#one of my first shift techs called off and then my only current second shift tech

[ilkkawhat]

so anyway this dream about ilkka, sharing to hopefully give someone a chuckle, first just some random appearances on shows but at one point he was the doctor on doctor who (which, i had a similar dream with george funnily enough) except he wasn't...him. he was peter capaldi. it was like. revealed that he and peter capaldi were the same person.

[coconutdays]

drunk pt. 2

s. this is part two to this original post! my attempt at a mutual pining ??? slowburn??? with the Honored One, Gojo. Y'all fuck after one of those intense movie confession scenes yada yada.

w.c. 7.2k

w. fem! reader , gojo! x reader , fluff! , angst! , slowburn! , smut! ( I think the slowburn is lowk angsty in my opinion) y/n’s cursed technique is basically like Wanda from marvels abilities, I didn't proofread much srry, btw this is my first time executing a fully fledged fuck so bare with me I tried.

You had only minutely interacted with Satoru ever since that day you went cursed spirit hunting with him. It was normal, nothing was weird or out of the ordinary after, but everything seemed so dull in comparison to that day. Although you could say there was less of a chance to speak when he did go overseas for a couple of days. And you were partially grateful that it was like that. You couldn't fret over your feelings for him if he wasn't feeding you anything to reminisce on.

On one of your minuscule interactions with the famed sorcerer, he asked you to take his newbie first years to a cursed mansion while he would be busy scouring Spain for a key that did who knows what.

Which leads to the current situation at hand.

"What happened here?" Yuuji asks, kicking a stray pebble a few feet away and into the bushes

"The owner of this place slit the throats of everyone in the mansion at night, then shot himself in the head." You squinted at one of the far off windows of the mansion, spotting something that would have most likely been a cursed spirit.

"Gross." Nobara's face turns into one of disgust.

"What level cursed spirit does it have?" It's Megumi asking now

You turn to look at all of them, a glint in your eyes.

"Grade 1"

"WHAT?" Nobara stomps her foot, "Why is Gojo sending us out here on sui-"

"I'm here." You laugh, a red flame swirls around your irises, "I'm the second strongest after Gojo. Give me some credit."

"Gojo gives her most of his missions if he suddenly can't do them." Megumi points out, "We're safe."

"Not entirely." You shift your weight onto one of your hips and cross your arms, "I'm here to intervene if things start going south, which I hope they don't, but under the situation it does then I step in."

That was twenty minutes ago, and things had gone south.

You were ambushed by more than one Special grade in the mansion and left the three first-years to deal with a cursed spirit much akin to the one described in the correction facility that lead to Yuuji's death. The others were almost alike to it, but they were starting to speak, forming words more coherently by the minute.

"What the fuck."

There were four surrounding you, and the only reason they weren't going for the first-years was because you sealed them into the top floor with you. You would have rather dealt with this by yourself, considering you had to hold back because the first years were in the floor beneath you, but you'd have to make do with your seal.

Much to your surprise, halfway through your fight, you could hear the sounds of relief from the first-years and one less screeching curse.

Good, they exorcised it.

Both of your hands were busy repelling your opponents away from you as you neared the staircase so they could hear you.

"GO OUTSIDE! NOW!"

"But you're dealing with four of them!" Nobara started, "If you-"

"JUST WAIT FOR ME OUTSIDE! AND CALL IJICHI!"

You could hear Nobara starting to protest, but you could make out the grumbles of Megumi to place trust in you.

When you got a peek through the window of Yuuji's pink hair, you let out a sigh of relief. You didn't have to hold back anymore, but you weren't going to be able to be the one to take the first-years back to Jujutsu Tech after this.

What you considered the cursed energy equivalent of an atomic bomb was what you released within the enclosed top floor. You concentrated on it breaking apart the curses and squeezing them out of existence--much like a bomb would.

However, the aftermath would be something you'd leave the first years up to. You didn't have to hold back within the confines of the mansion, none of the students were in there, but they were directly outside, waiting for you in a position where contact with the explosion would hurt them. The moment you release your technique, the confines the mansion burst, pulverizing the curses out of existence and subjecting you to the sheer force of your cursed energy being concentrated into one subjectively small enclosed space.

Your cursed energy treated you like shrapnel and launched you headfirst into the concrete ground near the first-years. It was the last thing you remembered before everything after started fading in and out.

You were in the back of Ijichi's car, at the center with Megumi and Yuuji on either side, grabbing at your body. Why were they--

Oh, there's gaping wounds on your stomach and legs.

Nobara is frantically turning to look back from the front passenger seat again and again.

"Drive faster Ijichi!"

Maybe you could start using your cursed technique to heal-

"Oh fuck!" Yuuji starts

You start coughing violently into your lap

Was that blood from your wounds or-

"Ow."

It's the first thing you utter when you wake up, feeling an intense soreness all over your body. They're mere action of lifting up a finger sending shock bolts through your body.

"Finally someone's awake." Shoko sighs carelessly, she's on her phone looking through who knows what.

"How long have I been out?" You groan, closing your eyes to mentally prepare for her to say 3 days or something along those lines.

"Two weeks." She gets up and walks to serve you some water as your eyes shoot open, "Constricting a nuclear explosion to only the confines of a mansion was not a smart decision."

You lean up against your pillows and start to rub your sore neck, "The first-years were right outside of the mansion. I had no other choice."

"Still not your best moment." She blinks tiredly, her careless look on her face.

"How are they anyway?"

"Fine. Small cuts and bruises. They were fine by the end of the day. Gojo's got them in the classroom right now."

"He's back from Spain already?"

"He came back the day after the mansion incident. Thought you would've remembered him poking your head to see if you could hear him this morning." She started to write on a chart, probably yours.

"I don't." You start to look through your faint memories to see if it held onto anything like that.

Nothing.

"Well, you should be fine to go home already." Shoko starts to walk out of your room, raising the chart she was just scribbling on moments ago, "You check out just fine. Get some rest before they probably send you on another mission by tomorrow."

By the time you put on some clothes, provided by Shoko, and take a shower at your place to soothe your muscles, it's been a few hours, leaving Gojo to stare at an empty infirmary bed, your scent lingering in the room.

"She woke up a couple hours ago, must be home already." Shoko mindlessly says as she walks back to her office with a stack of folders in her arms.

After your shower, you're on your couch watching a comfort show of yours while you snack on some ice cream to wallow your feelings in. The reason for your being upset quite obvious.

He should've known you were awake by now. Why wasn't he checking on you.

It annoyed you, both the fact that for someone who had been at your bedside this morning, he hadn't shown up to receive you in your awake state, and that you cared so much you started thinking like his girlfriend.

Satoru didn't owe it to you to come see you. He wasn't yours to be obliged and neither were you his to expect it.

But fuck if you couldn't help checking your phone every five minutes to see if he'd text or call you. Hell, you'd love for him to show up announced any moment.

He didn't though.

You went to sleep upset that night--mostly at him--it wasn't his fault for not showing up, but your heart couldn't help but be disappointed by his lack of presence.

You got called in by Jujutsu High to help train the second-years the following day. A mission with five special grades seemed more appealing when you considered the fact that you'd more than likely see Satoru once there.

"Look who's awake."

Gojo is suddenly walking next to you as you lead the second-years to the sparring grounds. He doesn't look in your direction, merely facing ahead, but he has that same unbothered smile on his face--it bugs you.

He releases a handsome chuckle before starting again, "You drool a little when you're knocked out. Did ya know that?"

"No, I didn't, Satoru." You exhale, distracting yourself by looking for a nice spot to have the students duel.

"It's quite--"

"Shut up Gojo, we have to spar."

Both of you turn to see Makki scowling at the object of most people's irritation, including yours. She's ready to fight, earnestly tugging at the straps of her bag of weapons.

"You pain me, Makki," He grins, fixing his posture to walk away, "Alright, then. Learn well from y/n, she's the second best after all."

He walks in the opposite direction from you guys, trying to taste the last breath he inhaled when he was next to you before he had to let it go. It was his own pitiful attempt at basking in your presence rather than letting his inhibitions crumble and grabbing you by the shoulders to ask if you were okay? what the hell were you thinking? he shouldn't have sent you on that mission, he'd apologize if he let that part of himself come through. If. But he won't do that.

The second-years did learn from you. Makki the most, almost coming close to handing you your ass in hand to hand combat after taking in a bit of advice from you. Her semblance in physical fortitude was getting closer and closer to Toji Zenin every day. Nonetheless, the keyword was almost. She almost won and probably could have been closer to that if you weren't so ticked off by Satoru Gojo. You were in such a zone, honed in on the negativity he procured for you by not giving you the attention you wanted, that you barely spoke while focusing on Makki's every move besides giving advice, your usual praise and teasing gone.

You showered after, the heat of the sun and physical exertion making you uncomfortable in your own sweat and forcing you to take the quickest train to your place instead of getting a ride. And you didn't want to come across him again.

The feelings were too much.

It was why you found yourself halfway through a bottle of whiskey, snacking on a charcuterie board you ordered for the fucks of it. You're wearing another set of those "skimpy pjs" as Gojo had put it and staring out your balcony to gaze at the city's night lights.

You just want him so bad.

You want to kiss him. You want to be in his embrace and tell him he the prettiest eyes ever. And he's a womanizer, it chisels away at your heart. God, he's probably tongue deep in a pretty blonde right now. There's tears raining down on your cheeks and you don't bother to wipe them away, choosing to take another swig of whiskey and accompanying it with a slice of prosciutto to tug some of the sharp aftertaste away.

It hurts, wanting him. He just needs to get from you. You need to get away from him. Fuck the friendship, fuck everything.

ding!

There's someone at your door and you're up to check who the hell is at your apartment on a Friday at 1 a.m. like a lunatic. Your guard slightly goes up the closer you get to your door, the idea of someone dangerous being behind the door coming across your mind. There's a patch of goosebumps raising at the back of your neck, suddenly growing alert at your own thoughts as you tip toe to your peep hole.

And of course it's someone dangerous.

"What do you want Gojo." You don't bother to be much curious about it. You want him out of your face.

He's standing in front of you with his stupid handsomeness. That same bottle of whatever he ordered the other night in his left hand and his irritating smirk on his face along with those blacked out glasses. He's wearing black pants and a tight black shirt too, you can even see a sliver of a silver chain on his neck.

You don't see, hear, or even notice it when it happens, but his breath hitches in the quick fire second between your deadpan question of his whereabouts at your apartment and his teasing question at your teary face.

"Aw, you cryin'?" He tilts his head, canines bearing as his lips curve further up.

It makes you want to use his own red, purple, blue, or whatever fucking color of the rainbow on him. He's a complete ass. Satoru Gojo is a waste of your time. He should forget your address, your number, your favorite croissant filling, everything.

You just want him away from you, where he won't hurt you.

"Yes. Insensitive piece of shit asshole!" You shout, grabbing at your door handle.

"Get out of my face!"

You shut your door forcefully and carelessly, paying no mind to your surroundings or neighbors in your drunken haze.

When you turn around, he's already behind you.

The wine bottle is already on your kitchen island and Gojo's towering over you, his eyebrows scrunched just a bit and his eyes continuously trying to analyze you as his irises move back and forth. He had taken his glasses off, they were hanging off the collar of his shirt now.

Your nose twitches a bit, cursing his ability to teleport. The hate you hold for it becoming a heavy pit in your stomach.

"Get out." The twitch in your nose goes off again.

The panic of the situation is startling to Gojo. You look beautiful, the skimpy pink romper you're wearing is all consuming to him, he wants to rip it off and take you to your room. The crying fit you were just having had softened your features and god the little twitch you keep doing with your nose–

And you're angry at him for some reason.

No, he's stupid. It's his fault, you were crying and instead of letting himself worry about you like a normal person, he teased you about it. His own realization makes him scramble to fix his previous statement.

"No–look I'm sorry for asking like a jerk. Why are you crying?" He takes another step closer to you, pressuring you into answering his question.

Gojo was trying to get a physical tell out of you. You had healed from the mission, right? And sparring with the second-years couldn't have left you pummeled. He couldn't see any wounds on you.

He felt the rise of his hand to cup your cheek, to force you to look at him and tell him what was wrong.

No, he can't.

You look up at him defiantly, biting your cheek and beginning to grow angrier, angry at him, angry at your heart, angry at the tears that still manage to flow down your cheeks.

You take a step back and reiterate yourself.

"Get out, Gojo."

There's a linger of hurt in his eyes, along with confusion when his eyebrows scrunch even more. You can see he's at a loss for words when his mouth keeps slightly opening and closing and his eyes look like they're psychoanalyzing you.

You roll your eyes in a teary frustration and stomp your foot like a two year old throwing a fit when he doesn't move even in the slightest to leave.

"Please, Gojo! Just leave!" You cry, voice cracking, "Get out of my apartment, leave me alone, I don't–"

You almost yelp at the sudden intrusion of your personal space. He's got an iron grip on your hands all of a sudden, forcing them out of the way in case you try to push him away physically this time. And he's staring only dead into your eyes now, an overall concerned look on his face that overpowers his slight irritation at your stubbornness.

"Tell me why you're crying."

You try to loosen out of his grip, only for it to do nothing like you knew it would. It forces you to scrunch your nose in distaste and turn your cheek to him.

"I don't want to see you." You mutter, your voice audibly nasally and battered from the crying fit you were having.

Gojo brings you closer to him with a simple tug of his hands, he leans closer to your face.

"Why." His breathing starts to pick up and it sounds less like a question and more like a sound of offense.

"Let go of me."

"Not until you answer me." He tightens his grip on you just a little for emphasis, to show you that he really won't let go until you fulfill his request.

You still don't want to look at him. You can feel his laser like stare at you, pinning you down and pressuring you into giving him what he wants. It's all too much, his touch is searing to your skin and the fact that his body is so close to yours in hazing your mind. It's so much that you have no choice but to turn to finally look at him and it sends you back to the state you were previously in before he rung your doorbell.

You feel the hot wads of tears start to tumble off your waterline as you vomit a singular word.

"You."

He reels his head back a bit in confusion, "What, I–"

"You! I'm crying because of you!" You babble through your hiccups and tears, "And you show up like a jerk! You didn't even care that I was crying! And–"

"What makes you think I don't care about you?" He jeers you closer, his tone obviously offended now.

"Are you getting early dementia or something! You did that stupid aw you crying bullshit!" The situation growing worse as your eyes go completely bloodshot and there's hiccups continuously interrupting your speech.

"You didn't even care that I woke up! Today, you just came by to be a dick about me drooling! Yesterday, you didn't even show up to see me after I left the infirmary!"

His grip loosens a bit at your declaration of mistrust in his care for you.

He cares. He really cares. You can't keep saying he doesn't, he thinks. He left Spain the moment he got an angry text from Nobara that the mission he entrusted to you left you on death's door. He spent every free moment of his walking by or into your recovery room. He walked by your apartment last night to see if you were okay, his eyes had seen you sleeping safe and sound and it was enough to soothe his heart.

None of which you knew about, he realizes.

By now, you've broken free from his grasp, taking advantage at his loss of words, and fleeing to your bedroom. A loud bang followed the small pit pats of your bare feet on the floor, and it brought him back to reality.

Gojo now stares at the front door of your apartment, eyes still glued to where you were previously standing. He feels like his heart is stuck in his throat, unable to come out and run towards you like it wants to out of fear. He can hear his heartbeat pulsating in the cold silence of your apartment and it makes him confront himself instead of you.

You thought he didn't care and it made you upset.

And the mere fact is gut-wrenching for him.

It's so devastating to him, that his feet are suddenly driving him towards your room and his hands are opening the door.

He noticed the half empty bottle of whiskey and glass on your kitchen island as he passed by too. It makes him even more wary as he stands underneath the doorframe and sees you sat at the edge of your bed, head in your hands and violently crying.

"I care about you."

You hear him, but you don't have the energy to beg him to leave anymore or even notice him. You're spent and too embarrassed of your outburst to look at him.

Gojo wishes you could look at him. He wants the security of your eyes being there for him to bask in and it has him walking to kneel on the ground in front of you.

You feel his hands, soft and tough at the same time, pulling yours down, away from your face. It forces you to look down at him. You see the breath he lets out in relief the moment you make eye contact with him.

You're so weak, you can't help but melt into the feeling of his hands on yours now. A salty tear makes its last run on your face and you're nothing but a sniffling and hiccuping mess as you stare back at him.

He speaks again, "I am so sorry."

"Can you please stop touching me." You rasp out, suddenly becoming aware of how much more painful this is for you when he's feeding into youre delusions.

You can feel his blood stop pulsing for some reason. His hands are suddenly dead weight and his eyes widen.

"I can't do this anymore." You breathe out nasally, readying yourself to ruin your friendship with him.

"I love you Satoru."

It comes out heavy, like a massive paper weight on the air both of you were breathing.

And suddenly, he starts to feel his blood pumping again, the hands holding yours beginning to grow firm in their grip. His chest moves up and down even faster as he stares at you because his brain just short-circuited. He thought the inner works of his domain and technique were all he ever had to worry about handling, but this is taking the cake. Infinity and the knowledge it covers is nothing compared to what you just said.

"And–" You have to take a pause to stop the tears brimming on your waterline again, "it really hurts pining after you. I shouldn't be upset at you for not showing up at my doorstep yesterday like a boyfriend would. I wouldn't be if I weren't such a fool for you."

You're harshly wiping a tear off your cheek out frustration before you continue. You try to settle the now free hand away from him, on your lap, but he takes it back, still looking up at you without a trace of a word making an appearance on his mouth.

"I need you out of my life. I want to move on." You plead, "I can't be in the same room as you or else ill think about how bad I want to be next to you. I can't be this close to you and not kiss you. I want to wake up after getting hurt from a mission and not drown myself in whiskey because you didn't show up at my door to check on me."

"No."

Gojo is looking at you like you're an idiot. His face is twisted in a mix of offense and disgust, part of his nose is wrinkled and his eyebrows are twisted.

"Gojo–"

"Stop calling me by my last name." He cuts, eyes now harsh on you.

You're confused now, bleary eyes trying to understand him and how negative he seems right now. You want to say something, but everything you can think of is at the tip of your tongue and you're opening and closing your mouth like a fish on dry land.

Gojo looks like he wants to say something too, and like he knows what he wants to say, but he's struggling to just spit it out as he minimally glares at you. If you squint hard enough though, you might have just been able to see the slight gloss of sadness color over his eyes.

"I don't want you out of my life." He shakes his head, eyebrows still furrowed.

You sniffle, "But I just said that–"

You're pulled down by your hands and your face lands right smack on his, followed by a kiss ensued by him.

The kiss is enough to send you to sleep, it's soothing and everything you need to forget all your worries. And it's a little salty, a byproduct of your fit, but it doesn't seem to matter when Gojo reaches a hand up to your cheek and deepens his reach a little, a low grunt of affection coming from his throat when you let out a sigh.

It was short-lived, but it said enough.

When Satoru pulls back, he's still concentrated on looking for tells on your face, trying to make he got his point across.

"I've been putting you at the back of my mind for the past two years." He confesses sternly meanwhile he caresses both of your hands with his thumbs, rubbing soothing circles in the wake of his words. "I care about you so much I force myself not to." The last few words giving him the inclination to hang his head in shame.

"And I am so sorry it made you cry." He sighs in defeat, raising up both of your hands to kiss them as an apology. He's looking up at you with his big blue eyes, pleading for your mercy and you want to move, you want to act. It's why you lean down and give him a small peck on the lips to wake him up a little then dive back in again to kiss him.

It doesn't last long in that position–merely five seconds–until Satoru starts rising and pushing you back onto the bed softly. He pushes you forward onto the bed to make room for his legs before one of his hands is perched right next to your head and the other is guiding your thigh to wrap your leg around his waist.

Your hands run and grasp at his hair and neck, making sure to appreciate the feeling of his skin beneath your hands.

You begin to moan when he starts using tongue on you and it gets a rise out of him in the form of him grinding his bulge against your crotch.

"Satoru."

"Fuck." He groans, breathing hard as he kisses you. He can't just leave after this. He can't go back to his apartment. Hell he doesn't even know if he could pull himself away from you right now if there were a sudden emergency.

He feels you moving underneath him and he opens his eyes mid kiss to see you moving down the straps of your romper. The action causes him to pull back so he can see what you're trying to do.

"What are you doing?" He breathes, lips rosy and glossy from both of you guys' spit.

You free your arms from the thin pink straps right as he says that and look him in the eyes when you pull the spandex like material below your breasts.

"What I just did." You nod down innocently towards your boobs.

"Fuck. Fuck." He groans, reaching to palm both of them. It only lasts for a second before he starts to pinch at them, rubbing them between his fingers and eliciting whimpers from you.

"Yeah, just like that baby."

It makes move your hips up in search of him and it has him leaning back down to kiss you, needier this time. Satoru includes more tongue than anything, wanting to just be in you, in your skin, everywhere, as close as he can get.

You start to yank at the bottom his shirt soon enough.

"Take this off." You whine

Easily and quickly, he complies to your request, grabbing his shirt by the collar and taking it off of his body. He throws it behind him and is about to lean back down when his eyes go astray towards your crotch.

There's a wet patch very obviously soaking through and he can see the mold of your pussy sticking to the damp material. It makes his cock jump at the sight and he can't help but run a finger across your slit.

It makes a shiver run up your spine and a moan leave your mouth.

"You like that?" He's staring you down when you look back at him after having shut your eyes in pleasure.

"Mhm." You nod, eyebrows furrowed and eyes blown wide with lust as you take both of his hands and make him grab the material of your romper. "Take it off of me."

Satoru doesn't need to say anything as he obeys your request. He pulls at your pajamas and helps you slide it off your legs, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation to make any witty or teasing comments.

What wasn't part of your request was when he held both of your legs up in the air by squishing your thighs together and dove straight for your pussy.

You almost scream at the sudden intrusion of him initiating a makeout session with your pussy. The squishing of your legs making the sensation more intense for some reason. You can hear Satoru groaning into you while he sucks on your clit. He shifts his weight so that his arm is wrapped around your legs to keep them together and you wonder why he switches to only one until you feel a singular digit of his sliding into your walls.

" 'Toru." You moan, legs twitching a bit when you feel him hook a finger up and apply pressure to that one spot that has you begging for more.

"Gimme another one, please." You urge, fisting at the sheets next to you for some sort of relief.

"I got on the first flight back the second I heard what happened." He confesses, breath raggedy as he peers over from the side of your legs and gives you the other finger you asked for. His entire lower side of his is glistening, you almost feel embarrassed that it's your juices.

He continues confessing and pumping his fingers in and out of you, the squelching noises accompanying his words.

"I was scared shitless." He almost grieves, a messy confusion of his own sexual energy and his pleading for your forgiveness. Satoru starts to plant a flutter of kisses along your thigh while he keeps his eyes on you. "I love you so much." He groans, extremely turned on by the increasing pulsing of your walls and the faces you keep making.

"Yea? Oh fuck–" The last five words he uttered were adding even more ecstasy to your euphoria and had started to plummet you into your orgasm when coupled with the deeper and faster pace Satoru introduced.

"Come on, pretty. Cum for me." Satoru almost sounds like he's begging, mouth opening in awe in sync with yours at the overwhelming sense of pleasure crashing over you.

It comes out in a long mix between a moan and a whine, along with the wriggle of your hips and legs as Satoru keeps moving his fingers in and out while you ride out your high.

You're heaving when it washes over and you're about to flinch at the overstimulation of Satoru's fingers when he pulls them out and puts them in his mouth. You can see him slightly roll his eyes back when he hollows his cheeks a bit to fully clean his fingers off and get your taste out of them.

Satoru lets go of the grip he had keeping your legs up, and he gets up to quickly take his pants off, followed by his boxers, and–

"You're big." You marvel, sitting up now and admiring the view, also trying to wrap your head around the fact that he's going to hurt. He's pretty and long, reaching a bit past his belly button when it slaps against his stomach, and his girth is scream worthy.

When Satoru looks down, you look so innocent, peering at him through your lashes before focusing your gaze back on his length. He sees your thighs shift against each other–a boost to his ego and his horniness–but he can also tell you're a little freaked out by the sheer size.

"We don't have to." He heaves earnestly, chest rising and falling a bit faster than usual out of pent up sexual aggression from fingering you and watching you cum, and the need to be inside of you right now, which he'd be more than capable of stowing away for now if you didn't feel comfortable taking him.

"We can make it fit." You reassure softly and lean up to tug one of his hands to you in the bed while his eyes widen.

Satoru is in between your legs now, eyeing you down with lust blown pupils, an animal like stare that has you shrinking into the bed the more it lingers. Truth be told, he doesn't know how to act now that he's got you underneath him, legs spread, and your pretty little face waiting for him to do something.

His first move is to kiss you again, he missed your lips in the brief few minutes he was eating you out and fingering you. The kiss makes your skin crawl and pull him closer to you by the shoulders you have your arms wrapped around.

His cock lands right between your lips after that and it makes both of you suck in a breath the contact, a needy grind of both of yours' hips following.

"I want you inside of me 'Toru." You sigh against his ear as he dips his head down into your neck, mouthing and biting.

You feel his grip in the sheets right next to your head tighten and manage to get a view of his large and broad back contorting at the sentence.

"How bad do you want it?" He almost snarls, moving his hips so his cock keeps sliding between your folds, gathering your slick on his shaft and stimulating your clit in the process. His head leans down even further and he's sucking on your nipple, nipping a bit to get squeals out of you for not answering him as fast he wanted you to.

"I want it really bad." You can't stand the pulsating between your legs anymore, your hips can only move towards him for so long before you feel like you'll die. You needily scratch at his back when his other hand pinches your nipple particularly hard. "I feel like I'm gonna die if you don't fuck my pussy right now." It comes out whiny and high-pitched, the overall want for him making you pathetic.

He comes back up with a crazed stare more intense than the last one and dives for your mouth again, aggressive and overwhelming, like he wants to swallow you whole. There's teeth and tongue everywhere, you wouldn't be surprised if your lips were bleeding by the end of this.

