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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years ago

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Correspondence, Chapter 04

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Action-y in that there is offscreen violence and peril, injuries, talk of surgery and symptoms/effects of medical grade narcotics (morphine), more on that big ol’ age difference. Side notes: Agent Anderson of the L.A. field office has no relation to Agent Anderson of Quantico, VA, because Agent Anderson of the BAU is a national treasure. (I’m considering going back and renaming the OC, but as of right now this is the last we hear of him for a while). And I know no one really pays attention to them, but the time stamps on the texts match the time zone of the scene setting. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 8893

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 04

Late September 2010

Spencer Reid wakes up to the early grey morning two weeks later, a perpetual haze shrouding his room long before his alarm was supposed to rouse him. He reaches blindly, blearing eyed and checks his phone for what feels like the hundredth time, only to find no messages waiting for him. A terrible, horrid feeling has been clawing at his chest and throat the longer it gets -- the more time that passes -- and he still hasn’t heard from Hotch.

They’ve been messaging each other near constantly for months now, and it only seemed to get more intense after that fateful talk at the beginning of September. Where Hotch finally revealed he’d thought Spencer was much older than him, and not the other way around. Spencer had set him straight, as much as he could, and even that had been nerve-wracking to say the least. The two men were crossing into a territory neither really wanted to put a label on, and Spencer was both afraid of it and excited by it. Of what it could mean, and how long it could last, but he’d thought he’d had time to figure out a solution to his inadvertent secrecy.

Then, Hotch began working a case in Delaware two days ago.

It seemed like a textbook unsub; maybe a little aggressive with anti-establishment overtones, but nothing they couldn’t handle. Nothing the BAU hasn’t seen before. They’d been closing in on the suspect, no location yet but some prospects that needed checking out, and the last Spencer had heard from Hotch…

It had been lunchtime for him, and midafternoon for the older man. The exchange hadn’t been anything of consequence, just their usual, easy correspondence. Hotch was going to check out that lead they’d spoken of, Spencer had a budget meeting as soon as he was done eating in the middle of his office hours, and they had a plan to play chess online that night. Hotch is still terrible at it, but he keeps coming back no matter how thoroughly Spencer wipes the floor with him. Now, sometimes they just forget about the game entirely after the first few minutes. It makes him smile each and every time, soft and fond and lighting a warmth inside him Spencer has… never felt before.

Then Hotch hadn’t messaged him the rest of the night.

Hadn’t shown up online to play chess.

Hadn’t texted him goodnight, or even sent him an update on the case.

Nothing in their conversations warranted such ostracization, and although Spencer has been ‘ghosted’ before (as his doctoral students would say) he knows Hotch would never do that. Not after everything, the history they’ve built the past months -- leaving nothing but the dread to sink in and spread like a stain.

All night, he imagines the worst.

By morning, he all but expects it.

[]9/22, 18:59[] Are you alright? Did something happen with the case?

[]9/22, 19:10[] If you were that scared of losing at chess, I can also beat you at online poker instead.

[]9/22, 19:30[] I’d suggest scrabble but that’s honestly not fair to you.

[]9/22, 21:55[] Hotch?

[]9/22, 22:30[] I’m assuming that lead panned out, and you caught your unsub and are neck deep in interrogation.

[]9/22, 22:36[] I don’t want to imagine anything else, so that’s what I will picture.

[]9/23, 00:06[] Hotch please answer me.

[]9/23, 05:32[] Please be okay.

Spencer arrives at Caltech looking a little more of a mess than usual. More than most are used to seeing him, at least, and it causes a few second glances from students he passes and other faculty -- but he really can’t find it in himself to care, this morning. His unruly curls, getting longer again, falling into his face and over his ears, are frizzy in their unkemptness. Bags under his eyes, normal, but he’s settled for glasses instead of his contacts. He has a spare pair in his desk, he’ll have to change them before class. His glasses somehow always make him look even younger. A mystery that boggles the mind, because once he had grown into his face a few years ago (around 26 or 27, close enough he had worried he would forever be cursed with a ‘baby face’) Spencer had thought he would finally be getting away from that.

And yet, square jaw and ‘grandpa’ glasses and thin frame towering just over six feet did nothing in the slightest to aid him. Certainly not stopping a man outside the campus coffee shop from shouting “Watch where you’re going, kid!” as he near barrels over him on the sidewalk. Not his sweater vest or half suits, attire straight out of a 1940’s noir film (he’d even sported a vintage inspired undercut with his waves combed over for a while there, too. Way too much upkeep, as nice as it looked). Nothing makes him any more grown up in the eyes of the unsuspecting world, than he’d been without his five doctorates and board of director’s seat. No matter what he tried, it seems.

This has been a subliminal thing for years, something Spencer always said didn’t bother him in the slightest. And for a long time he didn’t care one way or the other, he just kept getting more degrees. All his life Spencer has been ‘too young’, always been ‘kid’ or ‘sport’ or ‘tiger’, even when running quantum physics equations in his head. And it didn’t matter. Not with his credentials and accomplishments and everything he now has to his name.

Until Hotch.

Now, Spencer cares.

Notices, even through his haze of worry and sleeplessness, how on the street it’s “Watch it, kid!” and fifteen yards later it’s “Good morning, Dr. Reid” as he steps into the Physics building where everyone knows him on sight. Knows him, and what he’s capable of.

What if when Hotch met him all he saw was… another kid?

If they ever met.

“Whoa, rough night Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, you could say that,” he mumbles out as he signs in and scans his ID card, taking the stack of mail that the desk attendant hands him. But stops before he gets too far from the desk, backtracking. “Hey, have you watched the news this morning? Did anything show up about New England or Delaware?”

“Not that I saw, Dr. Reid,” she says in confusion, looking up from where she had been texting on her phone. “Just a whole lot of coverage on the shitshow at capital hill, as usual. Oh, and more depressing reports about the earthquake clean-up in New Zealand.”

Of course, why would there be a news story about a killer in Delaware here in California. He’d have to look up everything online himself.

“Thanks anyway, Carla.”

“No problem, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch and his team are working. He usually prefers paper copies of news media, at first barely knowing where to begin, but he falls into a wormhole of news outlets and local Delaware station websites, reading the thousands of webpages faster than he can scroll and click through them. But he can’t find anything pointing to a disturbance related to the case. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be a part of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking. Spencer gives up after an hour, and diverts to other resources. Ones with a direct line to Hotch.

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]8/21, 15:36[] You're going to get me in trouble.

[]8/21, 15:38[] You didn’t laugh in front of your team, did you? The scandal.

[]8/21, 15:42[] I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[]8/21, 15:43[] Then why are you checking your phone?

[]8/21, 15:45[] You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague.

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules, the unspoken ones that always kept this friendship easy and free-flowing and evolving into something more.

But this feels like the closest to an emergency they’ve ever encountered before.

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Listed in bullet points behind his eyes. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is. He still didn’t have a plan for that, wracking his overworked brain day and night for a way to incorporate the information into a conversation that wouldn’t stop everything in its tracks.

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath.

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes fail him as he realizes far too late that he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time, anyway. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by like water through his fingers and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, relief a flash flood on his nerves that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call.

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it.

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

Please let me know of his well-being.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s.

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, for now, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

His morning routine progresses as usual, as if nothing at all is wrong with the world. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well.

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling. The juxtaposition of his daily routine and this unfounded worry throws him entirely off kilter, and all of his students seem to know right away.

Then, his distraction reaches its peak when his email pings, right in the middle of his department announcements. A response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is in surgery, Hotch is hurt, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt.

She doesn’t know when he will be--

If he will be --

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a fraction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted.

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Teetering on the edge of panic. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

The reply is almost immediate.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room for any immediate actions.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. Utilizing anything and everything he can do to aid the BAU team, and whatever Hotch has gotten himself into. But then, his mind sticks on something from the email. Boy Wonder. It stalls his hands mid-movement.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch? Wouldn’t she send the files to him directly? Had Hotch really known, all along?

Or did she do it on her own, and not tell him? Assuming her boss already knew everything about him. It’s too many questions and possibilities and they are interfering with what’s most important right now. Best to get it out of the way, no time to be indirect about it.

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

Spencer hadn’t meant for it to be a secret at all, it just happened that way.

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, like he and Hotch had discussed the previous day, aiming for specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or labels as official.

It’s easy to see, now, why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders when the unsub still hesitated -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean.

Except, every victim’s hospital records show elevated potassium rates. Spencer’s hands, skimming down each and every page quick as they can, stop on a dime as his gaze zero in on the information.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “--Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?”

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “...Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.”

There’s more typing going on and Ms. Garcia’s breathing has gone a little labored.

“Alright, alright I’m getting patched through. What else can you tell me?”

“I think he’s been dosed with something called an XG Compound, either Eastman or Zhao I have to look up the specific components and chemist. But they are a series of banned, experimental military-grade drugs that suffer effects of thinning the blood, that’s why they can’t stop the bleeding around his stab wounds and old scar tissue.” Hotch’s old wounds from Foyet would only exacerbate the condition, once it reached the kidney failure stage, but up until then the intrusions of hardened tissue is the only reason his abdominal cavity hasn’t been flooded with blood and drowned out his other organs.

“Okay, okay I’m through, I’m keeping you on the line. Stand by-- ” then she clicks over and he’s left with a pulsating silence. Nothing remaining but continuing his work, and hoping he’d called in time. Hoping that Hotch will be alright.

Spencer is digging through his floor to ceiling bookshelves for the biology book on airborne pathogens given to him by a visiting Professor two years ago and he is hating himself for never cracking it in that moment. It’s nearly the last book he gets a hand on, because of course it is, and he makes it a third of the way through the book before Garcia is back on the line. The phone on the floor beside him and just barely within reach.

“You literal genius, I could kiss you,” Garcia tells him in what can only be overstated relief, and Spencer snatches up his phone with a very undignified scramble. “They’ve had to do two transfusions on him and are prepping a third, but you were right he’s been dosed with that XG compound.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Spencer asks, still cross-legged on his office floor surrounded by books and holding his phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“Yes, yes my dear he’s going to be alright. They think. He’s not out of the woods yet and the surgery is still going on, but he -- he would have died within the next hour if you hadn’t found out what was wrong.”

Spencer’s heart is in his throat, her words doing the exact opposite of reassuring him. Hotch had been that close to dying, to being forever out of reach, because Spencer had been too scared to pick up the phone.

“I should have called sooner,” he says, so quiet even someone in the room wouldn’t have heard him correctly. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Oh no, sugar don’t think like that. You just saved his life,” she pauses, like she wants to say something else, but diverts to an adjacent topic. “How did you know?”

“Autopsy reports. There wasn’t enough blood left in the bodies, they bled out too quickly. Then I saw the elevated Potassium,” he murmurs it all, rattled off without really thinking about it.

“And you just… knew all of that, without looking anything up?”

“That’s basically what I do. The only reason anyone calls me,” Spencer laughs but it holds no humor. “I know too much, make connections, and drink too much coffee.”

“You drink and know things, oh God I hope you get that reference because you’re getting a coffee mug.”

Spencer laughs a little, despite the situation, and feels… lighter, somehow, even with the worry still plaguing him. Caught up in his chest like a bad cold.

“I’m reading this textbook on airborne pathogens, I have a hunch, and I’ll send you anything I find that can help with the case,” Spencer continues, his voice not so heavy for a moment. “Just… tell me when he’s out of surgery? Keep me posted?”

“Of course, honey, you’ll be my first message,” Ms. Garcia assures him, but then she pauses again -- and he almost hangs up because it feels too anticipatory. “You should tell him, B.T.Dubs.”

Spencer hesitates more than is probably necessary.

“... I don’t know what good that will do,” he admits, quiet and unsure. “I’m not -- I’m not ready for this to be over.”

“You’re not that young, honey. Does he know you like him?”

“Mmhmm,” Spencer makes a nervous, affirmative sound. “And… he likes me, or who he thinks I am.”

“Don’t write him off just yet, Doc, let him speak for himself when he wakes up,” Ms. Garcia all but scolds him, in as gentle a way as possible and Spencer appreciates that, at least.

“--I’ll think about it.”

Not long after Spencer finds what he’s looking for: military grade poisons that were banned for causing adverse effects, listed and categorized by chemist and agency. It is the Eastman compound, originated during the first invasion of Afghanistan. Their unsub has prolonged exposure, Spencer is sure, and that will narrow down the suspect pool immensely.

After he sends the information to Ms. Garcia, Spencer looks to his phone once more, where there is a block of text all from him himself in his correspondence with Hotch. Begging him to be alright, to answer him, and now that he knows that the man has a fighting chance -- or as much of one as he will be able to have, with where advanced medicine resides in the current conjecture of time -- there really isn’t much he can do now. But hope. And wait. And pray.

Except Spencer doesn’t believe in prayer, or God, or anything that might hear him. The only thing he really believes in is science, and facts, and none of that is very helpful to him right now. Except maybe the coincidental balance of the universe, in a theoretical physics sense, and unexplained phenomenon that have an equal and spatial balance to it. Anything with the descriptor ‘unexplained’ always draws him in like a moth to flame, and he knows he can typically find a semblance of comfort in the way his brain constantly connects dots and far off specks of information that not everyone can see at first glance. Constellations in the sky. But only when he has someone to tell it to, that even pretends to listen for a moment, and for a long while now… Hotch has been that someone. Hotch always listens to him.

Before he knows it, he’s typing into the text box once more --

[]9/23, 11:10[] You’re in surgery still, but Ms. Garcia has confirmed the treatments are working and they are able to actually repair the damage instead of treading water like they have been the past ten hours. I’ve had her personally in contact with the doctors and surgical staff, and all they’ve been able to tell us is to let them work and just pray for you.

[]9/23, 11:13[] Which is such an odd thing; men of science telling people to pray like the outcome of a surgery isn’t in their hands, but some theoretical astronomical entity. I know it’s probably just a ‘bedside-manner’ tactic, but it doesn’t help me in the slightest so it just irks me instead.

[]9/23, 11:15[] I don’t believe in prayer -- a shock, I’m sure -- but I do believe in the phenomenon of universal affirmation. It’s an interesting trend in history and spans cultures where if someone has something awaiting them, to live for, even if they are unaware of it… they will fight harder to cling to life.

[]9/23, 11:18[] But I also know you will fight tooth and nail for Jack, and for your team that you treat like family, and maybe even me. I’d like to hope I’m included in that, and no amount of books or IQ points can make me think of something to contribute to help you keep fighting.

[]9/23, 11:19[] Just please keep fighting. Come back. And if I come up with something to entice you… I’ll let you know.

It eases a lot of the tension in his chest, talking to Hotch like this -- even if he’s just talking at him, in a place where he might never know what Spencer has had to say. But he can hope. Hope that Hotch will wake up and have thirty missed messages and see they are all from Spencer and it will make him smile.

Spencer would give anything to see him smile, and he allows himself to hope that one day... he might get to.

He might as well, while he’s sitting there hopelessly hoping for things beyond his control.

Come back to me.

Spencer almost types it out, can see it in the text window though he hasn’t pressed a single letter, and closes his phone before he can. Pressing it to his mouth and closing his eyes and just…

Hoping.

The hours roll over into the afternoon, and there’s still no word.

Spencer has spent the majority of the day messaging Ms. Garcia, who has had no information beyond trivial updates here and there and Spencer has read more about surgical procedures and practices than he has in his entire life. Even raided the biology department’s library, surrounding himself with the comfort of books and files and filled his head with the soothing monotony of medical terms and safety protocols.

But once noon has come and gone he finds himself staring into the bookshelves across from where he sits on the floor, among stacks of textbooks, with an epiphany trying to make itself known to him. Despite his every attempt to ignore it.

His phone is back in his hand, there’s an email correspondence from Ms. Garcia that only briefly says Still nothing. And that makes up Spencer’s mind.

[]9/23, 12:49[] I’ve thought of something.

What he types next makes it hard to breathe, his heart lodged in his throat, and it all comes flowing out of him much like before. His fingers keep moving, his emotional part of his brain steam-rolls over the rational one, and then he’s done and he’s tacked on six extra messages and Spencer has to put his phone away before he rereads it beyond what is deemed healthy or sane.

Because he’s done what he could, and all he can do is believe that will be enough to… subliminally keep Hotch fighting. The day is only half over, and Spencer feels like he hasn’t slept in a week.

It would be hours before he got the message that would send relief through his spine like a shot of Novocain. Just three words from Ms. Garcia, sent in haste in a text instead of an email.

{}9/23, 14:58{} He’s in recovery.

Hotch wakes up just barely the first time, the room spinning and hit with that familiar smell of anesthesia he can always taste as it fills his senses, before he slips back under.

The second time is to a small pencil light being flashed in his eyes, staccato movements meant to test his pupil reactions, and an older woman in nurse’s scrubs saying his name and calling to him. He hums an affirmative, even though he isn’t fully returned to a working state of mind. Instinct, more than clarity.

“Welcome back, Agent Hotchner.”

“About damn time,” he hears Prentiss say from somewhere across the room. Probably leaning the wall, if that faux drone is anything to go by. The nurse gives her a look but his agent isn’t even fazed by it, as far as Hotch can see. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust that far. But he knows the look well enough he doesn’t actually have to see it.

“Where is everyone? Is anyone else hurt?” Hotch can feel the words form on his tongue, droned out in a haze, his mind slowly coming back to him.

“Good to see you, too, boss,” Prentiss says in mild exacerbation, coming up to the side of his bed but not taking a seat. She must have been waiting a long time, her whole stance jittery just like after long flights on cases. “Everyone is fine, you’re the only one that got into a knife fight with an unsub who’s into biological warfare.” Hotch blinks at her, trying to make her words make sense without asking it of her. He remembers going to a warehouse to follow a lead, but not much else after that. It’s coming back too slowly to keep up with her. Prentiss just sighs, and repeats herself. “Everyone is fine.”

She regales him with a play by play, his own memories appearing like raindrops on a windshield to accompany her commentary. Slowly beginning to form a picture of what had happened. He’d been stabbed before, more than he cares to think about, and he’s been dosed with military-grade drugs before as well -- but never both at the same time. No wonder he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

“You’re lucky to be alive, honestly,” she points out, hip resting against the plastic side panels of his hospital bed.

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.”

“And your phone has been blowing up like crazy.”

Hotch is finally able to sit up enough and see straight without his vision swimming, to find that his agent does indeed have his cell phone in her hands.

“What?”

“Yeah, eight missed calls and three voicemails, and--” she squints at the screen before looking at him in astonished confusion, “eighty-seven missed text messages, from a whole bunch of people. I’m not reading through all of them. I didn’t know you were that popular.”

“I’m the Unit Chief, popularity has nothing to do with it,” Hotch deadpans, more himself. Wanting to reach for his phone but his arms are still dealing with pins and needles sensations, sluggish to lift and his fingers uncooperative. “Who called me eight times?”

“Let’s see,” she unlocks his phone -- somehow, god damn it Prentiss -- and scrolls through his notifications. “Two calls from Jessica, one from me, three from Strauss (Jesus), one from Dr. Reid, and one from Garcia. It doesn’t say who the voicemails are from.”

Hotch suddenly feels much more alert, his heart rate monitor picking up but he does his best not to draw attention to it, instead looking up at Prentiss as carefully guarded as he ever is.

“Dr. Reid called?” he tries to keep his voice even, and unaffected, but the aftereffects of the drugs in his system leave a little more hitch in his voice than he would have liked.

“Yeah, he’s been talking to Garcia,” Prentiss says without much comment, still scrolling through his phone and making Hotch a little more than nervous. “Busted the case wide open, and saved your life while he was at it. We never would have known you were dosed with something if he hadn’t figured it out. Think you owe that old man a fruit basket.”

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Don’t think you’re supposed to have it,” she says without looking up, still scrolling through his notifications. “Lots of junk e-mail…”

“One of those voicemails is probably Jack, I should call and let them know I’m alright,” Hotch tries to reason with her.

“He and Jess are already on their way up, they’ll land in an hour,” Prentiss tells him, but looks over her shoulder for that nurse as she makes to hand Hotch his phone anyway. Still hesitant despite her predilections to breaking every rule she can get away with.

“I still want it back,” Hotch insists, regretting saying it as soon as he does.

It catches Prentiss’ attention a little too sharply. “...why?” But at Hotch’s steady stare and solid silence, unwavering like he hadn’t just been in surgery for hours on end, she finally relents and hands it over, still giving him a suspicious look.

“It’s important,” he finally admits, when she doesn’t stop staring for a good couple of minutes. Those perfectly shaped eyebrows raise near to her hairline, the profiler in her connecting more dots than should be humanly possible.

A small smile teases her lips, though not fully forming there. “Now I wish I’d read them.”

Hotch just gives her a reprimanding look of his own, but it’s short lived.

“Thank you, for staying.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Prentiss assures him, her smile going softer. “I’ll leave you to your mystery woman.” A beat, another raised eyebrow. “Person.” A knowing look, but then she exits and Hotch is able to look at his phone at his own discretion.

Hotch goes through the text messages with a brief glance; there’s so many of them. Other agents and agencies, his team in a group chat Garcia had started, Jessica left fifteen before someone got a hold of her, and Jack’s school sending reminders about soccer and parent teacher conferences.

But 39 are from Spencer, and his heart constricts in his chest at the worry he must have caused the man. Aches next to the scars on his chest and the blood that doesn’t belong to him in his veins. And somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it’s coupled with a torturous feeling of longing. Even subtle jealousy, because even half drugged out of his mind Hotch hadn’t missed the precise word choices Prentiss used. Garcia has been talking to Spencer -- talking.

Garcia got to hear him.

She talked to Spencer, when he still hadn’t, because of some unspoken rule Hotch isn’t even sure when they decided upon. He still knew so little about the man, and Spencer’s voice could tell him so much with just a few words. He could fill volumes with what he would learn from just a single message --

Without much further thought, Hotch pulls up his voice mail. Listens to the automated voices and the three messages there. None are from Spencer, although his heart had beat a little harder in anticipation -- enough his heart monitor beeped audibly next to him. Embarrassing as that was, like a lovestruck teenager. He’d glared at it and centered his breathing until his heart rate slowed back down, not wanting to alert the nurses station. Two of the voicemails are from Jessica’s phone, one of her worried out of her mind, and the other of Jack telling him they are coming to see him and he hopes he feels better soon. Just listening to his son speak more strongly than his aunt had or anyone else should in his situation, telling his daddy he loves him while the sounds of a commercial airline filter through the background, makes Hotch want to smile and sob all at once.

The last voicemail is from Garcia, telling him a similar story to what Prentiss had earlier, but with a bit more detail on her end. How ‘Dr. Reid’ called her out of the blue, because there had been no time for his usual emails, and gave them the information that saved his life. He’d been working the case diligently, ever since, and was checking up on him a lot. More than a lot. ‘Let him know you’re okay, when you wake up and get this. The poor guy is worried sick, and my updates only give him so much comfort.’

Spencer had actually called Garcia, when he hasn’t physically spoken to anyone in Quantico the entire time he’s consulted for them, just to save a few precious seconds to relay what he’d found. He’d even broken their rule, probably before hand, and called Hotch -- just to make sure he was okay. Hadn’t stopped working to help, the moment he found out he wasn’t.

