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artificialqueens · 10 months

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🏳️‍🌈 The Miracle of Living Pt.1 (Bianca Del Rio/BenDeLaCreme ig??) - Lita

In this world we're just beginning To understand the miracle of living

Hello everyone! Welcoe to the long-awaited prequel to the Bitney San Junipero AU that I technically started writing five years ago (???) but recently decided to try and breathe new life into and complete. In theory this can stand alone as its own story with a few vague references to Black Mirror future tech sprinkled in, but it's really just setup to the main fic that kind of got away from me. The story has gotten a complete overhaul, so if anyone from Ye Olden Days remembers it - please do stick around and read this new version, I promise it's better.

Massive thank you to @veronicasanders for giving me the kick up the ass required to get this story back off the ground, throwing her ideas at me, and being my Google when it comes to divorce court and the American college system. Love you mom - I hope this story is everything you'd dreamed of <3

Summary: Bianca is twenty-one, flunking college, and - thanks to a night of drunk bad decision-making - she's pregnant with her gay best friend's baby.

Los Angeles, California

January 17th, 2022

“BEN!”

Bianca’s furious voice rings out through the small apartment. She’s sitting on the toilet with her pajama pants and underwear around her ankles, willing the second blue line to disappear. If anything, it’s getting darker.

“Uh…yeah?” The reply comes from the other side of the bathroom door.

“I thought you said you wore a fucking condom!”

“I did!” Ben protests. Then, meek and cautious: “...It might have split.”

“It might have what?”

Two and a half months ago, Bianca and Ben had gone out drinking to commiserate the ends of their respective relationships - Ben had found out about his long-term boyfriend’s secret Grindr profile and dumped him, then Bianca’s longest-lasting FWB had called it quits with her less than a week later. When they got home, drunk and dumb and miserable, they’d started making out with each other on the couch - as a joke, just for something to do. And then, since they were shitfaced and apparently didn’t know any better, one ‘joke’ led to another, and they’d woken up naked in Ben’s bed. They had laughed it off the morning after, hunched at the kitchen table over alka-seltzer and black coffee - too much liquor, too many emotions. Shit happens.

And then tonight, Bianca had mentioned offhand that she was incredibly overdue her period, and suggested going out to buy a test half as a joke. Ben had gone along with it a little too willingly, and he’d been overly-energised and super fucking weird on the walk to the drugstore. Really, Bianca should have known something was up when he detoured via the liquor store across the street, and came back with two bottles of tequila.

“Ben, are you fucking kidding me?” Bianca says through her teeth.

“I was gonna tell you,” Ben replies, sounding flustered. “Is the door locked? Can I come in?”

Bianca wants to say no, but it was Ben’s curiosity about her vagina that got them here in the first place, so who cares about whether or not he sees her now? She reaches over to turn the lock. Ben shuffles into the room in his leopard-print boxers and an oversized pajama shirt, and perches on the edge of the bathtub, looking at the floor.

Part of Bianca wants to burst into tears - another part of her wants to scream until she throws up. Not now. Not fucking now - not like this. She’s twenty-one; Bianca doesn’t even know that she wants a goddamn kid at all, forget about one fathered by her gay best friend.

“Look, I didn’t notice until after we were done. And I didn’t want to freak you out - I figured it would probably be nothing, and then there was never a good time, and then you told me you were late and I…”

“You’re a faggot, we were hammered, we fucked because we thought it would be funny - if you knew that there was any chance whatsoever that you’d knocked me up, you should have fucking told me!” Bianca snarls through gritted teeth.

Ben doesn’t say anything for a moment. He doesn’t really react either. He just sits there and looks at her; composed, taking it in.

Bianca met Ben at a theater summer camp when they were sixteen. Ben had just moved from Seattle; he was about to start junior year at the private school across town. They led fundamentally different lives - Bianca had found herself seethingly jealous of him and his cakewalk of a fucking existence when she first met him, resolved that she had no other choice but to hate him on premise. But they’d been assigned as duet partners for the end-of-summer showcase and, faced with no other choice but to get along with him, she’d discovered that they were fucking made for each other. Ben didn’t mind that Bianca was kind of a bitch; he laughed at her jokes, he seemed to understand her. All three qualities she’d never experienced from other kids her age. One juvenile performance of Waltz for Eva and Che later, and she’d found an apparent friend for life.

And then, once high school drew to a close and Bianca was confronted head-on with the unblinking abyss of her future and its hopelessness, he’d offered her an exit route. He was freaked out by the idea of sharing a dorm with a stranger, so his dad had eventually relented after months of begging to privately rent an apartment - he just needed a roommate. She’d never expected that that offer would land her here.

“So, you’re pregnant?” He asks cautiously.

“Yeah - no shit, Sherlock.”

“Do you think you should take another one? To make sure or whatever?” Ben asks. Bianca presses the heel of her hand to her temple, still not breaking eye contact with the pregnancy test.

“Nope - that looks pretty positive to me,” Bianca shows it to him, wiping the mist of stress-sweat from her brow. Ben pulls a vaguely disgusted face. There’s a moment of pause - Bianca bites her lip, struggling to make sense of the messy cocktail of emotions swirling around inside her head.

“Are you okay?” Ben tries to take Bianca’s hand. It feels weirdly violating to have someone touching her while she’s sitting on the toilet. She swats him away.

“I think so. I need a little time to get my head around…everything.” Bianca grits her teeth.

All the scary new problems are dawning on her all at once, like she’s being descended on by a swarm of wasps. College. How to tell her parents. Hospital bills. College again. The apartment is too small for another person. She’ll probably be a shitty mother. Ben. Ben’s pending status as an absent father. She’s never changed a diaper before. College. Fucking college.

She’s currently scraping through year number four of her two-year community college program. Which, as it turns out, only takes two years if you aren’t working full-time to try and keep yourself fed and housed. Ben’s impending graduation from USC - full ride for a screenwriting major, family that gave a shit about him - made that feel even more grim.

This whole convoluted, stupid journey to something better had felt both never-ending and deeply hopeless for the last thirty-six months, and now the whole endeavor is decisively fucked. Even if she does make it to that prophesied something better - enough credits to earn her a spot in the fashion merchandising major she’d been declined acceptance to straight out of high school - there’s no way she can handle real college with a fucking screaming infant permanently attached to her. She can feel the dream crumbling in her hands.

Bianca makes a silent resolution that she’s not putting her own kid - who still feels very much like a hypothetical even though it very much isn’t - through the same shit. You’re eighteen now, you’re not our problem any more. It really didn’t help that every screaming argument with her mom in the leadup to her high school graduation had been silently spectated by her brother - in all his uneducated, unemployed, twenty-seven year old glory - from his position fossilized into the living room couch with his PlayStation controller in his hand. We’re not paying for you to stay in this house and fuck your life up - why her specifically?

Her desire not to be their problem had trailed her from NOLA to LA with Ben, and that was its own issue. She leaves on her terms and she’s abandoning her family, even though it was their sharp insistence that she got a job or an apartment or fucking something else that didn’t involve her living at home and taking up too much space that had pushed her in that direction in the first place. What the fuck was there for her at home anyway? Community college and shitty waitressing jobs? At least she could do the same shit against a prettier backdrop on the other side of the country.

Bianca realizes she’s staring dementedly at the test in her hand again. She sniffs, trying to blink away tears she hadn’t noticed forming.

“I really didn’t see being a single mom in my life plan,” she mutters - thinking out loud.

Except she had. In her bleaker moments - the ones in which she was seventeen and terrified of what would happen if she never got out of her hometown. She hadn’t had that nightmare since she and Ben had packed his car and left at the beginning of September four years ago.

“Who says you have to be a single mom?” Ben tilts his head, reaching a hand out for her again.

Bianca scoffs.

“What? No- Ben, I really don’t want to date you - one night was bad enough.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. But like…if you’re gonna go through with this, I’m not just leaving you by yourself to do it. Both of us did something dumb, and now we’re here - so, both of us should have to parent the consequence.”

There’s a quiet, sympathetic smile on Ben’s face. Bianca still wants to fucking kill him. She eyes him up, searching for any hints of deception or fake-niceness. Surprisingly, he passes the on-the-spot analysis.

“You’re just saying that so I stop being mad at you.”

“No! Anyway, I can’t let you raise it by yourself - I love you, but the world really, really doesn’t need two of you.”

“Ha-ha, go suck a dick,” Bianca rolls her eyes. She can’t help but crack a smile.

“If this is what happens when I try to go outside my comfort zone, then yeah, that’s what I’m sticking to.”

****

2nd May, 2022

“That was less excruciating than I thought it would be,” Bianca arches her back as she perches on the edge of the bed, stretching out. Her hair is still elaborately styled; what little of her makeup had survived the day still on her face.

She’d abandoned her dress on the floor the second that they got to their hotel room. She’s basically naked, which Ben seems perplexingly unbothered by; married, heterosexual life seems to have changed him quicker than she thought it would. It’s a relief, finally being alone with him. She’d have preferred to actually be alone, but after a day of forced smiles and overwhelm, he was better than nothing.

“Absolutely,” Ben nods, sitting down to untie his shoes. He’s still wearing his tux - his black curls are coiffed back from his face, and he’d almost pass for straight, were it not for his meticulously groomed eyebrows. “I mean, I could have done with maybe seventy percent less beer and sports talk from your dad - I was starting to think he was onto me.”

“I thought everyone knew there’s no home runs in football - that’s not a gay thing, you’re just dumb.”

The shotgun wedding hadn’t really been a part of the plan, but after Bianca’s mom had found out that she was pregnant, and then proceeded to call her non-stop for weeks in order to berate her for bringing shame on the family like it was the fucking 1800s, Ben had suggested it. Her mother’s bizarre and endlessly changing standards of behavior continue to baffle Bianca.

The decision to go ahead with it seemed a bit weird, but ‘weird’ had become a default preset of Bianca’s existence since January. Ben had thrown himself into the organization with immediate, over-the-top passion - opening up Pinterest and starting on the moodboard five minutes after Bianca had agreed to it. It had kept him entertained and out of the way, which was nice - he’d already started reading parenting books, and was being a little overbearing about prenatal vitamins and whether or not Bianca had made her birth plan yet.

Outside of picking out her dress, Bianca hadn’t really had to do or think about anything. Marrying a gay man had its perks. She’d had a brief reprieve from Ben’s preemptive helicopter parenting, which gave her more energy to focus on finding bigger apartments, since otherwise the kid would be sleeping in the closet, and trying to convince her job that no, four weeks definitely wasn’t enough maternity leave.

The wedding day had been quietly excruciating - her family, her mom specifically, engaging in that grim unspoken facade of keeping up appearances. Pretending that everything was completely fine and normal, denying any knowledge of Bianca’s pregnancy when asked about it. It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking normal for her. The atmosphere had been thorny, and Bianca had spent most of the day choking back alcohol-free prosecco and waiting for it to be over.

Ben’s family - who seemed confused but generally enthusiastic about the whole ordeal, probably only half-buying Ben’s assertion that he was actually bi and Bianca was definitely the one - seemed to like Bianca though, and that was refreshing. Some kind of normalcy in As Yet Unnamed Kid’s extended family was deeply necessary. They, and Ben himself, had been the only bearable part of the whole thing. Plus they’d fronted most of the expenses and organized the reception at their country club, which was a damn sight better than the social hall of the church that Bea’s family pretended to attend.

“Anyway, I’ve got proof that we’ve fucked at least once, so I don’t think anyone was super suspicious,” Ben continues as Bianca flops back onto the plush bed, letting out a heavy sigh. “How is she doing?”

“She’s fine - she let Mommy keep all of her food down today, so that’s something,” Bianca says.

She’s kind of starting to show now; although just to the point where she looks spectacularly bloated, rather than recognisably pregnant. They didn’t actually know what gender she was yet - but Bea had a feeling. Maybe it was more of a hope, actually; if it was a boy, Ben got to pick the name, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about calling it Raphael.

The kid had been a little bitch recently - whenever Bianca tried to complain about it, Ben would just laugh and remind her that she clearly took after her mom. After a lot of smugness about how she’d not had morning sickness at all, it hit her like a truck for some reason the moment she hit her second trimester. She’d spent the better part of the month before the wedding bent over a toilet bowl. Bianca is already pretty fucking sick of being pregnant, and she’s not even halfway done - she’s always tired, and her boobs hurt, and she misses comfortable sleep and coffee. She thought that nine months with no booze would be the hard part, but dragging herself through life without caffeine is proving to be the real kicker.

“This is weird,” Bianca muses, staring up at the ceiling.

“What’s weird?” Ben turns to look at her, eyes landing on and then immediately flashing away from her exposed tits.

“Try and think about it for like, slightly longer than you wanna think about it. You’re my husband, and I’m pregnant with your kid,” she says plainly. “In what universe was that ever something either of us would have wanted a year ago?"

“Okay, so maybe you’re kind of messy and annoying, and you talk with your mouth full like, all the time and it’s really gross, but I can think of worse people to spend the rest of my life with,” he shrugs. Bianca swats at him with a pillow.

“Thanks a lot.” She aims for pissed, but a smile cracks its way through. “Anyway, it’s not the rest of our lives - play pretend for a few years, then split up and go and live our truths or whatever once she moves out, like we agreed,” Bianca says. Ben nods knowingly.

That was another aspect of things that she was a little hesitant about. Ben had meant what he said about sticking around and raising the kid, but they’d always planned for something more like coparenting. They’d have the baby, and then grow the fuck up and get their own relationships and apartments and lives while splitting custody.

So, the sham marriage thing had interfered with that master plan quite a fucking lot. The situation had divulged into a years-long commitment to lying to people - no dating, since what was gonna happen when the kid started talking and blabbed to whatever set of grandparents about Daddy’s boyfriend? They were gonna be stuck living together for the foreseeable. So, even more keeping up of fucking appearances, which Bianca can’t stand doing it. But the ring on her finger is a glaring, expensive sign that she’s already committed.

They’d talked about it already; pretend to everyone, including the kid, that everything was entirely fine and normal until she was old enough to understand it, get a divorce in about eighteen years, and go their separate ways while continuing to be friends if they could still stand the sight of each other. Easy.

“Thinking about it like that just makes it sound worse,” Ben leans back to lie next to her, loosening his tie. “It’s gonna be fine. One step at a time.”

“Sure,” Bianca replies, distant.

“I mean,” Ben rolls over onto his side, lowering his eyelids into an expression that Bianca imagines is supposed to be seductive. “It is our wedding night - how about round two?”

“Ew - no, never.” Bianca cracks a smile, pushing him away. Ben laughs.

“Thank god, I barely got through saying that without puking.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt and glancing around the expansive bridal suite - still a mess from Bea getting ready that morning. “Do you want me to take the couch?”

Bianca thinks for a second.

“Nah - that doesn't feel fair. I’ve been averaging getting up to pee about ten times a night though, so you can look forward to that.” She looks down at her belly, putting both hands around her barely-noticeable bump. “I hope you know you’re already a gigantic pain in my ass, baby.”

****

September 29th, 2022

Ben had left to go and get coffee - which is probably a good thing, since Bianca was getting tired of looking at him. He’d been…way too intensely supportive, to an extent that she’d found a little smothering. But at least he’d been there. Throughout the last nine months, Bianca had been worried that he was eventually going to get sick of her shit and leave her to deal with it by herself. She’d given him no shortage of shit to get sick of.

The epidural hasn’t quite worn off yet; Bianca has no idea what sort of state her pussy is in, and she’s not sure she wants to know. She’s sweaty and exhausted, but she feels…good. For some reason.