When you're caught up in the feeling of his chest on yours and his heavy breathing against yours while you kiss, he starts lining himself up to your entrance. The intrusion of his fat tip in your hole interrupting your ability to kiss and making your jaw go slack.

You start to lift your hips off the bed without thinking and Satoru wraps his arm around your waist to keep you in place. He hasn't moved any further, basking in the invitation of your warmth and giving you time to adjust.

"It's so big." You mutter, hand in his hair and the other holding onto his back for dear life while you look at the rest you have to take.

It's the first time he even so much as smiles a little when he looks up at you and you see a glint of his canines and a glossed over look in his eyes. "Yea?"

"Mhm." You nod, eyebrows knitting when he pulls back and inches in a little further with a shallow thrust.

He drops his head into your neck, trying to keep himself from biting the bullet and completely pushing into you in one go. "Fuck." He moans when he thrusts back in again

He picks up the pace a little with every shallow thrust that gets him an inch deeper in you and by the time he's fully in, he's giving you hard and punctual thrusts. You're close to screaming every time he bottoms out, mouth open while you whine and moan. It makes him take advantage and he swallows your noises by shoving his tongue down your throat. He licks at your tongue, almost as if he's trying to wrap around it like you're doing to him.

"Love –hearin' –that –pretty fuckin –pussy –take me." He grunts against your lips, punctuating between almost every word with a sharp thrust into you. The soft squelching sounds reminding him that he's very much inside of you and making a mess of you.

"I–" You struggle to speak, the sex taking away your ability to speak.

And Satoru doesn't care, reaching a hand up to your chin to make you look at him as he keeps pummeling into you. "You what baby?"

The petname only adds to your euphoria, making it even more difficult to respond to him. But he's still got your chin in his hand, and he's not showing any signs of looking away or stopping his pace.

"I–I mmmmm–I love–love you."

His eyes soften a little, still as ravenous considering he's pummeling your pussy for the first time, but they soften just a smidge nonetheless. And he moves the hand holding your chin to cup your cheek, running a soothing thumb as he returns the affection to you.

"I love you too. Fuck you're clamping down so tight. Shit. I love you so much y/n. Don't want anybody else to have you. Oh, god. You make me so fucking crazy."

The hand previously on your cheek is now snaking its way down, stopping until his thumb is rubbing your clit and eliciting porn worthy moans from you at the added stimulation.

"You're gonna make me cum Satoru." You breathe out, high pitched and almost moaning loud enough to wake up anyone within the vicinity of your building

The warning is an incentive for Satoru to lift one of your legs up, letting him reach deeper and keep the same pace that has your pussy doing that familiar chasing spasm around his cock now instead of his fingers.

"Cum for baby." He gasps out, abs flexing as he struggles with his own pleasure. "I know you fuckin can. Please. Please. Please. Need to feel it on my dick."

By the fourth thrust in the new position your stomach drops and your legs are spasming trying to close and fidget, but Satoru's iron grip on you stops it from happening. He keeps fucking you through it, staring at you as he does, making sure to frame the picture of you coming on his cock for the first time in his head for all of eternity.

There's less resistance from you when you fall limp after and just take it. Your legs feel like jelly and fall even more moldable to Satoru's physical requests, letting him push your leg farther back and dig even deeper into you how he wants. You know it hurts, that you're supposed to at least try to push away his cock from molding into you again and again even after you've reached your peak, but it just feels so damn good to hurt this way. All you can do is squeal after every thrust of his. And when you feel his pace grow sloppier and faster, it makes you reach for his neck and hair, roping him into you.

"I'm gonna cum." Satoru's cheeks are rosy and his eyes are glazed over as he looks at you, desperation for his release written all over them.

"Cum for me 'Toru." You whine, eyes almost rolling back from a particular jolt of his hips and leaning up as much as you can to plant a chaste kiss on his bottom lip. "Want your cum to fill me up. I need it so bad."

"Please, 'Toru. Cum in me, please."

It drives him over the edge. He drops his weight on you to kiss you through the stuttering of his hips and jolts of his cum into you. You feel his warmth pooling inside of you and can hear both of you guys' labored breathing after the whirlwind sex you just had.

Satoru's rough and passionate kisses from seconds ago turned into chaste quick ones that he kept stealing from you until he shifted his weight from his palm to his forearm and cupped the side of your face, affectionally moving a stray hair from your forehead.

His sky blue eyes peered down at you, taking in the sight intensely, as if any moment you could try to push him away from your life again.

"You're so beautiful." He breathes in awe, gaze turned soft.

"So are you." You replicate his tone, cupping his face in return and appreciating the fact that he looks so pretty and handsome in the moonlight seeping through your floor to ceiling windows right now.

He grabs at one of the hands on his face and brings it to his lips, placing a warm kiss atop of it.

"I was here last night." He confesses, "I passed by your apartment to see if you were fine while you were sleeping." He wants to look away in shame. "I didn't think– There was–"

Satoru closes his eyes in frustration for a second at himself before finding his footing again.

"I've been doing everything I can to be there for you without you knowing, without me knowing, I didn't even know I was going to spend the entire day with you that other day until my mouth found a reason to make it about work."

He sighs at himself before he continues, "I care."

"I spent every moment I could waiting for you to wake up. I checked on your apartment to clean it. I looked for your cursed energy anytime I was within a vicinity of the school to see if you were recovering. I care."

You're close to speechless at his confession, resisting the urge to pull him down and litter his entire face in kisses, instead forcing yourself to speak.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you." You return sheepishly, feeling bad for the tantrum you threw at him.

"It's fine." Satoru reassures, planting a kiss on your forehead before looking down at where the two of you are connected. "How are you feeling?"

"Good." You bite your lip sweetly, letting a little bit of your love fueled smile come through while you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer in your embrace. "I could never cum like that by myself."

Satoru leers over you like a predator now, a full smile showing through and distinctly premiering his canines, his ego was stroked, "Good thing I'm here now then."

"Mhm" You nod eagerly, matching the upturn of his lips too.

"Oh. Come here." He groans and laughs a little, a hand on your back when he flips the both of you over and litters your face with kisses. Your giggles fuel him and he pulls you closer to him.

Neither of you are going to let go again.

[fandom-lover2]

Bloodstains and Badges

Chapter Five - Echoes

-image not mine-

Chapter Four - I'll Take the Ice, No Coffee

Chapter Six - Where's The Donuts?

Mutant Containment Task Force – Classified

Sergeant: William Patrick – NYPD Officer

Corporal Squad A:  Y/n L/N – NYPD Officer

Officers Squad A:

Callum Dodgens – NYPD Officer

Oscar Rodriquez – NYPD Officer

Victoria Sanchez – SWAT

James Edgars - NYPD K9

Michael Sheppard - Sheriff’s Department

Gavin Smith - NYPD Equine

Diego Estrada - NYPD Detective

Corporal Squad B: Eric Baker - State Trooper

Officers Squad B:

John Matthews – NYPD Officer

Jessica Rosco – NYPD Officer

Alice Mae - NYPD K9

Kenji Takeda - Highway Patrol

Tasha Davids - Sheriff’s Department

Vincent Russo - NYPD Officer

Kate Aaron – NYPD Detective

Four Mutant Officers in Training – TBD

Zoologist Consultants:

Willaim Rosco

Amanda Rivers

I looked over the papers again, scanning the names as I followed Liam’s boots.

Good people, my people.

Even though we had to be divided into squads, and therefore needed two corporals, there would be plenty overlap and times all of us would be on shift and then I would take point of all 15 of them. And, considering the nature of our small unit, I would be on standby 24/7 for calls.

Shifts would be complicated, 36 hours.

Each squad would have 6 officers on duty, 2 off and on standby for if someone needed time off or an emergency occurred.

It was extreme overtime, and while we could just sit around unless on a call pertaining to a Mutant, it would still be draining work for however long our little group was in commission.

Hopefully, it would only be until all the current Mutants were contained and returned to normal.

A separate task force, led by the FBI, was searching for the source of the original mutagen outbreak and contain it so we didn’t have an endless supply of the green stuff on the streets.

“You listenin’?” Liam addressed, knowing I wasn’t and calling my attention to what was being said.

I looked up, refocusing on Chief Linny and the contractor.

We couldn’t tell people the truth, no matter what. That was rule one. So, we were business partners who paid a large sum of money in cash for this old building to be restored.

The tech teams had designed the cages that would be installed tomorrow, the first day of our task force being in operation. But today was the final look at the warehouse before it was transformed into a functional police station overnight by internal services.

We were on the second level, our trucks already in the basement and waiting for the first call.

Large, gutted, and drains. Lots, and lots, and lots of drains.

Feeding and refilling water stations we were happy to do, but no one was cleaning shit unless it was with a hose.

Each cell would have a functional toilet if the individual was willing and able to use it, and a bed bolted to the floors. The cells would be made from some type of bomb proof glass, with bars for added protection from contamination between the Mutants, and us.

There were different sizes too, and easily moveable if we had to make space and shift specimens around.

But that fell under rule number two. No individual would leave the building, under any circumstances.

Rule three; lab geeks could only take minimal samples for testing, done so while monitored by at least four different officers.

We were not allowing them to be taken advantage of, or mistreated.

“And finally,” the head contractor was saying, leading us to the control board, “lights.”

He went into detail, explaining the electric side of the floor. I didn’t care, looking back to the file and flipping the page.

Progress reports on training.

Almost none of us knew how to use a tranquilizer gun and so had spent the last month and a half attending “Mutant Containment” training.

We covered everything, from basic animal anatomy, to being trained by real wildland vets on how to hit moving targets and ensure we hit the right spots.

Thankfully, most of the officers on our roll were praised for their marksmanship before getting assigned.

I scanned the results, eyes roaming to take in the basic overviews. We were all excelling.

“Let’s see the upper floors.” Chief Linny spoke, moving towards the stairs.

Everything was stairs only, the risk of elevators other than the basement to second floor not worth the trouble. And, if there was ever a containment breech, stairs might slow down a four-legged individual long enough for someone to do something.

I walked and flipped the pages again.

Every Mutant reported so far.

There were 4 we had decent information on, places we would start looking first thing tomorrow.

Another 7 sighted, still under investigation.

That’s what our on-shift detectives were for, finding the Mutants.

I flipped to the final pages and sighed. Why did it have to be this way?

Progress reports on the four brothers.

They were supposed to be part of this all, experts in the field of Mutants. And that meant they needed to be brought up to speed with our lives.

To all their credit, they were amazing cadets and would make fine officers, and it wasn’t like they were being trained to be actual beat cops, but rather just having a badge for covering our asses if anything went south and lawsuits were thrown at our departments.

Still, brining them into this wasn’t something I had wanted.

Yeah, having the extra muscle would be much appreciated when we finally got to the rhino Mutant, UMI 2 (Unidentified Mutated Individual), but I was still unsure about this.

This would be putting them in more danger than I was comfortable with, but in the end I didn’t get a say in this aspect of our runnings.

The best I could do moving forward was make sure they were looked after in the field.

We headed up two floors, to where our main floor would be.

The plan was to have floor four as our command floor, with a huge meeting room and offices for the detectives to do their jobs as well as desks and individual workstations. Floor three for now would be storage.

And floor five, that was our fun room.

A gym and our lockers with showers, break room with a functioning kitchen and bunks for naps when the hours stretched too long.

The first floor would be a fake out, set up to look like it was still under construction and unable to access the higher floors.

We headed through the rest of the building, checking everything a final time before thanking the guy and sending him on his way.

I sat down in the middle of what would be our war room, crossing my legs and I reread the papers a final time.

“Tomorrow, huh?” Liam started, sitting down beside me and taking the file. Not to read, but to stop me from stress reading.

Our voices echoed in the empty room, Chief Linny excusing herself to take a call on the other side of the room.

“Tomorrow.” I agreed, beginning to chew my lip.

“Stop.” Liam reprimanded softly, reaching over and gently using his thumb to smooth my bottom lip out, frowning at the blood on the pad of his finger.

I’d been doing this for years, a habit he was trying very hard to break.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.” I confessed, moving to lie down and place my head on his lap.

Liam laughed, moving to begin stroking my hair. “Kid, no one is ready for a job like this.”

“You were.”

He glared down at me, flicking the edge of my nose. “If you don’t think I wasn’t scared first shift as a sergeant, I’m dragging you to the optometrist.”

I scrunched my nose at him, weakly glaring back. “You were nervous, but you looked ready. I’m ready to run away.”

Liam hummed. “Probably, but ya won’t, because I know you. I broke you down and made you into a good fuckin’ officer. I made you for this.”

I looked up at him, his wrinkles, his scars from that bar fight in this rookie years, the thin grey hairs slipping between the red.

This was the man who had me believing I would never live up to his expectations. He had me thinking I would fail every inspection thrown my way and never get out of my training days. He’d made me sweat and bleed and cry every day, pushing me beyond what I thought was possible.

And then at the end of it, when I had graduated from his care, he’d been the one cheering the loudest in the crowd, taking me out to dinner to celebrate when my own parents hadn’t bothered to even call.

He’d raised me, the cop me. The me I had wanted to be since I was four years old.

“You did good, Papa.”

The name was a joke from a call we’d taken in my early days with him. A kid had run up to him, screaming ‘Papa’. Turns out the kid’s real dad looked pretty similar to Liam and so it’d been a case of mistaken identity, but I brought the nickname back every now and then, to keep him on his toes.

Liam rolled his eyes at me, smiling as he leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead.

When he pulled back, he was serious. “As your commanding officer, I need to go over some rules with you. The kind pertaining to ‘personal relationships’.”

I should have seen this coming.

I sat up, moving to face him. This was a serious conversation, no place for casual lounging. “The relationship between me and Raphael has been explained in the form of us both understanding that no relationship can occur.”

I looked at him, in the eye so he knew I wasn’t bullshitting him. “We are not getting together.”

“You want to.” he fired back. His face was stern, but understanding, open. He knew me too well, and we both knew it.

“Yes.” I admitted anyway. “But right now my priority is keeping the Mutants of this city safe. Personal relationships can happen after.”

“Does he feel the same way?” Liam pushed.

“I don’t know. I just explained the rules and he accepted.”

Liam’s eyes took on a darkness, one I had never seen before. “I will still need to talk to him about it, get him to understand the rules and the consequences for breaking them.”

“Are you going to talk to him as Sergeant William Patrick, or as my self-appointed guardian?”

“I can be both.” he replied easily, but his voice was tight.

I rolled my eyes. “I can handle my own love life, Papa.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust.”

I laughed, throwing my head back and letting the action make me feel lighter than I had in almost two months. “Oh my god. He’s not going to kidnap me and force me to give up my job.”

“If things go shit, your record will show it for the rest of your career. He will ruin your life, your future. He needs to know that.” Liam insisted, trying to get me to understand how bad this really would be.

“I don’t care what my record looks like. I’ve told you before, I don’t want to move up yet. This,” I gestured to the space around us, “isn’t what I wanted. You made me take this.”

“I needed you.”

I had been getting angry, weeks of tension needing to be released, but he had spoken it so plainly it shocked the heat from me.

He needed me.

Without my planning, my insistence for a different plan, Liam would be leading a kill squad right now. And as much I couldn’t imagine sleeping knowing something like that was happening, he wouldn’t have been able to take those lives as if they meant nothing.

He needed me, because he knew what I could do, and it was hurting him watching me struggle in the position he put me in, but he needed me.

“You both ready to go?” Chief Linny called, done with her call.

“Yeah.” we both called, Liam rushing to stand and offering a hand to pull me up.

He squeezed my hand twice, our sign for ‘We’ll talk later’.

---

I sighed, breathing in the city smog that gently blew across my cheeks.

I glanced down to my phone, touching the screen. 11pm.

9 more hours. I had 9 more hours until more than just civilian lives depended on me.

I watched as the time ticked on, 11:01pm.

8 hours and 59 minutes.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Jesus fuck!” I yelped, jumping on the wall and spinning, almost slipping right off it.

Raph lunged forward, grabbing my arm and holding me steady, keeping his grip as he moved to sit beside me. “Sorry. I thought ya heard us back there.”

“Us?” I turned to the direction he’d come from and saw his three brothers lounging on the opposite side of the wall, arguing with Mikey as he began to set up a speaker.

How had I not heard that? I was losing my mind.

“You guys should be sleeping. Tomorrow is going to be a long and busy day.”

“So should you.” Raph shot back. When I didn’t say anything, turning back to the city, he took the cue to fill the silence. “Mikey is ta wound up, keepin’ everyone awake. Master Splinter made us take ‘im out so he could get some sleep.”

I huffed. “I don’t blame the man. Raising four boys, and you still cause him problems.”

Raph shrugged. “We’re all a little excited. We finally get to be part of tha world, not hidin’ in the shadows.”

I looked to him. “We’re all going to be hiding, trying to keep this operation in the shadows.���

That pissed him off. I could tell by the way he looked away, scowling down at the street below us as he clenched his jaw. I needed to get us back to lighter topics.

“Your uniforms are almost ready. I can pick them up end of next week.”

Behind us, Mikey had selected a song with a lot of bass and very little words, turning it up louder when Leo complained. “We’re gonna be cops!” the orange ball of energy cheered, earning an aggressive shushing from Donnie.

We both chuckled at the moment, keeping our gazes on the city before us. But neither attempts at bringing back the mood had accomplished that.

“I’m sorry-”

“Yer right.” he spoke before I could finish my sentence. “Tha world will never accept us. That’s tha whole point of this anyway, ain’t it? Lock us up before we can reveal ourselves to tha world.”

“I think the world would be a lot more accepting than the higher ups think, but we can’t afford that risk.”

I looked down to one of his clenched fists, fighting myself not to reach out and hold it.

“It’s going to get out, no matter what we do or how many officers are in on this. A Mutant is going slip through and the world will know, and when that happens, you and brothers will be the brave heroes who risked your lives to protect the people.”

He kept looking at the street, looking world worn. “Ya really think that’ll happen?”

I shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

And then he turned to me and smiled, his hazel eyes catching the city lights and glowing yellow. It took more willpower than I knew I had to not reach out and stroke his cheek.

Apparently, he didn’t have the same problems because he did reach over and try to cradle the side of my face.

I pulled away though, far, far away as I slipped of the wall.

“Tomorrow, when you have a minute, Sergeant Patrick wants to see you.”

His hurt from me pulling away was replaced with shock. “What? Why?”

I began to walk backwards, a playful smile on my lips. “Oh, you know. The whole ‘touch my daughter and you die’ speech. Nothing bad.”

That seemed to terrify him even more, which got a giggle out of me.

“Goodnight, boys.” I sang, slipping over the wall and down the fire escape, blowing Raph a kiss as I dropped out of view.

I climbed into bed, Mikey’s music in the distance. I checked my phone a final time, 11:13pm shining back at me.

Tomorrow would be exciting, and nerve wrecking, and something no one knew what to expect. But I wouldn’t be facing it alone. None of us would.

Tomorrow, the Mutant Containment Task Force, our MCTF, would officially be in effect. Months of hard work lay ahead, but the reward was worth it.

I fell asleep, hopeful that the dawn would bring something exciting.

[bb-8]

Tech Savvy

Pairing: Tech x female reader Summary:  You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not. Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI) Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst Word count: 5.4K Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.

The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.

You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.

Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.

You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.

You feel your face heat at the thought.

(What? His goggles are cute.)

The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –

“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.

“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”

“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”

“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.

“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.

“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”

You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.

He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.

“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”

“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”

You fumble over your next words.

“That’s – it’s entirely different.”

“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.

“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”

Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.

You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.

You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.

“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.

Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.

You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.

And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.

Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.

“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.

“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.

You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.

Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.

“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.

Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.

Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.

“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.

And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.

“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”

The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.

“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.

“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.

“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”

Come on, Tech.

“Would you like a chair–.”

“Stars, Tech, I like you!”

Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.

So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.

Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.

And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.

Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.

The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.

You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–

‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’

You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.

++++++++++++++++++++

It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.

You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.

“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.

His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.

“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.

Tech coughs slightly.

“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.

Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.

“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.

You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)

Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.

But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.

You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.

“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.

He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.

“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”

Huh.

“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.

“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”

“Very much so.”

A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.

You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.

You pull away to gauge his reaction.

“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.

“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.

He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.

“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.

“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.

“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”

“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.

Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.

Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.

And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.

“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.

You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.

And this, this is when you start to worry.

Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?

Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.

“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.

It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.

His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.

You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.

And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.

He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.

Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.

You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.

Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.

“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.

You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.

And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.

He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.

“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”

His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.

“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”

Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.

He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.

Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.

You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.

He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.

“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.

“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.

“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”

You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.

Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.

“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.

“Selfishness?” you guess.

Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.

“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.

He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.

“In me,” you urge. “Now.”

He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.

“Lie back then.”

Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.

“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”

Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.

“You’re tight,” he grits out.

He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.

“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”

Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.

“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”

“Fuck –,” you whine.

His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.

“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.

“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.

“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.

Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.

He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.

You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.

“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.

“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.

“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”

“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”

You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.

You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.

And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.

In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.

“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.

“Please do not act so surprised by that.”

++++++++++++++++++++

You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.

Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.

“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”

“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”

“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”

The access lever snaps clean off in Tech’s hands.

[bukojuiice]

the way of the househusband — levi ackerman

ೃ pairing: (husband! levi ackerman x  ceo wifey! reader)

ೃ  There is the “ideal” nuclear family. The one composed of a working husband with a well-paying 9 to 5 job, loving housewife who cooks and cleans, and adoring children who do well in school. However, that idealization is looong gone. What about you and your family? You are the CEO of a Tech Start-up Company who ain’t no trophy wife, Your husband hails from the last line of Ackermans and who temporarily resigns from being a vice executive of your company (just because he doesn’t want to work with young, feeling philanthropist, and genius GenZers) to become a hands-on househusband, and then there’s your little daughter who has the most inquisitive mind and adventurous heart who idolizes her doting father in every shape, way, and form. A month’s absence in your home (due to a business trip) could lead to many many things. But, your husband randomly publishing a self-help book on parenting and being a househusband is not one of those things. 

ೃ genre and warnings: modern au, domestic fluff, baby au, husband au, 

ೃ  my nav  →  my aot masterlist

ೃ 4k words

ೃ Will be referring to hanji as “aunkling” (a cute nickname that some kiddos use to refer to their non-binary relatives <3) because there are no official non-binary terms for aunt and uncle! + your daughter with levi is named amelia and she is just the most precious cinnamon roll

It’s done. 

The Business Trip is finally over.

A long and painful month of no hugs and playdates with your little princess, Amelia and no time to be pampered with love and affection from your husband, Levi was finally over!

Sometimes, you wonder how you were even able to survive these long-ass trips and conferences. Sure, these month-long trips only happened once a year, but the thought of Amelia getting older and having to miss a day of seeing her grow up and discover the world, really hurt you as all mothers would. Video Calls were enough to satisfy you and give you happy hormones even for just a short while, but still- the longer you’re not with them, the more the yearning lengthens until you’re just riddled with endless thoughts of wanting to get home as soon as possible.

First, let’s set things straight: You are the CEO of a Tech Start-up company who was born into a middle-class family and rose her way up to success. It’s as cliche as it gets but hey! Living a life as if you were in a romantic comedy was the best compliment you’ve ever gotten. 

Along with that, as far as rich families in rom-coms and coming of age movies go, are they all dysfunctional in reality? Not really. Or at least you and Levi promised each other not to end up like that. The Rich Girl meets Poor Boy (with a tragic backstory) cliche however? Yea, that’s a pretty accurate way to describe your love story. Meeting the love of your life in a Coffee Shop is actually pretty common and happens to a lot of people apparently. When Erwin Smith, Levi’s best friend (who is too smart and self-aware to fit the role of a rom-com sidekick by the way) approaches your table to ask if he and Levi could sit with you. (Because of all the days the cafe would be packed, it would be that day.) You said yes of course, and Erwin began oversharing details about the raven-haired man and you were all too invested in learning more about him anyway. Levi grew up in the orphanage after his mother had died and his father was the biggest asshole on the planet for never showing his face, he had to fend for himself after he outgrew the foster system. Starting out as an espionage in an illegal underground gambling empire to a bookkeeper at the Smiths’ bookshop. (Although this is a story for another day)  

Internally swooning over his pretty eyes and resting bitch face...it didn’t take long until the two of you fell in love and... the rest was history!

You come home to your lavish yet homey apartment in 21 West End Avenue Manhattan to be surprised by your father-daughter duo absolutely knocked out on the couch. Amelia was snuggled up to her father, her feet on his lap and a sleeping position you could not possibly comprehend, a Disney movie playing in the background, and both of them were wearing matching Minion onesies whilst yours was folded neatly on the coffee table just waiting to be worn by you when you got home. 

It was a rare sight to see and you can’t help but just stare lovingly at the wonderful scene before you. Not only was it rare to see Amelia asleep before seeing you (or in the case of your business trips, during your daily video calls with them) but it was also rare to see your husband sleeping so soundly and his insomnia not kicking in. 

Amelia hears your footsteps, her eyes are still shut as she tries to predict what you will do next. She finally assesses when she will make her move and surprise you when you place another fleece blanket on top of them and plant a kiss on both of their temples. your daughter’s eyes suddenly flutter open. Her eyes beaming and glowing off the same light that twinkled in her father’s as she jumps off the couch, making sure not to wake up Levi.

“MOMMY!” She screams in the most quiet volume her cute voice could muster. She runs up to you and envelops you in a tight hug, jumping up and down as she does so. “I missed you Mommy! I missed you soooo much! How was sandbox in K-korea!? Was there a lot of sand!? Did you have a lot of pwaymates there!?”

You giggle at your daughter’s enthusiasm, combing your fingers through her hair. “Lili, Sandbox is like the Silicon Valley of Korea. It isn’t necessarily a sandbox like in a playground, baby.”

“OOOH! JUST LIKE SIWICON VAWWEY!” She chirps, tightening her hug and reaching for your hand and squeezing it. “AH WAIT!” She gently pushes you away and makes a beeline to her room. “ME AND DADDY HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU! BUT CLOSE YOUR EYES FIRST OWKAAY?!” She calls out from her room and you shout back a “yes!” to her in between your giggles, unable to contain the sudden rush of serotonin your daughter had given you from her simple yet adorable antics.