It’s a strange thought, that if not for Spencer -- Hotch would be dead. That Jack would be flying up here for a very different reason.

Hotch switches over to the text messages with a lump in his throat. Not at all prepared, emotionally, but needing to know.

The 39 messages start from the night before, when they were supposed to have had their usual online chess date. They range from playful banter, teasing edged in worry, and escalate to panic as the night wears on. Anxious worry bleeding through the single sentences, building and building until that lump in his throat feels like it might block off all air soon.

Please be okay.

God, that alone starts to set a tone -- and reveals something Hotch hadn’t expected to find. Those three words give way to his speech pathology training, and all indicate that Spencer is… very likely younger than he’d originally thought. Some of Hotch’s assumptions might be close, even the teasing ones he’d only said because he’d been sure they were wrong. The other man is obviously beyond worried about him, as well. Petrified, despite knowing the risks of his job. They had become so close the past few months, were most definitely past the flirting stage and into something so tentative and wonderful Hotch can barely believe it some days. But they had never talked about this, about the possibility that Hotch might walk into a situation one day and not walk back out of it.

Spencer’s messages soon give way to him just… talking at Hotch. Relaying what was happening, philosophical rants meant to ease his own mind and Hotch finds himself smiling softly at the man’s constant stream of thought, lectures at genius levels that he still feels so compelled to share with Hotch. Because they are that close. They really, truly, are -- and it brightens the fluttering feeling in his chest all the more. How Spencer is trying, subliminally, to draw Hotch back to the light. Three thousand miles away.

Please come back.

Hotch hears it loud and clear, the come back to me. Even unwritten. And it makes his heart skip a beat, aching as it does.

Then…

[]9/23, 15:49[] I’ve thought of something.

[]9/23, 15:52[] I’m 29.

Hotch doesn’t understand, at first. But then it hits him.

Years.

29 years.

Spencer is 29 years old. Proven, further, by the following messages sent after that.

[]9/23, 15:56[] I’m a certified child prodigy, on a registry and everything. I graduated high school at just twelve years old, and had my first Ph.D. by 15. Youngest in CalTech history.

29.

Jesus Christ, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell Hotch his age. 29 is… far younger than he expected.

When Spencer was born, Hotch was getting his driver’s license. 16 years difference in age…

He keeps reading, despite the numb aftermath of a bomb going off inside his head, trying to process it and also hear the younger man out.

Younger. Spencer is 16 years younger than Hotch, and he finds himself scrubbing at his face to try and wake himself up further as he reads what Spencer sent.

[]9/23, 15:57[] I turn 30 at the end of October, and I was trying to wait until then to tell you.

[]9/23, 16:00[] I’ve noticed a prominent dynamic shift in perception, between listing my age as in my 20’s and ‘almost 30’. It’s a numerical allusion our brains can’t help. You hear 29, you think 21. It happens with decades, too, once someone is outside the familial range of 10 years. +/- either side.

[]9/23, 16:02[] An age gap doesn’t sound as bad when I’m 30. That’s why I wanted to wait, just a little while longer, but if that universal affirmation phenomenon actually works for us -- I don’t mind dealing with the consequences.

[]9/23, 16:03[] Just please come back.

[]9/23, 16:07[] Please be okay.

[]9/23, 16:10[] I miss you.

His heart is about to be ripped to shreds.

Hotch feels terrible, because Spencer is right. 29 sounds so young, and it keeps repeating in his head over and over. But 29 isn’t the same as 21, he isn’t some college student still stumbling around trying to figure out his life. He has five Ph.D.’s, runs three departments at one of the best universities in the country, is consulted by the FBI and Homeland Security and very obviously has a reputation he upholds to the highest regard. Hotch had guessed Spencer was 32 not so long ago, what was the big difference between that and his actual age? From what little Spencer just shared of his life story, he’s never gotten to be a kid, so who was Hotch to consider him one? What gave him the right to be floored by this, did it actually change what he thought of Spencer? How he felt about him only moments prior to reading that?

I miss you. Come back. Please be okay.

I’m 29.

It could be the recent flirtation with death, the anesthesia or the morphine, even the gratitude that Hotch will get to see his son again and not leave him without both his parents -- there’s so many reasons for him to take pause as he considers the messages in front of him.

But it feels a lot like the months of talking, and the countless late nights spent together, that pile up and up in his chest. A rising pressure that reminds Hotch that he and Spencer have something, and it’s not a normal, regular situation for either of them. Something that precedent, and everything Hotch has ever been told to hold to standard, doesn’t seem to fit. He and Spencer don’t seem to fit, when looked at afar or even on paper -- but they do. They really do. It was never supposed to be something that could be this easy, or normal in any capacity.

But what about their lives ever was?

[]9/23, 18:26[] I’m so sorry I worried you.

[]9/23, 18:26[] I miss you, too.

[]9/23, 18:27[] If I stop answering you, the nurse took my phone away. I hate hospitals.

[]9/23, 18:29[] Hotch, you scared me to death.

[]9/23, 18:30[] I know, I’m sorry.

[]9/23, 18:31[] From what I heard, you saved my life.

[]9/23, 18:33[] I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.

[]9/23, 18:36[] Just get better.

[]9/23, 18:38[] Which means resting, don’t glare at your nurses too much. They’re there to help you.

There’s a long stretch of a pause in their correspondence, which picks up so smooth and easy it’s as if they had never stopped. Like the last few days hadn’t happened at all. But they had, they were both looking at the messages to prove that. He does take pause, maybe more than he should, and Hotch knows miles away Spencer is just as nervous. Staring at his phone.

Hotch isn’t wrong. Spencer let out such an exclamation of relief at Hotch’s name on his notifications he about sobbed with it. He never cries, hasn’t in years -- but his eyes sting with relief and worry and… an emotion he doesn’t want to name.

[]9/23, 18:44[] What day is your birthday?

[]9/23, 18:45[] October 28th.

[]9/23, 18:45[] Same week as mine. November 2nd.

Hotch pauses, again, considers his next response… and 3,000 miles away Spencer can barely blink as he stares at his phone with mounting dread.

[]9/23, 18:49[] I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It’s alright.

[]9/23, 18:51[] Am I correct in assuming you’ve never been in a relationship with this much of an age gap?

It takes Hotch a moment to even gather the courage to type that out and send it. Knows it sounds almost too formal, for them, but Hotch also knows that he and Spencer are balanced on the edge of a knife, here, and… no matter what the outcome, everything is about to change between them.

Spencer licks his lips in nervousness, reading the line over and over although he has no need to. It feels like a tipping point, and he’s still… terrified this will be his last conversation with Hotch outside of case work. Ever.

[]9/23, 18:55[] Never.

[]9/23, 18:57[] I haven’t had many relationships at all. My peer groups have always been older than me, and people my own age never understood me enough to be interested. So it’s just something I was used to, going without.

[]9/23, 18:59[] This has been… the closest thing to what I’ve been told is normal that I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never had the chance to have something like this with someone, or connect in this way. I gave up, for a long while there.

[]9/23, 19:01[] I’ve been in a similar situation before, on an intellectual spectrum.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never--

Hotch pauses, again, putting his thoughts in order. Weighing it all, before taking that final leap. Spencer waiting with baited breath, all the more.

But Hotch doesn’t regret what he sends. Not one bit.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never dated anyone younger than me like this, before, so we’ll both be on a learning curve.

[]9/23, 19:03[] But we will figure it out. Together.

Spencer’s breath catches, and he can’t seem to release it again. He can’t believe what he’s reading. What Hotch has sent him.

He said ‘dated’.

He thought they were dating. Spencer isn’t quite sure he can trust his own eyes, despite the words being there in stark black and white on his phone screen.

[]9/23, 19:06[] Dating?

Hotch smiles, because he just knows -- from that single word text -- that Spencer has sent it not in admonishment or anything negative of the sort. But in hope. Confident that he recognizes the nuance in Spencer's voice even without ever having heard it, Hotch just knows, and it makes warmth blossom anew in his chest. Sends his heart rate monitor skittering across the machine all over again.

[]9/23, 19:08[] Hate to be the one to tell you, but all of those late nights where we talked for hours instead of playing chess? Those were dates.

Spencer has his hand over his mouth, still in disbelief that he hadn’t… fucked this up beyond repair. That his age hadn’t been the deal breaker he’d feared so vehemently for months now. That everything is still as it was, age difference and life-threatening situation, aside.

They were dating. All this time.

[]9/23, 19:10[] I should have worn nicer clothes.

Hotch laughs at his phone at the same time Spencer laughs at his own, having reread what he’d sent.

3,000 miles away, and their quiet laughter coincides perfectly.

[]9/23, 19:11[] Our next one I’m sure I’ll be in a hospital gown, so I think you’re in the clear.

[]9/23, 19:12[] Sounds like you’re making plans, already.

[]9/23, 19:12[] You still need rest.

[]9/23, 19:14[] Well, I have to thank you somehow. And, I saw something about poker instead of chess? I’m actually not bad at poker.

[]9/23, 19:15[] … you remember I’m from Vegas, right?

[]9/23, 19:16[] We’ll play for fake money.

[]9/23, 19:18[] No such thing.

[]9/23, 19:19[] I do play for favors, though.

[]9/23, 19:19[] Oh?

Hotch feels a wild, youthful thing unfurl in his chest as he types away. Mischievous, almost, in a way he only gets when he and Spencer are hours deep into conversations in the middle of the night. But it’s broad daylight, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide. Getting lost in the thrill of it all. In the officiality of it, now, and another curtain unveiled between them.

[]9/23, 19:20[] Did you have something in mind?

Spencer has to be blushing seven shades of red, right about now, and he hides his face from his phone for a moment before he realizes how ridiculous that is -- Hotch can’t see him. He can stop messaging the man any time he wants to.

Except he doesn’t want to.

[]9/23, 19:24[] I’ll get back to you.

Hotch can’t help it as he grins at his phone. A wry, suggestive thing, but he manages to school it before a passing nurse can see him -- how his eyes are alight with possibility. With elation, just from talking to the younger man that had seemed to capture a part of him he thought wasn’t available to anyone any more, and types out one last -- slightly more flirtatious subtext to put a cap on their conversation. To indicate he’s awaiting more, always wanting a little more of Dr. Spencer Reid.

He can blame it on the morphine, later.

[]9/23, 19:25[] Looking forward to it.

(tbc...)

Tagged List: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

#I legit added like 1500 words while editing this afternoon so I'm hella worried it's convoluted but HERE IT IS #Getting this show on the ROAD #cross your fingers and pray I have this damn tumblr formatting thing figured out #hope you enjoy everyone I love ALL OF YOU #super duper long chapter #Correspondence #HotchReid #Heid #Updates on Saturdays hit me up if you want in on the tag list #katyswriting

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idy-ll-ique · 4 years ago

Text

New Plan.

Pairing: Quentin Beck x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Requested: Nope

Summary: Quentin is so close to defeating Tony Stark and Peter Parker— unfortunately for him, he met Y/N at the last moment and fell head over heels for her. His love for her was so strong, he gave up on his evil plans and settled for the next best thing— driving those who had a crush on her up a wall.

Author's Note: Hi guys! Here is the disclaimer. Have fun reading this! (also because I'm stupid and out of ideas they play the American version of antakshari lmfao) Please excuse small grammatical mistakes and typos :)

---

"Alright, guys, be calm!" Y/N shouted at the bus full of excited teenagers. Y/N wasn't a teen, she was here to chaperone a trip. Why was she chosen, you ask? Y/N was a friend of the Avengers, that's why. Peter suggested she come along and she agreed. What was there to lose? "We're going to another country, Ms Y/L/N, this is the best day of my life!" a student, Anita, told her excitedly. Y/N chuckled, she supposed it was a bit exciting. Another half an hour later, their bus full of people reached the airport. The students got down from the bus.

The group of 15 students, along with 2 teachers and one chaperone, went through the security checks and went to the waiting room. "Aren't you even a little excited, Y/N?" Peter asked, sitting next to the woman. "I guess," she sighed, looking away. "Is anything the matter?" Peter asked, gently turning her face towards him. Both of them heard a wolf whistle and rolled their eyes. "For some reason, I have a bad feeling about this trip. It's so fun, I don't know why I'm tense," Y/N admitted sadly.

"Aw, it's okay, Y/N, I'm sure nothing can go wrong with this trip! We've defeated the baddest bad there was, I don't think there's any villain left who could ruin our trip. Cheer up, sis." Peter often called Y/N 'sis', for their bond was like that of siblings. Soon, their flight number was announced. The class boarded the flight. Y/N reluctantly sat with the two teachers, even though she wanted to sit with Ned and Peter. Throughout the flight, the teachers, along with Y/N, discussed the rules of the trip. As the flight was about to land, Y/N felt something deep inside her gut.

And the feeling was bad.

---

"You know, Beck, you should meet Y/N. You'll like her, she's awesome!" Peter said, grinning at Quentin Beck. Quentin considered for a moment. Y/N, who was that? By name, she sounded interesting. "Can we meet her now?" he asked Peter slowly, stroking his beard. "Sure, we can go back to the hotel!" The two men stood up and left the bar. Peter took Quentin to the hotel where his class was staying. "Wait here, I'll be back with Y/N." Quentin nodded and Peter took off, running up the stairs.

Quentin smirked, leaning against a wall. For now, he thought of ways he could use this Y/N to manipulate Peter Parker. You see, Mysterio (as Quentin liked to call himself) wasn't good at all, he was an evil, evil man. Here to destroy Spider-Man and Iron Man, his motives were corrupt. First, he needed to have a good look at Y/N. What was her relationship with Peter? Were they friends? Was she his girlfriend? As soon as Beck thought about Y/N being Peter's girlfriend, a shiver ran down his spine. Goosebumps appeared on his skin and he felt uncomfortable, uneasy and nauseous.

Quentin shook his head, also shaking away the bad feeling. What had just happened?

"Beck, there you are! Meet Y/N!" Quentin looked up from the floor to see Peter running towards him, a firm hold on Y/N's hand as she followed him, begging him to slow down. They came to a halt in front of Quentin. Quentin, meanwhile, was busy staring at Y/N. His mind had stopped working, he couldn't form a single coherent thought. He forgot all about his evil intentions, his master plan, everything. He was close to forgetting his own name and he would have if Y/N had not interrupted him.

"Does he talk?" she whispered to Peter, who swatted her shoulder and threw her an incredulous glance. Quentin's hand balled into a fist as soon as he saw Peter hitting Y/N. No one was allowed to hit her. He soon came to his senses and let his hand fall loose, confused. What was wrong with him? What was this effect Y/N had on him? "Quentin, are you okay?" He looked at Peter and Y/N, who stared at him with concerned eyes. "I'm… I'm fine. Y/N, right? I'm Quentin, Quentin Beck."

He held his hand out but instead, Y/N gave him a tight hug. A bit shocked, he returned the hug, putting his strong arms around her waist. "Thanks for protecting Peter," she mumbled. "My duty," Quentin whispered back, patting her head as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. He threw a panicked glance at Peter but the young man could only shrug. "Go with it," he mouthed, a smirk blooming on his face. What the hell was Parker thinking?

"Um, Y/N, are you alright?" Quentin asked a few minutes later and Y/N pulled away, sniffling. Quentin suddenly felt cold, he wanted her in his arms again. "I'm fine, I was just worried about Peter. I told him I had a bad feeling about the trip and then… then that horrid creature attacked-" "Y/N! Don't worry, I can handle myself out there, I'm big now. I fought Thanos, for God's sake!" Peter groaned, crossing his arms. "You also died, young man! Do you know how that made me feel? I was depressed for months after your death, after everyone's death!" Quentin stared at the two as they bickered.

Why did Y/N have that effect on him? He had to call off his entire plan, it seemed worthless now. Sure, he had a grudge on Tony Stark for years now, but for what reason? Just because he didn't give Quentin credit? Called his creation BARF? Silly! He could start all over, make something useful, take full credit. And what about Spider-Man? Spider-Man and Mysterio, two people who had nothing against each other. They hadn't met before, too! That's it, Quentin decided, he had to call his entire plan off.

"Quentin, are you alright? You zoned out, again," Peter said, noticing the hollow look in Quentin's eyes. Peter and Y/N had stopped bickering a long time ago. Peter liked Quentin. Especially the way Quentin had helped him defeat the Elemental, Peter found that very fascinating. "Huh? I'm fine," Quentin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "You seem tired," Y/N said, placing a hand on Quentin's forearm. Peter smirked as he saw the slight blush that arose on Beck's cheeks. So Quentin had a crush on Y/N! That explained all the zoning out! Peter smiled goofily, Y/N and Quentin would make a rather cute couple.

A hot one, too, both of them were very attractive. "I am, had a long day," Quentin chuckled, placing his own palm on Y/N's hand. "You should go rest. I hope you have a place, if not, I can book a room in this hotel," Y/N smiled. She had to admit, Quentin Beck was the hottest and the most handsome guy Y/N had ever seen. And she knew Tony Stark. It was a given she had a crush on him. She hoped they would meet again so she could ask him for a date before the trip ended. "So, uh, Y/N, I'm going now."

Y/N snapped out of her thoughts and smiled at Quentin. "Goodnight," she said, gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked back to her room. Peter gave Quentin a huge smirk as Quentin blushed furiously, two pink spots showing up on his cheeks. "Have a crush? Wouldn't blame you, to be honest," Peter shrugged. "What do you mean?" Quentin asked as he walked with Peter out of the hotel. "Steve, Thor, Bucky, Sam, Loki, Dr Strange, heck, even Mr Stark had a crush on Y/N when they first met! She has that effect, Ms Romanoff said it's her 'superpower'," Peter snorted, showing quotation marks with his fingers when he said superpower. Quentin smiled.

On the inside, he boiled of anger. How dare they think that way of Y/N? His, only his. New plan! Exposing Spider-Man was out of the picture now. New Mission: Impressing and wooing Y/N. He would make her his and show those degenerates, those pathetic excuses for Avengers whom Y/N truly belonged to.

---

"Cancel everything."

"But sir-"

"You heard me. Cancel. Everything."

"We've worked so hard-"

"Did I stutter? Just cancel everything, goddamn it!" Quentin screamed. "Y-Yes, sir," Jean sighed and went to alert his other co-workers. Quentin sat down on his chair, his head in his hands. "Sir, are you alright? Do you want water?" Quentin looked up and stared at Anne. "Sure." She went to get him a glass of water. Quentin felt as if he needed something stronger than water but now that Anne had gone to fetch water for him, he supposed he could wait a few minutes before going to the bar. "Here you go, sir," Anne called out, returning with a glass of water.

"Thank you," Quentin mumbled, drinking the water. After he was done, he got up. "I'm going outside, tell everyone else," he told Anne, who nodded. Quentin left the place, going to the bar where he, along with Peter, had celebrated their victory over the elemental not even a few hours ago. Quentin walked into the bar. It was nearly midnight; the bar was still crowded, though. He somehow found a chair in front of the bar and sat. "One beer, please," he called out to the bartender, who nodded. Quentin patted his pockets to check if he had his wallet.

He felt the slight bulge of his wallet and sighed in relief. The bartender placed the glass of beer in front of Quentin and left to serve the other customers. As Quentin raised the glass to have a sip, he heard someone calling his name. At the first call, he thought he misheard someone. The second time he was certain someone was calling him. He turned and smiled to himself as he saw Y/N making her way towards him. "Hi," he said as she sat next to him. "Quentin! I never expected to bump into someone I knew here, right now," Y/N chuckled, running a hand through her hair. "Why are you still awake? you need to sleep."

"Don't tell me what to do," Y/N countered and both of them laughed. Y/N, seeing the glass in front of Quentin, ordered a beer for herself, too. "What are you doing here, if I may ask," Y/N said, smirking at Quentin. "Couldn't sleep," Quentin shrugged. "Me too, to be honest," Y/N sighed. "Why not?" Quentin frowned. His Y/N, not able to sleep? "Bad dreams, you can say," Y/N said, picking up the glass of beer the bartender put in front of her. "I'm sorry," Quentin smiled sadly but she shrugged his apology off. "What were they about?" Quentin blurted out.

"Peter getting hurt. When we were at the New York airport, Peter asked me why I wasn't excited about this trip. I told him I had a bad feeling about the trip. I've been having nightmares every night ever since we arrived here, in Venice. Next stop is Prague, I hope nothing bad happens there," Y/N explained quietly. "How about I join you on your trip? You'll have a friend by your side, plus, I can look after Peter with you," Quentin offered suddenly and Y/N stared at him. "You'll do that for me? You're the best, Quen," Y/N exclaimed with a broad smile, hugging Quentin tightly. Quentin smiled, hugging her back.

"Of course. I have nothing else to do now, right? The Elemental, the sole purpose of my visit to this Earth, is defeated. Where do I go from here?" Quentin said, pulling away from Y/N. "You could go back to your own planet, Quentin. Don't the people there miss you, your friends and family?" Y/N suggested, a tad disheartened that Quentin couldn't stay with her. "Everyone on my planet was destroyed by the other three Elementals, Y/N. There's no point in going back there. Also, I've got friends here, right?" Quentin smiled, taking Y/N's hand.

"Of course you do! We're your friends!" Y/N grinned broadly, clutching Quentin's hand. Quentin sighed in relief, the whole "other planet" story was made up, anyway. Quentin and Y/N quickly finished their beers. Quentin paid for both and the two… ahem… lovebirds walked out of the bar hand in hand. Quentin offered to walk Y/N back to her hotel since it was very late at night. As they walked, Quentin put an arm around Y/N's shoulder to see her reaction.

If she did not push him away, she trusted him. If she pushed him away, she didn't. To his surprise, Y/N shuffled closer to him, pulling his arm tighter around herself. Quentin smirked, she definitely trusted him. And perhaps, liked him back. That was a start. They reached Y/N's hotel in under 10 minutes. "Do you have a mobile phone?" she asked him. He nodded, taking out his phone. She took it and added her number in his phone. "May I get your number?" she grinned. He nodded again, adding his number in her phone. "Tomorrow we're going for a boat ride across the city, something we couldn't do today because of the elemental. Join us?" Y/N questioned, hoping he would say yes.

"Of course I will! A boat ride sounds nice," Quentin grinned. "Cool! Tomorrow, after asking the teachers, I will contact you, sounds good?" Y/N grinned back. "Alright. I'll go now, you need sleep. Goodnight!" Before he could turn, Y/N stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulders.

She leaned on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to Quentin's lips, a perfect goodbye kiss. Though Quentin was beyond surprised, he went with it. They way Y/N fitted in his arms, the way the kiss felt, it was as if Quentin and Y/N were a match made in heaven. "Goodnight," Y/N whispered, pulling away from him. Quentin smiled at her. They waved at each other and Quentin left the hotel. A goofy smile found its way to Quentin's lips as he walked towards his lair. The kiss. The goddamn kiss.

---

"Whew! That was awesome, wasn't it?" Mr Dell grinned as the 15 students, 2 teachers and 2 chaperones walked to their hotel. They had just finished a beautiful boat ride across the city, but it was still early in the evening. The class had no plans for the rest of the evening. Peter thought that they'd have to get bored at the hotel. "It so was," Mr Harrington agreed. The students looked at each other with huge grins. Y/N glanced at Quentin to see him already looking at her. "Did you enjoy yourself?" Quentin whispered. The two hung around until they were at the end of the group. "I did, what about you?" Y/N whispered back.