Her water had broken that morning. Ben had been at work - fatherhood looming over him and in desperate need of something more secure than his old three shifts a week at TGI Fridays, he’d picked up a job doing data entry or some other boring crap in an office full of middle-aged straight women about two months ago. Apparently it had been hilarious to watch his reputation as the super fun token gay guy shatter in real time when he’d announced to his boss in front of most of his coworkers that he had to leave because his wife had just gone into labor.

Yeah, he’d been fucking insufferable with the constant ‘you’re doing amazing’s, but he was trying his best. Bea couldn’t exactly be mad at him - he’d just put up with eight hours of her screaming bloody murder and telling everyone who came near her to go fuck themselves. And she’s pretty sure she’d been gripping his hand so tightly she came close to breaking a couple of his fingers.

The room is quiet now. It’s bliss, compared to the chaos of the last few hours - the mad rush of doctors and nurses and blood and sweat and swearing. It’s getting dark outside, the glow of the city lights flickering through the thin curtains. There’s a plastic crib next to Bianca’s bed, with a pink label on its side. Adore Del Rio, 6lbs 3oz.

No matter how disgusting and tiring her day has been - and it was really tiring, and really, really fucking disgusting - a sense of enormous, beautiful calm had washed over Bianca when she held her daughter for the first time. Her daughter.

She’d never felt anything like this before, looking down at the tiny, squishy, pink bundle in her arms. She’s asleep now, wrapped in a blanket and held to Bea’s bare chest. She’s so…little, and so delicate, Bianca thinks as Adore - her fucking daughter - wriggles and murmurs, reaching up for her with one perfect, miniature hand. The delicate curls of her wispy brown hair, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as Bianca holds her close - she can’t believe that she fucking made her. She’s so perfect, and so goddamn fucking small - and Bianca feels both blissfully zen, and absolutely ready to tear anybody who tries to take Adore away from her limb from limb.

She’s barely been here for an hour, and Bianca loves her more than she’s ever loved anything else before.

*****

March 18th, 2041

“Did you finish your homework last night?”

“Yes.” Adore, lacking in any semblance of enthusiasm, grunts from the kitchen table; pulling out one of her earbuds and looking at Bianca with a mix of indignation and fury.

“Then how come I’m getting emails from the school - again - about you not turning it in?” Bianca places the last clean plate on the dishrack and turns around, leaning against the counter and drying her wet hands on the ass of her jeans. That fails to elicit any form of response from her asshole teenager, and she tries again. “Come the fuck on, Dorey- it’s like you don’t even want to graduate.”

“Maybe I don’t?” She tilts her head, shit-eating grin on her face. That was a deliberate attempt at pissing her off - Bianca has gotten pretty good in recent years at telling those apart from Adore pissing her off without meaning to, and she tries not to let it. Even if her blood is already quietly simmering.

“Oh, you absolutely do if you wanna keep living in this house-”

“Leave her alone, Bea.” Ben laughs, sitting opposite from Adore, as he looks up from the article he’s reading on his tablet.

He only got home from work about an hour ago - most of Bianca’s days off fall on weekdays, so she’s been at home all day, doing pretty much nothing of note until Adore got home from school. They’d had a minor screaming match about the state of Adore’s room - Bianca had threatened to withhold phone privileges and her car keys until Adore relented, threw out the fifteen water bottles she’d been accumulating on her nightstand, and hid the rest of her mess in the closet. Fuck it, good enough.

They only seemed to either argue or ignore each other when Ben wasn’t home which was…just fucking great. It made Bianca feel totally awesome about herself. But Ben is back, order has been restored, and Bianca is cleaning up after dinner like nothing had happened.

“Whose side are you on?” Bianca replies, faux-shocked. “Fucking traitor.”

“Clearly mine, because I’m his favorite,” Adore smirks. You don’t know the fucking half of it, Dorey.

Bianca isn’t saying anything, but the way that Adore is looking at her tells her that she probably still looks mad. This recurring point of tension is getting several million miles up Bianca’s ass.

Adore’s latest thing, with her last months of high school on horizon, has been threatening not to go to college. She’d gotten her applications in by some fucking miracle, and by even further fucking miracle had been accepted for a songwriting major at some prestigious music school that Bianca couldn’t remember the name of - and was now adamant that she wasn’t going, in favour of driving around the country with the ‘band’ that her and her dumbass friends had formed last summer, playing gigs in basements and doing god-knows what else.

Bianca feels like she knows on some level that this is all talk; of course Adore is gonna graduate and go, she’s not stupid. But she’s been in the midst of a prolonged rebellious phase since she was about thirteen. Every time they fight about it, Bianca wants to shake Adore and tell her you’re gonna fucking do this because I couldn’t, stop being fucking ungrateful - but her failed aspirations aren’t Adore’s fault.

It just annoys her. Adore, in every possible way, has had an easier life than Bianca ever did and she struggles not to hate her for it. Her future is available to her on a silver goddamn platter, she’s looking for reasons to not take it, and for fucking what? Being cool?

Ben, against what had seemed like all odds when they were in their twenties, had really fallen upwards from the joint error that had changed the trajectory of both of their lives. That first ‘pay the bills’ office job doing whatever-the-fuck had unlocked Ben’s secret talent for playing corporate ball, and a little less than eighteen years later he was the CFO of an LGBT charity, and making what Bianca deemed to be a fucking stupid amount of money. Enough to afford their too-nice house in a too-nice neighborhood in West LA, and Adore’s too-nice performing arts high school.

Bianca had climbed about as far up the ladder as she’d been able to, but given that she was a college dropout with no real experience in anything else, the depressing non-failure of retail store management was about the best she could manage. It wore her down; the feeling of uselessness and guilt as she inhabited this existence that felt a million miles above her means.

“This is insane - have you guys read about this new Cookie Heaven thing they’re trialing?” Ben looks up again, breaking the frosty silence - Bianca disinterestedly flicking through her phone, Adore disinterestedly pretending to finish her homework. “Guys?”

Ben had been bizarrely fixated on this emergent technology for the last year or so - some shit about consciousness transfers and virtual afterlifes that Bianca didn’t understand and didn’t care to. It made her skin crawl, not that she had any idea why. Truly, the rate at which Cookies as a principle had been developed, outlawed, un-outlawed, given rights, made illegal again but only in certain situations - it felt like it dominated the news, and with every possible turn it got weirder. Their trajectory had felt like trying to find a point for something that had been invented pointlessly. Criminal justice, entertainment, smart home tech, medical advances, god knows what else - Bianca just thought they were a bit macabre.

“Nope, don’t want to. It’s creepy.” Bianca shudders, kicking off the process of shutting him up about it before he talks about it too much and gets under her skin. “Is this like that chick who died in that AR art thing at Burning Man and got stuck in the Cloud? Because that freaked me the fuck out.”

“Why? I think it’s really nice. According to this, they’ve been successful with people who’ve been uploaded prior to death, so now they’re looking at trialing it for long-term coma patients, end-of-life care, people with Alzheimer’s - it could be really promising.”

“Absolutely not - when I die, let me rest in fucking peace.” Bianca pulls a face. “Don't throw some gross little computer clone of me into a weird simulation and force me to live forever - it’s weird. I don’t like it."

“Bianca, Cookies aren’t just computers-”

“It’s messed up.”

Adore shuffles uncomfortably in her seat, pushing her earbuds in further. Bianca half-watches her, pursing her lips.

“I think it’s sweet. It says in the article that if this trial thing works, then they’re going to look at options for letting family members visit,” Ben says a little wistfully.

“Ah.” It takes a moment of thought, but Bianca feels like an asshole.

“Look, I just think that if something like that had been around thirty years ago, it would have been…” he stops, not sure how to finish his sentence. Ben’s mom died when he was ten, and that tragedy has been underpinning Adore’s entire adolescence; his constant anxiety over something happening to himself or Bianca, not wanting his daughter to have to suffer through the same lifelong, unshifting grief. “Think about Adore-”

“Yeah - maybe think about me enough to not have this conversation right in fucking front of me?” Adore bolts to her feet, her hands clasped at her sides. Her eyes look moist. Bianca half-opens her mouth, trying to say something, but no words make their way out. “This is freaking me out - stop it!”

She scrubs at her eyes furiously with a balled fist, storming out of the room and letting the door swing shut behind her with a thud.

“Dorey-” Ben calls out weakly after her.

“What the fuck was that?” Bianca walks around the table, slumping down into the seat Adore had just been occupying. She hears Adore’s bedroom door slam from upstairs.

“I dunno - I guess that got a little heavy? I mean, who wants to sit around and listen to their parents talking about what’s gonna happen when they die?” Ben looks uncomfortable, chewing at his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yeah,” Bianca replies distantly, not really listening.

“I do mean it, though.” Ben says, leaning across the table - looking past Bianca’s folded arms and frosty expression. “If I’d had some way to still talk to my mom - even if it wasn’t fully real, even if it was just a simulation - I’d have wanted that. And I don’t think it’s fair that we should stop Adore from having that chance.”

“What, so I have to commit to being alive forever even when I don’t want to, for her benefit? I don’t think she even likes me anymore, Ben - she wouldn’t care.” Bianca sounds more morose than she wants to, but it’s true. She loves Adore, but god knows the kid is going out of her way to make that difficult.

“Believe me, she would.” Ben looks at her a little too seriously. “I’m just saying I think we should look into it.”

“Look into it all you want - I’m not doing it.”

“Seriously, Bea-” Ben is looking at her with puppy eyes and it’s making her feel nauseous. “For Adore?”

There’s loud music blasting upstairs, and Bianca is wondering if it’s Adore picking up an old habit of putting her speakers on when she’s crying, so that nobody can hear her. She wants to go and check on her, but she’s glaringly aware that any interference from her is perceived as a pending attack by Adore right now - how powerless she feels hurts. Bianca looks at the floor, picking at her cuticles.

“Fine.”

*****

August 4th, 2042

“So, I’m sure this isn’t gonna come as a shock to you, but your dad and I got a divorce.”

Adore’s eyes practically pop out of her head as she spits her coffee out. More of it gets on Bianca’s face than she would have liked.

“What?”

“I don’t think I left much room for interpretation there, Dorey,” Bianca grimaces, wiping secondhand iced latte off of her cheek with a napkin.

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Why the fuck did you get a divorce?” Adore looks sullen. Almost angry, actually.

Regardless of how different they’d seemed to become as she’d grown up, every so often Bianca was hit with a very, very strong reminder that Adore was her mother’s daughter. Calm and rational, per fucking usual.

She’d debated back and forth with Ben about who should tell her. They’d been dancing around the subject since June, when Adore had first come home for summer; practically rehearsing the conversation. Eventually they’d settled on Bianca - Ben had admitted himself that Bianca’s at times abrasive directness was the way forward. Adore didn’t hold well with people pussyfooting around her, and Ben was always a little too delicate with her feelings. He’d been the ideal Good Cop to Bianca’s bad one when Adore was little - but she was nineteen now, had moved out almost a year ago, and was as close to a real adult as she was realistically ever gonna be. She needed someone to be straight with her. And, well, out of the two of them, Bianca was probably the closest thing to straight. Even after nearly twenty years of marriage.

The split itself had been more than amicable, since years of planning had gone into it. The only slight point of contention had been, in the process of unpicking and rewriting both of their advanced directives, Ben had been pretty insistent on her keeping the part about San June-whatever-the-fuck - that weird Cookie Heaven thing which she’d hoped would just be a passing fad when Ben brought it up last spring, but had only gained more traction and more apparent success.

She’d tried to reason with him about Adore being a grown-up now, and how she’d made it through the last year without shuffling off this mortal coil, and so their respective deaths were probably a far-future issue that they shouldn’t be so worried about right now, but it hadn’t flown. Bianca had spent long enough in lawyers’ offices debating bullshit to have any useful argument left in her. She’d thought the divorce process would be less of a nightmare since it was agreed upon by both parties prior to the fucking wedding, but apparently she’d thought wrong.

“Because we…” Bianca sighs, facepalming. Adore has tears in her eyes. Shit, she really hadn’t been expecting this. “Because he’s gay, Adore.”

Adore’s eyes pop again. Bianca clamps a hand over her mouth before she gets a chance to cover her in overpriced coffee again.

“Daddy’s gay?” Adore blurts out as soon as she manages to swallow.

“Duh?” That just tumbles out of Bianca’s mouth without any real thought. “Are you really telling me that you never suspected anything?”

“No? I thought he was just like…I dunno, really into theater. Did you just find out? Holy shit, are you okay?” Adore reaches for Bianca’s hand a little frantically. Bianca laughs, shaking her head.

“Nope - I’ve always known. Dorey, I…” she sighs again, realizing how ridiculous this sounds. “Listen, when a gay man and a bisexual live together, and they get really, really drunk this one time…”

“Ohmigod, you’re bi?”

How unobservant is this fucking kid?

“Yeah - surprise. Now you know why we were so fucking chill about it when you cut all your hair off and started begging for a pair of Doc Martens when you were twelve,” Bianca says, chuckling.

A confused look washes over Adore’s face. “But I…you always seemed so in love.”

“We decided we were gonna get married and pretend to be normal so that we didn’t fuck you up,” Bianca shrugs. “Which clearly worked super well.”

Adore cracks a smile. It feels good to see her smile.

Since Adore moved out for college - miracle of fucking miracles - the rift between them that her teenage years had created seemed to fill itself in. Bianca felt closer to her; felt the warmth of her love without hesitation or denial for the first time in years. She was like a different person. Happy - blossoming into herself. She’d started posting her music on social media, and was getting enough buzz to land gigs here and there. And she hadn’t just stopped pushing Bianca away, but had started actively reaching out for her. She called her at least once every couple of days because she missed her; messaged her constantly. Just frivolous little updates about her days, or pictures of dogs that she’d seen - silly little shit. But it felt good.

She’d worried that it wouldn’t last. But Adore had come home for summer, and as it trailed to an end, there’d been no second coming of their years-long bitch-feud. Everything had been fucking glorious.

“Boo, you’re mean,” Adore says playfully.

“For the record, we were good at faking being in love because we both love you,” Bianca says, reaching out to take Adore’s hand. She’s bitten off two of her acrylics again - Bianca is a little suspicious about which two exactly, and briefly debates calling her out for it. Whatever - she’s an adult, she can do what she wants. But Bianca is taking her to get a manicure once they get done oversharing in the middle of this cafe, because it looks like shit. “That’s not gonna change. But you’re probably gonna end up with stepparents.”

Adore looks down. She’s always done this cute little smirky thing when she’s embarrassed - eyes fixed to the floor, quietly smiling to herself. Bianca loves it.

“Are you dating anyone right now?”

Bianca rolls her eyes.

“We’re not dating-dating. But yeah - her name is Katya, I met her online.”

“Is she hot?”

“None of your business - she’s too old for you anyway,” Bianca shoots Adore a warning look. “Your dad was on a date last night, too - some guy called Darius, apparently it went really well. But I’m gonna look into getting his room soundproofed.”

“Ewwww,” Adore clamps her hands over her ears, laughing. “You’re being gross. Stop being gross.”

“Don’t ask questions you’re not prepared to hear the answer to,” Bianca grins. “Are you good now? Or do you feel like spitting coffee all over me again? I really enjoyed it that first time.”

“Honestly? I always wondered why none of my friends’ parents had their own bedrooms,” Adore thinks out loud. Bianca shakes her head, chuckling.

“I love you so much, you fucking moron.”

Pride Challenge Points: 10,312

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isyllus · 8 months

Text

8/19/23 - Preparing

I thought that today might be a good a day as any to start. Sunday I move back to school.

For a year now the thought of having all the ingredients of a delicious moral stew have been in my mind, but for the same length of time I have had no further revelation of how to use them in a dish. I have collected all the necessary pieces to make a beautiful puzzle, but am blind and paralyzed now that I've dumped everything out on the floor.

