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jasonsthots · 3 years

Text

Almost hiding the darkness within

I have no clue how to post this properly but here we go-

Big thanks to @jaybirdsdarling like without her I definitely couldn't have made this or even posted it so thanks babes 😘

Warnings- smut- lots of it, yandere peoples, slight noncon to dubcon? Violence, slight gun play, voyeurism, cuckolding--- basically bring your holy water (there might be more but not sure 😚)

It all started with the landing. Ya' know the one. That superhero landing. The one that looks like it really hurts the knees. When that, a brown leather jacket, red helmet wearing man landed like that in front of her like a human shield. Those that had been trying to mug her, knew it was over before it had started. Before they had a chance to run, he was on them. Limps, noses, all broken when he was done.

When he was done, he just simply stood up and turned to her. She was smiling dumbly, she knew that. Her cheeks hurt, dried tears stained her cheeks, nose stuffed from running and she was sure her hair was a mess from the tugging the men had done. But she didn't care, her savor was right there-

"Miss, always put your money away inside when it's given, not when you're outside. Honestly. I thought this was common knowledge." His mechanical voice rang through the alley as he passed by, his back now to her as he looked over one last time. "And especially not in an alleyway with 100 different kinds of graffiti." And with that, he grappled away.

Y/n's pout was deep as she looked on. Giving a swift kick to one of the robbers that laid on the pavement. "Maybe next time..."

_______

It was like she had planned it. He had to start watching her. He had to. She was like a magnet for trouble. It was almost a nightly thing. Like she would purposely find the most dangerous part in Gotham to go and act like a ditz. She wasn't though. She knew better. He'd seen it. The simple smacks she gave to guys at the diner who got too handsy. She wasn't defenseless. Yeah those were small slaps to the hands, but they were a sign that she definitely could handle herself enough to know not to go into that damn alley. And there she went. In the damn alley. So like he had for the past few weeks, he swung down.

He should know better. He has bigger problems. Like that big fuckin' mafia guy who's selling drugs, weapons and people for gods sake. But there he was. Once again, kicking ass for the same girl, night after night. The simple finger point doing nothing as this time, she walked up- and grabbed it. Bringing his hand close to her face and resting it on her cheek. An unfamiliar touch that had his heart swelling and any bit of anger he held to her disappear in an instant.

She looked up to where his white covered eyes were and smiled, the grime on her face and wrecked hair not taking from the beauty she possessed. Her eyes twinkled under the dim Gotham lights, her smile twisted, breathtaking. "You always seem to be here just in time huh?"

A groan was heard from the men at their feet, earning a kick from her.

Jason's eyebrow tweaked at her action, a small smile creeping to his lips.

"Seems like it, you should be more careful, doll."

A nickname that came so easily. Her heart accepted it with open arms as she pushed her body closer to his, craning her neck back to look at him properly. "But then, how else would I see you Red?"

The man smirked under his helmet, a low chuckle coming out almost like static from the voice changer. Him too taking a step forward. "So, you admit you do this on purpose?"

A low groan erupted from the men again, this time Red kicking them to silence. Y/n hummed and rested her other hand on his waist, their chest pressed gently to each other. "Is that bad? I didn't really know how to work a signal in the sky, so I settled."

"On getting mugged?" The black haired man asked amused, the girl shrugging in response with a small giggle. Jason couldn't hold the smile that spread across his cheeks as he finally snapped the helmet off, the domino mask coming as a disappointment to the shorter girl. Still, she appreciated having something more than an off putting helmet to get off to from now on.

"It worked didn't it?" She spoke softly as she caressed his now exposed cheek.

"There were safer ways." He spoke back, barely above a whisper as their faces neared. Jason felt like his heart would pound out of his chest. Did she really do that for just a chance to see him? She... put her life on the line- for the possibility to see him? That-

That was the nicest thing anyone had done for him.

"Worth it."

Just like that, those last few inches were gone, their lips finally meeting in a soft, heart warming kiss.

Cough. Cough. "Fuckin'-- psychopaths- uggh-" Kick.

_________

Weekly visits became nightly, nightly became daily, and before they knew it, they lived together. Suddenly it became as easy as breathing, being together. Y/n's dumb plans didn't need to happen to get his attention, he was already there. She had his number. She had him in her bed. She had him. Jason knew this. And he was thrilled. He was worried at first. Was he moving too fast? Slow? No. She reassured him. It was just the right pace. She felt the same. They felt like all the pieces to each other's puzzles were finally falling into place.

Until the day happened.

Y/n, was, to put it lightly, odd. The girl had intentionally gotten robbed multiple times just to talk to the guy for god's sake. This, of course, led to her developing a certain set of.....skills.

See, to the common eye it would have looked like she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But she always knew when to go. She knew when he was watching her and when there was something....more important than her that needed help. So when she felt a new set of eyes on her. She knew something was up. It wasn't the other Batfamily members. They honestly....had a hard time wrapping their heads around her and deemed her tolerable at best. No. These were prying eyes.

These eyes didn't leave her. No, no. They stayed. For weeks. She felt them. They were learning. Listening to everything she said, everything she did, seeing everywhere she went. They picked it all up. They were picking up any information from when she got off work to how long she took showers.

And she liked it.

She felt guilty. She felt dirty. She didn't know why she didn't tell Jason. He was her everything after all, and boy would he be furious if he were to learn such things were taking place.....yes....furious.

Boy would she not want that.

So there she was, her wrist tied to a cold metal chair. Her struggles are no longer a problem, her shit talking too due to the gag they placed after the hundredth "when my boyfriend finds out" shtick. Her blindfold long removed as the man responsible sat in front of her, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at every detail of her exposed skin. Her dress shredded into pieces from the whole ordeal. Y/n held back the smile that tried to spread as she saw him shuffling uncomfortably as his eyes raked over her lower half, her thighs that were spread wider from being tied to opposite legs. Her lower region on display.

The man cleared his throat as he scooted closer, his legs wedging in between her spread ones. The light shone perfectly to every curve of his dark covered face. The only seen color being his eyes and the tips of his cheeks. "So. Shackin' up with Red huh? It must be fun. I imagine you play his therapist a lot? Heard he has alotta daddy issues."

The tied girl let out a huff as she turned her head. How dare he speak like that. He has no idea what Jason has been through. To put it so lightly.

The man tilted to the side to meet her gaze that had turned cold. He laughed. "Oh what? Did I hurt your feelings? Suddenly you feelin' tough or somethin'?" He leaned forward. And that's when she finally gasped. The gag of course muffled it, adding to the already hard to breathe problem she was having. "Yeah. Don't be. Ain't in any position to be acting all high and mighty."

When his hand raised on to her shoulder, his thumb brushing against her pluses before wrapping his hand around her neck to face him, her mind couldn't care less about the man getting physical. The only thing she could think of was what she was looking at. How....she knew how. There was a man who looked like a human but was actually an alien flying around, anything was possible.

So this was the man. She had of course heard of him. Not only from her significant other, but she did use to live in a not so friendly neighborhood. Even then, if you didn't know who this was, well, welcome to Gotham, where there's a Bat running around and a man whose face is literally a black skull. Yes. Black mask.

She mumbled.

The man sighed heavily and took the gag out. "If you say one more thing about the fuckin' Redhood- I will say fuck this whole plan and just send your head instead."

"Just wanted to say I didn't know death took vacations."

The nicely suited man barked a laugh as he stood and straightened his jacket. Y/n's smirk fell as he lowered his face to level with her, his hand resting next to her head dangerously close. "It's going to be fun breaking you."

____________

Jason was losing it. He had pretty much torn the house brick by brick searching for her. His love. His doll. His darling. She wasn't here. She hadn't been for days. Weeks? God what was he kidding. He knew exactly how long. He felt it. When she was taken. Like a sixth sense. He knew something was up. And sure enough, when he got home- she was gone.

He should have put the tracker in. He had talked to her about it, and she agreed to do it. It was safer. But he just...never got around to actually doing it. He had thought about performing some light surgery on her arm, nothing major, just putting it in her arm. That was a bit much. He had thought about putting it into a needle and doing it that way. Decided he didn't want to hurt her. Wanted to put it in her food. Didn't want her to choke. Thought about in a small box! Didn't want her to freak out and think he was proposing. So- here he was. Panicking because he had no idea where she was, if she was alive, and why she was even gone in the first place.

Jason tried to keep his mind from going to a dark place. The place that wondered if it was on purpose. She'd done it before. Stressed him out by putting her life on the line. He thought it was cute almost. "It's not cute anymore." He spoke to no one. The house was in ruins. His fists were bloodied and bruised from all the ass he'd been beating. There were no leads for weeks. Every stone was turned but nothing made sense. Friends couldn't get a word in, Jason created this whole new world where it was just him. "It's not fuckin'- cute- any- more-!" Each scream coming with a new hit, objects and people blending together. He was getting to that place.

What if she actually left? Not a game she played. Not some weird attention seeking act. She.....left.

It wasn't looking good, and it just kept getting worse.

__________

Her h/c sweat covered hair was swooped to the side, her fight dying down. There was no use, it was going to happen either way. "C'mon, don't pretend you don't like it, doll."

She winched. "What? Isn't that what he called you? Doll? Nothing special about it, you are a fucktoy after all." A laugh ripped from Roman's bare chest at his own twisted joke.

Yeah. There he was. Proud of the almost broken woman in front of him, naked and in charge of the situation. The blinking light at the end of the bed was a reminder of how fucked she really was. Both figuratively and literally. His fingers were gilding through her folds with an ease she was ashamed of. The sounds made making her stomach turn. She didn't like this. She wasn't turned on. She didn't want him......

These were the things she used to tell herself.

She was ashamed at how quickly she had felt herself give in. Was that what she always wanted? To be used as some fucktoy for some scumbag that hurt and used her and others however he wanted?

God no. She couldn't have.

She wanted Jason.

Then why....

Why did she spread her legs wider?

They spread as far as she could get them, her soaked core on full display for the camera to see, the man behind it zooming in as they themselves got closer. Getting a quiet growl like warning from Roman not to get too close.

The moans that followed were nothing short of pornographic. Her back was arched off the bed as her legs shook, those wrist restraints keeping her from getting a hold on the man who was putting her through euphoric torture. "Roman..." Her whimper sent a shock straight to the man's cock.

On full attention it stood, bobbing up and down as he moved to unhook her, repositioning her to face the camera on all fours. Her face was.....sinful. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth gaping opening, her hair tousled. Her body was even still shaking from her previous orgasms leading to her almost falling as Roman began his painfully fast and hard thrust. Her moans rippled straight from her chest out of her throat. His hand wrapped around her hair and yanked it back, her chest heaving and back painfully arched. Sweat dripped off their bodies from what seemed like hours long of pure fucking. His other hand came to her front to rub at her clit in fast motions that had her hips bucky in an unruly way as they couldn't find out to get away or push back. Opting for the latter.

She met his thrust hungrily every time as best she could, the room filled with moans and the sound of skin slapping together at harsh speeds. Roman's pace was unforgiving, it didn't let up after the next orgasms hit her.

"Where should I do it now, huh? You want me to cum in your tight hole again? You can't waste it like you did last time though. If you do, you won't be getting my cock for a long time. And a whore needs their masters cock now don't they?"

Y/n's mouth formed wide Os as she tried to form some words to satisfy him. "Fuck- yes Roman- fuck I promise-" Her moans ripped through. "T-to no-not waste any-of- ohh~"

This seemed to be enough because the next thing she knew, she felt it. His cock twitched violently as his hips lost rhythm, his cum spilling inside of her, filling her once more. His grip on her scalp burned, but she didn't stop from that twisted and sinister smile to spread on her face as she grinded her hips back. A sharp slap being delivered to her ass cheeks as Roman barked out at her, "Stop being such a cock whore." This threatening tone dropped almost immediately as he soon laughed, grappling her chin and tilting her back to kissing her, a sloppy wet heat filled kiss. "Now that video's a keeper."

_____________

Jason finally lost it. Be felt dumb. He felt hurt. He felt utterly betrayed. His sweet, poor darling- the actual fucking cumslut. For Roman. Sionis. He had been hunting her down for months. And there she was. Accepting- no asking- no- begging for Black masks cock. For his cum. The things she did for Jason, she was now doing for that scum. He was pissed. How fucking dare she? After all he's done for her? No- he couldn't think that way. There was no way. It was his darling. His doll. She loved him too much for that. No. It was all an act. It had to be. She would never do that to him.

This is what he wanted to believe as he watched the hour long videos that kept making their way to him. Her lips wrapped hungerly around another man's cock. Being pulled away just for her to stick her tongue out to get another taste, receiving a slap to her cheek. "Don't be such a greedy slut." Was Romans words.

Videos on videos of Roman fucking Jason's girl. Cum filling up every hole the scum could want, all eagerly accepted from the girl he swore would be crying to be saved, instead relishing in the fuck fest she was dealt.

His fist clenched around his cock, furiously stroking away. God he missed her.

Her face was covered in the white ropes, her mouth taking in as much as it could as Roman pumped himself in her face. Jason fucking hated it. But god did she look fucking hot. He hated it. He hated him. He hated her. But that didn't stop him from unloading on his computer screen. His brow furrowed as pure rage coursed through his blood. He was getting her back. And she would see who she fuckin' really belonged too.

______________

Y/n knew it wouldn't be long. She played with herself, her fingers dancing across her wet slit showing just how wet she was. Her moans gentle as she spread her legs wider for the camera. "C'mon closer, get nice and in there." Her voice coaxed, of course Roman shouting orders for the camera man not to move. Her pout aimed towards the angered man. "Well if you won't let him touch me will you at least? You know I can't do it myself, you ruined me Roman~" She cooed.

The man in question groaned out and walked over, his cock next to her face as he claimed to a kneeling position on the bed. "Well, warm me up first, doll."

"Yes sir~" Her free hand came up to stroke the semi next to her. Her smile was anything but sweet and innocent like she feigned. Her tongue poking out to taste the precum that had been building up from the show. "But it looks like you're already good to go." The wink that came after did something different to Roman. God. When had he become so fuckin' turned on by watching her? When did he get so hard by her just existing? When did he want to see her asking- begging for him and it not being about fuckin' with the hood?

He wasn't sure. But he didn't hate the feeling. Especially when he buried his cock deep inside her. Her legs were spread and the angle was perfect, her back to him and front to the camera. Was this guy a director or what? Surely this would make the hood pissed off. Even if not- damn was she a good fucktoy.

_________

It wasn't the middle of the night. No. It was broad daylight when he broke in. It had taken him way too long for his liking. He had gotten a dozen more videos before he had finally found Black masks place. It's not like he could have asked for backup, they wouldn't understand. Not like they cared for her anyway. No, he had to do it on his own. And damn was that a good idea.

'Cause there he was. Bullets flying everywhere. It didn't matter who, how many. Each one had a special bullet for them in his head. Each one of these fuckers responsible for her kidnapping. Her torture. Torture. That's what it was. She didn't like it. She hated- she hated it. Yeah. She hated it. Was ridiculous how many times he had to remind himself of that. Yeah the videos were convincing. But he knew her better than those videos. He knew she wouldn't actually be begging for scum like that.

"You ruined me, Roman~"

Kept replaying in his head. That same line.

"I'll fucking show you ruined."

_______________

There they were. Two guns. One trained on a man in a designer italian suit. The other trained to an all to calm on the inside girl. "Now now. You wouldn't want to waste your time just by having me kill her would you?" Roman threatened, the gun he held pushing further into the girls head, the same gun Jason had seen her sucking on in multiple videos.

The Y/n's head was throbbing. Not just from the gun in her head but because she was- so excited.

She really played the long game, huh?

Jason clenched the gun tighter. His mask was doing a great job of keeping it together, because he certainly wasn't. "How 'bout you just make this easier for both of us and. Let. Her. Go. Like you said- I don't want to waste my time." Whether you were on the receiving end or not- it sent chills down their spines and a certain tingle down below for the h/c haired girl.

Roman clenched his jaw tight. His arm that's as wrapped around her tighter as he backed up. And backed up. And backed up. "Now now Sionis. I've never taken you for someone who'd rather kill themselves then hand someone over. Must have really gotten desperate." His last words a growl as his eyes flicked to the girl in his arms.

Roman looked down, his arms more....slack as they fell more into a hug from behind. His eyes softened. "You have no idea..." The girl met his eyes with the same fondness.

Red. No not Jason's helmet. The color he saw. Pure rage rippled through him as he pulled the trigger. Not once. Not twice. Over and over and over again, unloading a clip that not only undoubtedly killed Roman ten times over, but regrettably, knocking both out of the large window that laid behind them. As fast as the rage was there it disappeared, leaving only panic as Jason launched out of the window without a thought other than, "God- no!"

Was it?

Worth it? That's what she was thinking. Y/n. As the smirk crept to her face, placing one last kiss on her now corpse kidnapper and lover, she pushed him further, a subtle pay back for his words and treatment to her for the last months she had spent with him. Her arms wide open as he hit the ground first. Her eyes slowly closing, the wind whipping by.

"Worth it."

___________

She was an odd one. The Batfamily deemed her actually crazy. Jason never listened. Why would he? She had such a good heart. She supported him in his vigilante ways. She had even said she might join him. She understood what it took to get what you want. Maybe that's why he wasn't so pissed at her. Because he finally understood as he watched her naked sleeping form on their bed. Right where it belonged. She wanted all of this. He should have seen it. The very first smile that almost hid the darkness within. Twisted, yet so sweet. Like cyanide in candy. He knew from the beginning she wasn't a normal girl.

But then again, he wasn't a normal guy.

But there was still punishment to be dealt.

Y/n awoke with a harsh yank to her ankle, her ass suddenly on the edge of the bed. Forcibly sat up, her eyes level with the stomach of the man she had been missing. Her eyes met the storm that raged through Jason's eyes and he grabbed her chin to look at him. Even out of her peripheral vision she could see he was fully nude, her bottom lip finding a place in between her teeth as a smile took over. "Hey Jay." She cooed.

He was ashamed at how eager his cock was the moment his name left her mouth. His eyes glared daggers at her as his grip tightened. "Don't act like that." She opened her mouth, spewing bullshit like always. But he wouldn't let her. Not this time. "Like you're this innocent sweet heart. No. You're not that are you? You haven't been for a long time, if ever."

She let out a mock offended gasp. "Jay....he did bad things, that has to count for something. He made me do so many bad things to him." She pouted, her puppy dog eyes that would normally get him having no effect- at least not the kind she was hoping for.

His palm slipped from her chin to her neck, lifting her slightly with the force as he bent at the waist. "Baby, I got all the videos. The only forcing I saw was him trying to fit his cock into your tight pussy. But you still begged him for it. Because you wanted it."

He was shocked to see her eyes hood at the memory, her lust filled look deepening. His stomach turning from it. "It did feel pretty good to be stretched out again. It had been so long." Fire burned through him as he practically threw her on the ground to her knees. He didn't let her settle before he had her by the hair, forcing her mouth to open as he shoved his fully ready to go dick down her throat. The action making her gag and fling her hands to his thighs. He caught her hands and held them with one hand while the other dragged her head back and further on his length.

"How fucking dare you?" He spat with venom. "Do you know how fucking worried I was? Huh? Just to find out you're just being a whore----- to that fucking low life!?" Y/n couldn't answer, her throat being abused by his unpleasantly harsh thrust that was gonna make it hard to talk later. Her breathing was already none existent.

"So many fucking weeks." He groaned out, his eyes finally looking down. Her eyes already meeting his stormy blue ones, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her mouth stretched painfully full. But she never made a move to leave. No. She was taking this punishment like a champ. "So many months of me searching for you. Then I see uggh--" Her tongue ran along the under part of his shaft, clearly he wasn't deep enough. So he pushed further. Her breathing became hard with each thrust. "Then he sends those fucking videos. You begged for his cum princess. You fuckin' cried for it. You wanted it all. Inside you. On you. You wanted to taste it mixed with yours. Well don't worry doll." Her lips moved, unable to smile properly around him, her heart swelling. She missed him.

His grip tightened as he leaned down slightly, his cock going impossibly further down, her lips touching the base, breathing no longer an option as he smirked down. "You'll finally get daddy's cum, the cum you really needed. And maybe if you're good, I'll let you cum too, so you can suck it off me again." And with that, he stood up straight, let her catch some of her breath, then fucked her mouth until he felt that much needed relief spill down her throat. Coating the back in white liquid with a loud throaty groan.

He released her head which she immediately swung back, hand to her chest as she greedily gulped down air. But not for a moment longer than needed. She was back in front of him stroking him, her eyes leaking tears as her legs became soaked with the flood that was her arousal. "Thank you sir." She smiled.

Why was he so pissed off at her smile? Because. It was the same smile- the same mouth Roman had used. He needed to make her his all over again. She was his. He picked her up by her arm and tossed her to the bed. "You're not done yet." He gruffed out as he pushed her chest to the bed and pulled her ass up. "How many times?" He asked running his two fingers along her slit collecting all the juices that poured out.

She poked her head around. "I'm....not sure?"

He scoffed. "You let him cum so much in you, you don't even remember?" Her head nodded slowly. He whistled lowly. "Well. I cause that just means we have a long night don't we?"

The excitement- genuine excitement that she radiated was almost enough to make him no longer pissed off. Almost. "But remember." He leaned forward, his hands going to her hips as he massaged them. Placing gentle kisses down her spine and along her shoulder. The more than welcomed touch considering the past few months spent with pure hate fucking and all around rough sex. "You still get punishment for being such a cock whore." Too soon.

His soft touches left almost immediately followed by harsh smacks to the ass. Before she knew it her ass was almost the same red as his helmet, only occasionally palming it to slightly sooth the pain. But this wasn't a pleasant punishment ment to make you more turned on. No. It was harsh and real. She knew she did wrong. She knew she needed to be punished. But boy did it fucking hurt. By the time he was done, she was a sobbing mess. Her ass would be sore for sure. But it was all worth it as the tip of his cock pushed past her puffy folds into her tight heat. A long vulgar moan was realized from both parties as he sat for a moment, relishing in the feeling he missed so much.

His hands gripped her tightly as he pumped every last inch of himself he could. The movement so painfully slow but so necessary. They needed each other. She didn't realize how hard it was being without him. But she was so fuckin' happy when he came to her. She held out and here they were. One again. She loved him, and he loved her. It was fucked up. But- they did.

His veins dragged deliciously inside her tight walls, the tip of his dick hitting that one spot just right. "I- ohhh- missed you Jay-" She moaned out softly.

Jason's pace was slow and gentle, just enjoying the feeling of being inside her. Fuck did he miss her too. "You better have." But it wasn't anymore. The speed picked up along with the force and before she knew it, she was a sobbing blubbering mess. Her only thought- Jason's cock ruining her. "Now. I'm going to ask a question." He reached down and wrapped a hand around her throat, bringing her back up to his chest. The angle made her cry out. "And you better answer the right way." His speed picked up as he guided her back into his thrusts. Each word emphasized with a harsh thrust. "Who do you belong to?"

It was a simple question. One they both knew. One she should have never made him question. One that from day one, they both knew the answer. There was never an option. There would never be an option.

"You." She breathed out, her stomach making a familiar feeling. Her walls clenching and unclenching with every harsh thrust of Jason's ruthless hips.

His grip tightened before flipping her over to her back, her legs immediately being upped to his shoulders, the new position making her scream out in pure pleasure. "Not good enough, doll." He growled, his lips latching onto her neck and shoulder. Marking the answer down...

She gripped the bedsheets as her back arched into him. "I'm yours Jason! Only yours I fuckin' swear it!" And with that, Jason smiled. His hand reached between to rub her clit and a matching pace.

"Good girl. You're mine." He leans down to her ear, pecking behind it. "and I'm yours." One final kiss to her lips and she melted. Her walls squeezed and her eyes rolled back. Her orgasm washed over her like no other as her legs threatened to capture and never let go of Jason. His high soon followed and he let himself go freely in her. Every last drop would stay there. Because she was his. And he was hers.

________

"We're not done yet princess."

#tw dubcon #tw kidnapping #tw yandere #jason todd smut #yandere jason todd #x reader #yandere Roman Sionis #jason todd x reader #crazy reader #tw suicide #tw violence #voyerurism #cuckholding #tw noncon #yandere reader

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army-author · 3 years

Text

ludus | pjm

ludus noun. playful love, characterised by flirting; the first stages of intimate love

❝ you’ve been best friends with jimin since you were five. it was inevitable that you would fall in love eventually... ❞

➝ pairing: jimin x reader

➝ prompt: types of love

➝ genre: fluff, childhood friends au

➝ word count: 1.1k

➝ warnings: one brief mention of bullying; oodles of fluff

It started when you were five years old.

Since then, it was always you and Jimin, together. In a way, perhaps you should have seen it coming. Spending so much of your life together, with so many shared memories, it was only natural for attachment to grow into attraction into love.

In your first year together you shared laughter over snacks, chasing each other through sunshine filled summer days. Your earliest memories together are scrounging up enough money for ice lollies from the ice-cream truck, begging your parents, rattling piggy banks, getting all the coins you could, just to hand them over the counter in exchange for sweet, sweet brain freeze.

In your second year together you commiserated the boredoms of school, stuck in class, your desk next to his. While your teacher rattled off times tables, you swapped scented felt tip pens with him, getting high on the artificial scent of fake fruits. Your favourite was strawberry red. His favourite was lemon yellow.

In your third year together you invited Jimin over to your house most weekends - to play video games or to show him your new toys. You would stay up past your bedtime, revelling in each other's company, hyper on sugar. On those nights, your parents would find you both fast asleep on the sofa, game controllers in your hands, worn out from your adventures together, traveling the galaxy in your over-active imaginations.

In your fourth year together you spent your time running around in the fields behind your house, nose itchy with pollen. The air was heavy, heady, intoxicating in its golden nostalgia. You played an assortment of games: tag, hide and seek, soccer. Anything to spend time together.

In your fifth year together, as you grew older, you slowly became more aware of how girls in school treated Jimin. There were batted eyelids, blushes, and giggles. For some odd reason this treatment angered you. Why were those girls treating your best friend in this way? You were the one who had stayed by his side for five years. So why were they trying to come between the two of you? You couldn’t understand, but you wanted them to stop stealing away Jimin’s attention.

In your sixth year together you moved on to secondary school, with all the new stresses it brought along. At least you had Jimin by your side, a familiar friend, while the word changed around you. The adults expected you to act in a more grown-up manner, yet still treated you like children. With growing up came the attention of other boys. It was whispered that so-and-so had a crush on you. You didn't care. You had Jimin as your best friend, so why would you need a boyfriend?

In your seventh year together you were bullied by the girls in your class. They laughed at your hair, your clothes, your stationary. It was okay, because Jimin stayed by your side, reminding you that it didn't matter what they said. You didn't need their approval. It later turned out that those girls liked Jimin, and were jealous of your close friendship. They poked and prodded to try and get you to back down. Of course, when Jimin confronted the girls, they eased off, embarrassed. Jimin would always be there for you. The thought set off a warm glow in your chest.

In your eighth year together you realised that you wanted more from your relationship with Jimin, but you weren't sure what. Maybe this is what it meant to want a boyfriend? Having been friends with Jimin for so long, how were you meant to develop the relationship further? You tried to flirt, awkwardly, stumbling through juvenile love. Jimin didn't seem to notice, oblivious to your attempts to show him you wanted love in return. Looking back on it, your "flirting" attempts weren't as obvious as you thought, consisting of shy glances, giggles, light touches on his shoulder or hand. Those were all things you normally did anyway. So perhaps it wasn't that Jimin was oblivious. Maybe you were just bad at flirting.

In your ninth year together you were also oblivious. Maybe Jimin was bad at flirting as well. Maybe you should have picked up on the signs. When you got close to Jimin, his cheeks would light up in shades of pink. When you glanced over to him, his eyes were always on you, a smile on his face. When you told him a joke, he always laughed for you. The signals were there, you just never tuned in to them.

This brings you to now - your tenth year together. This is the part that you should have seen coming, all the imperfect flirting coming perfectly to a head when you and Jimin stand before each other, cheeks hot with shared blushes.

"So," Jimin says.

"So."

"There's something I want to tell you," he continues, "It's something I should have told you a while ago, but I've never been able to. Too shy... Or too scared... I don't know. But I'm telling you now. Okay... Here goes. I'm telling you..." He sucks in a deep breath, pausing.

"I'm still waiting," you say, when, after a considerable amount of minutes have passed, he still hasn't said the thing he is supposedly meant to say.

"Right, yeah, this is scarier than when I practiced it in my head," he laughs.

"You can tell me anything, Jimin. You know that right?”

"I know. It's one of the things I love about you. Because that's what I wanted to tell you. That I love you." He heaves out a breath, like he's been holding it for years.

You smile at him, and say, "I love you too," and suddenly it feels that everything is right with the world. The years shared together, so precious in your memory, are wonderful because they lead you right to this moment - this second - where the rest of your life begins, figuring out love together. Something new starts with your joint confession. You don't know the details, but you're excited to discover them.

You link your hand through Jimin's, pulling him closer. His warmth is special in a whole new way; it reminds you once more that he loves you back. Each moment will be a reminder of that, of romance, new and naive. It's a love that will change over time, mature, shift, develop. You're excited to experience the changes with Jimin by your side.

- THE END -

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bl-garbage · 4 years

Text

to dance is to unshackle

um, okay—how else do i express this buoyant happiness that Gaya sa Pelikula has awoken inside me? i’m in complete and utter awe. i did not expect a drop of what the sixth episode has brought us. more than satisfying, it’s utterly fascinating. this is quite a lengthy post, but if you have the time, please bear with me. and since we’re already here, let’s fucking dissect the shit out of this:

right off the bat, it’s sweet how consistently written Vlad was the entire time of the show. at the start of the episode, for one, he was concerned with Karl’s disposition, saying, “anong iniisip mo (what are you thinking)?” and, later on, as we know, he pops that question again in this episode. what are you thinking? always in limbo. true, it’s considerate, yet more than that, it’s always a sign of waiting for permission. Vlad has been like this since the beginning: observant and willing to reach out, confident on the surface, yes, but always afraid of going overboard.

that is not to say that Karl isn’t. in fact, the whole dynamics of their relationship rest on the fact that they can lean on each other and just be honest. many moments show this: Karl’s desire to shift; Vlad not getting into the film lab and Karl knowing something was up; the entirety of Vlad’s birthday; Karl and Vlad’s reticence to open up to Anna, in contrast with how comfortable they feel with each other. in a nutshell, they’re each other’s homes. more on this later.

the part i was most frightened at with this episode was when Karl finally told his parents his desire to shift. to be honest, personally, i wouldn’t know exactly how that pressure on Karl feels, as i was able to study the degree i wanted. yet, back then, i had already known that my parents, who wholly supported me just the same, would have wanted a degree that leaned on science or engineering. that still sucked to know. Karl’s situation is much more complicated. his desire to shift to another course is to make up for lost time, a sense of hurrying before it really becomes all too late. this was a heavy lot to take in. the disappointment and anger in his father’s face when he dropped the bomb was too much to handle. Karl had expected it, yet its impact still hurled shrapnel that he was not able to dodge, sustaining him with several wounds. it would be curious to see how his parents come to terms with his confession. i am certain that a number of people have connected with Karl here.

which brings me to another point. Gaya sa Pelikula creates these characters with their own agency. it’s touted as a BL series, yes, but our two main characters’ point is actually not to fall in love — but to live, part of which is to fall in love. they have their hopes and dreams and own burdens to carry, and while falling in love takes centerstage here, we see how they can stand alone, on their own two feet. falling in love is central to their growth, but it is evident that love is not the whole point of their existence.

speaking of which: ate judit. ah, yes, where do i even begin to explain the exquisiteness with which ate judit was written? how, after all of five episodes, it was only now did it make sense why judit was overly, unnaturally caring and protective, a mama bear that would not let anything happen to his little Vlad. now we know why: guilt.

imagine that. being told you were the reason why your whole family went into shambles. there is much vindication in Vlad’s line of questioning, “why would you say that to a child?” (god, i’m tearing up even as i write this.) this was a pivotal scene, with a focal point on judit, the likes of whom we cannot entirely fault for not knowing any better. the fact remains that we are still in an era that fails to understand the spectrum of gender identities and the far utopia that we seek, where gender and sex would not be a damning classification anymore. and for true allies, it is in admitting that they “didn’t know then what [they] know now” that their support gains more strength. it is in confessing where they got wrong, how harmful their actions were, and in the commitment to do more, that their promise is made good.

parenthetically, can we talk about Vlad’s mom as well? have you all noticed how her voice broke when she said, “siguraduhin mong hindi ka na itatanggi niyan, ha (just make sure he won’t deny you, okay)?” was that pain, or guilt even? i wonder if we’re ever going to see her. it would be a regret not to. for so long Vlad had thought that he was the reason his father left, and that his mother was mad at his queerness. i wouldn’t want this simple call to be the resolution that the show had for him. at any rate, we have two more episodes to await, so i am not going to strike my gavel on this judgment just yet.

but whereas Vlad found his longtime coming reconciliation with his sister, Karl had no one to turn to. his call to Vlad was a cry for help. it was heartbreaking to see him like this. Karl had always put up a fake smile against any adversity that had come his way. to him, these were trivial matters that would pass, and they did so — until now. after all he was, as we would later come to know, living a script that had been prewritten before he even came to being. that explains his nonchalant demeanor toward life, the seeming discontent behind those dead eyes, and a repeated hinting that he was always yearning for so much more. at the end of the call, Karl instinctively goes to the closet - and his proverbial closet - and sees the skeletons he had hidden inside, drop in a mess.

that it was Karl’s brother who was in the photo shook me. that past was so well thought out. things made so much sense in this episode: why Karl tried to fit in, why everything seemed so fake. why he was so discomforting to watch, even! that made sense now.

and what do you do when everything has become a mess? the once seamless film that had been rolling without any glitches now sprawled on the floor, entangled in a hodgepodge well beyond fixing. when that happens, what do you do? well, you dance.

i have so many things to say about faux masculinity. it is a fact undisputed that in this society, gender roles are still very much pillars that we have yet to dismantle. our genders have been geared toward performativity, and our consolation is the external validation we receive through the acts of fitting in. in the process, we lose sight of what we really want. we blur the lines between what is and what should be, in favor of what society has demanded upon us. Karl took that role and lived by it religiously. yet, those things has gone haywire in this episode. more than his parents, it was to himself that Karl has finally admitted that the act can be dropped now: the fixed posture, those rehearsed lines, that painfully faux masculinity, on guard all the fucking time. all of those things were dropped.

that is not to say that Karl was faking all of it. there is no denying that Karl has been a masculine person most of the time. but the show portrayed before us a discarded femininity that Karl had been trying to bury deep inside him — one that all people who have been and who are still in the closet know by heart. the thing is, all of us have masculine and feminine sides, the expression of which vary at different levels in different situations. sadly, we have been preconditioned to believe that male persons must be masculine, and female persons must be feminine. Gaya sa Pelikula acknowledges this hegemony, and then throws it away all the same. true, Karl may very well be comfortable in his masculine expression, but his femininity must also be allowed to grow. one cannot be complete without embracing the entirety of who they are. many have died — been killed — for simply living who they are. society has long been a vicious environment. but people have also long fought for their fundamental right to perform these things, and through them, we know that things can change. that things are changing.

it is against this context that imprints more meaning, more gravity to when we finally, finally see Karl dance. in every sense, his dance was the show’s climax for me. it is, quite emphatically, freedom incarnate.

when i say i fucking bawled at this scene, you best believe it.

quite important to note: when Karl sees Vlad, he stopped abruptly, only for Vlad to signal to him, in an OK sign, that what he was doing was perfectly fine. that Karl could be effeminate all he wants, and who the hell in this earth should care? this allowance has given Karl all the needed validation he will ever need, at least, for that one night where they could bare it all. it was only the two of them, but the house has never been more crowded, because their feelings have seemingly exploded and have been overflowing in a glorious climax for all of us to witness. in this scene, Karl has unshackled the chains with which he had been bound all that time, and it was Vlad who helped him finally break the last of those chains. in this moment, there was only pure bliss.