Another trope that you can debunk is that rich moms can be a hands-on parent too! After your maternity leave ended and when Amelia had finally reached her toddler years, you absolutely made sure that you were going to take care of her every second, minute, hour and day of your life. As soon as she turned two, she became the inquisitive, smart and ever so curious little girl you and Levi had always hoped for. She had your (h/c) hair and Levi’s icy yet warm and loving milky grey eyes. If the color of Levi’s reminded you of dark and stormy clouds, Amelia’s was gleaming. Like that of the clouds after a terrible storm. She was an absolute blessing and although you weren’t a perfect mother, (spoiling her more than you should) Levi was an amazing father. Growing up without parents was tough for him and he was going to make sure that Amelia is going to have an amazing childhood and be surrounded by the love of two parents that he never had and never got to experience. 

You always and will forever have trust in Levi. There has never been a day where you doubted him. Despite the impressions and assumptions that people have of him. How he was cold, scary, and even calculating. But, you are always quick to shut down those rumors. They don’t know the Levi Ackerman behind the cold and mighty front he shows. He is a man who has gone through so much and yet has so much love and care to give. How he notices and remembers the littlest details, how he never takes anything for granted and how he loves and cherishes everything so wholeheartedly.

When Amelia turned six, you sadly had to go back to work formally. Right timing too because your genius (with very himbo tendencies) younger cousin, Eren, was about to be part of your start-up company and he had a lot of amazing plans that had to come into fruition. Even bringing in a group of his own friends (who all graduated in MIT by the way!) who are willing to contribute so many amazing ideas and hackathons that were just waiting to happen.

The entrance of these youthful and hopeful genius entrepreneurs also brought about the temporary exit of your very own husband from your very own company. Apparently, working with newly graduated Gen Zers (as a millennial) was too much for him. They were nice and they were going to be a very integral part of the company. But, the boomer inside Levi can’t just can’t keep up with this sudden surge of energy and youthfulness within the higher-ups. It was also a great opportunity for him to take care of Amelia even more. So, you didn’t stop him from doing so! 

It’s been a year since he temporarily resigned and became an official-unofficial househusband. Or as your best friend Hanji likes to put it, You are the Girl Boss and he is the Male Wife. Amelia is now 7 years old and she’s currently taking Ballet classes (Levi picks her up during the weekdays, and the both of you pick her up on the weekends) and has developed a hyperfixation over Sanrio Characters and the Disney movie, Frozen. She was growing up to be a wonderful girl and you just can’t wait to hear what she and Levi had done during your absence.

She skips her way back to you, a book tightly clutched in her hands. “SURPRISE!” Amelia gingerly places a book on your hand. You open your eyes and tilt your head in question at the piece of literature she had just given you as you read the title aloud.  “The Way of the House Husband… written by Levi Ackerman.” Your eyes shift to a little circle on the lower side of the cover,  “The husband of (Y/N) Ackerman, the CEO of Survey Corp Tech…!?” 

“Daddy and I made a book while you were away!” She claps her hands together and grabs the book back from you, turning it to the first page. “See there’s even a dedication! To (Y/N) and Amelia! The two brightest stars in my galaxy!”

“Oh that’s too cheesy. No way would your dad write something like this out of the blue, Lili.” You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. Your daughter looks at you with downcast eyes while you were still trying to process that your husband literally just wrote a whole-ass book while you were away. “Who helped publish this so quickly, Amelia?”

“Uncle Erwin of course!” She’s frowning for one second and now she’s beaming at you again. “Please please read it mommy! Me and daddy worked really really hard on it!” She taps the hardbound cover of the book in rhythms. “This is the Amelia Edition! Daddy said he cut out some stuff so that it would be okay for me to read and for me to give to you once you get home! It’s my come back home gift for you mommy!” She moves the book to your lap and hops up next to you on the loveseat that you were sitting on. Before you know it, Amelia is resting her head on your shoulder and coaxing you to start reading to her like it was a bedtime story. 

You clear your throat and hold her by the waist so that she can feel more secure in her seat. “Okay… okay… let’s begin shall we? In a kingdom far far away…”

“That’s not how the book is like mommy! Read it properly like the way daddy did!”

“I was just joking, honey. Let’s get started. Rule #1 of the House Husband is…”

Rule #1: Fathers, be good to your children. You are the weight of their world.

“One thing I learned as soon as I was at home practically 24/7 is that your child will be more cautious and weary of you. They will observe you because they look up to you. They will watch your every move, follow you around, and will imitate whatever you say and whatever they hear from you. Talk to them, teach them things they need to know, support them in their hobbies, interests, and even if you have to be the extra princess in her tea party, do it.  The thing is, you will leave an eternal mark on the hearts of your children.”

Amelia got even more closer to Levi when he was finally stationed at home. Always grinning from ear to ear and boasting to her classmates how cool her dad was whenever he would pick her up from school. She was proud to tell them Levi’s heritage even if Amelia never got to meet her Grandma Ackerman and Grandpa Ackerman. When Levi would take her out for errands, may they be groceries, cleaning the house, baking, cooking, laundry, or just going on his morning jog, Amelia would be there to accompany him. In fact, she’s gone shopping with Levi so many times that she has memorized the brand names of cleaning detergent and bleach before she could even memorize the multiplication table.

 She’s even caught up with her father’s cynical sense of humor. And because of that, Levi had to tone down on his sardonic jokes around the little girl. Levi wasn’t necessarily physically affectionate but he does soften around Amelia as the little girl never fails to supply him with endless hugs and kisses on the cheek. She may be both a Mommy’s and Daddy’s girl, but the way she looks up to Levi is the kind of father-daughter bond that you hardly see in real life. She aspires to be like him. Even if there were times where she would be scolded by you both, (most especially Levi) she never took that against you.  She sees all the good and positive sides of your husband that others outside of your circle fail to see.

Rule #2: Let your children know that they have other “guardian angels” who they can rely on aside from their parents.

“My daughter has both my wife and I’s best friends to learn from or to look up to. Her kooky aunkling and her blunt uncle have become one of the most precious people in her life. Even the young ins working at Survey Corp Tech have become older siblings to her and get along with her so well. Remember that there will always be close relatives or friends who can and will help them when they lose their way. Let them spread sunshine and love to others.”

Whether it’s a regular trip to Coney Island or your monthly trips to Disneyland, Hanji or Erwin would totally tag along. Amelia absolutely loves and vibes with Hanji’s quirkiness so well. They would wear matching Mickey Mouse ears, ride the kiddie roller coaster that Amelia wanted to ride on a million times per visit, buy her all the ice cream and treats she wants (despite Levi’s warnings and the reprimanding that Hanji has to suffer from the both of you right after.) They just want Amelia to experience all the fun, the joy, and innocence of living in the moment. As a kid, it’s better if she sees how precious life is, how she should cherish it and that she doesn’t have to grow up so fast just yet. 

Erwin on the other hand, brought out Amelia’s intellectual side more. As soon as a new and critically acclaimed children’s book hit the shelves, you bet Amelia has a copy right away. Whenever Levi would take her to Erwin’s bookstore, she wanders around like it’s this huge mysterious archive that can only be accessed by her. The Adults section is forbidden, so were the cheap romance novels in the back, and the books written by youtubers. God forbid she read those. When her Uncle Erwin got her into reading Roald Dahl’s children’s books, you had to watch Amelia run around the penthouse with a little red ribbon tied on top of her hair, wanting to be referred to as Matilda, along with you and Levi having to pretend that she had telekinetic powers for 6 months straight. It was her cutest phase yet and you just know there were many more to come. 

There were also Eren and his friends who loved Amelia dearly whenever she came over to visit. Your little cousin refused to be called Uncle Eren and instead wanted to be called big bro, and in which Amelia happily complied. Whenever it was Amelia’s weekly “Visit Mommy at Work” day, she had her own room in your office where Eren and your other young associates would babysit her. In fact, they would actually take turns in babysitting at your condo whenever you and Levi went out for date night. Amelia was introduced to playing video games like Animal Crossing and Pokemon solely because of them (more specifically because of big bro Jean, big sis Sasha, and big bro connie.) They even ended up influencing her to watch anime when her big brother “Minmin” and big sis “Mimi” accidentally left the TV on and Amelia literally binge-watched half of the existing Studio Ghibli movies to this date. 

Rule #3: Your children will think that you are Superman or Iron Man. Make sure to act like them and never let them down by ruining their innocence and imagination.”

(A little note was attached to this page: Please don’t let Amelia read this. Read her a fairy tale instead while skimming through this.)

“It all started when my daughter found an entire encyclopedia on ancient and legendary family clans around the world. The Ackerman clan was on the very first page after the intro and she read through all 50 pages of it. The look of awe on her face when she read that her dad’s ancestors exhibit physical abilities much higher than the average human. In a 7 year old’s mind and vocabulary, that automatically translates to a superhero akin to that of Superman. 

Ever since then, My daughter has forced me to become more creative with doing very mundane tasks and chores. I pretend to have superpowers. Such as teleporting around the house whilst cleaning. I tell her to close her eyes or else my teleportation powers won’t work. Then when I cook in the kitchen and she watches me intently, I tell her that the salt and pepper have magical properties that only I can touch and hold because to her, at that moment, I was “Doctor Stwange.”

and one time, when I picked her up from school, she was babbling on about how she told her friends and playmates that she had two superhero parents she was very proud of. Then one of the other kids asked if I was a strong soldier who killed huge humanoid monsters using sharp blades. To which I replied that could have possibly happened in a different universe. Her hearty laughs and giggles whenever she sees me using my superpowers makes me anxious over the fact I have to tell her someday that my powers never existed.”

Whilst you were on your monthly trip, you and Levi would have private video calls whenever Amelia was finally put to bed. There, he told you about what happened in Amelia’s ballet classes that week and how the single mothers were more persistent than usual.

They could clearly see that Levi was not interested but apparently the fact that your husband waving his ring finger every single time someone approached him wasn’t obvious enough, apparently the fact that he was married made the risk even more worth it to these prying moms who had nothing better to do. It wasn’t until Amelia had enough and respectfully called them out by saying that his dad was married and he was never going to be interested in Karens (a slang word that she learned from Eren and friends) Since then, the invasion of parent to parent boundaries had finally stopped. Levi was very relieved and at ease whilst telling you the story yet you were laughing your heart out at the ingenious remarks of your very own daughter on top of the irresistible charm and looks of your own husband that made single mothers be damned. 

Rule #4: The most important rule of all: Love your spouse as you want your children to be loved in the future.

“Since my wife is on a business trip right now as I type this and she may or may not know that I had written this book for her to read when she comes home, my daughter came up to me a few days ago and told me how she missed her mom so much. The video calls we had every night were not enough to satisfy her for the remaining days her mother would be gone. She then proceeds to tell me that she loves the way I love (Y/N). My daughter loved how patient I was and how I supported her through every endeavor that her mother had ever thought up with that brilliant mind of hers. She mentioned how I was there for her through every success and failure, through hardships, difficulties and misunderstandings. My daughter was happy because I stuck with her mother through everything. All the pain, suffering, conflicts that we both experienced individually and as husband and wife. Little ears and little eyes are watching and observing the actions and sweet gestures of their parents. Make sure to remember that.”

“What is gravy (grief) if not love persevewing?” (persevering) My daughter had even recounted a quote from the Disney Marvel show, WandaVision just to prove a point to me. That was when I realized something and decided to list down a few things: 

1. The best lovers are the best of friends.

Levi’s relationship with you was rocky at first simply because the two of you didn’t have a lot in common. Your personalities clashed and the two of you could barely make things work in the beginning. He was always well-dressed, on time, and was very prim and proper. However, Levi was cold, strict, and unapproachable. You on the other-hand were quite the opposite. You used to arrive late, didn’t care too much about your style as long as you wore the appropriate outfit, but you were carefree, laidback and friendly. Having to set aside your differences was a process that required sacrifice, time, and effort. It took long and a lot of petty arguments before the two of you fully understood each other, accepted each other's faults and quirks, and became even closer. Both as friends and lovers. You and Levi treat each other not as just the “person I love and I’m married to for the rest of my life”, but also as a best friend for life. Soulmates

2. Their dreams are just as important as yours.

Levi’s dream was to open up a tea shop and start a family with you. That was all he ever wanted. The blissful simplicity of his in comparison to your techy and out of this world ambitions, goes to show how much they weigh as aspirations and wants in life. You have to value your significant other’s dreams and ambitions just as much as you highly value yours. No matter how hard or how simple they are, the both of you can achieve it with the help of each other. The only thing left in your agenda was to open up his long-awaited Tea Shop. You were about to surprise him with the plans of opening one up on the day of his birthday, and you just can’t wait for that day to finally come.

3. You have to let them be free.

Levi absolutely knew what he was getting into when he met you. It was love at first sight when he met you, He drunkenly admitted that one time when he’s had too much champagne on your friday date night. He knew that you were an adventurer. A wandering soul who had a goal and a purpose set in stone. He always knew you were going to reach greater heights and he knew that you would never leave him behind and would always have him go on a ride. He’s always known about your capabilities and your potential and he didn’t want you to stray away from that. And, if the time were to come that you had to leave him behind to soar greater heights, he’d understand that. He’d always let you be free and make sure you don’t fly too close to the sun. That was just how selfless Levi is. The thing is, he knows you would do the same for him. It was a perfect balance. 

4. It is an honor to love and to be loved by them.

To be wrapped in the arms of someone who feels like home or has become the definition of home, To be stargazing with on a chilly summer night in where you talk about your future and your plans, To be sharing a cup of coffee or tea with in the morning and begrudgingly dancing with you against his will, To be watching your child playing in her room and do nothing but look adoringly at the most precious soul to have ever been produced by your encompassing love, and to be spending the rest of your life with someone who has done nothing but be with you through every pivotal moment in your life was such an honor. 

It is an honor to be loved by Levi, as he is honored to be loved by you. 

“...The end.” You close the book with a deep but contented sigh. Tears were welling up in your eyes and you’re trying your best not to break down in front of Amelia. 

“Mommy… are you crying?” She tilts her head in inquiry. “Is it because you’re tired from work?”

“No. baby. These are happy tears, Lili. Don’t worry.”

Before you could speak up once more, you notice Levi had slowly sprung up from the couch, and began to stretch his arms. His eyes widen when he sees you from the opposite couch. “(Y/N)... you were supposed to arrive at 6 AM right? Amelia and I were supposed to pick you-”

Amelia opens her mouth to speak as she jumps down from the couch and crawls up to sit next to Levi. “Daddy! I showed Mommy the book you wrote! She loved it! Right, Mommy?”

“You did?” Your husband perks up from his seat, clearing his throat. “T-that’s not the entire book yet by the way. We had to give back the original copies to Erwin for reprinting. The self-help book is currently rising up the charts to be a New York Times Best Seller.” 

Before Levi could properly react, you move to the free space on the couch next to him. Holding his hand and gazing into his forlorn yet loving eyes, you muttered. “Love, that’s amazing. I’m really really proud of you. Next time though, please do tell me that you’ve written a self-help book and dethroned all those mommy authors from the bestselling charts.” 

Levi stifles a laugh, stroking your thumb and bringing you and Amelia closer to him for warmth. “I will. I will.” 

Amelia looks up at the two of you, squeezing out of the sandwich, so that you and Levi can have your quality time with each other. “Goodnight Mom! Goodnight Dad!” She approaches the two of you so that she can be given her nightly kiss on the cheek as she retreats to her room. 

“What if I write a novel too?” You joke, snuggling up to Levi, your husband wrapping his arm around you. “The title could be… The way of the Wife boss?” 

“That could be a good sequel. A shared book universe. Then, Amelia could continue the collection when we’re old and sour as hell.” Levi mused.

“Pfft. I guess only time will tell. I love you Levi.”

“I love you too (Y/N).”

[taeescript]

29 + 1 (Part Two)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (squint harder than before for taehyung x reader) 

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin; a dash of enemies to lovers au 

𝔴𝔠: 7.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: language; a plethora of drunk people, maybe a sext, and a ton of lying (possible implication of impending smut?!) 

𝔞/𝔫: this part came out longer than i thought it would be but *shrugs* feedback and thoughts always welcomed. enjoy (:  𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: DailyHive is real; this is not associated with it 

part one || part three 

The bright pop music that is blaring from the speakers does little to slow your animated talking. Bodies are packed into the small local bar, and students on summer break fill booths and form a snake of impatient, drunk (and horny) people. A slow trickle of the brazen has started to fill the dance floor as the evening morphs into the night.

  You whip your hair into a ponytail and dab at the sweat that is beading your forehead. You definitely should have worn that sleeveless top rather than this thicker t-shirt dress.

  “So, is he like your sugar daddy or something?” Taehyung asks, “Also drink.”

  Friday nights were usually spent at home, snuggled under the blankets in your pjs binging another rewatch of Friends. After work today, you could no longer hold onto your secret and invited Taehyung out for drinks. His girlfriend, Fei, was supposed to join but had been held back for overtime.

  You tip the shot back with no chase.

  “You’re a monster,” he comments as he bites into his lemon piece.

  The two of you had made a bet at the beginning of the evening: you each chose a pop song and each time it played, the nominee had to take a shot. That was your fourth of the night, and to say there was a bit of a buzz is an understatement.

  “It’s all throat technique, Tae,” you say with a bit of a slur, “Hit the back and swallow. No innuendo intended. Also, why the hell haven’t you had any to drink?”

  “You picked ‘Peaches’ for fuck’s sake.”

  “I told you I don’t listen to pop music. It was the first one playing.”

  “And shouldn’t that have told you something? Justin Bieber of all people?”

  “Shut up. It’s your song.” You nod at the pink-faced barista for another round. She slaps your order in front of the two of you without so much a glance.

You don’t even know what song is playing, but you feel quite satisfied watching Taehyung make a face as he downs it in one go.

  He clears his throat after the liquor has burned its way down to his stomach. “Back to my question: is he your sugar daddy?”

  You bark out a laugh. Was he? Perhaps the fact that he paid for fancy meals at lunch? Those have been his one o’clock meetings for the past two months.

  “I don’t know. I’d rather he buy me a car or pay my rent if anything. A casual 1k a week wouldn’t be so bad either. We just sit in his office and eat in secret, Tae. He’s ‘training me in the art of culinary cuisine’. I think it’s just so I don’t embarrass him by stuffing a shrimp cocktail up my nose.”

  “You do know – ”

“Yes, I know. And I would never. It’s a metaphor. It’s just that the position ‘intern’ is quite loosely defined at DailyHive, don’t you think?”

  Taehyung rinses his mouth with water before speaking. “So let me get this right. Mr. Kim calls you into his office, says he’s going to take you as his guest to the biggest tech event of the year, treats you to lunches and doesn’t ask for anything in return? No secret midnight meetups or shady business deals…”

  You shake your head.

  “Damn,” Taehyung says, resting his arm on the bar table, “Forget sugar daddy. He’s just daddy.”

  Sticking your tongue out, you gag visibly at his comment. “Do not ever call him that again, Tae; ev-er.”

  He laughs and watches you pensively. After a moment’s thought, he says, “Nobody has ever called me Tae.”

  “What do they call you then?” you reply, wrinkling your brows together. A cute brunette across the room catches your eyes and for the briefest of seconds, you wonder what a one-night-stand would feel like.

  He shrugs. “Just Taehyung.”

  The brunette waves in your direction. You are about to return his wave when an equally cute brunette runs up to him. He promptly kisses her before swivelling her around to join his group of friends.

  “Sorry. Do you want me to stop? I just assumed since we were out of the office…”

Oh Fate, how cruel you are. Life of twenty cats and solidarity, here you come. Maybe dogs. You feel like you could be more of a dog person.

  “No,” he stops you, “You can call me Tae. Whatever you want.”

  You turn your attention back on the also cute brunette in front of you. In all honestly, despite his youthful god-like countenance, he looks slightly out of place at this college bar with you in his upstanding business attire and dorkishly adorable thick-framed glasses.

  “Sure. How about Tee-Tee? Or Hyungie? The TaeMan?” You wiggle your brows with the suggestion.

  “God help me.”

  The two of you clink your shot glasses together even though neither of your songs are being played.

  His Apple watch lights up to indicate an incoming message. He relays the text to you, “Fei’s done work. She’s on her way now.” You can’t help but notice a shift in his previously excited demeanor.

  You nudge him with your elbow. “Aren’t you excited? She’ll need a glass of wine or two to destress after work. I might be projecting onto you for this part, but you’re buzzed. So after we get her to unwind I’m sure the overwhelming power of pheromones will get you lucky tonight.” You wink at him to emphasize your point.  

“She’s not a big drinker. She’s probably just going to come and ask to leave in five minutes. Bars like this aren’t really her thing either,” he states. He then unbuckles his watch and tucks it away into the pocket of his pants. Undoing the cuffs of his shirt, he rolls up the sleeves and continues to regard you solemnly. “Okay, next round is one me. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to switch songs?”

  You notice how nice, long, and slender his fingers are. Plus the thing of girls liking when men have visible veins on their forearm? That had never really caught your attention until now.

  “She’s a bit of a bitch,” you say and immediately regret, “Shit, sorry. That just slipped out. Alcohol.”

  He offers you his water to drink.

  “I mean, she’s a little…uptight at times? But people can be completely different in and out of work. I can only imagine how stressful it is in her position. Working overtime until 9pm on a Saturday night seriously sucks,” you say to try and mend your wrongdoing.

  “Fei in the office is basically Fei at home,” he says softly, “It’s always work with her.”

  “We support career-driven women, yeah?” A smile is offered from you to him.

  He finally lets out a small one and nods. Out of the blue, he reaches over and covers your hand with his. Staring intently into your eyes, he says, “I know she makes you do her reports and occupies your time to do her coffee runs as well. You can say no to her. She may be my girlfriend, but you’re technically my intern, and I will stand on your side no matter what.”

  “Um, okay. Thanks, Tae,” you say. His sincerity has caught you off guard.

  At that moment, the sound of clicking heels pierce its way into your eardrums through the noise of the even busier bar. Taehyung quickly retracts his hand.

  Fei arrives, not a hair out of place in her tightly pulled bun. Her lips are painted a striking red against the paleness of her skin, and her manicured nails dig into the forearm of Taehyung when she reaches them. Even though she is wearing an otherwise drab office business suit, the curvature of her body draws quite a few glances from the younger men in the crowd.

  “It’s like a zoo here,” she sneers, turning away from a sacrificial lamb who had been bold enough step out of his circle of friends to greet her with a sleezy “hey”.

  “Hi, Fei. Busy night?” you greet her first.

  She gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Yes. I don’t know why you weren’t there. Isn’t it the intern’s job to complete reports?”

  Again, a loosely defined use of “intern” at DailyHive.

  You return her smile with a crisp one of your own.

  She turns away from you and regards Taehyung, who looks as if he had been the sacrificial lamb instead. “Teddybear, let’s go home. You know this type of place isn’t my vibe. I’m getting a headache already.”

  You raise an eyebrow at his pet name.

  He turns a little bit pinker, if that is possible under the current alcohol-induced glow of his cheeks, and says, “Um, sure. Y/N, are you going to be okay getting home?”

  Waving him off, you show him your phone. “30% left. I’ve got pepper spray in my bag and enough booze in me to not run from a fight. I’ll call an Uber home soon, don’t worry.”

  Fei has already begun to fight her way through the squirming, dancing bodies. Taehyung glances quickly at her and turns back to you once last time. “Text me that you’re home safe.”

  “Will do, boss,” you smile at him warmly.

  He lingers for just a moment more before running after his impatiently waiting girlfriend.

  You turn back to the bar and order another beer for yourself. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is perhaps the biggest perk of being single.

...

On the opposite side of town, sinking deeply into a soft lounge chair is Seokjin enjoying a rare evening out with his best friend. He has swapped his usual attire for a more relaxed fit of a white oversized crewneck and techwear bottoms. A heavy, exorbitant fur-lined long leather coat hangs on the coat rack beside the door to their private VVIP room. He swirls his glass of Chateau Lafite before sipping delicately.

  Outside, only a handful of patrons sit quietly engrossed in their own conversations. It is a relatively empty night at the high-end lounge. A lady sings sultrily on stage with the smooth background of a saxophone as accompaniment.

  Junho has poured himself another glass while he is talking to Seokjin. Seokjin had since slightly tuned out his friend’s rather elongated rendition of another celebrity sighting to occupy his mind with another individual.

  “Earth to Jin? When did you get so lightweight since I’ve been gone?” Junho waves a hand in front of Seokjin’s nose.

  Seokjin blinks to refocus.

  “The mansion I bought last year or the one I bought last month?” he reiterates. Sensing that Seokjin truly had no idea what the topic at hand had been, he tries again.

  “Where should I do my birthday party this year, man? I thought the mansion from last year since it’s closer to the city, but I feel like it’s been reused too many times. It’s not completely furnished yet, but the property I got last month is significantly bigger and I can probably host more people.”

  “The new place then,” Seokjin answers half-heartedly.

  Junho grumbles something intelligible.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” Junho sighs, “Tell me what’s new with you. How’s that little project of yours going? I still can’t believe you won’t let me know who you’re planning to take to the Gala.”

  Seokjin had refused to release even the slightest detail about you to Junho. Letting him know that Seokjin had agreed to one of his plans would be enough to inflate Junho’s ego for at least a little while.

  “It’s been going...”

  Junho waits for more of Seokjin’s answer, but his friend’s attention has been turned to a received text.

  10:17pm “Safe and sound, Teddy Bear.”

  10:17pm “Or should I say Taeddybear? 🥴”

10:18pm “That last beer done me rael godo.”

  10:18pm “Real good**”

  Seokjin raises a brow at the unknown number. He responds back.

  10:18pm “Who is this? I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

  Junho crosses his legs and sits back with a sigh. He presses the button to request for an attendant.

