughead on the beach, his nose in a book.

“Please. Let’s not insult either of our intelligences,” Cheryl insists sharply. “You had a boy down on one knee for you and you practically ran away screaming. So riddle me this, Rapunzel: why wouldn’t you let down your hair for sweet Trevor Brown?”

But Betty can’t answer that. She still doesn’t know how to put it into words, still can’t even begin to form the thought without the feverish flutterings of a panic attack. She presses her lips together, and Cheryl just leans back against the flamingo’s neck, pushing her sunglasses back down over her nose.

“I thought so. I’m not paying my therapist all that money every week for nothing, Cleopatra of denial. Now, give me a nudge. I want to float away my troubles.”

Betty complies, giving the flamingo raft a shove downstream. Cheryl waves her away, tipping her chin up to the sun, and then the current sweeps her lightly down the river. Betty dips her head under water once more, and starts swimming in the opposite direction, her limbs feeling strong and toned as she heads upstream. She finds Polly, Jason, and the kids on a beach not far up, and cuts their way.

She tans herself on the private Blossom beach for a little while, trying very hard not to think about Cheryl’s words, and has a bit of light conversation with her sister and brother-in-law. It turns out that Polly has, indeed, brought her own high SPF sunscreen. The kids are busy with squirt guns, and she indulges them in a bit of warfare before reentering the river.

As she returns to the original stretch of sand, where Kevin is texting, Jughead is still reading, and Archie and Veronica are now splashing each other playfully in the water, Betty is bathed in sunshine and sparkling green water and feels simultaneously so at ease—and so alone.

She desperately wants to blame Cheryl Blossom for planting the seed, but truthfully, she’s lived with this thought for some time now. It’s duplicitous; swimming amongst the reeds and trees along the riverbanks is freeing, anonymous—but humbling, and isolating. She feels so small amongst the pines.

She kicks back towards the shore, past Archie and Veronica, and steps out of the water. Jughead’s head rises slowly from his book, and for a fleeting moment she wonders if he might be looking at her in a way that speaks to the heat in her own belly at the sight of his toned arms.

“Do you guys want to go swimming with me? The water’s really nice,” she asks, glancing between the two of them.

Kevin’s eyes don’t leave his phone. “Maybe in a bit,” he says vaguely, which is Kevin for there’s-something-much-more-interesting-happening-on-Instagram.

She turns to Jughead. “What about you?” His Adam’s apple bobs and he makes a noncommittal sound. She really doesn’t want to go back into the water alone, but she doesn’t want to stay here on the beach either. “Please, Juggie?”

The nickname just slips out, and she’s far too sure she doesn’t know him well enough for it, but it seems to do the trick; he scrunches up his face and then sighs, getting to his feet. He rustles around in a blue backpack near the cooler, says he’s going to go change behind the trees, and disappears.

Kevin finally glances up, but doesn’t say anything. While she waits, Betty decides her wet hair feels too tight on her head, so she pulls out her ponytail and shakes it free.

Jughead returns a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a black pair of trunks and his hat. His clothes are bunched up in his hands, and he dumps them by his book. And then, after a moment of deliberation, pushes the wool beanie off his head as well. It falls onto the sand beside the rest of his things with an unassuming plop.

He stares at it, and then looks over at her. “Okay,” he says, in an indecipherable voice.

She forces her brain to play catch up, because the sight of his bare chest momentarily caused her to forget herself. She swallows. He has broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and once again, a surprising amount of lithe definition. Even Kevin is eying him with something like impressed approval.

“Right,” she says, turning on her heel and making her way back towards the river’s edge. She dives under the water and surfaces quickly, pushing her hair back over her head. “Come on!”

She swims out further, but Jughead’s toes line at the sand’s end. “You can swim, right?” Betty asks, because Jughead is behaving strangely enough for her question it.

“Yes, I can swim,” he says flatly, but he hasn’t moved. “How deep does this go? I mean, how deep is the river?”

She cocks her head at him, treading water. “In the middle it’s probably 15 feet, but we can stick to the shallows, if you want.”

In a moment of decision, Jughead splashes into the water and dips his head under. He pops up a second later, flipping his hair back with a force that sends droplets flying. “I’ve just got a thing about not being able to see the bottom or touch down,” he says quietly, swimming towards her. “I know it’s ripe for metaphorical investigation, but spare me.”