(that the song playing here was Ride Home by ben&ben is the perfect giveaway. for non-Filipino readers who have only listened to ben&ben now, check this band out. it’s one of the best bands to have ever come out of the Philippine music industry.)

and, of course, in this waterfall of emotions, it is only perfect to time the moment of their first kiss. they have accepted each other, haven’t they? in a meaningful act (the gravity of which we will only realize in full later when Vlad tells the story of his dad), Karl rumpled Vlad’s hair, but only after Vlad had already consented to it. then, afterward, it was Vlad’s turn to ask, what are you thinking? to which Karl had this—and i know we all expected it, nevertheless—to say: i don’t want to think anymore. then they kissed.

i swear to god. i only watched this for the 92432475781 time.

the denouement was so well put, too: now everything is put back into its own place. Karl’s brother. his death. his parents’ expectations. the substitution. Vlad’s father. his parents’ expectations. the horror of realizing one’s difference. the abandonment. in these stories, it becomes more and more permissible to believe that Karl and Vlad have easily found comfort in each other. to say that they are soulmates (as the creator, juan miguel severo, told on his twitter) is not an exaggeration.

and, make no mistake: Karl and Vlad did not find each other’s embraces out of pity. no. it would be unduly harsh to view them that way. rather, they found solace in each other’s embrace and warmth, but it is still they who will muster the courage to face their own demons. the only difference is, they now have each other to find some sort of release. they are not destructively dependent on each other; instead, they help each other grow into the versions of themselves that they can be proud of.

finally, a couple of small things: look at the way Karl was inviting Vlad to lie in bed with him. that simple gesture harks us back to the early days of their dynamics: Vlad had expressed that it was okay to share a bed, but Karl was adamant that they do not. Karl had once dreamed of Vlad joining him there, and that scared him shitless. in contrast to that, now we have this: Karl himself inviting Vlad, and Vlad accepting for Karl’s wholehearted invitation. the moment this happened, there was a consummation of the expression of their love. if they had their doubts prior to this, those could not have been more obliterated now.

needless to say, i fucking, fucking loved this. as one who has only ever written three fanfics (2gether and History 2!), all of which seemingly related to sleeping (what the fuck, do i have a sleep fetish or something), this ending to episode 6 is just the cherry on top.

their lines by the end particularly strike me. here we have Karl who wishes to create his own stories. on the other hand is Vlad who wishes that he be in charge of the endings, too. how do they do that? who knows? but the certainty that defines their pact is that they shall do it together, unbound and free to dance to the song they have chosen of their own accord. and that simple promise, made in each other’s tight embrace under artificially warm lights amid that early january weather, with no certainty at all of what tomorrow has to bring, has made all the difference.

in 34 minutes, Gaya sa Pelikula has, yet again, done more than we could have ever expected.

i just checked and this reached 2k words. i’m not even gonna attempt to proofread this anymore. anyway, this is all i have to say for now. i just simply cannot let go of the best episode i’ve seen in this show without expressing my own reaction to it.

(also: i’m thinking of writing a fanfic; that is, the morning after. just a one-shot, hopefully a cute one. as usual, an introspection of these characters, and what lies ahead. hope i actually get to write it!)

thank you so much, Gaya sa Pelikula. you are proof that things do change.

#gaya sa pelikula #ian pangilinan #paolo pangilinan #juan miguel severo #fanfic ideas have been brewing inside me #char #bl series #philippines #philippine bl series

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doctorthreephds · 4 years

Text

Synapses: Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 4.8k

TW: Mentions of death and drugs--specifically from the episode Demonology

A/N: Hey! Just a forewarning, the forensic techniques in this are complete speculation from what I know and they are probably not accurate at all.

Summary: After starting your new job and getting closer to Spencer, you find yourself having your first fight with your new friend when the anniversary of your mother’s death approaches.

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @green-intervention @eevee0722

Starting your new job was hard, like all things, but enjoyable. The first few days were learning the ropes and the area and you often came home exhausted, tired from a long day’s work in a lab you were unfamiliar with. The little things were what kept you going. Every day, you made an effort to eat lunch with your father--leftovers or food to go from a nearby restaurant or deli. When your father went away on his case, you spent time with Penelope in her bat cave. It was fun to hang out with her, spouting comedic rhetoric whenever someone called her for advice.

“Please don’t eat near the merchandise, baby, it’s my money maker,” she states, typing away at the speed of light as someone rings in. “Information highway speaking, you’re on speaker with me and the good doctor.”

You snort and let out a small laugh as you silently dig into your takeout box of chow mein.

“The good doctor? I thought that was me,” you hear Spencer speak up from the phone and smile, lifting your chopsticks to your mouth.

“You’ve been replaced, Dr. Reid. Sorry!” you say before taking another bite of the noodles.

“What are you doing--”

“Stay on track, boy genius. What do you need from me?” Penelope asks and you zone out, not wanting to listen into the details of the gruesome murders they were investigating. While your job sometimes involved dead bodies, you were in fact eating lunch and wanted to keep your lunch down for the rest of the day. After they were finished, you could hear them wrapping up and you inserted a final goodbye.

“Bye Spencer! I’ll see you soon,” you state as the phone beeps to signal that the call has ended.

“See him soon?” Penelope spins around as she fiddles with a pink pen with a puffball on the end that almost matches the pink blush on your face.

“I mean I’ll see him when the case ends,” you mumble and toss your takeout box into her trash, taking a sip from your water bottle.

“Hm, I’m sure that’s what you meant,” she smiles and turns back to her computer, typing something up. “If you need any info on him, I can tell you anything you want to know, sweets.”

“I’m not gonna do that, it’s an invasion of privacy,” you stand and check your watch, it’s about time for you to get back to work. “But if anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”

Other times, when your father was too busy to entertain you, you would eat with the others--or more specifically, Spencer. Travelling up to the sixth floor, you check to see if Spencer is anywhere nearby. When you deduce that he is nowhere near, his plush office chair becomes your new home as you open up your bag and grab the tupperware full of salad while you wait for his arrival. Opening the small container, you poke at the leaves with your fork and make a face when you see that they’re soggy and limp.

“Have a salad today?” he asks as you look at the sad lettuce in your small tupperware container.

“Yeah. Although, it doesn’t look very appetizing,” you state and put it down on his desk, looking up at the cup of coffee in his hand that looked far more delicious than the monstrosity that was sad salad.

“Did you know that salad comes from the latin word ‘herba salta’ which means ‘salted herbs,’ so perhaps you don’t have enough salt on your herbs,” he states and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head as you close the container and put it away.

“Any more salt and my blood pressure’s gonna be at risk. Wanna grab lunch at the deli?” you ask and stand. He nods as the two of you exit the bullpen, taking the elevator down.

This was your schedule, and you loved it. It didn’t take that long for you to build a good relationship with everyone, constantly checking in on their lives outside of Quantico. Emily was doing well with Sergio, Henry was growing at a rate that JJ couldn’t comprehend, Penelope was still going out with Kevin, and you and Spencer were often found hanging out on the weekends when he wasn’t called away for a case.

You found it odd how easily you took to Spencer, how his fun facts were always there to brighten up every conversation and his constant pursuit of knowledge was admirable. He took you to his favorite bookstore as well as his favorite used bookstore that he frequented in hopes of finding first editions and original copies. He also would take you to his favorite park, the one that he went to so that he could play chess and he would always win. It wasn’t always about him, though, you loved taking him to go see new movies as opposed to the older and foreign ones that he enjoyed. The two of you also committed to trying new foods together. With his sensory issues and your picky nature, you both embarked on a journey to eat new foods in hopes of finding something new and delicious.

While your new found friendship was almost perfect in the way that you committed yourselves, it too could not come without ups and downs. The first bump came when you helped consult on an unofficial case, something that had happened with Emily’s close friends. It was only a few days before the anniversary for your mother’s death and you were running on fumes.

“Hello?” you ask sharply, pouring over several reports that were due soon. Your temper was short today and you just wanted to go home.

“Hey it’s Spencer. Are you okay?” he asks and you sigh, rubbing your temples in frustration.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What do you need?” you sit back in your chair and take a sip of your coffee, attempting to quell your anxieties while he speaks.

“I’m not at Quantico right now, I’m at a victim’s house. His name is Thomas Valentine and he died of dehydration but Emily believes there’s foul play. I’ll have Garcia send over his tox reports along with Matthew Benton’s to see if the pathologist missed anything. We’re on our way back so feel free to meet us upstairs when we debrief,” he says and you nod, writing down the information on a stray post-it note so that you don’t forget. “By the way, your dad says ‘hi.’”

“Tell him I say ‘hi’ back. I’ll meet you upstairs,” you state and hang up the phone, sighing as you run your hands through your hair to release some nervous energy. It was only a few more days and you would be on your day off, it was only a few days until you would be able to visit your mom again.

Just as if she heard it from five floors up, you receive an email from Penelope with the toxicology reports from both victims. A quick skim shows that there is a lack of intense scrutiny due to the simple cause of death. But, if Emily and Spencer believe otherwise then it was in your best interest to assume so as well. Looking into Matthew Benton’s report, there was evidence of long-term methamphetamine abuse which could contribute to the death but nothing out of the ordinary. It was only midday and you were running out of steam but your friends needed you so you had to pull it together.

After printing out all the information you have and stashing it in a folder, you make your way up to the bullpen and watch people rushing around. The busyness and chatter made you a bit woozy but the sight of Spencer helped to ground out a bit.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to be here,” he frowns as he sees you approach and you shake your head.

“I’m fine, I just want to help out in any way I can,” you mumble and move past him toward the conference room where almost everyone was gathered. Once Hotch arrived, they began to pour over details and possibilities within this pseudo-case.

Listening intently, you take note of the evidence as it is laid out for you, the scuff marks under the bed, the missionary church in Spain that the two victims had visited, the idea that each family had been highly religious. Years of going to church in France and D.C. were being brought back in an instant.

“That sounds like an exorcism,” you blurt out and look up to see everyone staring at you. It was odd to hold their attention but you nestled down in your chair and continued to listen.

“Look, I know the Bible just as well as anyone, but I also know there’s nothing more open to behavioral interpretation than religion,” Derek comments.

“Meaning what?” Emily asks, shaking her head.

“I think it’s dangerous for us to wanna find a connection between these deaths,” he states.

“Wait, was Thomas’ wife religious?” Emily frowns and looks around at your father.

“She was concerned that he had been cursing God,” your father recalls as Spencer dives into an inference.

“Exorcism ritual can take days to complete. It’s possible the stress induced could cause a heart attack, especially in someone with a history of drug abuse,” he explains and looks at you.

“Definitely, drugs leave marks on your body that are irreversible unless you completely stop. It makes an impact on your hair growth, your skin, your heart, so it’s completely plausible. And it could explain how someone died of dehydration,” the facts fly so fast through your head as you try to connect the dots while you speak, your head spinning. Even a couple minutes in the conference room was overwhelming, you couldn’t imagine doing this all the time.

“Guys, look, I’m willing to say that we might have an unsub who ritualizes killings as if they were exorcisms, maybe. But, right now, we don’t even know if we have a crime yet,” Derek voices his concerns and you slowly nod, thinking about how you could help to clear up any room for error. It was possible if you were able to look at the bodies and examine them that you may have the ability to try and see if there were any other traces of possible deadly substances.

“Morgan’s right. We need to step back. Let me talk to someone before I have us all telling ghost stories,” your father suggests and everyone appears to take this as time to cool off and rethink any possibilities, standing and leaving the room to follow their own leads. Dread settles in your chest as you sit in the chair, looking down at the folder to find any piece of information that could help you come to a conclusion but the words were flying around in your head and you felt too sluggish to do anything.

“Do you think that you can get me the victim’s clothing? Perhaps something was done to them topically that would explain their deaths further,” you stand and sigh, already dreading going back to your reports.

“Yeah, sure. It’ll be our lunch break,” he says and smiles. While his smiles usually have the power to brighten your entire day, your sour mood only extinguished any fire of joy inside your body.

“I have too much to do, just go on without me,” you respond and begin walking out of the conference room. You can already feel Spencer’s pestering bubbling up and wanting to know what’s wrong but you didn’t have the heart to tell him.

“Are you sure? Studies have shown that taking breaks help boost blood flow and information retention--”

“I’m sure, Spencer,” you snap and continue walking toward the elevators before he reaches out and grabs your arm to stop you.

“What’s going on? Are you mad at me?” he asks.

“God, I’m fine Spencer! Stop babying me, you’re not my dad,” all the emotion that had been building up in the morning spilled out in anger and your heart shattered to see Spencer so confused and sad. “I’m sorry.”

Stepping into the elevator, you press the button to go down and watch the doors close in front of you, not looking anywhere in the direction of Spencer. The fluorescent lights above you suddenly look far too bright and tears well in your eyes. What would your mother say if she could see you now? Would she be disappointed? Would she be angry? A vibration in your pocket breaks you out of the self-loathing spiral.

From Dad (12:24PM):

I think you just about broke this kid’s heart.

To Dad (12:25PM):

I didn’t mean to. It’s just so close.

From Dad: (12:25PM):

Just tell him. He’ll understand.

To Dad (12:26PM):

I know. I love you.

As you sit at your desk and stare at the papers, your mind moves on autopilot to complete the rest of your tasks. With only two cups of coffee in your system, your head was starting to hurt and your focus was fizzing but when Spencer came back with a couple bags full of clothing to be processed, the guilt overpowered any feeling of fatigue.

“I brought the evidence. Just send the report to Garcia,” he states and drops the bag off at your desk before turning to leave.

“Hey, Spencer?” he turns to look at you, his eyes narrowed as you speak. “I’m really sorry. I’m not feeling well.”

“I could have told you that, and I’m not even a medical doctor,” he mutters and sighs. The air between you is stale and you want to speak, but don’t know what to say.

“Do you want to stay and help me process the evidence? It’ll only take a little bit,” you ask, your voice small. He appears to ponder the thought before nodding and you smile, standing and taking the evidence over to one of your machines. This was where you thrived. While you worked in silence, it was comforting to have Spencer around, even if the two of you were still on rocky ground.

You first started with isolating the fabric and the substances on the clothing. From there, you take them and test what they are to see if there are foreign substances that may have contributed to the deaths of Matthew Benton and Thomas Valentine. Processing goes quickly and you print out the report, frowning at the traces of nerve agent on the clothing.

“There’s sarin on their clothing,” you tell him and hand over the papers for him to read through.

“Thanks,” he mutters and stands to leave.

“Are we okay?” you ask him, watching him turn as you wrap your arms around your torso in a comforting way, warming your hands from the cold lab.

“Obviously not, if you’re not telling me something,” he puts down the folder and comes up to you, reaching out to take your hands. It was a bit of a shock, considering the fact that you knew he hated touching hands, but it was progress and it made your heart melt to think that he would feel safe enough to do so. “I know something’s wrong and I want to help you, but you’re not being honest with me.”

“I just haven’t eaten, Spence. And I’m under the weather, which doesn’t help. I promise that I’ll be okay,” you tell him, staring up into his eyes and speaking with as much truth as you can. But it wasn’t convincing enough and he pulls away as if you just burned him.

“I guess you don’t trust me, then,” he mumbles and turns around, picking up the folder and getting into the elevator. As the doors close, he stares back at you like he was disappointed and it completely broke you. Fat tears roll down your cheeks as your chest bubbles with anxiety and sorrow. You find a seat at your desk and desperately try to wipe the tears away, breathing in deeply to calm yourself down. You were still at work and you still had work to do.

Quickly, you dive back into your reports, writing them up as quickly as possible and pushing Spencer to the back of your mind. Before you know it, the end of the day comes and you’re out of the building and on the metro at record speed. The vibration of the wheels rolling over the tracks lulls you into a sense of security, distracting you from the pangs in your stomach. Without the distraction of work, your mind was able to wander.

Was it fair for you to hide this from Spencer? Why did you? Why did you need to keep this secret so badly?

Perhaps it was the years of being on your own after her death or the fact that showing sadness was opening yourself up to vulnerability and connection that you feared. Perhaps it was both, you didn’t have many friends in grad school and only talked to your dad once every blue moon. The thought of being a burden was unbearable, but losing Spencer was unfathomable. You could deal with a little bit of vulnerability if it meant getting your friend back.

Your legs guide you home once you reach your stop and you reheat some rice and add some soy sauce to make something that is edible and that you can keep down without issue. After eating, you shower and head to bed, falling asleep the second that you hit the pillow.

The next day, your alarm jars you out of a dreamless sleep, shaking you from a night that felt far too short. Your entire body was fatigued and your brain was a mess, but it was your last day at work before you got the day off. As you got ready and out the door, your phone was blowing up with information sent by Penelope and Emily. There was another death and they needed you to analyze the clothing of the third victim to confirm that nerve agent was being used to kill these men.

One you reach the office, you sit down and begin writing as you await the evidence. If you worked quick enough and finished the reports, you would be able to go home early. The fog in your brain makes it hard to focus as you work on more write ups, the words barely forming sentences, but you force yourself to persevere through lunch. Late in the afternoon, Spencer appears again with the evidence bag you need to process.

“Just send the report to Penelope when you’re done,” he states and turns back around to get into the elevator but you stand and pipe up.

“Can we talk?” you ask, hoping and praying that he would let you speak.

“I don’t know, can we? Because you seemed pretty adamant about keeping secrets from me last time we tried to talk,” he mumbles as he turns to look at you, his eyes dark and full of storm clouds.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, trying to find the right words so that your thoughts form coherent sentences. “I’m bad at talking about what’s plaguing me. I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, I know, but it’s a start.”

You want to say ‘I’m sorry’ over and over, but it wasn’t an explanation and he deserved at least that.

“Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s death,” his frown almost vanishes from his face as you speak which makes you feel a hint of encouragement to keep talking. “And I’ve always dealt with it alone. Maybe because I don’t let myself handle it any other way, but I hope that you’re able to understand. I’m sorry, Spencer.”

Staring down at the ground, you will the tears to stay in your eyes so that you can keep up some image of togetherness, but they fall as quickly as they form. Suddenly his arms are wrapped around you and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. This was him accepting your apology and you suddenly felt like you could breathe. You worm your arms around his torso and pull him close, allowing yourself to take in all of him. The smell of his cologne, the feeling of muscles as they squeeze you tight, the fact that his hands were intertwined behind your back and his head was settled on top of yours.

“I’m sorry too,” he mumbles and you pull away slightly to look up at him. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

He pauses as he also stumbles over his words.

“But, I’m glad you did.”

You let out a sigh and hug him tight again, wanting to memorize the way his arms felt around you. After another long hug, you pull away and wipe your nose, shaking your head as you look over at the evidence bag.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I’ll get to processing your clothes now,” you mumble and let out a light laugh as you wash your hands and ready the evidence, processing the substances on his clothing. Beside you, Spencer leans against the wall and watches silently. It’s a bit nerve wracking to have someone watching you the way that he does, with bright eyes and attentive body language, but you do your best to explain it to him as the machine brings up the results.

“Nerve agent, it’s sarin,” you turn to him. “Go tell them.”

He nods and picks up the newly printed report.

“I’ll come get you afterward,” he promises. “We can ride the train together.”

“There’s no need, I’m going home now. Just text me,” you smile up at him as he nods and takes your hand, squeezing it one last time before leaving.

You feel lighter now, like you lifted a rock off your chest. It was a burden, keeping secrets, but now you could feel a little bit better. After writing up all the procedural stuff on how you processed the evidence, you pack your bag and head to the metro. When you’re on the train, you get a text from Spencer telling him that they caught the priest and he was being deported back to Italy.

To Spencer (7:45PM):

I’m glad.

From Spencer (8:01PM):

Do you want me to come over?

To Spencer (8:02PM):

No, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.

When you finally arrive at your stop, you easily find your way home. There was still sadness lingering, it was getting to be that time, but you had Spencer and that was enough. Getting home and getting to bed is a quick ordeal after you eat something and drink way too much wine to try and drown your sorrows and quiet your mind. The same days every year, you take a couple off so that you can mourn the loss of your mother and visit her grave. It was almost like a way to pretend that she was alive, even if just for a day. You had a lot to tell her after everything that’s happened, but it still didn’t help the fact that she was gone forever.

Waking up the next morning is rough, it feels like a train plowed into you after a night of tears shed and one too many glasses of wine as you reminisced. Looking at your phone on this bright Friday morning, you see that you’ve managed to sleep in pretty significantly, but at least it was still technically morning. Waiting for you are a text from your father and a text from Spencer.

From Dad (6:00AM):

Chin up, tesoro. Your mother loved you very much, she would be proud of everything you accomplished.

From Spencer (7:02AM):

Do you want to get dinner after work?

From Spencer (7:34AM):

Where are you?

From Spencer (8:01AM):

Let me know what I can do.

The blanket of isolation took over you as you slowly began your morning routine, slowly being the key word. While Spencer knew, you didn’t know what to do now. This was uncharted territory for you and while you knew you weren’t alone, you had also never mourned with another person besides time spent at your mother’s funeral. Perhaps another year, another time. He was only just your friend.

After you throw on comfy clothes and brush your teeth, you put your hair up so that it’s out of your face and eat some cereal--something easy and virtually effortless. Once you finish, you make a mental note of what you’re going to pick up at the store before heading to the cemetery to spend time with your mom. Throwing on a coat and slinging your bag over your shoulder, you punch in the security code and open the door to see Spencer there.

“Spencer? What are you doing here, it’s only like two,” you frown and close your apartment door behind you, locking it with your keys.

“I finished up all my paperwork so I took a half day and I wanted to cheer you up,” he states as you look up at him. “Maybe we can watch some Star Wars or that vampire movie you always talk about.”

“I’m going to visit my mom,” you tell him.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll go then,” he says and begins to turn and walk away but you pipe up before he can get too far.

“Why don’t you come with me?” you ask. He was already here and he wanted to help you feel better. His presence alone was grounding, reminding you of what you had and not of what you lost.

“Are you sure?” he asks and you nod, walking up next to him.

“She would have loved you,” you almost reach out and take his hand before you realize what you’re about to do. “Can--Can I hold your hand?”

You’re almost positive he’s going to say no. After all, you know he has issues with germs and sensory issues, the day before being a special occasion because you had broken down crying in front of him. But, when he nods and holds out his hand, you feel your heart flutter. The two of you make your way downstairs in a comfortable silence and the warmth of Spencer’s hand in yours is comforting. As you exit the elevator and make your way out onto the street, the cold D.C. air is refreshing.

Together you walk to the local grocery store to grab some food and flowers, daffodils, which were your mother’s favorite. After, you ride the metro down near the cemetery. This whole time, the presence of Spencer is enough to distract you from the ever present cloud looming over your head, but when you finally walk through the cemetery’s gate, all hell breaks loose.

When Spencer hears you sob, he instantly wraps his arms around you. The floodgates open and you softly sob into his chest, your arms wrapped around him in a vice. Your heart hurts, you miss your mother. She should have been alive to see all the accomplishments, to see your wedding and your second graduation. It’s times like these where you wonder if anything could have been done, if you could have seen the symptoms sooner or if you could have found another doctor, but your father always reminds you that you did everything in your power to help her and that she would have been proud of the person you were today.

Once your sobs subside, you sniffle and pull away to wipe your nose.

“Sorry for crying on you,” you huff out a small laugh and try to wipe away some of the snot that got on him while you cried.

“It’s okay, I understand,” he says and you sit down on the blanket, Spencer sitting next to you and helping to lay out the food.

“Hey mom,” your voice breaks a little and you clear your throat before turning to Spencer. “This is Spencer and he works with dad. He’s my best friend.”

You smile at him as he turns and waves at her headstone. The notion is so heartwarming that you feel the tears rise up again.

“Hi Ms. Montgomery, your daughter is one of the best people I know,” he says as you begin to eat cheese and crackers from the charcuterie board.

“He works in the same building I do, I got the job at Quantico. I know that FBI agents and you don’t mix very well but I enjoy my job and they have all these new machines for me to play with,” you lay your head on Spencer’s shoulder and continue talking as he wraps an arm around you instinctively. As the two of you sit there and pick at the food, continuing to talk about your mom and your fondest memories, there’s a part of you that wishes it could be like this always. Maybe you didn’t have to always hide your sadness and spend it in isolation. And just maybe, there was always a rainbow after a storm.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jj #jennifer jareau #david rossi #penelope garcia

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anthrofreshtodeath · 3 years

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Inspiration struck last night 👀 - putting this here so you can let me know if it's worth continuing/if you would want to read more of it. Super AU!

Jane cut the engine of her Ford Ranger just outside the tiny strip mall off of Sixth Street. It had been a splurge just after she got brought on as the head baseball coach of Empire High School, a treat for herself for finally getting a big-person job and generating some regular income. Her mother had convinced her to do it, actually, because Jane had been on the fence for months, waffling so many times that Angela piled her in the family Buick and dropped her off at the dealership. Find your own way home, Angela had said, and it better be in that brand new truck.

Now, Jane was thankful for the push, because southern California summers in her old Civic with the busted A/C were no fucking joke. They were still no joke now, but at least she could blast cold air on her face when needed. Like now: even at six thirty in the morning, temperatures climbed above eighty in early August, and she settled into the discomfort of an already damp back. At least her front still looked fresh. She glanced in the rearview mirror one last time before she got out, taking off her adjustable black cap with her school’s insignia and smoothing the tied-back black hair on top of her head. Presentable and believable: a baseball coach with a ponytail and a Nike dri-fit short sleeve windbreaker over her t-shirt.

She hopped out, satisfied enough to not be looking like a hooligan, and when she planted her turf shoes, she could tell the asphalt was already on fire. The boys were gonna be whiny as hell this afternoon. That made her grin just a little bit. She ambled up to the donut shop-slash-panaderia on the corner, straightening her posture when the door jingled and signalled her entry.

The short, middle-aged woman with her graying hair in a bun and an apron around her waist brightened when Jane approached the counter. “Buenos días, Coach Rizzoli,” she greeted with a smile and voice so cheery, she’d obviously been up for hours already. Probably baking as Jane finished weight-lifting in her backyard before the sun came up.

Jane smiled softly in return. “Buenos días, señora Gutierrez,” Jane said, deferential even though at nearly 5’11”, she must have been almost a foot taller than Mrs. Gutierrez. “Como está?” Short Spanish phrases sounded pretty darn good in her mouth, she had to admit, for all the Sicilian she heard growing up, and for being a product of Santa Ana. Spanish was more common than English in a lot of her friends’ homes growing up, so she caught on quick. At least enough to carry on a polite conversation, if needed.

“Bien, gracias. Tengo sus conchas aquí,” Mrs. Gutierrez asked as disappeared behind the counter to find what she was looking for, Jane’s order, reappearing with six pink donut boxes.

Jane opened her nostrils wide to take in the smell of flour, sugar, and a hint of cinnamon for the white conchas, her favorite. It was enough to feed a small army, which felt just about right for the staff meeting she had been tasked with supplying breakfast for. The first of the new school year. “Qué bueno,” she replied, not sure if she was referring to Mrs. Gutierrez’s overall well-being or the pan in the boxes. She pulled out her cash to pay, slipping her wallet in her back pocket, and in the seconds that it took her to do that, a single, piping-hot styrofoam cup of coffee appeared on the counter in front of her.

“Y un cafecito come le gusta,” said Mrs. Gutierrez with a wink and a smile. Occasionally, she did this, and it was her way of taking care of Jane, one of their family’s best customers.

Jane had learned not to refuse it. She just blushed and bowed her head a little bit, her lips pursed in a bashful smile. “Muchisimas gracias,” she said, taking a sip. Mrs. Gutierrez always left the cinnamon stick in it and added minimal creamer, just how Jane liked. Jane held back a moan. She decided she’d partake of the rest in the car, and then pocketed her change. She picked the boxes up by the string tied to them and huffed, ready to begin the day. “Y el Jonny?” she asked, and Mrs. Gutierrez nodded her head towards the back of the bakery.

Jane nodded and made her way toward the door so she could pop around. “Qué tenga un buen día, Coach,” Mrs. Gutierrez called after her.

“Igualmente!” Jane replied, already on her way. She deposited her haul on her front passenger seat, keeping her coffee in hand, and then walked over to the alley between the Gutierrez bakery and the block wall separating it from the Cardenas market just across the way. She put her hat back on, threading her ponytail through its opening, and adjusted her Oakley sunglasses as she stood by the dumpster that Jonathan Gutierrez currently filled with broken-down cardboard boxes.

He heard her shoes scuffling his way, so he turned. “Coach Rizzoli! It’s early as hell,” he said, “what’re you doing here?” He sweated through the ribbed tank on his torso and the black basketball shorts on his hips. Jane commiserated, having helped her dad out on many a plumbing job in the summer when she was in high school.

“Well, first day for teachers is today,” she said, sipping her drink. “And I had to get some of your mom’s pan for the meeting. They’d expect nothing less. I’m here lookin’ at you because she exhausted all my Spanish skills, and I needed to remind you that practice starts at one today.”

Jonny, as tall as her, lanky too, smirked. “I’m sure you could’ve found a way to say that to her,” he teased, knowing that she couldn’t have, not well.

“You’re a riot. One o’clock, and not a minute later, a’right? I will not hesitate to bench our centerfielder for opening day if he’s late,” she warned. Then she started to turn.

“That’s like seven months from now!” Jonny whined, setting his box cutter down and running a hand through his thick black hair. “I got work today! Last day before school starts next week!”

Jane rolled her eyes. “The perfect hair thing may work on the girls at school, kid, but it won’t work on me. Find a way to make it happen - if you get into Fullerton, it won’t be because I sent you, but because you did it on your own. Part of that means showing up to practice on time. Even in August.”

Jonny sighed. His mom would understand, but his wallet would be crying. “I’m tryna save up for a pickup like yours, though, Coach,” he tried, batting his eyes for extra sympathy.

Jane laughed, and then he did. “Listen. You show up for practice on time every day this year, and you and me’ll have a talk about replacing today’s wages for that new Ranger, a’right?”

“Ok,” Jonny said quietly. He knew that Jane knew they didn’t have much money. And he knew that she knew most everything about him - she meant what she said. She’d taken him under her wing when she’d noticed his boundless talent and his faltering attendance. When she found out it was to make enough money to keep him and his brother on the team, she’d covered the cost in full. That was two years ago, and now that Jonny was an incoming senior, they’d righted the ship together. There was only a little more to go until he applied to the school of his dreams, the one with the killer baseball program and just miles from home.

It didn’t hurt that Jane was the first woman to play ball there as a range-y second baseman, was eventually drafted from Fullerton. He wanted to follow in her footsteps as best he could. “Good. See you then, kid,” she said. He knew that she knew the best way for him to do that was to grind. To eat, sleep, drink, and shit baseball.

“Hey Coach!” He called after her as she made her way back into the alley.

She turned around. “What’s up?”

“I wanna focus on my forearms this year. Should I go the Altuve way?” he asked, smiling.

The Jose Altuve way: banging sledgehammers into tractor trailer tires. Jane guffawed. “I’m not saying do it, but I mean hey, guy’s 5’5” and hitting thirty dingers a year in The Show, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonny said. “I’ll take it under advisement. Thanks,” and with that, he waved Jane off. She spent the rest of the ride to school thinking about how to safely incorporate forearm work into the team’s regimen in a way that didn’t involve sledgehammers.

The bread had made her truck smell like heaven, and it was the perfect olfactory accompaniment through the working class neighborhoods of Coronita Heights - the part that she felt more comfortable in. She’d grown up down the 91 in Santa Ana, one of Orange County’s most vibrant cities, and her street looked a lot more like these than the ones that Empire High School sat on.

But Empire was one of the top 15 baseball programs in the state, and she had jumped at the opportunity to coach when she’d been approached about it. She packed the few boxes from her parents’ house, used the rest of her signing bonus to put a nice down payment on a house in Coronita Heights, and hadn’t looked back. It had been good for her - she kept in shape, used that teaching credential she’d worked on at Fullerton to teach PE, and led the Knights to a CIF championship in the five years she had been there. She hunted another.

Soon, the burger joints, smoke shops, and insurance spots gave way to expensive houses and palm trees, and she saw the massive campus come into view. She hopped out of the truck once she parked near the office toward the front, downing her coffee and tossing it in the trash. She tugged her belt, looped through her white baseball pants, making sure the fit was good, and then she took the breakfast out.

Another school year was about to begin, and she was determined to make it a victorious one.

___

Maura smoothed her dress in the full-length mirror of her bedroom for what must have been the hundredth time. It was tasteful: sleeveless, dark blue, with a thin black patent-leather belt around its waist. She paired it with black heels, and she looked good. She knew, intellectually, that she did, but this happened every time she started something new: the nerves kicked in and she doubted herself. She curled her impeccably styled hair behind her right ear out of habit, and then made her way downstairs for breakfast.

Her palatial home in Anaheim Hills sat overlooking the city below, still sleepy at six-thirty in the morning. She was anything but, having already completed her run and entire grooming routine. She perused the options within her double door refrigerator, still quite imposing even under the expansive wooden beams on the ceiling that ran from wall to wall. She thought about eggs, protein always a good start to the day, but then remembered the expected temperature and decided a cold breakfast of yogurt and berries would be best.

Again, it was too hot for warm coffee, but the massive cold brew dispenser she had readied just a few days prior called her name and she filled a tumbler with it and her favorite almond milk creamer. She’d have one cup with breakfast and a refill for the road, as she always did from May to October. She reveled in routine; it was what helped her not to shake as she brought a spoonful of honey, dairy, and strawberry up to her lips.

Today, despite her several years of doctoring, would be her first job with the living since residency. In fact, it would be her first non-clinical job, well, ever. Even when she had volunteered for research, it had been in pathology labs, or oncology centers, or Alzheimer’s wards. Now, she would head the pilot program for a pre-med track at Empire High School. Well, pre-pre-med, she corrected herself. The point of the program was to prepare students from non-private and non-charter school backgrounds for the rigor of medical school. And, as a graduate of the Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA, as well as Boston Cambridge University for undergraduate work, Coronita Heights Unified thought her very qualified to head its inception.

Maura was humble, so she did not consider that they also factored in her copious research articles within the field of pathology, nor her several awards from the Medical Board of California. But they did, and so today she started her teaching/counseling position that included Advanced Placement Anatomy and Physiology, as well as Advanced Placement Biology and an elective of honors molecular pathology to boot. She had negotiated that last one to retain a taste of her passion outside of teaching.

Satisfied both with her breakfast and her mulling, Maura rose from her stool at the kitchen island, its white marble counter still gleaming from its recent clean this weekend, and made her way to the sink. She rinsed her bowl, placed it in the dishwasher on the top rack with the others, and then washed her hands for twenty seconds. Soap on, palm scrub, back-of-the-hand scrub, webspace scrub, for as long as it took to hum happy birthday to herself, twice.

She reveled in routine.

She unscrewed the lid of her tumbler and placed it under the dispenser in the refrigerator again, watching dark coffee wash over ice cubes with pleasure. The properties of matter, their predictability and regularity, calmed Maura. She could predict where each rivulet would go with accuracy, and then watch the change of color with no surprise when she poured in her creamer. She could control how light or dark it became, and thus control its flavor. She savored that one last ounce of control before she screwed her lid back on and walked over to where her purse and rolling cart awaited her at the front door.

She took one last look behind her, at the open concept living room so large it needed a sectional couch that no one used because people hardly ever dropped by, at the kitchen with state-of-the-art, industrial appliances that often cooked meals for one. It was her home, even if all of that were true, and the way that the southern California sun poured in through her floor-to-ceiling windows thrilled her. It thrilled her the way it had the first time she set foot in LA, for her first day of classes. She let that embolden her as she locked the door and stepped into her S-Class.