  10:19pm “You know who… Anyways, I just wanted to say thank you for saying you’ve got my back. It’s definitely appreciated.”

  The response doesn’t do much except to further pique Seokjin’s curiosity.

  “Sorry,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “Rogue text I think.”

  Junho shrugs. “Is that right? Seems to have caught your attention.” There is now a manner of indifference to his voice.

  “It’s going well, by the way – answering your question. I mean, all things considered. It’s not like I have to teach her how not to stuff a cocktail shrimp up your nose.”

  His friend snorts. “I’d be concerned and against this person if it’s who you’re planning to bring.”

  Seokjin’s phone buzzes again.

  10:21pm “Pray for me when I wake up with the worst hangover of my life. I’m going to bed now.”

  A moment of silence.

  10:21pm “I hope I didn’t piss off Fei tonight for stealing you for the evening.”

  10:22pm “Okay I’ll shut up now. Please don’t tell me you’re reading this. You should be getting some 😼💦.”

  The emoji makes Seokjin choke, liquid sputtering from his lips.

  Junho cusses. He angrily dabs at the speckle of red wine that has landed on his pearly white top.

  10:23pm Download attached image. “Just in case, here’s a little something to get the night started 😉”

  “What the hell man?” Junho gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. Luckily, the previously called attendant had arrived in time to escort him.

Seokjin barely notices that he is alone in room as he taps the download button. It isn’t until he has returned home and is looking at the picture one last time before bed that he realizes who his mysterious texter is.

  The employee nametag clipped to the collar of your workday shirt hanging on the arm of a chair can only be found when zoomed in past your painted toes and naked feet.

... 

You cannot hide your nervousness when you arrive at your “lunch meeting” the following Monday morning. All weekend, you had cursed yourself for not better checking who the recipient of your texts were before pressing send. Never had you thought that in your drunken stupor you would mix up “The Devil” in your contact list with “Taehyung Kim.” Curse you and your lack of friends beginning with the letter “T”.

  You balk before, a hand poised in perfect position for a knock. Maybe he didn’t download it? And even if he did, it was just a troll feet pic. You had made sure that it was as pg-13 as possible before you had sent it.

  “Hi,” you greet sheepishly when he has given you the go to enter.

  In a smart plain blue button-up and round frames that are almost certainly for the aesthetics, the CEO of the company and your boss sizes you up and down.

  “I know we’ve gotten to know each other better these past few weeks. But you’d think it’s still common courtesy to at least make eye contact,” he says. You look at him wide eyed without a word.

  He rolls his eyes but does not gesture to your usual seat. In fact, you don’t spy a take-out container in sight. He instead stands up and picks up his phone, walking to the door. He notices you have yet to move.

  “Let’s get moving. You’ve only got a 45 minute lunch.”

  You scramble to match his speed and catch Taehyung’s eye as you grab your jacket at your desk. Taehyung’s gaze follows you as you hurry to leave in pursuit of Seokjin’s coattail.

... 

The restaurant is a popular vegan establishment with a plethora of greenery crawling up its high ceilings and a window-framed overview of the city’s skyline. Waiters and waitresses who may just as well be walking New York Fashion Week serve you brunch mimosas on a golden plate; they attentively wait to the side in case you ever run out of water.

  Common topics are rare between the two of you. Initially, you respectfully kept quiet and only answered questions when asked, but you have never been one for awkward silence. Yes, it’s awkward only if you make it awkward; there is just no denying the hanging suspense that curls your toes each time. Recently, you have started with simple inquiries regarding the company, who they might meet at the Gala and everyday mundane topics.

  “You’re probably wondering why we’re out of the office,” Seokjin says. He continues shortly after taking a bite of his meal and ignores the look of your surprise at his initiation of a conversation. “My office has been getting stuffy with the warmer weather so I thought it’d be nice to get some fresh air. How’s the food?”

You nod, making small sounds of contentment as you chew on the Avocado Lime Tartare. Mmm… tart-y.

  He takes a deep breath in, stalling the incoming conversation. “It’s my friend’s birthday this next weekend.”

  “Oh,” you say, “Happy early birthday to him.”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “Well… An extra happy early birthday to him.”

  A sigh. “Are you free next weekend?”

  Your chewing comes to a halt and you blink once at his question. Next weekend is the weekend before the Silver Gala. It is also the sole weekend before your birthday the following Friday after the Gala. You had hoped to spend it with Taehyung and maybe even Jimin who had promised to be in town on a long overdue vacation despite your chastising to visit your parents first.

  He senses your trepidation. Quickly, he explains himself, 

“He’s having a birthday party Saturday night. He has a place about an hour north of here. I can have somebody pick you up if that’s more convenient. I don’t have a birthday present for him and thought it’d be nice for you to meet him.”

  “You’re giving him me for a present?” you ask, incredulously.

  He bites his tongue. He never anticipated how awkward this conversation could go.

  “You’re going as my plus one. He really wants to meet you; in fact, he insisted that you be there. He’ll be at the gala too. I have something else planned for his birthday present,” he adds hastily, “Besides, you’re less than qualified as a present.”

  Musing silently to yourself, you wonder if in any situation should a human be qualified as a present. Despite that, you hate yourself as you agree on the spot.

  The rest of the lunch passes by quickly in dull silence. As Seokjin pays for the meal on the company card (and hands you the receipt for reimbursement), you note that there has been no comment made on any strange photos texted to him over the weekend.

  Perhaps being nonchalantly implied as a human birthday gift to a stranger is your karma for sending weird texts to your boss.

  Seokjin stays inside the car as he drops you off at the office after lunch, already preparing for his next business meeting. You nod your goodbye and step onto the pavement through the courteously held open door of the limousine.

“Y/N, try a soft pink. Fuchsia is not your colour,” he tells you as the door is closed.  

He then leaves you standing in front of the large office doors, staring at your chipped, week-old purple toenails.

... 

“I’m not exactly expecting a package in the mail or a dress laid out on the hotel bed – ”

“You guys are staying at a hotel?” Taehyung says over the phone.

  You are standing in your bedroom, an hour before when Seokjin is supposed to pick you up as an offering to his best friend. There are two dresses laid out on your Hello Kitty bed covers: a simple black dress you had worn once when you were a little bit more in shape and your prom dress.

  “No, I’m at home. But I mean, let me play into this movie metaphor.”

  “You suck at metaphors.”

  You have your phone propped up on some pillows so that you can see Taehyung as you debate your fashion decision. He is in a relaxed white tee, hair messily framing his face after a shower and a bowl of popcorn in his hands. You watch as a droplet of water runs down his face from his still-wet hair. He nonchalantly licks it off from the side of his mouth.

  “As I was saying, it wouldn’t hurt to get me something. He made it seem like it was a big deal. Like doesn’t the male lead usually surprise the female lead with a big bouquet of flowers and this over-the-top expensive dress which she wears and makes the male lead fall head over heels in love with her?”

  He chews silently on a kernel then probes, “You want Mr. Kim to fall in love with you?”

  “No,” you hastily correct, “It’s a metaphor. I think you’re the one who sucks at metaphors.”

  There is a beep on your phone to indicate you have another incoming call.

  “Tae, I’m going to have to call you back. My brother’s calling me,” you tell him. The black dress; your old prom dress is way too early 2000s. Black never hurts.

  “Okay. Have fun tonight. Pretend that it’s your birthday party. And then I’ll meet you for brunch tomorrow, my treat? You can tell me all about it,” he says. “Also the black. You look cute in that one.”

  “My party if I was 30, rich and successful. Oh wait, I’ll have one thing in common soon; that’s a start. Thanks though. I’ll call you tomorrow morning once I get up,” you say, then switch the call over to your brother. You had missed the flush of his cheeks as you busily swipe your phone.

Sticking the prom dress back into your closet, you rummage around the meager display of shoeboxes for a pair of high heels.

  “Hey, Jimin,” you greet over the phone.

  “Jesus, I do not need to be accosted by my half-naked sister,” he yells over the phone.

  You turn rapidly, seeing that you had accidentally continued a video call from when you had hung up on Taehyung. You throw a pillow over the camera in your haste to cover yourself up.

  “I was going to ask why you’re dressed like that but on second thought, I think I’ll leave your sexual exploits as your own secret.”

  Despite how disturbed you feel about this comment, his cheerful voice makes you smile.

  “So little sis, the weekend before the big three-oh!”

  “Please stop reminding me.”

  “Where do you want to meet tonight? I just got off the plane, but I can be ready to meet in about an hour. I booked a hotel close to the airport.”

  Shit. You forgot to tell Jimin. These heels will have to do.

  “Um… I, uh…”

  “What?”

  You clear your throat and begin to undress in front of the mirror. You have a sudden conscious thought that the dusty treadmill in your living room seems to be staring daggers at your back. 

  “I’ve got plans tonight.”

  “Plans? I wasn’t even aware you had friends here.”

  “Ouch, Jimin. But yes, I have friends. In fact, I am meeting a friend for brunch tomorrow if you want to join. I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

  “He?” Jimin repeats, “Should I put on my big brother boxing gloves? Give him a good talking to in case he’s interested in my baby sister?” Pause. “Was that who you were calling before?”  

You bite your answer back, not feeling the need to go down that rabbit hole.

  “He’s just a friend; A co-worker really,” you say, “He’s also unavailable. And before you suggest anything, his goalkeeper is technically one of my bosses so I do not want to try and shoot past her thank you very much.”

  Jimin laughs. “I wasn’t going to suggest anything. Well if you’re busy tonight, tomorrow morning works for me. Give me a call. I’ll spend the night in watching some good ol’ Netflix and enjoy this vacation time.”

  “Sorry again,” you apologize.

  “Go out and have fun,” he says, “You deserve it.”

  The two of you finish off the call with the usual goodbyes. You have forty-five minutes to dress the part of a sparkly birthday surprise for the co-founder of the company you work for. Throwing on your favourite throwback music, you get to work.

  Once satisfied, you snap a picture and sending it to Taehyung making special care that you have picked the right individual this time.

... 

The mansion is bigger than you could have ever imagined, and the amount of people present are…

  “You’re telling me I can do whatever I want tonight,” you ask Seokjin in the car.

  There is no denying that Seokjin knows how to dress for an event. In a velvety black and white suit, contrasted by his blonde hair which he has elected to temporarily dye for the evening, he looks very much the posh CEO magazines brand him out to be. You are glad you elected for the simple black dress as standing beside this Renaissance statue in a floral pastel yellow dress would be like planting dandelions in Kanye’s sculpture garden (if he ever wanted one).

  “The majority of people won’t recognize you after tonight. They’ll also be too drunk to even register anything you tell them,” Seokjin says.

  He cannot believe that you chose a simple black dress. Did you really not own anything remotely feminine besides the most generic clubbing outfit? Even if you had wanted to make an appearance as a hooker, at least make it an expensive-looking one. Maybe he should have bought you that Versace dress he spotted in the window the other day. Instead…

  “Take this. Your earrings are too gaudy for this event.”

  You touch the sparkly black cats you have put into your ears. Their eyes are made of crystal, and you thought it looked quite fetching in the light. Opening up the box, you see a dainty elegant pair of teardrop earrings that may or may not be of real diamonds.

  “Only Junho will know who you really are and then you can enjoy the rest of your night. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being held here against your will.”

  Putting them on, you note that even this simple change in attire has elevated the entirety of your presence. You felt as luxurious as this gift.

  “Thanks, Seokjin,” you try the first name basis he had insisted upon for this evening, “Not going to lie, I had imagined that maybe you’d send me a dress in the mail or something, but this is still very nice.”

  He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Like in the movies? Please, I run a start-up company. I’m not a millionaire and I don’t think you would appreciate my handouts.”

  You don’t respond, making your second note of the night on the Prada label on the cuff of his suit. “To clarify, I don’t introduce myself as your plus-one tonight.”

  “No. I don’t want you associated with me,” he curtly states. He watches as your smirk twitches and he hits himself mentally in the head again. “It’s to protect you. There are bound to be tons of paparazzi tonight at a party as big as this. I don’t want you to find yourself in the tabloids tomorrow morning. Just be smart.”

  The car pulls to a stop after inching its way up to the front door. People mill about outside in extravagant brands, holding glasses of champagne. The man of the hour is somewhere inside the building, charming his way into new business deals as well as making new friends.

  “Stay close to me. You can leave after we meet Junho. It is his birthday after all,” Seokjin offers a hand as you step out of the car.

  You take it, looping yourself into him so that your hand rests on his forearm. You are only 13 days younger than Junho, and yet this striking contrast in lifestyle hits you like a landslide while the two of you walk up the stairs and into the mansion.

  Inside, it is dim with disco lights flashing to the beat of amped party music. Upon entrance, the two of you are offered glasses of liquor (you take a swirling iridescent drink) to which you are then ushered to where the birthday boy lounges.

  Junho has an even more youthful face than Seokjin does. Where Seokjin’s features exude class and charm, Junho appears mischievous and looks to have stepped out of every girl’s bad boy dream.

  You stop Seokjin with a tug and make him look at you. “Tell me: do I look like a passable birthday offering?”

  Seokjin rolls his eyes and pulls you along with him.

  “Jin!” Junho hollers loudly across the room when spotting his oldest friend. There is a doll-like female magnetized to his side. “This is Clara, my date for the evening.”

  Seokjin shakes her hand and greets them. The female cannot seem to pry her eyes away from this handsome new stranger. He introduces himself chivalrously to her as Junho sides up to you and grips your hands in his. His breath smells strongly of mixed drinks, and you know that in about fifteen minutes the entire night will be a blur for him.

  “You must be Y/N!” he says excitedly, “Jin didn’t tell me that you were coming! What a surprise!”

  “I am,” you greet back with a large smile. “Although I’m also surprised. Seokjin told me that you had insisted I came.”

  Seokjin grits his teeth, annoyed at Junho. Would he ever learn when to keep his big mouth closed?

Laughing loudly, Junho grabs two drinks just as a waiter passes by and hands them to you. “Insist might be a strong word,” he says, drilling another hole unknowingly, “I honestly thought I’d have to play part-time wingman tonight. But I’m glad he’s got someone by his side.” He jabs you a little too hard in the ribs. “Next week’s gala is going to be fun! Okay, now there’s only one rule tonight: there are no rules!”

  The four of you clink your glasses together, while you do your best to hide an embarrassed smile on behalf of the birthday boy.

  “You bet I’m going around as your trophy wife tonight,” you whisper in Seokjin’s ear when Junho looks away.

  He whirls around to look at you, the tip of both your noses impossibly close together. He can taste the acidity of the wine when you breath out with a wicked smile. He barely has time to stop you as you peel yourself away to mingle with the crowds.

  Seokjin is about to follow you but Junho pulls him away, flamboyantly introducing his handsome best friend to a group of international models. He turns on his brightest smile, but his heart thunders in his chest at you calling yourself his wife.

... 

You twirl around in your dress, nobody noticing the small splash of champagne on the front of it in the quickly changing lights.

  “He bought this for me last week. Says it reminds him of the first night we met. Our eyes met across the waters in Tuscany where he was on a business trip. I’ll let you on a little secret, but I was his mistress for a little while.”

  Seokjin cannot make out the words you are saying to a small but growing group of people around you. He stands across from Junho, but looks over the latter’s shoulders to watch as you do another spin.

  “A little while, Charlotte? Are you still his mistress?” an older lady with an exuberant amount of jewels hanging off her body whispers with a keen interest in your expertly spun story.

  Charlotte Dior Laurent, an identity you are pretty sure is an amalgamation of French brands from the top of your mind. You continue to personify this character however.

“Don’t worry. He’s left her since. I know I know, my friends all say the same. ‘He’s already been divorced three times. How can you be sure he won’t leave you?’”

  At this point, you are in way over your head at having told this story to at least two other groups and a multitude of other renditions to whomever you have met tonight. But there is something powerful about liquid courage as it courses through your body.

  The lady lays a hand on your arm. “I don’t want your heart to break. You are still young.”

  Looking up between the heads of your audience, you catch Seokjin’s eyes. They are fiery and it sends a strange sensation up your toes to your abdomen. You give a titillating wave at him in which he does not return.

“He says I’m special and different. How can you say no to that?” you exclaim with exasperation, fully committing to the poor damsel just oh-so in love.

  There is a look of genuine concern on the lady’s face at your statement.

  Before you can dig yourself a deeper hole, you place your empty glass on the table and excuse yourself. You do not know if it’s the drinking on a relatively empty stomach or if the room is really much warmer due to the multitude of bodies, but you head out to the balcony.

  On your way out, you notice that the clock reads twenty minutes past midnight. This gives you a shock at how fast time has passed. Perhaps you should go find Seokjin if you are to get a decent amount of sleep before meeting with Taehyung and Jimin tomorrow. Speaking of Taehyung…

  You pull out your phone and see that there are two unread messages. The first is from Jimin, confirming that he is indeed invited to brunch tomorrow morning. The second is a response from Taehyung.

  11:09pm “Wow. You have me a little lost for words. I had imagined you’d look nice in the dress but… You really are beautiful.”

  Smiling, you type in your response.

  12:21am “Thanks, Tae. You’re up late.” You take a picture of the earrings Seokjin had gifted you and attach it to the message. “What do you think of these?”

Barely have you returned your phone into your bag when it buzzes again. This time you receive an attached image. Taehyung seems to be sitting in front of a monitor, as his face glows with a blue light and contorted into a pensive furrow of his brows.

  12:21am “A little different from your usual style. Are they new? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear those.”

  12:21am “Fei’s out with some friends tonight. She likes when I wait for her to come back before I sleep. To make sure she’s safe, I guess.”

  12:22am “Pooey. I should’ve brought you as my plus-one 😩. Also, Seokjin bought them for me for tonight. He says my other earrings are too gaudy.”

  12:24am “First name basis 🙃”

  12:25am “How is your night going? Having fun?”

  You are about give Taehyung a call for a detailed recounting of tonight’s escapades when someone speaks out from within the shadows.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” He walks into the moonlight. You flush, meeting the eyes of this particularly dashing gentleman, the phonecall immediately forgotten.

  Oh, Alcohol, you make even the smartest of people do dumb shit. And right now, your effects are even worse on this idiot.

  Your mouth hangs slightly open as you watch him puff out smoke from his cigar and offer it to you. He brushes up beside you, his fingers trailing up your hand which grips the balcony. You cannot seem to break away from his gaze.

  “Lung cancer has an increasing incidence rate particularly for females due to smoking. Are you sure you want to be condoning this type of behaviour?” Seokjin interjects himself between you and your Tuxedo Mask, pushing the outstretched cigar back towards its owner.

  There is a small stare down amongst the two men before the latter quietly exits the stage. Your eyes continue to linger on him even as he walks towards another female alone in the night enjoying the outdoor breeze.

  “You’ve just ruined by chance. I could have seduced then blackmailed him with the story of his illegitimate child to play Black Widow,” you whine.

  Seokjin takes the glass that had somehow magically appeared in your hand during the short walk from inside to outside on the balcony.

  “How many have you had since we came?” he asks.

  You sigh wistfully, still in your dangerous daydream. “I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” You turn your attention back to him eventually. “What are you doing here? Did you see me with him and get all jealous, hubby?” you tease.

  He scoffs, drinking from your glass and pulling a face. Once again, there is that twist and jump within his chest, but he attributes it to whatever nasty concoction he had just ingested. He pours its contents over the railing and into whatever shrubbery lies below. “You seriously went with being my trophy wife?”

  You shrug. “Of sorts. You’d better be right about people being too drunk slash not caring about me enough after tonight to remember the things I’ve said. ‘Cuz you’ve been divorced three times, had me along with another as your mistress, I think you’ve sired a few illegitimate children and all in all, a Games of Throne life. Damn, maybe I made you a little too badass.”

  “You’re having water for the rest of the night,” he says.

  You glare at him, contemplating on making a remark about his equally flushed face but decide against it. Instead, you lean onto the balcony and give a cat stretch. A large sigh escapes from you.

  Wordlessly, he shakes off his jacket and places it around your shoulder all the while averting his gaze on the unblemished skin of your upper thighs that had been exposed from your previous movement.

  Your blood feels like liquid fire coursing through your veins. Feeling overheated even in the evening breeze, you give him back his jacket. You note his reluctance to meet you even as you throw what could be a thousand dollar jacket in the air to him. “So what’s it like to live like this every day?” you say in wonder. You feel said breeze return and lean over the balcony to catch its chill.

  “Like what?” he asks. The warm summer night’s breeze blows through, settling his hair in a childish tousle.

  “Like rich,” you say. You sigh again. “Believe it or not, I’m the same age as your birthday boy best friend.

  And everything feels absolutely unreal right now. If I hadn’t agreed to come here tonight with you, I’d probably be at another dingy bar knocking back shots with my brother and friend.”

  “Are you a secret alcoholic?”

  You glare at him. “No,” you state matter-of-factly. “As I was trying to share, this type of lifestyle is something I could ever only imagine. I’m not ungrateful about spending time with them, but at the end of the night I’d go home, sweaty, drunk and gross, and then simply pass out. My bank account might be a couple hundred bucks lighter. Come Monday I’ll be working my ass off just to earn back what I had spent. Then cue the repeating cycle.”

  Resting your chin on your palm, your other hand sweeps your hair back behind your ear.

  “It’s amazing the difference a few life choices can have.”

  Seokjin remains silent beside you. Truthfully, he is at a loss of words. The moonlight plays across your face and caresses your nose down to your lips. You are arching your back once again to pull away the soreness that comes with wearing high heel the entire night. It is just a simple black dress but on you it made you look –

  “Well, you’re Mrs. Kim tonight,” he starts.

  “Charlotte Dior Laurent,” you correct him.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Okay… Ms. Charlotte Dior Laurent. Tonight you get to live like the rich, as you’ve put it. As a rich person, what would you like to do?”

  You ponder his question a few moments for the answer. “Hmm…I think I’d like to play golf. It’s a rich person’s sport. I want to play it on a private golf course, wearing cute golfing outfits and talk about million-dollar deals with a client without a care in the world. I want to order sangria by the gallon.”

  He laughs out loud. It takes a while for him to be able to speak again, but when he does you feel as if the night has been illuminated a few degrees brighter. “I personally don’t have a private golf course, but Junho does here in his backyard if you’re up for it. I can’t promise cute golfing outfits so you’ll have to do with your wine stained dress. And if you’re really up for it I can pretend to make business deals with you, that’s my job anyways.”

  You grin, taking the hand he has offered you. “Call.” The two of you shake upon his suggestion.

As he is leads you by the hand towards the dim gates of said golf course, you tug at him gently. “There’s something missing…” you say.

  He shakes his head and pulls you back in towards the party room. 

“I’ll see what they have at the bar.”

... 

As the hands of the clock continue to spin past another hour, the summer night takes a chilly turn. Seokjin has lent you his jacket but even that cannot stop your fingers from becoming numb. Your hands shake even as they tightly hold the golf club. Seokjin watches you in silence as you prepare to hit the golf ball, a beer in one hand and a few opened bottles littered on the grass beside him. The club hits the ball with a resounding “cling” but does little in propelling it a few centimeters.

  “This one doesn’t count,” you announce, “It’s too dark to see anything here.”

  Seokjin takes a swig as you readjust your position. You sway in the wind and the last tendrils of your hair come undone in its half up half down hairdo. Your hair now whips wildly around your face when another gust blows through.

  “Shit!” you exclaim, missing the ball again. “Why is golfing so hard?!”

  You throw your club down and trudge to Seokjin. The six pack the two of you had been sharing has officially been depleted. Seokjin offers you his half empty bottle. This time, you are the one watching as he goes to your spot and effortlessly swings his target into the darkness.

  He smirks from the spot.

  You grumble. “You’ve had years of practice. Not fair.”

  “You’ve got to do better than that, Mrs. Johnson,” he says, teasing you.

  Your grumble becomes more audible. You place the now empty bottle on the ground and cross your arms against your chest. Since telling him of your other American alias from tonight, he has not ceased to remind you of your strange choice of name.

  “Just so you know, Mrs. Johnson can afford both an affair and the consequential prenup,” you huff.

  “It’s still a stupid last name.”

  “It’s an American multinational corporation with an income in the billions, okay?”

  “Keep telling yourself that if it makes you sleep better at night. Now come on, I’ve got one last ball. Take a swing.”

  Groaning, you shuffle over. You wish you had not suggested golf. You had never been good at sports anyways – bad hand-eye coordination.

  He stands beside you this time, scrutinizing your every movement with hawk-like eyes. “No, not like that,” he says, “Have a wider stance and bend your knees. Better centre of gravity gives you a better swing. Also hold it with a neutral grip.”

  You readjust your positioning following his instructions.

  “Index finger down the center. Good. And three knuckles on each hand. No, that’s two. Okay your hands are just weird now. Three. I said three.”

  “Stop standing there and show me then, Mr. Know-It-All,” you say, your patience in this makeshift lesson also coming to an end.

  He walks closer to you, reaching out for the golf club. He retracts his hands in seeing that you have yet to let go. “You got to – ”

“You can touch me. I did tell you that Mrs. Johnson can afford an affair and prenup. Besides, I’m not going to be able to learn anything if I can’t even see you in this dark.”

  He comes behind you and puts a foot between yours to guide your stance. Wrapping his arms around you, he fixes the placement of your hands to grip the shaft of the club in the way he had previously instructed.

  Perhaps it is the mixture of wine, champagne and beer offered tonight, but being enveloped in the warmth of this embrace intoxicates you. The tingles that are sent down from his soft breathing on the base of your neck, make you shake like a leaf in the wind.

He inhales the sweet undertones of your perfume. The tendrils of your hair brush against his collarbone, sending a sensual kiss onto his skin. Unconsciously, he draws you closer to him, shielding you from another gust.

“Now you just want to swing,” he says, the words a mixture of a whisper and guttural grunt. His chest rumbles with it, passing the vibration through to your back.

  You remain as still as a statue and lean ever so slightly back into him until your entire backside is pressed upon him.

  You can’t stop yourself as you ask him, “Do you want to have sex with me?”

...