I am concerned with how to apply Christian honor, virtue, humility, etc., into a life. There was a great transfiguration that came over my soul in the second six months of last year in which my affections and actions began changing, outside of my own awareness. My thoughts, speech, feelings; under the influence of a great Being known as God, more specifically, the Holy Spirit. Since that period my progress has gone on more slowly, as a trickle, of my own accord, since I was pressed close to God during those six months as an effect of living the consequences of an action I had committed two years prior (a deep-set sin, one that rotted my bones and required a most significant re-dedication of my life to a most Beloved and Steadfast Father). I find I am prey to the most common ailment of a Christian - now that I have been delivered through the worst of my trial, the dedication of my life to Him (falsely) seems less important.

Obviously untrue. The dedication of a woman's life to God must take on a different shape than a man's; that is what I am convinced of and interested by. There are many ideas like this one that I want to properly think through. As a result of the rift that threw me back to Christ, many beliefs I'd heard of in passing became significantly more important (if I am to lose that thing most dear to me over a Christian teaching, it had better be worth it), as did church history. Anyone who has grown up without some exposure to the debates that have gone on for centuries knows that trying to grasp and form any kind of belief toward one theological concept or another is like trying to drink out of a fire hydrant. I seriously questioned my Southern Baptist upbringing, and doing in-depth research of Catholicism, Orthodoxy, whatever, was, for me - being thrown into a washing machine.

My intentions are pure. I love God, I love to be a woman, I hope to reach some conclusions.

#god #christ #christianity #jesus christ #lord #femininity

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journaling-a-process · 2 years

Text

Analysis

I worry that I get too obsessive with the concept of adaptive/resilient design solutions for a unpredictable (but imaginable!) future. It is so broad and even something the architecture industry doesn't dive too deeply into. I am so inspired by natural systems and I love drawing parallels between them and the ways we can live. I believe evolution has done a lot of the heavy lifting for us, and now we can use AI to build off it and learn and actually apply those lessons. It is the very rejection of those processes that brought us to the point of global warming and there is nothing stopping it - I am not interested in "sustainability" because we are far past that point, you can pay to offset your carbon footprint all you want, it's not changing anything. I remember when the reports came out about being on the fast track to 2 deg C - I was in a somber sustainability meeting. In that meeting I had a coworker wondering if the costs of wood siding is worth it from a carbon standpoint, instead of the cheaper metal option. My other coworker, the director of sustainability in the AIA and author of one of the best sustainability standards for buildings, laughed and said go with metal - because it's going to last longer and be a more valuable resource for when someone rips it off to reuse it in the future. The conversation should now be about resilience.

I've gathered data from previous projects, studies, and readings on architecture and resilient designs as that's always been an interest for me. I have also combed through other slack groups I'm a part of to track new industry trends and companies in the scene. I've looked into subjects and ideas my groups has brought up from our brainstorming sessions. But I think it's been conceptually difficult for us because there is no clear blueprint - turns out the ideas we've had and understood clearly exist - maybe not in its final form but it's already become saturated. The ideas we are dancing around are hard to imagine since it doesn't exist, or exists is parts and pieces scattered across subjects with no clear connections already made. I find it exciting - to imagine what's not there, but am not the greatest communicator with my conceptual visions.

My team has dumped lots of ideas and subjects pertaining to our project together and individually. We've started to compile the research - even if its adjacent and not directly connected. Off to the sides of our documents or within our notes I've highlighted attributes and patterns so we can clearly track. Overall, we know generative design is about to explode the AEC field - while some architects express fear over getting runover by AI, they seem to miss the point that generative design still requires input and that it can be used as a tool. It's mostly used for developers and building owners to max profits. We are also see numerous trends for homebuilders and buyers for custom floor plans, as well as offer the 3D files for potential AR use in marketing. We even found a company using AR how we imagined, but for construction workers and engineers - to see on site how everything should go together. But again, there is a hole in the market to target individuals, to give them how things go together, and overall a lack of using generative design to create more resilience buildings using biomimicry.

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let-me-love-you-loki · 2 years

Text

Focus Too Late

A/N: This Tale was conceived by @rollynchwhore, who not only had an AMAZING idea but a kickass name.

Driving anywhere with all of us in one car was like driving a school bus. With five kids, Matt, Nick, and then me, it was almost too much for us to go anywhere together. When we traveled all together, we often took both minivans to make sure that we had enough space. If we were going to a wrestling show, Matt and Nick and Mattie almost always had their gear with them and those bags took more space than most people thought. If it was a vacation, we needed the extra car just for the luggage.

A normal grocery trip only took one car, mostly because I went shopping every day or two just to make sure that we had everything we needed. But sometimes there wasn’t any way to avoid a trip for a massive amount of stuff. Which required all hands on deck.

Which was an adventure on the best of days.

And it was most definitely not one of those.

“Ty! Stop running!” I shouted at what felt like the top of my lungs, sure that every person in the entire store had turned to stare. At ten, my youngest was full of energy and vitality that made me think of Nick. Neither of them seemed to know when to slow down.

Ty yelped and hollered so loudly that it seemed to echo from the high ceilings. He walked backward, bumping into a shelf and knocking a stack of boxes to the floor. “Tyson Jackson, pay attention!”

“Sorry, Momma,” he said quietly, leaning down to pick them up and put them away.

I looked over to Nick, who was walking a few feet ahead at the end of the buggy. He had his head down, looking at his phone and texting. “A little help, Nick?”

My husband glanced up. “Ty, listen to your mother.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mumbled in frustration.

“Let’s go,” Ty squealed as he practically yanked at RJ. As he’d gotten older, RJ had gotten more comfortable with being touched. With loud noises and crowds. At almost thirteen, he’d figured himself out in a lot of ways. RJ rolled his eyes at his little brother and followed behind at a clip as they went off to the toy department.

“Boys!” I called in exasperation. But they were already too far and it was too loud for them to hear me. A headache started behind my eyes. It would have been more efficient—even if not as easy—for me to just come by myself.

“How many of the detergents do you want, Mom?” Mattie said from my right. She had a picture of the shopping list on her phone and was going over it. “And what’s the name of the kind we get?”

I smiled in relief. “Gain Tropical. And get two of the biggest ones. That’ll barely last us a month, but I’ll get some more when I do the regular grocery shopping.”

My eldest smiled, her blue eyes so much like her Dad’s. She still walked with a brace on her knee after getting injured before she ever got to debut on TV. At the beginning, she’d been more than a little bitter and angry about the entire thing. And there had been a little bit there when she had taken it out on all of us… but mostly Matt. It had been ugly for a while. But they were closer than they’d been since she was little.

“I’ll get four,” she said. “And twelve boxes of the fabric softener sheets.”

I reached out and brushed some hair behind her ear. It had darkened over the years, reminding me more of Matt’s than Nick’s. “Thanks, Tea.”

Scratching the detergent off the list, I looked up. “Matt, can you…” My other husband was nowhere to be found. I let my chin fall against my chest and sighed. “Nikki, where’s Papa?”

Nicole dumped an armful of boxes of cereal and oatmeal into the buggy. “He and Dad are over at the pool stuff.” She reached for the list in my hand and scratched off everything she’d brought back. “What’s next?”

I rubbed my hands over my eyes until they ached. “Mattie went to get the laundry stuff. The boys have gone off to the toys. Now your Dad and Papa have disappeared. And where the hell is Lee?”

“I haven’t seen him since we walked in,” she replied before heading down the aisle toward the freezers.

“How do I ever get anything done?” I groaned as I pushed the buggy along.

One after another, I pulled things off the shelves and checking them off the list. It didn’t take long before the buggy filled up. Mattie and Nicole met me around corners, dropping off the things I sent them for and a few other things I’d forgotten about. And maybe a few things that we didn’t really need.

Mattie put in the last few things before handing me a devil’s chocolate cupcake with buttercream icing. She grinned and put her head against my shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it, Mom,” she said with a sigh. “The whole lot of them are useless.”

I turned and pressed a kiss against Mattie’s hair. “They’re not so bad.”

A loud noise at the end of the aisle drew my attention. Nick and Matt came around the corner, both carrying at least three boxes in each arm. Inflatable ice cream bars, a Simpson’s style donut, a unicorn, and more that I just wasn’t going to try to see. Matt also had a tag clutched in his fist. It was one of the ones that went to furniture they had to get from the back.

“Okay,” I said, turning back to Mattie with a frustrated frown. “They’re useless.”

Mattie, Nicole, and I laughed as my husbands stopped short at the end of the buggy. It was almost comical the way that Matt and Nick looked at the groceries like they’d appeared out of nowhere.

“That was fast,” Matt exclaimed. I could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out where they were going to put the twelve new pool floats they’d decided to grab on impulse.

“It would have been faster if you two had been helping,” Nicole sassed back as she tugged her hair up into a ponytail. “And Lee and RJ and Ty. As soon as we got here you all bailed on Mom and us. We had to do it all.”

Matt looked around as if he had only just realized that his sons were nowhere to be seen. “Where’d they go?”

“To do the same thing you two did,” I replied. “To look at toys. Thank God they don’t sell Nikes here or else you’d still be gone.”

“Well, they do,” Nick piped in with excitement, “but they’re retail so—oof.”

Matt knocked into his brother with an armful of boxes. I rolled my eyes and pointed to the two of them. “So you two have exactly five minutes to put all of that back. And the rest of it too. Then you’re going to go to the toy department, get Ty and RJ, and all four of you are going to meet us up front without a single extra thing.”

Without giving them an opportunity to complain, I maneuvered the buggy around them. Mattie and Nicole followed alongside. We’d gone a few feet before Mattie turned around. “And find Lee!”

***

The moment we pulled in at home, Mattie, Nicole, and I hopped out of the van. We’d picked up hot dogs and pretzels on the way out of the Costco to go with our cupcakes. Of course, we hadn’t picked up anything for the boys.

“Hey,” Nick called as the girls and I headed into his house. “There’s a lot in here.”

I looked over my shoulder, grinning. “We know.”

___

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it

@not-that-kinda-gurl08

@lilred91

@imagineall-the-fandoms

@maelleoute

@librathepheonix13

@unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin

@nick-kenny-eddie

@ryantaylorgirl

@mrsmatt

#focus too late #too late tales #the too late tales #aew #aew fanfiction #matt jackson #matt jackson fanfiction #nick jackson #nick jackson fanfiction #young bucks #young bucks fanfiction #matt x reader #nick x reader #matt x reader x nick #mattie jackson #nicole jackson #lee jackson #rj jackson #ty jackson

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

neither calm nor quiet

BTHB: Trapped In A Net

warnings: miscommunication, past familial and domestic abuse mentions, injury, violence, terrible decision making skills

When Virgil finally decided to brave shallower waters, it had already been nearly half a moon cycle since Logan had vanished.

He’d made excuses at first, telling himself that the dread he felt was just his normal brand of overwrought paranoia. For the first few days, he was half-convinced that his curiosity-prone friend would appear at any moment, probably lugging some sort of stray litter or ‘interesting human artifact’ along with him to explain why he’d been late.

Things would be normal again. Virgil would find some rocks for them to sun on and Logan would ramble on about the potential uses of his find, and maybe Virgil would teasingly suggest some outlandish way the trash was secretly a violent human weapon, just to hear Logan thoroughly refute it.

After another three days passed with no sign of the other selkie, Virgil was forced to let that fantasy fade. Logan had never been this late before, not even that time he’d managed to carry an entire minifridge along with him for Virgil to identify.

Something had to have happened to him.

He’d spent the next week scouring the currents for any sign of his missing friend, even approaching other pods and asking around, requesting that they keep an eye out for any signs of Logan. He didn’t expect much from that; the two of them didn’t socialize with other selkies often enough to make any friends, and their two-person pod was too small to spare any food during winter, so there was nothing for the other pods to gain by helping them.

Virgil knew better than most how selfish pod politics could be.

Every few days, he would return to their meeting spot and catch a few hours of sleep to keep himself from crashing, always naively hoping that Logan would be there when he woke. He never was.

In the end, he had to face what he’d already known from the beginning: either Logan was dead, or he’d gone onland and gotten himself bound by a human.

He didn’t want to believe Logan had decided to brave the human world even after Virgil’s many, many warnings against it, but believing the alternative was even worse. So, he steeled himself to do the one thing he’d sworn to never do again, and headed for the cold, rocky shores of the nearest human settlement.

Naturally, he spent so long swimming back and forth between different stretches of beach, trying to force himself to take those literal first steps, that he didn’t notice the woven fibers dancing in the water until he’d plowed right into them.

A fishing net, dyed skillfully to blend in with the water, and large enough that when he tried to twist out of it, he only became further entangled.

Panic set in, then, clouding his mind and leaving him thrashing ineffectively like a simple animal. He couldn’t help it-- he couldn’t breathe underwater in either form, had no gills to keep him steady as he was dragged along by the current. He couldn’t untangle himself while adrift, couldn’t find solid ground while tangled. He would drown.

Between one blink and the next, he found himself in open air, gritty sand pressed against his face. Waves crested gently around him, a sharp contrast to the headache pounding around in his skull.

He never thought he’d be relieved about blacking out and beaching himself, but then, he’d never been worried about drowning in his own element before.

Okay. There weren’t any humans around to see the stupid idiot seal stuck on the beach. This was still salvageable.

Taking a deep breath, he attempted to bite through the netting with his incisors, and got a mouthful of sore gums for his trouble. The dyed fibers seemed to be woven around a base net of fishing wire, because of course they were. He let his head thunk back to the sandy ground, groaning at the new surge of pain the motion caused.

Sun-warmed saltwater continued to wash over his tail, and he blinked slowly, measuring his breaths. He could figure this out. He wouldn’t dry out. He just needed a moment to put himself back together. He could… He…

His eyelids grew heavy, and everything went dark.

Roman thought the guy was a pile of garbage at first, to be quite honest.

Not on purpose, of course! But, come on, when one sees a mound of mystery washed up on shore, it generally ends up being a bunch of tangled old fishing nets wrapped around half-rotted driftwood, not a bunch of tangled old fishing nets wrapped around beautiful strangers wearing expensive-looking fur coats!

His next thought, once he’d gotten closer, was that the beautiful stranger wearing the expensive-looking fur coat was dead, and that a body had washed up on his little strip of shoreline. Pallid skin, blue lips, and deep shadows under their eyes-- the beautiful stranger wasn’t exactly giving off an aura of vim and vigor.

He’d spent a few moments staring at his contact list, trying to figure out what in the world he was supposed to do about a body. Should he call 911? … Should he call Remus?

Before he could make a decision either way, he finally picked up on the shallow rise and fall of the beautiful stranger’s chest, and realized that they were still alive! Potentially not for much longer, laying out in the cold all soggy like that, but Roman could work with mostly alive!

And so, he found himself here, carefully carrying the small but surprisingly dense stranger up to his home by the cliffs, and risking looking like a total serial killer doing it.

He couldn’t help but theorize as he walked. A beautiful stranger in expensive clothing, tangled in nets with what appeared to be a head wound… It read like an old unsolved case in a detective novel, where the mysterious stranger in question got in too deep with some dangerous people and ended up clubbed over the head and dumped into a river to tie up loose ends.

“Except you managed to survive, obviously,” Roman said to them, mostly to reassure himself. He really had to stop eavesdropping on Remus’s true crime podcasts. “And you made your way to me! Excellent choice, I’m great at nursing people back to health. Probably. I don’t have much practical experience, but, you know, I’ve read extensively about this exact thing. In romance novels. As one does.”

The beautiful and mysterious stranger continued to be unconscious. Roman was starting to feel grateful for it.

His house was empty, thankfully, since his brother had work to attend to today. He fumbled with the keys for a moment before pushing the door open and carrying the stranger inside, sighing with relief at the warm air.