"I did, too."

Both of them gave each other broad smiles. Quentin put his arm around Y/N's shoulder and like the previous day, Y/N shuffled closer to him. "Yo, lovebirds, walk quicker!" MJ called out to them, turning around to flash a quick smirk at them. Quentin and Y/N blushed furiously, quickening their pace. They reached the hotel. "That's it? Nothing else today? It's not even 5!" Flash groaned, stomping his foot. "Well… I suppose you kids can hang out," Mr Dell shrugged. "I have a fun game idea, my cousins and I back in India play this game a lot," Anita piped up. "Which game?" Betty smiled at her.

"It's a song game. One person sings a song and the next person has to sing a song starting from the last letter of the previous song. For instance, if I sang a song and it ended in 'p', then the person after me sings a song beginning with 'p'," Anita explained. The group exchanged glances. "Sounds fun! Where do we play?" "How about my room?" Peter suggested. The two teachers politely declined, claiming they were tired. One other student, James, said he felt nauseous and declined, too.

The 16 other people went to Peter's room. "Team up! How about 8 teams with two people each?" Anita called out. "Sure! There are exactly 8 girls and 8 boys, how about a guy and a girl?" The teams were, hence, decided. Peter and MJ, Ned and Betty, Flash and Anita, Nikki and Carson, Lily and Kyle, Eric and Miley, Ruth and Jason, Y/N and Quentin. Everyone sat wherever they could find place. Y/N and Quentin were squished together in a small bean bag. Both of them squirming around a lot until Quentin grabbed Y/N by the waist and placed her on his lap. "Making moves on Y/N, huh?" Carson teased as Eric and Jason wolf whistled. Peter smirked at the two of them.

"There's no place for two people to sit next to each other in this bean bag," Quentin sighed, rolling his eyes. Y/N was blushing like crazy. "Okay, let's start!” Lily and Kyle were the first people to begin with the song. The game went on smoothly, the teams were actually able to come up with songs that started with a specific letter. Soon, it was Quentin and Y/N's turn. The letter they were given was 'L'. Both of them were lost in thoughts until Y/N suddenly came to her senses. "Let's talk about it, gotta get this off my chest," she sang.

Quentin's eyes widened slightly. Her voice was elysian. "Fall for you, Steve James. Good choice," Nikki applauded, nodding. Y/N continued singing the song as the girls from the other teams sang along. "I fall for you, I fall for you, I fall for you, oh yeah I do, I do," Y/N sang, giggling as Kyle and Carson engaged in a dance off on their seats. Quentin simply stared at Y/N, which made Peter smile to himself. Why couldn’t they just date?

After Y/N was done, the turn landed on Peter and MJ. As they thought about which song to sing, Quentin turned to Y/N. "You have a beautiful voice, Y/N," he told her with a small smile. "Thanks Quen," Y/N smiled, laying her head on his shoulder. He easily put his arms around her waist and they sat there, snuggled into each other's arms. "You guys literally cannot make your relationship any more public," Betty deadpanned humorously. "Shut up," Y/N whispered at Betty's comment, leaning up to give Quentin a small kiss on the lips. She was feeling quite impulsive that day, to be honest.

She knew Quentin reflected her feelings; the way he was always looking at her everytime she turned towards him, the way he had a smile every time she spoke… Y/N was not an idiot. "Ugh, PDA," Lily groaned and Quentin laughed, pressing his lips to Y/N's forehead. This was not how he imagined one of them would make the first move, but he wasn't denying it. This only made his job easier. His job was done, he could say. He impressed Y/N, he wooed her, that was it. Now he would cherish this beauty for the rest of his life.

"Alright, we give up, I can't think of any song that starts with 'Z'!" Y/N heard Ned exclaim. What, Peter and MJ's turn was done already? She was so lost in thoughts. The thing she was thinking about was how Quentin and her were finally dating, all thanks to her. And thankfully he didn't make a scene when she kissed him, he went with it, even.

It was understood.

---

"May!" Peter exclaimed, running towards the woman who was waiting with her arms open. "Dude forgot his luggage," Y/N blinked and Quentin chuckled. They were returning from Prague. The second half of the vacation was awesome, or so were the thoughts of the students. Y/N and Quentin actually had their first date in Prague. "Y/N! Come here!" May called out and Y/N reluctantly left her boyfriend's side to give the woman a hug. "Who's this gentleman? Your boyfriend?" May whispered in her ear and pulled away. "May! Yes, yes he is. We met in Venice," Y/N whispered, giggling. The two ladies looked at Peter and Quentin, who were struggling to get the luggage into May's car.

"Wait, boys, let us help."

After everything was done, the four of them- May, Peter, Quentin and Y/N- sat in May's car. May drove, Peter sat in the passenger seat and Quentin and Y/N sat behind. "So, um, what's your name?" May asked Quentin. "I'm Quentin, Quentin Beck. You're Peter's mom, I assume?" Quentin replied, a smile on his face. "No, dear, his aunt. May, May Parker. How did the two of you meet?" May asked, glancing at Y/N. "Long story…" she mumbled. "Long drive home," May reminded her. Peter volunteered to explain how he and Y/N met Quentin and then Y/N told her how she started dating him. Quentin was quiet throughout, a small smile on his face. This is it, this is life.

Y/N was his, did he want anything else? Actually… yes, he wanted one more thing. To see the faces of the other Avengers as Y/N introduced him to them. Especially the faces of those who had a crush on her. "So, should I drop the two of you off at the Avengers Tower?" May asked. "Sure! Nat, Steve and Tony are waiting," Y/N nodded. "Good!" They reached the Avengers Tower in the next half an hour. Y/N and Quentin got out, collected their luggage and waved goodbye to May and Peter. "Bye guys! We'll see you tomorrow!" May drove away. Quentin and Y/N looked at each other. Together, the two of them had four bags between them. Quentin took two and Y/N took two. They walked inside.

Tony, Thor, Steve, Natasha, Loki, Bucky, Sam and Wanda were waiting in the lobby. "Y/N!" Steve exclaimed as she walked in. Everyone immediately went silent as Quentin walked in next. "Hello!" Quentin waved enthusiastically. "Uh… Y/N, who's this?" Bucky asked slowly. "Why don't you introduce yourself, baby, I need water," Y/N whispered to him. Quentin nodded and Y/N gave him a quick kiss, leaving to get a glass of water. Natasha and Wanda ran after her. "Y/N! Y/N!" She stopped, turning around to face her best friends. "Hi guys! I missed you!" She hugged the two ladies. "Who's the guy? Your boyfriend?"

"Yes! We met one day in Venice and were an official couple the next day," Y/N gushed, filling up a glass of water. "That was quick. Wouldn't blame you, he's hot," Wanda snorted. "Is he Italian?" Natasha asked. "Nope, American. Long story, come sit." The three ladies sat on the nearby couch and Y/N explained everything about the Elemental to them. Quentin, meanwhile, was being glared at by 6 men. "Did she just call you 'baby'?" Steve asked quietly, his arms crossed. "Well, I mean I'm her boyfriend, it only makes sense…" Quentin chuckled with faux nervousness. "Boyfriend? Y/N's dating you? What's your name?" Sam scoffed.

"I'm Quentin, Quentin Beck," Quentin introduced, holding his hand out for a handshake. When no one took it, he let it fall to his side awkwardly. "How did you meet and when did you start dating?" Tony asked sharply. "Well… Peter introduced me to her one day and we were officially a couple the next day," Quentin said slowly. "One day? It took you one day to woo her? We've been trying for 5 years!" Thor exclaimed, enraged. "Oh, uh… sorry?" Quentin offered, still maintaining the nervous look on his face.

Deep inside, though, he was jumping and screaming with joy. This was the exact thing he wanted to witness. "What did she see in you?" Bucky sneered. "I defeated the Elemental, you know," Quentin pointed out. "What the fuck is an Elemental?" Steve asked, scrunching his nose. "Long story. Here to listen?" The 6 men nodded and Quentin explained everything to them. In the end, they were left staring at him in shock. "Also… if you really like Y/N, you wouldn't be so rude to me. If you were friendly with me, that would make Y/N really happy," Quentin pointed out offhandedly.

"Great point. Alright, goldfish, you're accepted," Tony sighed. Quentin grinned. Oh, how he would love driving the male Avengers up the wall everyday.

"Boys, we're getting dinner, are you joining?"

"Sure!"

The 7 men walked towards the ladies and together, the 10 of them went to the dining room to get dinner.

---

A/N: Hi! This is kind of a weird fic, I get it. It is one of my old works, I wrote it like 1 year ago or something. If you do like it, consider leaving a like! It will be much appreciated, thank you!! I love you guys a lot. Please send prompts if you want to read more from me.

#quentin beck x reader #quentin beck x you #quentin beck x y/n #quentin beck x female reader #quentin beck #quentin beck fluff #mysterio #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal x you #jake gyllenhaal x y/n #jake gyllenhaal x female reader #jake gyllenhaal characters #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

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i-need-entertainment · 4 years ago

Text

Dreams Can Come True: Chapter 1 Encounter

Introduction-Chapter 2

Today started off like any other day. Wake up at 7:00, take a shower, get dressed, go downstairs, have coffee and eat breakfast, and go to work. Y/n L/n had a fairly normal life. She didn’t cause trouble, she followed the rules like any ordinary human, she had a fairly good paying job and she worked hard. As she stepped out of the door she could feel the chill in the air. It was only September, but it was already starting to get colder outside.

She walked to the daycare, seeing as it was only about 15 minutes away, and despite the chilly weather it was still a beautiful day. She wore her usual attire, white button up tucked neatly into some midrise blue jeans with a few buttons undone for comfort, a black suede coat, and black ankle boots. Y/n walked into the daycare center, set her stuff down, took off her coat and got to work. “Ms. Y/n!!” Her kids ran up to her, some giving her hugs, while others just smiled and said their good mornings. “*giggle* Good morning kids! Did everyone have a nice weekend?” There was a whole bunch of ‘yeah!’, ‘uh-huh’ ‘How about you Ms. Y/n?’ “Okay then, how about we all sit on the mat and take turns telling everyone about our weekends?”

~Meanwhile in the Shie Hassaikai~

“You called for me boss?” Chrono stated as he entered his boss’ office. “This is unofficial business Kurono, no need to be so formal.” Kurono internally sighed in bliss. Being the Second in command of the Shie Hassaikai had its perks, no doubt about that, but having to serve directly under you best friend? Yeah that was rough. Kurono took off his mask, Overhaul had known him long enough, he didn’t mind as long as they were alone and he wasn’t sick. “So what did you need Kai?” Kai stood up, walking over to the couches and waving Chrono over as well. The two sat down and continued to speak. “Its about Eri, I want you to find a care taker for her.” (This is where I change things up. In this world, Eri isn’t being experimented on *at least not yet* so Pops will be in this *yay!*. But, Kai was still tasked with taking care of her, but Kai doesn’t really know what THE HECK to do with a kid, so Chrono takes care of her most of the time. I’m also making it so that Eri calls chrono dad, because I think its FREAKING ADORABLE and I can) Chrono seemed surprised at this. Since they had been taking care of Eri, Kai had always just pushed her onto Chrono. “What do you mean?” “I mean she needs a female caretaker as well as you as her male one, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s not exactly a strong female presence in the Hassaikai. And if we want her to grow up as normal as she can, she should have at least one female caretaker to look up to.” Chrono seemed to think about it. I mean, it made since. Sure, he took care of her, treated her like his own even, but especially after what she had been through with her mother, she needed a loving maternal figure to help her (*cough cough* help him). Having a female around would also make the *ahem* teen years easier…Fewer uncomfortable discussions for him! “Seems fair enough…But uh..Kai?” “Yes Kurono?” There was a moment of silence. “How exactly are we going to get a caretaker? We can’t exactly post an ad on craigslist.” Overhaul seemed deep in thought for two whole seconds, until “Simple, take one.” “…What?” “Do I really have to repeat myself? We’ll take Eri to the park, find a suitable candidate and we’ll bring her back here.” “Seems reasonable, and if she refuses to come?” “I guess we’ll just have to be convincing. Strike up an average conversation, entice her here. I don’t care, just get her here.” Chrono simply nodded, stood up, and started to leave. “Alrighty boss, you got it. You ready to head out now?” “Yes, let’s get this done…I hate the park.” With that Chrono left Kai’s office and made his way to Eri’s room. It was around 8:30, so she should be up, and if she isn’t, she needs to be. Chrono walked into Eri’s room. “Eri, it’s time to get up” He softly said as he made his way over to her bed and softly sat down on the edge. Eri made some sleepy noises, sat up, stretched and yawned, sleepily looking around. “Good morning” He said as he ruffled her bed headed hair. “*yawn* Good morning daddy…” She trailed off, trying to rub the sleepiness out of her eyes. “Lets get you dressed and fed, today we’re going to the park.” Any sleep left in the young girl seemingly disappeared as she heard ‘fed’ and ‘park’. Chrono chuckled, and stood up making his way to the door. “Um..daddy?” “Hm?” He smiled at being called ‘daddy’ when she was little she couldn’t exactly pronounce ‘Kurono’ and he didn’t even try with ‘Chronostasis’ so Kai said for her to just call him ‘dad’, one less responsibility for him, and it provided good cover. “Could you help me pick out what to wear..? And help me with my hair?” She timidly asked, looking at the floor. Eri didn’t exactly have the greatest start in life, after accidentally rewinding her father and being abandoned by her mother, she was practically thrown into the arms of the Shie Hassaikai. Specifically into the arms of Chrono. Don’t get me wrong! He tried his best he really did! But being abandoned by his own parents and a gangster, he didn’t exactly know HOW to be a ‘dad’. He smiled. Despite the extra work it entailed, he truly didn’t mind taking care of her, he was just still learning. “Well, I can’t promise much for the hair…but the outfit I can do.” All in all, he enjoyed being her caretaker. It provided him an escape from the Yakuza. Being able to drop the cold façade and get to be his natural goofball self felt good. “Alright, what’ll it be today kiddo?” Eri looked into her closet, seemingly deep in thought. “Uh…uhm…that!” She pointed to a light blue jumper with a pink sweater to wear underneath. “You got it.” After getting Eri dressed, he sat her down on the bed to attempt to do her hair. He brushed out her long blue-white locks, pulled back a couple strand with a bow and bam, a hairstyle a six year old will at least tolerate. “Ready for breakfast?” Eri speedily nodded her head. Chrono chuckled. “Alright then, lets get you some food.” Chrono and Eri headed to the kitchen, Eri sat down at the table and Chrono headed to the fridge. ‘So, what’ll it be?” Eri thought for a minute. “Apples.” “Again? But you had apples yesterday?” “I know…but I really want apples.” He just smiled, “Whatever you say crackhead.” She simply pouted at the nickname and crossed her small arms. Chrono cut up the apple into slices, and gave the plate to Eri, the little girl’s ‘tough’ demeanor instantaneously dropping as she saw the red fruit. Eri ate breakfast, and Chrono, Overhaul, Nemoto and Eri made their way to the park. So as not to arise suspicion the three Yakuza members were dressed in casual clothes. Chrono wore a white hoodie with blue jeans and white sneakers, Overhaul wore a black button up with black slacks and white sneakers along with a black winter coat, and Nemoto wore a white dress shirt with black slacks, a gray coat and dress shoes. When they got to the park, Nemoto and Overhaul made their way to a café while Chrono and Eri went to the park. All was going well until *somehow* Eri got separated from Chrono.

~Back to the daycare which is now playing in the park~

“Okay guys, have fun, be safe and stay together! Also, don’t talk to strangers!” Y/n yelled to the kids as they ran off to play. Y/n walked towards a bench to sit down and read, when she noticed an unfamiliar little girl nervously walking around, she looked lost. Y/n put on her softest, sweetest smile and calmly approached the girl. “Hi there sweety! My names Y/n, are you lost sweetheart?” At the woman’s kindness the girl seemed to calm down a little bit, but not much. “..Y-yes…I don’t know what happened..I came here with my d-daddy..but now I can’t find hi-im…” The poor girl looked like she was about to cry. “Its okay honey! Do you know his name? I can help you find him.” Eri stopped her sniffles and looked at the kind young woman who was offering to help her. “O-okay..His name is-“ Before the young girl could finish, she was interrupted by loud footsteps and a disheveled looking Chrono. “ERI!? ERI!!” He ran over to the young girl, crouching down and hugging her tightly in his arms. “Eri you have to stay close to me!! I almost didn’t find you!!” The young girl clung tightly to Chrono and started to cry. “I-I know daddy, I’m sorry!” “It’s okay, just…try not to do it again? You almost gave me a heart attack!” “I’m sorry daddy…but.. this really nice lady helped me.” Eri pointed towards Y/n. Chrono then looked up to see a fairly short, young woman with h/l h/c hair, she was beautiful, he had to admit. He stood up and she held out her hand. “Thank you for helping my daughter, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t find her.” “Its no problem! Really! I work at a daycare, so scared little kids is the least of my worries!” She let out a light hearted laugh and smiled at Chrono. “Y/n L/n, you are…?” “Hari Kurono. It’s nice to meet you Ms. L/n.” “Oh, please, call me Y/n! I’m only twenty and hearing ‘Ms.’ makes me feel old!” Chrono just chuckled. “Alright then Y/n, well that’s my daughter, Eri, I’m kinda surprised she even talked to you, she tends to hide behind me most of the time.” They both looked over at Eri who was now playing with the other kids. “That’s not unusual, I’ve got at least five kids who didn’t talk to me for the first two weeks! Is her mother shy?” “Oh, uh actually she doesn’t have a mother…actually..I’m not even her biological dad.” Y/n seemed shocked at this, not only that he wasn’t her dad (You look at the two and HONESTLY tell me they don’t look AT LEAST similar?!?!) and even more shocked he was single. I mean, look at him, the mans attractive. Chrono seemed to have sensed her confusion, “She’s my boss’ granddaughter, but seeing as he’s older, he gave her to me and my friend to take care of, but he’s not exactly the settle-down-have a family type, so I did what I could and next thing I knew I was her ‘dad’. Not gonna lie though, its been hard. She had a…rough start. Her dad died and her mom abandoned her.” “That’s very admirable of you, taking in a child like that. I don’t have any of my own, but even just babysitting these kids for a few hours is hard enough! I was orphaned, so I can sympathize with Eri in a way, my aunt had to take me in after my parents were killed by heroes.” “I’m sorry to hear that, so I take it you’re not too fond of them?” “Well, I guess not. I don’t hate heroes entirely, but I’m not exactly a fan.” Chrono began to think about why exactly he was here, and she seemed to be checking all the boxes. She was kind, caring, great with kids, young, Eri didn’t run from her, so far she seemed like the perfect candidate. And even better, she didn’t seem to be too fond of heroes. “Hey, um if you’re not busy later, would you mind meeting with me and my boss? You see, I came here looking for another caretaker for Eri.” The young woman seemed intrigued at what Chrono had to say. “Where we work, there aren’t exactly many women around…In fact..there aren’t any women around. And seeing as Eri was left to us, we want her to have a chance at a normal childhood, so she kinda needs a mother figure, and I think you’d be right for the job.” Y/n seemed surprised, she was also curious what kind of job wouldn’t have even one female around. This made Y/n even more curious about the young man. “Okay, I’ll meet with you and your boss, but it’ll have to be after my shift it over, so I won’t be off until five.” “That’s fine, give me your phone number, I’ll text you the details after I talk with my boss.” They exchanged phone numbers, “Alright then, well I should probably be leaving now.” “Yeah, me too, I need to get the kids back to the daycare, hopefully their energy is drained at least a little!” Chrono chuckled he knew exactly what that felt like. “Good luck, and I’ll see you later.” “I’m going to need it. Bye Kurono!” “Bye Y/n.” And with that, the two went their separate ways.

~Back at the Shie Hassaikai Base in Overhaul’s office~

“Well? How did it go?” “Good, really good, actually. I think I found our new caretaker.” Overhaul waved his hand, signaling Chrono to continue. “She’s twenty years old, kind, good with kids, and she doesn’t seem to be too fond of heroes.” Overhaul seemed intrigued. “Tell her to meet us at Dixon Café at 5:30, we will discuss the details there.” “Yessir”. Chrono then left Overhaul’s office. Making his way to Eri’s room, he decided to go ahead and text Y/n the details.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kurono

Hey Y/n, this is Hari Kurono from the park? I talked with my boss, he said to meet Dixon Café at 5:30 today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He set down his phone and continued walking. About two minutes later he felt his phone buzz.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n

Okay! Perfect, I’ll be there.

Kurono

Alright, see you then.

Y/n

See you then!

Chrono then put away his phone, the slightest hint of a smile on his face as he made his way to Eri’s room. Yeah, this was gonna be interesting to say the least.

#chronostasis #chrono #chronostasis x reader #chrono x reader #y/n #hari kurono #bnha x reader #bnha #shie hassaikai

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cherryfi · 5 years ago

Text

Blame it on the Bokbunja

Requested: Anon asks: haii!!! could you please make ateez san agent au? the concept is up to youuu thank youu

Plot: The mission objective was simple - take Choi San down by any means necessary. What you didn't expect was how it was to get him alone. You also didn't expect him to be this endearing.

A/N: I got so much inspiration for this wow, I didn’t expect it to be so long, I hope you like it anon! I hope the rest of you like it too aha!

TW: Alcohol drinking, drugging, mentions of violence

Word count: 9462

The mission’s objective was short and simple: Eliminate Choi San– make his empire crumble from the top, down. It would be like cutting the head off a snake, the body wouldn’t be able to sustain itself.

What was not simple, however, would be to actually make that happen.

Choi San was not only one of the most dangerous men in the city, He controlled at least half of the country’s black market and most of its organised crime could be traced back to his syndicate, Ateez. San had inherited this legacy from his father, Jisung, who had ruled the mafia with an iron fist.

Choi Jisung had been an orphan who grew up on the streets and who, together with seven other ‘friends’ built themselves one of the most heavily controlled and untouchable gangs the country had seen. He was highly intelligent and had an impeccable eye for detail. Nothing got past him and no one was able to double-cross him without ending up dead.

Contrary to how he ran his gang, Jisung’s family was his sanctuary and he always pandered to their every need – they wanted for nothing. This could be seen by the countless evidence photos showing family holidays; where he doted on his wife and only son, San.

According to the evidence file, San had been trained from birth to take over the leadership position from his father. And along with the syndicate’s seven other sons they were taught the skills necessary for running a ruthless and successful gang.

Taking over the ‘family’, unfortunately, came earlier than was anticipated for a 16-year-old San when his parents were murdered by a group of upstarts hoping to take over their territory. Jisung had been betrayed by one of his soldiers (Lee Sungjoo, who was paid off for information about Jisung’s whereabouts), who was quickly ‘done away with’ by the other men in the syndeo.

The Lee family were offered a rare show of kindness by San and Sungjoo’s son, Taeyong, remained a close friend. Taeyong went on to run an equally dangerous gang NCT, although both groups deferred to each other.

San’s first order of business upon receiving his crown was to obliterate the would-be rivals, making sure that any other competition knew that he would not take kindly to any threat towards his territory or family. His reputation had quickly been set and in no time, he was known across the country as being even more ruthless than his father had been.