[heliads]

Some Things Have To Be Said (Part Two)

When S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Y/N L/N is called to the S.W.O.R.D. encampment outside Westview because of her history working alongside Wanda Maximoff, she’ll have to face her past with Wanda and even a confrontation with the woman she loved.

part one / masterlist / next

You don’t really want to do anything after that. Not at first. Sure, the S.W.O.R.D. camp is bustling with activity after that close call with Wanda, but to you, it feels like the world has stopped spinning inside of your bunk, like you’re in the eye of a hurricane. However, all hearts have to be hardened at some point, and you’ve had plenty of practice with S.H.I.E.L.D., so you allow yourself only a minute or so of melancholy before picking yourself back up again. The note from Wanda, however, gets tucked inside your front pocket. Right next to your heart.

When you emerge from the bunks and cross over the muddy fields to the debriefing room, you sense the storm brewing inside from the second you push open the door and slip in the room. You feel like you could cut the tension with a knife. After a second, you remember why- Director Hayward had attempted to fire on Wanda, and hidden that truth from you, Monica, Jimmy, and Darcy, all of whom happen to be furious about it.

Monica is currently laying into Hayward about how his move wasn’t a tactical opportunity but a mistake, and how he nearly damned them all from the start. Darcy makes a joke about Hayward’s general ineptitude, which causes the Director to turn around and shift the conversation to her. “You work for me?” He asks, condescension reeking from every word. “I actually don’t know.” She replies, but you step forward. “She may not, but I’ve been a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. since the start. This is not how you handle potential threats.”

Hayward sighs, his eyes cutting over to you. “Looks like we’ve got the whole team here again. And might I ask, what were your credentials other than being in the same room as an Avenger a couple of times?” You take a step forward, tone becoming stony and cold. “I have had years of experience dealing with extraterrestrial threats, during which time you were cooling your heels in a desk job. You brought me here because you wanted my advice on how to handle Wanda, advice I can share because I know exactly how she works. Let me tell you this- if you continue to attack someone, they will always fight back. Wanda is not the enemy here, but she will be if you keep treating her like one.”

Hayward’s eyes harden. “I can see now that none of you have the stomach for this job.” He gestures to a couple of guards. “Get them off of my base.” You watch with stunned eyes as four guards appear to escort you, Monica, Jimmy, and Darcy from the room. “This is not how we work together as a team. As an organization. You know that, Director, and this entire mission will fall apart if you continue to act like this.” 

Hayward just turns his back as you’re forced from the room. You allow yourselves to be brought outside towards the trucks, but make quick eye contact with Monica and Jimmy once you’re nearing the outskirts of the encampment. Without warning, you turn on your guards. Monica and Jimmy each take down the one holding them, and you cover for both yourself and Darcy. Although you pride yourself on the moral and tactical part of S.H.I.E.L.D. life, you do have to admit that it is quite satisfying to see the S.W.O.R.D. agents unconscious on the ground.

Darcy, once recovered from the shock of being so close to the fighting, leads your small group over to one of the tech stations on the Hex encampment. She starts up her laptop, tapping away at the screen while the rest of you are left to stand on either side of her, tense and on guard for any further attacks. Luckily, there don’t appear to be any, and your small party remains undiscovered.

Once Darcy gathers the necessary data, you head towards the opening of the tech station to make an exit before Hayward realizes you never left the base. Darcy, however, remains behind, and you turn back to face her. “Come on, Darce, we have to go.” She shakes her head. “There are a couple things I need to see first. You guys go on ahead.” You lock eyes with Monica and Jimmy, and jerk your head towards the door. “You two go ahead and leave. I’ll stay here with Darcy to make sure she’s alright.” What you don’t say is that you’ll be staying to take down any guards, because you’re pretty sure that even the most inexperienced S.W.O.R.D. intern could beat Darcy in a fight.

Jimmy and Monica, who understand what you mean, nod and head silently towards the exit. You take a stance by the door, and wait as Darcy continues to sift through the data in Hayward’s files. You both are jolted to attention when there’s a sudden commotion outside, and Darcy hurries to pack away her laptop. “I think that’s Vision. I think he’s trying to break through the barrier.”

You stare at her in shock. “What?” Darcy points to her laptop, now closed and tucked away. “Hayward’s tracking him, and he’s right outside the boundary of the Hex. It’s the only reason people could be freaking out so much.” You nod, and open the door. Sure enough, people are rushing towards the barrier, which is pulsing with red light around the silhouette of a figure attempting to force his way through. Even from here, you can see the red skin and glowing yellow gem in the figure’s forehead. Vision is escaping from Westview.

Your hand flies to your mouth. As you draw closer, you see that Vision is being torn apart, shafts of metal and fiber being clawed away from him by some invisible hand. The barrier, through which Wanda passed so easily, is killing Vision. Even as he falls to the ground, Vision still stretches out an arm, which shakes with pain and weakness. “Help them.” He manages to stammer out, pain clearly coursing through him. In this moment of destruction, when he is seconds away from dying, he still asks for help for the people of Westview. No wonder Wanda loves him so- he had always been far stronger than you.

You manage to stay hidden, but Darcy runs right by you, shouting to the gathered S.W.O.R.D. agents to help him. You grab at her arm. “Darcy! What are you doing?” She just shakes you off, not hearing a word you say in her attempt to save Vision. However, even this attempt is useless- she is captured and handcuffed to a truck, with no steps taken to save the android.

You curse silently, and start roving through the crowds of soldiers to find her, doing your best to stay out of sight. There’s a sudden sensation running through you, and you gasp. It’s like someone is staring right at you, even though there’s no one in sight. You know it’s Wanda in a heartbeat. You would know her anywhere.

But Wanda is not here for you. You watch, open-mouthed, as the boundary of the Hex starts to expand, pushing forward and engulfing Vision’s crumpled form. With a sickening lurch, you realize that Darcy is trapped, chained to the truck. Abandoning all attempts at secrecy, you sprint towards her. You learned once how to jimmy the lock on handcuffs, and you do this now, bending and twisting the metal even as the glowing wall of scarlet draws ever nearer towards you. 

Darcy shouts out to you across the manic of the field. “You have to go, Y/N! You’ll get pulled into the Hex too.” She attempts to push you away from her, but you stay solid, still pulling at the handcuffs. “I’m not leaving you here.” Darcy looks like she’s about to protest again, but then her eyes leave you, focusing instead on the distance behind you. You turn around, and see that the barrier of the Hex is inches away from you. There is nowhere to run now. You take one last desperate pull at the handcuffs, hearing Darcy’s scream echoing around you. It’s loud, so terrifyingly loud-

And then there is quiet. Emptiness. When you open your eyes again, you’re standing in the middle of a grassy field. Confused, you look around and notice that you’re in the middle of what appears to be a circus. As you turn around in a slow circle, you hear a woman’s voice behind you. “Oh good, you’re awake.” Startled, you whirl around and come face to face with a woman wrapped in chains. “Oh, Darcy, thank goodness. You’re alright?” She frowns at you. “Sorry, do I know you?” You nod. “Yeah, we’re-”

Then you remember where you are. The Hex, Westview. Of course Darcy doesn’t know who you are, Wanda would have given her a completely different set of memories. However, this doesn’t explain why you can remember everything. As you ponder this, you notice a sudden sense of calmness and peace surrounding you, even a slight reddish glow hovering around your arms. It is then that you realize why you can remember who you are- it’s still Wanda. Even now, probably without even realizing it, she’s still protecting you, making sure you won’t be hurt by the aftereffects of passing through the Hex. She still cares about you.

Darcy is still looking at you, bewildered, and you’re about to answer her when you see an all-too-familiar android heading your way. You’re not sure how Vision managed to find you two in the midst of the circus, but his eyes are locked on Darcy. He must have seen her when he passed through the barrier, and clearly wants answers. You’re about to stay and speak to him as well, but you realize that you actually don’t want to spend time with him. It is a purely selfish reason, something that S.H.I.E.L.D. should have drilled out of you long ago, but you don’t want to stay here and be reminded that this is the man (or robot) that Wanda built this entire town to be with, pushing you aside.

So you just wave an awkward goodbye to Darcy, heading briskly in the direction of town. You’re able to find a truck halted at a stoplight, and quickly duck into the open back, securing yourself a ride. Once you’re close enough to the suburbs, you jump out, making sure that the driver doesn't see you leave or realize you hitched a ride. You’re not sure how to find your way to Wanda, or if doing so is really the best idea, but you have no idea what else to do. If she’s here, you have to see her. You have to ask her about the note.

Thinking about the note causes a brief spark of panic in you, and you realize you’re wearing different clothes than the ones you were in before passing through the barrier. Frantically, you reach for the pocket over your heart, and sigh in relief when you pull out the folded piece of paper, which is still emitting a soft scarlet hue. It’s strange, though- it looks newer than when you first got it. Maybe passing through to the past decade of Westview anti-aged the paper or something.

Shrugging, you carefully put the note back in your pocket, slipping through the sidewalks and neighbourhoods of Westview. You’re not quite sure where you’re going, but there’s this strange pull drawing you to one specific street. The urge feels familiar, like you’d known it for a very long time. It reminds you of Wanda, which is exactly why you must follow it.

You’re just rounding a corner, hoping that your feet will carry you in roughly the right direction, when you see it. Monica, being held in the air by scarlet beams of energy. Wanda, on the ground, looking terrified and threatening and so unlike the woman you’d known before. You can’t help but stare- even with your last encounter with her, Wanda just seems so different. There’s usually a soft smile lighting up her face, or a quiet concentration in her eyes like she’s figuring out the last piece to a puzzle. Now, however, she just looks angry. Furious, even. Like Monica is single handedly responsible for the imminent destruction of her home.

You watch in awe as Monica breaks a fall from the sky with a kneeling pose, blue-white energy crackling around her. When she looks up, her eyes glow an electric blue. Dazed, you think back to your time in the tech station with Monica, Darcy, and Jimmy. Darcy had mentioned that something strange was happening to Monica’s blood- this must be it.

All of a sudden, another woman appears practically out of nowhere, heading towards Wanda. You’re just another person standing on the sidewalk, but for some reason, she turns to you with a glare. “Stay out of this, Y/N. Stay away.” She warns, a finger pointed towards you, then she applies a concerned and caring look to her face and hurries over to Wanda, practically dragging her away from Monica. You watch her go, but can’t help but feel uneasy. Something is wrong with that woman, whoever she may be. Maybe she’s trying to help Wanda, but how would she know your name?

Monica is disappearing down a side street, and you quickly follow her. You call out her name, and she turns around, a startled look flashing across her face when she sees you. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” You wave a hand at her dismissively. “I got pulled into the Hex along with Darcy when the boundaries expanded. Don’t worry, she’s fine- I saw her talking to Vision.” 

You sigh, glancing back towards the opening of the street in the direction you had last seen Wanda. “I’m worried about Wanda. I think something is wrong, something bad. More than usual. I can’t see her get hurt. We have to do something.” You’re grateful Monica is here. You could use her experience- you feel like another minute of this madness and you’re practically ready to charge down that woman’s door to find Wanda yourself.

Monica, clearly noticing your unease, puts a hand on your shoulder reluctantly. “You’re going to find Wanda. I promise. How about this- I’ll go to that woman’s house, you go to Wanda’s. You remember what it looks like from the TV show, right? We’ll both look for her, and meet up at Wanda’s if we find her. She’ll be alright, Y/N.” 

You look at her, chewing your lip in frustration. “Okay. I can do that.” You’re not sure why all of your training is leaving you now. You’ve never felt this stressed or scared over someone in a long time, almost never. But Wanda is a special case. You care about her more than you should, more than you would like to admit. When you received that note saying that she wished she had said something else when you confessed your love for her, it was like a new wave of hope had crested over you. You have to save her, now that you might finally have a chance to be with her.

You and Monica take off in opposite directions, both looking for Wanda. You head back to her house, knocking on the door to no answer. Her twin sons do not appear to be at home either, so you peek your head inside. The house seems empty. Worried, you head back outside, and close the door behind you. You’re just heading down the street when you hear a quiet voice behind you. “Who are you?”

You whirl around, head lifting in shock when you see the woman. You had seen her before, across that darkened field or lifting Monica into the air or even on the TV show itself. Yet now, being only a few feet away, you feel your breath leave you in a rush. You’d missed Wanda so. She looks just like you remembered, the same auburn hair and green eyes that could have held your focus for a lifetime. You want to reach out to her, to say a thousand things in this one moment. I missed you. I love you. Do you love me, or am I making all of this up?

Then you notice the look in her eyes, and remember the question she asked. Your throat feels dry, and you stumble slightly over your words. “What?” Wanda folds her arms across her chest, staring at you. You feel like her gaze could pierce through your heart, but it’s empty. Strangely empty.

 “Who are you?”

[hauntedbythefanficsofmypast]

Spell Caster Pt. 1

Masterlist

Hawkmoth stood on the platform above, laughing at the two downed heroes. Ladybug and Chat laid facing each other barely able to move, exhausting shining in their eyes. They had fought long and hard but in the end he had led them into a trap, delivering hit after hit till neither could stand anymore. He had led them to his secret garden where beloved wife rested, and poor Adrien could barely keep himself together. He kept fighting, unwilling to let Hawkmoth win even if it was his father. While Marinette did her best to cover her hurting partner, he was just too much for them. Hawkmoth stood talking to Emilie as if she could hear him, going on about how he was finally going to bring her back. Ladybug shifted her gaze from Hawkmoth’s back to her partner’s eyes. Chat was crying as he stared at his best friend, knowing he hadn’t really helped in the fight.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered softly trying not to draw attention to them for as long as possible. “I’m sorry Ladybug, I should’ve helped but that-that’s my dad. I kept freezing up and I failed you.” Ladybug smiled gently, moving her arm and grabbing his hand.

“It’s not your fault Chaton.” A single tear fell from her eye as they stared at each other.

‘You need to move.’

Ladybug tensed at the voice looking around when she noticed Chat didn’t react to it. The voice was a woman's, it was soft and comforting, almost familiar.

‘You need to move now!’

She couldn’t find anybody else in the room, there was nobody but them. Yet the voice was still there, perhaps she was going crazy. It would make sense to her, especially because she couldn’t place who the voice belonged to.

‘Sweetheart, I will explain later I promise, but you must remember!’

Remember what? Why did this voice want her to remember something, couldn’t they see she was in a bit of trouble right now.

‘Ugh! Foolish girl! You are more than just Ladybug!’

Rude. Of course she was more than Ladybug, she was Marinette...she was Marinette daughter of..

‘Yes Marinette! Marinette daughter of! You are so close, remember the book!’

Marinette, she was Marinette, the book...what book, could the voice mean her spell book?

‘Yes! Yes, my little Spell Caster!’

She was Marinette, she was a spell caster. She was Marinette, and she was a spell caster. She was the daughter of Tom Dupain and Sabine-

‘Not by birth.’

Not by birth…Not by birth?! A distressed whine left her lips as she thought of her Maman, not by birth repeating in her head. Until she shoved it back focusing on her current crisis. She was Marinette and she was a Spell Caster, why hadn’t she thought of this before? She tried so hard to split Ladybug and Marinette to hide her identity that she forgot Marinette was special, if not more than Ladybug. What should she do though? She could alter his mind, but would it work? Would the Miraculous Gods affect her powers? Perhaps she could try an illusion?

“Chat, what was she like? Your mother.” Chat looked surprised as a gentle smile crossed his face.

“She was amazing, soft spoken, always so gentle and warm. She hated violence but she never backed down when it came to her family. She’d...she’d never want this to happen.” Chat broke as more tears fell and he held her hand tightly, barely even able to find the strength to.

“ Do you trust me?” She whispered as Hawkmoth began walking towards them. She’d need him in order to pull this illusion off. She’d need to see his memories. Chat nodded weakly, not willing to look away from her.

“Yes” She smiled and her dark blue eyes shifted into an unnatural swirling lavender.

“eciov reh raeh em tel.” Soon Emilie's soft and melodic voice graced her ear. Perfect, now the illusion will trick him.

‘That’s my Spell Caster.’

Who even is this voice, no no focus, she needs to create the illusion.

‘Silly girl.’

Hey! This voice seriously needed to stop distracting her. She turned her head slightly looking past Hawkmoth, and ignoring the smug smirk that she wanted nothing more than to punch off his face. Very hard.

“trapa mih raet reh evah efiw sih mih wohs.” She watched as an angry vision on Emilie appeared behind him looking as if she had sat up from her high tech coffin. Yes, coffin, the woman was dead, soul long gone and she didn’t have to be a daughter of Hades to know that. Daughter of Hades? What? What is she talking about?

‘Soon my child, soon.’

Who even was this voice! Later, she promised herself focusing on finalizing the illusion.

“Gabriel Agreste.” The same melodic voice called out, but instead of a soft and loving tone it was stern and angry. Hawkmoth turned immediately, staring at the vision of his wife in mute shock and disbelief. “What in the world are you doing!

‘I have called in a favor, one that will help you.’

Ugh, this voice popped in at the worst time. At least they were trying to help her though. She watched as Emilie’s illusion shifted slightly and it took her only a second to realize that it was more than an illusion now. No that was Emilie, just not her in body it was her, her soul.

‘Yes my child.’

She let out a wobbly grin as Emile began tearing into her husband. She squeezed Chat’s hand briefly hoping Emilie’s soul would be here long enough to say goodbye to her son. His eyes moved away from his mom’s form back to Ladybug’s.

“I will explain everything, I promise Chat. After this, no more secrets.”

She turned her attention back on Hawkmoth staring at his back intently. How could she get his miraculous? She was exhausted already so it couldn’t be anything complicated. Not to mention they’d need to get out of the lair after she took it. Summoning and a transportation spell, not a good combination when magically and physically exhausted. This left her in a very tough situation.

‘Someone is coming for you. You are too weak right now, the summoning spell will knock you out. Tell your partner to trust the one that comes from the shadows.’

Someone is coming? How can she know to trust them, just because a voice told her? Ugh, this was too difficult. Very well, tell Chat to trust the one from the shadows and then summon the butterfly Miraculous. She’d already taken the Peacock from Nathalie when they fought her earlier, so all that left was Hawkmoth’s.

“Chat, trust the one that comes from the shadows.”

“What? Ladybug-”

“Please Chat, trust me?”

“Always. Milady.”

“Then trust the one that comes from the shadows.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Suolucarim ylfrettub eht nommus i.”

The Miraculous immediately came to her hand but she didn’t get to celebrate as she began to see black spots. Her transformation dropped and she didn’t even get to enjoy Chat’s shocked face. Soon everything faded to dark with only parting words from the strange voice.

‘You and your partner are safe now my Spell Caster.’

She barely remembered what happened when she came to for the first time, everything was blurry as she panicked. Waking up in an unfamiliar room with someone she could barely see standing above her. Marinette threw a messy punch at the blonde above her, just barely missing even in her state. She lurched to throw herself off the bed but Will stopped her pulling her back onto it and talking softly. It did not help her at all and she didn’t stop panicking until Tikki flew in front of her face. Marinette took deep breaths staring at dearest friend. Will began pulling out new bandages getting ready to fix everything messed up in her panic. He was stopped by Marinette’s hand, she gave a weak smile as their eyes met. “Sorry…” She whispered out accent strong before falling back into the darkness.

Sun was directly in her eyes this time and she whimpered until it was blocked. Eyes meeting yet another stranger and instead of their stunning blue were a bright orange. She let out a distressed whine but did not move, Tikki was pressed against her neck. She was safe, even in the company of a stranger. Percy glanced at the door wishing for Will to magically appear before lifting the girl's head slightly holding a straw to her lips. “Drink please, it’ll help I swear.” He whispered trying to comfort her. Marinette took small sips, eyes changing to a soft and soothing blue at the taste of her favorite toasted white chocolate with triple espresso coffee. She glared when he pulled the straw away from her, causing Percy to laugh softly. He ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to be comforting. “I know, I know but too much will hurt you.” Her eyes watered slightly at the comfort.

“The voice didn’t lie.” She said softly, leaning into his hand. He quirked an eyebrow leaning closer to hear her. “The voice said we’d be safe, and we are.” Percy was silent before connecting the dots and nodding continuing to stroke her hair.

“The voice didn’t lie, you’re safe.” Marinette gave a small smile before darkness took her again.

“I can still barely believe it, Mar. The Gods are real, like real real, and you. You! You’re the daughter of one, her most powerful daughter too! I wouldn’t expect anything less of you. You’ve always been amazing in and outside of Ladybug. You’re my best friend, and-and I can’t wait for you to wake up. I need you to wake up please.” Adrien said softly, holding her hand, playing with her fingers. “I don’t know what our relationship will be. I don’t know if we’ll stay best friends or we’ll start dating. All I know is I want you in my life for the rest of my life.” Marinette squeezed his hand gently as her eyes faded to a soft pink.

“That sounds amazing, Rien.”

“Marinette!” Adrien cried out hugging her, laughter falling from both of them along with happy tears.

“Till the end?”

“Till the end.”

Percy smirked standing in the doorway, Chiron beside him as they watched the two.

“The holders of Creation and Destruction, in our camp.” Chiron mused watching the two before turning and walking toward the archery range. “This summer will be interesting won’t it.” He said ignoring Percy’s snort.

“I call training them Chiron!”

“Oh Gods help us, just what we need. Two more added to the chaos that is Percy Jackson.” Percy grinned, turning back to the two.

Yes, it would be a very interesting summer

✨Tag List Closed✨

@kanamexzeroyaoifangirl

@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen

@athena452

@thornalchemist23

@fangirlnerd001

@witchbitch1998

@insane-fangirl-of-everything

@thewackest

@vivilikesmiraculous

[fanfic-cave]

Injured Pt. 2

Rating: SFW/PG-13

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairing: not so subtle hint to Hunter x Fem Jedi!OC

Warnings: Blood/bleeding, burn, and just general injured person, swearing, and FLUFF TIME (also sparks of feelings and the characters not recognizing them is like a drug to me so have fun)

Summary: You commissioned the bad batch to take you to Dantooine for your own personal mission in search of a Jedi temple, being an ex-jedi clone wars veteran. The rogue clones inevitably find a fight, which leads to Hunter getting injured. How will you all escape, and will you be able to rescue Hunter before its too late?

Authors note: Thanks for the notes on part 1! If part 1 was action, this is where the fluff ensues.

Link to part one here

You saw the blood on Hunter's hands, and images flashed through your brain. Dead clone troopers, your last fight on Umbara where your battalion was wiped out. I can’t let that happen again. You dove out of your cover and rushed to him. “Wrecker, help me get him!”

Echo shouted in through comms “Crosshair, focus your shots on whoever's firing that thing!”

You easily avoided the blaster fire, and with Wreckers help you pulled Hunter back to cover. You started assessing the blaster injury on him. It looked black and red, splotches of blood staining his uniform. “Hunter, can you hear me?”

Hunter gripped his side where the blaster shot him. “Yeah.” His voice sounded a bit weak. He wasn’t doing too great.

“I can help him, but we need to get to the ship now.” You spoke to the group.

“I’ve got it!” Tech spoke triumphantly, and made quick movements with the stolen comm unit he held. Suddenly all fire ceased from the Empires troopers. You peeked out and saw the troopers were clutching their heads, like they were in pain. It looked like Tech was sending them some strong feedback, a few had even passed out.

“Let’s move!” Echo called out. Wrecker helped Hunter stand, you went to the other side to support him, and you began your retreat. Crosshair remained for a minute to shoot down some troopers who were recovering, then he joined in the escape.

The ship wasn’t far, and you fortunately made it there in time before you and the group had to engage in another skirmish. Omega was standing by the ship, and saw you approach. She looked at Hunter and you think you saw tears well up in her eyes. “Hunter!” She ran toward him. “Is he okay? What's wrong?”

“Just a blaster shot, don’t worry about it.” Hunter spoke and gave her a reassuring nod. You knew he didn’t know for sure if he was okay or not. Everyone boarded the ship quickly.

“Get him to the medical station and do what you can Sera, Tech let’s get the ship out of here.” Echo spoke. He seemed to be comfortable acting as lead to the group with Hunter being more or less out of commission.

You and Wrecker moved to the medical bay with Hunter held up between the two of you, everyone else stayed behind. Crosshair had put a hand on Omegas shoulder to keep her from following you. Once at the small medical station on the ship, Wrecker helped set Hunter down.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Wrecker asked. He looked at you with worry written all over his face

You removed Hunter's helmet and the top of his armor, being gentle with your movements. “I think I can fix this, give me a minute.” His face looked a little pale, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

The boys knew you had medical experience. There was a day where Omega had sprained her ankle while you were in the area. You were able to treat the small injury, and she healed relatively fast. Then she got a scratch, then Wrecker hit his head, and soon enough you began to get calls from them if a serious injury was involved. They knew to give you space and let you work.

You hesitated, and then removed your mask, setting it aside on the nearby table. Your hood fell to your shoulders. None of the bad batchers, save for Omega, had seen you without your mask, but you needed it off to work better. Plus with the battle you all went through together, you figured hiding your face wasn't a priority right now. Your blonde hair was in a tight braid. It was short and barely extended past the base of your skull. Hunter looked at you curiously, but his gaze kept shifting, like he was having a hard time staying conscious. “Keep your eyes open Hunter. I’m gonna clean this and we’ll get you patched up.”

You wiped some sweat off of him and he nodded at you, gritting his teeth. You cut away his shirt, and revealed the wound. You saw he was quite toned and muscular once the shirt was gone, and you felt your face grow warm.

Stop looking at his muscles Sera. You shook your head to snap out of it and got back to work. There were multiple shots on his right flank, nearly missing the center of his abdomen. His skin was burned where the shots had hit him. The burn wasn’t too deep, but there was some blood and irritation. Hunter must’ve been in a lot of pain. You glanced at his face. He was good at hiding it.

You administered a numbing agent, hoping to help with the pain. He seemed to relax a bit after this. Then, you looked around to check and be sure nobody else was in the room to watch. You closed your eyes, and put your hand over the wound. You opened yourself up to the force, and used it to sense Hunter's body. After a moment of concentration, it was easy to start the flow and you began to heal him. This was the real reason why you excelled in first aid: you could heal with the force, and it had made you a damn good general during the clone wars.