“That’s got to feel much better, hm?”

He sat the stranger down in the foyer, removing his shoes to go grab some scissors from the kitchen.

“First order of business,” he announced in his best announcer voice, “getting all that netting off of you. While I’m sure you could rock fishnet leggings, fish nets on their own just don’t have the same je ne sais quoi, you know? Also, they look very uncomfortable. You’re great at staying still, so just keep that up.”

He carefully cut his way through the looser parts of netting, pulling it off piece by piece until all that was left were the abrasions where they’d formerly cut into skin. Roman had no idea how they’d even managed to get that tangled up, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It couldn’t have been pretty.

In the process of removing the net, however, he’d noticed another rather pressing matter.

Going by the flash of thigh he’d accidentally witnessed while shifting the net around, the stranger definitely wasn't wearing anything under that fur coat of theirs. Like, nothing.

(Exactly what kind of situation had the stranger been in before this?!)

Even so, leaving them in a sodden coat couldn’t be good for their constitution. Or his poor couch’s upholstery.

Roman spent a few moments puzzling the situation out before coming up with a brilliant solution. He retrieved the fluffy gold comforter from his bed and draped it over the stranger, covering their front half with it. Then, he carefully worked their arms out of the coat’s sleeves, very pointedly not focusing on the adorable freckled shoulders this operation revealed. Finally, he tugged the entire coat out from behind them, wincing at the slight furrow that appeared in their brow.

“Sorry, sorry, I know the cold floor can’t be comfortable…”

Soggy coat removed, he was free to continue bundling the rest of the comforter around the stranger’s back, therefore making it easy for him to pick them up in a neat little bundle of blanket and deposit them on the couch. No nudity awkwardness required!

Pleased with his solution, he draped a fluffy towel over the stranger’s head and carefully dried some of the dampness from their hair. Next, he wasted no time in stoking the fire higher in his hearth, sending waves of warmth into the room and making it so the stranger’s skin didn’t look quite so clammy.

Once he’d cleaned up the mess left in the foyer and grabbed the first aid kit from under his sink, he planted himself in a chair next to the couch, feeling ready to handle anything.

“Okay, Google. How do I treat a head wound?”

Virgil felt as though he’d woken to a nightmare.

He was in the wrong body, surrounded on all sides by heavy fabric and warm air, and his coat was missing. That list of facts alone was just about as bad as any night terror he’d had.

The humming was unusual, though.

A soft tune, occasionally broken up by a half-muttered lyric or two, carried through the air, voice completely at ease. His mother had never sung to him in front of others, and it sure as hell wasn’t his father.

He tried to remember where he’d been last. The back of his head stung… he’d ended up on a beach? The tide had been turning, from high to low… He must have dried out up there, changed into his less durable form. And now he was warm and dry.

He clenched his fists weakly and grit his teeth, knowing that a human had found him and stolen him away. Just like his mother. He’d come to find Logan and lost himself before ever even starting. Typical.

“Are you with us, Sleeping Beauty?” a bright voice asked.

The humming had broken off while he was absorbed in his thoughts, and now he could hear the shift and rustle of movement next to him. He opened his eyes, already aiming the coldest possible glare at his captor.

He was sort of surprised to find that the human sitting at his side wasn’t holding his coat. His father used to make a point of handling his mother’s coat at any opportunity. He’d liked to watch his mother stare at it, resting assured that so long as he held it in his possession, she could do him no harm.

This human was much younger than his father had been, probably around as old as Virgil was now. He had dark skin and soft eyes that reflected the firelight, and he was smiling hopefully at Virgil.

“Hello there! It’s excellent to see you looking a little more lively! I was starting to think about actually calling the hospital, heh.”

Wordlessly, Virgil slowly shifted to sit up, shoving the thick blanket out and shaking the cloth from his head. He looked down, confirming what he already knew. No coat. The human hadn’t even bothered to dress him up in human trappings to ‘make up’ for the absence.

“Ah, yeah... I sort of basically pulled you out of the ocean and what little you were wearing was completely soaked.” The human rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I figured it’d be less of an invasion of privacy to just let you get dressed yourself once you woke up?”

Oh, the human was worried about his privacy? What a joke.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, truly!” the human continued, oblivious to Virgil’s rising ire. He gave a mocking little bow, pretending to respect the one he’d abducted. “My sincerest apologies.”

He was done playing along with mind games like these. Better to let the human know where they stood right off the bat.

“I’m going to kill you,” Virgil promised, and then lunged for the human’s jugular.

To his genuine surprise, he actually made contact, hands clamping onto the junction between collar and throat. The human let out a high-pitched yelp as his chair toppled over, taking both of them with it.

Virgil landed knee-first on the human’s sternum, and paused to blink down at the wheezing stranger, who apparently had been so confident in the weakness of his victim that he hadn’t bothered to bind Virgil from harming him in advance.

Unless.

His grip loosened slightly, just in time for the human’s fist to catch him squarely in the mouth. He threw himself backwards, rolling with the force of the motion to get some distance and hunkering in a crouch. It had been too long since he’d been active in this form, his sense of balance was in shambles.

The human scrambled to his feet, and grabbed the back of the chair, eyes wild. He thrust it out between them like a barrier, as though it could prevent any more strangulation attempts.

“What is wrong with you?!” he shrieked, voice cracking as his gaze flickered back and forth between Virgil and some far off point. “I tenderly nursed you back to health, and your response is to try and murder me? Unfair! Cruel! Rude!”

“Where is my coat?” Virgil replied, voice hoarse and split lip stinging. A test, because humans were tricky and loved to lie.

“Your— your coat?” The human pulled up short, head tilting slightly in a bewildered manner. A convincing actor, if nothing else. “Is that what all this is about? I put it on the coat hanger to dry! I know better than to try and wash someone’s fancy fur coat without permission, yeesh.”

A low warning growl in the back of his throat, Virgil turned his gaze from the current threat and followed the gesture the human had made.

Sure enough, there it was. His freedom, draped on a peg in the open with all the rest of the human’s fabric outer layers like some common garment.

“Do you… want me to get it— eep!” The human lifted the chair back up in paltry defense as Virgil snarled at him. He rose up and crossed the distance to his pelt in five wobbly strides, before the human could try and return it to him and lock them both into a loveless marriage.

Some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he quickly wrapped his second skin around him, that grounding weight settling back where it belonged. He still couldn’t shift back, not here, but the ocean was close enough to taste in the air.

The human was still huddled defensively by the fireplace, looking indignantly bewildered and not at all like he knew he’d just given up the perfect opportunity to control Virgil.

Which meant that-- barring some incredibly convoluted scheme-- he really had no idea. And Virgil had tried to strangle him, even if under false pretenses. He drew the edges of his pelt closer around him, rolling the beginnings of an apology around in his mind.

The mysterious stranger was still glaring at Roman like they were contemplating continuing to try and strangle him to death at any moment.

He’d brought a half-drowned stranger into his home and tenderly treated their injuries, and what had he received in return for his efforts? A murder attempt, which now that he thought about it was maybe an outcome he should have considered earlier. Remus would never let him live this down.

Assuming he lived long enough for his brother to give him shit about it, that was.

The stranger seemed to at least be a little calmer now that their reclaimed coat was thoroughly wrapped around them, rendering them more lump-shaped than person. Roman felt much more secure in glaring back, too.

He set his impromptu shield/chair down firmly on the floor. “I have no idea what your problem is, Gloomy B. Jones, but where I’m from, the response to someone saving you from dying of hypothermia is ‘thank you’, not a strangulation attempt!”

The murderglare intensified. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Yes,” Roman said, disbelieving, “because you were too busy being unconscious. On the beach. In 40-below temperatures!”

“That’s my problem, not yours,” the stranger responded snappishly.

Roman threw his hands in the air, but his impending frustrated rant was impeded by the sight of a stifled flinch running through the stranger. Feeling a stab of guilt, he lowered his arms slowly before continuing.

“It seems I made it my problem when I dragged your soggy self all the way to my house, so--”

“Great news for you, then: I’m leaving.” Baring their teeth in a distinctly unfriendly manner, the stranger turned to do just that.

“Hold it!” Roman called, alarmed. “You’re going into town like that?! People will think you’re a flasher!” Even his brother wouldn’t go out dressed in nothing but an oversized coat. ... Probably.

The stranger paused, squinting at him warily. Roman took it as a cue to continue.

“Look, clearly we got off on the wrong foot here. Several wrong feet. Let’s try again. I’m Roman Faroe, I work for the local newspaper, and you are…?”

“None of your business,” replied the stranger, with all the stubborn petulance of a toddler digging their heels in and refusing to move whilst smack dab in the middle of an overcrowded supermarket.

“Would you like me to call you ‘Almost-Corpse-I-Dragged-Off-The-Beach?’ Perhaps make up a thematic nickname or two for you? Because let me tell you, this is exactly how you get called--,”

“Hold on,” the stranger cut him off, a realization seeming to dawn on him, “did you say you worked for the news?”

“Yes, I mean, the newspaper not the news. Although I’m sure I’d make an excellent anchor,” Roman gestured to all of himself for effect, “my true passion lies in my carefully curated romantic advice column!”

“So, you get all the information in town,” continued the stranger, who had a strange glint in their eye.

“I mean, if you want to be a nerd about it.”

“How about this.” The stranger stepped forward, straightening out of their defensive slouch for the explicit purpose of being just tall enough to loom over Roman. “You want to know my name? I’ll tell you, if you help me track down something important that I lost.”

An investigative quest for a mysterious MacGuffin? Roman swallowed, feeling his heart flutter wildly with what felt less like intimidation and more like excitement. He could totally keep his cool, he just had to open his mouth and say something suave.

“I also want to know your origin story,” he opened his mouth and babbled instead.

The stranger narrowed their eyes for a moment, and Roman belatedly remembered the near-strangulation. Perhaps he shouldn't be agitating a femme fatale type, what with all the emphasis on the fatale.

To his surprise, it only took a moment before they capitulated, sticking a hand out. “Fine. After my thing gets done.”

Roman shook gladly, trying not to shiver at the cool touch. Had they checked to make sure the stranger wasn’t hypothermic yet? “It’s a deal, then.”

“Great.” They twisted on their heel, stalking to the door. “Let’s get this over with, already.”

“Hold on there, Surly Temple.” Roman called, hand on his hip. “I hate to break it to you, but if you go into town mostly naked, the only news we’ll be hearing about will be your immediate arrest.”

The stranger glanced down at his attire, and then released the door handle with a low sigh. “... Pants first?”

“Pants first.”

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts roman #selkie AU #bthb #bad things happen bingo #writing #my writing #neither calm nor quiet #ncnq #oneshot #... theoretically #disclaimer: do not do anything roman does here #he is a lucky fool #logan is fine btw #theoretically.#i feel like im forgetting tags. well whatever #selkies

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writingthingsisdifficult · 3 years

Text

Double booking

Word count: 3934

You just want a night in peace at the hotel, after travelling for hours, but alas, it's not to be. Inspired by a dream I had a while ago, though that was not as coherent or logical by any means.

Obligatory English is not my first language.

Please let me know what you think.

_______________________________________________________________________

The bed is soft as a cloud and you crawl under the blanket with a satisfied sight. The chill of the luxury fabric feels divine against your weary body, and you pull our tee off to get the full experience. Goosebumps erupt over your back, and you wiggle down into the mattress. Letting out another sigh that morphs into a yawn, you close your eyes. After hours on the road, a good night's sleep will do wonders.

You turn for a bit, trying to find the ultimate sleeping position, settling for a half side, half stomach that provide that sweet, sweet relief for your achy back. With your free hand, you pull a corner of the blanket between your thighs, longing for the extra soft pillow you have at home, but that you just couldn't be bothered to bring with you. At least this way you won't chafe.

The linen caresses your bare skin, the cool of the newly made bed pulling you closer to dreamland, and then you're drifting off into the vast nothingness.

What feels like only seconds later, you wake with a start, from the lights turning on. Fumbling for your glasses and feeling your heart in your throat, your brain scrambles to make sense of what's happening. Is the fire alarm ringing? No.

Once the glasses are comfortably on, you glance around, only to notice a man standing in front of the wardrobe, mouth half open and a bag slipping from his shoulder. He's tall and menacing looking, and he's wearing gloves and a leather jacket, and you let out a strangled scream as you tumble off the bed, knocking the book from the nightstand and trying to wrap the thin blanket around yourself with trembling hands.

The fabric feels way too flimsy now, letting the draft from the open door wash over your body. There are goosebumps again, but this time they're not pleasant at all, and they wave back and forth over your scalp, making your ears buzz. You're painfully aware that the blanket is the only thing between your skin and the open air, and you pull it even closer as you back into the window wall and pull your knees up in front of you.

Your heart pounds like a bass drum, and you're pretty sure the stranger can hear it across the room. He still hasn't moved, and without conscious thought, you scan the room for an exit. But this is the fifth floor, and there's only one door that doesn't require you to go past him, and that leads to the neighbouring room. Not that it is, in any way, shape, or form, possible to get that far in your current condition.

Your breathing speeds up, and you crouch, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The coarse curtain prickles against your shoulders.

The stranger looks between you and the white key card on his hand, his mouth trying to speak, but managing no sound. Finally, after what feels like years, he looks away and stammers. "Sorry. Sorry. I must have gone to the wrong door." His neck has turned a deep shade of crimson, and he hunches his shoulders a bit, like he's trying to make himself smaller too. "I… uh, sorry." He picks up his bag and disappears through the door, closing it firmly behind him.

On the floor, you're barely aware that he spoke; the shock has practically paralysed you. It's not until the door smacks shut you manage to move again. Slowly, fighting the galloping heart and breathing, you get up and sit down on the edge of the bed. It's no longer tempting to crawl under the covers, and you don't have the courage to cross the room to put the security chain in place just yet. The encounter has spooked you so much, adrenaline is coursing through your body.

"I need a drink!" you mutter, voice croaking and airy at the same time, and pull on the discarded shirt. There's no chance of sleep for a while. That much is clear! "Idiot!" You berate yourself, mentally slapping the back of your own head for forgetting to fasten the chain, but you had been so busy worrying about the twin door that it completely slipped your mind.

The selection in the mini fridge is limited, but at least there's a couple of bottles of cola, and a small vodka. After mixing them, you down half the glass in one go, and the burn of the alcohol on your tongue makes your face scrunch, but you immediately relax a bit, and your thoughts clear somewhat. What the hell just happened? This is supposed to be a good hotel. Not very fancy, but better than the bug infested dumps you usually have to stay in.

You make a mental note to talk to the management. Tomorrow. Right now you're to riled up. Nothing good will come of it. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and focus on the buzzing in your ears. Slowly it fades until your hearing is back to normal, but there is no getting rid of the uncomfortable sting in your shoulders, or the occasional THUMP-THUMP in your chest.

As you finish your drink – you've almost decided on a second one to keep you company while you read for a bit – there's a sharp knock at the door. That makes you jump and spill the remains of your glass down your front. That doesn't register, though, because the door opens again, without waiting for a reply. You groan at yourself for once again not fastening the safety chain.

A stern looking woman enter, followed by the stranger, who, you notice, looks almost ashamed. "You're in this gentleman's room." It's a statement, but she might as well have yelled why are you here, you creep?

"Um, what?" You desperately try to jump-start your brain; this is definitely enough excitement for one night. After all, it is past midnight, and by all means you should be sleeping now.

"This is not your room," the woman says, in a voice that shows clearly what she thinks of you.