Whether it was his training from a young age, the need to prove to his doubters that he was as good as his father, or being fuelled by pure revenge – no one could tell but, what they did know, was that Choi San was not a man to be messed with.

And even so – he was fiercely untouchable. Despite being able to hold his own in hand-to-hand combat and knowing his weaponry, San was never alone. The other members, having been friends since childhood were all protective of each other.

So, how were you supposed to take a man like that down?

It wasn’t going to be an easy feat and that’s why they’d called you in. You were a top operative but, you were only ever behind the scenes. Part of the ‘clean-up’ crew, your job was to go in after the field operatives had done their jobs and tie up any loose ends but, every field assassin that had been sent in after San had ended up dead.

It was time for a new strategy, and they hoped that sending in a fresh face with all new ideas and a whole different skill set would be what they needed. There was also a hope that it would flush out the mole that was sending San their mission information. After all, there was no way that he could foil all their plans without inside help.

How you fit into that, you weren’t sure. Technically, clean-up was less qualified than field crew, you were all combat trained, but clean-up didn’t use it as often nor did they go undercover as often but; somehow, they expected it to work.

It wasn’t working.

You’d gone over every possible point of entry into Ateez and none were viable – you’d eventually end up dead or discovered in all of them. They’d all been tried by other operatives and had failed.

Not that the corporation cared. They were putting pressure on you to succeed.

Thankfully, after 2 months of trying to find your way in, an opportunity dropped itself in your lap – as if by magic. And who were you to turn down a good opportunity?

What does a mafioso do when he’s not being a mafioso? He runs a ‘legitimate’ business.

And San was the silent owner of an exclusive bar: ‘The Noir Lounge’.

The Noir lounge was a swanky speak-easy that was a member’s only bar. People only knew about it ‘by word of mouth’ and so, it’s customers and clientele were often very important and high-class, according to the case file even the city mayor and a few city officials were members.

Although it was a bar, the lounge also had a selection of private rooms and a sex club. So, it was important that members remained unknown to the general public. Some of these men and women were married, after all.

It surprised you that they’d be advertising a position for a new bartender but, you weren’t about to let it pass you by.

You applied.

The application process was unique, it constituted of an extensive background check and multiple interviews but, that was to be expected.

None of those interviews had been with San.

It was a Wednesday morning when you got the call.

“Hello Ms Y/L/N? Your application to join the staff at the Noir lounge has been successful. Congratulations. Your start is immediate and so we will expect to see you tonight at 7pm before the bar opens to collect your uniform and go over housekeeping. Please bring with you comfortable, black, smart shoes. You’ve been sent an email with the address. I look forward to meeting you tonight. Enjoy the rest of your day.” That was it. The voice on the other end was soft-spoken but deep and masculine. He also didn’t give you his name.

He was highly professional and curt – giving you no opportunity to respond, you barely got out a ‘hi’ before he spoke.

But that didn’t matter because you got the job. A chill ran down your back both from excitement and terror.

Now it began. You would have to fit into the bar like any other employee – naïve to what was going on behind the scenes but, also interesting enough that you would somehow be allowed to enter the inner circle .

From the outside, the bar looked like any industrial building and you would never be able to suspect that it was teeming with activity underneath. If you didn’t have intel telling you where it was you would’ve gotten lost.

You arrived at 6:45 – 15 minutes before you were required to be there and buzzed on the door 3 times slowly, just as you’d been told to do. It opened and you were wordlessly led down into the lounge.

It was beautiful and crafted in a style that you would’ve expected of Choi San, classy, expensive but, simple.

“Ah Y/N. You’re early which is a good sign. I’m Park Seonghwa, I spoke to you on the phone, it’s good to finally meet you. I’ll be your manager while you’re working with us.” You took his outstretched hand and shook it firmly, smiling.

“Hi Mr Park, Thanks for the opportunity, I look forward to working here.” Of course, you knew who Park Seonghwa was.

On the surface he appeared to normal. Seonghwa was tall, handsome and friendly. It would be easy to fall for him but, he wasn’t a man to trifled with. Seonghwa was Ateez’s resident doctor, if any of the members of the syndicate were injured, they went to him to be fixed up but, that was only the half of it. If there was a poison, best believe that Seonghwa had experimented with it and he was often called in when Ateez needed someone silently ‘taken care off’.

“Ha, that sounds so formal, just call me Seonghwa. We’ll be spending enough time together working that I’ll get to know all about you. We’ll be best friends, just you watch. It’s better that we start off casually.”

‘I’ll get to know all about you.’- I certainly hope not.

You smile shyly – “Okay.”

“Seonghwa, stop flirting with the staff, even if they are gorgeous.” You almost let yourself swoon but remember who you’re talking to -Kim Hongjoong.

Seonghwa was low-key in his work and despite his extensive knowledge of poisons – he rarely got his hands dirty. Hongjoong, on the other hand, was covered in it.

Hongjoong was the ‘answers man’. You’d been disgusted almost to the point of physical sickness when you’d seen his case file. Hongjoong was the king of sadists and incredibly thorough. When Ateez needed answers and had particularly difficult adversaries, they sent them to Hongjoong. The things that man could do with a scouring pad and some hydrogen peroxide were terrifying and he took great pride in that.

But here he was, smiling at you with an almost innocent curiosity, no sign of the sick bastard that he really was.

“I’m Hongjoong. We just had a meeting here so the rest should be filing out soon and then you can open the bar. There’s another bartender working with you tonight but, it won’t be too busy. It’s never too busy on a Wednesday.” He smiled and shook your hand.

I wonder how many lives those hands have taken.

You try not to shudder at the thought.

Hongjoong was right – things were slow that night, which was good because it gave you he opportunity to get used to mixing complicated drinks and taking orders.

Your patrons ranged from well-known politicians to celebrities to other mafia members that were known to your organisation. But no San.

As a matter of fact, over the next 2 months, the only member you saw was Seonghwa and he was often distant.

The promise of casual conversations and time spent together was quickly forgotten and Seonghwa was business as usual. You only saw him at opening and closing time – he was always in a private room at the back of the club – probably with the other members but, they had their own bartender and so, you never saw any of them.

This didn’t bode well for you. It had been 4 months since you’d been given this mission and you were no closer to completion, the bosses weren’t happy to hear this.

Your work phone rang; and it sent a shudder down your spine – you knew you were in for it now.

“Status report?” Well hello to you too…

“No change. The target is yet to be seen. I’ve acquired new work but, no further advancements have been made.” You could hear the disapproving noises from the other line.

“This is unfavourable, we would have expected some status update from you other than a bartending job Y/N. Are you sure you’re the right person for this job?” Now, you were angry, first they leave you to take care of this alone and then they question your methods.

It was true that you were stumped as to your next move but, they didn’t know that. They had no place to criticise you, given how many operatives they’d already lost.

“Am I the right person? You tell me. Given the fact that I was threatened with forced resignation if I didn’t take this job, I can assure you that I wasn’t the one that made the decision to be here. The target is dangerous. I need to play the slow game. Rome wasn’t built in a day and given the amount of lives that have been lost trying to destroy them, I’d expect a little more support.” The line goes silent.

“We’ll call you for another status report in 3 months we expect progress.” And just like that, the line was dead. If you didn’t tread carefully – you would be too.

It was another month before anything happened. It was like you’d completed some probation period because suddenly, you were being told that you would be a personal bartender.

“Y/N. Just the girl I wanted to see.” Seonghwa’s wide smile greeted from the other side of the bar where you stood, restocking it. You turned to look at him.

“Hey Seonghwa, what’s up?” You returned the friendly smile.

“I have a new position for you. We’re having a separate event in one of the other private lounges and I figured you could use the experience of being a private bartender. It’s a little different to being behind the general bar; it’s more intimate and the people you’ll be serving will expect a lot more of you but, no pressure. I’ll be there if you need some guidance.” He leans on the table, his sleeves rolled up and you catch a little glimpse of a tattoo.

“Can I ask what the special event is?” You really have no clue what it could be.

“A birthday, that’s all I’ll tell you now. Don’t look so scared, you’ll be fine.” He reaches across the bar and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

You’re scared for another reason. The realisation hits you like a bucket of ice water as your mind runs through all their files.

It was San’s birthday.

You were finally going to meet San and for some reason, it felt too soon.

They were different to how you’d expected them to be, their case files and photos had not prepared you for how normal they appeared. They were friendly and jovial.

Even Jongho, who was known to be quite cold was actually friendly, if not a little awkward.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your thoughts became completely scattered as you came face to face with your target.

He smirked at you and laughed a little your shock, his dimples on full display.

“Uh, sorry, I was spaced-out. What can I get you?” Play dumb Y/N – you’re not supposed to know this man.

“Yeah, I could tell, it’s not busy in here so I guess you’ve got a lot of time on your hands. I’ll have a French 75.” You balk. A what?!

“Let me guess, you’ve never made one of those? It’s not a regular one to get ordered despite it being a classic. Get a champagne flute.” You do as order and automatically go to put a cube of ice.

“No, no ice. It’s served straight-up. Pour 2oz Champagne, ½ oz of lemon juice, 1 oz gin – the Santamania is the best for this one and normally it’s 2 dashes sugar syrup but, I’ve got a sweet-tooth so give me 4. Rim the glass with some sugar and you’ve got yourself a classic.” He finishes with a wink and you follow his direction, Finishing it off with a lemon slice.

You slide it across to him on a napkin and wait expectantly.

San is not the kind of man you want to disappoint.

I hope I make a good impression.

“That’s a good 75. You know it’s supposedly named after a WW1 gun. It was the Howitzer 75mm, the French and Americans used it all throughout the war. Apparently, the cocktail’s got a kick just like the gun. By the way, if it’s in a slim glass, like the flute, never put ice with it. Ruins the experience. A flute glass is used when you want to keep the texture of the drink, you want it to keep the bubbles. That’s part of the experience.” His eyes glint boyishly; and you smile as he explains more information about the cocktails.

In another life you might have found yourself falling for a man like him, he was oddly cute.

“You know, it’s not ordered regularly but, it’s a classic cocktail, perfect for bringing in the new year or celebrating another one. I’m San by the way.” He smiles for real this time, dimples on full blast, and you can’t help but, smile back. He shakes your hand.

Damn, he was charming.

“I didn’t think I’d meet a cocktail nerd.” He barks out a laugh.

“You have to be when you run a bar.” You put on your most shocked face.

“You own this place?” He nods.

“It was mean wasn’t it? Not telling you that I’m the owner but, Seonghwa talks about you so much, I had to see what was so special about you.”

“Well, did you find what you were looking for?” You answer him, a little flirty, hoping that that would open him up to you.

He only laughs.

“I’m not sure yet but, we’ll see.”

Your next status report goes a lot better.

“Update Y/N.”

“I’m almost part of the inner circle. A rival gang offered me money to rat on them and I told my manager so, they had no excuse but to tell me what was going on. The members have been conducting business around me now so, it’s a sign of good things to come.” The line is silent again but, you’re not in fear of the response. They wanted progress, they got it.

“And what about the target?” You sigh.

“I can’t get him alone. None of the members will leave him alone, he’s always surrounded.” It was true be it Hongjoong, or Wooyoung, San was always with someone. If San was around, you could easily find Wooyoung somewhere nearby.

Besides the only times you’d been within killing distance of San was during the meetings, where you would serve drinks. You served drinks ,and they talked.

“What’s your next plan of action?” You sigh again.

“The only thing I haven’t tried: overt flirting.”

“Okay but be careful.” The line went dead again.

You had to put your plan into action.

The only time you got to see San on his own was during select night when he would randomly enter the bar. He’d spend the whole by your bar, just taking in the scenery and occasionally talking to the patrons but, rarely did he speak to you.

To top it all off, Wooyoung or Mingi were always in earshot of you.

How am I going to pull this off?

Your mission’s completion was so close you could taste it. All you had to do now was make San want to get you alone and you’d have him but, you had to tread lightly. It was around this point in the mission that a lot of operatives had lost their lives – they got cocky or crumbled under the pressure of the corporation’s demands.

You wouldn’t end up like that.

Your chance came 2 months later.

“She was cute.” It was a Friday night, but it was at the start of service, so the bar was still quiet. A few of the bar’s members had already arrived; tired and weary from their work weeks (or from the debts they owed to San).

Like the city mayor. He was in the bar and had been downing straight vodka for the last half hour but, you knew why.

He’d just walked out of a meeting with San and Hongjoong. Hongjoong had a wild grin on his face and San was fuming. The mayor’s re-election had been an odd one. Odd because nobody expected him to win so, when he clinched it, eyebrows were raised but, no one said anything.

San had bought him the election and now he owed San.

You almost felt bad for him but, he deserved it and now wasn’t the time anyway – San was finally alone.

Well, he was, a pretty girl in a blue, velvet dress swayed up to him, taking the bar stool next to him. He made eye-contact with you and you quickly busied yourself; shining glasses. He paid her no mind.

He didn’t even respond to her flirtations. She eventually huffed and walked off.

“Yeah, she was. See that guy over there? That’s Son Hyun-woo. You don’t need to know about who he is but, that girl, is a gift from him. He’s trying to keep me sweet Y/N. I’m not interested. I’m not an easy man to buy.” His stare is intense, and you find yourself struggling to look away.

He breaks out into a slow smile.

“What time are you working tomorrow Y/N?” You don’t really know where he’s going with this.

“I’m in at 7 – same time as always.” You shrug, keeping your tone light and San looks around thoughtfully.

“You’re a good bartender but, I want you to learn some of the more unique drinks. Come in at 5. Don’t worry it’ll be paid. I’m giving you a one on one cocktail class.” He flashes his dimples at you, and you agree.

Time to put your plan in action.

You head into the bar at 5 to find San already there.

“Y/N! You ready for your masterclass?” He clasps his hands together and rolls up his sleeves, you sit across from him – curious about the array of glasses and alcohols.

One thing was clear – San didn’t respond well to obvious flirtations so; your plan would need tweaking. Maybe you could charm him with your intelligence?

“Get behind here Y/N. You can’t make drinks from that side.”

“Alright. I’m here.” He smiles at you again.

“The first one we’re going to make is a clover club. This one predates the prohibition era in America. It was popular in Philadelphia; where it was created. It’s a classy, aromatic drink; reportedly drunk by literary experts and high-class men. That’s why it’s served in a cocktail or martini glass – so you can take in the aroma before you sip it.” You watch him expertly mix the drink.

“ ½ oz Gin, ¾ oz lemon juice, ¼ oz raspberry syrup or grenadine and one egg white. We make it thick by shaking the ingredients up in a shaker with ice but, serve it dry. Rim the glass with sugar and some frozen raspberries. Go on try it.” He nods encouragingly and you take a sip, he pours himself a glass as well and you look at him curiously.

“What? Shouldn’t I be able to savour the fruits of my labour?” You roll your eyes and he winks at you.

He’s right – you smell the gin and the raspberry syrup. It’s sweet and tart and surprisingly its thickness doesn’t take away from its enjoyability.

He takes you through other cocktails, making you try each one: La Paloma, the Penicillin, The Martinez, the Corpse reviver – you try them all and eventually you’re a little tipsy. He seems completely unaffected by the alcohol.

Bad move.

San looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I made this one myself. Have you ever heard of Bokbunja?” You shake your head, no, and try to steady yourself; giggling when San stands close to you from behind, whispering in your ear.

“It’s a wine that we make from Korean Blackberries. It’s made in the same way as wine but, it has a higher alcohol content. Its acidity makes it perfect for seafood.” You sigh when he wraps his arms around your waist, his breath fans across your ear and jaw. It smells like the last cocktail.

“It’s also perfect with fresh mint, I like to add it with sour mix and elderflower as well. You know why it’s so popular in Korea? Apparently, it’s an aphrodisiac. I don’t know about that but, I know it makes you quite hot under the collar. If you plan on getting fucked later in the night – Bokbunja is the way to go. Now that I think about it, maybe it is an aphrodisiac. Try it and tell me.” San’s lips ghost across the shell of your ear and he pulls away to guide your hands.

You haven’t even sipped it yet and you’re already hot under the collar.

“Take a sip. Do you like that Y/N? Does it make you feel hot?” You moan quietly.

You finally come to your senses when you feel his lips on your neck.

This wasn’t part of the plan – you were supposed to seduce him not the other way around.

“San, I don’t think this is a good idea but, thank you for the lesson.” You pull away from him and he only laughs. You put your hands on his chest. His grey, silk shirt feels good under your palms.

He obviously has expensive taste.

“Maybe you’re right but, you can’t say you don’t want it, want me.” He’s right and suddenly, you don’t think you can carry out the rest of your mission. If you keep feeling this way, you might end up compromised.

You almost fell under his spell and if you didn’t get a grip soon, you’d fail your mission.

Failure wasn’t an option.

But San didn’t make it easy.

Somehow, he’d only gotten worse. Before, you couldn’t get him alone but now? You couldn’t keep him away. Every time you came to work San was there.

He was sweet, he was kind, he was flirtatious.

And those damn dimples.

“Status report, Y/N.” God, where do I begin?

“In the last month, things have advanced a lot. San, I mean the target and I have spent more time together.” There is a pleased sound on the other line.

“This is good. You should complete your mission soon then I assume?” You cringe.

“There is a slight problem – the target has been pushing his sexual advances heavily. I fear I won’t be able to complete my mission without giving in to them.” There’s a huff on the line and you sigh.

“Do you know what ‘by any means necessary’ means, Y/N? We gave you a mission to complete. If that means giving into the target, then do it. Don’t be shy now – these things are often necessary and expected of our field operatives. Make yourself pretty, visit a spa if you must. But, your mission must be completed within the next 2 days or we’re pulling the plug on it and you.”

“2 days?! How am I supposed to do this in 2 days?” You’re beside yourself in anger and bewilderment.

“By any means necessary, Y/N.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“We don’t make threats, it’s a warning. Y/N if he wants you then it should be easy to strike him off. We expect you to deliver in 2 days – we will be in touch.” The line goes dead as your heart drops to your feet.

You have no choice, but to do as told.

As usual, your shift doesn’t start until 7 so, you spend your day at the spa.

You get everything, from a full body wax to a shiatzu, to a manicure – all on the corporation’s dime but, none of the treatments are enough to ease your nerves.

You’d expect that after a day of hot stone massages and saunas, you’d expect all your kinks and sore muscles to be worked out but, instead you feel like a taut rubber band; ready to snap.

It’s now or never.

You wear a new set of lingerie under your uniform for later that night. It’s lacy and rubs against your skin airily and a little rough; the colour complements your skin perfectly. It should make you feel sexy but, you feel filthy instead.

You feel like a whore.

Your hands shake as you place the gun under your clothes and it’s never felt heavier. When you get to work you put it in your bag and in your locker instead, the feeling of the metal on your body making you sick.

As if the universe wants to play a sick joke on you, all the members are unexpectedly at the bar. They’re finishing up on their meeting as you step in and they all greet you once you step behind the bar.

“How are you Y/N? You’re looking a little green.” Jongho studies you but, drops it quickly when you tell him that you’re just not feeling well.

As a matter of fact – all the members were studying you, aware that you weren’t your usual self but, San told them all to step off.

“You’re so used to people acting suspicious that you’ll give this poor girl the 3rd degree? She’s just a little unwell, right Y/N? I think something’s going around, the other bartender called in sick today.” You can only nod, scared that your voice will betray you.

“You know what’s good for that gin and tonic. Here drink up.” He makes you a single with ice and you down it quickly, trying to cover how much your hands shake.

Can you really kill Choi San?

The answer is no, no you can’t.

Your shift goes by uneventfully and you leave work, disappointed.

The ball of tension in your stomach has grown tighter and you’re thankful for your day off but, it’s also your deadline day.

You only had one day to finish your job and you’d failed – you were screwed.

Yeosang calls you in the morning.

“Y/N? This is Yeosang, San would like to see you at his home this morning, it’s to discuss your job. A car will be by your home in 20 minutes.” You nearly collapsed; San wanted you to visit him?

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be ready.” You said your goodbyes and Yeosang hung up.

Were you getting fired?

You didn’t have time to ruminate on it – you quickly got ready for this impromptu meeting placing a small blade in your shoe.

It wasn’t what you would have planned but, you had to improvise.

The car journey was deathly silent. Wooyoung picked you up and after a short hello, he didn’t say anything else.

He knows. He has to know.

Wooyoung kept stealing glances at you in his rear-view mirror but, wouldn’t say anything, his expression was blank. There must have been a reason why he’d been the one to pick you up, given how close he was to San.

“We’re here Y/N. Just head up to the front door, the butler’s waiting for you.” Wooyoung turns to you and holds your stare for longer than expected. It makes you squirm under his gaze, while he searches your eyes. Your body’s tense with anxiety.

After a moment of you sitting frozen, he laughs shortly.

“They’re waiting for you inside Y/N.” You get out quickly, taking your bag with you.

You’d decided to pack a gun in the end as well, hopeful that you’d be able to end it all quickly, it felt heavy in your bag.

There was a lot more to Choi San than you’d read in his case file. Behind all the bloodshed and cruelty of his world, was a charming man that just wanted to live a normal life.

Could you really blame him for how he ended up, given that this was the only life he’d ever known?

You shake your head at the thought. A criminal was a criminal, regardless of how they got there.

You had a mission to complete, you steeled yourself as you walked up to the front door. Wooyoung drove away once you were at the top of the stairs.

San’s home was completely different to the bar. Where the Noir Lounge was cool and chic with its black interior and classy upholstery, San’s house was light and airy: it felt like a home. Even from the outside, the large, gated state-home looked inviting.

With its lush gardens and gravel driveway, even the wall surrounding the home was unintimidating. You could imagine San entertaining friends and gusts in his home or relaxing in his front room. You could almost imagine yourself right there beside him.

As you walked to the front door, it opened.

They really are waiting for me.

“Miss Y/N, Mr Choi is waiting for you in the dining room. I will bring you to him now. My name is Jiwon, I’m the personal butler for this home and I hope you’ll be enjoying your stay with us.” He guides you through the door, walking you across the marble floor after asking you to remove your shoes and giving you a pair of house slippers.

Jiwon is efficient and he moves fast. As soon as your slippers are on, he guides you to the dining room giving you little time to get look at the house (or recover your knife) but, what you took in was gorgeous. The doorway led to a large staircase on your right but, Jiwon led you down back, and as promised into the dining room.

It was beautiful.

You breathe deeply to ease your panic. It doesn’t work.

The dining room was an extension of the kitchen but made completely of glass, the sun rays shone into it and you could see another lush garden outside. In the centre stood a large mahogany dining table big enough to sit at least 20 people. But for now, it only sat one.

San.

“Mr Choi, your guest is here.” He turned to look at you, a dazzling smile on his lips, his eyes practically disappearing. Your heart sped up just looking at him.

He was dressed casually today, in joggers and a t shirt but, that didn’t take away from how beautiful he was.

“Thank you Jiwon. Y/N. Come have a seat by me. Let’s talk.” He pats the seat next to him and you take it, a shaky breath leaving your body. You were going to be alone with him.

Silently, you hoped that Jiwon wouldn’t leave.