Navigation popped up as soon the engine roared to life, already pre-programmed with the route to Empire High School. She saw the calculation of a twenty minute drive, rearranged a few numbers in her head as she thought about the day of the week, the time of the morning, and the unpredictability of the 91, and decided twenty minutes was probably just about right. She’d given herself a cushion for twenty-five, and with a glance to the men’s style cartier on her wrist, she smiled and pulled out of the garage towards the main drag that would lead her to the freeway.

She jumped out of nerves and surprise when the system notified her of a call coming in. She smirked when she saw the caller ID: Dr. Nina Holiday, Hoag Hospital. Maura pressed the call accept button. “Need a consult already, Doctor?” she teased, her own voice always just a bit foreign in the morning after not having heard it for hours.

Doctor Holiday scoffed on the line. “You wish,” she replied, and then there were beats of silence. “I just wanted to call to wish you good luck on your first day. And to see if you’d reconsider.”

“If this is Hoag’s way of trying to lure me back, by making their premier neurologist do all the dirty work, I think I’m going to have to pass,” Maura said, and Nina laughed.

“No, this is just a friend saying you’re gonna be missed is all,” said Nina. “But I respect what you’re doing.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Maura demured. “Pathology is in... very capable hands with Doctor Pike,” she said, and then immediately the two women guffawed.

“You couldn’t even get it out before you started laughing!” Nina asserted, “see? We’re up a creek with no paddle!”

“Whom the department decided to hire in my stead is not my business,” Maura replied professionally, “especially if they do not take my recommendations into account,” and then with more spice.

“You right, you right. And I know I said it before, but I respect you for this. I think my road to medicine might have been a lot easier if I had someone like you at my high school to guide me through,” Nina said seriously. “Just answer me something: you didn’t leave because of Ian, did you?”

Maura stiffened. She hadn’t wanted to think about that on her first day, but here Nina was, dredging it up. Maura wrung her hands on her steering wheel. “No. Not really,” she answered, and that was the truth. The timing of it all had just been awful.

“Ok. I just… with him being gone, I didn’t know if that would be better, or if you’d be haunted by ghosts, you know? If you stayed.”

“I think I needed a fresh start either way, Nina. I really do,” Maura said.

Nina took the hint that they were done talking about it. Her voice turned chipper again. “I’ve got a call at seven, so I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, ok? You can tell me all about your first week. Maybe over bottomless mimosas.”

Maura sighed with relief. She would need that. “Sounds great. Nina?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for calling. I’m… I’m going to miss you, too,” Maura confessed.

“Aw, Doctor Isles, don’t get all mushy on me,” gushed Nina. “Bye. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” Maura said after the line had gone dead.

Nina’s call had lasted most of the ride. Maura was grateful. Nina had been one of the few people to get to know her at Hoag. The hospital itself had a very competent staff. Excellent, really. And Maura was one of the best, so this led to a never-spoken, always-felt air of competition. It didn’t really lend itself to friendship. But Nina had consulted with Maura so often, that a comfortable working relationship eventually morphed into a casual friendship. That turned into drinks on the rare weeknights they had off and brunch on Sundays at some of the best spots in Orange County.

They promised to continue, and they would of course, but for the first time in their friendship, they didn’t work a floor away from each other, and Maura resolved that while she would do everything to keep it alive, she had to acknowledge the change. Fittingly, as soon as she did so, she drove into the staff parking lot at Empire High. Her new beginning.

Her welcome e-mail mentioned a staff meeting today, Friday, in the lecture hall at the front of the school, refreshments provided. So, she pulled next to the gunmetal gray Ford Ranger to her right, and gathered her things. Her cart could wait until they were dismissed to ready their classrooms, so she deposited her fob into her purse and sipped on her coffee for fortitude as she followed the sidewalk pathway past the front office to the lecture hall. She had mapped out the route when she had found out about the meeting, deciding that touring campus on her own before she began would reduce her anxieties, as well as the possibility of unknown factors. It was also why she had arrived right on time: early meant possible one-on-one conversations with strangers, and late meant all eyes on her as she hustled in.

She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head when she reached the glass double doors of the hall, and breathed in one last time. It was a big, 360 degree breath: it engaged her pelvic floor and spread her ribs equally. It lowered her pulse and calmed her nerves, and then she was ready.

When she entered, she heard chatter. Lots of it. When she turned the corner and yanked open the wooden door of the room itself, she was shocked to see what looked like most of the staff already deep in conversation in their seats. Some stood, others stretched their legs over a couple of seats at once, some laughed and some nodded seriously. For a moment, Maura panicked, then checked her watch again. She felt her heartbeat fall a little bit when she looked up to the front and realized that no-one had started the meeting. In fact, there was a small line at the sign-in sheet, so she decided that rather than have a breakdown in the walkway, she should join the line.

She mustered as much courage as she could and stood behind the last woman, who smiled at her politely. Maura smiled back and thanked whatever powers that be that the woman didn’t try to engage. The line moved quickly, and staff members grabbed what looked like sweet bread just off to the side of the table as they signed in. She forewent the sugar and decided just to take the requisite printouts instead. By then, things started to feel a little more like a normal job orientation, so she turned on her heels to make her way back to the crowd.

The confident turn ended up being another mistake, however, because as she started to walk, she saw no openings. It was like the middle of a very bad dream, in which she needed so desperately to blend in, but all she could do was stand out. She felt eyes on her as she passed tables full of other adults, she heard conversations quiet and alter when she walked by.

However, just as she was about to give up and stand all the way in the back, someone called out. “Hey,” the voice was firm, raspy, and kind. She turned instantly and it kept talking. “You need a spot? I was savin’ this one for my brother, but, big shocker, he’s late.” Seated at a table in the middle of the hall with an all-white backpack on the empty chair next to her, two aluminum bat handles sticking out on either side of it, was… “Oh, and I’m Jane. Rizzoli. By the way.”

Jane Rizzoli. Maura thought the name fitting. Jane was so tall and so dark-featured and so handsome that she needed an Italian surname. And by god, she had one. One with a trilled-r and a plural i and everything: it was perfect for her in the way that all its sounds signified abundance. Maura’s mind rambled and she caught it; she wasn’t even sure how the phonotactic rules of Italian applied to Jane’s physicality, but they did, and Maura sat next to her without hesitation. She chanced one glance to the length of Jane’s torso as she curled to put her elbows on the table, and then she met Jane’s dark brown eyes.

It was then that she realized that Jane probably awaited some kind of response. “Maura Isles,” said Maura, holding her hand out. Jane shook it and Maura was not at all surprised by the firmness of the shake.

“Hey Maura. I’m uh, I’m the head baseball coach here. I also teach PE,” Jane explained. Then she looked down at herself, her uniform and the bats in the backpack now on the floor. “But you probably guessed that.”

Maura smirked, and laughed softly. “I don’t like to guess. It puts people in awkward positions. But I would say there’s lots of evidence to that fact, yes.”

Jane laughed openly and then took her hat off. “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re the hotshot doctor that they hired for our new pre-med pipeline.”

Maura raised a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “And why would you assume that?”

“You talk like a doctor. And you dress better than everyone else in this room. Real doctor-y,” Jane wagged her own eyebrows up and down.

Maura watched Jane’s crooked grin, rapt. “One…” she began slowly, “doctor-y is not a word. Two, what if I were independently wealthy and taught, oh say, English?”

Jane shrugged. “Words are made up. And are you? Independently wealthy?”

Maura’s mouth twitched in humor. “Yes,” she answered. Jane threw her head back in defeat. “But, I am also the doctor piloting the pre-med program here.”

Just like that, the slender column of Jane’s neck brought her head forward again. “Thought so!” she said. Just as she did, The man who Maura knew from his photo online as the school principal walked in. People started to hush as he made his way to the front podium. Even she turned her attention, until there was the distinct warmth of whispering by her ear that dismantled all other thoughts. Jane was speaking. “Well, Dr. Isles,” she responded, “welcome to Empire High, then.”

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #lauren writes rizzoli and isles fan fiction #the high school teachers baseball California AU no one asked for lmao #not sure if it's too niche or if there'll be interest for it #but it feels like if I do continue it it should be long?#idk we'll see

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Gatsby (Green Eyes / 3)

Read the first part, here, and the second part, here! :-)

Blurb Synopsis: With a few months of teaching under your belt, at times you find yourself struggling. Luckily, your boyfriend and teaching colleague, Harry, is there to help you by offering advice or a comforting kiss. Although you’ve only been dating for a few months, you find that there's something special about this man.

Genre: Teacher Harry, fluff, and romance.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 10.4k words, whoops

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Happy Together by The Turtles (click to listen)

Your mind is muddled with thoughts. Remember to send this email today. Make sure to put this in so-and-so’s mailbox. Don’t forget to send that birthday card in the mail. Can’t misplace that sheet you have to make copies of tomorrow for an assignment. Enter those grades. Grade those tests, and those papers. They weren’t wrong, you think, when they said the work of a teacher never ends. As you sit at your desk, the world war two novel you’ve been trying to read lately stares back at you from the sidelines, adding another stick to your pile. A rather massive pile, at that. You knead your temple as the blinking cursor awaits your words on the lit screen. Words that you don’t have yet, and aren’t sure when you will. You’ve found it more and more difficult to send the hard emails home to parents, and even after three and a half months under your belt of teaching, it hasn’t gotten any easier.

“What’d I say ‘bout bitin’ yer nails?”

Breaking your stare off with your computer, your eyes jump to your door where you find Harry standing there.

Placing your chin in your propped hand, you sigh, “I’m sorry.”

“Here, ya look like ya need sumthin’ else t’ chew on,” he murmurs, taking a step into your classroom. Something leaves his hand to fly into the air, skidding to a stop in front of you on your desk. At the sight of the shiny gold wrapper marked by the words, Twix, you return to his eyes with a smile. “Now, wha’s got ya so nervous, bird?”

“I’m trying to write an email home, and not a happy one.”

“Ah, I hate havin’ t’ write t’ose meself, they’re neva easy. Can I help?” he inquires, taking slow steps into your classroom. When your laptop sounds with a chime!, the alert for a new email, your eyes leave his tall figure.

His question goes unanswered on accident with the appearance of the email loading before your eyes. The words start to trickle into your mind, and with their absorption, the heaviness felt in your heart grows.

“Hullo? Anybody home in there?” Harry laughs, his feet stopping in front of your desk. You don’t answer, and you barely see him lean to the side to look at you. “Hey, wha’s tha matta?” he questions, his tone suddenly changing. Gulping, no words come to you as the ones on your screen shoot icy fear into your veins. Your name falls from his mouth as he walks over to you, stopping behind you.

“I have to be observed,” you groan, your face falling into your hands. “Later this week,” you finish with a whimper, your shoulders sagging.

“Oh it’ll be okay, love. We all have it done once a year, ‘s only t’ benefit ya. ‘s fer feedback. Ya don’t gotta worry. Principal’s observation ‘s at tha end o’ tha year,” he tells you, his soothing voice turning irritating at the last part. You respond with a whine, but you find that you can’t remain upset with him when his arms come around you. “Ya’ll do great, bird. Don’t fret. I know things have been stressful lately fer ya, so try not t’ let it botha you.”

“But it does. I already feel like I’m not doing a good enough job, and then somebody has to observe me, ugh. I’m going to be so nervous that I’ll probably screw up even more,” you exhale, hiding away from your fears, but soon you feel your chair spin around. Tearing your hands away from your face, you open them to find Harry squatting in front of you.

The mere sight of the dimples in his cheeks and the glint in his eye eases the tension felt throughout your body. A second later, you’re unsure of that when your sight graces the ebony dress shirt rolled up his taut arms, and the mustard slacks hugging his thighs. Yeah, there are a whole lot of reasons to make you feel tense around this man, and on the other hand he makes you feel at ease. Talk about confusing, when one thing has both effects on you. Ugh.

“Yer too hard on yerself, birdy. Ya gotta stop it, I don’t like seein’ me girl feel so down,” he hums, his thumb painted in cracking hot pink nail polish tapping your nose. Even just the thought of how he’ll let you paint his nails the next time he comes over to your house makes you feel better. By now, he doesn’t even bat an eye when you ask him, and by the look of his battered nails, anticipation grows inside of you at the thought. “Now, why don’t ya try t’ forget ‘bout tha observation, and lemme help ya write tha email t’ tha parent? Then we can leave and ya can come ova t’ mine, and I can cook ya a nice dinna.”

His lips split into a smile in front of you, sparking one on your own. “Has anybody ever told you that you’re the best boyfriend in the world?”

“Hmmm, I dunno, maybe. I can’t recall, but I wouldn’t complain t’ hear dat a few more times,” Harry smiles, leaning forward to surround your lips with his. Yours curl into a smile as his fingers dance across your cheek and into your hair.

“Harry, the email,” you begin after breaking the kiss.

“Shh, lemme have a kiss first. ‘s been too long,” he almost laughs, pressing his lips back to yours.

“I saw you in sixth hour in the copier room and you got one then,” you interrupt, knowing that you’re getting on his nerves.

“Too long,” is all he says impatiently, replacing his lips on top of yours.

Relaxing, you move yours together with his and soon find your hands running along his cheeks prickly with facial hair. They run down the expanse of his warm neck, his tamed beard soon fading away. Pads of your fingers collide with the chain of his necklace hidden under his shirt, signaling you’re almost there. You let a grin slip, impeding the kiss, when you can feel his taut chest under his button up. Finally.

“Like what yer findin’?” he asks, laughing against your mouth.

“Mmmhmm,” you answer slyly, peeking open your eyes to find his on yours, mere inches away. “Maybe we should write dat email now. Don’t wantcha gettin’ too carried away now,” Harry hums pulling away, much to your disappointment. “No, yer not gonna get me with tha pout again, so dontcha try it now.” He wags a finger at you as his words play on his face. Feeling risky, you reach forward and bite at the tip of it, smelling the cinnamon lotion he has a bottle of on his desk.

“Ya betta watch it, bird!” Harry chuckles, the smile taking grasp of him now, as well as the laugh that sings to your ears.

“Or else what?” you reply, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

“Open yer email befo’ ya convince me with that adorable face o’ yers.”

You ignore him and continue to stare at him, happiness and longing showing in your eyes. You’re certain that he sees it too, you’re just not sure what he’s going to decide to do with it. His bottom lip comes between his teeth as his green eyes stare into yours, him standing only a step away from you. Although it’s the slightest movement, his hands starts to trail from the back of your chair.

“Birdy,” he begins with a warning, shaking his head at you, that song leaving his strawberry lips again. Suddenly, you wish he was wearing a tie today so you could grab a hold of it and pull him in by it, but alas he’s without one today. “Don’ test me.”

His words are hypocritical, meaning one thing as his face tells you another story entirely. Somehow, they have the opposite effect on you, egging you to go further with the teasing. You enjoy pushing his buttons, another thing that he knows far too well by now. Your fingers sitting limp on your legs itch to touch him, and roam his body. Those curls, his bearded cheeks, that muscular chest, or those thick arms. Maybe even all of him.

“We can have a good snog at me house tha sooner we get dis done,” Harry cautions, only worsening the pout forming on your lips. He reacts to it promptly, with that lip-biting returning, and his fist coming to his mouth. As if he has to refrain from saying, or doing, something.

“Why can’t I just have one more now? It won’t hurt,” you plead, letting your chin fall a tad, allowing you to look up at him through your lashes.

“‘m in real trouble with ya, aren’t I, birdy? Go’mme wrapped ‘round yer li’l finga like there’s no t’morrow, dontcha?” Harry teases, slowly leaning in, his arms bending at his wrists where they lay planted to your chair’s armrests.

“Yeah, just the way you like it,” you note aloud, the anticipation buzzing in your gut as he draws near.

“Yer right ‘bout dat, darlin’. Couldn’t say no t’ ya if I tried, thinkin’ that might ge’mme in trouble one o’ these days,” Harry finishes with a snicker before the taste of oranges meets your lips, and his beard is tickling your skin. Just the way you like it.

“Ravioli or pasta?” you hear float from the kitchen.

It’s a wonder you hear him as your thoughts are consumed by his bookshelves. Although you’ve been to his place several times now, you’re still enamored by trying to familiarize yourself with the items he chose to live with him.

The acoustic Taylor sitting in the corner on a stand. The Monet prints dotting his walls, along with those of The Stones, The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, and Pink Floyd. The pink ukulele hung on his wall that he made you laugh with while playing a rendition of Somewhere Over The Rainbow the first time you came over. You swear that his blankets are the coziest and warmest. He also makes the best fires in the fireplace, even making s’mores for dessert the first time you came over, making quite the impression. The last time, you had devoured his record collection, flipping through it and playing the few that interested you at the time. You even like the silly napkins with sayings on them that he has in the kitchen. Now, you’ve returned to his book collection that seems to grow by a few each time you’re here.

“Why do you have Shel Silverstein here, but not at school?” you call out to him, feeling the change in texture of the book spines, the tip of your finger ghosting over them.

“‘Coz tha’s a copy from when I was li’l. Now, ya didn’t answer me question. Which d’ya want me t’ make, bird?” he replies gently, his deep voice carrying down the hall from the kitchen.

Once again, his words drift by unnoticed as you carefully remove a copy of a novel that catches your eye, The House on Mango Street. You’ve found it before on his shelves at school, and the cover has always enraptured you, but you’ve never found the time to pick it up. Turning it over, your eyes flit over the description on the back of the thin book.

“Hey, ‘m talkin’ t’ ya, birdy,” a voice murmurs, their words dancing across your neck with a tickle. “Tryin’ t’ figure out what t’ make us fer dinna.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just looking at this book. I’ve always meant to see what it’s about,” you comment, turning your head back ever so slightly, but you don’t need to do that to know he’s there. His arms have surrounded your waist and his beard tickles against your temple, lips soon dotting kisses along that space.

“‘s okay. Ah, so this ‘s where yer always runnin’ off t’ when ya come ova. Got meself a book worm fer a girlfriend, I like it. Findin’ anythin’ good? Ya know ya can borrow whateva ya want, love. I know ya’ll take good care o’ it,” Harry coos in between feathery pecks he plants down the side of your face. “‘s a good one too, bird. I teach it every year. Tha students enjoy it too. Ya might come t’ teach it too, I think, since we’re both teachin’ American Lit. this semester,” Harry comments, soon his nose making an appearance tickling your cheek. The words on the back of the book were beginning to blur before your eyes, but they’re forgotten altogether when his fingers brush against your belly, clasping together there.

“Thank you. I suppose I should read it already then.”

“Yeah, ‘m surprised ya haven’t already. Borrow it and take yer time with it, ya’ll enjoy it. ‘s a bit sad tho’ from what I rememba. Now, ravioli or pasta? Was thinkin’ a salad on tha side, marinated chicken, and sum berries,” he finishes, the safety his arms provide you with soon fleeting. Looking over your shoulder, he walks away and back to the kitchen, noting that he needs to get the pasta water boiling.

As your eyes trail to his bum round in his gray jogging shorts, a cheeky answer begs at your lips instead. He pipes up again with an inquisitive ‘well’ and your response falls from your lips, “Ravioli, please.”

He hums a confirmation from his new perch down the hall, the sounds of cupboards opening and things being jostled around soon following. The rest of the book’s summary passes your eyes before you set it down on the arm of the brown sofa, forgotten as soon as he had walked in. Passing Harry’s favorite reading chair in the corner accompanied by a tall lamp, you tiptoe through the narrow hallway marked by framed pictures on the walls. You hear his soft singing as you round the corner, happening upon his towering figure to your left, standing at the stove. Taking a page from his book, you slide across the wooden floor in your socks, quickly capturing him with your arms.

“Boo!” you whisper into his ear, feeling him jump in your arms.

“Don’t scare me like that, coulda burned me hand,” he warns, but when you chance a look at the pot of water below him, you find him to be a fibber.

“You don’t even have the gas on yet, silly,” you murmur in argument, dragging your nose along his freckled neck, paler from the winter months.

“So? ‘m tryin’ t’ cook here,” he argues, although terribly, because a giggle escapes his candy-like lips. Ones you very much would like to kiss right now, and perhaps taste, and nibble. Nodding into his shoulder, your hands unravel to explore the toned expanse of his stomach under his shirt. “Bird,” he says firmly, the cracking sound of the salt grinder following his words.

“I’m just helping you cook,” you explain feebly, brushing the pad of your thumb against his wispy happy trail. If you focus hard enough, you think you can remember from the times at the beach where his tattoos are, because they don’t feel any different to the rest of his skin. The fern leaves, the butterfly, and then the swallows below his collarbone.

“Yer pushin’ me buttons again. Ya know I don’ like it,” Harry grumbles, trapped within your grasp when he turns to grab the package of refrigerated ravioli from the counter.

“I’m sorry, can’t I just hug my boyfriend?” you whine, feeling your voice catch at that last word, even after two months.

“Don’t play that game with me, go read yer book or sumthin’. Catch up on sum gradin’, you’ll thank yerself later fer doin’ so, and me.”

“You’re no fun,” you whimper, hands stilling amongst his toned abdomen and soon returning to your body. Cheekily, you give in to your temptations and pinch his bum hastily, running off with a giggle.

“Birdy!” Harry calls after you, trying to hide the laugh in his voice, but you’re doing enough laughing for the both of you. You don’t hear the sound of his booming footsteps following you, and so you plop onto his sofa with a relieving sigh. “Remind me not t’ give ya more than two glasses o’ wine, ya get all weird afta two.”

“I do not!” you exclaim, pressing the power button on the remote for his tv.

“Ya do too! Grabbin’ me bum and gettin’ all handsy unda me shirt,” he contends with a scoff that dissolves into a titter. You respond with a ‘hmmph’ loud enough for him to hear as your head hits the velvet pillow at one end of the sofa, body splaying out to cover the rest.

“I’ll say it again, you’re no fun!”

“Oh, give it a rest!” is all Harry says disbelievingly, meanwhile you pout as you try to immerse yourself in an episode of The Simpsons.

It’s one of those Halloween specials, you’re not sure which one as there were several, even though Halloween was very nearly two months ago. Turning up the volume, you try to drown out the sound of pots banging together, and packages crinkling. You even attempt to mask the sound of his voice, the wine buzz securing you in your own little bubble, and a lonely one at that.

“Babeeee,” you finally hear, along with the soft padding of his slippers nearing you. “Don’ be a crab, y’know I don’ like bein’ botha’d when ‘m cookin’ sumthin’ hot. Don’ want t’ get eitha o’ us burnt. I’d do tha same if I had kids and they were ‘round,” he mumbles, his footsteps coming to a pause, and so does your heart at the sound of his words.

“Me li’l birdy,” Harry coos in a sing-song voice, the whine of the ancient wood floors marking his arrival. His calloused fingertips along your forehead and through your hair are difficult to ignore, as are his sweet lips smelling of Roscato against your skin. “Don’ be upset with me please, ya know I can’t handle it. Ya wanna come help me cook? You can chop up tha salad if ya’d like, well as long as yer hands are okay afta those glasses o’ wine.”

“Nah-ah,” you deny, rubbing your face with your hand, growing sleepy from the alcohol. “You don’t want my help, and I’m all dizzy.”

“I do want yer help, that’s why I asked. Hmm, dizzy, are you?” he queries, drawing your attention upwards to where he kneels beside the sofa, head hanging over yours. “Does this make ya dizzy too?” he grins upside down for you, pressing a quick kiss to your mouth. A smile hints at yours after the kiss ends, him raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head ‘no’ and he clucks his tongue, dipping in for another kiss, this one longer than the last. You’d choose to grow dizzy from his intoxicating lips over anything else, again and again. The bite of the alcohol follows the sweetness of the white wine he had poured you both glasses of, his still being nursed in the kitchen. The chill to his pillowy lips is shocking against your warm lips, but it’s forgotten when your fingers drift to his hair. You’ve only gotten a taste of his scrumptious top lip before he pulls away, having kissed you in an odd way, upside down.

“Ya still upset with me?” he breathes against your lips, rubbing his nose against yours ever so slightly, a smirk edging at his lips.

“I won’t be after one more kiss, and a cuddle,” you insist, testing your limits, but by now you’re fairly certain what you can get away with. Sometimes it surprises you how much, from stealing his favorite pen from his desk, grabbing his butt in the breakroom, knicking a sweater from his closet the last time you were over, or spamming him with texts of songs he wouldn’t ever listen to but he still does, for you.

“Alrighty then, c’mere, birdy,” he smiles before he melts against you in a kiss, once again.

Soon, he’s scooping his arms under your legs and settling you on his lap, sinking into the sofa. Your head finds a home below his collarbone, legs draped across his lap and your bum hanging off the side of it.

“I forgot ya get all tired on me afta alcohol. I gotta rememba t’ only dole it out when tha sun ‘s still up,” he giggles, the sound reverberating around in his broad chest under his Paul McCartney & Wings shirt. His fingers surround one of your hands, holding it to his chest as his other cups your waist where he holds you against him.

“Yeah,” you mumble softly, trying to focus on the tv show, but it’s a lost cause.

With his refreshing citrus smell enveloping you, the notes of the tangy orange he eats by sections every day clings to his skin somehow. Dreamily, you admire his neat beard for the hundredth time, smiling adoringly at the little patches he hates that don’t grow in all of the way. For some reason, you love them even more, wondering what his cheeks look like underneath all of the dark brunette hair.

The show is forgotten at the recesses of your mind, and instead, your attention revolves around Harry, much to your surprise. The rhythmic rising and falling of his chest. The scattering of ink covering both arms, top to bottom. The dark curly hair donning his chest if you nudge the collar of his shirt down far enough. Even the steady beating of his heart grabs your focus, leading you to the slight pause and wake of it at the corner of his neck. Perhaps your most favorite of all is a hard tie between watching the execution of his facial features, or playing with his hands. One he minds quite more than the other, but you think he’s starting to get used to it.

Your fingers that look puny in contrast to his run over the minuscule hairs peppered across his knuckles, yet another trait of his you adore. It’s rare there’s one you’ve found of his that you don’t enjoy immensely. They fall against his, feeling the lukewarm metal decorating his fingers, and he doesn’t even pause. Scooting your eyes away from his hands quickly, you try to forget the inviting veins bulging from his skin you so often like to get lost tracing. They flit now to the almost indiscernible dimples caving into his hairy cheeks, eyes gleaming as he titters at something on the tv. It all ends much too soon and you’re caught in the act, his gaze falling to yours.

“Whatcha lookin’ at me fer?” he wonders aloud, the space between his brow creasing. You resist rubbing it free, finding you don’t have the time to when his lips press a kiss to your nose. “Water’s boilin’, I should go start tha chicken. Ya can help if ya want, but ya don’t hafta, love. Don’ want ya cuttin’ those pretty li’l fingas o’ yers.”

A nod suffices for your imaginary words, and so does the curling of your lips that part, “I like you,” you mumble, eyes glued to him, much like a puppy dog.

“I like ya too, birdy. Quite arguably tha best thing that’s happened t’ me in a while, you are,” he rasps, voice dripping of honey at the arrival of his words. The look painting his face tells you that he knows it too, and you can taste the honey when he pecks you. “Like ya so much I can’t believe it sumtimes.”

You both knew within the first week of school that having your prep hour during the same time in fifth hour, although coincidental, was perhaps not a good idea. It was uncertain whether the demons of the world or the angels of it had arranged this, seeing as you soon distracted each other from getting much prep done for that day’s lessons, grading, what have it. The both of you got on each other’s nerves regarding it at times, him more so than you, but you’re rest assured you both were grateful for it.

Like today, you can’t stop jiggling your knee as you listen to Chopin while grading papers on the interpretable meanings of the scarlet A from The Scarlet Letter. Harry had gotten quickly upset with you yesterday when you had hogged too much of his prep hour with kissing and talking, noting that he had already been interrupted by another colleague. Today, you’re trying to give him his space to get his work done, but you find it exhausting staying away from him, much like you always do, and have to already. The temptation is even worse when he’s less than fifty steps away, and with those lips that should be downright illegal. His snap at you still stung, if only a little, and you can’t find your focus seeing that you’ve hardly seen him around today.

Sometimes you feel pathetic and he’ll joke that you are too, melting into a puddle like The Wicked Witch of the West from not having seen him enough. You know that you are, but the realization doesn’t make you feel any better. Neither do you when a second later, speak of the devil, you hear his voice outside your ajar door. It mingles with another, and this one mentions your name, you’re rather sure. Harry shushes the other person with a laugh, and when the voices have paused, you return your gaze to the marked-up paper you’re grading. Turning up the music on your desktop, you sigh as you start reading the sentence over again, for the third time.

Relief buds at the tips of your limbs as you gather your things from your desk around quarter to four, positive Harry’s after-school Poetry Club should be over by now. It’s stolen away as your fingers dangle on the handle of the door, his door closed with his nifty store-like sign turned to CLOSED. Sighing, your face creases into a messy line at the sight of it, your fingers soon composing a text to him that goes unanswered.

Looking both ways down the hall, when the coast is clear, your heels click across the hall to place you at his door. Again, it’s unlocked to allow the custodial staff to come and clean soon. Bingo! Blanketed in darkness, few streams of light make their way in past the new snow blanketing the campus grounds. You don’t need much light anyways, and after setting your things down on a desk, you settle in his chair. The squeaks are almost all the way out of it, you notice, as you pull on the chain to the vintage green lamp at the corner of his desk. A new addition. Albeit a few scattered pens and lists, it looks much the same since the last time you were in his classroom. You quickly find a pad of Post-Its, green this time, and a pen that’s a fun color. Licking your lips with an excited smile, the sadness of missing Harry is abated by getting the chance to sneak a note onto his desk, which you’ve found is far harder to do these days. You leave with a smirk donning your lips, and a few Bit-O-Honeys to tide you over until the next time.

Harry,

Do you have any plans this Saturday? I might know a certain girl who is planning on making homemade pizza, and who thought you might enjoy it. If you’d like to, I can let her know and pass your name along. I’ve heard she’s a rather good chef, just don’t get too many glasses of wine into her, or else she turns into a real fruit loop.

P.S. I wish there were words for how I feel about you, but being the English nerds we are, I think that gives you a little advantage to understand once I find those words. Have a great day, my love.

Your Birdy

xoxoxo

Huffing, you stab at the button again, but you still receive the same error message from the copying machine. Forgetting it, you log out before turning around, which wasn’t a great idea either, you find. A quiet squeal leaves your lips when you find Harry standing in front of you, grinning at his success from scaring you.

“A li’l jumpy this mornin’, are we?” he smirks, sliding his covered arms into the pockets of his gray slacks.

“Yeah, you could say that, and the copier hates me this week,” you return, walking past him and over to the shelf of supplies in containers.

“Oh, ya can use me code if that helps. Maybe it senses ya hate it,” he giggles, now behind you. Your nod suffices for a response as you drag your fingers through the sea of pens, searching for one color.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. Ugh, there’s never any red pens when I need one,” you sigh, annoyed.

“Ya know ya can take one from me stash anytime ya need,” he insists, humming a tune as he taps his foot. You mumble another small ‘thanks’ before moving onto another container.

“Hey, why ya bein’ all shy?” he inquires, his gentle fingers soon encircling your wrist, turning you to face him. Again, you wonder how he can look more handsome every day, even in a dorky gray pull over vest with a cream button up underneath.

“You said we can’t do PDA in school.”

“‘s tha copier room and nobody else ‘s here, bird. ‘s fine, y’know that by now,” he argues, pulling you into his arms easily, manipulating you like soft clay. Trying and failing to hide a frown, his brow knits together in confusion. “Why ya bein’ all weird, hmm? Gonna tell me?”

“You don’t let me come and bother you during our preps anymore. You got all mad at me,” you confess blearily, letting your head come to rest on his shoulder. Hastily, you remove it and leave his arms, sure somebody will walk in the door at the least convenient second.

A laugh sings from his lips as he follows you, winding an arm around your waist. His lips are soft against your cheek, the stubble framing it becoming normal to you by now, although a scratchy nuisance. Now, he’s made his way to stand in front of you, blocking you from the packs of Crayola markers you were eyeing up for a project.

“‘m sorry I got mad, okay? Jus’ had loads o’ stuff t’ get done, knew I shouldn’t have snapped at ya, tho.’ I regret it now . . . . Will ya forgive me?” he begs, sticking out his bottom lip, making him even more irresistible and delectable. Shiny curls fall over his forehead from his mousy hair that’s shorter on the sides after his recent cut.

After checking the door, you surprise his lips with an all-forgiving smooch, welcomed by the bitter taste of black coffee on his lips. Like always, it draws to an end far too soon, and this time by the tinny ringing of the first bell.

“Betta get goin’, bird. Don’ wanna be late,” he teases, brushing his nose against yours. A short yelp escapes your lips when his hand squeezes your ass before he saunters off after another kiss.

“Harry,” you mutter, shaking your head, squeezing his hand briefly before you enter the halls together.

Although you’ve become accustomed to it, it still feels strange to slide on another mask once you step into the halls. Sometimes even the school. You feel them and you know they’re there, the stares from the students. The rumors buzzed around the beginning of the year about you and Harry, but with his help, they never got to you. Neither of you have ever confirmed anything to anybody, and luckily you haven’t had to so far, even amidst the continuing rumors.

Nonetheless, you still share with the other the stories of your students teasing the both of you about dating the other. You only fed the fire when you dressed up together for Halloween, or when your classes often combined together in the computer lab or library, or on the rare occasions, they have a large Jeopardy game or group project together. More often than you like to admit, you get carried away and entertain the freedom that would come with being able to say ‘yes’ to your students when they ask if you’re together. That would only call for one occasion, though. One that is quite far down the future road. As your eyes wander along Harry, a couple months in and you can’t deny that this isn’t just another boyfriend. No siree.

“What d’ya got on tha agenda t’day, love? Ya startin’ anythin’ befo’ break?” he asks you, pulling you from your reverie, probably for the best.

“No, we’re wrapping up the unit this week before testing next Monday on the last day. The Scarlet Letter, Frankenstein, Grammar Do’s and Don’ts, and the Transcendentalist Writers,” you explain, folding your hands together and letting them fall to the waist of your long wine-colored dress. Dark tights hug your legs, but the spotty heating inside of the school makes you miss the black cardigan sitting at your desk.

“Mmm, same here. ‘s a good day t’ do it, can’t really introduce anythin’ befo’ Christmas Break. They’ll all forget it by tha time they return in two weeks. We jus’ have a chapta left in most classes: Hemingway, To Kill A Mockingbird, Huck. Finn, and Robert Frost,” he comments, hands hidden away in his slacks. Often you’re grateful for it, the removal of the temptation for you. Then again, it tempts your eyes that like to dance across the tightness of his slacks, but you quickly avert them.

“That’s good, only three more school days counting today, and one more until my observation,” you huff, finding it arduous to keep the nerves surrounding the event at bay.

“You’ll do fine, love, I keep tellin’ ya that. Ya gotta believe me one o’ these times,” Harry coos, coming to a stop when you round the corner, your classrooms only a few steps away. To your surprise, his long fingers spread warmth across your skin with a pat to your arm, a rare one at that. “Have a good day, don’ let tha kids get t’ ya yet. Only a few days left. ‘ll talk t’ ya later.”

“Thanks, I hope you have a good day too,” you echo, containing the smile you send him halfheartedly, always careful about how you act towards each other around students. He winks at you quickly before turning away with that delightful smile playing around his lips, making you wonder how long again until you can kiss them.