I still couldn’t save them. My troopers.

You cast the thought away quickly. You stopped your force healing, and got to work with bacta. You hadn’t used the force to seal up his wound, but you tried giving some life force to him as an attempt to ease away more of the pain and give him some strength. He seemed to gain a bit more color, and he looked stronger.

“You don’t look so bad.” Hunter said. He was looking at you, studying your face. You raised your eyebrows at him questioningly as you cleaned his wound out.

“Without the mask, I mean. You look nice.” You felt the heat return to your face again. You thought of his somewhat exposed body in front of you, then glanced at his face. “You’re not too bad yourself,” You said teasingly.

“I mean it.” He countered. “Why the mask?” You sighed at his question. That’s complicated.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” He averted his gaze. He seemed embarrassed, or maybe sorry that he had gotten that reaction from you. You watched him for a second, debating whether or not to share.

You looked back at your hands and kept working as you spoke. “You’re all hiding from the Empire, right? Let’s just say you’re not the only ones.” He contemplated what you said for a moment.

“Thank you Sera.” Hunter's eyes found yours, trying to hold your gaze. He seemed earnest in his appreciation.

“Just don’t get into the habit of getting shot, alright?” You smiled at him and he chuckled at your joke. You sealed a large bacta patch on the wound. “But I think you’ll live today.”

“I also meant for coming and helping us.” He made eye contact with you. You felt a flutter in your chest, an unexpected response from his intense gaze.

You broke away from his gaze and sat down. “It was nothing. Like I said, I thought you guys could use the help. And I know you’re all capable, but I wanted to do what I could.” You shrugged when you finished.

Hunter sat up and put a hand on your shoulder. “We could’ve been in worse shape without you today Sera. That wasn’t nothing.” His hand was warm. You became more aware of your breathing suddenly and took a deep breath. You looked back up to him, and he was still staring at you. He wasn’t the easiest person to read, but you could tell he really wanted you to know that he was grateful.

You put your hand on top of his. More warmth spread through your body. “It was really nothing Hunter.” You smiled shyly now. Well, this is kinda weird. You thought. Why am I feeling like this around Hunter? Is it because he’s not wearing a shirt? You continued contemplating why you felt your heart trying to beat out of your chest, and the fact that Hunter's touch made an electric current pulse through your body. Maybe because I don’t have the mask on. Being exposed and whatnot. You decided this was a good theory.

“Let me know if you start feeling some pain, I'll be able to help.” You squeezed his hand as you spoke. “Sure thing.” He replied. You felt his fingers twitch underneath yours. You felt the flutter in your chest again when his fingers moved under yours.

The door opened and Omega walked in. “Hunter, are you okay?” She walked up to him, looking at the patch on his side. You felt his hand slip out between your shoulder and hand, taking his warmth with him. “Yeah kid, I’ll be fine thanks to her.” He tilted his head towards you.

“Hunter, it’s really-“ you interjected again, preparing to downplay your role in helping Hunter. Omega had interrupted you though by giving you a hug. You looked down for a second, then quickly glanced at Hunter. You thought you saw him smile, but he was getting up now. You looked back to Omega and patted her back, returning the hug. “Thank you Sera!” She released you and looked up at you with admiration. You had a soft spot for her, and you couldn’t help but smile genuinely at her. “Sure, Omega. It was no problem.”

Hunter walked past you two, then stopped at the door, leaning at the frame. You watched him, an eyebrow raised questioningly. He turned to look at you. “You know, we could probably use your help more often if we go out on more missions like this. I’m sure everyone else would agree.”

“Are you asking me to tag along when there’s a next time?” you asked, crossing your arms and raising your eyebrows to emphasize the when, not if. You were smirking too, enjoying the fact that Hunter was asking for your help. It was a rare occurrence and you wanted to enjoy the moment by teasing him for it.

He sighed. “Yeah, I am.” He looked away from you and waited for your response. Your smirk turned into a smile. You stood up and walked to Hunter, slightly punching his arm. “Yeah I could come and save your ass more.” You laughed, and he rolled his eyes at your comment.

Omega looked between the two of you, happy at the relationship that seemed to be developing. “You saved their ass?” She spoke, and your eyes widened. Hunter said “Hold on Omega, Sera didn’t mean to say that, Right?” He looked at you with furrowed brows, and the tone of his voice dropped when he addressed you. “Yep! That word doesn’t exist Omega, don't say it!” The words came out quickly and you walked past Hunter with a quick movement.

“Sera!” He followed you and exited out of the med station, you sensed a quippy back and forth conversation was about to happen. You smiled as he moved to follow you. I think I just made a friend. You thought. And if your suspicions were correct, you think you would get another 5 friends down the road.

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea

Star Wars, The Bad Batch Pirate!au (Hunter x Reader

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and bothered are asses.

chapter one

Chapter two: The Stowaway

It is a disgusting day on Coruscant. Hot, humid and you can’t help but feel something sinister in the air. You feel hollow, and it is only partly due to the tightness of your dress. The yellow and green material wraps around you in layers. Your face is blank but your mind is racing, if you cannot convince your father to call off the marriage, how else can you put a stop to this?

Very few people talk about the war, and so how Lord Nython made his fortune is a mystery to you. What you have gathered from whispers of those in your household it was through a lengthy siege that devastated republic and seperatist forces alike.

“And the weather today is perfect for sailing, I bet those ships at the docks will be itching to set off.” Your handmaiden Seil says to you, and you frown, since when did she have an interest in the docks. But she continues playing with your hair.

“I'll get you the most expensive jewelry in the house,” She says with a smile you’ve grown up with. Perhaps carer was a more accurate term, considering she seemed to be the only person in the world that wanted the best for you. She returns with a pouch of all kinds of gold, silver and gems.

“There is a way to the docks, it is so lovely for a stroll. Away from the busy streets and such like.” You frown at her obsession with an area crawling with pirates.

“Seil what in the name-” You start saying, turning around to slip your flats on. And you stop, in her hands are your boots, made for riding as you had done so many times before.

“I thought these would be fitting, as they are your favourite.” She’s talking about all the times you told her how much you love how sturdy they feel around your feet. And how when you would run the fields, how powerful they made your legs feel.

And then it clicks. The docks, the boots. The tears in her eyes. While you were planning on an escape from this marriage, Seil had been planning an escape from every marriage your father would force on you. She ties the boots tightly, and places a hand on your cheek as you both take shaking breaths to compose yourselves.

And with your father still passed out in bed, and the sun barely rising, you slip into the streets and into the areas less traveled, sprinting off towards the ocean.

The docks are infused with the smell of fish, and the workers barely turn a glance your way as you shift through the swarms of people. You come to a halt at a clearing in the crowd, and your brain catches up with itself. What are you going to do now? With no money, skills, or plan, you begin to second guess yourself. You have time to make it back to the household with no one being the wiser. But you remember meeting Lord Nython for the first time.

His hand latched to yours like a monster squid to its prey, you notice that unlike some men he doesn’t ask ‘may I’ before touching you, and you briefly wonder what about you invites his hand onto your own. But your fake smile remains plastered on as he looks you up and down like a farmer regards the sale of livestock.

Your gut had told you then that all he could bring you was bad news, confirmed by rumors and stories of his wartime expeditions, and when he told you about the war, and the pathetic Grand Army of the Republic he spared no detail in his murder of an entire army.

Of course it's not the same as killing someone like you or me, those kaminoans are devils, and those freaks are just the same. Like hunting the same dumb peigion over and over again. We surely must have downed hundreds of them that day, but they are rats you see, you have to kill every last one in order to rid yourself of the infestation.

Education had not taught you about the Kamino Clones, but experience had, every sepratist man who held power despised them. ‘Scum of the earth’ your father had said when you asked about them. Telling you they had their emotions removed, and blindly followed orders given by the highest bidder. And when the G.A.R had fallen, they scuttled into exile.

And now you stand on the docks of Coruscant, two paths in front of you. Surely if you left Nyhon would send someone after you, he never seemed to back away from a fight, and given his reputation for always getting what he wanted, you doubted he’d take to your absence kindly. So that left you with leaving the only home you’d ever known, and given that you cannot sail, nor pay for passage, stowing away was your only option.

You briefly wonder about the procedure of stowing away, does one pick a certain ship or choose at random?

“Can I help you miss?” A Togruta man asks you, only his blue face visible from underneath his hood and cloak, but the markings give him away, as well as the point in the fabric over his head.

“I...I…” you pause to gather yourself. “I’m fine, thank you.” and you quickly turn away from him, walking down the docks at a purposeful pace. There are so many ships all looking to either load or unload supplies, but none of them seem to be leaving shortly. You need escape now, and not later. The longer you dwell the more the bad feeling in your stomach grows. You must lose yourself again because before you know it a man is rushing past you and shouting

“Sorry miss!” as he goes, you catch the clanking of metal and a glimpse of eyeglasses as he disappears up the ramp of a large dark oak ship, the name Havoc Marauder painted in red at the back.

Perhaps you have found your escape after all.

You very quickly decide the ocean is terrifying. After having snuck up the ramp and into the depths of the ship, you found yourself in your current spot. Huddled behind stacks of crates sitting on the wooden floor and being violently rocked around as the water crashes into the side from all sides. More than once you’ve had to close your eyes in panic when something particularly bad happens, but you refuse to appear weak - even if you’re the only person to witness it.

And the footsteps, even though the men seldom come below decks but you can hear them step ferociously above you. They sound like an army and considering you didn’t get a good look at any of them, you had no idea how many people you were hiding from. They’re loud, and kept busy by the Sea, you have no idea where you’re headed, but as long as it’s far, far away from Coruscant you couldn’t care less. And there are no windows here, so you have no idea how long you’ve been traveling for.

Footsteps start to make their way to the set of stairs leading down into your hiding spot, the small nook of the ship that resides in the belly of the beast. The steps you hear aren't as heavy as others, but they seem to keep most of their weight on their toes, you never quite hear their heel make contact against the wood. And you press yourself tighter to the wall, a tall frame passes you by, lean and with ashen hair the man halls a crate away from the other end of the room, and turns to leave. Your panicked eyes can do nothing but stare back at him through the gaps in the boxes, and they watch him squint for a moment, before he turns and heads back up the stairs. Crate in hand, and your heart in your chest. He cannot have seen you, if he had, why turn away? Panic consumes you.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“Sarge,” Crosshair says, thumping the crate of bread and dried meat down in front of him. Hunter simply raises an eyebrow at his vod, and it confirms Crosshair's hypothesis. The captain is in one of his moods again, when shaking off the nightmares is impossible and the hate inside him grows and simmers at fantastical measures.

“There’s a woman on board.” He tells him, casually popping a pick into his mouth. And watching as Tech’s and Wrecker’s heads snap up.

“A woman?” Tech asks with judgement. Crosshair rolls his eyes.

“Yes a woman, you know, the things that look almost like you except for their b-”

“I know what a woman is!” Tech cuts him off before things get graphic. His brother never having the politeness nor the decency to hold his tongue.

“There’s a woman aboard the Murader?” Wrecker tries to confirm, and underneath his wide captains hat, Hunter’s eyes darken.

“Listen very carefully.” He growls, the midday sun shining its way onto an unforgiving face. “If there is a stowaway. I do not care if you have to drag her to me with her intestines hanging out. Get. Her. Off. My. Ship.”

“But…” Wrecker starts, taken aback by the aggressive imagery.

“But what?” Hunter snaps, standing up and seeming small compared to his brother, but nonetheless intimidating. “I want her found and I want her off my kriffing ship.” He demands one last time before stalking back to the captains quarters.

Below deck you hear the slamming of a heavy wooden door, the sound makes your skin jump crawl with dread. Something has gone very wrong indeed, and it is not long before you see boots standing at the top of the steps down into the hold where you thought you were hidden. It is difficult to tell how many, two for certain, the change in foot size tells you that much. None of them talk, making it even harder for you to mask your panicked breaths. But just as one foot begins to descend the stairs, a voice from afar distracts it.

“Ship off the starboard bow!” it’s enough to get the men turning away from your concealment, and towards the voice.

“What does she fly?” Another voice shouts, much closer to you.

“Looks Weequay to me!” comes the response, which causes someone else to grumble something about eyesight and crowsnest. Frankly it’s all gibberish to you, starboard could be another hyper-ocean speedway let alone a part of the ship, and while you are sure you’ve heard the term Weequay before, you can’t place where or in what context you heard it. Laughter breaks you from your thoughts.

“That’ll be Hondo’s ship then!” A loud shout settles in your bones. Not one in anger but perhaps more so simple loudness. And whoever or whatever a Hondo is, it is enough to carry the shoes away from you and rush to another, more pressing task. Which makes you think you just may owe this Hondo your life.

Taglist: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses

comment to be added!

[shwazzberryswriting]

Twisted, Act 3

*Day 25*

Haechan😘🙄☺️: gd morning babe hdyf need me 2 go 2 target

Lawan: Babe I got big news

Haechan😘🙄☺️: ?

Lawan: I have to buy new bedsheets CUZ MY PERIOD CAME LAST NIGHT my sheets are ruined I spent the last 20 min scrubbing my mattress

Haechan😘🙄☺️: alot of tmi babe but does this mean i can take u out for shots wanna smoke a celebratory blunt

Lawan: 🙄 its not even 9AM yet babe

Haechan😘🙄☺️: where r u getting bedsheets

Lawan: you were saying something about Target?

Haechan😘🙄☺️: want me to come get u we can go to 119

ill help u finish cleaning

ill make u lunch

Lawan: see u in 20?

Haechan😘🙄☺️: 15

Lawan: 😘

Lawan watched Haechan in the driver’s seat of her car, his blue hoodie covering his messy brown hair. He looked at home singing along to the music as he adjusted the volume to the sound system. His confidence in parallel parking made her grateful that he offered to drive them as they were out running errands.

She needed a bit of a break. She’d woken up early to find herself looking like she was in a horror movie, her pajama shorts and blue bedsheets were ruined with large red period stains. Currently, her room stunk of all purpose cleaner and antibacterial spray. She had been nearly done with cleaning her mattress when Haechan had texted her.

“So you’re not pregnant but your bedsheets are ruined,” Haechan said, turning the car off.

“I’d rather have a crappy morning cleaning my mattress than have a baby in like, 8 months or something.”

They shuddered together before exiting the car. 119 was a tea shop that opened early on the weekends. Haechan enjoyed going to 119 for the free upgrades. A couple of his NCT frat brothers worked there, and that morning Mark was working. It was easy to talk him into giving them discounts.

“Are you going to get a milk tea or fruit slush?” he asked her as they stood in line. She rested her hands over his arms wrapped around her waist from behind. “Coffee milk tea or strawberry milk slush?”

“So you’ve been keeping track of my orders?” she said, trying to keep her eyes open as Haechan kissed her cheek.

“We spend so much time together babe, I just know what you like,” he said, resting his head against hers. “What will I order?”

���Coffee milk tea or white grape slush,” she replied. His hold on her tightened for a second.

“I think you like me more.” His voice had made her nipples hard, which caused her cheeks to grow hot.

“Haechan?” a familiar voice said from behind. Loosening his hold, Haechan turned his head over. Lawan followed, and felt her whole face turn hot. Renjun, another NCT frat brother, was arm in arm with his girlfriend, Alexandria. “Hey, Lawan.”

“I knew it,” Alexandria said with a wide grin, shaking Renjun’s arm. “Renjun, didn’t I tell you last night that I thought they were, like, hooking up?”

“You were gossiping about us?” Haechan asked. Lawan wanted him to release her. It was hitting her that she and Haechan were legitimately dating. As in, their friends would know that they’d been doing more than just watching movies in each other’s rooms. He held her firmly against him as her nerves made her feel like her knees would give way. “But yeah, I guess you can say it’s official.”

“How did you two go from bickering about homework to...this?” Alexandria asked. Her eyes were shining bright as the corners of her eyes crinkled up and her mouth widened into a big smile.

“We’ve been getting along better,” Haechan replied, giving a shrug.

“Why? Because you were hookups first?” Renjun asked. He broke out into an innocent smile as Haechan let go of Lawan, his eyes narrowing.

“Hey! What’s up, guys?” their cashier, Mark, greeted them, relieving the tension in the air. “Yo, dude, my manager stepped out for the day. Johnny came in here and piled on the free shit. You want a cookie with your order?”

“We’ll just get our drinks,” Renjun said stoically, but began stuffing a few individually wrapped cookies into his leather bag.

“Don’t mind Renjun,” Alexandria said to Lawan, resting her body against the counter. “I’m happy to see you two together, but I do want to know how this all happened.”

“Haechan bought me a pineapple daiquiri,” Lawan replied before trying to rub her tongue up against the roof of her mouth. It felt like rubbing a sponge up against a brick wall, her mouth parched. “He’s helped me a lot lately.”

Haechan handed her a sugar cookie decorated to look like a pineapple with royal icing, distracting her and Alexandria. Despite Alexandria smiling at the gesture, Lawan didn’t know how to feel. She wanted to find the gesture sweet, but she worried that Haechan was only doing so to look good in front of their friends. The idea sounded absurd, but she couldn’t stop herself from worrying that Haechan was only putting on a show.

“Um, dude, I think that’s overdoing it,” Mark said, reaching over to stop Renjun from grabbing all the treats placed on display.

“So you like Johnny more than you like us?” Haechan asked.

“What if I told you I could double the boba in your drinks?” Mark replied.

“Not Dria’s, please,” Renjun said. Haechan seized the opportunity to tease Renjun for being so caring about his girlfriend’s drinks preferences.

As Haechan and Renjun heckled Mark, Lawan thought about what she and Haechan would say to their friends about how they became a couple. They hadn’t exactly lied, but Renjun’s joke had Lawan sweating for a second, thinking that he knew their whole history.

She was able to feign a smile and banter with their friends about why they were up so early. Renjun and Alexandria were trying to beat the large crowds at a new art museum that was featuring a collection of works done by Frank Stella in the 1970s through to the 1980s. By the way Haechan nodded passively to Renjun’s excited ramble, Lawan felt relieved to know that she wasn’t the only one who didn’t know who Frank Stella was.

Alexandria invited them to join, and take advantage of their student discounts. The first weekend of the month meant the tickets were discounted by another 5% on top of the 10% student discount. After thanking Mark for the free upgrades and cookies, Haechan and Lawan declined to join. She spent the rest of her day with Haechan, but she still struggled to let go of her worries.

*Day 30*

The lunch rush had been busy and frantic, but she’d gotten a lot of large tips. There was a tech fair near the university campus, so the out-of-town visitors gave generous tips. Since she’d worked 3 days in a row, Lawan had her entire weekend off. It didn’t mean much since she was stacked with homework.

“Lawan, can you check the front locks before leaving?” Ruby asked from the back office in the kitchen. They were the last people in the restaurant, the pair to clean up and set up for the dinner shift.

“All right,” she called out as she put the strap to her purse over her shoulder. Ruby and Lawan had done the lunch rush so often, they’d come to clean up in less than 30 minutes with their routine. “See you later, Ruby!”

“Bye.”

Her eyes were shut as she sighed when she exited the kitchen to check the front door’s lock. She was going down her list of errands before heading home. HMart for rice and produce, bank to withdraw money she owed her roommates, and then home for dinner and homework. She needed to take some aspirin for her headache and sore feet.

When she opened her eyes, the last thing she wanted to see was staring her in the face. She stopped in her steps as she stood beside the back end of the restaurant’s bar. Seated at the second to last chair nearest to her was Haechan, two pineapple daiquiris in front of him. Her face turned hot as his gaze was steady, his expression did not change as he turned his body toward her direction.

“Are you trying to ghost me?” Haechan asked.

She pressed her lips together and looked down at the daiquiris. Of course, Ruby wouldn’t warn her about Haechan paying her a visit. They hadn’t talked about Haechan when Lawan said she didn’t want to, but the fact that Ruby brought up Haechan at all was telling enough that Ruby liked Haechan and Lawan dating.

Seeing him in the flesh made the guilt she’d tried ignoring come rushing forth, making her whole face hot. Pulling out the metal chair before her, she sat down beside him, and set her purse down onto the bar counter. After the day she got her period, Lawan had gotten cold feet and ignored Haechan’s texts, telling herself her schoolwork was more important.

“I need time to think,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the daiquiri sitting closest to her. The maraschino cherry was slowly sinking into the deflating whipped cream.

“You could have texted me that,” he replied, his tone remaining level. “I would have understood.”

“Right, because you’re the perfect boyfriend,” she said with a scoff. Guilt clouded her vision immediately and she shut her eyes before looking up into Haechan’s face.

“I don’t have to chase you, Lawan,” he replied, his expression unmoved. “If you don’t want to date me, that’s fine. Just don’t be an asshole about rejecting me.”

“Haechan,” she said, feeling her throat tighten. She blinked away the tears that threatened to come. “I’m sorry. I like you, I’m just...feeling insecure. You deserve better.”

“What’s up?” he asked, turning his body toward her, touching his knee to hers. His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“That morning we ran into Alexandria and Renjun, I just,” she paused as she looked away. She felt ashamed to think about the judgment her mom received for being a young mother. The world felt more modern than old patriarchal standards of her grandparents’ age (hell, even her mom’s), but the threat of potentially being knocked up while in college scared the shit out of Lawan. “I don’t want people to think you and I were stupid that day we hooked up. It all came from such a cynical place.”

“You think our relationship is cynical?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. He grabbed one of the daiquiris and took a drink from the red straw.

“You really wanted to date me after we hooked up?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Like, you really think we would have begun dating had the condom not broken?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Life didn’t work out that way. Maybe I was feeling horny and you were too, and that was supposed to be it between us, but like, come on. I know my concerns for you weren’t cynical, especially last week. Is that how you see our relationship? You only dated me because you don’t want people to judge you for being a horny idiot? Condoms break all the time.”

“Haechan,” she said with a laugh, furrowing her eyebrows as she sat up straight. She looked around despite knowing that they were alone. Reaching out to touch his wrist, she apologized as she saw him frown, his jaws tightening. “I like you. I like you so much. Every night I’ve been going to bed, crying, thinking about you, knowing I can’t just stop talking to you. I haven’t been fair to you, I’m sorry. It’s not you that is the problem, it’s me remembering how tough it was to grow up seeing my mom struggle a lot. All that hard work she put into raising me, and I could have been in a similar situation.”

“I would never walk out on you,” Haechan said, leaning closer to her.

“It’s not about you,” she replied. “It’s about me. It’s about how scared I was. I just...I needed time to sort through my feelings. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“So you shut me out?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, standing up. He had a point. It was a shitty move not to consider his feelings. “I really am. I’ll need to communicate with you more. I want you to be my boyfriend, Haechan. I want to be your girlfriend. Will you forgive me?”

He sighed and shut his eyes. A few tears rolled down his cheeks and it was her turn to sigh. Whenever he scrunched his eyes shut and opened his mouth into a wide grimace she knew they were crocodile tears. Instead of calling him out, she kissed his tears away and combed her fingers through his hair. She planted two kisses onto each of his beauty marks, one near his eye and the other on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” she said softly, pulling him into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted his head to plant a kiss onto her neck.

“Let’s go home,” he said, standing up with her. He draped his arm over her shoulder.

As they began on their walk to the NCT frat house, Lawan pressed herself closer to Haechan. His body was warm, and his hold was comforting.

“Are you always this forgiving?” she asked. She’d expected him to do a little more guilt tripping. Perhaps go on a scripted monologue about how she iced him out with her cold heart.

“No,” he replied, looking down at her for a second, “but I did make a promise to you at Costco, do you remember?”

“You did?”

“If I was your boyfriend,” he said plainly, “I’d never let you go.” They were just a few steps away from the driveway to the frat house.

“Don’t finish that,” she said. They’d stopped walking. Despite herself, a smile was growing on her lips, hurting her cheeks. “You’re my boyfriend. You don’t need to-”

“Keep you on my arm, girl-”

“Stop. I don’t like this Bieber song.”

“You'd never be alone.”

“Donghyuck, I mean it.”

“And I can be a gentleman, anything you want.”

“Haechan.”

“If I was your boyfr-”

She shut him up by grabbing his face and kissing him.

---

Thank you for reading! 💚

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Cultures, Covens, and Coaching

Zoe steps in to help teach Claire.

I wasn't planning on doing anything for today's prompt until I realized that I could use it to infodump on my hedge wizard headcanons, and then somehow Claire angst snuck into the ending. I refuse to watch RotT, so if this has spoilers then it's entirely unintentional.

Takes place post-Wizards.

AO3

FFN

It was a quiet day at Zimue Records, aside from the multitude of fans whirring and failing to keep away the August heat. Zoe hated this part of living in Southern California – everything was so warm and humid in the late summer, and it wouldn’t get better until mid-to-late October. She wondered if receiving the insurance payout from the damage to the wall shared with the now-burnt down GDT Arcane Bookstore would mean the owner would finally install an air conditioning unit here.

Zoe felt a chill run through her as she sensed an ancient, eldritch magic. Lovely. First Hex Tech, then her best friend, and now those so-called demigods were going to wreck the record store. Zoe wouldn’t have it, not if she could help it. Behind the counter Zoe began to collect her magic. That was another thing she hated about the humidity – static electricity wouldn’t build up as easily, so she’d have to rely more on her own reservoir than the charged air.

The door pushed open, and the source of the ancient, eldritch magic stepped into the store. Or, more specifically, a teenage girl walked in, looking around. Zoe released her hold on her magic, wondering how an untrained wizard could have such a powerful signal.

“Zoe, right?” the girl asked. “Douxie told me to come find you, for help with training and stuff?”

Ah, right. That did sound familiar. All in one night (and longer because of time travel), Douxie had become a so-called master, taken in his own apprentice, and then passed off said apprentice to Zoe in a series of apologetic texts. Zoe had asked him what in the seven realms he had been thinking, and he’d then revealed that he’d left the state and was currently on the run with a demigoddess. Oh, and that he had also died, and really planned on doing as much tutoring as he could remotely but please?