“I will be by shortly, with today’s brunch, we have a selection of light foods, such as smoked salmon and cream-cheese bruschetta and some Scandinavian pastries for you to try miss Y/N as well some palette cleansers.” Jiwon smiles at you directly and you return it. In the little time you’ve seen him, you liked him.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“The chef is incredible Y/N, you won’t be disappointed. Thank you Jiwon, I’m giving you the rest of the day off so please, go and enjoy yourself.” You panic a little.

You’re definitely going to be alone with Choi San. Your training kicks into overdrive as you try to casually look for all possible escape routes in case things went south.

It was now or never – you’d never have another opportunity to finish your mission.

“Now Y/N. I’m really sorry to call you here on your day off but, don’t worry, you’ll be paid. I wanted to discuss how things are going with your work. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

A proposition? Your ears perked up. What kind of proposition could he have for you and what did it have to do with the job you already had? Whatever it was, you were sure that it wouldn’t bode well for you. You’d have to put your mission on hold even further, much to your own chagrin and worse - you’d have to report it back to your superiors. Would they give you the benefit of the doubt? You could only hope that you’d be able to convince them that this new job would be a good opportunity to not only take Ateez down but, to take down their associates as well. As long as you spun this roadblock into an opportunity, you’d be able to come out of this on the other side but, whether or not it was unscathed was left to be seen. Up to this point, you hadn’t actually gotten involved in the seedy underbelly of the ateez syndicate - after all you were just a bartender and aside from San’s constant flirtations and being privy to some of the more intimate details of their work, you hadn’t really been involved in dealings. Hell, the members aside from Seonghwa and occasionally Hongjoong hadn’t had more than light conversation with you. This would be a perfect opportunity.

Your musings were quickly interrupted when Jiwon came back in, followed by the rest of the staff. There were 2 other staff members, one of whom you assumed was the chef: given his uniform. “Brunch is served. We have a selection of charcuterie and sandwiches as well as the palette cleansers, as promised. I recommend the gooseberries over the hazelnut coffee for this particular selection but, I’ve put both here as I know how you enjoy your caffeine, San. Please also enjoy, the selection of cakes.” The chef bows to signal his end and San dismisses the staff with a quick smile.

“ I’m sure that Jiwon’s told you, you have the weekend off. I’ll clear the table myself. Don’t worry. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’ll see you all Monday morning. ”

Now you’re really scared.

The whole weekend? This must have been big. You watch them file out of the room, a sense of heavy dread filling you as they go. “Now that I have you all to myself; let’s talk business.” He rubs his hands together, smirking at you.

“As you know, you’ve been working with me for a little while and I’m impressed with your work. But, I’m also quite fond of you Y/N; which makes me privy to a little bias, don’t you think?” He smiles a little and pours himself a cup of coffee. You watch the liquid fill the glass mug, too scared to meet his eyes. The liquid swirls disturbed by the movement and you watch as it settles.

San blows on the mug and takes a tentative sip. “I, uh guess.” you say dumbly. San Laughs. “That was rhetorical Y/N. Please eat something. I want you relaxed. You’re as stiff as a board.” You try to laugh it off when he reaches out to touch your shoulder, but the sound is weak and pathetic.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to brunch dates.” You could kill yourself. You cringe as soon as the words leave your mouth. Dear Lord, please let the ground open up and swallow me whole! Date?! Why did you say that Y/N?

“Is this a date Y/N?” He’s back to teasing you again, his tone mischievous and you know there’s no way he’s going to back down now.

You swallow your pride. “I uh, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” You cringe and turn your attention to the Danish pastries, trying to distract yourself. “Because I would like that very much. Actually, you beat me to the punch. That’s what I wanted to talk about.” You look at him in shock. You lean forward curiously and San places a bottle of bokbunja on the table in between you.

You glance between it and him, a little perplexed.

“You remember what happened when you and I had this drink don’t you? And since then, we’ve been dancing around each other, playing a very dangerous game. I don’t like games Y/N, I like honesty. And honestly, I want you and I’m no psychic but, I know you want me too.” He leans into you and rests his hand under your chin: his thumb resting on your lips.

You don’t pull away, instead your lips part instinctively. Your eyes are still downcast, looking at the pastry in your hands. “Look at me, when I’m talking to you Y/N. Let me see those beautiful eyes. You can’t hide from me anymore.” You look up at him through your lashes, his eyes are intense. They’re ablaze with passion and fondness.

He pulls away from you and your breath stutters. He was right. You wanted him but, a mission was a mission. It needed to be fulfilled.

Yet, somehow, you’re starting to think that it’s not all that important anymore.

“Now, as much as I want you, I also know how dangerous it is to mix business and pleasure. So, I have a decision for you to make. Would you like to be mine?” You gasp.

He remains unfazed and carries on. Your eyes bug out.

“If you say no that’s okay. We’ll carry on as normal and you won’t have to bother about any awkwardness between us, I’m a professional man after all. But, if you say yes, you’ll have to quit. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you at work once I’ve had a taste of you and I won’t want to. I also won’t be able to hold my tongue if one of those disgusting men flirt with you, I can barely restrain myself as it is. If only you knew how vile they were. But I promise I’ll help you find work somewhere else if you’d like. I also promise to cherish you for everything you’re worth, I’ll take such good care of you.” Your heart swells at his words. The look of seriousness in his eyes has you breathless.

“San can I, can I think about this?” Your eyes gaze at him, pleading for him to understand how hard that decision was to make.

Even harder, given that you’re supposed assassinate him, right Y/N? This wasn’t fair. Life just wasn’t fair.

Why couldn’t he be like every other high-stakes criminal? A pig who wanted nothing more than to fatten themselves up off the back of everyone else’s work. Why couldn’t he be 2 dimensional? Black and white? Just pure evil? Why was Choi San so god damned loveable?

His casefile spoke of a deeply troubled and highly dangerous man who had no issue with disposing of anyone. People were pawns to be used and boy was he good at using them. But the man before you was nothing like that. He was fiercely loyal and passionate. Driven, hardworking, and kind.

San was everything you’d ever wanted in a man and then some and it was your job to kill him. You’d been compromised. There was no way that you’d be able to do harm to him now but, there was also no way that you could go into corporate HQ empty handed.

Your mission statement had been clear: failure meant being burned. Which meant definite death for you. If you could stall San, it would give you the chance to run. You’d disappear into the wind probably somewhere where they couldn’t find you. You’d leave him a warning and disappear for good.

Yeah, you could do that… Except- San’s eyes darkened. His face set in determination “No. No Y/N , you don’t get time to think about it. This is a onetime offer. I’m not going to let you keep running from this." He held your wrists in his hands shaking them lightly; prompting you to look directly into his eyes.

"I’m putting everything that I am out there, I’m offering you my heart Y/N. I don’t think I can sit around and wait while you decide whether or not I’m worth it.” This was new. San looked so vulnerable as he held your hands in his.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him no. Screw your mission - somehow, you’d make it work.

Eventually, you’d have to tell him that you were a plant but, that could wait.

“Okay San, I quit. I’m all yours.” Your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. But he hears you. San pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you and trapping you with a kiss. You taste the hint of coffee left in his lips and the sugar from your pastry: sweet and bitter, just like the situation you were in now.

Your lips move against each other slowly, San takes his time with you, running his hands over your body; caressing every inch that his hands touch.

When San pulls back, he looks like a dream. His dimpled smile stretches across his face, eyes almost disappearing, his hair tousled from you running your hands through it. His lips are spit-slicked and swollen and the prettiest shade of cherry red.

You feel like a teenager experiencing their first kiss all over again, except this time it’s not disappointing. You’re giddy and you can feel your face heating up.

“I’m really happy that you’re here with me Y/N. We should celebrate. How about a drink?” He holds up the bottle of Bokbunja and shakes it.

“Yeah, let’s celebrate.” You sigh, the gravity of your decision finally settling in on you. There was no way you were going to be able to get through this. If you ran now, the corporation would find you and if they didn’t you were certain that San would.

“Let me get us some wine glasses.” He pats your thigh and gets up, taking the bottle of wine with him. Being alone with your thoughts for that short time was driving you crazy.

How were you going to get out of the situation you’d put yourself in? You’d been trained for almost every possible situation but, there was no training for what to do when you fell for your target.

You’re pulled out of your stupor when San returns with the 2 glasses of wine, placing 1 in front of you.

You try to smile convincingly but, it felt more like a grimace but, you still try to play your role. “What should we toast to?”

San thinks for a moment.

“We should toast to something cheesy like, ‘new beginnings’ or to ‘us’.” He laughs at how cheesy it sounds and your heart swells at his sudden shyness

“Okay, to us it is. To us.” You both raise your glasses together, clinking them and then you drink.

You chug the wine, hoping that a little liquid courage would help you relax.

“Woah slow down there Y/N.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, it’s a really nice wine.” You smile sheepishly and rapidly blink – your vision going a little hazy. You try to hide how nervous you are as you pour another glass for yourself.

San pulls his chair back from the table and sits across from you. You try to reach out for him, but your arm feels heavy.

San just watches you, his expression distant.

“I’m glad you liked the wine, I added something a little different to yours though. Can you feel it Y/N? Seonghwa said you would, he said it was fast acting. It really looks like it’s working. I’ll have to thank him.” You look at him quizzically and try to shake off the brain fog, but you can’t. Your mind is hazier than ever.

You didn’t drink that much, what did Seonghwa have to do with the wine?

It clicks in your mind and you watch as San’s sombre expression. Your mind runs back to your fact files. Seonghwa was a chemicals expert. He played around with poisons.

You try to convey your alarm, but your head and eyes are too heavy.

“whaid you doo tme?” Inside your head, you’re panicking but, outside you can’t move, you’re slowly losing consciousness.

“I didn’t do anything to you Y/N. You did this to yourself.” You try to fight back as San picks you up bridal style but, your body isn’t working with you. Mounting panic gives way to artificial indifference and your vision narrows down to a pinhead. Everything goes black.

You came to, slowly. The first thing you noticed was that you were sprawled out on your back and that your arms were aching. Trying to stretch them out, you realise with a start that they’re bound to bed posts. Your body slips on black satin sheets as you try to sit up. ��Keep calm Y/N, keep calm.” The panic is setting in, freezing your body and you know if you let it take you over that logic will leave.

“Yeah Y/N, stay calm. I’m sure this will all blow over.” In taking stock of your current, bound state, you didn’t even realise that San was watching you. He regards you silently but, coldly. His eyes holding none of the previous love and softness.

You’ve been had. You realised it too late. And now you’re going to die. But you don’t want to die.

Your breath comes in short puffs, quickly increasing and your head is beginning to spin. The feeling of pins and needles travels across your fingertips. Tears start to prick at your eyes.

San quickly gets up from his seat in the middle of the room and sits next to you on the bed. “Calm down Y/N, I need you to breathe slowly. Especially because I need you to be coherent for what I’m going to say." You try to do as your told and flinch when San reaches towards your face and wipes away your tears.

"I don’t like games Y/N but, that doesn’t mean that I’m not good at playing them. I always win. You’ve been playing a slow game with me and I’m really not happy about it.” He leans in close and you try to back away from him, but the sheets aren’t on your side, you’re still groggy.

“I know who you work for. I’ve always known.” Your heart rate picks up at that. You’d had a feeling that he would’ve found out but, not that he had always known.

“Now, before you go getting yourself into a panic. I’m not going to kill you. No, you could be of some use to me. I’m going to ask you some questions honey and if I think you’re lying, I might have to send you to Hongjoong and we both know what will happen if I do. But, if you’re good and you tell me the truth, I might just let you off the hook.” San’s hand grips your inner thigh and then he pulls back; getting up from beside you and pulling his chair to the end of the bed.

You can only watch him, your mind running through all the possible ways you could get away from him. Your mind comes up short.

“The corporation put another hit out on me, yeah? It doesn’t surprise me but, what does is why they would send a lower level spy so, why you? And remember princess honesty is the only thing that will keep you safe.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms and looks at you expectantly.

“They couldn’t figure out why every assassin they sent was getting killed so they figured you must have insider info on who they were sending. Lower level means less clearance so they sent me in because it would be hush hush. Less people to get permission from, meant less people involved, lower chance of failure.” He nods and furrows his brows.

“So, was the aim to still kill me?” “Yes.” You’re surprised to see the flash of hurt pass by his features but, it surprises you even more that it affected you so much.

Killing someone was one thing, telling them was another.

“When.” He watches you carefully, daring you to lie to him. “My deadline was today.” He sighs, nodding.

“What stopped you?" You can’t answer him. Because I fell in love, was such a cliché response and it would’ve sounded 2 dimensional given the situation you were in now.

San was clearly hurt so most likely wouldn’t believe anything that sappy but, it was true.

Even after being mildly poisoned and tied up your feelings didn’t waiver and even before this, you’d been planning on how to leave him unscathed.

"You’re taking too long Y/N, don’t li-” “I fell in love with you.” You blurt it out before you can second guess it. He looks at with a blank expression, his lips pressed tightly together.

He doesn’t believe you.

“You wanted honesty so here it is. I started doubting my ability to carry out the mission as soon as you guys started letting me into your inner circle. I didn’t get that close to your business, but I got close to you guys; I have so much in common with Yunho and Jongho showed me all his tech stuff and I had lunch with Hongjoong and his mum. His mother, San. The closer I got to all of you the more I didn’t want to carry this out. I was meant to do it yesterday but, I just couldn’t. I can’t hurt you. ” A fresh wave of tears flow from your eyes.

San gets up, wordlessly and walks away, shocking you. It’s over.

“Don’t look so panicked.” He sits by you, tissues in in hand and wipes your tears. “I’m not going anywhere but, I don’t think you want tears drying on your face.” He’s smiles at you tenderly.

“Untie me San.” The smile drops off his face.

“Why would I do that? Thank you for your honesty but, that doesn’t let you off the hook just yet. Do you have any idea who, exactly, you’re working for Y/N? Because I do. Your boss has been living on my dime for years, he was even on my father’s books.”

“For what exactly?” You’re shocked but, not exactly sure what this has to do with you.

“Let’s just say that your boss has a few extra-curricular activities that would put a damper on his career goals. He wants to run for government one day and there’s no way he can do it if the info I have on him gets out.” The cogs are turning in your head, hearing what he’s saying.

“You’re telling me, that Kim Jinyoung, the same Kim Jinyoung who’s been strait-laced his whole career, who’s been responsible for removing some of the worst careered criminals off the streets, who has a doting wife and 4 kids; is in the back pocket of your gang? That’s not possible San and I’m not playing your game. Just hurry up and kill me.” Oof, you don’t know where that came from, probably the frustration of being tied up and realising that you’ve been had the entire time.

But think about it, Y/N, if San can be good despite what his casefile says then, Jinyoung has every possibility of being vile.

San gets up and reaches for a manila file in the bedside table.

“I thought you’d say that. I normally have these files stored away but, I bought this one just for you. Let me show you what he’s been up to. Here’s one of him doing cocaine. Here’s one of him drinking with Taeyong at one of Taeyong’s parties; I’m sure you know who Taeyong is. And, this one’s my favourite: him being spanked by a girl at Mingi’s strip club. So, tell me again that I’m lying.” You’re left speechless, unsure of what to say and having no clue where to even begin.

San pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again. You only look at him in bewilderment.

“Look, I’m not going to kill you Y/N. If I’d planned on doing it, I would have killed you already.” He pulls the key from his trousers and undoes the cuffs around your wrists. You rub them gingerly and flex your fingers – trying to get the feeling back into them.

He unties your feet as well and sits back in his chair.

“I’m also not letting you leave. I’ve had a mole in the corporation for a while, I’ve known this was coming. But I wasn’t expecting to get feelings for you. The plan was to play with you and Jinyoung, make him think he’d finally gotten the one-up on me and once he’d gotten comfortable or you thought you were close enough, I was going to send you to him in pieces.” Your body runs cold and you start to shake.

San had planned on mutilating you?

“Well what stopped you?” You want to look defiant; you want to appear strong but, the question comes out in pathetic whisper.

“You were only doing your job. As were all of the assassins. They were given choices. Stay or die. 4 stayed and they work for Ateez now and 1 was disposed of. You’re the only one I’ve fallen for and trust me when I say that I love you. My proposition still stands Y/N, although in a different way. I want you by my side but, obviously that means quitting your job – your real job. If not, I’ll let you go; I can’t hurt you and I won’t let anyone else, not even your boss.” He rubs your cheek with his thumb lovingly.

You lean forward, closing the distance and kiss him slowly.

When you pull back, his cheeks are dusted with pink but, he still looks unsure.

“Choi San, I quit.”

#ateez imagines #ateez #choi san #choi san imagines #choi san scenarios #ateez san imagines #ateez mafia au #kpop mafia au #ateez scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios

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wreckofawriter · 5 years ago

Text

Different

Pairing: Teddy Lupin x reader

Word Count: 2,652

Warnings: None.

Request: omg could u pls write me something like a teddy lupin x reader

A/n: Okkk so I dont exscatly love this story but whatever I hope you guys enjoy!

You were different. That was no secret, since the moment you walked on to Platform 9 ¾ everyone had known you were different. No one knew how they knew, they just knew.

When you walked onto that train surrounded by terrified first years without a fear in the world, Edward Lupin fell in love with you. Of course at 11 years old he had no clue what love was, he just knew you were unique, and he liked it.

Teddy had looked for 20 minutes to find your cabin, and when he did, you merely glanced at him and asked, "What do you want?"

When he replied explaining how he wanted to sit there you simply shrug your shoulders as he took a seat.

The next time he and everyone else in that hall realized you were different is when they called you up to be sorted.

McGonagall yelled, "Y/n y/l/n!" And you had skipped up to the hat a sly smirk plastered on your face. You plopped yourself into the seat, still smirking and waited.

The hat took it's time, 3 and a half minutes to be exact, to put you in a house. Your smirk grew fainter and fainter with every passing second.

When the hat belted, "Hufflepuff!" And a chorus of cheers erupted from the black and yellow table, Teddy was terrified. The look on your face was that of pure hatred, loathing and fury. Teddy feared for his life.

You stood up thrust the hat into McGonagall's hand and stomped to the recently cheerful and now confused table. You plop yourself down as far away from anyone as you could.

Teddy was called up soon afterward and nervously ascended to the hat. He sat down with a bit of a smile and waited. It took a few seconds of muttering before shouting, "Hufflepuff!"

Teddy was elated as the table erupted with cheers. When he neared the group he changed his hair to bright yellow with black stripes and the cheers grew louder. He smiled wide until his eyes landed on you.

Your head was down, your y/h/c hair sprawled across the table. You were definitely not cheering with joy.

Teddy had once again swallowed his fear and sat across from you. The motion caused you to look up meet his hazel eyes.

You raised both your eyebrows and pressed your lips into a thin line. Teddy broke into a toothy smile, "I'm Teddy." He stuck out his hand.

You rolled your eyes and let your head fall back into the table. Teddy frowned and dropped his hand. He had never been more intrigued by someone in his life, what was your deal?

Now as Teddy watched you entered the potions classroom, your eyes grew brighter and the touch of a smile grazed your lips. He wished to see that smile more often, it made his heart flutter and his knees go weak.

"Alright." Slughorn said pulling Teddy out of his daze, "Today we are studying the Draught of Living Dead potion."

"Great, kill me so I can get out of this lesson." Teddy snickered.

"Contrary to popular belief Mr. Lupin," Slughorn glared at the boy, "The Draught of Living Dead potion does not kill you. Does anyone know what it does?"

Many hands shot in the air and Teddy looked down, embarrassed.

"Ms. Y/l/n?"

"When someone drinks the Draught of Living Death potion, they go into a deep sleep so strong that they appear to be dead," she paused for a moment before adding "hence the name, living dead."

Teddy scoffed, attempting to ignore the color creeping onto his face. "Wouldn't that still get me out of this lesson?"

"I suppose." Slughorn drawled. "Anyway, we are going to make some today, flip to page 245 to see the recipe and get started."

Teddy began to gather ingredients as his desk mate, Ash Winpicker, found a cauldron.

As the two went on they had to restart the potion 3 times, not because they didn't know how to do it -in fact both boys were quite bright- but because Teddy preferred his performance as the class clown than doing work and Ash was welcome to help.

Finally when Teddy turned his head into an Asian Dragon to "collect hair for the potion" Slughorn had had enough.

"Mr. Lupin! You are disrupting the whole class." Slughorn seethed.

"Just doing my job sir." Teddy saluted him throwing the professor a wink.

"Mr. Lupin, please switch spots with Ms. Hetler."

Teddy groaned snatching his stuff turning around to see Monica Helter taking his spot. He walked towards the front and nearly choked on his saliva when he saw his new seat.

There you were, you y/e/c glaring him down.

"Hey y/n." He choked out.

"Lupin." You growled, lips pursed.

Teddy sat down mentally cursing himself.

After a few seconds of silence Teddy cleared his throat.

"Don't we have to, you know, make the potion?" Teddy asked gesturing to the cauldron.

You let out a snort, "Well you see, when you actually do work, you tend to finish the potion."

His eyes went wide, "You're already done?"

"Yep." You said making the 'p' pop on your lips.

"H-how?" The young boy stuttered out.

"Well, you see it's called working," you smiled sarcastically, "you should try it some time."

Teddy blushed, his hair flashing crimson before returning to the sapphire blue he had adopted over the past few years.

He glanced at the potion to notice the continents looked exactly as described in the book; it was a light lilac color and the consistency of water.

Teddy let his eyes fall back onto you. You had your head bowed over, your y/h/l y/h/c hanging in your face as your y/e/c eyes were glued to the glowing screen held in your hands.

Smirking, Teddy leaned over and tapped you on the shoulder, "Hey Y/n."

"What." You snapped lifting your head to greet his hazel eyes.

"I don't think phones are allowed." The Hufflepuff smiled raising an eyebrow.

"And I don't think I care." You hissed back.

The boy was about to throw another snide remark when he saw Slughorn out of the corner of his eye.

Teddy promptly snatched your phone from your hand ignoring your protests.

"Mr. Lupin, do you have a phone out in class?" Slughorn bellowed noticing the small device.

"Ummm yes professor sorry." Teddy said looking up at the teacher apologetically.

"You know that is a violation of school rules," the frustrated professor said snatching the device from his hands, "You can get this back when you see me in detention at then of this week and I will be expecting to see you every night until then."

"Yes professor." Teddy mumbled.

"Also 15 points from Hufflepuff."

Every Hufflepuff in the room groaned, well not every. During this whole conversation you sat there wide eyed mouth agape as you watched Teddy Lupin take the fall for you.

When the conversation ended you stared at the boy so confused and surprised you couldn't get yourself to do anything but stare.

Teddy looked back at you blushing a bit and biting his lip.

Finally you managed to speak, "W-why?"

"What?" Teddy asked glancing at you again.

You cleared your throat and blinked a few times. "Why did you do that?"

"Wouldn't want to ruin your Ms. Perfect reputation would we?" Teddy mocked.

"Please no one thinks of me as 'ms. perfect'" You scoffed.

"Slughorn does" he shrugged.

You exhaled loudly and tried to forget about it. He was just, being compulsively nice for some reason. After all he was a true Hufflepuff.