His luscious curls make your fingers itch to touch them, but as you linger in your doorway watching him, you know that you’ll have to wait. After biding your time for a few seconds for the students to leave him after receiving help, with a mental shrug you decide you’ll wait. Soon, you find yourself in the office. Colleagues meander around the room, the secretary speaks on the phone, and a parent or two or waits for them. After a few smiles and greetings, you arrive at your mailbox. First, you pluck the bag of Bit-O-Honeys from your pocket, sticking them in his box with a note already taped to them. After fishing out the few papers sitting in there, your hand brushes against something on the bottom, but you don’t see anything when you look again. With a quirked brow, you stand on your tippy toes, spotting a lime green Post-It note stuck to the bottom piece of wood. A smile quickly consumes your face as you pluck it from there, sticking it to the first paper on top of your pile, not wanting to raise any kind of suspicion. You and Harry do your best to be extra careful, not wanting to give anybody a reason to pry, and by now you’re both positive nobody has any true reason to doubt your story.

Your heels dig into the sides of your feet after your long day, making you quicken your pace back to your classroom. The frown creasing your features is soon replaced with that grin from before when you turn into your classroom, finally taking a peek at the note.

Birdy-

You’re not very good at this whole Christmas list thing, are you? I’m still wondering what you’d like. Mind helping a silly old man out before the holiday rolls around? I hope your day is going swell. Don’t hesitate to come and say hi during prep, you know you’re always welcome. You’re the best kind of distraction, you’re just a little too good at it sometimes ;) You’re looking too gorgeous in that dress today, and so I’ll need you to stop by so I can give you a proper snog in private, pronto.

Harry xxxx

P.S. - Homemade pizza sounds lovely, I can’t wait. You spoil me (:

P.P.S - You have no idea how much you mean to me, bird xo

“Verdict on tha possibility o’ that snog?” somebody murmurs, their voice followed by the soft whoosh of your door closing. To no surprise, Harry leans against the door unable to hold back the happiness showing on his face.

“I think it’s a yes,” you answer slowly, placing the stack of things on your desk, but not moving an inch. You want to toy with him and make him work for it, but as always, you can’t resist him.

“How was yer day?” he mumbles once your arms come around his middle, brushing against the knit sweater vest. Sometimes he dresses like older colleagues and other days like his young age, but nonetheless you can’t help but think he’s the best dressed of any male teachers here at the school. He’s just too goddamn handsome that he can pull off anything.

“Good, we finished all of our readings in my classes. I get to be observed doing review tomorrow, so I hope the observer likes my Jeopardy games,” you comment, slipping your hands under the fabric, feeling the warmth projected from his body.

“‘m sure they will, love, ‘s a good idea ya came up with. I know it took loads o’ work doin’ four o’ ‘em fer tha four different classes ya have throughout tha day. What time ‘s yer observation, ya neva said?”

“It’s during my fourth hour, before lunch,” you answer, him humming a short reply. “You really think I look that nice in this dress? I thought I looked frumpy and too tall,” you question, pursing your lips as you take a look at your long plain dress.

“Yes, think ya look amazin’, bird. Couldn’t keep my eyes off o’ ya all day wheneva I saw ya. Yer gonna make me slip up one o’ these times, and make me blow our cover,” Harry snickers, stepping forward to sink his fingers into your hair, a thumb falling to address your cheek. A knowing smirk tempts your lips, and it only worsens when his tongue comes out to run over his. “Think ya know that already, tho’ - y’know what ya do t’ me, dontcha?”

You silently shake your head, but the smile makes an appearance, and your lie is free to the air. His breathy laugh mingles with it before he takes them away, scooping your top lip between his. His kisses fill you with a warm giddiness, one that leads your hands to leave his strong back, and wander down him. Juice from the orange he must have just eaten trickles onto your lips, meanwhile your fingers dip into his pants, just brushing the top of his clothed bum.

Harry breaks the kiss suddenly, but you’re already giggling. So far, all you receive is an eyebrow raise from him, but his toasty hands don’t leave your cheeks. His gleaming rose lips part, “What’d I say ‘bout those hands o’ yers? Lookie here, they’re gettin’ you in trouble ‘gain,” he tuts, your left cheek soon cold as he wags a finger at you.

“You never said I couldn’t, and your bum just looks so nice today- well, every day,” you counter, feeling cheeky. His eyes dart from yours as blush rises to his cheeks, pulling up the corners of his mouth along with it.

“Bird,” he giggles, eyes soon returning to yours. “I dunno what ‘m gonna do with you,” he coos gently, cupping your cheek once more with his long fingers, returning his lips to yours for a kiss. His smile is felt upon yours and you find out why when his tongue prods at your lips, begging for entrance. As your hand slides down to caress his bum, your lips part to let him in.

Day after day, you wonder just when it was that you let him into your heart, seeing how he’s made a home in there. You just hope he’ll never want to leave. More and more often lately, you keep thinking that you’d like him to stay there, perhaps for forever.

With chattering teeth and a frozen nose, you only start to warm up once you unlock the door to your room, grateful to get to spend the upcoming weekend inside your cozy home. Thoughts of the cute knit hats Harry wears and how he finds you adorable with your rosy cheeks and button nose pull your eyes to his door. Sighing, you unwrap your scarf, discovering he hasn’t came in yet this morning. Yet another thing to add to his list of acting odd lately at times. Even though you spoke to him through a few texts this morning, you long to hear his voice comfort you about your dreaded observation later today. Unbeknownst to you, he has this magical quality to him that never fails to calm you down, or to make things better. Yet another thing you love about him, you think with a smile, unloading your messenger bag of the materials you bring back and forth from school.

Once that’s all unpacked and you remember to turn on the lights, as well as the blinking Christmas lights strewn around your room, you get an idea. Pushing his door open, you pull on the gold metal chain of his lamp, your hands drifting to the green Post-Its. The pen slides from your fingers when somebody surprises you with a loud ‘boo!’

“Harry, stop,” you giggle, briefly glancing to the doorway to find him in his puffy black coat.

“Would ya look at that, I caught ya in tha act. It won’t be much o’ a surprise now,” he titters, softly closing the door behind himself, the hallways beginning to abate their previous silence.

Shrugging, you pick the pen back up and start to scribble down a note while you still have a few precious seconds left. Smirking, you release your lip you bite on to speak, “I got here before you today, that’s a point for me. I think we’re three-two now for this week,” you tease him, listening to the slushy scuffle of his leather boots along the floor.

“Ya, I hadda busy mornin’, had sumthin’ important t’ do. Can ya guess what it was?” he murmurs, appearing behind you suddenly, his cheek rubbing against yours softly. A long ‘sure’ falls from your lips, but it comes up short when you think about the sensation of his cheek against your face. It’s smooth and warm, and not hairy.

“Wait a minute,” you announce, pulling away from him and turning around in his chair to look at him. Seconds after your jaw dropped to your chest, your hand flies to your mouth at the sight of him freshly shaven. “Harry, your face!” For the first time, you finally get to see his dimples on full display, collapsing into his round smiling cheeks. A long giggle escapes them as he runs a hand over them.

“What d’ya think o’ me all clean shaven? Haven’t seen me without a beard, have ya, bird?” he inquires, raising an eyebrow as a cocky smirk creases his pink cheeks. Within seconds, you’re on your feet and feeling his satiny cheeks under your palms.

“They’re so smooth, I like them. You look so nice, well I liked you before with a beard too. You’re so handsome either way,” you croon, leaning in to kiss him, tasting the spearmint toothpaste he uses. Your lips wander to his cupid’s bow, the slope below his bottom lip, and across the expanses of his grinning cheeks.

“Stop,” he giggles, his hands finding a home on your waist, but he’s hard to believe as he leans into your lips. “Don’t think I look weird or less handsome without a beard, d’ya now?”

“No, you never could. Mmmm, I like kissing all over your cheeks,” you hum in between kisses, the musky smell of his shaving cream tickling at your nose.

“Thanks, bird, ‘m glad t’ hear that. Now, lemme read dis note ya left, ‘m curious now.”

Much to your disappointment, his face soon leaves the clutches of your kisses, him trailing to his desk. Although whining at his absence, you let him, and instead you admire his adorable cheeks. It takes everything inside of you to hold yourself back from pinching them and kissing them. Hints of denial and shock come over you again, unsure of what you’re seeing at times. Never in the last seven-ish months since you truly met Harry, have you seen him without his beard. It’s kind of startling, but you know that he has you wrapped around his finger as well, because it unmistakingly makes you love him even more. Sometimes you wonder how that’s possible, even if you’ve only been official for a few months.

“Why the change?” you wonder aloud, eyes glued to him as his scan over the note you didn’t get to finish. Lifting his glowing eyes to you, those greens stare back at you, and again you’re knocked off your feet by him.

“Why not,” he answers with a shrug of his shoulders, holding up the note. “Ya didn’t finish, y’know. Ya started t’ declare yer love fer me and all that jazz, and it ended in tha middle o’ a sentence. Not very proper fer an English teacher, y’know,” he pouts, dragging his feet over to you after his sarcastic words.

“Well, you didn’t let me finish,” you reply, surrounding his middle once he’s in reach.

“D’ya care t’?” he whispers against your mouth, his lips ghosting over yours. This man really does know what he’s doing.

“No thanks, I’m not a ‘put me on the spot’ type of gal.”

“Ah, you aren’t, are ya? Tha’s a new one,” he grins, laying kisses to your cold cheeks, spreading warmth in his trail.

“Maybe you could tell me something, though.”

“Hmm?” he hums, the feeling of his smooth skin rubbing against yours entirely new to you, but you think you could get used to it.

“Could you tell me that I’m worrying about my observation for nothing?”

His kisses come to an unnecessary end, but in the end you’re grateful to see his green eyes again, and all of the love they hold.

“Ya are worryin’ ‘bout it fer nuthin’, bird. Promise ya yer gonna do great, ‘m so proud o’ you and tha great teacher ya’ve become,” he coos above you, tapping his finger to your nose. The words settle inside of you and begin to sink in. “And ‘m not jus’ sayin’ that, hope ya know how much I mean it.”

You tried, and failed, to keep Harry’s words at the front of your mind throughout your day. When the worries would bubble up, you’d try to make them go away with his reassuring voice saying them. At times, it was strenuous, and quickly the idea of eating lunch after your observation seemed ridiculous. That word seemed to align with your day soon, seeing as the powerpoint for Jeopardy wouldn’t work at first, but you blamed the projector. Then as the minutes ticked by and brought you closer and closer to eleven o’clock, shakes started to radiate throughout your body. Your hands grew clammy and you wish it was over with before it even started.

Your students for British Literature soon shuffled in, dropping backpacks on the floor with groans, itching for Christmas Break to come as well. You can’t help but agree with them, reminding them of this once they’re all seated and the last bell has rung. Inside your chest, your heart feels like it’s trying to break free from its cage as you anticipate a random colleague walking through your door.

“Hello, everybody. We finished reading Frankenstein yesterday, and to prepare for our test on Monday, we’re going to do some review. I know you all have come to enjoy my Jeopardy games, so I made one for Frank and-,” your introduction to your class is cut off by a knock on your classroom door, making your heart jump inside your chest. “Excuse me, let me just get that first.” With a deep breath, you hurry to get the door, and that breath goes flying out the window when you see who’s on the other side. His name falls from your lips at the sight of him, a clipboard hugged to his chest.

“Hi, ‘m here t’ observe you fer tha duration o’ yer lesson,” Harry announces, a professionalism coming over his voice, yet a cheekiness is heard at the edge of it.

“You’re observing me?” you ask breathlessly, earning a proud nod from him. “O-okay.”

“Yer gonna do great, don’ worry ‘bout me. Jus’ ignore me sittin’ in tha back,” he whispers, his warm smile holding more words than the both of you know he can say right now. After a squeeze to your arm, he slips past you into the classroom, flared maroon pants billowing behind him. “Hullo, e’rybody. ‘m Mr. Styles from across tha hall, I also teach English here. Don’ mind me, ‘m jus’ observin’ yer lovely teacher fer a colleague review t’day. Carry on,” Harry says, addressing your class. Swallowing, the butterflies take a peek from their safety inside your chest, soon taking flight to rid you of your worries.

“As I was saying, I made a Jeopardy game for Frank that we’ll play to review for the test on Monday,” you continue, folding your hands together to sit below your waist. You smile when the class erupts in applause, and even more so when your eyes flit to Harry whose found an empty desk at the back of the room. His head of curls lifts from being bent over the clipboard he writes on, sending you an encouraging wink. “So let’s take attendance to see how many there are of all of you, and I’ll split you up into teams. Then we can get started,” you finish, feeling his eyes on you. Although the pressure is still there, you feel at home in his presence and you don’t even mess up once during your lesson.

Even if you had, you’re sure he could’ve fixed it with the winks, thumbs ups, and heart wrenching smiles he sends you from across the room.

“So how did you manage observing me when you had a class during fourth, too? And how’d I do by the way?” you begin, wandering into Harry’s open classroom, the hallways almost empty after the end of the school day. Stopping in your tracks, confusion washes over you when the seat at his desk is empty. It would seem likely he had only stepped out, but it only gets weirder when his long coat isn’t found draped over his chair. “Okay then,” you mumble, returning to your classroom with questions blooming inside of you.

Thoughts are recalled in your mind about how odd Harry’s acted on a few occasions lately, namely his unusual disappearances after school. It’s hard to ignore as you work on the last few questions for the test for sophomore American Lit. You’re trying to think of questions from Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself, switching tracks after just focusing on Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self-Reliance. Although not news to you, you steal a glance across the hall at his classroom that still lays undisturbed, longing for his help with a good Whitman question. Soon, you find your phone in your hands, typing up a text to him asking him where he is, because you need his help. Before exiting your messages, the gray thought bubble appears with an ellipsis, indicating his typing. You wait for a response, but after close to a minute, you forget your phone on your desk nearby.

Giving up, your attention wanders to your staff email. You occupy your time answering a few parent emails, then some staff emails, and reading the important ones from the principal regarding Christmas Break. Your eyes grow far more tired at the sight of one from him about upcoming final exams in January, a time that seems far off from now. As a teacher now, you know that’s not true, and you always have to be ahead of the game. It’s yet another thing you want to rack Harry’s brain about, unsure of how to even create a final, and what to include on it. All you can think of is how much you despised final exams in high school and university, finding little worth in them. You know that you don’t want to be hard on your students, because a cumulative exam is difficult, and a regular exam already is as well. While your desktop plays Disney and Pixar piano instrumentals, your thoughts drift to the few teachers you had who made their final exam less intimidating. Whether it was a test on just the most recent unit you learned, the last book you read as a class, or something silly like throwing wadded up paper balls into the recycling from ten feet away.

Quickly, they’re disturbed by the twinkling of your cell phone, buzzing along your desk. A budding warmth trickles into your limbs when you see on it the goofy picture of Harry from a day at the beach last summer. New freckles covering his tanned skin, and all pink sunglasses donning his eyes.

“Hey, where’d you escape to?” you answer casually, dragging your mouse over to pause your music, coming across a song from the movie Up.

“Oh erm, had t’ run a quick errand. ‘m on me way back tho’, so what’re ya doin’?” Harry replies, clearing his throat which he never does, only when he’s nervous. You try to listen into his voice closer, but you don’t hear anything else besides that, so you try to push it away.

“Finishing up my Transcidentalism Writers test. I was wondering what would be a good question, in your opinion, from Whitman’s Song of Myself?” you pose to him, your other hand falling from your computer mouse to prop your chin up.

“Hmmm, tha’s a good question,” he titters, another sound echoing his words, but you can’t make out what it is in the background. “Ya could do a question ‘bout tha theme o’ tha poem, examples o’ figurative language, or ya could have a short response question where they summarize tha poem in their own thoughts, I s’pose. Ya could even- Shhh,” he finishes. He only makes you grow more and more curious as to what’s going on, and why you hear a whine in response.

“Who are you talking to?” you laugh, narrowing your eyes at the wall you stare at lazily while talking to him.

“Oh nobody, nobody. Do those erm questions help? Ya like ‘em, bird?” he responds hastily, brushing the strange occurrence away.

“Okay, whatever you say, and yeah they help. Thank you.”

“Welcome. ‘m almost t’ me classroom, so ‘ll see ya soon, kay?”

“Okay,” you tell him before he hangs up.

Yawning, you turn back to your computer and quickly write down those ideas in a Notepad document before you forget them. You’re in the middle of typing up the idea for a short response question when there’s a knock at your classroom door. Turning your head, you don’t see anybody at first, so you revert your attention back to your typing.

“Yeah, who’s there? Harry, is that you?” you reply, your fingers dancing along the keyboard swiftly.

“No, ‘s me,” Harry’s voice replies, but it’s distorted to sound different from his. It’s more high-pitched, very near to that of a child. Giggling, you look back over to your doorway to find a surprise. “Hi, ‘m a puppy. ‘m a Golden Retriever mix. I jus’ got adopted by me new daddy, Harry.”

“Oh my goodness!” you exclaim, hands flying to your mouth at the most adorable sight indeed. Held in Harry’s two hands, a tan Golden puppy is suspended in the air in your doorway. His tiny furry body squirms in your boyfriend’s hands, a short yip leaving his little mouth. “Harry!” you cry, rooted to your spot. Another exclamation leaves your lips when a yawn leaves the little puppy’s mouth, and then again when his long wagging tail enters your view.

“‘m only eight weeks and daddy jus’ go’mme, so I don’ have a name yet, but ‘s nice t’ meet you. Me daddy ‘s thinkin’ o’ namin’ me Gatsby afta his favourite book. Whoops, I wasn’t s’posed t’ tell ya that, daddy says ya were s’posed t’ guess that on yer own. Anyways, my daddy and I wanted t’ ask you if ya’ll be my new mummy? He was also wonderin’ if ya wanted t’ come an’ live with us, since daddy told me yer lease ‘s up soon. I dunno what dat ‘s, but what d’ya say? I know we’d have loads o’ fun togetha, and ‘m jus’ so darn cute!” Harry continues in his child-like voice, speaking for the new puppy. Tears soon blur your eyes, but you blink them away quickly so as to not lose sight of the irresistible puppy.

“Harry!” you cry, getting to your feet and dashing in your heels to the doorway, finding him bringing the puppy to his chest.

“Hi, birdy. I see ya’ve met me new puppy, or . . our new puppy,” he smirks before you, hitting you with another wave of emotions at his darling words. “Sorry, I didn’t tell ya ‘bout him sooner. This ‘s what’s been takin’ up all me time dis week, and it all happened so fast. Wanted t’ surprise ya, and I think ‘s safe t’ say I have,” he chuckles, removing a hand from around the puppy’s pink belly to wipe the tears from under your eyes.

“It’s okay. Oh my goodness, look at him,” you almost whine in that voice you use around babies, bringing your hands to his fluffy fur. He turns his head towards you and his tiny black nose wiggles as he sniffs at the air around you. “Hi, little guy. Can I be your new mummy, is that okay with you?”

“‘Course it ‘s, was kinda bettin’ on it. Knew ya’d be a good mummy . . . Wish I could bring him t’ school on Monday, but my sista said she’d take him fer tha day,” Harry coos, lifting your head with his voice. One of those big crinkly-eye smiles claims his face, disappearing from view when he presses a kiss to your lips. Your lips move with his, fingers getting lost in his hair, but it’s over quickly when you start to hear barking below you. “Heeeeey, ‘s okay, li’l guy. I can kiss mummy, if I want t’. What d’ya think, Gatbsy, hmmm? Mummy said she’d make us pizzas t’morrow. Already turnin’ out t’ be a good mummy, isn’t she now?”

Laughs coat the both of your lips as he lifts the puppy into the air for the both of you to look at. They echo throughout the room when Gatsby wiggles in his arms, moving his gangly legs wildly as if trying to swim through the air.

“Oh, Harry,” you sigh, encircling his middle with your arms. The puppy returns to his side, and his left arm wanders to around your shoulders. His lips are cold against your forehead when they press a smooch there. You can’t help but to laugh again when the puppy inches over to you, sniffing all over you, long arms dangling over Harry’s. He reaches your face and begins to lick kisses along your cheeks, soon crawling into your arms with Harry’s help.

“I think he likes his new mummy, I can’t blame him.”

“Oh I love him already,” you confess, losing your fingers in his long fur around his face, ears flopping all over the place. “And his daddy,” you blurt out, widening your wet eyes once the words escape your lips. Glancing over to Harry, somehow that smile has grown even larger, adorned by a fresh wash of pink along his cheeks.

“You love me?” he murmurs slowly, hand soft against your shoulder, pressing you to his chest. You pause, unsure of how to read his reaction, but the sudden doubt falls away. You’re nodding before the words come, and you already see the effect they have on him.

“Yeah, I know it’s only been a few months, but I do . . I love you, Harry,” you divulge, clutching the puppy to your chest who still spills kisses along your face and neck, licking up the tears that run down your cheeks.

“I think he’s gonna hafta contain himself and gimme a turn kissing his mum . . ‘coz I love ya too, birdy, so much,” Harry hums, the smile leaking into his voice. You can even taste it on your lips when his touch yours, massaging yours gently, the smooth feeling of his skin still a surprise to you.

“And, Harry?” you whisper, his eyes falling to yours, mumbling a question in response. “I’d love to move in with the two of you . . my boys,” you finally answer, watching the smile hike further up his cheeks. His delightful giggle surrounds you and soon a sweet yipping followed by puppy kisses to the both of your happy faces.

Yeah, you could get used to this, all of it.

127 notes · View notes

lavenderlattaes · 5 years

Text

let’s get married. | kim seokjin

⇒ summary: it’s no secret to your friends that sneaking into wedding receptions for the buffet table has been an ongoing tradition between you and your best friend, kim seokjin. but what happens when your friends get engaged? you become their wedding planners. and, let’s also not forget about the fact that you’re both in love with each other, so maybe all the wedding planning has gotten the best of you.

⇒ [ friends to lovers! au, wedding crashers turned wedding planners! au ]

⇒ pairing: kim seokjin x female reader

⇒ word count: 11.4k words

⇒ genre: fluff

⇒ warnings: like, one or two swear words and an excessive use of the word stupid/dumb, just me being absolutely in love w kim seokjin so this is me imagining what it would be like to end up w him lmao (send help) this may or may not be a slow burn but idk how slow burn fics work so

⇒ note: hello and after an entire decade (lol jk) i am back w a bts fic! I feel like i’ve only been writing for txt lately so here’s a long ass seokjin fic for you guys! I’m a lil bit rusty so please forgive me in advance. without further ado, ignore mistakes bc im a bit of a blind bat and enjoy! ＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／

“Saturday, 10 am, at the hotel near the publishing house,” Seokjin throws a pastel pink cocktail dress at you, and you groan at his actions, pushing the freshly dry-cleaned dress away as you directed your attention to a rerun of your latest drama that aired last night. Being an editor for a magazine had its perks, that’s for sure, but you absolutely abhorred the times when you’d have to work overtime and miss your dramas.

“Who’s getting married?” You ask, popping popcorn in your mouth as your roommate slash best friend, Kim Seokjin plops down onto the couch beside you, grabbing a handful of popcorn for himself.

“I don’t know them personally of course, but I heard they’re Jeongguk’s friends from college,” Seokjin shrugs and you choke on your popcorn.

Seokjin turns to you worried, and pats your back comfortingly as you take exaggerated coughs. When he realizes this, he rolls his eyes and goes back to looking at the tv.

“Jeongguk’s friends?! So they’re his age?” You sputter and Seokjin can merely sigh. “Unfortunately, so. We’re definitely gonna end up alone with about fifty cats.” You snort at his statement, folding your legs underneath you.

“Firstly, we’re not that old. We’re just older than Gguk by what, five years? And secondly, you’re not gonna end up alone because you have me, and you don’t even have a single cat.” You point out the facts and Seokjin looks up in thought before shrugging.

“You’re right. Besides, I’m too good looking to end up alone.” He proudly states. You can only nod in agreement.

“What are they having for their lunch?” You return the topic to the next wedding you’ll be crashing and Seokjin shrugs.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Jeongguk because I think he knows.”

Most of the time, you didn’t exactly get caught when you pretended to be on the guest list and act like you knew the couple despite having a few loose ends; you were just that much of good actors. You’ve known Seokjin all throughout college and you know how good he is at acting too, despite being a business major. He once told you that if it were up to him, he wouldn’t even be taking up business if he didn’t have to inherit his dad’s company. He wanted to be an actor, or at least have any job related to the field.

You hum in response. “Can’t believe kids younger than us are actually getting married before us,” Seokjin speaks up after a while, and you snort. He still hasn’t moved on from it, apparently.

“You’re gonna find someone to marry soon,” you reassure your best friend and he only shrugs.

It’s the day of the wedding, and you’ve both managed to sneak in — again, and you’re both enjoying the food by the buffet table while couples danced in the middle.

“Hyung!” You hear a familiar voice and both you and Seokjin stop munching on the chocolate truffles to find the owner of the voice.

It’s Jeon Jeongguk.

He grins mischievously at the both of you, and gives you a hug as he squeezes himself in between you both. You feed him a truffle and he gladly accepts, his cheeks puffing out as he chews on the sweet dessert happily.

He swallows the bits of the truffle before turning to Seokjin. “I see you’ve managed to sneak yourselves in, again.” Jeongguk laughs and you let out a scoff. “It was easier this time, actually. Turns out Jin actually somewhat knows the groom so we managed to play it cool with a few facts about him,” you shrug and Jeongguk raises an eyebrow.

“Really?” He looks at Seokjin in disbelief and the older boy grins proudly. “You have so little faith in your hyung, you know? You underestimate me,” he pats the younger boy on the back and Jeongguk shakes his head, a twinkle in his eye.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you guys would end up together,” he comments and you and Seokjin both choke on your food as Jeongguk giggles, snatching another truffle and stuffing it in his mouth.

“See you later, guys!” he turns around and runs back to the dance floor where he starts breaking out into dance when he sees his friends. You turn around fully, watching Jeongguk in the middle, when your eyes flit over to the couple. You observe the gentle way the groom held onto the bride’s waist as they danced, the way he looked at her with so much love, and you can’t help but sigh.

Seokjin turns around after swallowing his fifth - or probably sixth - cream puff, glancing at you before following your line of sight. “What’s with the sigh, dork?” He bumps his shoulder with yours and you break out of your trance, turning to look at him. He looks at you curiously and you break eye contact to take a sip of your wine.

“Am I ever going to get married? I’m almost 30 and I haven’t dated anyone since college,” you state worriedly, and Seokjin stares at you long enough to see if you were joking or not.

You weren’t.

When you don’t hear a reply from your best friend, you turn back to look at him again. “You okay?” You ask and Seokjin looks at you for a while longer before shaking his head. “You’re gonna find someone who’s gonna love you for you, I’m sure of that.” He ends up saying and gives you a close lipped smile. You chuckle and sip on your wine again. Seokjin follows your movements before turning back to the floor where Jeongguk was already leading a train with his other college buddy, Kim Yugyeom.

With his own glass of wine just close to his lips, Seokjin whispers, “If you don’t find anyone by then, you’ll have me, at least.”

ii.

“Hey, how was the business trip?” You greet from your spot on the couch, typing on your laptop as you hear the door open. Seokjin’s suitcases land on the ground with a soft thud. You soon feel his lips plant a small kiss on the top of your head before ruffling your hair.

“Tiring, but I think we got the investors to go with our proposal. We’re gonna find out by the end of week,” Seokjin finally speaks up, walking over to the kitchen where he grabs a bottle of water. You stop typing and decide that your article can wait until tomorrow. You close your laptop and stand up to grab some food in the cupboard, knowing all Seokjin needed after a long business trip was to watch movies and eat until the early hours of the morning.

“Let’s go out for some pizza,” Seokjin announces and you stop in your attempt to climb a chair and open the top cupboard. “Aren’t you tired? You just got back,” you ask him, and he shrugs. “I’m craving for pizza right now. Let’s just go out for dinner then come back.”

You plop down on the chair you were supposed to stand on and pull your legs up. “Then we can just order in some pizza then,” you propose and Seokjin pouts at you. “I wanna go out, I’ve been so cooped up in offices and cars lately,” he whines. You stare at him and he just pushes his lips even more and you hate the fact that when he’s trying to be cute, you can’t resist him.

“Ah, whatever. Let me go get changed,” you stand up and Seokjin claps his hands triumphantly. “Tonight’s dinner is on me!” He calls after you and you laugh, climbing the stairs to your room. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” you shout back, waving a hand dismissively.

“I thought we were just going to have dinner?” You ask in confusion as Seokjin suddenly drives to the boardwalk after receiving a text. “What are we doing here?” The car comes to a stop and Seokjin looks at you. “Someone’s going to propose tonight, remember?” Your eyes widen in realization.

“Wait, Yoongi’s going to propose tonight?! I thought it was next week,” you mentally facepalm. Seokjin unbuckles his seatbelt and turns the car off. “Me too, but I got a text from Namjoon asking where we were. Apparently, we were supposed to help them set up hours ago,” he says and the both of you get out.

Shutting the car door, you run around to Seokjin’s side as you both hurriedly make your way to the beach. “Ugh, I feel so bad now. Yoongi’s proposing to my best friend and I was stupid enough to forget,” you sigh and Seokjin pats your shoulder. “We were both busy, so they’ll understand.” You both make it in time to see Namjoon asking your other friends to get into their positions. Hoseok notices the both of you approaching and laughs.

“Where have you guys been? Hopefully not at some wedding again,” Hoseok teases and Namjoon turns around to greet you both.

“You’ve got a wedding about to happen in a few months right here where you don’t have to actually sneak in and you don’t even show up on time?” He adds and the younger guys laugh.

“You think about food way too much,” Jimin pipes up and you both groan. “We were busy with work, don’t make us look that bad,” You whine and they all laugh.

“Okay, okay. Y/N, you can take care of the lights, and Jin hyung, you can go give us the signal when Yoongi and Y/F/N walk past your hiding spot.” Namjoon instructs and you both nod, going over to your spots.

“Hey, when am I going to give the go signal?” Seokjin asks and Namjoon’s about to answer when Taehyung suddenly speaks up, “Guys, they’re almost here!” “Quick, hide!” Namjoon calls out and all of you get ready in your hiding spots.

“Wait, wait-” Seokjin shuts up when all the lights go off and he can hear the sounds of footsteps approaching.

“Yoongi…” the soft voice of Y/F/N dies in the air and Seokjin can see their footsteps move past him.

“Y/F/N, we’ve been together since college. You’ve been my best friend for a longer time, and I’ve always known that it was always you,” Yoongi begins and Seokjin got so focused on Yoongi’s words - his friend is being so expressive right now, when did this happen? - that he forgot to give the go signal. The place was still dark and Yoongi was already down on his knee.

“Y/F/N, will you raise Min Holly with me and stay up writing songs with me? Will you make me the happiest man and marry me?”

It’s only then that Seokjin suddenly breaks out of his trance and panics, giving the go signal, just as you manage to realize what’s already going on and turn the lights on as Hoseok plays the music and Taehyung and Jeongguk start taking pictures, all a little too late. Y/F/N jumps in surprise at the sudden flash of lights and the music that started playing. Jimin plays the surprise video a little too late and Namjoon pops the confetti way too early.

In conclusion, you guys were terrible friends and ruined the perfect proposal Yoongi had planned in his head for weeks. Y/F/N looks around and despite the fact that for Yoongi it looked absolutely terrible, her eyes only saw how much Yoongi loves her. Her eyes started to water and she turned back to Yoongi, smiling down at Yoongi who had his head down, thinking that he probably ruined his chances of marrying the only girl he loves.

“Min Yoongi, look at me,” she whispers softly and all of you managed to tone down the chaotic mess you created. Hoseok turned the volume down a bit and Jeongguk started to film the moment instead, while Taehyung turned the flash off.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to go like this, I promise everything was carefully planned out, I- I don’t know what happened and I know it’s a mess but -”

“Yoongi.” Y/F/N giggles and Yoongi looks up at her. His eyes widen and his mouth is slightly agape as he sees tears in her eyes. “Yes.”

“Wait, what?” Yoongi tilts his head in confusion and your best friend lets out a watery chuckle. “I said yes, Yoongi. Yes, I’m going to raise Min Holly with you, yes, I’m going to stay up late and write songs with you, yes, I’m going to make you the happiest man. Yes, I’m going to marry you.” She finishes, and pulls Yoongi up to stand.

“Wait, are you serious?” Yoongi asks again and she hits his shoulder weakly. Her tears fall and she laughs, “Of course, you’re crazy for thinking I won’t spend the rest of my life with you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she starts crying now and your tears start to well up with happiness for the couple. Yoongi slips the ring on her finger before pulling her into a tight hug.

Seokjin is the first to clap and everyone follows, hoots and cheers coming from the younger boys. You start clapping too, wiping the tears away as you cheered for the engaged couple. When Yoongi and Y/F/N pull away from the hug, they turn to look around and all of you come out of your hiding spots to properly congratulate them.

You dash over to Y/F/N and she looks at you in surprise before pulling you in for a hug. “You’re part of this too?” she squeals and you chuckle. “Apparently,” you shrug your shoulders and hug her tighter. “I’m so happy for you and Yoongi,” you coo and she smiles as the two of you pull away from the hug.

“Alright, alright. Now, who messed up my proposal?” Yoongi calls out and the laughter dies down a bit as Seokjin sheepishly raises his hand up. Yoongi’s eyes widen.

“Hyung? I thought it would be Jeongguk or any of the maknaes!” Yoongi exclaims in disbelief and the younger boys start to protest.

“Hey, if you must know, I was the first to arrive here!” Jimin speaks up.

“I came right after Jimin did! I knew what to do too,” Taehyung pipes in.

“I’m in charge of taking pictures so I definitely wouldn’t be late! Besides, Seokjin hyung and Y/N almost didn’t make it because they forgot!” Jeongguk exposes the both of you and the couple turns to you.

You raise your hands up. “Hey, again, we were busy with work,” you try to reason and Yoongi waves his hand dismissively. Y/F/N giggles, nudging you playfully as you wrinkle your nose at her.

“You guys were probably eating at home again!” Yoongi accuses you both and you sputter out excuses.

“No, we weren’t!” “We went out for pizza because Seokjin didn’t want to order which means you’re lucky we were out and were just around the area!”

“Oh, so you guys went on a date?” Y/F/N raises an eyebrow and you stop trying to explain yourself as Seokjin stops talking as well.

Jimin pulls you to stand beside Seokjin and you almost stumble, but he manages to catch you and steadies you by the shoulders. Your friends all turn to look at the two of you with curious eyes.

“So,” Hoseok smirks. “Is there something we don’t know about you guys?” Namjoon asks. “Do you, maybe, I don’t know, wanna share something with us?” Hoseok adds.

“Are you guys dating?” Taehyung wastes no time in beating around the bush, causing yours and Seokjin’s eyes to widen.

“WHAT!? No, we’re not!” you both say at the same time and everyone breaks out into laughter. You start to fan yourself, your face heating up. Seokjin looks away, causing the guys to laugh even more, as his actions only expose his red ears.

“You guys seem pretty bothered by it,” Yoongi comments and you stop fanning as Seokjin faces them again.

Before you can say anything, Seokjin beats you to it. “There’s nothing going on, okay? We just went out for dinner. We were supposed to go home right after but then Namjoon reminded us about the surprise that we completely forgot about because again, we were busy with work, so that’s why we were late and I didn’t know when to give the signal and that’s how I messed up your proposal,” Seokjin explains.

The boys turn to look at each other, laughing lightly, and Seokjin stares at them as your eyes stay fixed on Y/F/N who was whispering something in Yoongi’s ear, giggling quietly. Yoongi nods and grins as his eyes glance at the two of you.

“Y/F/N and I have agreed on something,” Yoongi speaks up and everyone quiets down.

“To make up for tonight, the two of you have to help us with the wedding preparations.” Yoongi proclaims and your mouth drops open.

“Yah, why? I’m going to be really busy starting this month! Father’s going to hand over the company next year and there’s still so much to do!” Seokjin complains.

“And I have a lot of schedules set for this month! There’s so many deadlines to do!” You add in.