A frown appears on the man's face, and you squint between them. "What, yes it is." Your voice is breathy, and with a sigh through your nose, you grab the folder on the desk and pull out the papers from the check-in. "See, here? This is my name, that's the room number –" Suddenly your stomach plummets. What if you are in the wrong room? But the key card worked… A glance at the still open door – no, right room. You let out a small breath.

The woman grabs the papers and studies them, while holding out her hand to the man, wiggling her fingers when he doesn't respond. He fumbles with his bag and produces a set of identical papers. She compares the two, the furrow between her eyes deepening every second.

Finally she looks up. "My apologies. It appears there's been a misunderstanding," she says, her voice a lot softer than earlier, tired. She turns to the man behind her. "The room has been double booked or something."

That much is obvious. He nods. "Yes. Will you find me another room, please." He speaks softly too, and the panic that threatened to overcome you earlier subsides a little. He is just another weary traveller – of course he isn't here to hurt you. That thought seems quite silly now, or maybe that's the drink talking.

"Sorry," the lady says flatly. "There are no vacancies." She winces slightly, as if she prepares to be yelled at.

His shoulders slump, and he lets out a small groan, looking at you, then at her. "But…"

You smile apologetically and take another sip of your drink. It is empty, and you grimace from the embarrassment.

"However," the woman says after a pause, visibly relieved that neither of you seems to be the shouting types, "since it's so late, and you probably won't find a room anywhere else tonight, what with the festival and everything, I can probably set up something in the lobby. We have a few partition walls and –"

He scrunches his eyes shut and grimaces, and you feel sorry for him. He is a stranger, and you were in the room first, but it's not his fault that the hotel screwed up. Sleeping in the lobby is not an alternative. Your mother raised you better than that.

"Wait," you interrupt her, and they both turn to look at you. This is probably a bad idea, but the man looks nice enough now that the shock has diminished. His eyes are kind and tired and though he holds himself with authority, he keeps a respectable distance from both you and the other woman.

Gesturing to the unused bed next to yours, you try a smile and sigh when you feel it's just a grimace. "If… if it's okay with you, it is with me. You can have that bed tonight. And then we'll sort it out in the morning."

The woman's face relaxes, and you wonder how many rules she offered to break to keep you happy. The man frowns, as if he doesn't quite understand what you're offering. Maybe he doesn't, maybe he doesn't speak English very well. Then he gives you a flat smile. "You sure?"

Are you? "Yes," you answer, not at all sure, but it's too late to change your mind now.

"Well then, I bid you both a good night, and I'll leave a note for the morning staff, Mr Barnes." The woman leaves the room and shuts the door with a soft click.

"Y/N." You nod, hoping you look relatively normal, though you feel everything but, with your glasses askew on your nose, a tattered t-shirt and no bottoms. Awesome. At least the shirt is long enough to cover your butt.

The man remains by the door, looking forlorn and confused. "Bucky." He looks everywhere but directly at you, and for that you're grateful.

"Please," you say with a small nod, gesturing to the bed and the light switch on the wall beside him. "I'm really tired…"

Carefully you get back into bed and tucks the blanket tight around yourself, feeling a bit dizzy from what just happened. But you are really too tired to care at the moment, and the soft pillows are screaming your name.

Turning over on your side, with your back against the windows, you pointedly yawn and close your eyes to give the stranger some privacy. Seconds later you hear the soft thump of a duffel bag hitting the carpet, and a small click. Then the bathroom door opens and the man shuffles in.

As the door shuts, you dare to open your eyes again. He's switched off the light, but there's a small sliver leaking under the door, and you see shadows move over the floor. There is something soothing about the noises of running water and the clacks of his belongings on the marble countertop, and it suddenly occurs to you how much you miss travelling withsomeone.

Once he's done and the bathroom door opens, you close your eyes again. The bed creaks under his weight, and the sheets rustle as he gets in. Something heavy hits the headboard, but not long after, he settles.

You sneak a peek through half-open eyes. The man is handsome. Sharp, but gentle features, a calm face, but he's lying on his back, stiff as if he's unused to the luxuries of a bed. His arms are on top of the blanket, and in your sleepiness you wonder why he's keeping his gloves on when he's sleeping.

"Good night," you offer gently, before sighing and pulling the blanket over your ears. The warmth and muted sounds give you a sense of safety, though it is minimal.

"Good night," he replies. "And thank you."

You wake up earlier than usual. The red numbers on the alarm clock blinks 06.38. Something feels off in the room, and for a fraction on a second you feel panic rise in your chest, but then you remember the night's events. The panic fades into a vague discomfort, and you grab your glasses. The man, his name is Bucky, hadn't he said so, is still sleeping, his gloved hand under the pillow and one foot dangling over the edge of the bed. It's kinda adorable.

As quietly as you can, you get out of bed and tip-toe to the bathroom, collecting your clothes on the way. You quickly change and put on contacts, leaving the glasses by the sink, not really daring to take a shower with the stranger in the room next to you. Instead, you splash water in your face and drag a brush through your hair, and with a short glance in the mirror, you deem yourself presentable.

Careful to bring your wallet and your key card, you exit the room and walk briskly to the elevator. The trip down to the lobby only take half a minute, but it feels like an eternity, and once you step out of the door, you're met with a buzz of voices from the lobby. Oh, yeah, the festival.

Luckily there's not much of a queue. Most people are on their way out, or to breakfast. The staff are too happy and smiling for it to be this early, and they're chatting and laughing with the guests, pointing their way to the restaurant or showing places of interest on the map on the counter.

"Good morning, what can I do for you?" one of the receptionists chirp.

You wince internally and focus on bringing a neutral expression to your face. It's not easy, as you'd rather be back in bed. "Yes, uh, I don't know if the night employee let you know, but there was a mix-up with my room last night."

The receptionist frowns, then smiles apologetically. "Ah, yes. There's a note here. Room 508, right?"

You nod. "Yeah."

He calls over his colleague, and motions for you to wait a moment. They talk silently together, sometimes gesturing to the screen, and then he starts typing and scrolling. "Looks like," he says, interrupting himself. "Yeah. Oh god. Lisa, will you look at this?"

His colleague looks at the screen over his shoulder. "Oh, jeez. Really? She's so gonna get fired, for sure," she mutters, then look up at you. "Yeah, so there's definitely been a mix-up. It looks like housekeeping accidentally marked Mr. Barnes' room as occupied when they had cleaned it. It shouldn't be possible, but to me it looks like… a glitch in the computer system –" She lets out a guttural groan, most likely thinking about the amount of work she now faces.

The one behind the screen clears his throat and gives you what is probably supposed to be a disarming smile, then continues to type. "So, I've updated the database with Mr. Barnes' new room, and yours of course. Would you accept a refund of the night, and a meal in the restaurant, free of charge, of course?"

You nod again, unable to find the words to express how not okay this whole thing has been. "If you offer the same to Mr. Barnes," you say, not sure where that comes from, though when you think about it, he's probably had just as rough a night as you.

"Of course. Here's his new key. Would you mind bringing it to him?" The receptionist's voice trembles ever so slightly, but he keeps the smile plastered on.

"Yeah. I can do that. Thank you for figuring out what happened." You inhale deeply, and rub the back of your neck. Your shoulders are stiff and the beginning of a headache murmurs along your temples.

Now that everything is resolved, you feel weirdly chunky. You drag your feet, your head feels like it's filled with cotton, but there's a lightness to your chest that you hadn't expected.

Back in the room, Bucky is still sleeping, and you decide to let him sleep as long as he needs, feeling almost protective over the man that sleeps so peacefully in the bed that should have been empty. Anyway, you're up now, there's no need to stay in the room. Just then, your stomach growls. Breakfast, then. And after that… Well, you'll see. You hastily scribble an explanation on a piece of paper, leaving it on his bag along with the new key card, then you hang a do not disturb on the door before you hurry down to the restaurant.

When you get back, stomach full and head light, the room is empty. His bag is gone and the only sign someone's been in there is a bed with rumpled sheets and the slightly unfamiliar, sleepy scent. You sit down on your own bed, surprised that you're not sure how you feel about being alone again. It's probably the shock still lingering in your system, you think, and shake the feeling off before picking up your art supplies and heading out into the city to work.

That afternoon, when you return to your room to change and relax before you start sorting through the day's drawings, there's a vase with hydrangeas on the small desk, along with a handwritten note that says thank you for letting me stay. The ball of blue and purple flowers makes you smile. Bucky obviously is a decent man, and you find yourself wishing you could get to know him, regretting not even peeking at the room number on the key.

It doesn't take long going through the drawings – you've been too distracted, really, to get any good ones done, and the project isn't due for another two weeks, so you don't have the pressure on you to finish it now, so you decide to take the hotel's offer and have dinner in the restaurant. It's a nice place, and you try to tidy up a bit, refreshing your make-up and putting on a clean top that feels nice against your skin.

The waiters all but trip over each other trying to please you, and you figure there's a nice note going with your name. You've always felt a bit uncomfortable eating by yourself in a fancy restaurant, but this time you're determined to just enjoy it, but you've brought a book just in case. And you're partly hidden behind a palm tree, so no staring from other guests, hopefully.

You're halfway through the meal when you feel your face tingling, as if someone's watching you. Stopping mid-chew, you look up. There's no one there. You swallow and put your fork down before glancing over your shoulder. Bucky is seated three tables behind you, but when you look at him, he looks away. Your heart speeds up a bit – christ! You'd forgotten how pretty he was.

He looks up again, and you smile before returning to your meal. At least you can let him know there's no hard feelings. Maybe, if you see him again, you'll pick up the courage to talk to him too.

The food is delicious, and the dessert is simply sublime. How the chef has managed to make the chocolate mousse so creamy and light is beyond your comprehension. Cooking has never been a strength, though you have a few signature dishes, but you know how to appreciate it. The red wine is perfectly paired, and when you're full and satisfied, you're almost ready to go talk to Bucky. But he's not there when you turn. Your heart drops for a moment, but then you remind yourself that he's a stranger, and probably has his own life. All you can do to quench the disappointment, is a short detour through the bar, where you pick up a nice gin fizz, before you head back to your room and call it a night.

The room feels too empty now. The bed is just as soft as it were before, the covers slide over your skin like water, but something is missing. You can't sleep. The room is too silent. The air is too still. You toss and turn and can't seem to find a comfortable position. In the end you roll over on your side, facing the empty bed. Hugging the pillow, you sigh and pull your knees up to your chest. It's too cold. The blanket isn't thick enough to give enough comfort tonight.

Suddenly there's a soft knock on the door. Your heart beats hard in your chest as you cross the floor to look through the peephole. The hallway is empty.

There's another knock, and you jump, bumping your head against the door. It's coming from the other one. The twin door. Slowly, you remove the safety chain and unlock it, opening it just an inch or so.

"Sorry," the person on the other side says.

For a moment you forget how to breathe. The person on the other side is Bucky, smiling sheepishy, and looking like a fucking model in his pyjamas.

"Hello," you answer, resisting the urge to smooth down your t-shirt.

"I just, I just wanted to apologise," he stutters, scrunching his eyebrow together. "For, for last night. I didn't mean to… I mean, I didn't mean to scare you, and the lady in the reception jumped to conclusions before I could explain, and…"

You blink and exhale slowly. "Not your fault," you mutter, too drunk on his presence to articulate properly.

"I know, but still. I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven."

"Good. Okay." His voice drags a bit, and it looks like he's turning away. You're just about to close the door when he turns back. "Listen… Uh, it's… Can I ask you a favour?"

Not ready for the conversation to be over yet, you nod. "Of course. What do you need?"

He grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck and hems and ums for a while. "This is gonna sound… You can say no, of course, but…"

"What is it?" The buzzing has returned to your ears, and you have to focus to hear what he's saying.

Bucky mutters under his breath, it looks like a screw it. "Last night was the best night's sleep I've had in, well years. I was wondering, maybe, if… if I could sleep in your room again."

You're a bit taken back by that. "What?" Your voice is squeaky.

"Yeah, no, of course, I understand." He smiles and inhales deeply. "Good night, Y/N."

It takes a second for your brain to unscramble. "Wait. Yes, I don't mind. It's nice with some company," you wheeze, holding the door open, though a small voice in the back of your head tells you that this is crazy. Not crazier than last night, you interrupt yourself, and open the door fully.

There's uncertainty in his steps as he enters your room, invited this time, unsure if he's heard correctly, but your smile makes him warm inside and he quickly crawls under the covers.

You leave the door ajar, and with a giddy smile and a racing heart you return to your own bed, climbing in with more grace than you thought you possessed. This is nice. The room is settled, it feels natural. You exhale and turn over on your side, facing Bucky. He's facing you too, and there's a sleepy smile in his eyes. As you place your glasses on the nightstand, he closes his eyes.

"Thank you," he breathes.

"Sleep tight, Bucky," you answer, but he's already drifted off, soft snores filling the room. You feel oddly at peace.

Part 2

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel #bucky barnes #fluff #sleeping #misunderstandings #hotels #oneshot #fan fiction #fanfic

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worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 3 years

Text

Unfaithful | Part Two

Series Summary: After dreaming of your perfect wedding since you were a little girl the big day is almost here. But after meeting the priest you start to question your relationship.

Pairing: Hot Priest x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3243

Warnings: abusive behaviour, mentions of ‘bedroom activity’ 🙈

A/N: Please be warned there will be some themes of toxic/abusive relationship in this series. Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Part One | Masterlist

- - - - -

I knew weddings took a lot of planning, but I never realised they took this much. Every single tiny detail requires a decision and more often than not that decision falls on the bride’s shoulders.

Purple or yellow flowers?

Napkins folded as swans or roses?

Which table can we sit Uncle David at where he won’t start a fight?

I try to get Dan involved in the decision making but his response is always the same.

“It’s up to you babe”

Speaking of Daniel, I still haven’t told him we have to meet with the Priest again today. I tried a few times to bring it up but his mood changes instantly. I’ve still got a slight bruise on my wrist from the aftermath of the first meeting, but I keep it covered. I know he didn’t mean to hurt me.

I pull the sleeve of my jumper down over my wrist as I approach Daniel in the kitchen.

“You look nice, where you going today?” He asks as he makes himself a cup of tea.

“Actually…” I take a breath “we’ve got our second meeting with the Priest today”

“What do you mean? We’ve already met him once why do we need to go again?” He doesn’t look as me as he swirls the teabag around in his mug with a spoon.

“It’s just church policy, he has to meet with us a few times before the wedding”

“Well I’m not going”

“Dan-“

“I SAID NO!” He erupts, swiping his mug off the counter so it smashes and tea spills everywhere. He storms out of the kitchen, leaving me stood in the mess he’s made. I stare at it bewildered for a moment as it sinks in what he’s done and I feel my blood start to boil.

“Daniel!” I shout as I follow after him. I find him in the hallway taking his coat off the hook as he heads for the front door “where are you going?”

“Pub”

“Dan, the priest is expecting us in half an hour! Both of us!”

“Then I guess he’s doing to be disappointed. Or not. You two got along just fine the other day, it was almost as if I wasn’t even there”

“We both tried to include you in the conversation multiple times but you just… weren’t present”

“Well then today won’t be any different will it”

He walks out and slams the door behind him.

I stand alone in the hallway for a few minutes taking deep breaths to calm myself before taking out my phone and sending an email.

‘I’m really sorry father but I’m not feeling well so I need to reschedule today’s meeting. Sorry.’

— — — —

45 minutes later.

I clean when I’m stressed. And right now I’m the most stressed I’ve been in my life so I’ve decided to stress clean the whole house. Everything. Apart from the broken mug and spilled tea. Daniel can clean that shit up when he eventually gets back from his sulk.

I’m in the middle of vacuuming the living room when something catches my attention in the corner of my eye. My heart stops for a moment when I turn and see the Priest waving at me through the window.