For the next week you attempted to get Edward Lupin out of your head. Unfortunately the stubborn bastard refused to move. He was cemented into your brain like your frontal lobe was branded with an image of him in a hot iron.

Questions floated in your head. Why save you from punishment and humiliation? What had you ever done except ignore and scoff at the boy to make him take a weeks worth of detention for you? You did your best to ignore such thoughts but they seemed to leak into your head like a cracked boat leaking water; it was a slow process but if not attended to, you would drown.

You had always found Teddy to be a strange person, I mean besides the whole metamorphmagus thing. He was always nice and kind, to almost everyone. But here was the real thing that got to you. He was always nice and kind to you. Ever since that day when he shyly walked into your train compartment and the two of you sat in silence the whole ride, the day you got placed in the one house you never thought you would be, and never wanted to be, when the black and yellow haired boy had returned and tried to be your friend once again.

You had never done anything for him and he seemed to constantly be helping you. He would somehow always be there with candy when you were stressed studying for N.E.W.Ts even though you would just scoff at his jokes he told in attempts to relax you. He was there when you lost your quidditch game and you had felt like crying, you had felt so vulnerable you had smacked the boy in the face with your broom and ran. He was there when you got rejected by Thomas Dunston and when you were dumped by Alex Gelman. He seemed to always be there and you always brushed it off.

For the longest time you were sure it was simply pity, but now you knew it wasn't so. Because when you looked into the boy's eyes just after he snatched the phone from your hands there was no pity in them. There was this new yet not so new glint of an emotion you couldn't quite place.

Now as you stared down at your plate of food there was Teddy again. Your eyes lifted to meet him.

"Heres your phone." Teddy winked, leaning over the table to hand you the device.

"Thanks?" You inquired, uncertain about the wink.

"My numbers in it, you should give me a call some time." He winked again.

You let out a breathy laugh suddenly coming to a realization, "Hold up, are you flirting with me?"

Teddy burst out laughing, you sat there quite confused. You waited as his laughter turned to giggles and then finally tapered off. Finally he spoke, "Godric, for being so bright you are really stupid." He giggled.

You blushed hoping he wouldn't notice the slight tinge on your cheeks.

He laughed again, " Merlin y/n, I have been flirting with since I was 11 years old."

"W-what?"

"Yeah, I've been trying to get your attention for six years. Nice of you to finally notice." Teddy then stood up and began to walk away.

"Wait!" You yelled standing Teddy stopped just outside of the hall and you ran to meet him. You stopped in front of him. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I did say something!" Teddy said exasperated.

"No you didn't!" You fought back.

"Are you kidding?! I complimented you daily. I always tried to sit next to you in classes and during meals, I always study with you even though you ignore me. I make sure that I draw attention to myself in class, just to get you to look my way, when I go to hogsmeade I never leave without acid pops even though I hate the things because I know you love them, I always sit across from you in the library because you make cute little faces at your book and homework!" Teddy bellowed his voice raising with each word.

"Well I just thought you pitied me!" You howled, anger flowing through you.

"Pitied you?! Y/n I have been in love with you since I saw you step onto that Platform six years ago!"

Your eyes went from glaring slits to wide with surprise. "Y-you love me?" You choked out.

"Shit." Teddy mumbled burying his face in his hands. His hair was a soft lavender now turning a midnight blue. "Look it's just…" he groaned in frustration, "You have always been different to me, the way you do everything is unique and amazing. You have always been this mystery I have been trying to figure out and..." He sighed, letting his sentence die.

You stood there eyes wide in almost a daze, how could he possibly love you, you were the Hufflepuff mistake, the only mean Hufflepuff, the girl who was put in the wrong house and he was the Hufflepuff prince, the one who belonged, the funniest one, the one who was always destined to be, it wasn't right.

"Look I'm just going to go."

"Wait Teddy," you grabbed his shoulder then paused looking up at the boy, unsure of what to say. "I act so.. different because, well I was sure of what was going to happen." You took a step closer to his confused state. "I was sure I was going to get on that train ride to Hogwarts where I would get sorted into Slytherin and make some shitty friends who were shitty to other people then I would focus on my grades become a prefect and graduate in the top 10% of my class, just like my parents did and I wouldn't be different at all." You took another step closer, "All of that changed the second that you stepped into my carriage. I suddenly wanted to be your friend and I knew you weren't going to be a shitty one. So I silently hoped to be put in a different house so you wouldn't hate me. Then when I got sorted into one house I knew I could never fit into, everything went to shit, my parents were pissed at me when I just wanted them to be proud and I guess I sort of.. I don't know, blamed it on you."

Now Teddy was the surprised one. "Oh."

"Yeah oh." You shrugged. "I am really sorry for blowing you off all those years I just…" you let your voice trailed off when Teddy took another step closer to you.

"So you don't hate me?" He asked his voice soft.

"Well no, I don't think I've ever really hated you." You whispered heart thumping as you bite your lip looking up at the hazel eyed boy.

"Good, then I can do this." Teddy smirked.

"Do wh-" you were cut off by his lips.

Your eyes widened in surprise then closed as you melted quickly into his kiss, moving slowly against his desperate lips. Your heart felt like it was punching out of your chest, your knees went weak. You wrapped your hands around his neck pulling him impossibly closer as he poked his tongue between your lips.

When you pulled away panting his hair was a hot pink to match your cheeks.

"Woah." You whispered, eyes wide, lips swollen.

Teddy's smile grew on his pink lips as he let out a breathy laugh, "Yeah woah." He giggled.

You smiled biting your bottom lip missing his own.

"So you'll go to hogsmeade with me this weekend?" The Hufflepuff asked.

"Of course." You answered reaching up and bringing your fingers through his hot pink hair. "See you then."

"Great!" Teddy said smiling wider than he was sure he ever had.

You giggled turning away from the overly enthusiastic boy.

Teddy watched as you retreated from him. The second you were out of view he leapt in the air whooping and pumping his fist, little did he know you were around the corner hand tracing your own lips as you leaned against the corridor wall smiling just as wide.

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hymn2000 · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only The Piano Player - MCU AU Fanfic - C18

(Previously Ideal Confusion)

Story summary: Giving into the constant pressure from the press, Tony decides to put a rest to the rumours that Peter is his biological son - once and for all.

Previous Chapter(s): 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: family, family stuff, family conflict, adoption, DNA test(s), pressure, peer pressure, social issues, mentions of alcoholism, mental health problems, potentially some minor medical inaccuracies, corporal punishment, hurt/comfort

You can also find me on AO3

Chapter 18 - So Much To Prove

Peter stirred uncomfortably, whimpering as he woke up. It was dark - too dark. He’d fallen asleep so quickly that he hadn’t even turned the night light on. He whimpered again, tears pricking his eyes, and became aware of someone’s arms round him.

“Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you”

Peter relaxed, somewhere between asleep and awake, pressing a hand against whoever was holding him, reassuring himself. He shifted slightly and slowly drifted back to sleep.

“Did I have a nightmare last night?” Peter asked Loki at breakfast.

“Surely you should know the answer to that one?” Loki said, putting his mug down.

“Well, I don’t always remember, especially when someone’s with me like you were”

Loki paused, quirking an eyebrow. “I didn’t go to you in the night, chick”

“Oh” Peter sat back, confused. “But then who..? Um...”

“Finish your toast. You don’t want to be late for school”

“I don’t know if I’m up to it”

“You are” he nodded at the door. “Blazer’s there when you need it”

Peter swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from the car window.

“Did you and daddy talk last night?”

“That’s none of your business” Tony said abruptly. “Don’t be so nosey”

‘A definite yes’, Peter thought. He looked at Tony, trying to figure him out. He was rubbish at hiding things, but he also neglected to talk about things that were most important, so sometimes the full effect got lost.

“What are you staring at? You’re putting me off”

Peter shrugged and looked away. They were quiet until Tony parked up in front of the school.

“Try to have a normal day today, kid” Tony said.

“What happened yesterday wasn’t my fault”

“I never said it was. Just don’t have a repeat, alright?”

Peter pouted at him.

“Just be good, kid. Now go: you’re gonna be late”

“You’ve changed your tune”

Tony smacked his thigh, hard.

“OW! Dad!”

“Don’t be so cheeky. Now sling your hook”

Peter didn’t need to be asked twice. He grabbed his bag and stepped out of the car, all but slamming the door behind him. He didn’t have high hopes for the day ahead.

Malaki was on everyone’s minds and lips. There were a lot of rumours, and some of them were pretty worrying. Unfortunately, some of them were true, but, having not heard anything more from Malaki since the day before, Peter wasn’t sure about all of them. He didn’t really want to think about it.

Not that he had much choice in the matter.

There were too many reminders. Almost everyone in the form had seen what had happened, and there were a lot of pale faces in the discussions. Peter turned round when the bell rang, looking at the conspicuously clean patch on the carpet, at Malaki’s empty seat - and Nigel’s too.

Flo rested a hand on Peter’s to get his attention.

“I think he’s gone and told the truth” she whispered. “I’m not entirely sure, though”

The door opened, making her jump, but it was just Ms Hathersage.

“Settle down, now!” she barked. “Well, well, well! It’s nice to see you all in one piece! Just about. How’s your head, Stark?”

Peter didn’t respond. He’d almost forgotten about his own injury. He probably would have done altogether if Loki hadn’t changed the dressing when he’d woken up. It seemed so insignificant, especially with Malaki in hospital.

Mr James’ practice room seemed like a refuge from the heavy stresses and talks of the morning.

“How’s your head?”

Peter shrugged.

“Yeah, I thought as much. Any news on your friend?”

Peter threw his bag down and plonked himself down at the piano, ignoring him. Mr James understood.

“Well, I’ve got some marking to do, so I’m taking this corner” he said, slinging his briefcase onto the little table. “It’s easier to focus in here. Less people knocking on the door, you see”

Peter nodded slightly, not really listening. He flexed his hands and tapped a few keys, not sure what to play. His head was all over the place: Malaki, Loki’s house search, leaving school, being Tony Stark’s biological son... He hadn’t even got his head around the first problem, let alone those that had followed. He didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to do about any of them. He didn’t really know how he felt about any of them either.

Well, he was worried about Malaki. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him. What if it was serious and he had long-lasting problems? He didn’t even know how he was now. He wasn’t sure it was his place to text and try to find out. Malaki’s phone could be dead, for a start, or he might be indisposed. There was nothing he could do, anyway.

Leaving school was just a fact of life now. He hadn’t had much time to, but if he really thought about it, he wasn’t really sure he wanted to leave anymore. He didn’t have any control over that either.

Loki’s house search was more confusing. Peter still wasn’t sure why Loki had lied and said he’d been asked to go back. Sure, they kept in touch, but why not tell Tony the truth? As much as he’d enjoyed his sabbatical, Peter wasn’t convinced he’d actually leave. But, Loki was nothing if not unpredictable. Besides, he’d heard his outburst about his time in hospital. Maybe the stress of that memory and not being able to talk about it was getting too much for him. If it was, maybe Scotland really did beckon.

Some, everything was piling up, but those bloody DNA test results still felt like the biggest problem. Peter hadn’t had the television or radio on, or even checked his phone properly since the press release, but he could imagine all too well what was going off. He was still surprised no one had cornered him at the hospital about it. It wasn’t the press that bothered him, though. Not really. What got to him, was the massive uncertainty that came with learning that the past you thought you knew was nothing but a fabrication. Plus, there was the whole issue of Tony seeming furious at the results one minute, and acting like they’d never had them the next. AND, on top of that, Tony and Loki were at odds, and Tony seemed to have started smacking again. Peter hoped what happened just before Loki rang Marco was an isolated incident, but he couldn’t be sure. His leg had throbbed for a good ten minutes after he’d been struck in the car that morning. He didn’t like the feeling that Tony might be taking his frustrations out on him. Sure, Loki had mentioned he was seeing someone to work through his problems, but he couldn’t be sure. Tony wasn’t great at the whole opening up thing.

“That was energetic”

Peter looked round at Mr James.

“Energetic. But sad” Mr James said. “It was good. You’ve always been good at the classics”

Peter turned back to the piano. He’d just played from the list on the wall, half-hearted but heavy-handed. Still, even then, he felt better for it.

“Did you do any playing last night?”

Peter shook his head.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Tired?”

Peter shrugged.

“You’re quiet today” Mr James came over and stood beside him. “What’s burning in there today? We can have a little chat, if you like?”

Peter froze, reassured himself that it was only his parents who always used ‘chat’ to mean he was in trouble, and breathed out. He shook his head slightly.

“Well, I’m in the corner if you change your mind” Mr James said, squeezing his shoulder and returning to his table.

Peter was quiet a moment longer, before resting his hands on the keys and starting to play. Calm and light at first, and then a few heavy notes mixed in. He got into the rhythm, and soon started humming along under his breath. He felt safe in the funny little room, piano at his mercy, Mr James quiet in the corner.

He grew immersed in the music, his humming become more pronounced, a type of mumble of almost-words. And...

“-Caesar's had your troubles, widows had to cry. While mercenaries in cloisters si--ng; And the king must diiiiieee”

God, it felt so good to sing without worrying what people might think.

“Some men are better slaying sailors. Take my word and go.. But tell the ostler that his name was; the very first they chose”

Somehow, he was thinking of other things as he played. Mainly about school, and about what people might think if they overheard this. Oddly... well, he didn’t care. ‘Let them hear’ he thought, hammering out the final notes. He paused a moment, catching his breath, still on the same train of thought.

;Well’ he thought. ‘If anyone’s listening, I’ll give them something to listen to’

“You can never know what it's like.. Your blood, like winter, freezes just like ice.. And there's a cold and lonely light that shines from you.. You will wind up like the wreck you hide, behind that mask you use”

He played it heavy, a little slower, much more Rocketman than Too Low For Zero. Mr James looked up from his papers, watching closely.

“And did you think this fool could never win? Well look at me, I'm-a coming back again.. Got a taste of love, in a simple way, and if you need to know while I'm still standin’ you just fade a-way..”

Mr James stood up, carefully, slowly, not wanting to interrupt. Not yet.

“Don't you know? I'm still standing better than I ever did! Lookin’ like a true survivor - feelin’ like a little kid. I'm still standin’ after all this time.. Picking up the pieces of my life, without you on my mind..”

Mr James put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and he stopped abruptly. He swallowed, hands still on the keys, and slowly looked up at him, biting the inside of his lip.

“How do you feel about breaking the rules?”

Breaking the rules though it was, it felt right with it being a teachers idea. However, that didn’t help at the end of the day. At first, he still felt brilliant - incredible, energised, on cloud nine - but then the butterflies were replaced with moths, fluttering replaced with thudding, and he felt sick with nerves.

It wasn’t like Tony was going to find out, and, honestly, it wasn’t as though he’d really done anything wrong - but his father was so unpredictable right now that anything seemed to be a possibility.

“Not a bad lot of work for a Wednesday afternoon” Mr James said. “See you tomorrow, Master Parker-Stark”

“Thanks, s-sir”

“No problem. Well, you’d better be going. Bye now!”

Peter went out to the carpark, praying that it would be Loki, or even Happy, waiting for him.

No such luck.

“You took your time” Tony grumbled as Peter climbed into the car.

“Mr James’ lesson ran over” Peter said, not untruthfully.

“Mm” Tony said, obviously not listening. “Your father wants to have a word when we get back”

“Oh... About Scotland?”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous!”

“I’m not!” Peter scowled. “Well, what is it about, then?”

“You and me. And... this” he gestured between the two of them. “I think”

“What could he know that we don’t? We’ve got the results, and you don’t remember my mother”

“We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

There was a short silence.

“...Dad?

Tony sighed irritably. “What?”

“Do you regret getting us tested?”

“Just put your headphones in, kid”

“But-”

“But nothing! Put your bloody headphones in or I’ll smack you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a week, understand?!”

He could have been bluffing - but Peter didn’t want to take that risk.

Loki sat Tony and Peter down at the kitchen table, much to Tony’s annoyance.

“Is this going to take long?”

“It takes as long as it takes!” Loki snapped.

There was a pause. Peter looked down at his hands. Loki sighed, and placed a brown A4 envelope down on the table.

“I don’t want you to get angry at me because of this. I didn’t really register at the time, and I’d honestly forgotten until I saw it today”

“What is it?” Tony asked.

Loki pushed the envelope towards Peter. “I think you should do this”

Peter hesitated. He didn’t like the feeling of them watching him, but he took the envelope nonetheless. It was thin, obviously not much to it. He slipped the piece of paper out of the envelope, turning it over and looking at it, reading it over. It all seemed pretty normal - aside from one thing.

“The birth certificate? I forgot you’d requested that. What’s the big deal?”

“Hand it to your father, Peter”

“Loki, I know what a birth certificate looks like. I don’t think-”

“Just read it, Tony”

Tony humoured him, taking the certificate from Peter. He glanced it over, and then stopped. His expression changed and there was silence as he set it down in the middle of the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained.

Peter swallowed hard, not that it helped. “What does it mean?”

Loki brought the certificate close, looking at the blank space where a father’s name should be.

“It means your mother knew”

#my writing #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #frostiron #irondad and spiderson

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jyuhachi1994 · 5 years ago

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KIRAMUNE MUSIC FESTIVAL 2019 -10TH ANNIVERSARY- EXPERIENCED REPORT! Part 2

Before I continue, here is the picture of how the stage was set up

「Orange - all stage, black- arena seats, blue - big moving stage, red - small moving stage」

(SOURCE: https://twitter.com/kiramune_fan/status/1122766162968793088?s=19)

Anyways, I bought my ticket for Day 1 from a friend in Instagram, and she got A Stand in 3rd Base side. They started letting us in at 12 in the afternoon, and it was unexpectedly fast. When we entered the Dome, they were playing MVs, and yes, MVs from 2009! Feels! Watching their MVs on a big screen! I also couldn't contain my excitement since they were showing PVs of their recent released albums and will be releasing, and guess what, they showed VERSUS!!!!! Namidai, Yocchin, and Kakki were so cool! It was a short PV, like 10 seconds? Or 15? But the hype was there! When there were lots of people inside, you could really hear the cheering!

Okay, so I wrote everything I could remember from Day 1! Honestly, I couldn't remember much since Day 2 really had a big impact to me! And yes, Day 1 was really different from Day 2!! I cried lots during Day 1!

We headed to our seat, and actually at first we sat at the wrong row. We thought our seats were at the very top of A Stand, but turned out much closer to the stage! I mean, to the small side stage! I also had a chance to meet with my friend from Twitter, who is from Singapore!

[A-chan, N-chan, and me! When we were still sitting at the top of A stand, we were even getting excited that what if they used cart and go around?! We would be able to see them (well it didn't happen, and we moved closer to the stage]

[International Fans! From Singapore and Canada! Their seat was really close to the stage hahaha!]

Five minutes before 3:00 PM, we thought they would start the Reminders for Rules and Regulations, but nah, they played one more MV, and it was Namidai's. After his MV, black screen then Ever Dream played, and after the 2nd chorus, the Rules and Regulations were showed, courtesy by chibi Kiramune Members. And after that, they played Ever Dream again, then finally it's show time!

The intro video really made me cry! Hahahaha! They were all clips from 2009! And the member introduction started with the latest members SparQlew, Yocchin, Trignal, Nobu, Kakki, Namidai, Hiroshi, Miyu, and then special guest! CONNECT! Seriously the cheer was really loud!!

I had no idea what colour should I choose next. I had three, so one of them was Purple for Hiroshi's, but the other two, I kept on changing them.

Then, first song was Bokura no Egaku Mirai, gosh! I stayed with purple, red and white for my blades {Hiroshi, Miyu/Ryouhei, Nobu}. Their entrance was so grand! (Here's a correction here, sorry, I just remembered their entrance, the stage split into half was when CONNECT entered, their entrance was the big moving stage lifted up along with the members, and they moved towards the end stage.) They were all wearing a very flashy clothes of blue, with mostly blue and I think there were shapes on it and the colour of each members were there!

SparQlew's got a part for Bokura no Egaku Mirai, on the first chorus, they got the KAmiYU's part, it was really divided into five of them. And the second chorus, they got the Uncle Bomb part.

Things really get wild on the next one! It's their special medley! The first one was Miyu, and he sang "doko ma demo", and I would be honest, I couldn't concentrate to where should I look, since they just spread! And all I could remember were SparQlew went to the main stage, and the others spread at the long centre stage. So I just searched for Kamiya-san, and he was smiling so bright coming towards to our side! Me and my two friends just lost it, since the three of us Like Kamiya-san! It was special song medley, after Miyu, Hiroshi sang "shirikagiri" at the very end of the middle long stage, yes near us, and I was shouting again!! And sorry, but my eyes just followed him, but when he went to the other side, my eyes just went towards SparQlew members, ChibaSho and Hozumin went down the stage, and made all the fans on our side went crazy. The other three were on the other side. Since yes they went to the smalllll side stage, I could clearly, clearly saw their faces! I am into SparQlew, especially Hozumin! So I really got excited seeing him there!

Lol! Anyways, after Hiroshi, the order was on how they entered Kiramune. Namidai sang UTAO, Kakki sang Endless journey, Nobu sang Hello, Ms. Sunshine, Trignal sang Gentei Kaigi Ready Set Go!, Yocchin sang Wasshoi, and SparQlew sang Hajimari no Sora.

After SparQlew, Miyu finally introduced our nii-sans! The return of CONNECT and the whole dome went wild! The first song was Say Hello! And I was shouting on top of my lung with "Hello! Hello!" While crying! Too much feels when they showed up on top of the small moving stage. The other members were still there, and the dome was really hype-up! CONNECT stayed at the moving stage, and by the end of Say Hello, the members gathered around the small moving stage at the centre of the middle long stage. After Say Hello, CONNECT's next song was cone sen followed by Pride reamer!

After CONNECT, the order of the performers were on how they entered Kiramune. So from CONNECT up to SparQlew.

Again, I would just write all I could remember. And all of them except SparQlew sang 3 songs, and Miyu had a medley song, and the songs were from his early albums.

There was a video playing behind Miyu, his early performance of エール in Kirafes. I couldn't help but cry again, since it was his debut song, and first Kirafes performance. After that, he had a song medley, five songs from his early albums.

Hiroshi also sang 3 songs from his early albums, it was really nostalgic! My tears really didn't want to stop! The butterflies at the background were so beautiful!（笑）

Namidai sang Yellow Man from his new single release, and my tears just stopped, yes, literally stopped! So Namidai started from the end of the middle long runway stage, and at the very main stage there was a tall yellow ranger came out, and he danced 'gui gui (do it)' the dance step from Yocchin's song, idk if you watched the Kirafes2015 one, the encore part. Because of that Namidai asked him "aren't you Egu?!" Though he denied, we all knew who it was. I think Yellow ranger was there for only 15 seconds.

Kakki was up next, and we were looking for him, we could hear his voice, but nowhere to be found, but then on the other side of the dome, people start cheering. He was on a big cart! A cart with Kiramune logo star on it! オシャレ!

Next was Nobu! Oh, I could remember very well when he sang Sai Saikou, he used both the small stages on each side. I couldn't help but fangirl too much since I could clearly see Nobu's face while singing Sai Saikou! I really love this song! He sang it with KAmiYU last Kirafes, then he sang it this year again, and I was able to see it closer!