“Firstly, you guys are gonna have important roles at our wedding. Y/N, you’re obviously going to be my maid of honor. And Seokjin, didn’t you have a rock-paper-scissors battle with Hoseok for best man when I first told you guys that I was gonna propose?” Yoongi points out.

You both shut up.

“And secondly, who knows how to handle weddings the most than the two of you? You know what kind of food goes well together, right? You know all the best venues in Korea, and I’m sure you guys can take care of a lot of stuff, considering how you’re used to hectic lifestyles anyway,” Y/F/N adds.

Hoseok bursts out in laughter, making the others laugh as well as you chuckle weakly.

“I guess you’re right,” you give in and Seokjin scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I guess we can make our schedules work somehow.” Y/F/N claps her hands excitedly.

“Great! You guys are meeting up with us tomorrow, okay? Make time for us around 3-5 pm,” Y/F/N informs you and you turn to look at Seokjin. The guy can only shrug and offer you a small smile, making you grin at his actions.

Wedding crashers turned wedding planners, huh?

iii.

For the past two months, you and Seokjin have been meeting up with Y/F/N and Yoongi to help out with the upcoming wedding which was set to happen in three months. Which also meant that you hardly got to crash other weddings OR have marathons with each other.

“I’m going with Y/F/N to fit her wedding gown today,” you explain as Seokjin eyes you all dressed up early on a Saturday. He hands you your cup of coffee which was made just the way you liked it, not too sweet, not too bitter. You sit down across from him on the table as he eats a spoonful of cereal. “How about you? Any plans with Yoongi today?” you ask, before taking a sip of your coffee.

He plays with his spoon before putting it down, leaning back in his seat. “I’m supposed to go look for a suit with him too, but I have to go meet with some of the stockholders with Dad today. He really wants me to go with him but I’m not sure if I’ll make it on time so I told him to ask the other guys.”

You nod and finish your coffee, standing up to bring it to the sink. “You go ahead, I’ll wash it for you,” Seokjin tells you and you grin.

“This is why I’ve always loved living with you,” you comment. “Don’t mention it,” he replies casually as you go back upstairs. You almost make it to your room when your exchange suddenly registers in your head. You pause and turn back around, debating if you should correct yourself or not. The reasonable part of yourself assures you that Seokjin thinks nothing of it anyway and you turn back around again.

Meanwhile, Seokjin’s thinking heavily about your words, even long after you’ve left the apartment.

“Hm, nope not that one,” you say, leaning back against the velvet cushions, as Y/F/N groans and goes back inside the dressing room. You laugh and she whines, “Why are you deciding for me? You’re not the one getting married.”

“Remember what you asked me two months ago? ‘Who knows how to handle weddings the most than the two of you?’ You have complete faith in me, don’t you, Y/F/N?” You tease her and she shuffles out of the dressing room again as you check a text message on your phone.

“This better be good, because we’ve been here for the past four - wow,” you’re cut off when you look up at her. The dress was beautiful and the fact that it perfectly embodied Y/F/N’s personality made it look stunning. It hugged her body in all the right places and it was both parts stylish and sophisticated. Wordlessly, you made her turn around and she obeyed you, feeling a little anxious at your reaction.

“What? Do you not like it?” Y/F/N finally asks and you look at her directly, tearing your eyes away from the gown. You give her your brightest smile. “You look beautiful. It’s this one, you should get this one.”

She lets out a relieved laugh, telling the boutique assistant she’ll get the gown. “That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said to me the whole day. I thought you were going to say something like, ‘wow, you clean up nicely, Y/F/N’,” she teases you and you chuck a pillow at her. “Whatever, go get changed. We have to look for your shoes.” She salutes playfully and goes back inside the dressing room.

Your phone beeps with a text and a smile makes its way onto your face when you read the text.

Partner in crime???: hey, how’s the wedding gown hunting going?

“I’m so sorry, the meeting ran a little longer than I expected,” Seokjin rushes inside the store and is surprised to see all five of their friends there with Yoongi. They all turn to him and Taehyung greets him. “Hey, hyung! That’s okay, we just got here awhile ago, you’re just in time.”

Seokjin plops down beside Taehyung and Yoongi’s going through the racks of black tuxes. “Hey hyung, what if you wore a pink tux?” Jeongguk suggests playfully and Yoongi turns around to give him a look.

The younger boy laughs and Yoongi sighs. “It’s not going to match the theme you know,” Yoongi comments, making the others laugh. “But what if you did wear pink? Would Y/F/N get mad?” Jimin pipes in.

“She won’t,” Yoongi leans against a wall casually. “The fact that she said yes even after hyung destroyed my proposal is enough proof that she loves me a lot.” The boys all burst in laughter at that while Seokjin just leans back in defeat.

“Min Yoongi, go find your top choices and we’ll help you decide,” Seokjin says tiredly, and Yoongi grins at him.

When Yoongi enters the dressing room to try on his top picks, Seokjin whips his phone out to text you. Almost immediately, you reply and Seokjin smiles at your response.

Wedding crasher buddy: all done! We found the perfect dress. How about you guys? And how did the meeting go?

“Hyung, do you seriously not have any feelings for Y/N? You’re smiling at your phone like an idiot,” Namjoon comments from across. Seokjin looks up and sees all of them looking at him.

“He has, but he’s being a coward about it,” Yoongi calls out, walking out of the dressing room all dressed up. They all turn to Yoongi and grin.

“We’re not being lazy but you should get that,” Hoseok comments. “Yeah, you look good in that,” Namjoon agrees. Yoongi nods. “I personally like this one the most too.” He goes back inside and the boys turn back to look at Seokjin.

“You’ve been living under one roof since you were freshmen in college, don’t you ever get jealous whenever she brings guys home?” Taehyung asks.

Seokjin blinks. “Woah, what’s with the interrogation? And no, because she never brought any guy home.”

“Has she ever spent a night away from home? Like, slept over at someone else’s house after a party?” Jimin continues.

“Uh, we always go home together after parties and if she did sleep over at someone else’s house, it would always be at Y/F/N’s and I know because I drove her there every time,” Seokjin answers.

Without looking at each other, the boys all say, “They’re in love with each other.”

“I agree!” Yoongi shouts from the dressing room and Seokjin groans. “Min Yoongi just come out here, will you?”

On cue, the man in question walks out. “Do I tell them?” he smirks. The five all turn to look at each other. “Tell us what?”

“This was a stupid idea,” Seokjin groans, picking your wasted self up on Byun Baekhyun’s couch. You had insisted on attending the friendly and energetic boy’s party after stressing out on your finals the entire week. Now that it was all over, you wanted to relax. Your brain had enough of words and you claimed that Seokjin’s supposedly had enough of numbers as well.

‘It’ll be fun! I promise’, you told him prior to leaving the apartment, and Seokjin gave in. Apparently, your’s and Seokjin’s definition of fun weren’t the same. While Seokjin drank moderately and talked occasionally to his classmates and friends , you downed just about every cup of liquor you could get your hands on, and that also included having dance battles with Park Jaehyung from your creative writing class and trying to sing higher notes than Baekhyun’s best friend, Jongdae.

So here you were, passed out on the couch and Seokjin could only hope you wouldn’t vomit the following day. He was expecting to carry you normally like he usually did when you stayed up late to study and fell asleep on the couch but he wasn’t expecting you to weigh like a huge rock boulder. You were heavy and maybe it was because you were completely passed out. He adjusts his hold on you and manages to somehow thank Baekhyun for the invitation before leaving.

He’s lucky enough to hail a taxi almost as soon as he steps out of Baekhyun’s apartment, and he manages to bring the two of you home all intact. The ride home was really peaceful - you were asleep in Seokjin’s arms and didn’t move much.

But when you arrived home and he had to put you down on your bed, that’s when things started to get a bit messy. “Hmm, it’s hot,” you mutter, and Seokjin sighs. He takes your socks and jacket off, and you’re left in your jeans and shirt. “Y/N, go get changed.”

Your eyes open slightly, and you give him a lazy grin. “Help me out, Jinnie.”

Seokjin’s ears turn red. You hardly called him Jinnie and when you did, it always got him flustered. Your arms reach out for him and he pulls you up gently, but you wouldn’t budge. “Y/N. I need you to get up for me,” Seokjin begins gently, tugging on you.

You weren’t doing anything and Seokjin’s been trying to get you out of bed for the past ten minutes. “Y/N,” Seokjin tries again for possibly the twentieth time that night. He tugs on your arms a bit harder. “Y/N, I swear to -” when he pulls on your arms with more force than intended, you suddenly sprang up, and your sudden action surprises Seokjin that he pulls on you even more.

The action causes your lips to land messily on his and his eyes widen at your action. His arms go still at his sides while your hands rest on his shoulders. Truth be told, Seokjin’s always thought something like this was bound to happen between the two of you; you’re now in your third year in college and you’ve both been single ever since. And maybe because Seokjin was starting to fall for his best friend.

Your lips move slowly against his and what was he supposed to do? Ignore you? Seokjin kisses you back and his arm wounds around your waist, pulling you in closer. Seokjin was getting lightheaded and he’s stupid for not acting on his feelings sooner. He would’ve saved himself from going insane all these years. He pushes you back to lie down and he’s hovering above you. But then you suddenly fall asleep…?

Seokjin breaks the kiss and lets out a small laugh. He looks at your adorable state - eyes closed, lips pouting slightly, hair a mess and flushed cheeks. Seokjin decides to just turn the temperature down and tucks you in properly. He smiles and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

And Seokjin thought, that maybe it wasn’t such a stupid idea after all.

Until the following day came and you couldn’t remember anything except for Baekhyun’s other friend, Park Chanyeol.

“You kissed Y/N?!” All five of them exclaimed while Yoongi just casually sipped his coffee. Seokjin throws his head back on the couch and groans.

“And you never told us?” Hoseok gapes at him. “He told me,” Yoongi points out. “But I was drunk when I told you that!” Seokjin exclaims and Yoongi shrugs, “Point taken.”

“So, you just never told Y/N you kissed her and just let her date Park Chanyeol until the end of your third year?!” Taehyung exclaims. “Hyung, why would you chicken out like that!” Jeongguk adds.

Seokjin sighs. “They just dated for the second semester guys, calm down. I couldn’t lose Y/N as a friend, okay?”

“But hyung, how could you just watch the girl you like date someone else?” Jimin asks sadly. Seokjin purses his lips before answering, “I guess it was better to see her happy with someone else than to risk her not looking me in the eyes. I don’t know if she felt the same way, and I just couldn’t risk it.”

“But don’t you think it might’ve made a difference if you tried? Knowing Y/N, I don’t think you’d lose her as a friend,” Namjoon joins in. Seokjin just looks down and checks the time on his phone. He’s greeted with a picture the two of you took after meeting up with Yoongi and Y/F/N two months ago. He hasn’t changed it ever since. You were pouting and Seokjin was giving you a weird look and on most days, it made him happy. Now, it just made him feel hopeless.

“Well, we can’t change what already happened.”

You plop down in the corner booth of the cafe you frequented at while you were in college, exhausted from all the shopping and going around with Y/F/N. She sits down in front of you, equally exhausted.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t just get a wedding planner, you dummy. It would’ve saved us all the trouble,” you breathe heavily. Y/F/N kicks you under the table. “Ow!”

“We’re talking about my special day, Y/N. I want it to be perfect and you’re the only I trust enough to be able to pull it off. Both you and Seokjin know us better than anyone else,” she points out.

You sit up. “That is true.” She smiles and sits up as well. “Now, do you want anything? It’s my treat.”

Your eyes sparkle and she laughs. “The usual?” You nod, and she pats your head playfully before standing up to order for the both of you.

While waiting for her, you look outside the window and see couples left and right, going on dates. You rest your chin in the palm of your hand, sighing. You haven’t dated in so long, you’re sure you’ll end up alone. The first and last person you dated was Park Chanyeol, and it only lasted for one semester because he thought you were cheating on him with Seokjin. Besides, you didn’t really have much to talk about.

You scoff at the memory. Seokjin didn’t even think of you as a woman. You’ve always been Y/N to him, his best friend whom he met the summer before college.

“What are you thinking about?” Y//F/N breaks your train of thought and you turn to look at her. She’s back with your order and you help her set everything on the table. She returns the tray before sitting back down in front of you.

You take a sip of your drink. “Just, how single and alone I’ve been since college…?” you offer a lame response and she rolls her eyes. “You haven’t been alone, Y/N. You’ve always had Seokjin.”

“Yeah, but I mean, romantically.” You explain and she shakes her head. “You have Seokjin.” Confused, you furrow your eyebrows at her. “What are you talking about?”

Y/F/N sighs and leans back in her seat. “You have Seokjin so you’re not alone and you’re not gonna end up alone, okay? I know what you’ve been thinking, that you’re not gonna end up marrying someone and you’re gonna die alone.”

You give her a look. “That’s a bit too much, don’t you think? The dying alone part,” you say. She smiles sadly at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Y/F/N, don’t give me that look,” you inch further into your seat. She shakes her head at you. “You’re both so dense, you know that? Anyone with eyes and a common sense can tell how much you love each other. Except for the two of you, unfortunately.”

Sighing, you hold Y/F/N’s hands in yours. “I think you’re just tired, let’s get you home, yeah?” She rolls her eyes at you playfully. “I’ll leave you to figure it out on your own.”

Y/F/N opens the door to the apartment and inside you see all seven boys deeply immersed in a black and white film. “What’s up with them?” you whisper and Y/F/N snorts quietly. “I don’t know, let’s just go watch with them.” you nod and Y/F/N makes her way over to Yoongi.

“Hey, you guys are here,” Yoongi greets and the boys all raise a hand in greeting, their eyes still focused on the film in front of them. You laugh at how in sync they are and plop down next to Seokjin. Out of impulse, he raises an arm to wrap around you and you cuddle closer to him.

“I’m tired, let’s all just sleep here,” you mutter, resting your head on his chest as he rubs your arm gently. “If they don’t kick us out,” Seokjin whispers into your head and you grin, nodding. Suddenly feeling sleepy from the warmth Seokjin was radiating, you chose to close your eyes instead of watching the film.

The next time you open your eyes, you’re facing the door to your closet and you realize you’re already in your own bed. You pout, because Yoongi and Y/F/N kicked everyone out for sure. You turn around and come face to face with Seokjin’s sleeping figure, soft snores leaving his lips.

A gentle smile crawls up your lips, and your finger reaches out to run along his face. You trace the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips, and count the lashes on his eyes. He looked so peaceful sleeping. It’s then that you realized how long it’s been since you last fell asleep next to Seokjin. It usually happened on really cold nights in the winter when you just needed that extra bit of warmth.

Your finger moves up to brush the hair out of his face when you suddenly remembered Y/F/N’s words from earlier that day.

Anyone with eyes and a common sense can tell how much you love each other.

You look at your best friend. Kim Seokjin understands you better than anyone else. Y/F/N understands you too, but Seokjin knows you like the back of his hand. He can read you like an open book and you could say the same for him. It’s always been like that. Ever since you both met way back in the summer before your first year in college (at a wedding you both crashed on your own for fun), you’ve been attached at the hip. Maybe it’s also why neither of you have been in long-lasting relationships. Seokjin dated like, one girl in your freshman year and you dated one guy in your third year in college. That was it. People either thought you were a couple or you were just too focused on your studies to actually date, but it was neither of those reasons.

But if you knew Seokjin as much as you thought you did, why couldn’t you tell whether he actually loved you or not?

As you’re approaching the buffet table, the alarms start to go off in your head. A guy around your age was hanging out by the table, munching on some cupcakes. He spots you and immediately straightens his posture, suddenly looking just a tad bit alarmed at your presence. Noting how he suddenly felt after seeing you, you calm down and approach the table.

“Excuse me,” you say calmly, and he moves to the side as you reach for a cupcake.

From your peripheral, you can see him watching you. Deciding to take the risk since you weren’t going to lose anything anyway, you ask, “So, whose side are you on?”

He blinks, once, twice, surprised at the sudden conversation starter. You glance at him before turning to fully face him. “The groom’s,” he answers you confidently and you nod, smirking.

“Me too,” you decide and you turn to face him. “Really? How come I’ve never seen you at previous events before?” He asks casually, giving you a suspicious look.

You take a bite of your cupcake before answering. “I studied in the U.S. and I flew in just yesterday for the wedding.”

He shrugs, accepting your answer. “My brother’s great friends with the groom,” the guy says and you look away, hiding your smile.

“Rule number 1. Don’t say stuff like that unless people ask. It blows your cover,” you say and turn to him, grinning.

“I- how did you-”

“Seeing where we’re standing right now, I think we’re here for the same reason. I’m Y/N.” You extend your hand out for him and he looks at you in awe, before taking your hand in his.

He gives you a firm shake.

“I’m Seokjin.”

iv.

Stupid idea. Bad idea. Dumb idea.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair as you tried to find the energy and motivation to write an article about the rising new rookie group that was set to perform at the PlayStation Theatre in New York, just two months after their debut. But instead of going over the recording of your interview with the group, your mind was somewhere else.

Just two days ago, you (somewhat) finally acknowledged that maybe you actually had feelings for your best friend. It didn’t help that apparently, everyone kept saying that they knew that the two of you were in love with each other. Except for the two of you. And ever since then, you’ve been ignoring Seokjin. Well, trying to.

Stupid idea. Bad idea. Dumb idea.

The wedding was set to happen in three months. Can’t you wait for the wedding to be over before you started avoiding Seokjin? Or maybe at least, until the month ended so you’d reason with the monthly pay for the rent, or something?

Can’t you wait for a reasonable excuse before ignoring your best friend?

Seokjin immediately knew something was up. From the moment he woke up in your bed and you weren’t there to poke fun at him, he knew something was up. He thinks maybe you found out how he felt and just wanted to stay away from him as much as possible. What he didn’t know was that you were just conflicted about your own feelings and didn’t even know how much his heart yearned for you.

He gave you your space, although not entirely. He still made your morning coffee for you, he still left the curtains open for you in the morning because you loved how the sunlight streamed in through the windows at 7 am, he still did little things for you. It was hard to get rid of doing those things for you, especially since he’s been doing that for years now.

Your phone beeps with a text and it’s Seokjin himself.

Partner in crime???: i’m going to check on the venue and decorations today, are you coming?

Despite everything that’s been going on between you two lately, Seokjin still kept things professional. You stare at your phone long and hard, when another text comes in.

Partner in crime???: it’s okay if you’re not coming, i can go alone. You must be busy.

You think about Yoongi and Y/F/N, who both entrusted you with the most special day of their life. You can’t let them down just because you’re clueless and lost about your feelings for your best friend.

You: I’m going, I’ll meet you there?

Partner in crime???: i’m downstairs.

Oh.

Shutting your computer off, you grab your bag and exit your office.

“Oh! Noona, are you going somewhere?” Your intern, Kim Seungmin, asks when he passes by your office. You nod and he bows lightly. “Okay, I’ll just leave some papers on your desk, I’m getting them from Mr. Lee’s office right now.”

“Thanks, Seungmin,” you smile at the young intern and he smiles back before going on his way.

The sun is shining brightly when you step out of the office and Seokjin’s leaning against his car, scrolling through his phone. “Hey,” you call out and he looks up. He offers you an awkward smile and you smile back softly. He opens the car door for you and without looking at him, you get inside.

He soon follows and he starts the car right away. He drives away from the curb and out onto the main road, and you turn the music on to get rid of the awkward silence. You stop at a red light and Seokjin taps on the steering wheel softly.

You clear your throat and Seokjin turns to you. When your eyes meet, you turn away and face the window, causing him to focus back on the road instead. “I’ve already checked on the invites, and almost everyone has confirmed their attendance. I’m just waiting for a few more people.”

“That’s great, all that’s left would be the food, if we finalize everything for the decor and venue today.” Seokjin replies and you nod. “We’ll be meeting up with Yoongi and Y/F/N for the food tasting tomorrow, right?” You ask.

“Yeah, we’ll just meet up with them at the restaurant.”

“Okay.” you reply.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything else after that.

You’re almost done with the food tasting when Y/F/N puts her fork down and folds her arms. You pause and look at her.

“Alright, what’s up with the two of you?” she wastes no time in beating around the bush, catching you both off-guard.

“Yeah. We can practically feel the tension radiating off the both of you,” Yoongi comments.

“Nothing’s wrong,” the both of you say and they give you looks. “We’ve known you both since college. We know something’s wrong,” Yoongi frowns. “Did you guys get into a fight or something?”

“No, we didn’t.” You say first and you can see Seokjin lean back in his seat tiredly.

“Then why-” your phone rings and you take the call immediately, grateful for the interruption.

“Hello?” the three turn to look at you and your eyes widen. “Yes, what? Okay, I’ll be there, thank you.” You end the call and stand up. Seokjin stands up too and you turn to look at him.

“What happened?” Y/F/N asks. You break your gaze from Seokjin and turn to look at Y/F/N. “There’s been a problem with your flowers, I’m heading over to the flower shop to see what it is. Just finish up here, okay? Don’t worry about it, I’ll make sure everything goes well.” You take Y/F/N’s hand in yours and give it a squeeze.

“I’m going with you,” Seokjin announces and you shake your head. “Stay with them, I can do it.” You insist but he just sighs. “You don’t have a car and I have one, we’ll get there faster,” he latches his hand onto your wrist and pulls you along with him.

“Uh, drive safe?” Yoongi suggests and Y/F/N lets out a laugh when you’ve both left. “What the hell was that?”

Yoongi smirks. “I think they’ve both figured it out, but they’re just missing a piece.” Y/F/N picks her fork back up and takes a bite out of the ice cream cake. “Hmm, this cake is good, but their tea is better,” she laughs and Yoongi stares at her.

“Babe, your jokes are-” Y/F/N pushes a finger to his lips. “I know I make no sense, but you should really try this cake,” she offers a slice and Yoongi rolls his eyes playfully before opening his mouth. He chews on the sweet dessert, nodding in agreement.

“Told you so.” she grins.

The bell above the flower shop door rings noisily, signalling your presence. “Hello?” You call out, stepping inside with Seokjin following behind you. A woman in her sixties comes out from the door behind the counter and you both give her a bow. She smiles and walks from around the counter.

“Hi, you’re Y/N, right?” she greets. “Yes, ma’am. What happened?” you ask and she sighs. “One of our gardeners got into a minor accident and another two have been called back to their hometowns for family emergencies. Given the lack of manpower right now, my grandson and I won’t be able to finish carrying out your order in time for the wedding. We’ve received a lot of orders lately, because so many people want to get married in spring. We’re really sorry because we wanted to arrange for your wedding as well but we probably won’t be able to do it.”

You turn to look at Seokjin but he’s thinking deeply. “We can recommend a few other flower shops that would be able to do rush orders, if you want,” the woman suggests. “How hard is it to arrange flowers for a wedding?” Seokjin blurts out and you and the woman turn to him.

“Well, it’s not that hard, but it’s a lot of work. Why do you ask?” the woman answers. “Maybe we can help out? Our friends really wanted this flower shop, because the groom has been buying flowers for the bride since they first started dating. Maybe you know them? Yoongi?” Seokjin replies.

A look of realization and recognition crosses the woman’s face. “Oh, Yoongi! Yes, he’s always bought bouquets here. He’s great friends with my grandson, Jisung. And oh my goodness, I apologize, I thought you were the ones getting married,” she chuckles, embarrassed. You and Seokjin laugh awkwardly.

“No, we’re just the wedding planners,” Seokjin answers. “Slash best man and maid of honor,” you add and Seokjin nods.

The woman laughs in understanding. “Well, of course you can. But only if it’s not getting in the way of your own personal schedules. We’re trying to look around for people looking for a part-time job for spring break, so maybe we can find more help,” the woman answers.

“I can leave the office anytime as long as I don’t have any meetings to attend,” Seokjin says and you look at him. “I thought you were still busy this month? You’re replacing your dad in a few months.” Seokjin shrugs. “It’s fine. He knows I’m busy with Yoongi’s wedding so he’s kind of given me a break.”

“Okay, then. I’ve been kind of chill at work lately so I guess we could make it work?” You turn to the woman. Her eyes shine brightly. “Oh, that’s lovely! You’d really help us out?”

You smile and nod. “It’s the least we could do for you and for our friends. We just want their special day to be perfect.”

The woman holds onto your hands and gives it a squeeze. “Of course, you must know how that feels, right? Wanting your special day to be perfect,” she glances at Seokjin and you both realize what she’s saying.

“Oh!” you wave your hands in front of you frantically. “Uh,” Seokjin says at the same time. “We, uh, we’re not exactly...dating,” you trail off.

The woman looks between you two and blinks. “Really? I thought you were even married.”

You turn to Seokjin and back at the woman. You purse your lips and shake your head slowly. The woman looks at the two of you again before giggling. “Ah, my bad. Sorry!”

You and Seokjin can only give her an awkward laugh in return.

vi.

“Tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” Seokjin starts a conversation and you hum in response, taking the used plates to the sink as he clears up the table. “I didn’t think we’d be capable of pulling it off, honestly,” you comment and he chuckles. The past three months went by so fast, you could hardly catch your breath. And how you managed to somewhat ignore Seokjin whilst continuing to work by his side for the wedding amazed you.

“Yeah, me too.”

Neither of you say anything after that.

vii.

You’re holding back tears as you listen to Yoongi say his wedding vows. Yoongi’s standing in front of the altar, Y/F/N’s hands clasped in one as the other held the mic.

“Y/F/N, you’ve been there for me since the day I was late to music history and the only seat available was next to you. I was up the night before composing my shitty songs and you were kind enough to lend me your color coded notes with all those cute little borders and banners. I couldn’t even arrange my music sheets properly and here, this pretty girl was so organized to have her sheets arranged in a folder and her notes neatly written. You stayed up with me all the time, and you helped me out of my writing slump every time. Y/F/N, now that you’ve given me the honor to spend the rest of my life with you, I promise to be there for you always, like you always have been for me. I’ll write songs about you until the day I die and I’m going to make you laugh for as long as I can make stupid jokes. I don’t ever want to make your heart ache and if I break that promise, I’m giving you the rights to sabotage my compositions. That’s how much I love you,” Yoongi says, and everyone’s both laughing and crying by the time he’s finished, especially Y/F/N.

You wipe your tears away and from across you, your eyes lock with Seokjin. He gives you a smile and you can only smile back at him, ignoring the way your heart sped up. Just a little bit.

The wedding ceremony soon ends and after taking the mandatory wedding photos, Seokjin leads everyone to the reception while you sit down on one of the church pews.

“I don’t think I’ve sat down to talk to you in such a long time,” Namjoon speaks up from behind you and you turn around. He sits down beside you and you smile at him.

“I’ve been really busy, I guess.” He nods at your answer.

“You should talk to him. Properly, I mean,” Namjoon corrects himself and you look at him. “What?”

“Hyung. You’re both running away from each other,” Namjoon continues. “You’re scared to face each other, because you don’t know what or how much you could lose.” Namjoon turns to face you.

“Just try talking to him about how you feel, Y/N. You’ve both been busy with the wedding so maybe you haven’t really had the time to think about your feelings, but I don’t think you need to think too deeply about it,” Namjoon begins. “You met in the summer before college. You hit it off really well and the fact that you were lucky enough to have been accepted into the same college way before you even met made things even better. You both lived in the same apartment since your first year and until now, you still do. He makes you laugh, he understands you better than anyone else,” Namjoon pauses. You stay silent, and Namjoon decides to continue. “He loves you and you love him. What’s there to be afraid of?”

“Okay, in 3, 2, 1!” Y/F/N tosses her bouquet and all her bridesmaids giggle and move to the side, leaving you in the center. “Wait, what-” the bouquet lands in your hands and everyone cheers, rendering you speechless.

“Hey, wait! Is this even legal?” You protest and the crowd laughs. Y/F/N laughs hysterically, taking the microphone Jimin hands to her. “Oh, come on Y/N! You’ve been complaining about how single you’ve been since college! This is my gift to you for planning all of this for me and Yoongi,” she teases while you bury your face in the bouquet.

“Now, onto the next part,” Y/F/N grins and sits down on a chair. Yoongi laughs before walking over to her. He whispers something in her ear and Y/F/N nods, laughing. He kneels in front of her and pulls the garter down and the guests all cheer.

“Oh, boy.” You decide to take a break and head over to your favorite part of the room, the buffet table. You eye the chocolate fondue and grab yourself a plate, selecting all the desserts you’ve been lusting over since the food tasting when people start cheering and laughing from the front of the room. You turn around when you recognize Hoseok’s loud laughter and the sound of someone falling to the floor, most probably Jeongguk.

When you turn around, Taehyung’s already running towards you. Sensing the possibility that he’s going to drag you, you put down your plate of desserts just as Taehyung reaches you.

“You’re so dead,” He cackles, pulling onto your wrist just like you had expected. “Kim Taehyung, I’m wearing heels! Calm down!” Taehyung doesn’t stop dragging you and when you reach the front, you’re greeted with all of the boys and the bridesmaids laughing and cheering. An empty chair is positioned next to the laughing newlywed couple and beside the chair is none other than Kim Seokjin, holding the wedding garter in his hand.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter and Jeongguk excitedly takes you from Taehyung, leading you to the chair where he pushes you down to sit.

“Jeon Jeongguk,I swear-” he shuts you up with a chocolate coated marshmallow (where did that come from?) and you have no choice but to eat the fluffy sweet.

Seokjin appears in front of you and suddenly you’re self-conscious, the marshmallow making your cheeks puff up. Despite his red ears, Seokjin still laughs at the sight of your cheeks. He kneels down and your heartbeat picks up. He looks back up at you and your eyes lock.

Lifting your foot gently, he slips the garter on and pulls it up your leg. Your cheeks heat up and if it weren’t for the camera clicks and flashes going off around the two of you, you would’ve forgotten people were watching.

Contain yourself, Y/N. You remember your sophisticated British classmate, Alexandra, from college. It was something she would often say to you, whenever you passed by the cute athletes on the field. It was a sucker that she didn’t finish her studies in Korea, since she had to go back home to the UK.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the garter moves past your knee. Seokjin stops momentarily to look at you and you just nod at him. You don’t know what happens next, except that Y/F/N suddenly pulls you up and a slow song starts playing.

“Go dance with your future groom,” she whispers in your ear before she’s whisked away by Yoongi. You look at them fondly and you aww at the sight before you, Y/F/N tearing up as Yoongi led their dance, words leaving his lips and his eyes bright. You can only guess whatever he’s saying to be full of love and you can’t help but smile brightly.

A gentle hand rests on your lower back and Seokjin stands beside you. You look at him and lock eyes. Cliché as it may be, the world around starts to blur out and you can only focus on your best friend.

“Is it too much to ask for a dance?” he smiles softly and offers his hand out for you. Placing your hand in his, you shake your head. “If it’s you, never.”

Seokjin smiles, and leads you to the dance floor along with the other couples. Your eyes meet Namjoon’s and he smiles at you. You smile back, before turning to fully face your best friend.

“Hi,” he begins and you laugh softly. “Hello.” Seokjin sways the both of you slowly and you sigh.

“I’m sorry I tried to stop talking to you,” you apologize and Seokjin nods. “I was confused and scared, I didn’t know what to do about my feelings.”

“I wish you would’ve talked to me about it, but I understand. We were both cowards, let’s not deny that.” He replies and you nod. “But,” Seokjin tightens his hold around your waist and pulls you closer.

“I’m also sorry for not telling you things sooner. I’m sorry for keeping things from you,” he says, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean? You’ve never kept anything from me.”

Seokjin sighs and looks down. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he looks up again. “I kissed you. Long before Chanyeol ever did,” he admits. You can only look at him and he decides to just tell you everything. “Baekhyun’s party, the end of first semester of our third year in college,” he starts. “You were passed out on the couch and I had to carry you all the way home. I was about to tuck you in when you somehow regained consciousness. You were feeling a bit hot so I told you to get changed. I’d already taken your socks and jacket off then. You wanted me to help you get up so I did but you wouldn’t budge,” Seokjin watches your reaction but he can’t get anything out of the stare you gave him.

“After a few more tries, you finally decided to get up but I pulled on you too hard and you ended up kissing me. I thought you’d just move back but you kissed me and I kissed you back. I already had feelings for you back then,” Seokjin notices the light pink shade dusting your cheeks and it definitely wasn’t because of the makeup. “But when you woke up the next day, you only remembered Chanyeol.”

“Jinnie,” you whisper and he chuckles softly. “You called me Jinnie that night too, and I guess because I always loved it when you called me that, I badly wanted to confess to you.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I was stupid, I was scared that maybe I’d lose you if I told you how I felt. And, as a roommate. I couldn’t pay for the rent on my own you know,” Seokjin jokes, trying to lighten the mood. You laugh and poke his cheek.

“You were stupid. I remembered the kiss, but I was scared that it meant nothing to you and you were only being nice. That’s why I said I only remembered Chanyeol because I was hoping to get a reaction out of you.”

Seokjin throws his head and lets out a whine. “Ugh, you mean to tell me we could’ve possibly been engaged or married by now if we weren’t such cowards in college?!”

You giggle at his annoyed look and nod. “Yes, you dummy. I can’t believe us,” you say and Seokjin huffs. “I can’t believe I let you go on all those dates with Chanyeol,” he pouts and your heart starts to ache for his adorable pout. “He even kissed you, held your hand and hugged you for an entire semester!” Seokjin starts to rant, and you laugh, knowing he’s not going to stop talking.

“How could I let him buy you that shitty coffee at the café when I knew how to make it better than those baristas? How could I let him give you those flowers that wilted after a day-” your lips shut him up and he stops talking.

His eyes widen and his ears redden again. “You’re talking too much, Jinnie. I didn’t even like Chanyeol that much,” you lead him away from the dance floor and out onto the balcony outside.

The cool spring breeze blows softly in the night and before you could even react, Seokjin drapes his coat around you. He rubs your covered shoulders in an attempt to warm you up and you smile at him. He makes you face him and before you could say anything, he leans down and kisses you softly.

You smile into the kiss and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His arms wrap around your waist tightly. He tilts his head so he can kiss you better and if it weren’t for his arms around you, your knees would’ve given up on you.

“I love you,” Seokjin whispers, when you break away for air. His lips are still brushing against yours gently, and you give him another short, sweet kiss.

“I love you too.”

vii.

1 year later

“Gucci, come here!” You call out, and the overly energetic Maltese puppy jumps onto your lap, his tail wagging excitedly and his tongue sticking out. You stroke his hair and scratch his head happily, the puppy leaning into you.

“Ah, you’re so adorable, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your face in his neck. You hear the door opening and a smile crawls up your face.

“Aish, I can’t believe I bought my girlfriend a puppy for her birthday so she wouldn’t feel lonely when I’m away and now I have to fight said puppy for my girlfriend’s attention because apparently she loves him more than she loves me,” Seokjin announces, walking into your apartment.

You remove your head from Gucci’s neck and let go of the puppy, who barks happily and runs over to Seokjin, jumping up and down. “Hey, you’re home,” you greet and Seokjin bends down to greet Gucci with a few head scratches.

He walks over to you and you lean up, kissing him on the lips. “I missed you,” he whispers and you grin, pulling him on the couch. You lie back down and he crawls on top of you, his arms resting on both sides of your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you lean up to kiss his jaw.

“Can you not go away for more than a week?” You ask, cupping his face as he adjusts the two of you on the couch so that you’re cuddling. You lie on his arm as he entangles your legs together.

“I’ll try not to, but I really can’t help it, babe.” He kisses you again and you hum, burying your face in his neck.

You love it. You love the lazy days with Seokjin on weekends, but you love the days that he comes home after business trips more. “What did you wanna do this weekend?” He asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence and you look up at him. You purse your lips and look up in thought.

“I don’t know, but we have to take Gucci to the groomer’s though,” you say and the puppy comes running back, jumping on the couch to squeeze himself in between you. Seokjin groans and you giggle.