“We won’t go too far out,” Betty promises, and for a moment, they’re just treading water, staring at one another. Jughead allows himself to sink slightly so that just his nose and eyes are above the surface. She can’t read his expression, but she feels warm and is unsure what’s the sun and what are her own nerves.

“Well, I’m here,” Jughead says finally. “But I’m not sure I see my way through the hype. What am I supposed to be doing in order to access catharsis?”

She laughs, and shifts onto her back, limbs spread out around her as if she were making a snow angel. “You just float, Juggie. Let the water take you where you want.”

Betty kicks, frog-like, and swims in a circle around him. He watches for a moment with something like amusement, and then mimics her, allowing himself to float on his back.

“Wow,” he deadpans. “So this is nirvana.”

She laughs and splashes water at him. “Shut up.”

Ducking under the surface to avoid his retaliatory splash, she swims further out, though is sure to remain close enough to the shallows that he won’t get nervous. He follows, and they both consent to the current guiding them downstream.

Lazily, she cuts her arms over her head in a half-hearted backstroke, but mostly lets the river’s flow to do its ancient work. After what feels like an hour but is more likely ten minutes, she looks over, and Jughead is grinning at her, his normally downturned lips quirking upwards. 

She’s overcome with a simple thought: he’s hot. And then, slightly more poetically: she likes it when he wears handsomeness around the softness of his eyes. With a face that looks like it’s carried tension for years, relaxation looks especially good on him. 

“Well, alright. This is nice, Ophelia,” he says.

“Leave it to you to make a morbid reference on a beautiful day,” Betty sighs, closing her eyes to the sun.

“I mean it, though,” Jughead says, softer. “This is actually kind of…nice. You’re right, it’s not like the ocean.”

“You’ve been missing out, Jughead Jones,” she replies, eyes still shut, but waiting for him to crack a cynical joke or drop some obscenely large vocabulary, or any of his usual responses.

But he doesn’t say a word.

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Finally feeling her fingers and toes beginning to prune, Betty accepts that it’s probably time to pull herself out of the water for a bit, though she has no desire to. She feels so at ease, half-swimming, half-floating in peace with just Jughead by her side, but his stomach gives a loud gurgle and she breaks the silence with a giggle. “Hungry?”

“Always—but, particularly now, yes,” Jughead replies honestly.

“Lets head back, then,” Betty says, performing a half-curl in the water, her legs momentarily the only thing above the surface. She submerges herself fully, allowing a respite of underwater tranquility, and then returns for air.

They both turn and swim up against the stream, and when they reach the shore, everyone has returned to their stations. Kevin’s hair looks wet, so Betty assumes he finally went into the water, and Archie is strumming an acoustic guitar while Veronica suns herself.

Archie looks up as they approach. “Were you swimming, Jug?”

“No, I tripped and fell in,” Jughead replies, pokerfaced. “Yeah, I went swimming.”

“It’s my fault,” Betty intercedes, dropping to her knees and digging around in the cooler for a chilled lemonade. “I practically begged him.”

Archie’s eyebrows briefly knot into a peculiar expression, but he doesn’t seem to dwell on it because Betty has procured sandwiches in each hand.

“Who wants lunch?” Betty asks, only to be met by an affirming chorus of yeses. “We’ve got turkey or chicken salad.” People announce their decisions and Betty starts dolling out the sandwiches.

“I take back anything I’ve ever said, ever,” Kevin says gratefully through a mouthful of chicken salad. “Thank you for thinking to bring food, Betty.” Everyone agrees, and she feels a flush of warm appreciation.

After everyone polishes off their lunch, Archie resumes care of his acoustic guitar and launches into a soft rendition of the Girl From North Country. Jughead mutters in her ear that it wasn’t until two years ago that singer-songwriter Archie Andrews even knew who Bob Dylan was, and she fails to suppress her giggles.

The sun is now high overhead, her skin feels kissed golden, and her eyes fall to his lips as they pull from her ear.

Kevin has placed Betty’s baseball cap over his face while he lies on his back, Veronica is curled towards Archie, watching him play, and Betty and Jughead both lean back on one elbow, the length of their bodies warmed to the sky and facing one another. She watches a stray droplet run down his jaw.

“Remember me to one who lives there,” Archie crones in a gentle, pleasing voice. “She once was a true love of mine.”

Betty tucks a damp, tousled strand of hair behind her ear. Jughead’s eyes follow the movement.

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