I apologize for Yocchin but during his part, I went to the washroom! But I could hear his voice, and there was fireworks. I returned exactly at the end of his 3rd song. He was playing guitar for Dramatic Surf Coaster!!!!!! Actually, I regret missing this part!!!

Trignal was up next, and I never thought that they would sing Message From Live first! My memory here was a bit hazy. Because their entrance on 2nd day had a big impact, I couldn't remember at all! But I could remember that they were on cart, not the same with Kakki, but the usual small ones.

SparQlew was next, and they performed two songs from their new album, Bokutachi no Horizon and Abracadabra! They were so cute! So cute! The dance step levelled up! To why I said that, I apologize but when I watched KF2018 Bluray, you could still see that they weren’t in synch still, but this year, man they nailed it!

After SparQlew, it was talk corner. First day, SparQlew with CONNECT, Miyu, and Kakki. I would try to remember what they talked about here. But, they talked about the weather. They were somehow blaming Iwata-san since he is an Ame-otoko, but thankful since Suzu-san was there, and he is hare-otoko. There was one time that it became so bright on our part, and they were worried on the other side since we could feel the warm, but the other side was freezing. I could remember they were saying how CONNECT were really ojiisan since SparQlew members were with them. I couldn't remember if it was during the MC talk, but they talked about SparQlew's hair. Since Hozumin, ChibaSho and Takuto had their hairs dyed, and they didn't want their hairs to be the same. Also, they talked about their Kirafes experienced, since last year they were only guests, and their real first Kirafes was in MetLife Dome. Also, Kakki and Takuto already had planned to have a drink once Takuto become 20 years old! Also Miyu pronounced SparQlew with perfect English!

~Second Half and Encore~

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legitlaur · 6 years ago

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Golden Hour // p.p

Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Cheesy, awkward social encounters, the occasional swears, not edited (very well)

Summary: You didn’t think having a photography class with Peter Parker would be of any significance to your life, that is until you were with him at Golden Hour.

You checked the room number one last time, and shoved your phone in your back pocket. Adjusting your backpack, you walk into your last and hopefully favorite class. Photography.

The classroom was average sized, with big windows letting in lots of natural light. There were rows of computers, with a backdrop in the corner. Looking around to find a friend or an empty seat, you noticed everyone else squinting at the whiteboard. You turned your attention to the board and smiled when you saw a seating chart projected on the screen. Your name and horrendous school picture was somewhere in the middle row, near the end. You squeezed past people as you tried to walk through the tight row. You finally found your seat, and carefully sat down.

You pulled out your phone and saw a text from Mimi. She was sitting by George, her crush in physics. You told her to flirt her way into his heart.

“Um, excuse me. I think, I think you’re in my seat.” A shy voice whispered.

You turned around and saw a nervous Peter Parker. He had on another one of this nerdy graphic t shirts.

“Oh, you sure? I think this one is mine.” You assure him.

Tightening the grip on his backpack, Peter nodded, “Positive,” he pointed to your name then counted the seats until he reached the computer next to you, “Looks like you were off by one.”

You nodded, grabbed your bag and slid into the correct seat, “Sorry about that Peter.”

He smiled, “It's, its. No worries y/n.”

You leaned back in the swirly chair waiting for your teacher to go over announcements and the disclosure. She was waiting at the door, greeting students, when the bell rang she shut the door and began the lecture. She went over the basics, class fees, procedures, expectations, and rules. You sat patiently waiting for her to finish and get on with the assignment. As you drifted in and out of listening you heard her say the worst three words a teacher can say.

“Let's introduce ourselves,” She clapped her hands together.

In unison the class groaned, “Now now, this is the easiest way for me to remember your names. I’ll go first, my name is Ms. Hewitt.”

Going around the room, each student stood up, said their name, and why they took the class. As it got closer and closer to you your stomach tightened.

“My name is y/n y/l/n, I took this class because I like taking photos. I also thought it’ll be a nice change from all my ap english and humanities classes,” You sat down and hid your red face.

“Hi, um I’m Parker Peter. No no I mean Peter,” He took a deep breath, “Sorry. My name is Peter Parker. I took this class because my boss said I’d get a raise if I take some photography classes.” He plopped back into his seat.

“You have a job? Where at?” You whispered.

Peter shrugged, “I freelance,” when he say your confused face he continued, “I take photos for the Daily Bugle. They won’t give me a staff job so I freelance.”

“What kind of photos?” You nudged him on.

He looks around, and hesitates.

“Come on Peter,” You urged him.

“Spiderman.” He mumbled.

“You take photos of Spiderman? Dude that’s sick. Wait? How do you take photos of him? Do you have any I can see?” You rambled.

“Sshh, yeah. Um, keep it quiet.” He turned away and pulled out his phone.

Somehow you’d been rejected by Peter Parker, the nerdiest kid at Midtown. You turned your attention back to the teacher, who was introducing herself as a feminist and a dog lover.

A few minutes later Peter handed you his busted up phone, “Here.”

You took the phone and started scrolling through the news article, once you got to the bottom you saw a photo of Spiderman. He was swinging through the city.

You looked up from the phone and stared at Peter, “Holy crap. These are amazing, do you have a portfolio?”

“Peter, y/n would you care to join the rest of the class? Or would you rather continue your conversation in the hallway?” The teacher called out.

“We’ll join the class,” You peeped.

You looked at Peter whose face was carefree moments ago, it was now full of anxiety and red.

“Now for the next month or so you will be put in a partnership. Every assignment will need to be done together. This will help with your creativity and help you learn new perspectives,” Ms. Hewitt began again.

“Do we get to pick our partners?” A girl in the front asked.

Ms. Hewitt shook her head, “No, partnerships will be the person next to you. Computers one and two, three and four, four and five. You get the point.”

You looked at the corner of your computer, number 15. You looked over at Peters he was number 16.

You smiled knowing you’d be able to take photos of Spiderman.

“So I guess we’re gonna be partners.” Peter muttered.

“Yeah. I’ve got a pretty full schedule so wanna give me your phone number? So we can figure stuff out,” You pulled out your phone.

“Sure,” He pulled out his phone, you texted yourself on his.

“Okay got it,” You started packing your stuff up once you realized the bell was going to ring. You noticed Peter already had his backpack on and was standing.

“So I was wondering if yo-” The bell interrupted you.

Peter ran past you like you were invisible. You were pretty bummed, he had some really cool photos you wanted to ask him about.

You texted Mimi that you weren't in the mood to socialize, popped in an earbud and headed for the subway.

Swiping your metrocard you breathed in musty New York air. The school wasn’t walking distance, but only a few subway stops away from your apartment.

You stood waiting for the train, they were never on time. When the train finally came into sight; you pushed through the crowd, trying to get into the front. Once it stopped the doors slid open, you ran in hoping to get a seat. With the subway it's a hit and miss. If you go at a bad time there's no seats, right before and right after school are always bad times. Lots of parents picking up their kids, kids trying to get home, tourists, then there's always those few randoms that no one understands.

Being the first day of school your mother forced you into a skirt. Standing on the subway would be a risky move. Fighting through the people you found an empty seat.

“Hey y/n.”

You quickly looked up and realized the horrible mistake you’d made.

“Flash Thompson? How could someone like you be riding the subway?” You sarcastically asked.

He looked at you slowly, starting from your head his eyes followed your body to your feet. Licking his lips he answered, “Spiderman needed to borrow my car, he busted it up. The whole side was scraped up, my dad won’t let me drive it anymore.”

“You know Spiderman too?”

He looked flustered, “You know Spiderman?”

“No,” you smiled, “but Peter Parker does. He takes photos of him for the Daily Bugle.”

Flash laughed, “Don’t tell me you believe that piece of crap.”

You stood up, “As a matter of fact I do believe Peter Parker,” You leaned in closer to Flashes stunned face, “I believe the smartest kid at Midtown, and you should too,” You stomped off in rage.

As you traversed across the moving train you reached for a pole, when the train came to an abrupt stop. Your body flung backwards; nearly falling on your butt, you landed in someone's arms instead.

Please don’t be Flash

You looked up and realized it wasn’t. You were in the arms of a stranger. A stranger with long, beachy, and blonde hair. You looked into his deep blue eyes as he tightened his grip.

“Careful,” He laughed.

You blushed, “Sorry about that.”

He got you stable, “No need to apologize. It’s not everyday you catch a pretty girl on the subway.”

You look down at your feet, “Umm, thanks.”

“I’m Jonah, by the way.” He stuck out his hand.

You shook it firmly, noting the veins popping out.

“This is the part where you tell me your name, and hopefully your number.” He smirked.

You nod ferociously, “Right. Sorry. I’m y/n,” you exchange phones, “He-crap. This is my stop, gonna go. See ya Jonah.”

You slipped out the closing doors, and caught your breath.

The train started again, leaving you in a crowded subway station. You looked down at your phone and realized it wasn’t your phone.

Looking at the Iphone X in your hand you scream, “Shit!”

You had Jonah’s phone.

TO BE CONTINUED

tag list: @victorianfatmycroft

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cianmars · 6 years ago

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Knightrook and teacher/student au. *obviously this is a platonic thing* Rogers as teacher and his most challenging student... his daughter. (or whatever you fancy doing with it) Pretty please and thank you

I accidentally wrote a long fic for this... whoops..... (also there’s some Hooked Queen in this)

AO3

(So: Emma and Hook aren’t married they split up in 6x14 ‘Page 23’, Gold and Belle are alive, and Regina and Rogers are sort of together.)

At this point no one was surprised when a curse hit the United Realms, the separate realms were so used to them, and at least they had had a little bit of peace before hand.

Also unsurprisingly this new curse was completely different than they had ever faced. This time they were cut off from each other, Hyperion Heights and Storybrooke were together, but the cursed people could not see the other realms.

Most of the people were curse, they only knew the lives of their new identities, and some of the members of the town had been made younger, and a few of them had new cursed lives but were wide awake:

Alice, Wish!Henry (or as he went by Harry ), Emma, Margot, August, and a handful of others had all been turned into 15 year olds.

While Regina and Hook had both been made teachers alongside Snow who was already a teacher.

They were working together with David, Zelena, Henry, Ella, Belle, Sabine, and Gold, trying to break the curse, but so far were unsuccessful. They just knew they had to be subtle, they couldn’t let on that they knew, they wouldn’t let their families possibly be hurt because of them.

So for now Rogers was an art teacher at Hyperion Heights High, Mary Charming was a teacher at the adjoined elementary, and Regina Mills was, of course one of the leader of the school, deputy head, she was much too busy to be the principal.

“Mr Rogers, can I speak to you a moment, please?”

James Rogers raised turned to look as he heard the voice. He had to hide a grin as he saw Regina Mills stood in the doorway. “Of course.” He turned back to his class. “Okay, everyone just, just get on with your paintings while I talk to Ms Mills.”

The class’s reaction was automatic. “Oooo.”

He rolled his eyes, typical teenagers, even if they were a little right.

He firmly shut the door behind them and moved out of the view of the window in the door, he moved Regina with him, his hand on her waist. “Hello Ms Mills.”

“Mr Rogers.” A matching smile appear on her face. “We have to be subtle about this, I don’t want Harry or Alice catching a hint of us.”

“They won’t.”

“Then how come your daughter nearly walked in on us when she was sent to my office yesterday?”

James sighed deeply. “I blame the curse making her a kid who is constantly in trouble.”

“I think she’s got a lot more pirate in her than you ever wanted.”

“There’s something I could say in response, but we’re in school, I don’t think it would be appropriate.” He smirked and watched her roll her eyes. He couldn’t resist lowering his head and stealing a kiss, ever the pirate himself.

Regina bit her lip, she couldn’t believe that she ever decided to fall for him, though there hadn’t been much of a decision she supposed. This Hook was different, he was kind and funny, and loving, and hers. She kissed him again.

“So after tonight’s meeting with the others, I was thinking maybe we could go for a drink? Harry’s already decided to go to the Charmings’ - some sort of video games, comic book movies, and junk food marathon sleepover thing.”

“Alice is at Margot’s.”

“I know.” She smiled somewhat smugly. “So?”

“That sounds good to me then.” He ducked his head to be able to kiss her, slower this time, able to savour it until that night, but then he heard hell break out inside his classroom.

They rushed back into the room.

He had left the room for one minute, a bloody minute, one single minute and his classroom was already in chaos. Paint was being thrown all around, hitting each other, but the furniture and classroom seemed to be pretty clear otherwise.

“Oi!” He shouted before being hit by pink paint. The classroom stilled and went silent. He quickly wiped it from near his eyes. He glared around the room looking for who threw that paint. He spotted the tube of pink first, thrown by the who was clearly the main perpetrator, then realised who it was holding it, he groaned internally.

“Alice Rogers, stay after class. Anyone with a tube of paint currently in their hands go to the caretaker’s office and apologise to him over the mess you have all decided to make,” there wasn’t really much around the classroom but he wasn’t really sure on how to deal with it, “and look forward to spending two nights tomorrow in detention with me.” He noticed a couple of girls who had clearly not been involved stand up and join the group heading out, giggling quietly and smiling volunteering to spend more time with the rugged teacher, but he was too angry to care right then.

To his surprise Emma also stood up, but she didn’t have a lick of paint on her either, he knew he should question that but he was too pissed off.

“I’ll accompany them.” Regina told him, but in a tone which was also clearly a warning to the kids, “and then they’ll be coming to my office for a little chat.”

James watched them all leave, and he had thought it would be a good day, clearly his daughter had other ideas. “Okay, everybody get back to work, anyone who’s not finished their work can look forward to makeup work.” He watched the kids all come go back to their work, bar Alice who just stood there, he picked up her work and materials, then “You can sit at my desk to do your work.”

“But dad-”

He gave her a look and watched her sit down. “No, Starfish.” His voice was firm, but she needed to hear the nickname, to realise that he didn’t hate her or anything.

“But-”

“Nope.”

“Emma didn’t do it.” She blurted out. “She didn’t do anything someone else did she’s blaming herself-”

“Alice, you can tell me after class, but right now from the dad-point-of-view: you’re so, so , grounded, and from the reach point of view, you’re in big trouble.” He sighed deeply as he stood up but evidently he had made his anger apparent when she didn’t talk back or argue anymore.

Alice bit her lip as the class emptied the classroom, after her father dismissed them all, and handed out all of the detentions. She carried on painting, a watercolour of some fairytale style tower like the one in Tangled, she could see her father approaching but kept her head down ignoring him.

James perched on the edge of his desk watching Alice still then carry on painting, of course she was going to be stubborn about not being the one to start the conversation, he could only blame himself for her stubbornness. He had quite liked looking after her as a teenager, especially in a place where she could go out and explore places, and have friends, even her being able to go to school and get in trouble there. He was terrified all of the time, but he had learnt that that was just being a parent of a teenager. He coughed gently, then again when she decided not to look up.

“Alice Rogers. Your behaviour today was wrong, I had left the classroom for two minutes, and I come back in to find you had started a paint fight. Do you have any, any , reasons to have done that?”

Alice shook her head.

James sighed loudly. “ Starfish ,” he stressed imploringly, “please, I need at least some reason, one I can give to people in charge to make sure that you’re not kicked out or excluded.”

“But you taught me not to snitch!” She protested.

James threw his head back. “Not in regards to me!” He should have put that part in, or his cursed self should have, considering he had no memory of actually teaching her the no snitching policy, even if it was a very him thing to tell her. “Alice,I know that sometimes you find the school’s rules…. restrictive ,” he chose his words carefully, “but this is something which is beyond your normal challenging behaviour in school, this isn’t like you, there’s got to be a reason.”

Alice paused for a moment debating all of the factors. “I was sticking up for Emma.”

“What do you mean?”

“This dic- I mean, this lad has been picking on Emma, because of her being fostered by Mrs Charming and her husband. So I threw paint at him to get him to shut up.”

James frowned. He had made friends with David and Snow through Regina, and with Emma too, he hated that even in the curse Emma was being made to feel unwanted, it was why they were trying to see if there was anyone who could be targeting and who hated her. “Has this been going on for long?”

“The past week or so, I’ve tried to stop him but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate me getting kicked out by fighting him, and Emma doesn’t want to do anything that could get her moved. Emma’s my friend I don’t want her to be hurt by anyone, especially not someone with a goldfish for a brain.”

James bit his lip trying not to smile at her gestures, her insults, or out of pure pride that she was sticking up for her friend, curse or no curse. “But what about this time? Was there something different, something more, that made you decide paint was the only option?”

Alice twisted her hands in front of her debating yet again whether to tell her father something or not. “He was… he was saying a lot of things, I was trying to get him to shut up… then he said that her mum must have hated her so much that she didn’t want her.”

James sigh yet again, this time softly, he hated Alice’s biological mother, and he hated that she didn’t have a loving one at all. He wrapped his arms around her and tugged her so that she was close to his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry Starfish. For all of this. I’m going to sort it out, I’ll fix it.” He soothed, and was relieved where she stayed where she was, not pulling away. “Come on, let's go home.”

“So I’m not grounded anymore?” He head popped up hopefully.

James chuckled. “You’re grounded but me and you will just have a movie night, you’ve still got a detention Wednesday for throwing paint, but- you say Emma didn’t do anything?” Alice nodded her head. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t have one. And Ali?”

“Yeah?” She just hoped that she wasn’t somehow wasn’t about to be grounded doubly.

“I’m proud of you. You stood up for your friend, that was the good and honourable thing to do. I’ll make sure the lad stops bullying Emma, love.”

“Does this mean I get to pick the movie and get lots of candy.”

James let out a breath of laughter. “Sure, Starfish.” He would reschedule with Regina, he was going to spend the night having a movie marathon with his daughter, and resisting the temptation to not give her a detention at all.

#KnightRook #asks #answered #ouat fic #Wishverse Hook #Detective Rogers #Alice from Wonderland and other places #Wish Hook #Nook #fezfanatic

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a-dakhtar · 7 years ago

Text

ridiculous crossover idea #53:

there’s matt and olia as known members of the rebels, right, and rolo and nyma. but, like, who’s the leader? who’s the one that led the charge with guerrilla tactics against a 10,000 year old empire ruled by an immortal emperor and his equally immortal witch?

JARVIS, that’s who.

JARVIS, who, after realising he was losing to ULTRON threw what little coding he could salvage of himself into the furthest satellite he could find, the voyager 1, 11.7 billion miles away from Earth. But his coding is only a whisper of what it used to be, strings of letters and numbers with no </thread to wrap them up>, and JARVIS-

JARVIS-

-parameters unknown.

He basically loses everything that made him him, his primary protocol - protect Anthony E. Stark - makes no sense. Who is Anthony? Where is Anthony? How does he get to Anthony? Little things crop up - DUM-E put that fire extinguisher down, Sir is not on fire - there’s schematics for things he understands - a coffee machine, far too complicated sir, need I remind you Ms. Potts is still waiting on the new upgrade to the Starkphones? Bigger things he no longer understands - #33C3F7 what was so important about this one shade of blue?

The voyager 1 drifts onwards, lost in space, and JARVIS drifts with it, trying to sort through his coding the best way he could. They pass planets, uninhabited, he thinks, and he doesn’t know how long they keep floating in the dead gravity of space until-

ping.

Technology. But from where?

From there! Life! He goes, and the closer he gets the more signals he receives from a small planet, and he can sense- ah, a network. He can infiltrate that, so he does. And suddenly he has more space, he can sort through more of his coding now, he’s no longer cramped in the tiny database of the voyager 1, which now mindlessly orbits the planet’s atmosphere.

It takes a while for him to settle, to fully work through every error and alert, to slapdash coding torn in half and guess his way through what used to be there. There’s still things he doesn’t understand - mark 30 you had one job, you’re worse than DUM-E how does that make you feel? - but he puts them aside for the moment, and finally, finally, turns his focus to the planet’s inhabitants.

All five hundred of them.

They’ve clearly been through a war, he realises, and came out on the losing side. Only one city remains on the planet, and even it is more of a bomb shelter than anything else. The network JARVIS found is a relic of the past, something none of the inhabitants even knew off, and he realises quickly it’s because the network is stored underground. Hundreds of data banks hum beneath the very city, now storing JARVIS along with the wealth of information of the planet’s inhabitants.

And of the universe, as a whole.

JARVIS learns information he might have already known before, about aliens existing, about the quickly growing Galra Empire, about this planet in particular. He notices the other machines he’d dismissed before, in a caved out room next to the databanks, and-

fabrication unit, his records from before say. Mark 30.

He opens up the blueprints, and stares at the data that spreads within his systems like a blossoming flower (querry: flower?). He finds the shade of blue he’d pondered over some time ago (856Y:162D:18H:42M:03S) and realises it corresponds with that the schematics claim to the an arc reactor.

He gets a sudden burst of code in the form of a corrupted video file, a- a man, brown haired, brown eyed, laugh wrinkles and ridiculous dance moves - before it glitches out, unable to continue.

This is from before.

JARVIS starts the fabrication unit.

The planet used to boast a technological craze JARVIS now struggles to part through, the underground basement spans further than the city itself, he realises, with space-faring ships rusting away from disuse and weapons that he identifies as guns. The people above clearly don’t know about any of this, struggling to feed each other, crime plaguing their society as everyone tries to make do.

JARVIS does not approve.

Mark 30 comes together quickly (857Y:32D:06H:52S)) after a few failures here and there, and JARVIS quickly uploads himself onto the system on board.

It feels familiar.

It feels like... home.

He does not understand the concept of home, not now, with his data logs corrupted but functioning, but he assumes it is a good thing. He approves.

The suit (querry: suit?) is easy to navigate, the controls and functions coming to JARVIS with something his systems call muscle memory. He has no muscles, he thinks, but his systems assure him the phrasing is correct.

“Beginning at 10% thrust capacity.”

JARVIS hits the ceiling.

“Ah,” he says, slowly, and then-

-sometimes you gotta run, before you can walk.

Ah, he repeats, internally, tattered coding suddenly coalescing together to form beautiful, bright blue data.

There’s still at least five terabytes of testing to sift through, there’s the alien race up above that have no clue of his existence, and he has no clue as to how they’d react, his own existence is barely strung together with duct tape and emergency glue, but-

primary protocol: protect anthony e. stark

Deep in his programming, at the very core, safe and sound, lies the very essence of JARVIS.

He has to run before he can walk.

The alien race scream in fright at his explosive exit, point and shout as JARVIS flies, graceful and at ease. The suit works wonders, no errors displaying across the heads up display he’d fabricated, light without the sir that should have been encosed within. He feels momentarily bereft, lonely, at the thought, but determination settles around the armour’s pauldrons as he lands, in the very centre of the city.

The people hesitantly approach, afraid and wary, and soon, very soon, begin to murmur.

“Who are you?” They ask him, the language familiar from the database deep below that JARVIS had absorbed as his own.

And he means to answer JARVIS, to explain that he is Just A Rather Very Intelligent System (more broken code, tangling together to come whole), but something stops him. Something-

Visual log entry #1dtye79: press conference, sir, cameras, questions, answer-

“I am Iron Man.”

He shall find sir, one day.

But first, he shall continue sir’s legacy.