“He’s being too much. He’s had you all to himself the entire week!” Seokjin whines. You kiss his nose fondly. “I love you more though,” you point out and Seokjin grins.

“I miss sneaking into weddings with you,” you sigh, and Seokjin rubs your back comfortingly.

“Wanna sneak into another wedding again?” Seokjin sits up, pulling you up with him. Your eyes sparkle and Seokjin’s heart starts to pick up its pace. He nods and you squeal.

“Really? Where? When?” you ask and Seokjin reaches into his pocket.

“It’s not happening anytime soon, but I think it’s happening in 8 months or so,” he says and you look surprised. “Wow, how did you know about it this early? Is it someone you know?”

His hand comes out of his pocket and you raise an eyebrow at his clenched fist. “I don’t, but I’m just hoping it happens in 8 months,” he says and you laugh. “Jinnie, you’re not making any sense.” He smiles and lets out a shaky exhale.

You gasp because Seokjin’s suddenly kneeling in front of you, and in his hand is a velvet box. He opens the small box and a shiny, diamond ring greets you.

“I met you in the summer, when we both snuck into a wedding. We didn’t know each other that well but we clicked and the next thing I knew, I was sharing an apartment with you the entire time I was in college,” Seokjin begins, his eyes watering slightly.

“You kissed me first when we were in our third year, and you still kissed me first last year when we finally had the guts to admit we were both in love with each other. Y/N, I ruined Yoongi’s proposal last year so that’s why I’m doing this here, and now. I don’t trust myself enough to be able to pull off something extravagant like Yoongi. But I hope this is enough to let you know that I really want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t wanna sneak into weddings anymore, because I want to have our own. I know a year ago I said I was worried about ending up alone and raising fifty cats, but you told me that I already have you and Gucci isn’t a cat.” You chuckle, the tears falling down.

“Do you wanna do the same things we did for Yoongi and Y/F/N’s wedding last year again but this time, for our wedding, with me? Will you marry me?” Seokjin asks and you don’t waste another moment. You kneel down in front of him, nodding and hugging him.

“Yes, Seokjin. Yes, I’ll marry you,” you answer and Seokjin wastes no time to slip the ring on your finger. He brings your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss there, his tears falling on your knuckles. You let out a watery laugh, and he looks up, kissing you on the lips.

“I love you, Y/N. I always have.”

“I love you too, Seokjin. Let’s get married.”

Gucci barks up in excitement and your moment is broken as the puppy starts to wiggle his way in between you, again.

“Are we gonna raise fifty dogs instead?” You ask Seokjin and he shakes his head immediately, making you laugh.

“I’m not competing for your love and attention with 50 dogs, Y/N.” Seokjin states firmly.

“But, Jinnie!”

“No.”

“Can we have a kid instead?”

“Well, I can’t say no to that.”

“I love you, Kim Seokjin.”

⇒ let me know what you think or hmu with anything under the sun here!

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thecorpulentbeagle · 5 years

Text

Okujima Week 2020: Alternate Universe

We are nearing the end of this challenge – I hope that you have enjoyed so far!

This story is AU, or Alternate Universe. I spent much less time than last year deciding what universe to set this in. Anyone who knows me knows that when I’m not writing fanfiction, working, sleeping, or eating, I am playing Fire Emblem Three Houses. It’s a really fun game, and a lot of the mechanics are similar to Persona 5 (it even has some of the same voice actors). If you like Fire Emblem (or are a fan of medieval times) and Persona 5 (which I assume that you do since you have read this far in the challenge), I encourage you to pick it up!

I would like to ask those who are commenting to please make sure that you mark if your comments contain spoilers for Fire Emblem Three Houses! Though I have personally, many people may not have finished all of the routes yet, and I’d like to keep them spoiler-free. This story will only feature information that can be obtained in Part One – basically information that you learn in the beginning of the game so that you know how the world is set up, and basic facts about the characters. If you are still unsure, feel free to skip this chapter and come back once you have finished Part One.

One more note: I began writing this before the “Cindered Shadows” DLC, so characters and plot points from that route will not be in this story. However, one class will be in this story, but that in and of itself isn’t a spoiler.

Here is the fanfiction.net link.

Please enjoy this sixth part of the Okujima Week 2020 Challenge!

As always: THIS STORY WILL NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR PERSONA 5 ROYAL, BUT WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR PERSONA 5.

Okujima Week 2020 Challenge:

Not Just a Crest:

Alternate Universe

-Haru-

“Rah!” Haru swung her training axe down, flinching slightly as she made contact with her opponent’s training gauntlets.

“Ha!” Makoto batted away the weapon with one hand, using her other to punch her opponent’s side.

However, Haru jumped back, bringing her axe back to her side to ready it for another swing.

“Great dodge, Haru!” The girl in question smiled at her companion’s compliment.

“Thanks! You’re doing well too. I can imagine it’s hard to block a heavy swing like that with one arm.”

“Thank you! But flattery will get you nowhere!” Makoto moved forward, swinging her right fist.

Haru moved out of the way and quickly swung her axe to collide with Makoto’s left arm, hoping that it would sting enough for her to lose use of it for a moment.

Her prediction worked. Makoto’s arm dropped to her side, and she prepared to strike with her other.

But Haru expected this, so she made a quick feint and punched Makoto’s exposed side.

“Gah!” Makoto flinched.

Haru took advantage and swung her axe back up, striking the very place she had just hit.

Makoto jumped back, holding her side. “You’re relentless!” She seemed happy and animated despite the obvious pain she was feeling.

Haru merely smirked before charging in.

But now it seemed that she had fallen for Makoto’s trap.

While Haru was stronger, Makoto was faster. The brawler quickly dodged out of the way of Haru’s incoming axe and slammed her gauntlet into the small of Haru’s back, effectively knocking the wind out of her.

Before she could recover, Haru felt a strong force in her abdomen, and realized that Makoto had kicked her there.

She couldn’t fight anymore without being able to take deep breaths. Haru dropped her weapon and raised both hands, the universal signal for surrender.

“Giving up so easily?” Makoto taunted.

Haru nodded her head, not able to breathe enough to form words.

Makoto seemed to realize that something was amiss. Her confident smirk faded and was replaced with a look of utmost concern. “Haru? I didn’t break anything, did I?”

Haru smiled and shook her head. It seemed her diaphragm had stopped its spasms enough for her to breathe. “I-I couldn’t catch my breath…. f-for…”

Makoto was by her side at an instant. “Hey now. Don’t force yourself. I did hit you pretty hard. I’d be more surprised if the wind wasn’t knocked out of you.” She unstrapped her gauntlets from her hands and let them drop to the floor with a clatter. She rubbed a circle on Haru’s back, which soothed the girl.

Haru took a few more deep breaths. “I always forget… that brawlers… kick as well.”

Makoto chuckled. “Yes. Brawlers tend to be a little more versatile in their fighting techniques. We don’t always hit hard, but we can surprise you. Although I must say that I’m surprised as well. You don’t usually use your fists. Have you been training some in gauntlets as well?” Makoto asked.

Haru nodded. “Yes. I’ve asked the professor for some extra training. It’s nice to have a back-up in case my axe breaks or something.” She bent down to pick up the weapon and twirled it in her hands. “I’ll admit that I’ve learned some techniques from sparring with you as well.”

“Well, I think that’s enough training for now.” Makoto moved her hand away from Haru to rub her own side. “I can already feel the bruise starting to form. You really do hit harder than almost anyone I know.”

“I suppose we have my Crest to thank for that,” Haru automatically replied. She regretted it almost instantly. It was a hard habit to break. She had been told her entire life how important her Crest was, and that it was the only reason for her strength. Her family (specifically her father) had said to her many times that she should bring up her Crest in conversation whenever possible. It was the only thing that she was good for, and it would be what would land her a rich and noble husband one day.

Makoto reached out and placed a hand on Haru’s face, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Perhaps in part, but it’s also due to your training.” Then, she added the sentence she always did when Haru’s spirits fell in such a way, “You’re more than your Crest, Haru.”

The girl nodded. “You’re right as ever.” She reached up a hand to place it on Makoto’s. “Thank you, Makoto.”

“Of course.” Makoto stroked Haru’s cheek with her thumb, which caused her to sigh and lean even more heavily into her comforting palm.

“I’m glad that the Dining Hall had these today!” Haru cheered, sitting down at a free(ish) table with a plate of the Sweet Bun Trio. These were among her personal favorites.

“Indeed.” Makoto chuckled at her friend’s behavior and sat down across from her.

Haru knew that Makoto was not as fond of sweet food as Haru was (well, maybe not so much sweet as unhealthy), so she appreciated that she was supporting Haru by copying her food choice.

A lighthearted chuckle brought both girls’ attention to one of their many dining companions. Mercedes was looking at the two younger students, her eyes bright. “It makes me very happy to hear how excited you are about this meal.”

“Ah. Did you prepare it with the professor, Mercedes?” Makoto asked.

Mercedes nodded. “I did! So I hope that the two of you enjoy.” She lowered her voice. “I saw how dispirited Haru looked when you both entered the Dining Hall, and the best cure for sadness is sweetness!”

Haru hadn’t realized how publicly she had been displaying her emotions. Though it was common knowledge that Mercedes was particularly adept at reading people. Either way, Haru needed to acknowledge her kindness. “Thank you, Mercedes. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course! Thank you for talking with me. I’d talk with Annie, but she’s a little preoccupied at the moment.” The three girls looked over at the aforementioned student, who was currently stuffing her face with the delectable sweets. It didn’t even look like she knew that she was being talked about.

Haru giggled.

“She does look… happy…”

Haru cleared her throat with surprise. It sounded like she herself had spoken those words. It seemed as if Makoto and Mercedes had thought so as well, as the two looked at her curiously. However, even though the voice was similar, the tone was decidedly more somber than Haru’s usual inflection.

A thought struck her. Turning her head to see who else was near the group, she saw whom she had suspected. Marianne was sitting next to her, also with the Sweet Bun Trio dish, and she was looking at the group with a sad smile.

“Ah, Marianne! I’m so sorry. I thought that you were Haru.” Mercedes bowed her head slightly towards the girl.

“No need… for apologies…” Marianne poked at her food. “I know that I sound… very similar to Haru.”

Haru giggled again. The similarities between their two voices was a hot topic of discussion among the residents of Garreg Mach. It was said that the two were actually the same person that had been split in two, with Haru inheriting the more bubbly and happy aspects, and Marianne displaying the calmer and more depressed ones.

Haru didn’t appreciate that people thought of Marianne as only a sad person, as she herself had seen the girl smile. Though Haru had to admit that sight was rare.

Wanting to see that smile, Haru placed her hand on Marianne’s free one. “We should use it to distract our enemies. Think of how confused they would be to think that one person was in two places at once!”

Marianne gave a small smile, but didn’t look up from her food.

“Forget Haru and Marianne!” The group once again turned their collective heads towards the latest dining companion. Caspar gave a loud belch as he pounded his chest with his fist, which caused Makoto to scrunch her face up in slight disgust. Haru realized with amusement that Linhardt (who was sitting next to him) was making a similar expression.

“You know who really sounds similar? Makoto and Lady Rhea!”

“That’s true!” Annette had paused from her meal to join the conversation. “You really need to take advantage of that, Makoto.”

“Oh, Annie. You’ve got crumbs all over your face.” Mercedes proceeded to raise a napkin to her best friend’s face, wiping them off as the other protested about not being a child.

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not?” Caspar whined. “You could get away with all kinds of stuff! Excuse yourself from class… excuse me from class!”

“Exactly why did you enroll here in the first place?” Linhardt spoke up, rolling his eyes at his friend.

“Shut up!” Caspar roughly shoved the other boy, who grumbled. “I meant the boring stuff, like reading.”

“I happen to like reading,” Makoto replied.

“Can you even read, Caspar?” Annette teased.

“Besides,” Makoto hastily interrupted before Caspar (who had opened his mouth to retort) and the girl started a fight, “how would I do that? I’d have to be standing behind a wall or a door so the person couldn’t see me.”

“Lady Rhea is a very public figure. She enjoys being with the people, so that would be a difficult thing to accomplish,” Mercedes added.

Knowing he was outnumbered, Caspar merely mumbled something unintelligible before turning back to his meal, which caused everyone to laugh.

The rest of the dinner went by in a similar fashion, with the students conversing about what they had done today, and what they were looking forward to (and not looking forward to) tomorrow. Haru eased herself into the rowdy yet comfortable atmosphere, trying to forget about her worries from earlier. Even though Garreg Mach wasn’t perfect, it allowed people from all walks of life to spend time together, and Haru deeply appreciated that.

In the Dining Hall, she was just Haru the student, rather than Haru Okumura, the heir to one of Faerghus’ noble houses.

Before too long, Haru had finished her plate and turned to look at Makoto, who had finished a few minutes prior. The other girl was talking with Mercedes and Annette, who were laughing and nodding at whatever she had been saying.

Haru was glad to see Makoto getting along so well with her peers. When the two had started at the Academy together, Makoto had been more reserved. Not as much as someone like Marianne, but Haru could tell that she was not comfortable conversing with others when there wasn’t a specific social protocol to be following.

Haru had done her best to break Makoto out of her shell, and over the past few months, it seemed to have worked. She was also delighted to have gained a good friend in the process.

The two hadn’t really talked about their social standings, as it wasn’t a concern for them. However, Haru had been able to parse out that Makoto was a commoner from Faerghus with an elder sister. Neither of them had a Crest, though that didn’t stop either of them.

Sadly (and this had taken Haru quite some time to get from Makoto), her mother had passed early, shortly after Makoto was born. Her father had been a knight, and he had passed away a few years ago in a fight protecting merchants from wild beasts. It was a common occurrence unfortunately, though it didn’t make it any easier for those who were left behind. Sae, Makoto’s older sister, had had to put her own plans of becoming a knight on hold to help care for Makoto.

It was a testament to Makoto’s skill that she was able to get into the Academy at all, given how expensive the tuition was. Since Haru was from a noble family, it was a non-issue for her. However, Makoto had demonstrated talent early on, and her father’s and sister’s reputation helped her get recommended and eventually accepted.

Despite all of these setbacks, Makoto had persevered and had actually thrived. Haru truly admired that.

Even though Haru had entered the Academy with relative ease, she also had a difficult family situation. Her mother had passed early on in her life as well, and she did not get along with her own father at all.

She’d been a little bit cagier with her history, going so far as to not even tell Makoto that she was a noble, as she had been burned in the past. It wasn’t that she wanted to lie to Makoto, but she didn’t want the other girl to only be friends with her because she was a noble. However, Makoto did know about her family affairs, and she sympathized with her.

But then, Haru realized, she was getting caught up in depressing thoughts once again. Banishing the thoughts from her mind, she smiled and tapped Makoto’s shoulder, getting her attention. “Ready to go?”

Makoto nodded. “Yes. I can walk you back to your room, if you’d like?”

Haru blushed slightly. It was hard for her to not feel flattered. Considering how much she respected the other girl, it came as no surprise when, one day, she realized how deeply she respected Makoto. It also helped that the other girl was polite and charming, even when she wasn’t trying to be.

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

The two rose up together, with Makoto picking up both of their plates and cutlery. “That’s very sweet of you,” Haru commented.

She smiled when she saw that she had drawn forth a blush on Makoto’s face. “O-Of course! You’ve had a rough day. It’s the least I could do, really.” She hesitated before adding, “Especially considering that I hit you so hard that I knocked the wind out of you.”

A chuckle drew their attention to Annette, who was grinning at them. “What were you two getting up to? I mean, I know that people are into different things, but what –ow!” Her wide smile collapsed and turned into a snarl as she looked at Mercedes, who was smiling sweetly at her. “What was that –?”

“Have a good evening you two!” Mercedes waved at the pair, interrupting whatever Annette had been planning to say.

“Thank you.” Makoto bowed her head slightly before turning around to leave, Haru following after her after exchanging goodbyes with the rest of the table.

After depositing their items at the counter, the two students walked outside, the slightly cool air feeling good on Haru’s skin after being in the crowded Dining Hall.

“It’ll be autumn soon,” Makoto commented as the two made their way to the dorms.

“Yes. I love all of the seasons, but fall is especially beautiful.”

“Hm.”

The two walked in silence, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. However, Makoto seemed to think it was.

“Apologies for… not saying much.” Makoto laughed nervously.

“Not to worry!” Haru bumped her playfully on the shoulder. “I know crowds can wear you out. I’m perfectly content walking without saying a word.”

“I see.”

Haru took a deep breath, appreciating the calming atmosphere. Most students were either in the Dining Hall, the Training Grounds, or in their own rooms. The few people who were outside were fishing, and they were silent, trying not to scare the fish away.

She saw that one of the people fishing was the professor, who currently had a basket of fish lined up next to them. She giggled as Byleth whipped another fish out of the water and calmly plopped it down into the already overflowing basket. The professor merely pulled another basket towards their side and cast out another line, either ignoring or being oblivious to the small crowd that had gathered and was currently ogling them and their large haul.

After a few more minutes, the two reached the second floor, where Haru’s room was located.

Haru opened her door and beckoned Makoto inside, who nodded and followed, closing the door behind herself wordlessly.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” Haru gestured towards one of her chairs as she situated herself on her bed. Makoto did so.

“Would you like to talk?” Makoto asked quietly after a brief moment of silence.

“About what?”

“Haru, there’s no need to have your defenses up with me. You know that.” Makoto crossed her legs and folded her hands together, resting them in her lap.

“Are you going to be my therapist for this evening?” Haru joked, not wanting to launch right into a serious conversation.

Makoto laughed. “That is one of the few things Garreg Mach cannot prepare you for.”

Haru lied down on the bed on her back, straightening her skirt. “Perhaps, but a War Cleric can probably solve a lot of problems.”

“True. A Warrior would be helpful as well.”

Haru giggled, acknowledging Makoto’s compliment.

“I’m not going to force you. But I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

Haru sighed. “It’s nothing more than my Crest.” She raised a hand and looked at it before making a fist. “I know it’s a blessing to have one… but I can’t help but notice… how many problems it’s caused in my life.”

When Makoto said nothing, Haru continued, “Everyone here is nice, and no one cares whether or not I have one. Well, other than Professor Hanneman, but his is more of a professional interest.” She placed her hand back down at her side. “But I can’t help but worry that, once I’ve graduated, my father will put his foot down and force me to take a husband to pass on this… horrible blessing.”

“What if I have a child that bears a Crest? Of course, I’ll need to continue having children until one inherits mine.” Haru shivered slightly at the thought. “Once I do… then I’ll be forced to watch my own child be put through the same fate as me. The cycle will continue.”

At Makoto’s continued silence, Haru turned her head to see what her reaction had been to Haru’s sudden monologue. “I… haven’t put you to sleep, have I?”

Far from an expression of boredom, Makoto had a look of intense rage on her face. Her eyebrows were so furrowed it looked painful, and her frown was similar to when she was about to slay one of her enemies. Haru’s heart skipped a beat seeing such an expression on her usually calm friend’s face.

“Haru. You never have to worry about talking about your struggles. I’ll listen as much as you need me to.” She breathed out roughly through her nose. “And I will always be as furious as I am now when you talk about your family situation.” Haru saw that Makoto was making fists. “The fact that you have to worry about any of this… is appalling. And worse yet… I can’t help.”

Haru looked at her confused. “But Makoto, just being able to talk about my problems with you is enough.” She gave her a sad smile. “Having these thoughts and feelings without having an outlet for them… would be maddening. I’m able to deal with them because of you.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Makoto stood up, causing Haru to sit up. Makoto immediately looked sheepish and lowered her voice. “That’s not what I mean,” she repeated quietly. “I meant… that if I were a nobleman, I could help. I could marry you, and then your fate would be a little bit more bearable.”

Haru looked at her incredulously. “Marry…?”

“However, I am neither a noble nor a man, so I can only stand by and offer support.” Makoto sat back down, looking tired. “You deserve more than that fate, Haru… so much more. I know that being a commoner presents its own struggles, but a noble’s… are awful as well.”

“You…” Haru was shocked. Too many surprises were hitting her at once, and she was already struggling to keep her emotions in check. “You would want to marry me? And… you know that I’m a noble?”

Makoto gave a small smile. “I feel that neither of those facts are particularly shocking.” She stood up and sat down next to Haru, resting a hand on one of hers. “Those with Crests tend to be nobles. Plus, commoners usually to get to marry who they want. I have no such restrictions, for example.” She squeezed her hand. “True, there are some commoners who worry more so about their marriage partners, but worry to this degree is restricted to nobles. In addition, look where we are right now.”

“Hm?”

“The second floor is for nobles, with very rare exceptions,” Makoto explained. “Finally, my father and sister served and want to serve as knights for the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and I’d like to as well one day. We know the names of all of the royal houses, and once I learned your surname, well… I put two and two together.”

Now that Makoto said it all out loud, it seemed silly that Haru could have ever hoped to keep her status a secret to her. But there was a more important fact on her mind now. “And the marriage…?”

Makoto blushed. “Um.. yes. That.” She cleared her throat. “Haru. I know that we’ve only been friends for a few months now, but I do care about you.” She laughed nervously. “I don’t want to propose marriage right now, as that’s a bit soon, and it wouldn’t work in your situation. However, I would like to court you, if you would allow it.” She raised a hand to Haru’s cheek. “I know… that your father probably already has a husband lined up for you the moment you graduate and return home. I’d… like to support you, have you enjoy these next few months so that when you do marry… at least you’ll have made some pleasant memories about romance in your life.”

Haru was speechless. Apparently, she had been too consumed with not showing her own feelings that she hadn’t realized how strong Makoto’s were in return. “Makoto…”

“If you’d rather not, either because you don’t care for me in that way, or you just don’t want to because you’ll have to stop eventually, then please let me know. All I want… is to make you as happy as you’ve made me.”

“I do care about you in that way. Truly, Makoto,” Haru finally responded, turning her head to kiss her friend’s palm gently. “You’re right that I distanced myself because I didn’t want to… lead you on, only to have to suddenly break up with you to pursue a husband.” She sighed. “I’m sorry about not telling you that I was a noble. I should have guessed that you would’ve been able to figure it out, but I so desperately wanted someone to like me… for me, as cliché as that sounds.” She giggled.

“Even if it is cliché, it’s the truth, and I can understand your desire for it.” Makoto wiped a tear off of Haru’s face. She hadn’t even realized that she had been crying.

“And if I might offer a glimmer of hope. That situation may not even happen. The three lords that are currently next in line all seem to have much more… lenient attitudes towards status and customs.” Makoto smiled. “Each generation becomes slightly more progressive, so hopefully, Crests and the like won’t matter so much.”

“As much as I’d like to believe that, I’m afraid that change doesn’t happen so quickly without a catalyst.”

“Perhaps. If that doesn’t work out, how would you feel about eloping?”

Haru choked on air, spluttering at the suggestion. “You would really consider that? We’d have to leave the Kingdom to avoid my father’s wrath.”

Makoto shrugged. “People have done that in the past, so it’s not technically unprecedented. I would miss Sis though.” She shook her head. “But all of this is a bit beside the point, as we haven’t even confirmed if we are going to be a couple.”

“Oh, of course.” Haru cleared her throat. “I would be honored to be courted by you, and would like to court you as well, for as long as we are able.”

Makoto chuckled. “Another thing that gave you away was your formalities.”

Haru laughed. “Hey! You speak formally as well sometimes. And I noticed that you didn’t give me an answer.”

“Should I? I offered first and you accepted.”

“I would like you to say something.”

“Of course.” Makoto cleared her throat. “Thank you, Haru,” she said earnestly.

“Thank you, Makoto.” Haru leaned over and gave the girl a kiss on the cheek, which caused her to blush.

Even if it was only temporary, Haru was determined to spend as much time as she could with Makoto. And to figure out how many ways she could tease her, as she was quite cute when she was embarrassed.

Haru was chained to her fate, but chains could always be broken. And they would find a way to do just that.

Together.

For those of you who played both Persona 5 and Fire Emblem: Three Houses, I’m sure that you heard the similarities in voices of some of the characters. I remember when I heard Rhea’s and Marianne’s voices for the first time – I immediately looked at the voice cast for the game, and confirmed that Rhea/Makoto and Marianne/Haru share voice actors!

It was hard not showing preference to any house, but now that I’m writing comments, I feel comfortable in saying… Blue Lions Best House!

Just kidding! All houses have their merits, and Golden Deer and Black Eagles are both great. I just have a bias towards Blue Lions since I played that route first. Feel free to let me know which house is your favorite in the comments!

Anyway, I hope that you all enjoyed. I will see you tomorrow!

#okujima #okujima week #okujima week 2020 #makoto niijima #haru okumura #makoto x haru #haru x makoto #p5 #persona 5 #fe #fire emblem #fe3h #fire emblem three houses

17 notes · View notes

extroversive-introvert · 4 years

Text

#BlackLivesMatter, #SayTheirNames

1. 𝐀𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐌𝗼’𝐧𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐲-𝐉𝗼𝐧𝐞𝐬

killed sleeping on the couch. a flash grenade was thrown through her window and was shot in the head. she would’ve been 17 years old.

2. 𝐏𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝗼 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞

killed reaching for his driver’s license. he had warned the officer that he carried a gun and told him he was reaching for his license. he leaves behind a daughter who witnessed her father being killed

3. 𝐀𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝗼𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐬𝗼𝐧

killed playing video games in her home. an officer had not identified himself, yelled for to put her hands up, and immediately shots are fired. she cared for her nephew and mother.

4. 𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐢 𝐆𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐲

killed walking in a dark stairwell. an officer had drawn his gun, discharged, and the bullet ricocheted off the wall into Gurley’s chest. he leaves behind a daughter.

5. 𝐌𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐇𝗼𝐜𝐤𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐲

killed defending her home. an officer fired 20 seconds after they entered the home. she leaves behind three children.

6. 𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝗼𝐯𝐞

assaulted by police and attacked by a police dog. she was mistaken for a male suspect. she was 19 at the time of the incident.

7. 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡𝗼𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤

killed carrying an iphone. shot 8 times by police, 6 were found in his back in the back of his grandmother’s home. officers believed an “object” was being pointed at them. he leaves behind the mother of his children and 2 sons.

8. 𝐄𝗺𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐟𝗼𝐫𝐝 𝐉𝐫.

killed due to racial profiling. he was shot three times in the back. officers have repeatedly changed the story, yet it remains that he did not shoot anyone, was there to protect people, and had a license to carry.

9. 𝐀𝗺𝐚𝐝𝗼𝐮 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝗼

killed due to racial profiling. he reached for his wallet, and the plain clothed officers started firing. he was shot 19 times. he would’ve been 45 years old today.

10. 𝐓𝐚𝗺𝐢𝐫 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐞

killed playing with a fake gun. he reached for his waist band and was shot twice, the entire incident happened within two seconds. Tamir would’ve been 17 today.

11. 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐯𝗼𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧

killed due to looking “suspicious”. trayvon had come back from buying skittles and a watermelon arizona when a volunteer neighborhood watch person shot trayvon. he would’ve been 25 today.

12. 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝗼𝐬 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐉𝐫.

killed for carrying a knife. officers had placed him in a van giving him a rough ride, where they drive erratically while the detained has no seatbelt, broke his legs, and was put into a coma. he died of a spinal injury.

13. 𝐉𝗼𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬

killed for being at a party. an officer had fired three rifle rounds into a vehicle, shooting him in the head. Jordan was described as hardworking, smart and always smiling.

14. 𝐉𝗼𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥

killed asking for help. his car broke down so he went to a neighborhood and knocked on doors for help. he ran towards police for help and they opened fire shooting him 12 times. he was a football player for the Florida A&M University Rattlers.

15. 𝐊𝗼𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐧 𝐆𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

killed attempting protect her child. she had suffered from lead poisoning and there was no mobile crisis team called in to de-escalate the stand off at her home. she leaves behind two children.

16. 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝗼𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

killed for selling cd’s and exercising his 2nd amendment right. officers tasered him, forced him to the hood of a sedan, then to the floor and shot him six times while he was underneath them. he was known as “cd man”.

17. 𝐉𝐚𝗺𝐚𝐫 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤

killed for wanting to talk to his girlfriend. he had attempted to enter the ambulance she was in when officers arrested him on the ground and was shot. he had hopes of attending college.

18. 𝐉𝐞𝐫𝐞𝗺𝐲 “𝐁𝐚𝗺-𝐁𝐚𝗺“ 𝐌𝐜𝐃𝗼𝐥𝐞

killed exercising his 2nd amendment right. officers were called because jeremy had suffered from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. he struggled to put his hands up in his wheelchair and shots were fired, killing him.

19. 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝

killed for not using her turn signal. during a traffic stop, she was forced out of her car, tasered, had her head slammed into the ground, and feared her arm was broken. she was found hanging in her cell. Sandra was passionate for BLM.

20. 𝐋𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝗼𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝗼

killed because she could not afford bail. she was arrested on minor assault charges and sent to riker’s island complex. two months later she was found dead in her cell, she suffered from a seizure disorder. she was apart of the House of Xtravaganza.

21. 𝐓𝗼𝐧𝐲 𝐌𝐜𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐞

killed for defending themselves. several men attacked him earlier in the day so he went to get revenge and was shot by police after he pointed a bb gun. Mcdade was a trans man and people in his community are asking for justice.

22. 𝐌𝐮𝐡𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐁𝗼𝗼𝐤𝐞𝐫

killed for accidentally backing into a car. the driver of the car held her at gunpoint when a crowd gathered and they started to assault her. Muhlaysia was found dead near a golf course. her cousin said “she was picked on because she is transgender."

23. 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐉𝗼𝐧𝐞𝐬

killed for directing officers to the suspect and negligent officers. she had been standing behind a suspect holding a baseball bat when the officer shot at the suspect and accidentally shot Bettie. she leaves behind grandchildren.

24. 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

killed for needing help with his vehicle. Terence kept asking for help as he thought his vehicle was going to blow up. officers tasered and shot at him. he was a father and was studying music at tulsa community college

25. 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐚𝗺𝐚𝐫 𝐒𝐜𝗼𝐭𝐭

killed for a non-functioning third brake light. Walter has ran from the officer on foot when he was tasrered and shot eight times at him from behind. he was handcuffed facing down on the ground, dead. he had been studying massage therapy.

26. Oscar Grant

shot and killed by an officer while handcuffed and pinned on the ground.

27. Jule Dexter

shot and killed while attempting to pull his pants up.

28. Belly Mujinga

UK railway worker killed on the job after being spat on by someone infected with COVID-19. no justice has been served. the case has been closed 7 weeks after her death.

29. Charleena Lyles

shot and killed inside her apartment in the presence of her four young children after she called law enforcement to report a burglary. she was pregnant and leaves behind her soon-to-be 5 children.

30. Alejandro Vargas Martinez

shot and killed on his way to school. he was 15.

31. Shantel Davis

trailed by two police officers and murdered. she was 23.

32. 𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐉 𝐖𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐫

shot over 10 times because officers 'beleived' he had a weapon though after shots been fired. no gun OR weapon was anywhere to be found. he was 16, leaving his family, including his daughter behind.

33. Tanisha Anderson

restrained by two officers while having a mental illness episode. they claimed it was cardiac failure; her case was dismissed. she couldn’t breathe, and died before she got to a hospital.

34. James Byrd

killed by three white supremacists who beat him, urinated on him, then dragged him behind a truck for miles. evidence showed he was alive and conscious until he was decapitated and dismembered at a culvert. he would be in his 70s today.

35. Emmett Till

accused of coming onto a white woman in 1955. Kidnapped from his home later that night, beaten to death, body tossed in a river. his mother had his body displayed in an open casket at his funeral. in 2012, the 'alleged whistleblower' confessed it never happened.

36. David Felix

killed by police after being called to building. they were told that the building housed people with mental illness. they were also told that David had been given a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia.

37. Aura Rosser

shot by state police. the court deemed her homicide as “justifiable self defense”. the officer who murdered her was never charged. 38. Kenneth C. Smith

went out to hear his music, and gunned down by off-duty cop. he was 20.

39. Jordan Davis

shot and killed over loud music at a gas station. he was 17. his mother is now a congresswoman for Georgia's Sixth Congressional District.

40. Sean Bell

police fired 50 shots on him and his friends as they were leaving his bachelor party. he was killed the morning before his wedding. he was studying to be an electrician.

41. Christian Taylor

shot and killed in 'suspected' burglary. he was unarmed. he played football at Angelo State University. the trainee who killed Christian pursued him without alerting his supervising officer.

42. Samuel DuBose

shot and killed for missing front licence plate and suspended drivers licence. officer who killed him said he was dragged because his arm got caught in the car, but bodycam footage showed otherwise. released on bond without trial, ended in mistrial after jury deadlock. retrial also ended the same way. charges were dismissed with prejudice.

43. Breonna Taylor

shot eight times in her sleep by plainclothes narcotics officers in unmarked vehicles serving no-knock warrant.

44. Ahmaud Arbery

executed on camera by white supremacists while going for a jog. his killers remained free for 74 days before arrest.

45. George Floyd

executed on camera by police officers for allegedly using a counterfeit $20 bill. the killer kept his knee on George's neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds, of which 2 minutes and 53 seconds George became unresponsive. he leaves behind two daughters.

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cheesygrayson-blog · 6 years

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Pitchers and Catchers Report (Grayson)

Summary: When your school’s baseball team plays a game against your biggest rivals, not all the competing is left on the field.

Warnings: Mild violence, baseball stuff, average writing skills

Word Count: 3,931

enjoy :)

You sat down on the hot metal bleachers, ready to cheer on your high school's baseball team. They were playing Lincoln High, your biggest rivals, and the only other undefeated team in the division. There was always a lot of competitiveness and bad blood between the two schools, no matter what sport was being played. That being said, you lived in a fairly small community, and you were friends with a lot of the students there, when sports weren't involved.

You and your friends stood up and cheered when your team took the field, ready to go to work. They warmed up for a few minutes before the first batter got in to position. Despite your pitcher's stone face and deadly fastball, he hit a hard single on the very first pitch.

"That's alright, Brady!" you cheered, trying to encourage your team even though they probably couldn't hear you. Brady, your school's ace pitcher, had always had a little crush on you, but you tried to make it clear that the two of you were just friends. He'd asked you out twice throughout high school, and you'd gently rejected him both times, but you knew that his crush was still alive and well.

The next two batters struck out on three pitches each, which had you feeling comfortable, until you saw who was batting clean up.

"Is that Grayson Dolan?" you asked, even though you knew it was him thanks to the "DOLAN" printed across the back of his jersey.

"Yeah," your friend Brooke answered.

"I thought he was a senior last-"

You were cut off by the loud crack of Grayson's bat connecting with Brady's pitch. Everyone in the bleachers let out a collective gasp as the ball cut through the air, easily sailing well past the reach of your center fielder, who was climbing the outfield fence trying to rob Grayson of his home run. You couldn't help but admire his swing, but rolled your eyes hard when he flipped his bat and trotted around the bases like he was a modern day Barry Bonds.

"What a douche," you muttered, watching him strut back to his dugout and high five his teammates.

The next few innings went by fairly uneventfully. Grayson was catching, and it pained you to admit that he was good at what he did. Your school did manage to score one run on a throwing error by the other team's short stop. The ball was thrown much too hard, way over Grayson's head, allowing the runner to easily slide in to home plate. Grayson was visibly ticked off, lifting his mask and yelling across the field to his teammate. He managed to cool off before the ump interfered, crouching behind the plate and spitting in to the dirt.

It wasn't until the bottom of the sixth that things took a turn.

The bases were loaded with two outs, and Brady was up to bat. Grayson stood and signaled for his outfielders to move in, assuming he wasn't going to make strong contact.

The first three pitches were balls. Brady looked at a strike for the fourth, and fouled on the fifth to fill the count. The next pitch could have been called either way from where you were sitting, but the ump called it a ball, allowing Brady to take a base and for a run to walk in. Grayson obviously disagreed, as he stood up and took his helmet off, exchanging some words with the man standing behind him. Brady was still close enough to hear the exchange and said something, you weren't sure what, but it obviously didn't settle well with Grayson, as he whipped around and got right in his face. Grayson's face was shiny and his hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead, and he had a look in his eyes that could rival the fires in the pits of hell.