I turn off the vacuum and open the front door, placing my hand over my chest.

“You startled me!”

“I guess now were even” he laughs awkwardly “I bought you these”

He pulls out a small bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

“Why?” I ask, not meaning to sound as ungrateful as I do, as he hands them to me.

“You said you were ill, I hoped these would cheer you up”

I don't quite know how to react so I end up just staring at him blankly. The truth is I’m speechless. He watches my face and the smile fades from his own.

“You don’t like them. Shit! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even come, I’ve overstepped my boundaries.” He rambles

“No! No! I love them I’m just-” I pause as I look down at the flowers in my hand “I think this is the nicest thing anyones ever done for me. No one ever buys me flowers”

“Well they should.”

For some reason I suddenly feel like a shy little school girl. I smile at him and he smiles back.

“Anyway I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Get well soon” he turns and begins walking down the driveway. I think for a moment.

“Father!” I call after him and he spins around to face me “would you like to come in?”

He nods and walks back to me, going past me into the house. I shut the door and gesture for him to go through into the kitchen, forgetting about Daniel’s mess.

“Oops” he says when he sees it “what happened there?”

“Daniel had an accident. He can be really clumsy sometimes” I laugh it off as I busy myself making us some tea.

“Can’t we all” he says, taking a seat at the dining table “will he be joining us?”

“No” I respond, a bit too quickly “he uh, he had to go out. I don't know when he’ll be back”

I carefully carry our cups of tea over to the dining table and take a seat opposite him.

“Never mind. Thank you” he smiles and takes a sip of tea “I actually wanted to talk to you about something without Daniel, if that’s okay?”

“Sure” I shrug, stirring some sugar into my tea.

“I hope you don't take this wrong way but-” he pauses, I can tell he’s nervous to say what he’s going to say next “Are you safe?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just… I saw what happened in the car park the other day”

“I don't know what you're talking about” I say casually as I remove the spoon from my tea and place it down on the table. The priest reaches over and goes to touch my wrist but I pull it away quickly, instinctively pulling my sleeve down over my hand as his eyes search my own.

“He hurt you, didn’t he?” He asks quietly and I shake my head “I saw the way you held your wrist as you walked away from him Y/N and I could see the bruises just now.”

I can’t bare the way he’s looking at me anymore so I cast my eyes down to the table, but he continues to stare at me.

“Y/N? Talk to me, that’s what I’m here for. If he’s abusive to you-”

“He’s not” I finally speak as I look up at him again “he’s not like that, he’s kind and caring and… he would never intentionally hurt me. I just caught him on a bad day”

“And what about today? With the tea?” He gestures to the shattered mug on the floor “That wasn’t an accident was it? Is that why you cancelled today?”

“No! It’s just the stress of planning a wedding is getting to us both. But we’re fine! Honestly”

I take a breath as I smile at him, but I can see he’s not totally convinced. He looks at me for a moment before speaking.

“Give me your phone” he holds his hand out across the table

“What? Why?”

“I’m giving you my number, no one emails anymore” he jokes “So you can contact me whenever you need a chat, okay? Any time. Well apart from Sunday mornings, cause you know, church.”

“Of course” I smile

“And preferably not late. I’ve been really enjoying going to bed at 9.30 recently” he winks and we both laugh “I’m kidding. Well not about going to bed at 9.30, I do actually do that. But you can call or text me anytime and I will always get back to you. I promise”

He gives me a really sincere smile and I feel a weird flutter in my stomach as I smile back.

— — — —

Almost two hours later the priest is only just getting ready to leave after we got carried away talking. We talked about all sorts. Our childhoods, our hobbies, our fears. He told me about his fear of foxes, and how they’ve apparently stalked him throughout his life. He even told me about his first ever wedding and the drama that surrounded the family. We’ve been talking for so long we didn’t realise its starting to get dark. He opens the front door and steps out just as Daniel comes walking toward the house, I see the anger in his face as he spots the priest.

“What the fuck is he doing here!” He yells as he stomps towards us

“Daniel!” I warn but he ignores me, squaring up to the priest. I try to get between them and smell the stench of booze on him “are you drunk?!”

“So what if I am? Huh? You got a problem with that?” his breath on my face makes me want to gag “cause you know, I got a problem with this asshole being in my house”

“We just had some wedding stuff to discuss but it’s all sorted now so I’m going” the priest tries to diffuse the situation “I’ll see you both soon”

“Like fuck you will” Daniel spits before going into the house.

I mouth “I’m sorry” to the priest and he just shakes his head and smiles at me before leaving.

Back in the house I ignore Daniel’s drunken ranting, going straight to the kitchen to clear away the left over cups of tea. Aggravated that I’m not paying him attention, Daniel follows me into the kitchen. He picks the flowers up from the counter.

“Did he give you these?” He asks but I ignore him, angering him more. He rips the flowers to shreds, dumping them on the floor.

I step over them and I place our mugs next to sink, grab a cloth and some cleaner before going back to wipe down the table. Suddenly a mug flies past me, just missing my face as it smashes against the wall. I slowly turn to look at Daniel and stare him out before I dropping the cloth on the table and walking out. I grab my handbag and throw my jacket around my shoulders as I walk out of the house, slamming the door behind me. Daniel doesn’t dare to follow me, he knows he pushed me too far.

I’ve been walking for about half an hour before I realise, I have no idea where I’m going. I’m just wondering aimlessly, letting my feet carry me wherever they want to go. Eventually I find myself standing outside the church. I place my hand on the wooden doors and pause, contemplating whether to go inside or carry on walking till I find a bar to drink at. To my surprise the doors gently swing open, but theres no one stood behind them. I take this as a sign that I should go in.

As I enter the silent church and walk down the aisle I can’t help but imagine myself here in a few weeks wearing my white dress. I reach the front and turn back to stare out at the empty pews, picturing my friends and family smiling back at me as I stand with the man I’ll spend the rest of my life with.

A thought that used to fill me with excitement, currently filling me with dread.

I grunt with frustration as I flop down to the floor, sitting on the step with my head in my hands. Frustration turns to anger, which turns to sadness and soon I can’t stop the tears rolling down my face. I sit there silently crying until…

“You can’t be in here!”

I look up and wipe my eyes as a very grumpy looking middle aged lady stomps towards me.

“Sorry”

“No ones allowed in at night”

“The door was open, I just presumed-”

“Well it shouldn’t have been and you need to leave” she ushers me back to the doors.

“Okay, I’m going. Sorry!”

“Y/N?” A familiar voice calls and I look back to see the priest emerging from his office “what are you doing here?”

“She’s just leaving Father, I’m sorry for the disturbance” the woman answers

“It’s alright Pam, she can stay”

The woman I now know is Pam looks from the priest to me, then back to the priest again before backing off slightly.

“Okay…” she says slowly, like she suspects something “I’ll just be upstairs if you need me. Goodnight Father”

“Good night Pam” he replies.

She gives me one last look before disappearing out a door. I look at the priest, who just rolls his eyes and laughs as he gestures for me to follow him.

I walk into his office and take a seat.

“So, that was Pam” he says, closing the office door and taking a seat opposite me.

“I gathered” I nod my head “She’s a bit…”

“Insane”

“I was gonna say intense, but yeah” I laugh, feeling self conscious as I notice he’s studying my face. My cheeks are probably still blotchy and eyes blood shot from crying. There’s a small silence before he finally speaks.

“Are you okay?”

I look at him, not sure how to answer.

“Did he hurt you?” He changes the question

“No” I shake my head “but he did break another mug. I’m gonna have to get insurance out on the ones we’ve got left at this rate” I joke but he continues to study my face, before finally jumping up out his chair.

“Do you want a drink? A proper drink. I’ve got some cans of G&T hidden away in here”

He opens a cupboard and grabs a Marks and Spencers plastic bag, pulling out two cans.

“Are you sure you're a priest?” I laugh as he hands me a can “I mean you drink, you swear.. what other rules do you break?”

“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you”

“Murder too?” I say a bit too loud, flinching as I hear a banging above me

“Oh shit, Pam! She doesn’t like me being loud. Or having fun in general. Let’s go outside”

“What about the foxes?” I tease and he shakes his head at me as he opens the door and gestures me to walk out.

— — — —

We sit on a bench just outside the church overlooking the graveyard and talk for about half an hour before I realise something.

“You know what’s strange?” I say, suddenly changing the subject “This is only really our third time meeting. I haven’t known you for very long at all but when we talk I feel like I’ve known you for years!”

“That is strange” he humours me, taking a sip of his drink

“Our conversations remind me of how Daniel and I used to be. Back when we could talk to each other properly. These days I’m lucky if we don't end up in an argument”

“And you wanna marry this guy?”

“Of course I do” I reply, slightly taken aback by the forwardness of his question “We’ve known each other pretty much our whole lives. We’ve been together so long- I wouldn’t know what to do without him”

“That’s not a reason to stay with someone, especially if they don't make you happy anymore. Being in love with someone and being dependant on them are different things.” He pauses, studying me “Do you love Daniel?”

I stare at him, replaying the question in my mind over and over again.

“Y/N?”

I realise I don’t know the answer and a feeling of panic begins to bubble inside me. I jump up from the seat.

“I have to go”

I quickly begin walking down the path to the front of the church, followed by the Priest who calls after me. I don't stop walking.

“It’s really late, Dan’s probably wondering I am so…”

“Y/N, wait please!”

I stop and turn back to look at him.

“I’m sorry if that was too much, but these are things you need to think seriously about.”

“I know! I will.” I nod and flash him a quick smile “thanks for the drink”

I hold my can up in a ‘cheers’ before turning and continuing my walk back home.

— — — —

As I walk up the driveway of my house I can see Daniel through the window fast asleep on the sofa in front of the tv. I finish the last bit of my drink and hide the can in my handbag as I unlock the front door and sneak into the house. I hang my coat and bag up and slip my shoes off before quietly climbing the stairs and getting into bed.

Laying in bed my mind can’t help but wonder to the Priest. I feel bad for the way the conversation ended. I shouldn’t have freaked out and walked off like that. He just looking out for me.

I grab my phone and send a text.

‘Thanks for not letting Pam kick me out tonight, I really appreciate it. Good night’

I put my phone back on the beside table, not expecting a reply anytime soon because its so late. To my surprise it vibrates almost immediately. I pick it up and read:

‘No problem, here for you anytime! Sleep well x’

A small smile spreads on my face as my eyes fixate on the small ‘x’ at the end of his text. It probably means nothing but I cant help but feel a flutter in my stomach.

The feeling a quickly taken over by dread as I hear footsteps up the stairs. I put my phone back on the table and roll over in bed, making out like I’m asleep. The mattress sinks as Daniel climbs into bed next to me and I feel his breath on the side of my face. At least he doesn’t smell of beer anymore.

“I’m sorry” he whispers as his arm snakes over my waist and he plants a kiss on my cheek “I’m really really sorry”

I turn my head slightly to look up at him, but I don't say anything.

“I shouldn’t have reacted like that. You know what I’m like when I drink”

“That’s no excuse Daniel”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry. I’m going to change, try harder for you. Okay?”

I nod my head, knowing full well its bullshit. He’s said this before, said he’ll be different but the next day he’s always back to his same old self.

“No more shouting. No more lashing out. No more hurting you. I promise.” He plants kisses on my skin with each sentence. “I’m going to be the perfect husband for you and im going to make it up to you. Starting now.”

He kisses down my jaw, to my neck and down my shoulder as he gently pulls me so I’m lying on my back. Then he kisses down my chest and slips under the duvet, kissing all the way down my body till he reaches that place only he has ever been.

I close my eyes, enjoying the pleasure that’s rippling through me as my breathing gets more ragged before I realise…

In my imagination its not my soon to be husband with his head between my legs…

It’s the dark haired, brown eyed man who’s supposed to be marrying us.

Oh my God, I fancy a priest.

part three

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_domestic_violence_hotlines)

#fleabag #fleabag fic #fleabag imagine #hot priest #hot priest imagine #hot priest x reader #andrew scott #Andrew Scott priest #andrew scott x reader #phoebe waller bridge #nicolasfam

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manggojooz · 3 years

Text

Foolish Love, Fake Love (Part 10)

pairing: idol!Jungkook x bodyguard!reader

word count: ~2,590

genre: idol!au; angst; romance; drama; enemies to lovers sort of thing

warnings: some references to stalkerish behaviour

summary: If all you can give me is a fake love, then I will be the fool to pretend that it is all true.

Taglist: @a-hopelessly-imaginative-girl @dollwithluv @sweetcheeksdna @yeontanie21 @peachygiraffe14 @jeontaes-world @forvever-ddaeng @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore @apurpledheart @ggukkieeee @witchxlove

You frowned at the smiley boy who awkwardly stood outside your door.

“Uhh, you gonna let me in... or we gonna stand here all night?” Jungkook asked.

“Let... let you in? But why-” you were still only half-awake.

Jungkook shoved his way past you in one swift move and you stumbled against the door slightly. Catching your balance again you quickly followed him into the apartment.

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you trailed him into your own kitchen.

“Ow, it’s so heavy, I can’t stand carrying it another minute sorry,” he lamented as he dumps the bags of groceries on the tabletop with a thump. “What’s this?” he asked as he peeked inside the bag that contained the chicken soup.

“Soup, I think...” you answered weakly.

“You ordered it?” he asked.

“No... I don’t know, some guy just came to deliver it...”

“Mmm okay,” he hummed mindlessly but melodically as he took the package away from the dining table and chucked it to the side of the counter. “Let’s see...” he murmured to himself as he took his handphone from his back pocket.

“What are you doing here?” you asked again.

He does not make eye contact with you but stares intently at his phone screen, “I heard you injured your shoulder from last night... I didn’t know and I thought...” he stops suddenly. He side-eyes you for a moment and notices that you were surveying him with that same frown. “Hmm,” he clears his throat rather forcefully, “I just wanted to say I'm sorry, I was overreacting because-”

“Because you thought Yeonjoo was hurt...” you completed his sentence.

“I didn’t know you hurt yourself while protecting her, to be fair it wasn’t really visible you know...” he voice faded as he sounded a little relieved now that the topic has been broached.

“It’s our job to get injured so that the people we protect won’t be. You don’t have to be sorry for that,” you replied matter-of-factly.

“I know I know... but I shouldn’t have jumped to a conclusion and accuse you or shout at you” he still avoided looking at you as he muttered this.

Sometimes apologies are like this – it does not necessarily make you feel better more so than it makes the other person feel better.

“So... why are you here at this time?” you questioned a third time.

“Ah... Yuri is at another schedule with some of the hyungs and since I am free tonight so I thought I should come and make sure you ate dinner... at least...” he was still half-mumbling.

“You are here to make me dinner?” you asked incredulously.

“Eo...” he answered affirmatively.

---

Jungkook buying sacks of groceries just to make you dinner was the most unimaginable thing even just a day ago, but it was happening right this moment. You were too tired to quarrel with the idea and he had insisted that you get back to resting until everything was ready.

You could hear a lot of tinkering, “ahh”, “ooh” and the occasional swearing from the kitchen even in your half-awake state. You had no idea how long this lasted but at some point you were awakened by a knock on your room door.

“Dinner’s ready... are you awake?” his voice was soft but his tone was the usual.

You pulled yourself out of bed and headed out to the dining table, marginally more alert than you were before.

The spread that lay before your eyes was a wonder – a bowl of plain rice, some kind of stew that looked like it had a mix of unrecognisable ingredients in it and some kimchi.

“Do I start with the soup or...” you wondered cautiously.

“It doesn’t look that appetising but I promise you that it tastes fine and this is beef bone stew with abalone and what’s that thing...” he wasted no time trying to promote his masterpiece.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s some traditional herb... I’m sure it’s good for health” he continued.