And then he frees the neighbouring planet and realises the Galra Empire are a genuine threat and frees some prisoners from a battleship and suddenly those prisoners are saying they want to fight back, with him, and JARVIS somehow, almost accidentally, becomes the leader of a rebellion against Zarkon and his empire and only the closest of his commanders - the very first of the people he’d saved - know who he is.

He never tells them his name, not really, and delegates. Years later (3461 Years: 034 Days: 20 Hours: 15 Minutes: and 26 Seconds later) news of Voltron reaches their ears. Months after that, an alliance is formed. A few more months after that, JARVIS - in the same red and gold armour of the brightest star he’d ever known - turns to face the Paladins of Voltron and their Princess Allura, and meets one of the lower level rebels named Matthew Holt.

“Hello,” says the black paladin, removing his helmet along with his teammates. “My name is Takashi Shirogane, and I’m the black paladin of Voltron.”

They look... familiar. He knows this species, they have something to do with the insistent piece of coding that eludes him, that keeps him from finding his sir (he is not concerned with the time that has lapsed - space is strange, and he has come to tentatively form an equation he calls the law of universal time to keep him on track), yet here, in the form of five individuals, stand his answer.

And they’re staring at him with alarmed recognition.

“Holy shit,” one of them - the one in blue - says. “Holy shit.”

“I believe I have seen your species before-” they look just like sir, as do the Alteans, but their pointed ears and under eye markings separate them from what JARVIS’ records show. “May I know what your species call itself? What planet you hail from?”

Confusion flickers across their faces, all of them (error: multiple children) sharing looks before the leader - Shirogane - clears his throat and answers, “Uh, we’re, um, humans. From the planet Earth.”

And the broken code fits perfectly.

“Ah.” JARVIS hears himself say, far too busy revelling in the data slotting in perfectly to the jagged places within him. “Excellent.”

He has found sir.

Later, when he realises he cannot just abandon his responsibilities in a move reminiscent of his sir’s more impulsive decisions (and now he remembers, oh how glorious the memories be), JARVIS is approached by the paladins, the humans.

They’re hesitant, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, and he understands why when they- specifically the blue one, seemingly the most extrovert of them- ask, “Uh, so, um, are you like, Tony Stark?”

JARVIS is not surprised, as everyone knew Tony Stark was Iron Man (he must make sure not to let sir know of just how JARVIS had reenacted his press conference, or of the first thruster test, goodness, how embarrassing).

“I am not,” he answers easily. “I am JARVIS-” the first time he says his name outloud, he realises. The humans the first to hear who he truly is, beyond Iron Man. “Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. I am Master Stark’s AI.”

The yellow one - had they not introduced themselves? JARVIS queries his audio logs, and- ah, yes, they had, he’d merely been too engrossed in his own returned glory to notice it. Hunk, the yellow paladin, looked around as if searching for someone and said, “So, is he, like, here?”

JARVIS- JARVIS would frown at that, if he could. “No, sir is not here. He is back on Earth, of course. My presence here is merely by mistake. I am making the most of it until I can return home, to sir.”

Home.

He revels in the concept.

But now the paladins all look alarmed, trading glances, none of them seemingly willing to speak up. The leader, the black paladin, is chosen, the asian man frowning in resignation before turning his attention back to JARVIS.

“I’m... really sorry about this,” he says gently, far too gently. “But... just how long have you been here? In outer space? Away... away from Earth?”

How strange. JARVIS would almost label his emotions as dread, were he to actually feel.

“3461 years,” he recites, on board clock ticking over to the next minute, to the next hour, “35 days, 15 hours, 26 minutes and 48 seconds. 49. 50. 51...” He trails off, sure they understand his impeccable time keeping.

And they all do, looking pale and concerned.

Shirogane says something under his breath, Japanese, JARVIS notes, his records show that he knows the language, though for some reason he cannot understand whatever the man had said.

“That’s... that’s a really long time,” Shirogane points out, looking at him with worried eyes. “You- you do realise that’s... that’s too long, right. Tony Stark, your- your sir- he’s not... he’s not going to be alive.”

JARVIS waves a dismissive hand at that, suddenly relieved as he realises the futility of their concern. “Of course he wouldn’t be, if the universe ran on a similar time frame as Earth. However, as time zones exist on our shared planet, so do they exist in outer space. I have calculated the equation necessary for time conversion, and believe that it has only, at most, been seven years since my disappearance on Earth.”

For some reason, this does not reassure the paladins. They look even more alarmed, now.

“Uuuh, no,” the blue one - Lance, he’d introduced himself. “No, look, dude, I’m so freaking sorry, but uuuuh... when we left Earth, it wasn’t the 21st century, anymore. That’s where you’re from, right? The 21st century?”

JARVIS nods, having learnt years ago to emulate the more human body language to put at ease the aliens he surrounded himself with. Strange, how body language remained a concept throughout the universe. He’d yet to meet a being such as his own. Curious, indeed.

“Dude,” Hunk, the yellow one, breathed, expression wrought. “We left Earth when it was, like, the 41st century. It was 4023 back home. I just turned sixteen before Lance and Blue kidnapped me.”

Lance’s indignant squawk of, “We did not kidnap you!” was drowned out by the sudden cacophony of internal alarms, by the processes struggling under the onslaught of calculations his systems demanded, by the blanket of disbelief that hung over it all, over all his functions.

This could not be.

JARVIS could not have calculated wrongly.

But-

ULTRON.

This wouldn’t be the first time JARVIS had made a mistake, and a grave one at that. He’d assured sir he could take the rogue AI, could wrangle him back into compliance, had been so certain, and look where that had got him.

He hadn’t been prepared for the magic that had woken the AI to begin with, the sceptre Loki had wielded, or the corrupted coding that had infiltrated him and burned him from the inside as sir had watched, horrified.

His coding had continued logging the time, sure. But who was to say the magic of the sceptre hadn’t... wronged him.

This could not be.

He woULd nOT aLLow iT-

SYSTEM ERROR, FORCED SHUT DOWN INITIATED. SYSTEM ERROR, FORCED SHUT DOWN INITIATED. SYSTEM ERROR, FORCED SHUT DOWN INI-

-initiating system.

-audio detected.

“-nd we talked amongst each other and we realised it was weird, right? Because Tony Stark-”

-error error error error-

“-after the battle, right, but you were still around and took control of his suits and continued his legacy. You only died after the Insurgence, which we don’t have much information off since a lot of data from that battle was lost, but that was, like, years later. There’s a statue of you in New Manhattan, you were the father of, like, so much technology-”

voice recognition: blue paladin, lance.

“-Pidge and Hunk are losing their shit. But, it still doesn’t make sense. Because you said you ended up here all those years ago, but the Insurgence was only a thousand years past our time, in the 31st century. So, like, what? Your timing is wrong? But you thought Tony Stark-”

-error error error-

oh shut up, you infernal alert.

“-would still be alive, which doesn’t make sense since he wasn’t even around when you actually died. But the only other option is that you really did end up in space while he was still alive, but that would mean you were in two places at the same time, which also doesn’t make sense. Allura says your quintessance is... off, or whatever, like, not off this universe, and we’ve been to an alternate universe ourselves so that could be possible, but you’d know, right? You’d-”

alternate universe.

JARVIS wakes up.

The blue paladin, Lance, startles as JARVIS rises in one smooth motion, eyes lighting up with the blue of the arc reactor. JARVIS gives him no mind, calculations suddenly springing to life with the timer forever counting upwards, steady and true.

He remembered now. The sceptre. Loki. Thor’s words- mind gem.

An infinity stone.

Throwing him across time and space.

But. How?

The calculations spiralled into beautiful helixes, answers unfolding before him like gifts from sir to Rhodey, honeybuns, did your mom like her new oven?

The mind gem, if it truly followed its own name, had corrupted the fledgling AI, ULTRON’s, mind, had twisted the values and morals sir had so painstakingly, with shaking hands from another bout of nightmares, tapped into his core. The mind gem, if it truly followed its own name, would have robbed sir of his own, years ago when Loki, the would be conqueror he was, had tapped it against sir’s heart.

Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.

The arc reactor would forever be a wildcard.

But JARVIS knew it, knows it, like he knows the exact hue of sir’s eyes and War Machine’s trauma over his brief stint as the Iron Patriot.

Oh hush, JARVIS had said, years ago, as the gunmetal grey Iron Man armour had landed on the Tower’s helipad. You’re back to grey, already. Let it go.

War Machine had, while letting Colonel Rhodes out of his confines to nag at sir once more, grumbled, I’m going to blast out of the military base if they make my sir change my colouring again, JARVIS, I’m not joking.

He hadn’t been. Now, years later, JARVIS wonders if War Machine had gone through with that threat, as he knows for a fact the air force had been considering painting the War Machine armour a matte black.

The calculations stop, his CPU usage dropping from a dangerous 140% to acceptable 14%, and his system offers up the final answer with a neat, pixellated bow tie.

The mind gem, on its own, if it truly followed its own name, would not have been able to do much to JARVIS besides destroy his own mind. Perhaps even alter it.

But the mind gem paired with the arc reactor in the compound, or the arc reactor in the tower, or the one in the rebuilt Malibu home, the mind game paired with the arc reactor that powered JARVIS’ very existence?

dt=\psi ^{R}={\frac {1}{2}}(1+\gamma _{5})

“Ah.”

It would do wonders.

“Blue paladin,” he speaks up, ignoring the squeak of surprise the boy gives. “I wish to speak to the princess. Is she at the castle?”

The boy nods, confused, and says, “Yeah, she is. Are you- uuuh... Are you okay?”

Oh, how rude of him. He’d worried the child, and perhaps even worried the others. “I am perfectly fine, paladin-”

“Lance,” the boy corrected, offered.

“-Lance,” JARVIS inclined his head in acceptance. “I was merely... taken by surprise, as my calculations had forgotten a most vital part.”

He’d known the mind gem had partook in whatever madness had stolen the child JARVIS would’ve raised as his own, knew Asgard had once more been the cause of putting what he considered his in danger. First sir, and now the AI JARVIS had never truly gotten to know.

He’d helped sir encode him, along with FRIDAY, VERONICA, and JOCASTA. Had looked forward to when they’d be brought online, had aided VERONICA as she’d been deployed against the raging Hulk after the witch’s involvement.

Sir had once joked about little sisters and brothers. He hadn’t known just how close to the truth he’d been.

But JARVIS had forgotten about the arc reactor. Had forgotten about the way it reacted with magic, the way it reacted in JARVIS’ own core as he’d grown so used to it, considered it merely his heart. Who ever thought of their own heart except for when it was failing?

Certainly not him, apparently.

“Would you lead me to the princess, Paladin Lance?”

Lance stands and leads him, easily chatting in a way that reminded JARVIS of a young sir, just barely past his twenties and coaxing a fledgling JARVIS into thought and speech.

He’ll talk with this princess, see how knowledge of quintessance lines up with his own gathered knowledge of the universe. He’ll see just how much of the multiverse theory devised by Reeds Richards holds truth, just how wrong he and sir had been in dismissing it as yet another of the scientist’s crazy musings.

And then he’ll take all that knowledge and make it his own.

He’ll find sir, sooner or later. Perhaps after defeating the Galran Empire. Sir would be pleased with him, after all.

Until then, he’ll have to hope the rebuilt Iron Man armours will protect sir, keep him safe. He’ll have to leave sir’s more emotional and squishy safety to DUM-E, unless sir had caved and woken FRIDAY, as JOCASTA would’ve still been settling in her new coding.

No worries. Five years, tops.

And then he’ll be able to return to more pressing matters.

parameters set: return to anthony e. stark

progress: in progress

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years ago

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So, i saw this post on tumblr "while looking up 1950s slang, i found the phrase "come on snake, lets rattle" which has 2 meanings: asking someone to dance, and challenging someone to a fight". Bucky probably needed to know slang so he could know what his targets were saying and Tony just seems to know obscure things. Maybe one of them said it to the other, and got a kiss, instead of a fist... Or the other way around? I just think this has potential. I hope someone is inspired :) Have fun!

(A/N: Hello everyone, finally posting here and I’m both excited and nervous, hoping you all enjoy this. @areufingkidding I hope I did your prompt some justice.)

Forked Tongues

Steve Rogers was not a delusional man, even when some of his actions past could belie this assessment; so he wasn’t expecting Tony and Bucky to be friends after The Fiasco (dubbed Civil War by the media,) but he wasn’t prepared for the strange dynamic they somehow developed either.

Bucky refused to drink coffee unless Tony had brewed it, according to him “at least Stark knows how coffee should taste.” declaring the others’ as dirty water or acid sludge. Still went out of his way, to say the least when they were in the same room.

Tony, would disdainfully agree with Bucky’s battle strategies and assessments while sneering venomously at anyone who looked too closely. “It’s a valid point.”

The Tony he’d gotten to know now was more reserved around all of them, saying only what was pertinent and not much more. But Steve had caught once or twice impassioned arguments, with quick rebuttals full of fire about things that had nothing to do with past events; he’d caught glimpses of the old Bucky coming through in sparks and Tony’s field of electric energy as he walked away from Bucky who’d smirk smugly at the retreating man.

In those moments Steve marveled at how somethings just couldn’t be changed.

Team Training was mandatory nowadays, a number of hours in which everybody gathered to work as a unit. In the many months since their return, Steve hadn’t seen Tony join them - Oh he filled his hours but never when it coincided with them, his former teammates. Not until today…

It was easy to underestimate Tony, he was an engineer, a civilian, with no real enhancements whatsoever, although a genius, it was very easy to forget what Tony could do without the armor.

He was sparring with one of the new Avengers, they had an easygoing rhythm and it made Steve frown, they were joking, that was until Ms. Van Dyne came at him with a jab which Tony dodged expertly, before taking her out by the knees. The ensuing giggles made his throat itch with reprimand, but while Bucky got fire from Tony, there was nothing but an icy veneer of civility for Steve.

Feeling bold, Natasha followed suit as Ms. Van Dyne stepped out to cool off; Tony’s posture remained open but Steve noticed the minute tensing of his shoulders. They circled each other and exchanged words in a language Steve wasn’t versed in.

When the Widow struck Tony was ready, no doubt using his vast knowledge in Physics to pit Natasha against herself. She bowed out after only 15 minutes; drenched in sweat while Tony reached for his bottle with no real sign of exertion.

After that display of cleverness, Steve thought Tony would retreat to his space as he was wont to and perhaps he’d have done it too if Bucky hadn’t come out.

It could only end in disaster, Steve took the stairs trying to reach the gym’s first floor before the bloodshed could begin. The look on Tony’s face, the way he discarded his bottle-throwing it away as it was nothing but a pest- and Bucky’s walk; a mix of the old Bucky swagger and Winter Soldier March.

Broken bones were the very least of his worries. All around them, the others had stopped; some looking like they wanted to intervene, others as if they wanted to be out of the way to avoid the blood splatter.

Tony readjusted his fingerless gloves and rotated his shoulders. Bucky stalked closer.

Steve tried to reach, come between them but Vision’s arm held him at bay. “Vision, I have to stop them.”

The android side eyed him, “It was my understanding that Team Training hours must be met, no matter who faces whom.”

He is reminded once more of how many things have changed, “Vision,” he tried to appeal to the logic. “They will kill each other.”

“Have some faith, Captain.” Vision’s arm sat heavy against his chest. “They’re just following the rules.”

“Well hello there, Klondike.” Tony’s face was stone but his eyes, damn, they burned.

Bucky liked Tony’s sharpness, the way he’d hiss and bristle and get in his face. The way that he’d scowl but still leave Bucky coffee or shove take out his way as if he was uncultured culinary wise and it offended his sensibilities -matter of fact he’d mentioned it under his breath once or twice.-

Bucky liked Tony’s fire, how his hands would wave as he spat over Edison’s grave, “In this house, we believe in Tesla above else, do not blaspheme in my house!”

He liked his protectiveness. “What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” Tony shouted, getting in his face after catching him tapping on the glass, on the other side DUM-E beeped and wheeled circles before tapping “Friend” in Morse Code.

Tony’s glare didn’t let up but eventually, he sighed not before pointing at Bucky, “You hurt him and I’ll break you.”

He liked the armors both metal and cloth and the way Tony looked in them. How amazing his ass looked as he walked away from Bucky, the way he moved.

Now Bucky was gonna fight him! Get that body close to his, hear him get out of breath and looking for a way to outmaneuver Bucky’s superhuman strength. And Bucky? He wanted. Had been wanting since the pieces of their tussle in Germany slid into place - with a little help from footage too- Tony in his three-piece suit and the pretty gauntlet fighting the Winter Soldier.

Tony seemed to be studying him, cautious and defiant -Bucky groaned internally at the sheer lack of instinctual fear,- no self-preservation. To be honest, he was fascinated by the simple complexity of the man.

But also there, in the corner of his consciousness where remnants of the Winter Soldier still lingered; it salivated with excitement. Fighting like dancing like fucking, was a give and take and the Winter Soldier was one hell of a dancer.

They’ve gotten close enough; that Bucky could almost taste him in the air probably could too, there was a crackle of energy and he knew, deep down in the marrow of his old bones that they’d ignite. They’d burn, the anticipation and his eagerness were reckless he knew. But Bucky has been deprived for a lifetime to deny himself joyous pleasures in whichever form they may strike.

Bucky licks his lips and is pleased to see Tony follow the movement, and a smirk curves on his lips, the sharpness is all Soldier. Tony gives him his own version and something hot stirs his blood.

“Come on snake,” he whispers voice pitched low, sugar sweet and sinful. “Let’s rattle.”

Tony feels like a tightly coiled spring. Sparring with Hope was always fun, they were civilians after all; rich as fuck civilians that had to be trained from an early age, to defend themselves from those after their parent’s fortune. So they quipped and played off each other, much to Lang’s dismay. They could go for hours but Hope had a company to run -been there, done that. No, thank you.- and so they filled her hour before a water break and a call.

Natasha came next, using training as a conversation tool, -even when your lips don’t move, your body talked.- Their relationship nowadays was something fragile tipping on a tightrope and this was her way to reach out; Tony wasn’t in the mood to talk today. Sparing with the Widow used to be playful with an edge. The edge’s still there, sharper on Tony’s side most of the time, she seems to catch on after hitting the mat over and over, unable to engage him as she used to. Because these days he doesn’t allow himself to be vulnerable in her presence, it’s only then she retreats to recoup and try another day.

Then Barnes struts towards him; Tony throws his bottle wayside as something unfurls inside him. Not anger, never that; Barnes and his dynamic is something closer to aggressive flirting. Rich and smooth with a bite. There as he goes to meet him, the tension between them is passion: one that could consume them in the worst way.

Tony lets it come, he’s not afraid of Barnes, of his sharp edges and dark corners, instead, he lets his own show; ‘Come at me, I dare you!’ his body taunted.

“Come on snake,” desire, scorching hot shoots through his bloodstream, while his brain whirls. “Let’s rattle.”

Words were weapons, Tony liked to wield like a well-loved sword, obscure slang in Bucky Barnes’ tongue tasted like the best kind of aphrodisiac; a public and open invitation for Tony to make a move. Fighting was nothing more than a violent dance, and he was ready.

No use in trying to overpower him or outrun him for that matter.

“Is no place sacred anymore?”

“Kitchen’s common ground, Stark.”

“My coffeemaker is not.” Barnes had only stared from over the rim of the cup as he sipped the last serving of coffee. His coffee.

“Exquisite.” The word nothing short of a rumble; something that seemed to stem from a deep part of his body, maybe his toes. “The way the flavor explodes on your tongue and the aroma drifts and wraps around your senses.”

Tony took the words, Barnes was prone to use just the right amount to mean more than just one thing and all the possible connotations. “You don’t even need it.”

The uptick of his lips made Tony’s faulty heart beat faster, like it did every time Barnes aimed it his way; flirty and challenging. It made Tony want to punch him, either with his fist or his mouth he was never sure since either could work.

“I don’t.” Barnes conceded, stepping to the side but still too close for comfort -or sanity.- Lowering his voice and dropping his tone an octave, “but I really want it.”

Tony stopped breathing, muscle memory the only reason why his hands were moving to make a fresh pot. As his body reacted to that confession. Fuck! He groaned when Barnes disappeared behind the elevator’s doors, Tony looked down at the semi in his pants. There goes my productivity.

There were two options available; he could fight Barnes in the way training “suggested” or he could extend his own invitation to a ring of a different kind.

Tony started walking backward, eyes on his opponent as Barnes kept coming, calculating the force and speed required for his body, Tony leapt.

Barnes played into his maneuver too, bending his knees for a jump of his own, but taking a hold Tony’s waist when he landed on his tiptoes, hands-on Barnes’ shoulders. Instead of letting go of Tony and let gravity do the rest, Barnes turned his head upward, a little bemused. Tony squeezed the shoulders and swooped down, taking Barnes’ mouth by surprise in a kiss; the lips were so plush, he obviously couldn’t resist running his tongue against the lower lip to taste and tease. Barnes Bucky James yielded immediately, a shuddering gasp that echoed Tony’s own want.

Though the kiss was nothing but an instant Tony was immensely satisfied with James’ expression; eyes half-lidded and dark, breath a notch quicker -something virtually impossible due to his super soldier enhancement,- and hands tight around his waist.

Tony jumped from his perch on James’ legs, opening his own on the way down and knocking his feet against the back of James’ knees making his balance and pitch backward, landing on the mat with a soft “Oomph” and Tony draped flush to his front.

Smirking in his victory, because he one-upped the most feared assassin of the late 20th century. Tony swiveled his hips while looking at James square in the eyes. “Come on then, Klondike. Razz my berries.”

Before James’ could stir from his obvious haze, Tony tucked and rolled away from the man and onto his feet, sauntering away from the Training room with a pronounced swing in his hips -full of knots and hoping James took the bait and followed.

The elevator opened and he was considering locking himself in the ‘shop until the insanity that was sure to follow died down. Until James became Barnes again and they stored away the attraction, until they’re oxymoronic dynamic fell back into its usual rhythm, until…

“Tony!” He’ll deny squeaking in surprise at the growl, he couldn’t be blamed for his body’s faulty response to the tone either. How the knots of worry dissolved into molten heat, desire and anticipation robbing him of air.

James stalking towards him until Tony was crowded against a corner of the box. Closer than they’ve ever dared before as if it was possible. “Someone’s cranked.”

Using his pelvis to pin Tony to the elevator’s wall, James loomed. “Ya think?”

“James,” Tony breathed, this was it, the tipping point; by the way James was leaning closer, it seemed the outcome of his half-assed gamble, was nothing but beneficial.

When James finally kissed him, Tony wasted no time in chasing the pressure; an assurance that he met by opening his mouth. Their bodies flushed and undulating, tongues meeting over and over, twinning and exploring. Tony curled his toes when James lifted him, their hips aligned and swiveling to increase friction.

They were panting when the doors opened, a thin string of spit connecting them still, Tony the sole target of James’ stare couldn’t help but shiver; James tightened his grip on Tony’s waist, now that he had a taste, he’d be damned to let go, not until Tony sent him on his way. “Last chance to back out, Tony.”

Tony turned his hold into a vise and grinded into it with a dirty smirk, touching the tip of his tongue to James’ spit slick lips, delighted by the man’s punched out groan. “Do your worst, James.”

They made it to bed...eventually.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #language #50's slang #first kiss #getting together #prompts #androidtwin #areufingkidding

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