The two were locked in a heated argument, and it looked like Grayson was just about to throw a punch when the ump finally broke it up and Brady took his base. The dugouts didn't clear and no one was ejected, but you could clearly hear Grayson yell a threat down the first base line.

"Catch me after I beat you, pussy ass bitch!"

Your jaw dropped, and you were surprised that he didn't get thrown out after that. You could see him getting a warning, but he brushed it off like the arrogant asshole he was and got back into his position.

Evening fell and the game progressed with no more excitement. Brady was taken out in the seventh in exchange for one of your relief pitchers, so he and Grayson didn't have to face each other on the field again. It ended up being quite a pitcher's duel, and your team was beaten by Grayson's by one run in the tenth inning. You could tell that your boys were disappointed in themselves, and the raucous cheering coming from the visitor's dugout wasn't helping.

"Come on, let's go greet the team," you said to your friends, standing up and walking towards the gate that led to the locker rooms.

You waited there for a few minutes before the players started ambling off the field. Brady stopped next to you, as he usually did, and sighed. You brought a hand up to sympathetically squeeze his arm.

"Hey, you played a good game," you said.

"We lost," he muttered, his head hanging in defeat.

"Well yeah, but-"

"I gave up a two run homer in the first inning."

"Hey," you said firmly. "Those were the only two runs you gave up, and the game went in to extras. You played well, don't beat yourself up too much."

"Hey, Johnson!" a deep voice yelled from a few yards away. Both you and Brady turned in the direction of the sound. Grayson was walking towards you, flanked by the rest of his team, with a cocky smirk on his face.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)," Grayson sneered, eyeing you up and down before he turned his attention back to Brady. "This your girl, Johnson?"

You felt Brady stiffen before you responded. "First of all, I'm no ones girl. Second of all, fuck off Grayson."

"So you're available, then," he said, poking his tongue out the side of his mouth.

"Not to you," you sassed.

"Ooh, feisty. I like a challenge, baby," he trailed a finger down your bare arm, which you ripped away from his touch. You knew he was only saying these things to get under Brady's skin, and you honestly couldn't stand Grayson, but you couldn't deny that he was extremely good looking, and hearing him talk about you like that stirred something in your gut.

You were glaring at Grayson when Brady cleared his throat. You quickly snapped out of it, noticing that you were the only three left on the field.

"I should go in, Coach is gonna be wondering where I am," Brady said, directing his words at you but looking at Grayson from the corner of his eye.

"Okay, go ahead. I'll see you later at Matt's?" you asked. He nodded his head and was about to leave, but before he could walk away you wrapped your arms around his waist and gave him a tight hug, which he returned without any hesitation. You made sure to lock eyes with Grayson while you were wrapped in his embrace, who rolled his eyes and stalked off to join the rest of his team in the guest locker room. You loosened your grip on Brady, but held on to his arms, wanting to ask a question that had been biting at you for the last hour or so.

"Hey, what did you say to Grayson when you got walked? It seemed to really set him off," you inquired, recalling the almost fight between the two of them.

"Uh, I... I can't remember," he stammered. "It was just like an in the moment thing, you know?" Brady swallowed thickly and looked at his cleats. "I should head in, see you later," he said, turning around and bolting inside.

"Okayyy..." you spoke in to the empty air, heading towards the parking lot to meet up with your friends.

"What took you so long?" Annie asked once you joined the girls waiting for you.

"Yeah, we've been sitting here waiting for like ten minutes. Did Brady finally get in your pants?" Brooke joked.

"Will you shut up?" you laughed. "No, I just had like a weird exchange with Brady and Grayson."

"What? We left while Grayson and them were all still in their dugout," Jane whined, upset that they'd missed the action. "What happened?"

"Nothing, really," you said, furrowing your brow. "It was just weird."

"Alright, well, whatever," Annie said. "We have to go get ready."

The four of you piled in to Annie's car and drove back to her house to get ready to go to Matt's. Matt was the guy in your high school who was always hosting a party. His family owned a camp that wasn't very far from town, and not a weekend went by where it wasn't full of drunk teenagers.

There wasn't much you had to do to get ready, just touch up your makeup and grab your alcohol. Parties in your town were always BYOB, and they were very casual. It would be highly unusual for a girl to show up to a party wearing some kind of club dress and heels. Before long, you were back in the passenger seat of Annie's car, making the short drive to Matt's.

"I heard a few guys from Lincoln are coming tonight," Brooke announced from the back seat.

"I'm not really surprised," Jane replied. "I mean, they're already in the area, might as well come party."

"I hope nothing happens," you said while anxiously chewing on your thumbnail.

"I hope shit hits the fan," Brooke laughed. "I haven't seen a good fight in forever, we could all use the excitement."

You stayed silent the rest of the way to the party, suddenly dreading the rest of the night. Luckily, when you got there, the only other people there were from your school, save for a few girls from Lincoln.

"Hey Macey!" you called across the room, waving to your friend while you sipped on your mixture of sprite and coconut rum. Even though she attended the rival school, she wasn't one to brag when they beat you.

"Hey girl," she smiled, pulling you in to a hug. "Crazy game, right?"

"Yeah, I honestly thought Grayson was going to deck Brady," you shuddered at the memory of their little disagreement on the field.

"Do you know what he said to him?"

"No, I asked after the game but he said he couldn't remember."

"Bullshit, I bet it was something about you," she rolled her eyes and giggled, clearly already a little tipsy.

You made a weird face at her and laughed, there was no way some comment about you would set Grayson off like that. You brushed it off, though, and didn't ask why she thought that, assuming she was just drunk and talking crazy.

The night progressed with no sign of any trouble from Lincoln. A few boys that weren't on the baseball team showed up, but that didn't really cause any kind of altercation.

You were still slowly working on your first drink an hour later, knowing that you were a lightweight and you'd have a strong buzz after two. You had just taken the last sip when an arm was slung around your shoulder, making you let out a surprised squeal.

"Hey, baybay," Brady slurred, laughing at the way he pronounced "baby."

"Brady? Are you drunk already? It's only," you paused to check the time on your phone. "Barely eleven o'clock."

"Girl, I started taking shots as soon as I left the field," he laughed. His hand started drifting lower than your comfort zone allowed, so you stepped out of his grasp.

"Watch the hands, buddy," you warned. You used a joking tone, but you were one hundred percent serious.

"Aw, c'mon, (Y/N)," he whined. "What's a guy gotta do to-"

He was cut off when the door of the camp burst open, revealing Grayson, his twin brother Ethan, and their friend Nate.

"Let's go," Brady said, sounding frantic and tugging on your wrist.

"No," you pulled against his grip but he wouldn't let go. "Brady, I'm not leaving, let go of me."

"Please (Y/N), we don't have to leave, just come with me outside," he begged, trying to pull you towards the back door.

"Brady, no, stop-"

"Johnson," a firm voice said, directly behind you. "Let go of her."

"Make me, dick," Brady replied, tugging you forward again. Before he could make any progress in pulling you towards the door, Grayson's hand reached out from behind you and clutched Brady's forearm. You could feel his broad chest pressed against your back, and you involuntarily shivered when his arm circled your shoulders so he could get a grip on you in order to pull you from Brady's grasp. Grayson was easily able to get Brady to drop your arm, and he let go of you as soon as you were free.

"Now run along," Grayson spat, throwing his arm down. Brady turned around, and Grayson turned to you.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You furrowed your brow and looked up at him, wondering why he cared. "Yeah, I'm fi-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Brady's fist connected with Grayson's jaw, almost hitting you in the process. You shrieked at the surprise, and anyone who's attention wasn't already on the three of you turned to look at the commotion.

Unfortunately for Brady, Grayson was completely sober and twice his size, so he really didn't stand a chance. All Grayson really had to do was deliver a firm shove, and Brady was on the floor. Some of the other players on your school's baseball team helped him up, and held him back from coming for Grayson again. You looked at him with wide eyes while he rubbed his jaw. He looked down, meeting your gaze again with his dilated pupils.

"Are you okay?" he asked a second time.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but you need to leave," you said, forcing him to turn back towards the front door and pushing him all the way outside.

You only stopped pushing him once you were both outside, away from all the bedlam that was happening inside.

"(Y/N), listen," Grayson started, but you cut him off.

"No, Grayson. What were you thinking coming here? You had to have known that something like this was going to happen. Was this your plan? Did you want to start a fight?" you were dangerously close to yelling at him, but thanks to the alcohol in your system, you didn't even care.

"I just had to make sure..." he started, but trailed off.

"Had to make sure what? Had to make sure to beat Brady twice in one night? Had to make sure he-"

"I had to make sure you were okay!" Grayson shouted, cutting you off. "There, happy?" he followed in a slightly softer voice.

"What?" you asked, genuine confusion written on your face. "What are you talking about? And why do you care?"

He didn't respond, he just clenched his jaw and folded his arms across his impossibly large chest. You rolled your eyes and sighed, annoyed with his silence.

"Well, I'm fine. I was even more fine before you showed up, but I'm as good as I can be considering, so are you satisfied?"

Grayson was silent for a few more seconds before he looked back in to your eyes. "Do you know what he said to me after he got walked in the sixth?"

"N-no," you stammered, surprised at his question. "I asked him but he said he forgot, he said it was just an in the moment thing."

"Well, that's bullshit," he said. "Do you want to know what he actually said?"

"What?"

"He said 'I'll just take this base now, (Y/N) will give me the rest later.'"

Your jaw hit the floor, shocked that Brady would say something like that. He had always been so sweet and respectful, until he got all handsy with you. The only conclusion your brain could come to was that Grayson had to have been lying.

"Yeah right, he did not," you scoffed. "He knows we're just friends, and why would you care anyway? What does it matter to you if I went inside and fucked him right now?"

"It's true, go ask him," Grayson said, gesturing towards the camp. "He's been saying that shit about you for years, just because he knows it ticks me off."

"But that's what I'm saying, Grayson! Why do you care? It's not like you're my brother, or my boyfriend, or..."

You trailed off when you realized how close he had gotten. You hadn't even noticed Grayson moving closer to you until you felt his breath hitting your face. The two of you were locked in a tense staring contest, neither of you wanting to back down before the other. You didn't even look away when you felt Grayson's hand slip around to cup the back of your neck, or when he leaned in so close that your noses were touching. You only broke eye contact when he placed his lips on yours, causing a tiny whimper to sound from the back of your throat.

It only lasted a second, and you didn't know if it was the small amount alcohol coursing through your veins or the great amount of sexual tension between the two of you, but as soon as Grayson pulled away, you grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him back in, slamming your mouth against his. Grayson kissed you back immediately, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you tight against himself. You brought the hand that was on his neck down to run over his muscular shoulders while the other one combed through the soft hair on the back of his head. Grayson's free hand trailed down your thigh and hooked around your knee, pulling your leg up.

"Jump," he mumbled into your mouth before pulling away to grab your other leg. You hopped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, and Grayson caught you easily and shoved your back against the wall. The siding wasn't the most comfortable surface for you be pressed against, but you didn't care. The feeling of the wooden slats digging in to your back disappeared when Grayson started sucking on your collar bone, anyway.

"Don't leave a mark," you breathed. You didn't want to have to explain to anyone why you suddenly had a hickey on your chest. Grayson obeyed, and moved his lips back to your own.

Grayson had just pushed his tongue into your mouth when you heard the door swing open. You had completely forgotten that there was a room full of people on the other side of the wall you were being supported by, and that someone could catch you at any moment.

"(Y/N)?"

You broke away from Grayson and whipped your head around to see Brady standing there in the doorway, wide eyed and open mouthed.

"Brady, hi," you said awkwardly, slightly out of breath from making out with Grayson, who was still holding you up against the wall, gripping your thighs.

"W-what... what are you doing?" Brady whimpered.

"Just, ya know, hanging out," you said, turning your attention back to Grayson, who was looking at Brady with an expression that wasn't necessarily cocky, but definitely wasn't remorseful.

"Gray," you whispered, gaining his attention. "Put me down."

He gently set you back on your feet and trailed his hands up your sides, making sure to keep a hand on your back when you turned to face Brady.

"Why were you making out with him?" Brady asked, disgust with a hint of hurt dripping from his voice.

"I don't know, Brady, I just figured, since you took first base during the game, it seems only fair that I'd give him the rest," you crossed your arms and glared at him as the realization hit his face.

"(Y/N), I didn't mean that, it was just-"

"It was just in the moment? What about all the other things you've said about me? I thought we were friends, Brady."

"We are friends," he mumbled, eyes on the ground, not daring to look you in the eyes.

"Then why would you say those things?" you asked, your turn to sound hurt.

"I'm sorry, I just... I don't know why I said them."

"Yeah, well I do," you spat, all the hurt in your voice replaced with a fresh wave of anger. "You said it just to get under Grayson's skin. You used me as a weapon in your stupid little competition with him. I hope you're happy with the result."

"(Y/N), come on, let me take you home," Grayson said, lacing his fingers with yours.

"(Y/N), no, you can't leave with him!" Brady yelled when you started to walk away.

"Why not?" you asked.

"Because... because you barely know him!"

"Well, I really don't want to be here, and it's not like I'm letting you take me home," you scoffed at his lame attempt at getting you to stay with him.

"Just stay here, I'm sorry about what I said," he pleaded.

"Yeah, whatever," you said while rolling your eyes and turning away from him. "Bye Brady, have fun getting the rest of your bases covered."

You and Grayson had walked about twenty feet when you heard Brady yell from the house.

"You're gonna regret this, Dolan!"

Grayson raised his hand and waved without turning around, obviously not bothered by his threat.

"Hey, Grayson?"

"Hm?" he hummed, looking down at you and squeezing your hand that was still laced with his.

"Thanks... for earlier."

"You're going to have to elaborate, babe," he chuckled. "A lot happened earlier."

"For getting Brady to let go of me, and for telling me what he said, and, yeah," you were glad that it was dark out, because you could feel how hard you were blushing.

"And yeah," Grayson laughed and dropped your hand, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close, walking the rest of the way to his car like that.

The drive to your house was quiet, neither of you having anything that needed to be said, other than you giving Grayson the occasional "turn left at the next stop sign," and the likes.

"It's this one right up here," you said as your house came in to view. Grayson pulled over and slowed to a stop in front of your driveway.

"Thanks for the ride," you said as you pushed the door open and climbed out of the car. You had only taken a few steps up the driveway when you heard the buzz of a window being rolled down.

"Hey, (Y/N)," Grayson called. You turned around and leaned forward to see him leaning across the center console so he could see you.

"Yeah?"

"We should hang out sometime," he said with a half smile and a hopeful look in his eyes.

You gave him a smile of your own, and you were thankful for the darkness for a second time that night, as you felt your cheeks heating up. You pretended to think about it for a few seconds before giving him an answer.

"Maybe."

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan blurb #imagine #blurb #fanfic #fanficton #grayson #dolan #dolan twins #stella writes things #pitchers and catchers report #twins #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fanfiction #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins fanfiction

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agoodroughandtumble · 6 years

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Hold the Line - Bucky/Reader AU Part 5

Status: Incomplete Pairing: Sixth form (18yr old)/journalist Bucky x reader Summary: You and Bucky liked each other during sixth form. And then everything went wrong. Six years later you’re working at a newspaper and a new colleague makes your head dizzy and your morals questionable. (Modern AU) Warnings: 18+. Language, some implied smut straight off the bat and later on, all the cliches, potentially horribly OOC canons

Read Part [here]

March 2012.

“I’ll get it!” You shouted up the stairs to your brothers as you headed towards the front door, a spring in your step and a smile on your face which quickly vanished as soon as you swung the door open to find, “Bucky?”

“(Y/N), hi.” He gave you a smile but it was an uneasy one, if you didn’t know him any better you’d think he was nervous.

“Did you want Ciaran?” You asked, knowing that they were both on the football team.

“No, no, I, erm,” he pulled his rucksack from his shoulders and started rifling through it, stopping when he found what he was looking for and thrust a black biro in her face. “I think this is Nat’s, she dropped it, so I thought you could give it back to her.”

“Oh, okay.” You took it from him and slid it into your jeans pocket. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. “Why not just go to hers?”

His mouth fell open, as if to say something but his brain didn’t seem to have engaged so he just stared at you for what seemed like an eternity before answering, “Well, I, er, I know your house because of Ciaran anyway and I was just passing and it seemed like an important pen and you’ll see her first so it made sense. At the time. Yeah.”

You nodded, still unsure as to why Bucky was acting so weirdly around you. “Well, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Excellent!” Bucky replied a little too enthusiastically, and too loudly. “I’ll be off then. To my house.” He gestured to the road with his thumb. “Bye then!” He practically ran out of her drive and down the road, you watching him incredulously.

2018.

The rest of the day had continued with relative normality. You refused to acknowledge Bucky’s continued presence, and Torrin only did so in order to glare at him. You were just finishing up and about to collect your stuff when Rex asked to have a word with you in his office. Without having to turn around, you could feel the smirk on Bucky’s lips, and heard him mutter something about being considerate for the cleaning ladies but you chose to ignore him. Rex hadn’t mentioned their conversation earlier all day, this was likely to be your bollocking now.

You knocked on the door gingerly. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Rex nodded, gesturing towards the seat in front of him. “Take a seat.” There was a small pause. “So, I’m assuming you know what I’m going to ask you.”

You nodded, and started picking at the skin next to your fingernails. “I could hazard a guess.” Your boss cleared his throat, signalling that you should continue. “I might have inferred that you and I are an item.”

“Any particular reason or…?”

You sighed, this really wasn’t something you wanted to be telling anyone – let alone your boss. “I know Bucky. We went to school together, and...and he was my first, y’know...” you started chewing on your bottom lip, still not looking up at him. “And, he broke my heart.” There was a sigh and a small sniff. Then a shrug. “I guess I wanted to make him jealous or prove I didn’t care any more or something.”

Rex looked at you curiously, leaning back into his chair. He’d never seen you look like this – you were always full of smiles and laughter and enthusiasm. To see you looking so unsure, it was rather unsettling. He let out a considered sigh. “It’s after work hours, so officially I’m speaking as a friend and not your boss.”

You looked up questioningly, having no idea where he was going with this.

“This guy was a dick?”

You gave a small nod, and another sniff.

“What exactly did you say? Any details?”

You didn’t allow yourself to smile – having some idea of what he was thinking, but not wanting to get your hopes up just in case. “Just that we’re together.”

“Right,” he leant forward, arms crossed against his desk, “I’m doing this because if you’re in a shit mood then there’s no hope for the rest of us – we need our office sunshine back.” You couldn’t help but give a small, embarrassed smile. “Tomorrow’s our one year anniversary – and we’ve been keeping it quiet for professional reasons but I’m romantic so you’re getting a gesture. But I’m only agreeing to help you on the proviso that your cheer up. Deal?”

You couldn’t help but smile at him. Most people would have probably shouted at you for doing something so stupid, and demand you go and tell Bucky the truth - Rex, however, seemed to understand. Or maybe he was just bored. Either way, you weren’t going to complain. “Deal.”

Arriving home, you threw your keys onto the side table in the hallway before calling up to your brothers. Ciaran was probably doing something terribly clever on his computers, while Kai would be cooking them all dinner and Iwan – you glanced at your watch – Iwan would still be on his evening run. Kai popped his head around the kitchen door, “How was your day?”

You shrugged, trying to appear casual and not managing it at all. Your eldest brother’s eyebrows furrowed. “You want to talk about it?”

There was another, less committed shrug, and then Kai disappeared. You let out sigh of relief, assuming that the subject had been dropped but he returned a second later with an open bottle of beer and held it out to you. You gave him a questioning look.

“What?” He wiggled the bottle slightly, trying to encourage you to take it, “Just because I’m not doesn’t mean you can’t – trust me, you look like shit.”

“See, this is why I prefer talking to Ciaran.” You took the bottle from him nonetheless and took a large swig.

“Ciaran’s an idiot.” Kai replied matter-of-factly and gestured for you to follow him into the kitchen. He turned back to the pans on the stove, but you knew that he was still listening. “What’s wrong?”

You started fiddling at the label on the bottle. “Someone new started today, or...someone not new. Someone I know.” There was a silence, Kai was obviously waiting for you to elaborate. You let out a frustrated groan. “It’s Bucky, y’know fro-”

“I know.” He replied, still not looking at you. He pulled a teaspoon out of the drawer, dipping it in the pan to gather some of the sauce he was making before approaching you and holding it out for you. “What do you think?”

You looked up at him with an unimpressed expression across you face. “Are you even listening? Bucky. As in...Bucky Bucky.”

He gave you a small smile, “I know. Why, is he still important to you?”

“No, no of course not.”

“Then why is this a problem?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, waving the bottle at him before taking another swig. “Don’t use your reverse psychology bullshit on me.”

His lips twitched into a smile, “Because it’s working?”

You let out a huff. “Maybe. I don’t know.” There was a pause. “I told him I’m dating Rex.”

“Okay...” Kai seemed to be trying to work out your motive and drawing up a blank. He pressed his lips together as he sat down opposite you – the spoon abandoned – and took one of your hands in his, running his thumb against the back of it. “Seems like he is still important, sis.”

Running a hand over your face you nodded, “I haven’t thought about him in so long. And now he’s here again. And smirking and offering me quickies in the supply closet.”

At this, Kai’s eyebrows shot straight up. “Obviously you didn’t?”

“Thanks!”

“Sorry,” he let out a breath, “So, what are you going to do?”

“Quit my job and move to Alaska.”

“Solid plan, only you hate the cold. Or, alternatively, you could confront the problem, talk to him, tell him how you feel, how he hurt you and you want him to apologise.”

You looked at him incredulously, taking another, longer swig from the bottle. “Yeah, th-that’s not happening.”

#bucky barnes #mcu #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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iphoenixrising · 8 years

Text

Justice is Blind AU Drabble

Imagine this song playing in the beginning, as is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fpgcT_py5g8.

BTW: Red Robin#2, page 18. Cannon: Tim Drake doesn’t need his eyes to fight thanks to the King Snake (or Sir Edmund Dorrance), you can read about it here. Ah, just a short thing because I had to get it out of my brain pan.

There’s an alarm going off.

The sound reverberates in the base of his spine, triggering the new, very pointed ‘oh shit’ sixth (or seventh?) sense, and makes him rise to consciousness in the warm cocoon of fuzzy blankets. The alarm itself is something utterly fucking annoying since even sleep couldn’t help the residual mental hangover from whatever sound torture Ra’s figured out. He buries his head back under the covers and groans a little at the red, pulsing pain picking up momentum at the base of his skull.

But, the realization is a sharp thing, lodging right between the pain and the panic spots in his brain since the blaring alarm is vastly different from the one on his cell phone. You know, the only one he uses.

His useless eyes pop open, blowing wide, even as he throws off the thick, warm blankets (smells like camphor and musk, oh God please no), shaky fingers spread out into gravity until a smooth texture feeds intel to his fingertips (real wood, not hollow or shoddy materials, thick and heavy, smooth and professionally done); his fingers find the cord to the alarm clock first while adrenaline hits his system and it’s a struggle to just stay where the fuck he is rather than leap up and take his chances to feel out the room where he’s apparently been placed—

(No city noises outside, no traffic, trains, anything; could be soundproof glass, could be another evil lair because that would be better than where he suspects he’s ended up)

—and the small scar in the wood surface while his fingers chase the cord to the fucking blaring alarm is evidence of not in the Perch or a safe house.

His fist comes down, smashing the damn clock into flying parts. One makes it almost past his face, knocks into his shoulder.

The satisfaction is just totally worth it when the noise stops, and right on the tail end of that thought is the inevitability that someone will figure out he’s awake and possibly useful, then clue in the possible plethora of bad guys.

Still, he comes back to the scar, the rounded edges, the depth, the ruined lamination around that single mark (and it so could be the same mark from the time he’d been using a soldering iron in Dick’s—his—room in Wayne Manor, back when things were fucking awful after Dad was murdered), lets the sensitive pad of his finger get snagged on it.

Still, plenty of ways a mark like that could have been made—still more evidence to collect to verify his theory. Since his bleary memory recalls following behind B with the half-working cowl, remembers getting in on another potentially life-threatening assassin fight, he can assume one of two things: if he’s really in Wayne Manor after all this time, then his senses get a 10/10 stars, and he’ll need to squeeze into one of the smaller vents that feed right into the Batcave. You know, a little duck and dodge. But, if he’s still somehow in the maniacal clutches of the League of Assassins, some Bats are probably in immediate fucking peril and it’s time to shake off whatever is making him slow the fuck down for some blind justice.

(Yup, totally his new catchphrase)

For a moment, he just breathes, lets himself fall into a slightly meditative state in which his senses are heightened even more, trying to detect anything in the room that could signal guards, bad guys, or traps.

And his legs find the edge of the bed, feet on the floor while he fumbles to arrange pillows and throw the blankets back over them; then, it’s a little more than the usual hard work because there’s nothing else but that shitty alarm clock within arm’s reach. So, his face is hot when he has to listen closely, makes clicking noises with his tongue in cheek to try placing where the walls are, where the door could be, if any windows are in the place using a half-assed form of echo-location. It’s not effective for fighting or hacking, but at least it helps him not faceplant into walls and shit.

He’s silent once again as he strafes to the far wall, feeling the closed door to assess weight and strength. He takes long enough to make himself comfortable, to wait for it.

When muffled voices come closer (and fuck the door must be thick for him to just get an impression), he fights through the pulsing thump in his head to crack his neck and get the fuck ready.

Luckily, what most people didn’t know, is that he hadn’t needed his eyes to fight in years, going all the way back to the earliest days of the R,* the Ghost Dragons, Lynx, and Sir Edmund Fucking Dorrance—the King Snake. Even before he was really in the role, before he was a Bat, he was in his first year training with the tunic, sent to Hong Kong to get his act together before he hit the streets of Gotham as a full-fledged vigilante. During that year, he’d been trained by Lynx, Shiva, the better fighters in the Ghost Dragons, hell, even Dorrance at times; he can and always could fight without the use of his eyes. The patches for his arms and legs? Just a contingency, something to give him an edge on the baddies.

Hell, at this juncture, he could skateboard again.

Natch.

The knob twists, and his whole body goes still, barely breathing, pressing against the wall, legs slightly bent, one hand palm out to stop the door from hitting him when it open and shoving it closed once the intruders are through.

The plan comes together like it always does in his head—a second of motion at a time. Only, he takes more aspects into consideration, placing the room as he understands it, judging his opponents by the muffled, indistinguishable noises.

The door opens slowly, softly to silence, and he waits with the last breath locked into his lungs, hoping the rumpled covers over the pillows is convincing enough. Every muscle is tense, waiting.

Footsteps inside, another set following behind, and, well, gotcha.

Several things happen at once, slowing time down just enough for him to slam the door closed (in case anyone else is waiting in the corridor/hallway; the door opening again would give him the oh shit signal) and leap.

He’s got them both before they can draw a breath to yell out for help, taking the taller of the two down with a singular leg sweep and nerve strike; the shorter one chokes with the lock around his neck and legs around his waist, immobilizing him, and taking them both to the floor.

And since he’s that good, the opening door is just enough of a moment for him to tighten his hold, try to put the smaller one down for the count, already half-standing to—

The taller one wraps a hand around his ankle, able to reach from where Tim put him down in the first place.

“Master Timothy!?” Is the shocked question from the doorway.

And everything stops.

His heart picks up, beating hard against his chest because God, it’s been so long, and he knows—

“A-Alfred…” a whispered admission and he immediately releases the choke hold, both hands coming up in that not dangerous, nothing to see here kind of way.

“Dammit,” Damian wheezes, staying right on his knees to choke and cough. “Nice…ruse…Drake.”

“I learned it at Vigilante Summer Camp one year. Never know when you have to fool those pesky bad guys,” he replies through numb lips, grudgingly taking a knee, his hands coming up automatically, fingers wiggling in under Damian’s hold to press gently against his throat (hyoid is fine, nothing strained).

To his surprise, Damian tilts his head back and stays still, allows him to assess.

“I don’t think I damaged anything…um, sorry. I wasn’t sure—I wasn’t sure where I was when I woke up.” And it’s a grudging admission, a weakness he usually has measures to counter.

Fumbling behind him, he follows the hand still wrapped around his ankle, and uses both thumbs to press against the nerve clusters he struck at the front of Dick’s shoulder next to his pectoral. His thumbs press in hard, earning a pained noise from the older vigilante. But yeah, it immediately takes effect.

“The alarm clock seems to be the only unfortunate casualty, Master Timothy,” Alfred replies, and the background rattle (tray) as he moves, the smell of wonder things (life coffee) for his aching head. “On the bright side, however, vigilantes in this household often seem to disregard their relevance. Well, at the very least, that is why I assume you are not yet ready for school, Master Damian.”

Tim bites down on his lip (and oh yeah, he’s been on the end of that tone before). “Mmhm, sorry about it anyway, Alfred. My “expect the unexpected” instinct failed me this time.”

“I am absolutely certain it has nothing whatsoever to do with an enormous amount of sleep deprivation or lack of a decent meal.” Pouring and the butler isn’t facing the room, giving them time to get it together.

“That is probably…somewhat accurate,” he allows, fingers skimming along the nightstand by the bed before he stands. Someone put him in sweats and a t-shirt, ones that don’t feel worn in the wash. “Bad guys honestly have no respect for three square meals a day.”

And yes, that masked noise is a laugh. Something in his chest, something clenched tight seems to ease.

#blind!tim au #drabble #just a thing #it must be disorienting as hell to wake up and not know exactly where you are #so I though of this #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #I have no clue where Jason might be?#In two seconds B is going to corral all of them

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thunderheadfred · 8 years

Text

Valentine’s Day, 2181 CE

In honor of Valentine’s Day, here’s the Very Special Valentine from Red Streak.

Featuring Jane Shepard’s N7 mission on Akuze with cameos from Urdnot Wrex, Private Hudson, and one too many unapologetic 1980′s cinema references. Soundtrack by Meat Loaf.

Total word count: 5k

Jane Akuze

The ground was a long way down.

Much like falling in love, there was a drop that could kill you.

Shepard had ample time to worry about the skeleton-splattering deadliness of that distance as the Mako idled ten stories above the crater floor, clutched in the belching gullet of a thresher maw. Shepard spun her wheels against wet meat and empty air, but it was useless. There was no purchase to be found.

Delirious and giddy with fear, she couldn’t stop staring straight down at that drop. Hey, how about that? She could see Uncle Urdnot’s house from here.

The krogan warlord’s fortress might have been a lot friendlier looking if it hadn’t been sitting directly on top of the mouth of hell. The mercenary outpost was now smack-dab in the middle of a rampaging thresher nest, having gone from ‘habitable’ to ‘hell-hole’ overnight.

A week ago, Shepard had been comfortably grounded, babysitting fifty deeply filthy colonial Marines, swerving a baker’s dozen tanks across the rugged landscape of Akuze. Under cover of a remote M35 field driving course, they had been covertly pursuing a tip from Admiral Hackett, trying to find and neutralize “a mad-scientist superweapon.”

Armed with little more than the vaguest estimates as to the location and scale of the threat, things had been tense. All they knew was that they were after a sizeable terrorist splinter cell that had named themselves Cerberus, as if calling dibs on the underworld. What a bunch of assholes.

A week into the search, she’d intercepted Clan Urdnot’s distress call.

It was a sorry excuse for an S.O.S. - just a long, seemingly accidental broadcast bursting with imaginative profanities and the sound of an entire krogan mercenary company dying loudly in the background.

So - much - screaming.

Speaking of loud noises. The thresher maw that currently held Shepard’s tank in its drooling jaws was through with waiting for its snack.

Inch by squealing inch, the tank crunched down around Shepard’s ears, little more than a tin can in a suckling vice. There was a deafening roar of tearing metal, and then a massive glowing polka-dotted tongue crashed through the starboard hatchway. It flopped around with a ferocious slap-slap-slapping, like a great white shark leaping from the water to flail hungrily across a beach of screaming tourists.

Without even the courtesy of asking to be her Valentine, the thresher deepthroated the M35 and then spat out a throatful of acid.

It was no miracle that Shepard was spared: someone paid the reaper in her stead. Her gunnery officer - Private Sheb Wilhelm - took the whole hit of acid full on the chest. He blasted out a wild high-pitched scream before he bubbled, melted on his own bones, and died in tortured gore behind her, the sixth Alliance Marine to perish on Akuze under her command.

Engineer Apone drew unlucky number seven. He was pushed out the acid hole on the far side of the cabin and fell to his death in silent surprise before he even got a chance to turn his head and see what was coming.

As she suspected. Exactly like love, a fall like that could definitely kill you.

The thresher bellowed: a thousand quaking octaves of pure noise. Then, just as suddenly as it had rushed up from below, it abruptly let go of the tank, dropping Shepard ass-backwards into a skyrise worth of empty air.

She fell. And fell. And kept falling. There was no way to know when it would end - all she could see was the sky.

Shepard wasn’t proud. As death rushed up to meet her like a bat out of hell, she clutched the steering column and tearfully remembered sleeping in her pari’s arms… Then she breathed in deep and screamed her lungs bloody. If this was curtains, she was going to fucking announce herself all the way offstage.

The Mako and the ground reunited at terminal velocity, with a sound as loud as it was painful. Airbags deployed from every angle, scrambling her with enough force to break all the ribs on her left side. Just for kicks, her head slammed against the seat back in a sudden explosion of ugly stars, and then everything got real fuzzy.

Shepard was still screaming when someone wrenched open whatever was left of the starboard hatch and clamped their massive hand around her forearm with bruising force. Those brutal, groping fingers rattled her so violently that she stopped screaming entirely out of annoyance.

She turned and saw him. Urdnot Wrex. Huge, red, and lit from behind in glorious technicolor like a god of the sun. With her head in a fog, all she could do was stare.

Sweeping in to rescue the krogan band had been Shepard’s call. Luckily, her Marines and Wrex’s mercs had fallen in love at first sight, and after the initial raid cemented the marriage, nobody had questioned her orders. Wrex was especially infatuated with his rescuers, and he expressed his affection with blended gifts of heavy weapons and heavy drinking. The touch of intoxicating love in the air had only been enhanced by the looming proximity and subsequent arrival of Valentine’s Day.

You haven’t heard poetry until you’ve heard a krogan merc reciting a hand-written sonnet to the Alliance Marine who just pulled his ass out of the fire.

Shepard’s ears were ringing - she was in a stupor. Wrex shook her again.

“Shepard! Stop gaping like a baby salarian and let go of the wheel! Is this what you call a rescue?”

Oh yeah. She was supposed to be rescuing him, not the other way around. Things had not gone according to plan. How had things gotten so backwards? Somewhere between the thresher maw’s mouth and the ground, presumably.

The thresher maws just kept coming. There were dozens. Every five feet, they seemed to spring from the ground like man-eating dandelions, and there was no weeding them. Shepard’s Marines had been forced to attack in shifts, pulling out a few more half-eaten krogan survivors with each crazy, desperate trip into the central compound. Taking turns to dart back to the few safe inches of perimeter, they ran like hell, slept in bursts, and drank themselves numb in between.

Now on day three of the assault, Shepard had been leading the very last wave. Then - whoops - everything had gone straight to shit when Wrex had run back into his fortress, drunkenly screaming that he’d forgotten his piece-of-shit family armor. She should have cut him off after that fifth mug of ryncol. But then again, how do you tell a thousand-year-old battlemaster that he was too deep in his cups? She could use a stiff drink herself right about now. Her whole body roiled with pain.

It felt... sort of… purple. A royal hue.

Wrex, for his part, was through with gentility. He reached into the cabin and slapped Shepard right across her stupefied face.