He looked at you expectantly as you took a tiny sip of the stew with caution. It tasted... barely edible.

“How is it? How is it?” he asked like a child who was asking for affirmation from his parents.

“It’s nice...” you answered soullessly, “are you not having any yourself?”

“Nope, it’s all for you” he answered very certainly and you weren’t really sure if this was all part of the bigger picture.

Be that as it may, you recalled how Yoongi felt bad for you at the hospital and did not want another one of them thinking that girls are too weak to do this job.

“About last night... I just need to say it again, you don’t have to feel bad that I was injured and I can understand why you were worked up so you didn’t have to do this, but thanks anyway” you said while looking him straight in the eyes, maybe the drowsiness helps with boosting confidence.

He sighed unintentionally. “Like I said earlier, I know I don’t have to feel bad about it but I was wrong to yell at you and I just feel bad because I assume that Yeonjoo was hurt while you were fine and... and... I guess she just looked really shaken and you looked fine so I thought...”

“It’s ok, I get it. It’s just that we usually try our best not to show it even if we are hurt” you explained.

“If you don’t show it how do people know that you are hurt... what's the point of hiding it?” Jungkook mumbles endlessly as he walked back into the kitchen. He picked up the ladle still in the pot of stew, and you were about to continue the conversation but he took a sip of his own masterpiece.

“Bleh... oh my gosh... what’s this? This taste horrible! You should have told me honestly that it tasted bad... wow...” he shouted with his tongue half-hanging out.

“As you know, it’s not my forte to show how I feel” you replied sarcastically.

“Ugh I just wanted to make you something nice... what the heck is this even... you know what, this isn’t counted. I'll buy you something nice, what do you want to eat?” he lamented.

You were never a fan of bland soups and porridges anyway.

“Hmm... steak, buy me a nice a steak” you requested.

“You can eat that now? Or do you mean when you are better?” his eyes were round with curiousness.

“It’s my rule that when the body is not feeling well, the mouth needs to eat even better than usual” you explained quite nonchalantly while taking another bite of the weirdly-seasoned stew. It seems like you were starting to get used to the taste of it.

“Ohhh, alright then. There is this place I know that’s really hard to get a spot at, I will use some connections and get you some really awesome steak. How about tomorrow, since it’s a rare that we don’t have any schedules... I mean if you are feeling better tomorrow...”

You nodded somewhat eagerly as you continued taking another mouthful of the mysterious stew.

“Wow, you still gonna drink that?” his eyes were very round and large, clearly depicting his amazement by your ability to stomach his stew. “I’ll send you the time and address tomorrow.”

---

The next day and an hour before seven.

“Where are you going?” Yuri was shocked to see you all dressed up.

“I... uh... I’m going for dinner” you stammered. You were going to meet Jungkook at the restaurant at 7pm and the restaurant unfortunately has a casual formal dress code requirement.

“You are going for dinner? With who? Did you take your medicine?” Yuri nagged like a mother sometimes.

You thought for a long moment whether to reveal the truth but you decided to avoid it in prevention of any questioning that might ensure, “Wow, you are so naggy sometimes you know. I’m just meeting someone I know and yes ma’am I took my medicine, except that one painkiller that makes me really drowsy, I'll take that at night when I'm back alright?”

Yuri throws a towel at you for calling her naggy and told you to hurry and get out of her sight.

---

Thirty minutes to seven.

Jungkook suddenly gets a call from Kijin; something must be up with Yeonjoo for him to be calling Jungkook out of the blue.

“Hyung, what’s up? It's rare that you are calling me directly” Jungkook answered the call.

“Jungkook-ah... I really didn’t want to bother you but could you come over... she wouldn’t come out or talk to anyone since last night.”

---

Ten minutes to seven

Jungkook stares at his watch, just as he took out his phone to type a message to you Kijin opens the door at Yeonjoo’s apartment and he rushes in.

The door to Yeonjoo’s bedroom was shut tight. On the way here he was on the phone with Kijin the whole time and he explained hwo Yeonjoo had been receiving letters and calls from her longtime stalker.

“Is that... from that bastard?” Jungkook looked warily at a paper box placed in one corner of the living room.

“Ya... I’m handing it over to the police later... it’s pretty gross inside I don’t think you should go near it” Kijin warned.

“Why is he back? I thought he went quiet for a while...” Jungkook asked with a deep unhappiness.

“Not sure, I think he’s been sending Yeonjoo some messages but she won’t speak to me now” Kijin answered with matching concern.

Jungkook headed straight for Yeonjoo’s room. He carefully knocks on the door; there was no answer.

“It’s me... are you inside? Can you open the door?”

He was met with an eerie silence.

“Hyung... should we just go in?” Jungkook whispered to Kijin, his face fraught with worry.

“I think we have little choice now...” Kijing handed over a key to Jungkook.

The door creaked open slowly. Jungkook peered into the room that was pitch black. A narrow ray of light shone into the room from the opened door and he finally sees the silhouette of Yeonjoo crouched on the floor near the foot of the bedframe.

He ran over anxiously, “Are you alright? Why didn’t you answer us?”

Her hands scrunched the blanket that she had pulled over her legs. She was staring soullessly ahead but slowly turned to look at Jungkook.

“He’s back. I'm scared” she uttered.

“I know, Kijin hyung is reporting it to the police now” Jungkook whispers back.

“I’m tired, but I don’t dare to close my eyes” she whimpers.

“I’m here... I'll be here” Jungkook sat down next to her and she couldn’t help but lean against him.

---

Five minutes past seven.

You stood at the sidewalk leading to the elegantly-furnished entrance of the restaurant. Unintentionally you looked around whenever you heard any sound of someone walking by. You had messaged Jungkook to ask if he was reaching but there was no reply.

You did not even know whose name the reservation was under so you felt better waiting for him to outside. Time went by as you counted the number of times a car turned in but it wasn’t his car.

The night grew colder as the time went by. Eventually, you took a look at your watch.

Ten minutes to 8pm – you decided to give Jungkook a call. The call went unanswered and you were not that surprised but now you became slightly worried.

You made another call, this time to Sejoon.

“Eo.. Y/N...” Sejoon picked up the call and sounded out of breath.

“Hi Sejoon, are you ok?” you asked out of concern.

“Yah yah I’m fine, just ran out to grab some thing for Yoongi and Hobi who are having a schedule now... do you need something?” Sejoon asked you back.

“Uh... actually I am wondering if you know where Jungkook is now...” you started slowly, not sure how much to reveal about your plans with Jungkook.

“Jungkook? He’s not with you? I thought he told me he would be having dinner with you today,” answered Sejoon.

So, it is not much of a secret then. “Ah yes, he’s supposed to meet me for dinner but it’s almost past an hour and he’s not here, I tried calling him but couldn’t get him either,” you explained.

“What? Ok, he does tend to be late... but not this late... are you still waiting there?” Sejoon exuded his usual friendliness.

“Yah, I’m kinda still waiting,” you replied.

“What? I'll try reaching him after I put down these things for Yoongi and Hobi? Let me know if he suddenly shows up,” Sejoon instructed helpfully before you hung up.

---

Fifteen minutes past eight

Two police officers sat in Yeonjoo’s living room collecting as much information as they could from Yeonjoo and Kijin while Jungkook watched them from kitchen. It took him a whole ten minutes to coax Yeonjoo into speaking with the police after they arrived.

Now that he had mostly done his part, he was letting go of the tension he had built up over the past hour and suddenly his stomach let out a low growl.

He thought to himself that he could have been having some fancy steak now. “Right... would be nice to have some steak now... oh shit!” he suddenly jolted up and looked all over for his phone.

---

Your phone suddenly pinged – a message came in.

“Hey Y/N, I’m so sorry, there was an emergency, I didn’t check my phone until now... you aren’t still waiting right? I hope you already ordered something... don’t wait for me,” the message read.

The cocktail of feelings left a bittersweet aftertaste. You were still trying to decipher what exactly it was. Was it worry? Was it annoyance? Was it disappointment?

Then your phone rings. It was Sejoon.

“Hello? Y/N? Have you left yet?” Sejoon shouted through the noisy background noises on his end.

“Hey Sejoon, umm, yeah I got a text from Jungkook so I’m leaving now...” you muttered, trying to mask that bittersweet aftertaste

“Oh he texted you? Great, did you already grab dinner? Do you need me to come down and settle the bill for you?” Sejoon enquired on 80% volume.

“Uh no no don’t worry about me, I’m gonna go grab dinner when I get home...” you quickly cut in, “... but do you know what happened to him? He just said there’s an emergency... is he ok?”

“Jungkook? Oh he’s at Yeonjoo’s place apparently. Kijin hyung messaged me just a while ago to give me the heads up,” Sejoon explained as you hear someone calling out his name on the other end, “I gotta go! You can text me if you need anything!”

You hardly ever needed anything from anyone. You hardly believed that you deserved to need anything from anyone. And today was no different.

Did he need to do this for you? No.

Did you need him to keep his promise? No.

Yet you stared down at the pavement clearly tasting bitterness this time. Of all the reasons, why did it have to be Yeonjoo?

One of the staff at the restaurant must have observed you standing outside their door for the longest time.

“Hi Miss, uhh... it’s rather cold out here... are you waiting for someone? Do you want to come in?” he offered kindly.

there was a melancholic pause. “I was waiting for someone...” you replied with a wistful smile, “but not anymore, thank you.”

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knightsimp · 3 years

Text

Recovery (2/2)

Pairing: Percival Graves x Reader

Summery: You were right; that was not Percival Graves. So, what are you going to do about it?

Genre: Angst + fluff (I think it’s a sweet ending :D)

Word Count: 2600+

Date Posted: February 14, 2021 (Happy Valentine’s Day!)

Note: None

Part One: Link

“How do you think she is doing, Teenie?” Queenie found herself asking as she and Tina made their way to (Y/N)’s apartment.

“I’m not sure, but I regret not staying with her for a couple of days.” The girls had no idea what (Y/N) was up to; she had not turned up for work, understandably, for the last five days. Now that it was Friday, they were able to check up on her.

The sisters looked at each other before Tina knocked on (Y/N)’s door. They chose not to apparate to avoid scaring her.

“It’s open!” (Y/N)’s muffled voice came through the door. When they entered the apartment, they did not expect such a mess.

The kitchen was a mess, first of all. Pots and pans everywhere, and unwashed dishes piled the sink.

“In here!” (Y/N) called from the room at the end of the corridor: the bedroom. The bedroom was not any better than the kitchen. From what can be seen by just looking through the bedroom door, (Y/N)’s bed was not made and a couple garments were dumped onto it. Miscellaneous things, such as her hairbrush and a few pieces of clothing, were piling onto her bedside table.

Tina and Queenie were not prepared to see a spew of papers near the wall which was facing the bed. Tina had not known about (Y/N)’s investigation at all, but Queenie knew and did not realize it would get this far and this bad. The small patch of papers that were pinned on the wall, which had been connected together with red string, had taken over the square-ish area and had started to crawl onto the ceiling.

“Oh my god.” Tina mumbled, looking up at one of the moving snippets from The Daily Prophet.

“Tina! Queenie!” (Y/N) was at the wall where this collection started. “How are you?” It looked as if (Y/N) just rolled out of bed and got to work. And that was exactly what has been happening the last several days.

“We’re doing alright, (Y/N).” Queenie hesitated for a moment. “How are you?” (Y/N) shrugged her shoulders.

“Tired mostly. I haven’t slept in a couple days, but look! I have made so much progress!” Queenie looked around and found two empty mugs which were, no doubt, once filled with coffee. Tina snapped out of her memorization of the ceiling.

“Progress?” Tina asked, raising an eyebrow. She slowly put the pieces together. “(Y/N),” pause, “are you trying to figure out where Mr. Graves is?” (Y/N) smile dropped for a moment while she averted her gaze downward. Her enthusiastic smile became a sad one as she fiddled with the delicate gold charm that Percival had gifted to her for a birthday.

“Well, of course.” (Y/N) looked back at them, speaking softly. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“First, you need to go take a shower.” Tina went behind (Y/N) and pushed her shoulders out of the bedroom to the nearby bathroom. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you really do stink. We can smell you from across the room and it is a long room.”

“Tina’s right!” Queenie agreed, looking at them. “You need to take care of yourself, (Y/N). You are not going to make much progress when you are unconscious from a lack of sleep and proper food.” Before (Y/N) could say anything, Queenie added, “And yes, regardless of what you think, you do need a little freshening up.” With a little more arguing, (Y/N) agreed to at least take a shower. Queenie handed (Y/N) some clothes to change into before she entered her bathroom.

Tina continued to awe at (Y/N)’s investigating. She knew (Y/N) was a brilliant detective, but this was beyond what she thought. She followed it down from the ceiling to the original wall. In the middle of the wall was where everything was connecting to; a photo of (Y/N) and Percival at the Blind Pig. After being constantly reprimanded by Percival, who was really Grindelwald, when he was around, it surprised her that she did not notice the differences between him and the real Percival sooner. Percival was very intimidating and dominating, yes, but he still cared about his subordinates. Grindelwald could not care less unless it was meddling his involvement in MACUSA.

As Tina looked closer into the snippets of newspaper, she noticed how (Y/N) had been investigating all over the city. No doubt she was going to all of these locations. Once a location was visited, it seemed like (Y/N) would pin or make notes on the snippet.

“No way.”

“Possible, but not probable”

These were only the very general notes being made. It looked like (Y/N) was also communicating with Theseus Scamander in London to make some inquiries in Europe, but nothing came of that.

Tina did not realize how long she was gawking at (Y/N)’s work until she heard the shower stop.

(Y/N) looked as if she was in deep thought when she exited the bathroom. She definitely looked, and smelled, fresher than before.

“(Y/N)?” Tina tried to call out to her. “Are you okay?”

“(Y/N), are you sure?” Queenie came around the corner, overhearing (Y/N) thoughts. “Is that a likely place?”

“What is a likely place?” (Y/N) looked up at Tina.

“You know how while you take shower or a bath, it is easy to let your mind wander?” Tina nodded. “I think...” She trailed off, again seemingly trying to make sense of her thoughts.

“You think Mr. Graves is at MACUSA!” Queenie gasped.

“What?” Tina exclaimed. “Explain!”

“There is nowhere else he can be, Tina!” (Y/N) was right, but also sounded like she was grasping at straws. “I have scavenged the city for signs. I even had someone in London make secret inquiries for me. And it is absolutely something Grindelwald would do. If anyone was going to look for the real Percival, they were not going to search MACUSA, a place swarming with talented aurors. And it makes it easier to get ingredients for the Polyjuice potion. No one is going to question Percival Graves if they spot him walking through the building.”

“That is actually genius.” Tina mumbled before clearing her throat. “But where would he be? Like you said, MACUSA always has aurors in the building.”

“MACUSA is big and has been running for decades! There has to be some abandoned areas that are no longer required for work.”

“We can always check.” Queenie suggested. “All three of us work in that building.”

“Though, depending on how large the search area is, we may need help from Picquery.” (Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek. Might as well.

The sun was starting to set when the three women arrived at MACUSA.

“You two stay out here.” (Y/N) told the sisters. “I can’t have you two getting in trouble, especially you, Tina; you just got your job back as an auror.”

(Y/N) stormed into President Picquery’s office. She did not mean to, but her adrenaline took over. The President was clearly in the middle of some sort of meeting. She looked peeved, to say the least.

“Miss (L/N),” she started sternly. “I am glad to see you are feeling better, that being said-”

“Madame President-”

“-I am in the middle of something-”

“I may have figured out where Percival Graves is, ma’am.” The room went silent. “The real Percival Graves.” Picquery’s expression turned from annoyed to serious.