“Yeah, he told me about you.” He’d also told Zoe his apprentice’s name, which Zoe was currently blanking on. Blaire, or something like that?

“I’m not exactly sure how well it’d work, though, since Merlin implied that you were a different type of wizard, so wouldn’t your magic work really differently than mine and Douxie’s?”

Zoe took a deep breath. According to Douxie, this girl hadn’t even known that she was a wizard until very recently. She wasn’t trying to reignite centuries-long cultural disputes.

“Do you think Douxie and I are two different species, or something?” The girl, whose name Zoe really needed to learn, looked very confused. “Because that’s the only way you can get magic working that differently. Likewise, it’s not like you could go to a troll for training and expect everything to work out the same way for spells.”

“Then, what’s the difference?”

“It’s entirely cultural. Douxie was raised through the apprentice system, in which a master takes in a single wizard and trains that singular wizard exclusively until they reach an arbitrary level that makes them a master. I’m from a coven, so I’m used to training multiple kids.”

“Wait, that’s the only difference? Then, aside from the fact that his ego was the size of a Heartstone, why was Merlin so annoyed by you being a hedge wizard?”

“Elitism.” And because Merlin must’ve had a second staff shoved up his arse. Of course, Zoe wouldn’t say that out loud until Douxie had had at least a month to grieve. She’d let that delicate matter rest for now. “And I’ll admit, the apprentice system has produced a higher ratio of super-powerful wizards, even ones who manage to achieve immortality, than the coven system.” There was a reason why they focused so much on staves, even though a staff was incredibly dangerous to use for someone who hadn’t been trained properly. A wizard could get too cocky, and they’d completely destroy their resevior as the staff siphoned out far more magic than the wizard had available to them.

“But,” Zoe continued, “that’s more because there have always been less apprentices being trained than those being trained by covens, and apprentices got more time devoted to them. But, I think Douxie is the last survivor of the traditional apprentice system.”

“Do you actually deal with hedges?”

Zoe blinked. This girl had seen Hex Tech; surely she had noticed all the technology and none of the greenery. “The word hedge wizard entirely applies to how covens were traditionally always been more rural, even back during the Roman Empire. It’s kind of like how on a farm, you have more kids to help out, and in a city you really focus on only a few kids because it’s another mouth to feed. And no, I’m only a couple years older than Douxie, so I wasn’t around during the Roman Empire.”

The girl nodded. “Okay. How do you want to start.”

“See that box of records over there?” Zoe said, pointing. “Levitate them.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “I can’t levitate things.”

Oh, seriously? This was the apprentice Douxie had picked out? Creepy magic, asked the wrong ignorant questions, and a quitter?

“Why?”

The girl hung her head slightly. “I get panic attacks whenever I try to levitate something.”

Oh. Well, the good thing was that Blaire-or-whatever-her-name-was wouldn’t take after her master and levitate records just to annoy Zoe. But, what had happened to this kid? Zoe knew she was involved with the troll stuff from earlier in the summer given her armor (and really, why was a kid wearing armor), but what had caused her so much trauma over levitation.

“Okay, then. No levitation, at least not until you start seeing a therapist or something. My shift here ends at 4:30, why don’t you meet me then to show me what you can do?”

[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: Premature

Request: ‘can i request an imagine where the reader is pregnant and luke’s away on a case when she goes into labor? and garcia has to call luke to get him home?’  

Tagged: @ssaic-jareau​ , @alvezstan​ , @saintd0lce​ , @ogmilkis​ , @reidswords​, @ssa-morgan​, @garcias-batcave​ ,  @akimagies​, @zhangyixingxing1​ , @pinkdiamond1016​

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: none

A/N: idk why i always picture luke with a daughter??? but anyway another DAD luke fic like yes pls, enjoy!

The worst part about being pregnant had to be the lower back aches.  Or maybe the way your swollen ankles prevented you from fitting into any of your cute shoes.  It could also be the tender breasts, the mood swings, or how food didn’t taste as good, yet somehow you were still always hungry.  Come to think of it, being pregnant, in general, was the worst. 

Currently, you were seven and a half months along.  You had 6 weeks until your daughter would be born.  6 weeks somehow felt both impossibly long and just around the corner.  On one hand, you really couldn’t wait to get your body back.  You missed wearing pants that didn’t have an elastic waistband, and the freedom of being able to get out of bed without Luke’s help.  

On the other hand, you and Luke were going to be first time parents.  This brought about a lot of anxiety and uncertainty.  There was still so much to get done before the baby arrived, that at times you couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. 

“You worry too much,” Luke had told you one afternoon.  

But you disagreed.  “Luke, she’s gonna be here in less than two months and her room isn’t even close to being finished.  We still have to paint, and put together the crib-”

“We have six weeks, baby.  I’ll get it done, I promise.” 

His reassuring words did little to calm your mind or your nerves.  One thing that did keep the anxious thoughts at bay, was work.  Focusing your attention on BAU cases was the perfect distraction… until that was taken away from you too.  

“I don’t want you in the field,” Luke had stated that night.  

“You’re joking, right?”

Luke’s pressed lips and slightly flared nostril told you that no, he was not joking. 

“Luke,” you’d groaned, throwing your head back against the pillow.  “I’m fine.”

“You can barely walk, let alone chase after anyone,” he stated, his arms folding across his chest.  He always did that when he wanted you to take him seriously.  “And I know for a fact that you can’t fit into a bulletproof vest.”

You threw him your best glare.  “Okay, first off, that was mean.  Second, you can’t expect me to just sit here all day doing nothing.  I’ll go insane, you know I will.”

“Baby, you’re seven months pregnant.  You need to relax.”

“Relax?  Seriously, Luke?”  you felt a wave of frustration wash over you.  Lately you've been finding it so hard to control your emotions, so you’re not entirely surprised when you feel the burning of tears in your eyes. “I can’t relax! I’m uncomfortable all the time.  I’m fat and I’m hot and I’m sweaty. My boobs feel like they’re going to explode any second.  I’m nauseous and I’m tired and I’m hungry.  And if I stay home all day that’s all I’m going to think about.  I’m going to just sit and dwell on the fact that I am miserable.”

Luke’s face softens when he sees that you’re crying.  That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence lately, but he felt guilty for being the one to cause it this time around. 

“C’mere,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.  

And even though you’re angry with him, you don’t hesitate before scooting up the mattress and sliding into his arms.  You lay your head on his shoulder, Luke’s hand finding its way down to your lower back, where he rubs gentle circles into the sore muscles.  Being in his arms had a way of making you feel better. 

“I’m sorry you’re so uncomfortable, baby. I just- I worry about you. All I want is for you and the baby to be okay.”

You sniffle into his chest, his sweet words making your voice soften.  “I can’t sit here all day, Luke.  I really can’t.”

“I know.” He rests his cheek on top of your head and sighs.  “How about we meet in the middle?”

Looking up at him, you skeptically ask,  “How?”

“You could work the cases from the BAU,” he suggests. 

You scrunch your nose, secretly hoping that his compromise meant just giving in to what you wanted entirely.  But, as you think about it for a moment, you had to admit you didn’t completely hate the idea.  Things were getting challenging in the field.  And as much as you hated him for saying it, Luke was right- the bulletproof vests no longer fit you, and you couldn’t chase down any perps.  You were relatively useless, at least physically, at this point.  

“I’m sure Garcia would love an extra hand,” he adds. 

“Fine,” you mutter quietly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing a light peck against the top of your head.  

But, as Luke would soon find, just because you agreed to be stationed at the BAU did not mean you weren’t going to complain about it.   

The two of you walked, hand-in-hand, into the building the next morning.  Emily had called, about fifteen minutes prior, to let you both know that you had a case in Boston. 

“What if I just stay at the police precinct?”

Luke rolled his eyes.  “No.”

“Why not? I could help Reid with the geological profile- or interview the families.  There’s a lot I can do-”

“We already agreed that you’d stay here.”

You scoffed in frustration before trying another tactic. 

“You know,” you drawled, using the hand he wasn’t already holding to reach around and grip his arm.  “I’m worried about you, too.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you state, matter-of-factly.  “Just because I’m carrying the baby doesn’t mean I’m the only one that needs to stay safe.  It would be equally devastating if something happened to you.  You let your hand trail down the length of his arm and over to your belly.  “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”  

Luke swiped his ID badge to get inside the building before holding the door open for you, you hesitate, waiting for his response.  Luke’s lips were parted into a soft grin. “I know you’re just trying to make me feel guilty, but that was really sweet.”  He leans forward and pecks your lips lightly.  

You roll your eyes and storm into the building.  

…

“So I hear we’re going to be lab partners!” Garcia drums her fingers against the round table.  

You shrug, “Looks like it.”

“I know you’re bummed to not be in the field, but I’m so excited that you’ll be here.”

Luke’s hand reaches for yours underneath the table.  You let your fingers lace together with his before you smile back at Garcia.  Maybe being sidelined wouldn’t be all bad.  “I’m excited too, Pen,” you tell her.  

“Alright guys listen up,” Emily enters the briefing room.  “Police need our help in Boston.  Two college students have gone missing the past month, and one of the bodies was just found dumped off of I-95.  Y/N will be working the case from here, so we’ll be down a body in the field.”

Garcia hits a few buttons on the remote, making a gruesome image project onto the screen in front of the team.  She presents a few more details about the case before Emily declares, “Wheels up in 20.”

Luke’s shifting through his go bag at his desk when you approach him from behind.  You rest your hand on his back and rub up and down his soft, maroon shirt.  

“Be safe, okay?” you tell him.  You felt guilty knowing he was going into the field without you.  

Luke sighs, turning his body so that he was facing you.  His big hands rest on your hips as he holds you out in front of him.  “You know I will.”

You nod, and you believed his words, but that didn’t mean you’d be any less worried about him while he was away.  

Luke could sense the uneasiness on your face, so he leaned in and kissed your cheek lightly before whispering,  “There is nothing that could ever keep me from coming back home to you and our baby, do you hear me?” 

Leaning into his touch, you sigh.  “Good.  Because I meant what I said; I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“We’re going to miss you out there, kid.” Rossi states as he passes your desk.  

“Keep me updated,” you respond sadly.  He pats you on the shoulder before nodding with a smile.  

With a final kiss and promises to call, Luke and the rest of the team load onto the jet to head for Boston. 

At first, you stay in the bullpen seated at your desk, running through the casefile.  You were the only one in the entire room.  By habit, you kept looking up at Luke’s desk.  Instead of his warm smile, you’re met by his empty chair.  Your eyes linger for a moment before you feel a sharp pain shoot across your stomach, making you wince.  

“Woah,” you whisper, your hand falling on your bump.  “Was that a kick?” you ask her out loud.

It didn’t take long before the silence became deafening, so after a few minutes, you stand up and waddle down the hallway to Garcia’s leir.  You knock at her door before entering. 

“Hey,” you say, your hand supporting your sore back.  “It’s like, creepy quiet out there, do you mind if I work with you, in here?”

Her face lights up.  “Of course!” Immediately, she begins clearing off a space on her desk for you to set up. 

“Thanks,” you smile, taking a seat in her spare office chair.  You try your best to sit up straight as your insides begin to cramp.  Garica turns to see your eyes squeezed shut. 

“What’s wrong?” her voice is filled with concern. 

“Nothing,” you sigh in relief when the cramp passes. “She’s kicking a lot today.”

Garcia’s face breaks out into a large grin.  “Oh! My Goddaughter’s gonna be a spunky one, isn’t she?”

…

As it turned out, there wasn’t much for you to do from the BAU.  Garcia worked tirelessly, delving into files and uncovering helpful information for the team.  But you weren’t even close to being as tech savvy as her, and besides the casefile you’d already read through four times, you didn’t have many resources to work off of.  

Whenever the team would call with questions, you’d listen intently, and try to figure out some way that you could help them.  But, by that evening, you were starting to feel pretty useless.  

“Why don’t you just head home?” Garcia suggested kindly.  “You look tired.”

You were tired.  You were tired and hungry and sore from all your baby’s kicking.  But you shook your head.  “I don’t want to be in the house alone,” you admit to her.  “It’s too quiet there without Luke.”

Garcia, of course, understands.  “Do you want to take a walk?  Just around the building?”

At first, you want to say no.  But as you consider her offer, you can’t help but admit that stretching your legs sounded pretty nice, so you agree. 

“I think I’m most excited for coffee,” you tell Garcia.  The two of you had walked the entire floor of the BAU a couple of times now and were about to head back to her office.  

“God, I can’t even imagine going nine months without coffee.  I think that would break me,” she admits.  

You start to laugh, but you’re quickly interrupted by a sudden, sharp pain in your abdomen.  

“Woah,” you gasp, grabbing your stomach.  You hunch over, desperate to alleviate some of the pain, but it only grows with intensity.  It takes your breath away for a moment, and all you can do is focus on the tiled floor beneath you as you attempt to muscle through it.  

But then you feel something burst inside of you, followed by a warm liquid rushing down your leg.

With wide, terrified eyes, you look up to Garcia. 

“Pen,” you whisper, barely recognizing your own voice.  “I th-think my water just broke...”

“Oh my god,” she says, her voice higher than usual. “Oh my god, okay, okay. You’re okay.” 

She hurries to your side and wraps an arm around your waist.  You and your shaky legs are grateful for her support.  She guides you to a chair stationed in the hallway, where she helps you sit.  

The panic really starts to set in once your eyes land on your dampened pants.  

“No,” you start to shake your head rapidly.  “Pen, no I can’t- it’s too early-”

You’re amazed by how calm Garcia remains.  “It’s okay,” she tells you.  “We’re gonna get you to the hospital and everything’s gonna be fine.”

But you keep shaking your head.  “No, she’s early.  She’s too early- I need Luke, please- I can’t do this.”

“I’m gonna call Luke right now, everything’s going to be okay.”

Garcia pulls out her phone and dials your husband. She frowns when it goes to voicemail after a few rings.  

By now, there’s a steady influx of tears spilling down your cheeks. You ask softly, “Why isn’t he answering?” 

“Let me try Emily.”

You sigh a breath of relief when you hear Emily’s voice on the other end of the line.  

“Emily-” Garcia gasps. “Where’s Luke?”

You overhear her, “He’s interrogating the Unsub- why? What’s the matter?”

“Y/N’s in labor, we need him.”

“Oh my god,” Emily says.  There’s a brief pause before she tells Garcia,  “I’ll be right back.”

“Pen-” you groan, another contraction washing over you.  You hunch over in the chair and grab at the air, desperate for something to clamp down on.  

She quickly extends her hand, letting you squeeze it tightly. 

“Garcia?” you hear Luke’s sweet voice over the line.  You want to call out for him, but you can’t form the words.  

“Luke!” she exclaims, her concerned eyes never leaving you.  “Luke, Y/N’s in labor- her water just broke. You have to come home.”

You gasp and bite down on your lip as the pain suddenly intensifies.

“Breathe,” she instructs you calmly.  “Just breathe with me-”

“What?” you can hear the disbelief in his voice.  “But- she’s only seven months pregnant- that's too early-” 

The contraction passes, leaving you breathless, but you hold your hand out.  Garcia picks up on your gesture and hands you the phone. 

“Luke-” you’re on the verge of bursting into terrified tears.  “I’m so scared.”

“Baby, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” You can hear the worry in his voice as he soothes you.  “I’m on my way, okay? I’m gonna take the jet, I’ll be there soon.”

“I don’t know if I can do this-”

“No, baby- of course you can, you’re so strong.  You’re gonna be okay.”

“Please hurry,” you whimper.  

“I will, I love you.”

You pass the phone to Garcia reluctantly.  You wished you could stay on the line with him.  Something about hearing his voice made you feel calmer. 

You’re shaky and weak, but Garcia helps you all the way into the elevator and down into the parking garage.  You hesitate before climbing into the front seat of her car. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her hand gently placed on your elbow. 

“I don’t want to get your seat all gross-”

You’re referring to the amniotic sac fluid currently soaking your pants.

“Are you serious?” she asks in disbelief.  “If we don’t hurry you’re going to be giving birth in my car, so I think I’ll take my chances with the water.”

You nod quickly and climb into the front seat.  While Garcia hurries around to the front, you clutch onto your baby bump tightly, wondering why the hell she was coming so early. 

Garcia winds through traffic hurriedly, every so often she glances in your direction, trying to make sure you’re okay.  “I guess they weren’t kicks,” you groan, as another contraction washes over you.  You grip the door handle until your knuckles turn white and squeeze your eyes shut.  

“Keep breathing,” Garcia soothes.  She lets you take her hand across the console and doesn’t even wince when you squish it tightly in yours.  

“I’m really scared, Penelope,” you whimper quietly, falling back against the seat when the contraction passes.  

“I know,” Garcia clicks her tongue empathetically.  

“Nothing’s ready.  Not her room- we haven’t even set up her crib yet  I’m not ready. I was supposed to have another 6 weeks to get ready-”

But Penelope is shaking her head. “You, right now, as you are, are going to be a great mother, okay? You’re ready.”

She sounded so sure, so confident in you- maybe she was right.  

…

“Where is he?” 

You’re sweating, exposed in a delivery room, and in more pain than you ever have been in your entire life.  

Garcia’s stayed by your side the entire time, holding your hand and talking you through the pain.  You’d been at the hospital about two hours now.  

Currently, Garcia was dabbing your forehead with a wet washcloth.  Your contractions were about 6 minutes apart.  According to the doctor, you’d have to start pushing soon.    

“I can’t do this without him. He should be here..”

“He’ll be here.”

You look up at her, exhausted and with fear in your eyes. 

Garcia squeezes your shoulder.  “And if he’s not here, then we’ll do this together, okay? You and me.”

“Promise you won’t leave?”

She nods.  “I promise.”

…

Luke’s sprinting through the maze of a hospital trying desperately to find the delivery room number that Garcia texted him.  He’s already been redirected by a couple of nurses, but every floor looked the same. 

The door number came into sight when he turned the corner.  He doesn’t hesitate before running the final distance between the two of you. 

Luke swings the door open, only able to exhale when his eyes finally land on you.  

You’re sitting up in your bed, hair tied up messily and cheeks flushed.  

As soon as you see him, he sees your shoulder slump, like you’ve exhaled a breath of relief.

“Luke-” 

His name is barely audible, but it’s enough.  

“I’m here, baby,” he assures you, crossing the room in just two, large strides. 

Garcia’s on the opposite side of your bed, clutching your hand tightly.  After pressing his lips against your sweaty forehead, he looks at her and mouths, ‘thank you’.  

She nods, “Of course, it was nothing.”  She says it casually, like she didn’t just spend the last three hours comforting you through labor, doing his job for him, making sure you were safe.  

It was everything. 

Minutes after Luke arrives, the doctor tells you it’s time to push.  

You flash Luke a scared glance, but he wraps an arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple, his lips feel comforting.  “You can do this.” 

You sigh, because like you said, being in his arms had a way of making you feel better.  

...

When her soft cries fill the air, you’re finally able to breathe again.  You collapse back against your pillow, exhausted and sweaty.  

Luke’s still cupping your hand in his, his much larger fingers wrapping themselves around your skin.  He’s looking towards the doctor, who’s holding in his arms, your baby girl. 

“Is she okay?” you ask weakly.  

Luke nods.  “She’s small, but she’s so beautiful.” 

Because she’s premature, you’re not able to hold her right away.  Instead, she’s bundled up and taken to the NICU.  

“No-” you protest pathetically.  “I want her with me-”

“I know,” Luke whispers.  “But they gotta keep her warm.  They’re gonna put her in an isolette.  They said we can visit as soon as you’re ready.”

Without hesitating, you attempt to sit up in bed. “I’m ready,” you declare weakly.  

Luke’s hand pushes against your shoulder lightly in protest.  “No, baby. You need rest-”

You found yourself growing angrier and angrier.  You wanted to see your baby- wanted to hold her.  But your body betrays you.  You’re just so exhausted that you can’t even fight against him.  Instead, you fall back against the pillow and huff out a choppy, frustrated sob.

“I know,” he says.  He sits on the edge of your bed and reaches his hand out to brush some of the loose strands of hair away from your face.  He leans forward and presses his lips to your sweaty forehead. “You did so good.” He whispers against your skin.  “So, so good.”

You close your eyes against his touch, letting it wash over you. 

“How small is she?” you ask when he finally breaks away. 

Luke’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he didn't answer immediately.  After a moment he sighs.  “She’s small.” 

“She’s gonna be okay though, right?” You look to Luke for all the answers.  And he wants to give them to you.  He wants to give everything to you. 

He nods.  “She’s gonna be okay.  She’s a fighter, like her mom.”

…

Your daughter has to stay in the NICU for two, agonizingly long weeks.  After a couple of days, you start to get some energy back.  But seeing her in that box, and not being able to hold your baby when you wanted was taking its toll emotionally. 

You and Luke stayed at the hospital for the entirety of the two weeks, never wanting to leave her alone.  

It was painful and hard and exhausting, but together, it almost seemed bearable.  

The team visited in shifts.  Garcia arrived first with a giant bundle of pink balloons.  Spencer and JJ brought magazines and books to keep you busy.  Tara has a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Matt and Kristy brought you clothes to change into.  Rossi and Emily brought various dishes for the two of you to eat.  By the end of your two weeks, you felt incredibly grateful for your BAU family. 

On the day that you and Luke were finally given the okay to take your daughter home, you found your nerves inching their way back into the forefront of your mind. It was an absolute relief that your premature daughter turned out to be healthy and safe and as beautiful as ever.  But you thought about the unfinished room at home and your stomach twisted into knots. 

“Where are we gonna put her?” you asked, imagining the crib you’d bought and never put together.  

“I’ll put it together when we get home,” Luke assures you.  “Can’t be that hard.”

You nodded, pushing the thought away.  It didn’t matter.  Not when you had this miracle of a baby in your arms. 

When Luke pulled the car into the driveway of your house, you both stared at your home, hesitating before getting out of the car, as if it was just now hitting you how much everything was about to change.  

Luke gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

You nod, everything was changing for the better.  “Ready.”

You keep her cradled to your chest as you make your way through your home.  The first order of business for Luke was to put together the crib, so your daughter would at least have a place to sleep.  

You’d worry about the rest later.  

But when you climb the stairs, you’re startled to see Garcia standing in your hallway, a cheeky grin on her face.  

“Pen, hi,” you smile.  You’d given her a key to take care of Roxy and water your plants while you were away at the hospital, you assume that was what she was here for.  

“Hi,” she smiles wide.  “Oh my goodness, is that my little bundle of joy! Let me see!” 

You pass Penelope your daughter, watching adoringly as the two interact. 

“Is someone else here?” Luke asks, peering down the hall when he hears voices. 

Garcia nods, her signature, ear to ear smile spreading across her face.  “Yeah, actually we have a surprise for you guys.” She passes your daughter back to you before turning.  

“Who’s ‘we’?” Luke asks skeptically. 

“Oh, just shut up and follow me,” she says.  Her heels click as she walks down the hall towards the bedrooms.  

When you turn the corner into your daughter's room, you can’t help but let out a loud gasp.  Your jaw practically falls to the floor, surprised to see the entire team piled inside.  

Two walls of the room were painted a beautiful shade of pink, while the other two were a soft gray.  There were various decoratives hanging on the walls, tying everything together perfectly.  There were also numerous shelves filled with an assortment of stuffed animals, toys, and books.  And in the corner stood the hardwood crib that Luke and you had bought, completely put together and accented with a beautiful mobile hanging above it.  

“Oh my god,” Luke gawks, clearly just as surprised as you. 

“You guys-” you start, but you before you can finish your sentence you start to cry.  “You guys did all this?”

The smiling faces of the rest of your team answer your question.  

“How?” Is all you can manage to say.  

“Well, I picked out the colors and the decor,” Garcia says, like it’s obvious. “Emily and Tara both helped paint.”

“And I've put my fair share of cribs together,” Matt chuckles, patting the edge of the darkwood.  “It took no time at all.”

“JJ and Spencer got together the books and the stuffed animals,” Garcia motions towards the corner of toys.  

“And I supervised,” Rossi smirked, making everyone laugh. 

“Guys, this is too much.” Luke shakes his head in disbelief before exhaling and saying sincerely,  “thank you.”

You nod in agreement.  “This is… amazing.  This is more than I could have ever dreamed of.  I love it.  She’s gonna love it,” you motion towards your now sleeping baby, mouth open and drooling on your chest.  

The team knows how exhausted you and Luke are from being at the hospital for the past two weeks, so they don’t stay long.  Slowly, they begin filing out of your house, offering both you and the new BAU baby with hugs and kisses goodbye.  

Garcia’s the last to leave as she gathers her coat from your entryway chair.  

“Pen, I know this was your idea,” you mumble.  “You didn’t have to do all this.  Thank you.” 

She shakes her head, her eyes rolling as she hugs you gently.  When she pulls away, she smirks,  “If you thought I was going to let my Goddaughter come home to an unfinished room, you are underestimating how much I am going to spoil her.”  

With that, she's out the door, leaving you and Luke and your newborn baby alone in the house for the first time as a family of three. Luke wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side securely.  You sigh, all of your anxiety and fears melting away.  Being in his arms had a way of making you feel better.  

[masterjedilenawrites]

Blueberries and Cowboys: Chapter 2

A choose-your-own-adventure style fic. First, 2 platonic chapters for set-up/build-up. And then, the story will split into 2 paths depending on your romantic pairing preference: You and Thrawn, or You and Eli.

Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Plan

Pairing: None...yet...

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of bullying

Length: 2k

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

The rest of the week saw the three of you using every bit of free time outside your classes and studies to gather information for Thrawn to build a solid plan.

Eli tailed his pesky classmate Arden everywhere, even skipping a class one day to break into his dorm, trying to learn anything about the guy that could be useful to get him involved in the plot. Thrawn analyzed the simulation software and protocols that would be used to administer the tests, mapping out every possible way Commander Burdick could hijack it. And you were the one spying on the Burdick himself. Since the commander didn't seem too interested in your grades, you were able to shadow him without suspicion, and had been able to slip a bug into his offices to eavesdrop on any potential conversations about his plans for sabotage.