“SHEPARD! Wake up! It’s time to get your pretty ass in gear! I don’t remember giving my future queen permission to die!”

During one of those scanty breaks between raids, Shepard may have accidentally gotten blinding drunk on ryncol and promised to bear a krogan battlemaster twenty fruitful daughters. Or something.

The thought of being heavily pregnant with exterrestrial offspring was what finally brought her back to her senses. Her head snapped up and she looked outside. Oh god.

Half a dozen thresher maws were writhing in the distance beneath the unending hellfire of turrets, rockets, and mortar squads camped along the western perimeter. Tanks were scattered across the crater floor like discarded toys, most of them reduced to little more than smouldering clumps by concentrated bursts of acid.

Wow, it was loud out there. If she sat on her ass a moment longer, she would surely, surely die.

Undoing her harness as fast as she could, she checked for broken body parts - there were several, but none that mattered - and then she grabbed two fistfulls of rippling krogan neck and let Wrex yank her out of the tank like a bad tooth. Perfectly at ease amidst an exploding hellscape, with the sun setting behind him in a blinding flash of orange, Urdnot Wrex pulled Shepard from the still-steaming wreckage of an Alliance M35 and held her against his chest in a bridal carry. He was seven and half feet tall. Covered in mountainous scarlet plating and scarred even on his good side. Two hundred and fifty raging kilos of pure berserker muscle. Urdnot Wrex: a thousand years old and still not ready to die.

The two of them together made for one hell of a spectacle.

That is, until Shepard beat him firmly on the hump and forced him to set her down.

Every instinct in her body told her to run for the perimeter, but she knew her best chance of survival was to stay perfectly still until she could get her ass back into a functioning Mako. Walk without rhythm and you won't attract the worm... that had been the motto of the week.

She radioed her lieutenant.

“Alenko! Report!”

The voice on the other end was breathless but ready for anything.

“Commander! Glad to hear your voice. Perimeter squads are holding, but the tanks are getting ripped apart. Saw yours go up - said a prayer.”

She skipped the reunion. Time for that later, over a mug of tasteless swill.

“Do you have the Cerberus intel?”

“Negative. Ferro’s squad went dark right outside Urdnot HQ. They barely made it out the door.”

Goddammit. Ferro, Drake, Spunkmeyer. Just like that: eight, nine, and ten.

Without the data that Engineer Ferro had mined from the Cerberus satellites, she had nothing solid to bring back to the Admiral. Just a fistful of thresher maws and a ten dead Marines.

“I’m still standing. I’ve got Wrex. We’ll get that fucking data. Wait for my signal, then pull everyone back.”

“Roger that, Commander.” She heard him calling to the troops before the comm cut out. “Keep dancing, princesses! Move-move-MOVE!!”

There were shouts, a few well-timed explosions, and then a tsunami of furious gunfire rang out in stereo surround across the canyon floor as the Marines continued to lure the thresher maws away from the base.

“That’s more like it, Shepard. Let’s show Kandros how to choke on a quad.”

Despite Wrex’s blustering, he and Shepard were doomed unless one of those tanks made a rapid detour to pick up some extra passengers. There was no survivable way to do this on foot. She whipped up her omni-tool and did a quick roll-call. Who was about to pull the short straw?

Private Hudson was the closest. Halle-fuckin-lujah.

Private William Hudson, whose first words to her had been: “Hey Shepard, have you ever been mistaken for a turian?”

“I don’t know, Hudson. Have you ever been mistaken for a man?” had been her unenthusiastic reply.

She radioed him for pickup and then turned to Wrex.

“Private Hudson is on our nine and closing fast. Says the ultimate badass is about to take me for the ride of my life.”

“Ultimate badass? He must be talking about me.”

Wrex wrapped his arm around her waist and pumped the action on his shogun with a forceful, single-handed throw.

Hard to argue with that.

The Urdnot clan leader was magnificent. A rare krogan biotic leading a ragtag clan of social progressives, Wrex had been bunkered on Akuze for years. Said he'd been trying to trigger a krogan cultural renaissance - but Akuze was an obscure Terminus shithole of interest to few, and Wrex’s conclave of misfits had attracted little interest. Still, he had secured himself a cozy little headquarters, a towering scrap heap where an old warlord could sit pretty on his massive hoard of weapons, credits, and loyal mercenaries. When a seemingly endless hive of thresher maws had ripped his world to bits, he’d barely blinked an eye.

She let Wrex hold her while they waited for Hudson, but only because she felt marginally safer with a krogan battlemaster girding his arm around her in the middle of the apocalypse. Really. It wasn’t because she had a crush on him. That would have been ridiculous.

In comparison, Hudson was a measly posturing blowhard. Green and wobbly as a bowl of medbay gelatin. Exactly the type of touchy-feely, sludge-spewing, barrel-chested man-boy that Shepard’s pari had caught her sneaking out to drink with on more than one occasion.

She’d always had a soft spot for any loudmouth with a heart of gold. Even so, unlike the harmless farm boys back home, she wouldn’t have let Private Hudson anywhere near her own privates, not with a ten-foot pole.

Scratch that. Especially not with a ten-foot pole.

He was obsessed with two-hundred-year-old rock songs, not to mention naval shanties that stretched several centuries even further back into obscurity. While they’d been digging for Cerberus’ trail, he had found a way to broadcast his own private radio channel into the internal sound system of every Mako along the caravan. How many torturous rounds of “Sink the Bismarck” and “Farewell to Grog” had she endured?

By the end of that first week, the Private had led enough enthusiastic rum-fueled sing-alongs for the entire platoon to know every word of Hudson’s Choirbook by heart. To spare her own sanity she might have put a stop to his nonsense, but Hudson was to morale what a shot of tequila was to a margarita. Necessary.

Hudson’s tank skidded to a noisy stop behind them, spewing rocks and dust ten feet into the air. The hatch opened and a wall of sound spilled out.

Oh great. Meat Loaf for dinner. Again. I Would Do Anything for Love, Hudson’s choice anthem for hardcore romantics on this most auspicious holiday.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, lovebirds! Your horse-drawn carriage has arrived!”

Shepard and Wrex dove into the tank. Hudson was driving solo. His squad had been obliterated early in the day, when numbers four and five had been called to Heaven.

Shepard manned Gunner Ripley’s post at the turret, sliding her hips into the channel of the gunnery pillar, where Wrex’s massive hump was too big to fit. The krogan was forced to sit in the bitch seat and do his best impression of the small-boned Engineer Newton.

Shepard had to shout at the top of her lungs to be heard over the music.

“I need this party bus to make one more stop, Private. Get me back to Urdot HQ - we can't leave without Ferro’s Cerberus data!”

Hudson screamed right back at his usual volume: eleven.

“Maybe you haven’t been keeping up on current events, Commander, but we just got our asses kicked! I would do anything for love, but I won’t do tha-”

“Shut the hell up and drive me to Ferro’s tank, Hudson.”

To his credit, the Private shuffled his armor around his shoulders, smacked himself on the helmet for resolve, and then screamed:

“Aye-aye Ma’am! Next stop: the real pretty shit! Anything for love!”

The bulk of the threshers were busy trying to eat everyone on the western edge of the crater, but there was always the risk of a new one popping out from beneath with no warning.

It was the rumbling that gave it away. You could always feel the tremor first, as if the earth were sucking in a starving breath.

Speak of the devil. There it was now.

Hudson had felt it too.

“Ahhhhhhh shitttttt thar she blows...”

After watching his squad dissolve in a rain of acid, Hudson knew the risks better than anyone. Without delay or finesse, he slammed down the accelerator and raced to the mercenary compound, redlining at whatever level was beyond top speed. The Mako’s wheels jumped and skittered over the terrain, barely making contact with the crater floor.

Shepard’s teeth rattled in her skull to the beat of sex and drums and rock and roll, and she was instantly aware of all the injuries she’d sustained in that fall. The pain was enough to make her puke.

She clung to the handles of the turret’s periscope and held back a scream. Instead of passing out, she sang at the top of her lungs - it was the only distraction insane enough to keep her on her feet.

“As long as the wheels are turning…”

They were within spitting distance of the compound. Hudson joined his voice with hers at a blistering pitch.

“As long as the fires are burning!”

Hudson pumped the boosters and skipped them like a rock over a lake, pushing the Mako well beyond the advisable heat tolerance, roaring forward as fast as the tank’s six exhausted wheels could carry them.

They sang on, “As long as your prayers are coming true!”

Private Hudson clutched the wheel, shrieked like a little girl, and then screamed:

“YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT!”

The thunderously sentimental chorus of the song burst out around them as the thresher maw surged from below, glancing against the port quarter. The impact popped the back of the tank like the tab on a beer can, and with a startled hiss of spinning wheels, the Mako flew forward and crashed into the flimsy wall of barricades surrounding the mercenary compound.

A hard landing, but not the worst she’d had today.

They had wiggle room around the base’s perimeter: a scant circle of solid ground that the thresher couldn’t slither beneath.

Safety was still a long way off. ‘Spitting distance’ was a measurable quantity out here, not just a catchy turn of phrase. One hundred meters. Two hundred, if you wanted to avoid getting acid splashed in your eyes by accident.

Ferro’s tank was an arm’s length away, upturned and smoking. On foot, totally unprotected with a thresher maw hovering nearby, that distance might as well have been interstellar.

Without waiting to be asked, Hudson kicked open the port hatch.

“ANYTHING FOR LOVE!”

Then he ran for it. He had a handful of seconds to get there and back. Ten, if an optimist was counting.

01 - 02 - 03

(Frost - Dietrich - Crowe)

Limbs flailing wildly, screaming the entire time, Hudson made it to the other Mako and ripped open the door in three seconds flat - a world record if she’d ever seen one.

04 - 05 - 06 - 07

(Ripley - Newton - Wilhelm - Apone)

He spent four seconds rummaging in the tank. The thresher maw had seen the Marine’s crazy, pinwheeling approach, and now it turned its head in ravenous anticipation.

08 - 09 - 10

(Drake - Spunkmeyer - Ferro)

Hudson’s hand emerged, data pad hoisted triumphantly. One second later, his head followed. The Valentine’s hearts he’d painted all over his helmet flashed like perfect, pink targets. The thresher roared and lined up a flesh-eating loogie.

“Hudson!”

Shepard threw herself out of the hatch to rescue him before Wrex could do so much as close a contrary hand around her heels.

Hudson was halfway out of Ferro’s tank, scrabbling for purchase along the chassis. The thresher was a lousy shot, and the main acid projectile missed by several feet. Even so, the splashback was deadly enough on its own.

Shepard got lucky. A footlong gash of acid slapped across her thigh guard. As she ran, she popped the seals and tore off the plating before the acid could reach skin. Hudson had been knocked to the ground, and he wasn’t fast enough.

There was a six-inch hole bubbling through his abdominal guard, sizzling and steaming through layers of ceramic and underplating, and then...

The only advantage of a thresher acid burn was that it cauterized as it went, so you never saw much blood.

She locked her arms under Hudson’s sweating, hairy pits and dragged him kicking and screaming back to his tank. She threw him to the floor behind the gunnery perch in a wailing pile of his own guts and pus, and then turned to Wrex.

“DRIVE!” she screamed.

Wrex, despite his age, experience, and superiority to Shepard in every conceivable sense, obeyed like a docile spouse. He clambered across to the driver’s side, slid the seat all the way back with a crunch of gears, and then the Mako slammed into full reverse.

The wheels smoked beneath them as Shepard ripped the medkit from the wall and dosed Hudson with every last ounce of medi-gel she had left.

“What were you thinking?” Wrex shouted over his shoulder. “That whelp wasn’t even worth the drag!”

Hudson wasn’t dead yet, and he wanted everybody to know it. Between his endless pealing screams, he managed to spit out, “What the hell, man? I’m right here!”

Then, in defiance of all sense or reason, Hudson abruptly stopped screaming and started to read.

Until seeing it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed him capable. Ferro’s datapad bounced crazily in front of his face, and his eyes were as round and cartoonish as the hearts on his helmet.

“Game over, man!”

“What?”

He pushed the datapad into her hands, and she saw. A Cerberus breeding facility built into a solid pillar of bedrock right beneath Wrex’s outpost. There was the mad scientist superweapon in all of its apeshit maniacal glory. It had been directly underneath them the entire time.

She scanned Ferro’s report, glanced at the schematics. The ring around the rosie was vulnerable - little more than sediment and worm holes - the thresher maws had been churning the dirt for days. The whole thing was ready to cave.

She let the Mako rattle around her head for a few seconds, and then made up her mind.

“Wrex, how about a little vengeance? Can’t guarantee your hoard will survive, but I can promise you one hell of an avalanche.”

The krogan looked at her, narrowed his eyes, and then barked out a giant, rocky laugh, like a boulder smashing down a mountainside.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you. Let’s blow this place wide open.”

“Alenko!”

“Ready!” The Lieutenant was on a hair-trigger.

“Pull everyone out. Prep every weapon we’ve got for one final, unified blow. I’m sending coordinates. Once I’m clear, hit them all at once, right where it hurts.”

“Roger that, Commander. We’ll bang on the drum all day.”

The Mako stumbled over a pocket of soft earth, and Shepard’s head hit the gunnery pillar with a hollow clap. An unfathomable shade of yellow sparkled in the back of her retinas.

Wrex was a lot of spectacular things, but a good driver was not one of them. Being three sheets to the wind was hardly improving matters. As he tried to shift without easing down the clutch, the Mako groaned and creaked, then let out a tortured squeal.

Despite his injuries, Hudson reached for the wheel and cried, “Ease up, man! You’re killing my baby!”

Shepard’s Marines were a lot closer to the perimeter line than she was, and unlike Wrex, they were professional drivers. As each tank pulled back over the edge with a ballerina’s twirl, the threshers refocused their ire on the remaining targets. Soon, Hudson’s tank was the only moving thing in the field. A ripe fruit dangling on the vine.

Their best chance was to make a suicide run for the nearest edge of the crater - the unguarded eastern periphery. Wrex was too busy focusing on the tantalizing firepower to the west - he was going in exactly the wrong direction.

One by one, the threshers vanished beneath the shifting sands. They were going to come up from underneath. God only knows how many at once.

They were never going to make it. Not with Wrex behind the wheel. With half a dozen thresher maws closing on their location, there was not a single second left to get the krogan out of her way.

She screamed “STAY ALIVE” in Hudson’s face, and then she flew over the transmission box and landed directly between Wrex’s enormous thighs, stealing the wheel right out of his hands.

In a flash of lunacy, Shepard reflected that this would be a difficult Valentine’s day to beat: sitting on a krogan’s lap to take a trip through the thresher maw tunnel of love.

The threshers raged up from all sides, one massive hoard surging in every direction at once. Hudson’s unasked-for soundtrack made a roaring comeback in much the same way: with no warning and a torrential howl of noise. Sound so loud that it filled her pores and forced the fear right out of her.

She couldn’t risk a look into the rear cabin, but she could hear the mass accelerator cannon firing, could feel it shuddering the wheel beneath her hands. Somehow, with his guts spilling out behind him in a sizzling pile, Hudson must have hauled himself up into the turret, and he’d queued up a tune to whistle while he worked.

Just as she had trained her Marines to waltz with their Makos like glittering princesses, so Shepard did now. The only way to successfully steer an M35 was not to drive - but to dance.

With that overpowered eezo core glowing under her hood, the tiniest flinch could send a Mako bucking like a wild bronco. Not much mass and plenty of juice meant the controls felt fidgety on a good day. Only with a lover’s patient hands massaging those thrusters, all care and tact and precision, could you truly see the vehicle’s combat potential. If you treated her like a lady, a Mako could float like butterfly and sting like a bee.

She tried to keep all of that in mind while the thresher maws heaved before her, a frenzy of tentacles so vast that their sheer bulk blocked out the sky.

The cannon overheated, and Hudson switched to the coaxial machine gun without pausing for breath. He tore Shepard an exit route through sheer grit and determination - stubborn, ceaseless, and screaming all the while.

Right before her very eyes, Hudson’s machine-gun buzzsaw hacked down the thresher directly ahead, felling an undulating thirty-meter slab of living flesh like it was a dried out tree. Shepard pumped the thrusters and rode over the steaming corpse. The resulting thump-thump-thump of metal-meets-flesh was startlingly rough - her ass bounced against Wrex’s lap in a way that the krogan was enjoying far too much for comfort.

No time to be a prude. She could see the solid ridge of the canyon just ahead.

One hundred meters.

The mako smoked with exertion as the damage readout flashed cherry red.

Fifty meters.

Burning fumes filled the cabin, a choking black steam of hot metal, torn belts, and eezo.

Twenty five meters.

POP-POP-POP

The thrusters barely had enough hydrogen to burn, and the Mako hopscotched drunkenly to the edge, barely catching her front wheels over the lip of the canyon.

“C’mon, beautiful! So… close!” Shepard grunted, slamming down the throttle and milking the dwindling fuel reserves for every last drop.

A rocky voice groaned directly in her ear: “You’re telling me,” and then Wrex thumped his fist against the dashboard with such a whomp of muscle that the Mako gave one final, sputtering hurrah.

Her engines flared to life and then immediately died, but it was exactly enough. The tank tipped to safety with an anti-climactic mewling sound, like a baby kitten landing in a basket.

Alenko must have had them locked in his sights. The moment Shepard’s Mako was resting on solid ground, she heard him screaming over the comms:

“Marines! The Commander is clear! FIRE EVERYTHING YOU’VE GOT!”

Shepard spun in place and craned her neck to look out the port hatch. The fireworks display was spectacular.

It started at the western edge of the canyon, where the Marines' concentrated firepower was dense enough to crush half a planet. The soft, sandy earth sucked itself down and away, transforming into a churning abyss, a grinding whirlpool of rock and stone. The thresher maws, despite their titanic size and strength, were sucked into the tumult like twigs. Howling and thrashing, they spit artful fountains of acid half a mile in the air, until in a single startling flume of earth, they vanished to the last.

A mile-wide crater of earth flushed itself down to hell like the universe’s filthiest port-o-john, and then everything went dead silent.

Standing in the center of the bottomless pit was Clan Urdnot’s base, gleaming like a solid-gold trophy in the sunset. Not only had her Marines just saved centuries of the krogan’s collected loot, she had just turned Wrex’s podunk mercenary outpost into an impenetrable fortress.

Behind her, Wrex let out a gasp that could only be described as sated.

His gratitude was obvious. She could feel it jabbing into the small of her back, and her eyes went wide. Equally difficult not to hear the groan of unmistakable full-throated arousal that he unleashed right in her ear.

“Hey Shepard, was it good for you?”

She allowed herself a single, disbelieving laugh before careening back to reality.

All the pain rushed back at once, an instantaneous gutpunch of broken bones and acid burns. Ripping Wrex’s hands away, she turned abruptly from the krogan’s lap and flopped in battered agony towards the rear cabin. If she’d had the luxury of succumbing to her wounds, she might have blacked out.

Instead, she yelled an incomprehensible mish-mash of turian curses and scrambled over the transmission, dragging herself back towards the aft gunnery perch, where she saw Private Hudson slumped within the pillar, twitching and quiet.

When she approached and gently pulled him off the turret, he reached for her and flapped his lips noiselessly. She eased him down into her lap and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders to see him off.

Despite her noblest intentions, she couldn’t stop herself from giving him an angry shake.

“Goddammit Private! I ordered you to stay alive!”

The phrase ‘I would do anything for love’ - mouthed in silence by a dying asshole - was the loudest sound she’d ever heard. Private Hudson, perpetual eleven. She let him put his hand in her hair and drag her down to hear the rest.

“…but I won’t do that.”

#I may have gotten a little carried away #no real Red Streak spoilers #except that Wrex is the ultimate badass #but you knew that already #red streak #urdnot wrex #mass effect #Fred writes

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motherpsyduck · 8 years

Text

House Guest

Chapter 3: Making Connections

Franklin slowly pulls into to a rough looking neighbourhood. It didn’t even cross your mind that LS could be like this. Clusters of people wearing similar colours hung on street corners in different areas and none of them seemed to bat an eyelid when distant gunshots could be heard. You were beginning to regret your impulsiveness. You didn’t just feel afraid but you also felt sorry for the striking dissimilarity Southern Los Santos is compared to where the De Santa’s live.

“A’ight. Lamar said he’s around here.” Franklin says whilst finding a place to park. The stores, houses, and apartments you pass are all rundown and in poor condition. Eyes of the men and women dressed in green that huddled under street lights, followed you as Franklin parked the car. Franklin reached over your lap and opened the glove compartment of the car and grabbed a pistol and a mag. The gun made a click sound when he loaded it. You weren’t aware he was handing it to you to use. You assumed it was him until he was more obvious. “Take it.”

“Are you serious? I’ve never held a gun before!” You’re shaking under your seatbelt.

“You wanted to come here.” Franklin opened your hand and placed the gun on it. You just stare at it. “T man, show her how to use a fucking gun. Imma go find Lamar.” Franklin exits his car and begins to walk away. He pulls his phone out and dialled a number then holds it to his ear. Trevor knocks the passenger window making you jump and fumble the gun in your hand. Once it’s secure in your grasp you remove your seatbelt and leave the car. Trevor watches you hold the gun in a strange, uncomfortable way. He frowns at you.

“The safety is on, you’re fine.” Trevor reassures you. You make a sigh of relief. “Look, the only way you’re going to be comfortable with doing something is actually doing it, right?” You look up at Trevor and nod. Trevor looks around the neighbourhood and struts over to what it is he was looking for. He slaps a metal lid off of a trashcan and it clangs on the sidewalk. He bends over and digs through the trash, you and some people dressed in baggy green t-shirts watch him in puzzlement before he emerges with empty beer cans and empty glass bottles. Trevor carries them in his arms almost dropping a few and starts lining some on a tall wall connecting to a garage. The garage wall had some gang graffiti sign spray painted on it.

“It’s cheaper than a shooting range.” Trevor laughed while he approached you. He shows you the safety switch and switches it off whilst the gun is pointed at the floor. “Now, look at what you want to shoot and bring the gun up to aim.” You straighten your arms in front of your chest and aim at the biggest bottle about thirty feet away from you. You feel Trevor’s presence lurking behind you. He’s looking over your shoulder. You can feel his hot breath in your ear as he speaks calmly almost whispering. “Now, watch out for the recoil and prepare for the noise. Then when you’re ready, pull the trigger. Easy peasy.” Trevor takes a step back behind you to avoid bumping into you from the recoil.

You line up the bottle in your sight and stare at it for a few seconds before pulling the trigger with your two index fingers. The power from the pistol makes you stumble backward into Trevor’s hard chest. You didn’t even see where the bullet went.

“Did I hit anything?” You ask steadying yourself with Trevor’s help. You’re ears ring slightly and you watch gang members snigger at your attempt. They don’t feel threatened by your shooting abilities.

“You hit the wall below the bottles.” Trevor chuckles shortly before noticing the gang members pointing and laughing. You don’t care and try to ignore them but Trevor despises people laughing at him, always has done. He’s not going to let them laugh at you. He gives them an aggressive stance and starts to approach them. “HEY THE FUCK YOU LAUGHING AT? HUH?” The gang members quiet down when they see the look in Trevor’s eye.

“Trevor! Don’t please!” You pull on his arm back towards you. He gives in and keeps an eye on the small gang. Trevor keeps watch beside you as you ready your aim again and take a few more shots.

You become accustom to the strength of the recoil and then on the sixth or seventh shot, the bullet hits the green bottle and it shatters. You’re overjoyed at your accomplishment and begin to punch the air and doing so accidentally fire the gun in the air above you. It startled you as well as Trevor and the gang members watching on. Trevor pulls your arm down and clicks the safety back on with some force.

“Sorry” You mouthed with your jaw clenched. Trevor inhaled and forgave you by taking the pistol out of your hands. You swear you could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins from your surge of energy.

“Well done lil’ missy. You just shot and killed your first target. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO NEXT?” Trevor said that last bit like a cheesy TV show host would. He saw that it made you smile.

Franklin approached from behind the two of you and you turned around to greet him. The unfamiliar person he was walking with must’ve been Lamar. He was slimmer and taller than Franklin, walking a black and brown Rottweiler on a chain leash. When the dog got close enough he began to sniff your legs.

“Frank who dis?” Lamar was referring to you and pointed with the leash in his hand. After petting Lamar’s dog on the head you speak up.

“I’m Y/N, and you’re Lamar I take it?” You answer for Franklin. Lamar looks you up and down.

“I ain’t seen you in the hood-“

“That’s cos she ain’t from the hood homie. She livin’ at Michael’s house.” Franklin interrupts.

“Rich Michael? Shit, you a long way from home” Lamar stares at you but his focus is quickly disrupted by Trevor.

“Hey, let’s go do something about the thing, okay?”

“We doin’ this man, no drama. Just in and out.” Franklin is serious and also slightly uneasy but tries not to show it.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Trevor remarked.

“What exactly is the thing we’re doing?” You ask.

“We? You’re goin? You sure you can handle yoself?” Franklin doesn’t have much faith in you.

“I’ll be careful.” You say sternly, you wanted to be useful.

“Na man, this could work in our favour dog.” Lamar rubs his chin as his brain sprouts a plan.

“How the fuck we gon’ get it to work in our favour?” Franklin mimics Lamar.

“Ballas never seen her before man. She could be our motherfucking spy.” Lamar’s idea might just work. Franklin and Trevor look at each other unsure of this plan.

“What do you want me to do?” You ask confidently.

“Watch and listen for Ballas, those the cats in purple. Listen out where them fools is getting their shit.” Lamar hands you the dog leash. “Walk Chop over on their turf man, look all inconspicuous n’shit.” You notice Lamar talks a lot with his arms and hands, similar to how some rappers are portrayed.

“Hold up, she gon’ need more than a fucking dog as back up man. This gurl only jus’ learned to shoot a gun bro.”

“Fo’ real?” Lamar looks you in the eye and you nod in shame.

“I’ll fucking go with her. I doubt any of those Ballas will remember my face.” Trevor suggests.

“Yo’ face ain’t exactly forgettable homie.” Lamar confesses. Trevor points at Lamar with his index finger and was about to fire off at him but stopped himself.

“It’s all we got fool.” Franklin sides with Trevor.

“A’ight man shit. They over on Covenant Avenue. Try not to get clapped man.” Lamar points you both in the direction of the area of South LS where the street gang The Ballas tend to congregate.

“Fucking beautiful, let’s party. Come on.” Trevor waves his arm for you to follow him and you scurry to catch up with him. Chop jogs alongside you. Trevor hands you your gun back and tells you to tuck it into your jeans at the back and pull your shirt over to hide it.

“Do you know where you’re going?” You ask Trevor but he avoids the question.

“Just keep a look out for a purple gangbang.” Trevor is scouring the streets for any sign of the Ballas. You understand Trevor meant a gangbang as a bunch of gang members but you couldn’t help but smirk at that statement. You’re both walking for near enough twenty minutes before you start to complain.

“This is hopeless.” You confess.

“Negativity will you get you nowhere Y/N.” Trevor continues still watching the streets as he spoke. He clocks some gang members wearing purple and struts over to them. You try your best to keep up with Trevor’s pace but you looked too suspicious. He was moving too quickly because of his long legs and way too hostile.

“Trevor!” You whisper shout and push on his shoulder in front of him to slow him down. “We’re here for information. That’s it. You look like you’re about to rip someone’s head off. Relax your shoulders a bit. We’re only walking our dog remember?” Trevor raises his eyebrows whilst looking down at you. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you.

“Our dog?” Trevor stares at you. You’re unaware of Trevor’s creepy tone.

“Yeah... a dog that we’re both pretending to own and are therefore taking him for a pretend walk...”

“Role play. I can do that.” Trevor growls. You finally understand where he was going with this and roll your eyes. You turn your back on him and walk in front with Chop. Trevor admires the way your hips sway and tilts his head to the side slightly. It doesn’t take him long to catch up. You acknowledge him next to you and signal with your eyes that you’re approaching the Ballas.

The Ballas wore similar baggy attire to the gang members who watched you learn to handle a gun. The only difference is the unifying purple colours and not green. They’re sitting on a wall outside a rundown apartment complex across the road from the two of you. They seem to be waiting for someone. You and Trevor stop next to a street light and try to look unnoticeable. Ten minutes or so roll by and Trevor nudges you when another handful of men and women wearing purple approach the ones on the wall.

The now seven or so members of the Ballas street gang cautiously walked into the apartment complex. As soon as they were out of sight, Trevor quietly made his way in the same direction with his gun drawn and you followed. You slid your gun out of the back of your jeans just in case, and you, Trevor and Chop sneaked up the metal outdoor stairs slowly, only emerging from around the last corner when Trevor saw the last of the Ballas were all inside one room. The door closes and you remain behind Trevor as he crouched next to the wall by the door the Ballas disappeared into. He pressed his ear to the wall. You did the same.

“You got the shit?” The Ballas’ voices were muffled but clear enough to make out what they were saying to one another through the paper thin walls.

“Present and accounted for.” There was a pause. You assumed they were counting the money or drugs or probably both.

“My compliments to the chef.” The buyers all snickered. You frowned at their lame joke.

“We done here?”

“Yeah man.” You hear the Ballas advance to the door and you and Trevor stumble as you rush to get up. You pull Chop away and get a safe distance away from the door. The two of you settle on a corner above the stairs and slide your guns on the floor behind you. The Ballas are about to recognise your faces and neither you or Trevor can come up with a plan. Time is running out as they emerge from the apartment so you decide to think on your feet.

“Quick Trevor, pretend to be kissing my neck” Trevor gives you a look as he’s unsure if you’re serious. You wave your hands toward yourself for confirmation whilst also looking over to the opening door to judge how much time you have left before they realise you’ve followed them up here.

“Well, that would be my pleasure.” Trevor says calmly then you’re suddenly pushed up into the corner. Trevor slides his large hands around your waist and around the back of you and his head cranes down to bite your neck to make it look convincing. You exhale sharply. The Ballas glance at you as they walk with their duffle bag, and nudge the rest of the members to look. You scratch at the back of Trevor’s head and fake a moan. They smile and just walk passed you and Trevor and down the stairs. Your chin is resting on Trevor’s shoulder trying to catch their conversation as a tongue and lips lick and kiss the bottom of your neck.

“Tell them Lost fools we on our way back with the paper.” One of the Ballas says to another one. The one walking beside him pulls out his phone and calls a number. Once the call is connected he speaks.

“’Ey man we got the paper. We’ll meet you in East Vinewood-” They disappear around the corner and out of the apartment complex to the street. You push Trevor off of you and rub your neck. Trevor stumbles backward with wide eyes.

“Not so rough next time Trev.” Your hand feels around for the bite mark on your neck.

“I was just role playing sweetheart.” You watch him adjust his sweatpants again.

“Really?” You’re breathless(probably from the danger). “Tell me what they said as they went down the stairs.” You order, knowing Trevor was too preoccupied to hear a word they said. You pick up the guns from the floor behind you and pass one to Trevor with your brow raised.

“Mmmh you were just too darn loud sugar, I couldn’t hear anything else.” Trevor growled as he moistened his lips. You swallow and wet your throat.

“They’re meeting ‘lost fools’” You say the words lost fools with air quotes and a shrug as you’re not aware what it means. You begin to descend the staircase with Chop and continue down the stairs as you speak back to Trevor “and by the way, I was role playing too.” You hear Trevor laugh softly. He swung his head backward in the air as a sign of sexual frustration and then back down before jumping two steps at a time down the stairs.

As you walk Chop out of the entrance to the complex and onto the sidewalk, Trevor isn’t far behind you and pulls his phone out to call Franklin and Lamar. Trevor describes the surroundings and you hear Franklin on the other line saying they’ll be right over. It’s an awkward couple of minutes of you trying not to make eye contact with Trevor so you just end up stroking Chop a few times until you recognise Franklin’s car. He comes to a hard stop and you and Trevor climb in with Chop. Franklin takes off quickly before any Ballas notice you were there.

“So where them Ballas getting their product from?” Lamar starts.

“I heard them say they were meeting ‘lost fools’ to give them the money.” You reply.

“‘lost fools’?...” Lamar is unsure as you are.

“You think these are the same Lost you were beefin’ with T? I’ve seen bikers hanging in East Vinewood.” Franklin looks briefly in the rear view mirror then back on the road. Trevor is about to reply before you cut him off.

“It must be! I heard them say they were meeting to exchange the money in East Vinewood.”

“Well daym gurl. You ain’t as useless as Frank was making you out to be! Good lookin’ out!” Lamar turns and fist bumps you. You smile and reciprocate the gesture then look over to Trevor. He has one of his eyebrows raised at you.

“Yeah, she a regular gangbanger now, shit.” Franklin remarks sarcastically and shakes his head. You catch his eye in the rear view mirror. He notices a dark mark on your neck as you turned your head to look at Trevor. “’Ey, did those Ballas hit you or something? You got a nasty bruise on yo neck.” You grab the side of your neck out of impulse and try to brush it off.

“OH this? No- I- uh-slipped on something.” The excuse wasn’t at all convincing.

“What and you landed on yo neck?” Lamar asks looking at Trevor. Trevor shrugs.

“Yeah.” You say looking out the car window. Lamar loses interest and turns back to face the windscreen. Your cheeks burn and you feel the back of someone’s cool hand on one side of your face.

“Frank, turn your heat off. Y/N’s burning up over here.” Trevor says slyly as he removes his hand. You shoot him an evil stare and he just smirks at you. Trevor’s figured out how to wind you up.

“The fuck? I don’t have any heat on T.” Franklin turns to Lamar. “We straight L? We helped you with that thang dog.”

“Oh so the recently rich motherfucker won’t help his homies clap some other homies tryin’ to run up on their business? You’ve changed bro.”

“Yeah I fucking changed. I ain’t in the hood no more. If you want my help clappin’ those fools some other time hit me up. As for now dog I’m tired. I ain’t in the mood for this shit, I’m goin’ home man.”

“Back to yo big ol empty fuckin’ house in Rockford Hills? Have fun. Man just drop me off here, I’m done with yo shit.” Franklin pulls onto the side of the road and Lamar speaks as he’s getting out.

“I’m a motherfucking gangster, you know how I do. I can take care of my sizelf.” Lamar slams the car door and flips the bird at Franklin as he walks away. Franklin presses a button to bring his driver side window down and stretches his head out to call after him.

“No the fuck you cizain’t.” You and Trevor wait to see if Franklin will kick you two out of the car as well but instead pats a seat cushion and Chop scrambles onto the passenger seat. Franklin shuffles himself to turn and address the back of the car. “Where you fools goin’?”

“Drop us off at my strip club Frank. I’ll take Y/N back to Michael’s.” Trevor replies. Franklin looks at you and then at Trevor. Trevor grows inpatient as Franklin waits for your verification. “Unless you want to go back to Michael’s and deal with that shit again?”

“A’ight man, I’ll drop you off in Strawberry.” Franklin pulls out again. It isn’t too long until Franklin turns into the parking lot of a building that has a pink glow about it and you notice a tall rusting sign that is in need of a clean. It reads “Vanilla Unicorn Gentlemans Club”.

“A’ight man, here we are.” Franklin says as the car comes to a halt but with the motor still running. You guess he’s not sticking around.

“Thanks F. C’mon you.” Trevor get’s out and pulls you by the wrist with him. You give Franklin a smile as you shuffle over the back seat and he raises his hand as a wave goodbye. Trevor lets go of you and you close the door. Franklin revs the racing engine of his car. You watch his buffalo speed down the road until he’s out of sight. - [<-CH2] [CH4->] [<-CH1]

#gtav #fanfiction #mine #motherpsyduck #gta v #grand theft auto #grand theft auto v #trevor philips #franklin clinton #lamar davis #trevor philips/reader #reader pov #franklin clinton/reader #lamar davis/reader #los santos #house guest #chapter 3 #ch:3 #making connections

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