Your classmates and the staff were none the wiser. That was the advantage of being social outcasts. Half of them avoided you all like the plague, and the other half already thought you were weird people doing weird things. So it wasn't long before you'd all gotten enough intel to work with.

It was late in the evening at the end of the week. You found yourself in Thrawn and Eli's shared dorm, which looked identical to your own in the opposite wing, because the Empire couldn't bother with things like individuality or comfort. Eli sat on the edge of his top bunk, his legs swinging casually, and his coat unbuttoned to reveal a wrinkled undershirt you knew he hadn't bothered to wash all week. Thrawn paced about in the middle of the room, his long strides only allowing him about four good steps before he had to turn around. He still had his uniform on, boots and badges and all.

You leaned against the railing of the bed, watching Thrawn as he went back and forth. Sometimes he sat still when he was scheming, with his fingers steepled and his gaze seemingly reaching into some unknown dimension beyond your comprehension. That usually happened when he was running through variables that didn't concern you, at least from his perspective. You and Eli had accepted long ago there would always be parts of his plans he would never share with you. He was kind of a control freak like that.

But tonight, he seemed to be more welcoming of collaboration, hence his steady rhythm of pacing in front of you.

"Only one variable remains, as I see it," he was saying. "We understand how the commander will manipulate the system to cause a redundancy in the simulation, thus rendering the test impossible to finish successfully."

You and Eli shared a glance; the only person who truly understood how that was going to happen was Thrawn. He'd tried explaining numerous times but when it came to codes and tech, the two of you weren't able to fully keep up.

"We also know through your investigating," Thrawn motioned to you with what you thought was an impressed look, causing you to feel a little pride, "that the commander plans to only sabotage my test, believing it will be too suspicious if Eli also fails. He will also manipulate his false code to originate from the computer of his former lover Eva Carroway, who currently works in HR. So if an investigation does ensue, it will be traced to her and not him."

You and Eli chuckled under your breaths. It had been a little amusing when you'd discovered Commander Burdick was using this plan to not only undermine Thrawn, but also get revenge on his ex-girlfriend. But even more hilarious was how awkward Thrawn treated the subject. He had been quite perplexed to learn people could be so vindictive after a break-up. And any time he explained that detail of the plan, like he was doing now, he hesitated over his word choice. You couldn't tell if he only pretended to be confused about romantic relations, or if that was truly an area he found himself lost in.

If Thrawn noticed your snickering, he didn't respond to it, only continued to recap the plan. "We have also determined how we will expose the altered code naturally, so it does not cast suspicion on us... What was the word you used?"

"Backfire," said Eli.

"Yes. It would not due to have anyone suspect that we altered the test ourselves, or to have our concerns disregarded altogether. Thus, arranging for the maintenance crew to get a mild case of food poisoning so their performance checks are postponed to occur right before the tests will take care of that variable. At the least, they will fix the altered code and I will take the test as normal. At the most, they will report it and the commander faces expulsion."

"So..." said Eli through a yawn as he stretched. "What's left to work out, then?"

Now it was time for you and Thrawn to share a look.

"Were you not interested in involving your classmate, Arden Fey?" asked Thrawn in his soft, contemplative voice.

Eli shrugged. "Yeah. But Burdick's already got his scapegoat, his ex. So it'll be easier to keep him out of it. Whatever."

You could tell he was trying to be nonchalant. But just this morning, he had spent the entire walk between classes ranting about some new insults Arden had come up with, and how badly he wanted to show the guy up once and for all. You knew your friend wasn't feeling "whatever" about it.

"It's not a matter of ease or difficulty," Thrawn stated plainly. He had stopped pacing and was standing with hands behind his back, highlighting the broadness of his shoulders and the height of his stance. His presence seemed to fill up the whole room, and not for the first time, you were glad to be his friend and not his enemy.

"Yeah," you added in encouragement. "We just have to get creative. Find a way to make Arden a more appealing scapegoat than Burdick's ex. In fact...."

You trailed off as an idea occurred to you. You darted out of the room, surely leaving your two friends perplexed, but you would only be a second. You sprinted down the corridor toward the lifts, where a bulletin hung against the wall with fliers and pamphlets. One notice was a bit larger than the others, a promotion of an upcoming gala event to celebrate the Academy's anniversary. You ripped it off and went racing back to the boys' dorm room.

Eli had come down from the bunk and held a concerned look, probably prepared to follow you if you hadn't returned so quickly. Thrawn was still standing composed, but there was a curiosity in his eyes that made you smile.

You held up the poster in front of your chest. "What do you think the likelihood is of us playing successful matchmakers this week?"

Thrawn understood your idea almost immediately, looking down on you with a pleased smirk. It made you flush a little, to know the Chiss was impressed. You rarely had a chance to contribute good ideas when his mind worked so much faster than yours.

Eli caught on next, and he started to grin, the happiest you'd seen him in a while. His smile was infectious and you grinned back. Happy looked good on him.

"We know Eva's not shy with younger guys," you explained. "Before Burdick, she was fooling around with some intern in the med bay."

"And Arden's vain enough," added Eli. "If he thinks anyone's interested, he'll go for 'em."

"So we get him to ask her to the gala as his date...." you said.

"Burdick sees the two of them together...." said Eli.

"And realizes he can get back at his lover in another way, by pinning the sabotage on another student...." joined Thrawn.

The three of you stood together, proud and satisfied that yet another plan had finally worked out. It was almost worth the stressful studying and petty bullying and all the other unpleasant things you had to endure at this god-forsaken school, just to have fun moments like this with trusted friends.

"We should attend this gala as well," Thrawn said eventually, holding out a hand for the poster. He inspected it thoughtfully. "It is only a few days before the tests, so I hadn't planned to pay it any mind. But now...."

"Yeah, we should make sure Burdick's as jealous as we want 'im," nodded Eli.

You were secretly pleased. The plan was already a win-win, but now you would be able to go to the event yourself, too. You hadn't mentioned your desire to go to either of them before, figuring they weren't interested and not wanting to sound silly if you suggested it. But you did love dancing, and it was so very rare you got a chance to wear something other than your Imperial uniform.

"It's a dance," you noted, in case they couldn't tell by the details on the poster. "We'll need to go in pairs."

"I suppose it would make the most sense for you and Eli to go together," said Thrawn quietly.

You looked between the two, realizing both of them were flushed slightly. Eli's cheeks were dotted with pink, standing out amongst his dark brown features, while Thrawn had more of a purple tint to his face now, a color you'd never seen there before. You could feel yourself growing warm and uncomfortable as well. It was only a dance... only a way for you to enact a much more important plan... but it was the first time your trio had had to engage in anything other than platonic friendship. The balance of your group seemed to be shifting ever so slightly in this moment, and you had no way of knowing if it was for good or ill.

You cleared your throat, pushing away any feelings that might have been brewing in your chest, and instead calling focus back to the mission at hand.

"Actually, I think I'd better go with Thrawn. Whoever doesn't go with me would have to find their own date, and no offense Thrawn, but I think Eli has the better chance of asking someone else."

You hoped they hadn't noticed how hollow your voice sounded, how hard you were trying to keep yourself emotionless.

Eli was pinker than ever. "Uh, I highly doubt that..."

"You're not completely hated around here, you know," you said quickly. "Definitely not with the girls. You're not bad looking, you can be charming if you try, and you're... you know, human." You glanced at Thrawn and added again quietly, "No offense."

Thrawn shook his head. His color and demeanor had already slipped back into his usual neutral self. "No, I agree. Those are the dynamics of our peers and we must work with it. I will take you to the gala, Eli will find his own date, and all three of us will push Arden and Eva together as well. It's a good plan."

You all nodded in agreement. But there was a knot in your stomach, a nervousness you didn't quite understand. You cared very much for both Thrawn and Eli. They were your best friends, your only friends. As a group, you were bonded by your ostracism, protecting and supporting each other on your journey out of this hell-hole.

And separately, you had something special with each, too. You and Eli came from similar backgrounds, and had the same need to disconnect from your surroundings and just have a bit of fun every once in a while. The two of you had spent many late nights together, either hopping between bars, exploring the city, making each other laugh uncontrollably, or quietly sharing the honest thoughts you both buried far too deeply inside. Some nights you'd done all of the above, and returned to your dorm feeling both exhausted and renewed.

But Eli didn't always appreciate the finer things in life, and that's where you connected with Thrawn. He wasn't necessarily an optimist, but he had this way of noticing the beauty that existed everywhere around you, even in the most simple or mundane of moments. Everything had the potential to be interesting. His calm but strong presence had kept you grounded and sane throughout your studies here so far. Sometimes you would talk, other times you would simply be in the same space. And either way, you felt better about life.

You didn't exactly want your relationship with them to change. But you couldn't help but feel this gala would do just that....

Next Chapter: The Preparation >

Blueberry Path | Thrawn x reader

Cowboy Path | Eli x reader

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Painted - Chapter Two

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Y/N has moved on, her scars are barely noticeable anymore, and she’s finally stable. Or at least she was. 10 years after the worst day of her life, Y/N found herself staring face to face with an unimaginable horror. In the wake of her worst nightmare come to life, she finds herself reunited with the man that saved her all those years ago - Agent Dean Winchester who had left her a decade before broken and wanting. Dean Winchester has spent the last 10 years trying desperately to forget Y/N and the tragedy that he pulled her out of, but when she called asking for his help he dropped everything to come to her aid as he knew he always would. Can Y/N and Dean solve the mystery that has resurfaced after all this time? Will they be able to resist the pull between them? Or will this be the final brush strokes on a canvas, sealing their fate for good?

No Beta currently, all mistakes are my own! Pairing: Dean/Reader Tags: Dark!Fic, Agent!Dean, Serial Killer Fic, Smut etc.

Chapter Two

He’s back.

It took Dean Winchester no time to drop everything he was doing and go to her. His coffee was left to cool at his desk, his computer booted up, and his case file open wide for the world to see. As he sped down the streets of downtown Boston, he clicked on the siren on his dash.

“Is he in the house? Are you in danger?”

“No. I’m safe.”

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. It had been ten goddamned years, but when he heard her voice he was shot back in time. He’d thought about disconnecting the number dozens of times. He hadn’t been a field agent in a long time, after all. Eight years away from the city, and only one back at the Bureau. He was getting his toes wet - not sure who he wanted to be.

But if Y/N called, he knew where he would be.

Making it to her house in record time, he drove through the already-open gate. She had followed his instructions and called in the break in. Local PD was already on the premises and seeing the squad cars let him breathe easier.

“I’m safe.”

It was why he had chosen the job, after all. To keep people safe. It was also the reason he left. He got out of the car, remembering to take his keys with him as an afterthought and pushed through the open door.

He stopped mid stride when he saw her. It had been a long time, a decade, a lifetime. She wore jeans and an oversized flannel, her Pitbull rested protectively at her feet. Her hair laid wet and tangled, pushed behind her ears as she nodded, talking to an uniformed officer.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his in a moment that completely slowed time. “Dean,” she exhaled his name like a sigh of relief.

“Hi Sweetheart.”

The officer turned to look at him, surprised. “The FBI? Agent Winchester, I didn’t realize you’d be here…”

“Have you taken her statement?” The officer nodded to him, his eyes still wide in shock. “Then I’ll take it from here.”

The Officer stepped out of the way, making room for Dean to go to her. Y/N stood as he approached, her hands flexing at her side like she was actively trying not to reach for him. “You came.”

“I told you I would,” he said quietly.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Her voice broke, her eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He reached for her, capturing her by the waist before she collapsed. He held her steady, lowering her back onto the stool.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, holding her head. “Haven’t eaten today.”

Dean crouched slightly to meet her eyes, his hands on either side of her. “Show it to me, then I’ll take you to get something to eat.” He reached up to push a lock of damp hair behind her ear.

“I can’t leave Castiel here.”

“We will take him with us,” he promised, offering a supportive grin. “We will eat on the patio.”

“Okay.”

She took his extended arm and allowed him to support her weight as they walked down the hallway. He didn’t need her to show him where the painting was, he just followed the sounds of crime scene techs talking, photographs being snapped.

“Did you notice anything else out of place?”

“Just the painting.”

One of the officer’s was calling to the prison. It was impossible that he could’ve gotten out, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t have resources to plant the painting. If Dean was sure of anything, he was sure of that.

He felt Y/N tug at his arm at the entrance to the hallway, halting mid-step. He glanced at her. Her pupils were wide and her lips were parted, ragged breaths escaping. “I’ve got it from here,” he told her, his hand lingering on her arm for a beat before releasing her and leaving her standing next to her dog.

Dean made his way down the hallway, officers making room for him like he was Moses splitting the Red Sea. He walked until he saw it, the painting. He settled on her eyes in the painting, delicate, detailed, but expressionless. They were missing the light that made Y/N Y/N, but it captured her likeness well enough.

He’d seen them before, of course. The paintings were famous. He thought back to the twenty-three year old girl who blushed in embarrassment the first time she saw them hanging on a wall. Dean didn’t look at them for her body, he knew it didn’t belong to her. He looked at the painting with the eyes of a detective. It was a piece of the bigger puzzle, just another clue. He leaned in closer to the painting and took a large inhale through his nose. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back any kind of reaction. He knew she was still watching him. They all were.

“Tape off the house,” he instructed, looking back to the techs and officers. I want this entire place looked over. Leave no stone unturned. I mean it. I trust you’ll secure the space, and then leave it to us. My team will be taking over from here out. Johnson,” he said, turning to an officer that he recognized. “Call the FBI field office and let them know the details and that I said I'm taking the case.” His gaze turned from the officers to Y/N. “Let’s get you some clothes. I don’t think you’ll be sleeping here tonight.”

“You read my mind.”

****

They sat at a table on the patio of a coffee shop, Castiel sleeping at Y/N’s feet. She watched Dean blow on his coffee. He looked good if she was paying attention. His strong jaw was speckled with light hairs, his full lips were pursed, blowing on his coffee to cool it enough to drink. He held the mug in large calloused hands. His moss green eyes flickered to her, catching her staring, and she suddenly felt unbelievably vulnerable.

“So, you’re a PI, huh?” He asked, his voice rougher than she remembered it to be.

Y/N shook her head. “Not frequently.”

“Why not?”

She held her own mug between her hands, tapping the lip with her index finger. “There weren’t enough wins. I couldn’t save…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed. “Well, you know what it’s like. So I opened a self defense gym. Preventative measures instead of cleaning up the messes after the fact. I’ll take special cases, and I consult every now and then. They say I have a special eye for it.”

“I suspect you do.”

“What about you, Dean?” She looked back to him, through the steam on her cup. It was the transitional time in Massachusetts when the summer shifted to autumn, and the chill nipped at her ears. “Where have you been the last ten years?” She wasn’t meaning to sound so accusatory, but that’s how it came out - pointed and full of resentment.

Silence settled between them, heavy and pressured. He cleared his throat and placed his mug down. “After everything that happened I was approached to be a part of a tactical team with the military. I didn’t feel I could decline.” Her eyebrow shot up in surprise. “I joined the Marines. I’d always thought about it after high school, it’s what my father did… and after everything that happened... I needed a change.” She watched his fast twist in itself, his lips curl and his eyes drop back to his coffee. He felt guilty for being messed up. She wanted to reach out to him and take his hand in hers to comfort him for that.

“You still answered my call… on the line that you gave me that long ago. Your work line.”

“I never got rid of it.” His eyes flickered up as he gazed at her through long dark eyelashes.

“Why?”

He chuckled low and shook his head. “It sounds insane.”

“I’ve lived insane. Try me.”

“I worried that this would happen… that someday you’d call. Every time I went to cancel it, every year that went by, I just sat in my car in the parking lot and never went in to do it. Couldn’t risk it.”

“This was your case… the one that changed you.”

He grunted, leaning back in his chair. “You sound like you’re saying from experience.”

“Well, it changed me too,” she said with a mischievous grin. His thick eyebrows shot up in surprise. She unsettled people frequently, especially when they knew her past.

“Of course.”

“Are you still in the marines?”

“Once you become one, you’re always a jarhead.” He grinned at her, a dimple pressing into his cheek. “But no, I’ve been out for two years. I got pulled back into the Bureau. They wanted me, begged me to do it.” He sighed.

“You don’t want it?”

Dean’s eyes locked with hers. “It’s been a lot of paper work. Never much wanted a desk job.”

“You’re not at a desk now, agent,” she challenged.

He grinned at her. “When a beautiful woman calls me I’m duty bound to come to her.”

She smiled and peeled her eyes from his. The banter was flirty, light, but it was a Band-Aid taped over a wound that was too close to bursting. “I’m glad you answered,” Y/N said quietly, Castiel nudging her leg with his nose. “It was instinct to call you the second I saw the painting.”

A jolt ran through her as he took her hand in his. He squeezed it gently, cradling it with care. “Y/N…”

She pulled her hand out of his and wrapped it around her mug instead, sipping her coffee. “I can’t.”

“Of course.” He nodded with an understanding that felt unfair, unwarranted.

“Do you think it’s him?” She asked, almost blurting out the question that was sitting on her tongue from the moment she saw Dean again.

Dean sighed heavily and clasped his hands together. “I don’t see how it can be. He’s been in jail for a decade, Y/N.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes stung as fear pressed insistently against her chest preventing her from taking a full, deep breath. She didn’t think it was possible to live this way anymore, she didn’t think she had to. It was like for the first time she’d thought she could breathe easily again, just to get the breath knocked out of her in one swift kick to her stomach.

“As sure as I can be, but not sure enough to not check into it. Never sure enough to not check into it.” He leaned forward, his green eyes intense. “I’ll figure this out. I can promise you that.”

“I don’t know who else would do this.”

“Has he contacted you?”

“Not in years. He gave up eventually when I wouldn’t take his calls or write him back.”

“He wrote to you?”

“Every day for the first year. He’d send me drawings…” She tightened her grip on her mug, her knuckles whitening as a chill seemed to crawl up her spine. “I stopped opening them after the first week.”

“Do you still have them?” Dean asked slowly, carefully.

Y/N was familiar with people walking on eggshells around her. It was no real surprise that Dean would do the same. He was cautious, calculated, a professional. She wetted her bottom lip with her tongue, a nervous habit to keep her from picking at the dry skin. He made her nervous. The situation made her skin itch beneath her clothes, heat rising up the back of her neck. “Yes. They’re locked in a drawer. I’ve thought about burning them a thousand times but I just…”

“Can’t bring yourself to?”

She nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m punishing myself for not realizing. Or maybe it’s a reminder to never let it happen again.”

“I’d like to see them.”

She sat up a little straighter in her seat, her jaw tightening in an expression that she was sure resembled a grimace. “They’re personal.”

“I suspect they are.”

“What do you think you’ll learn from them?”

“I don’t know, which is why I need to examine them. I need you to trust me…”

“I trust you, Dean. I think you should know that by now.”

10 years ago

“It’s inappropriate, Agent Winchester! I gave you orders to wait. She needed to be evaluated, but you went in anyway and now… ” Captain McLeod was pissed, to put it mildly. Her nostrils flared and her eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at him. For such a small woman she was terrifying, and in any other circumstance he would’ve rolled over and played dead like she obviously wanted him to. But this wasn’t any circumstance.

“She's imprinted. I know that’s what the psychologist said. She trusts me. Only me.”

“You can't be her connection, Dean.”

“I have to be. We can’t take another thing from her. I can’t abandon her after everything she’s been through.”

“You aren’t trained in psychology,” she hissed.

“I’m taking pointers from the hospital psychologist. I‘ll take her lead. I’ll tread lightly. Come on, Rowena. This is the right thing and you know it.”

“She’s having a mental break,” his captain said, her voice low. She grasped his shoulder. “I don’t want you to get too attached to someone so unstable.”

He nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral, because if he was honest with himself he would have to admit that he was already attached. How could he not be? “I’ve got this. You can go, I’ll report on what I find.”

She looked at Dean suspiciously, but finally nodded with a sigh. She had no choice but to trust him, and that fact was to his advantage. He watched her leave, before quickly entering Y/N’s hospital room again.

The hospital room was bright, the blinds raised and the light bleeding in. She looked absolutely exhausted, deep purple half moons rested under her eyes. Her hair was freshly brushed, pushed behind her ears, and down. The monitors beep steadily, showing her heartbeat, blood pressure and a dozen other numbers that he couldn’t begin to decipher. The top of the bed was raised allowing her to sit up a bit, and her bandaged arms rested on her lap.

“Dean,” Y/N said breathlessly as her tired green eyes caught his. He could tell even from where he stood in the doorway that her eyes were more grey than green from her exhaustion.

“Hey, Sweetheart.”

“I thought you left.”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

Her eyes flickered down to her hands where she picked at her nails. “I know you did.”

“I won’t leave you. You can trust me,” he promised, walking to her. He sat in the chair next to her and pulled it close to her bed. She looked so small and fragile in that bed. Seeing photographs of her before the incident was jarring, she looked like a completely different person.

“Okay,” Y/N said, her voice weak. She nodded and sucked in her breath.

“You can talk to me if you need to.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Don’t feel pressured to talk.”

“You’re sending mixed signals, Agent.” She smiled then, it was weak but the spark in her eye wasn’t something he could ignore.

“Yeah, most of my dates say that.”

“Is this a date?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“What? No - of course not. I…”

It sounded better than he could’ve ever imagined, and fuck, he hadn’t expected it to come as soon as it did. She was laughing. “Relax, Agent.” She exhaled, trying to catch her breath. “I was kidding.”

“Sure, of course you were.” His back relaxed again. He felt tightly wound, stressed. He hadn’t been able to truly relax over the last twenty-four hours. Pressure was higher than ever and things hadn’t gotten much better. No one was convinced it was over, himself included. He would have to get some information out of Y/N eventually, but he wanted to tread lightly after all she had been through. Kindness was the least that she deserved.

“It’s over, Dean.” She looked like she was reassuring him. “Right?” Her eyes met him with fear and intensity behind the brave face she was putting up.

“I don’t want to upset you,” he said carefully.

“I’m already upset. Just spit it out already. You look like you’ve sat on a thumbtack.”

Dean wanted to laugh at her image of him, but there wasn’t much to laugh about. He hated this part of his job. Y/N had been smiling a moment before, she felt safe and that wasn’t something that should be squandered or minimalized. It was a big thing. After he told her what he had to say, she wouldn’t feel safe. Not really. “We think there may be more.” ------ Chapter Three Read on A03 Here Tag List:

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[knightotoc]

I finally finished season 4 of Discovery and have given it thought, so here are some of my impressions (spoiler alert, though I avoid specifics):

There is a rule of thumb for Trek shows that you have to be patient for the first 3 seasons, since they hit their stride in the 4th. Personally I think this is a pretty shaky rule (Kes is a flawless queen), but Disco S4 does improve on its previous seasons in at least two ways, if rather non-committally.

The first way is that S4 relies less on big dumb twists. S1 has buckets of twists, S2 has a hefty handful, S3 has still fewer and S4 could almost be called restrained. Characters spend less time getting their minds blown and more time making meaningful decisions and taking creative actions. However, Disco just can't help but interrupt this forward-facing motion with its most cowardly trope: immediately subverting a major character death. I really did believe they meant it this time, so I felt like such a sap when they, of course, didn't.

The second way is that S4 finally almost gives its protagonist the respect every other Trek protagonist gets by default. There is no question that Michael Burnham is punished, disempowered, and side-lined far more than any other main character. Starfleet treats her so badly, and for what? She's worth the whole damn bunch put together! This season makes her the captain and demonstrates her leadership on the bridge and in mixed company. But she still gets constantly scolded and even threatened by frustrating higher-ups and stubborn allies. You could argue that Trek's usual focus on singular leaders is an unhealthy power-trip, but the disrespect Michael gets overcorrects to a simply unpleasant experience.

The overarching plot is my favorite of Disco's seasonal existential threats yet, especially at the beginning. The writers initially make the DMA a clear metaphor for the current pandemic in ways that are effective and much more emotionally mature than other pandemic-inspired works of fiction. Instead of cringey jokes about Zoom or gross-out horror about plagues, Disco S4 focuses on the terror that the DMA could show up anywhere, anytime, an invisible and mysterious threat. More subtly, this show also cares about the awkwardness that arises from long isolation (a result of S3's Burn).

Then the show runs out of pandemic-y things to say, which I suppose is just as well, and instead becomes an extended homage to, of all things, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. From a mashed potato sculpture to a visually identical climax, it's a first contact story that works fine because, well, it worked in 1977.

I hadn't seen Close Encounters before, so I watched it afterwards. The main result of this comparison is that it made me really, really appreciate Close Encounter's practical effects. I know "practical > CGI" is a worn-out cliche of criticism, and I like to think I hold a nuanced position that gives CGI its well-deserved credit too. But the most prevalent visual of Disco S4 is the floating blue holographic computer, an effect so unconvincing and annoying that I had to turn my brain off whenever it appeared. Trek has always had its actors earnestly poke around high-tech interfaces, but the decision to shift that poking from plastic buttons to thin air was uncool of them.

Speaking of 1977, I have a bad feeling about the way sci-fi franchises handle characters whose planets get blown up. There is infinite room for improvement in the wake of Leia's utter lack of long-term emotional consequences, and post-2009 Trek has, for some reason, seized that gauntlet. While some of Book's scenes are moving, they tend to be either too neat when emotions call for it, or too messy only when the plot calls for it. The cartoonish Tarka throws off Book's balance and makes them both seem like less interesting characters.

I'm more convinced than ever that Disco's story would be better as a book than a TV show. The characters spend so much time processing their feelings in one-on-one conversations; these scenes would be better if we could also get in their heads, as we could in a novel or comic. It would also remove the difficulty of getting 6'8" Saru and 5'5" Michael into the same frame. Their beautiful chemistry makes it worth it, but bravo to the directors for figuring that one out.