“Gentlemen, we can reschedule, but I must talk with Miss (L/N) this instant.” The two men in suits left and closed the door behind them, leaving (Y/N) to Seraphina’s mercy. “Miss (L/N).” She let a bit of silence go by. “I’m listening.”

“I believe Percival may be in this building.” Seraphina leaned back in her chair and sighed.

“And what is your proof?”

“The lack of any. Madame President, when I tell you that I have scoured the whole city looking for him, I mean it; that is not an exaggeration. I have been making inquiries in Europe and no one has found anything.” Seraphina continued to stare at her. “Please, at least humor me.”

“And where would he be, (Y/N), if he is in fact here?”

“That is the big question, ma’am; that is why I am here in your office.” She purposefully kept Tina and Queenie out of it to avoid any repercussions they may face if she is wrong. “In my investigation into this theory, I wondered if there are any abandoned areas here in MACUSA. A building and organization this old cannot still be using all of it’s floors.” Then, the realization seemed to hit Seraphina.

“I can’t believe I am saying this, but you may be onto something, (L/N).” She stood up from her chair and went to the front of her desk, leaning against it. “Some of the lowest floors have not been used in a long time. At least five or six floors. No one goes down there anymore; there is no need.” She led (Y/N) to the door. “I am sending five people to each floor immediately. You and the Goldstein's gather two more aurors and start the search.” (Y/N) wanted to ask how she knew the Goldstein sisters were involved, but quickly shut her mouth. “If you’re wrong, this is a waste of a lot of manpower. People are finishing up their shifts and will be very upset to be searching a good portion of our building when they could be going home.”

“Then, let's hope that I’m not wrong.” Seraphina nodded before heading off to the main floor. Tina and Queenie came closer, seeing as the coast was clear.

“Miss Goldstein-”

“Find two other aurors and we’ll meet you at the elevator.” Queenie glanced at both the president and (Y/N) before leaving Tina with (Y/N).

“(Y/N)?” Tina put a hand on her shoulder to stop her for a moment. (Y/N) explained the plan as they made their way to the elevator.

“We don’t know what or who is down here.” Tina warned, talking to everyone, but keeping her eyes on (Y/N). “Stay alert.” The five of them split up, wands in hand, but stayed close enough to see each other in case of an ambush.

The bottom floor of the building, way under sea level, had definitely been abandoned. The remaining desks down there were dusty and untouched. Whatever else they had down there was the same.

After about half-an-hour, (Y/N) was losing hope; she was hanging on to the thought of finding Percival and it was the only thing keeping her going, but her grip was slipping.

In the relatively silent bottom floor of MACUSA, they could hear the echoing of someone yelling. They can barely make it out, but the words which were projected were very clear: “we found him!”

(Y/N) heart dropped to her stomach. She almost did not believe what she heard. Tina and Queenie caught up to (Y/N) as she ran to the cage elevator, though the elevator was way above where she was, giving her ample space to look up.

“Give me a floor!” (Y/N)’s voice cracked as she yelled up the shaft, trying to get through all of the noise. She got responses for many of the aurors, but she got a general answer: three from the bottom. Percival was supposedly only two floors above where she was. Her breathing was getting a little heavy.

She looked at the floor before apparating to it. Her team followed.

“(L/N)!” One of the aurors on the floor called her over. “He’s over here!” (Y/N) almost tripped with how quickly she ran, following the auror. The heels of her shoes made a loud clack every time her feet pummeled onto the floor.

Her heart was pounding, but it really started hitting hard against her ribs when she saw her first glimpses of him. Her running had come to a halt and she slid on her knees in front of him.

The poor man had been through so much. Whatever skin was showing outside of his torn dress pants and ruffled dress shirt was bruised and his face was home to a black eye. His hair and facial hair had grown way past what he would have tolerated if he was in control of it. He stank of blood, sweat, and dirt.

He was not in a cage or cell; he was, instead, shackled to a support beam by his wrists.

“Percy!” (Y/N) gasped out, holding his almost unconscious face in her shaking hands. It looked like he may have been sleeping to pass the time. “Get medical down here!” A couple of aurors nodded and left to get personal from the medical wing. “Percival, please open your eyes.”

Slowly, with whatever energy he had, he opened his eyes. He could believe (Y/N) was sitting in front of him, holding his face so gently. The light coming in from behind her made her look oh-so angelic.

“(Y/N)?” Her name barely passed his lips.

“Percy! Yes, yes! It’s me!” She could not care less that she was crying; hearing his voice again, the real him, brought her to tears. She let a sob escape. “Oh Merlin, I found you! I finally found you!” In her happiness, she planted tender kisses all over his face. She did not notice when Percival mumbled something to her.

“Make way!” The healers had arrived with a gurney, ready to take Percival up to the medical wing. (Y/N) was reluctant to let go of him, but did so. She watched as he was taken away from her.

Queenie, from (Y/N)’s side, gave her a reassuring hug, which the crying auror returned and finally let out her whimpers.

He was found.

This was the real Percival.

He was alive.

And he was going to be okay.

It took about a full day for Percival to become coherent. He was so void of nutrients and fluids; the man was on the brink of dying.

What had happened was clear: once Grindelwald was found out, Percival was no longer needed and he was left down there to die. It was horrifying to think what would have happened if (Y/N) had not had that miscellaneous thought in the shower.

When he awoke, (Y/N) was right there, gently holding onto his bruised hand so as to not hurt him further.

“You’re safe now, Percival,” was the first thing she said to him. “Everything will be alright.” Once again, the light coming from behind her made her look ethereal, as if she was an angel.

His angel.

“I said, I love you.” Percival got out. (Y/N) blinked, thinking she misheard him.

“Percy?”

“I love you, (Y/N) (L/N). I’m not going to let another day pass where I regret telling you that.” (Y/N) looked away, bashful.

“You need to rest.”

“I mean it-”

She pressed a sweet kiss on the corner of his lips, ignoring the irritation from his beard, before sitting back in her seat. “I know you do. You are not a very flowery man.” He looked at her, a little confused. She gave him a soft chuckle, knowing what he was thinking. “I’m not going anywhere, Percival. I made that mistake once, and look at what happened. I am staying right here.”

#percival graves x reader #percival graves #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #x reader #percival graves/you #percival graves/reader #Percival graves x you #knightsimp writes #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts x reader

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beauty-and-passion · 3 years

Note

Hey, sup! So... I noticed that you like to do theories and all kinds of reasoning. THEREFORE I brought you a good brainstorm theme (well, I think it's a good one, and hasn't been discussed yet) *trumpet sounds* "How do you think the rooms of the other sides will look like?"

Ho-hooo, very nice ask we got here! Time to extensively talk about something very cool!

Possible Rooms Thomas Can Make In Real Life

Let’s start with the canonical definition of a Side’s room, given during AA-part 2:

[Logan]: The room just varies based on whatever your present location is.

So, if Thomas is in his house, the room will be the Side’s version of said house. If he’s outside, the room will change as well.

Having said that, let’s pretend Thomas will always show us the Sides’ rooms while he’s at home. Being outside requires too many variants, so let’s keep this in the realm of possibilities.

Of course I will also talk about how I think the rooms work. But it will require another post, because this one will be long enough.

________________

Roman

Roman’s room is probably the next one we will see and, considering Roman is Creativity, Ego and a huge Disney fan, I’m pretty sure his room will be plastered with Disney posters, drawings, theater posters, Thomas’ posters and mirrors everywhere. Nothing else. All tables are covered with theater scripts, all floors are covered with more scripts and rejected ideas. Kitchen? More like “another place where to put all my ideas”. Living room? Yes, there should be a couch somewhere under all those scripts.

In other words, the literal representation of “creative confusion”. And while under normal circumstances this could be the result of a bubbling creativity, in Roman’s case it could also work as a way to show how confused and depressed he is. The confusion wouldn’t be something like “it seems chaotic but it actually makes sense for me”, but more like “everything has no meaning anymore. Who cares”.

________________

Logan

Considering his character, Logan’s room could be a completely perfect replica of Thomas’ room, but a lot cleaner and a lot more empty. No knick-knacks, no food lying around. Something that looks more like a display home, rather than a real one.

But with books. A lot more books. Shelves filled with books everywhere, all perfectly organized. Do you need a book about this or that topic? Logan knows exactly which is the best one and where it’s located in his home.

Also, it can work for his upcoming arc: since Logan has more and more issues with accepting his own feelings, a place completely devoid of any personality would be a great way to show how hard he’s trying to keep everything under control, even in his own personal space.

________________

Janus

Considering we have only one season left, I doubt we will see the other three dark sides’ rooms, but what would they look like, if Thomas decides to show us?

Janus’ room is the most difficult one, because there are a lot of possibilities. It could be dark and mysterious, with smokes and mirrors everywhere for... obvious reasons. It could look like a 1920′s version of Thomas’ house. It could be Thomas’ house, but with opposite colors.

Or it could be how Thomas’ house looks like, but seen on the other side of a mirror. In other words: everything switched, from the position of every room, to the smallest things. The kitchen has always been on the right? Now it’s on the left. The stairs are on the left? Now they’re on the right. The couch is on the right? Now it’s on the left. All the books in the library are switched places, every single little thing is on the opposite side.

Just imagine how YOUR own house would look like, if everything is on the opposite side compared to where it actually is. A fucking trip, I would bump into every wall and get lost 200 times a day XD However, it should be possible to realize, with some editing and by switching places.

________________

Remus

That’s an easy one: Thomas goes outside, dumps the camera into a trash bin and bam, we’re in Remus’ room.

Jokes aside, Remus’ room should have a lot in common with Roman’s: still creative chaos but a lot messier, considering Remus is the part of Thomas’ creativity that can’t pour his thoughts out too much. Less mirrors because who cares and more creepy stuff. A LOT MORE. Would Remus have a human anatomy mannequin with removable organs? Sure. Would Remus like taxidermy and have stuffed animals everywhere? Yes. Would he have the creepiest paintings possible? Absolutely. Would he have a lot of chemical stuff to throw together and see what could happen? Of course. Would his room catch fire at least once a week? Obviously.

In other words: Roman would hate the place, Logan would love it, Patton would be extremely concerned, Virgil would exorcize it at least once a week and Janus would just sigh and grab the nearest fire extinguisher because, sooner or later, something will surely catch fire.

#sanders sides #ask #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #thomas sanders #is this the first past of the answer?#yes it is #will a second part came out soon?#Yes it will #I love these asks #thank you beautiful anon with your delightful asks

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collecting-stories · 4 years

Text

Alright - JJ Maybank

Request: hey! can i request a jj maybank x reader? basically just a MASSIVE fluff dump?? like jj loves to protect his girl but he's a huge softie who wants to be held by her & wants to be good enough so one night at a party he gets drunk & he spills all that, saying how his dad makes him feel like he's not good enough for her, & so maybe the prompt is the next day, where he's just so emotionally exhausted & wants to be loved and called petnames & he's super clingy & maybe there's a couple tears but FLUFF

A/N: I think there are always songs that stick with you, for whatever reason, and when I was younger my mom used to listen to this Sara Groves song ‘It’s Gonna Be Alright’ and I was thinking about it when I wrote this.

Outer Banks Masterlist

The alarm that you had set at the beginning of summer, in hopes of not falling out of a routine and in hopes of actually waking up and doing yoga or something positive instead of hitting snooze, went off from the other side of the room.

The soft sound of Ed Sheeran’s Kiss Me not registering in your more-than-tired state of mind. With eyes still closed and mind a little fogged you tried to place yourself. Were you home? Had you stayed at John B’s after the party or had you been sober enough to drive yourself home?

You could feel a weight against your side and realized, with some help as you pulled yourself up in bed, that you were in your room and that JJ was there too. You sat up enough that you were propped on your pillows, reaching for your phone as Ed reached the chorus, hitting the button on the side to silence him for now, moments from the night before coming back to you.

Pogue parties were legendary on the island and JJ was an infamous character among these parties. Was it even a party if he wasn’t there, spouting off some bullshit tall-tale and involving himself in antics that would be talked about for weeks afterward? You were only a supporting character in these nights, or at least, you usually were. It’d been a bad week at home though, when JJ was home, and you had argued with him not to even go to the party.

“Lets just stay at here, we can watch movies or something.” You had urged when he started riffling through the pile of his clothes that had been left on the desk chair in your room. He had been sleeping on your couch since Sunday.

“I don’t wanna watch movies. I need a beer...or twelve.” He replied. He wasn’t ungrateful that your mom had taken him in during what he called a ‘rough patch’ at home but she didn’t allow alcohol in the house and the dependence he’d already developed was making him go a little stir crazy.

“JJ...I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go out tonight.” You stressed.

The last thing he needed right now was something to kill what little filter he had. He was agitated at everything and you knew it was only a matter of time before something worse than being dared into surfing naked at midnight happened.

“Well mom, feel free to stay the fuck home.”

Of course, you didn’t. You got dressed and went with JJ because the only thing worse than going to a party when he was that out of it was letting him go alone. You could remember going with him but you couldn’t remember being designated driver which meant that you definitely drank which explained the fuzziness you were having piecing all the events together in your head.

JJ was still sleeping beside you, on his stomach facing the window. You sat up further and picked your phone up, awake enough to check texts and drink some water to get rid of your dry mouth but not awake enough for anything that required leaving the bed.

The party was down at the boneyard; as if that was the only stretch of beach in the OBX worth drinking on. You tagged along and-

A long, muffled groan interrupted you as you texted with Kiara about a video she’d taken the night prior and drew your attention toward JJ, who was pushed himself up onto his elbows. His head hung for a moment before he picked it up and turned to look at you, hair falling into his eyes.

“What are you doing?” The whining undertone in his voice betrayed his age for just a moment, making him sound like a kid. He sat the rest of the way up to his knees, pushing the blanket down passed his ankles.

“Texting Kiara.” You replied, holding your phone up for him to see. Technically you were waiting for her to text you back.

JJ frowned, a pout scrunching up his nose and pushing out his bottom lip as he processed the information. There wasn’t much he remembered from the night before aside from actually going to the party. After that was just blackout, which he knew you had been trying to avoid by convincing him to stay home but it hadn’t worked and now he could practically feel his head pounding.

He reached for the phone, taking it from your hands and tossing it somewhere onto your carpeted floor. “JJ! What the hell?”

The strangled groan was back as he rubbed as his eyes, “so loud.”

“You threw my phone across the room JJ, how am I supposed to not be loud about that?” You whispered harshly.

JJ shifted to sit on his butt, scooting closer to you in bed and trying to pull you back into a position where you could lay down with him. “Stop being mean to me, I don’t feel good.” He muttered, “I just wanna cuddle.”

“You don’t feel good because you have a hangover babe.” You teased, leaning back against the pillows but keeping yourself propped up. JJ continued to shift in bed until he made himself comfortable, laying on his back with his head on your chest. You brought one leg up and he twisted his arm so he could run his hand over your knee.

“I don’t feel good cause my girlfriend is being mean to me.” He replied, the smile that settled on his face as you combed through his hair with your fingers betrayed his words.

“I’m sorry, you threw my phone though J, it could’ve broken.” You pointed out. It wouldn’t be the first time JJ had cracked your phone. He’d once stepped on it trying to lift you up and carry you to bed. Your phone had slipped out of your pocket and JJ’s heavy booted foot had come down right on the screen, crunching it beyond use. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing...I just wanna lay with you.” He tilted his head to the side so he could see you though he kept his eyes closed, a move you recognized as him wanting a kiss more than him trying to look at you.

You kissed his forehead so that you wouldn’t have to change positions and continued to play with his hair, your other hand laying across his chest, holding the hand not rubbing your knee. It was a tangle of limbs and odd angles but it was a comfortable position for the most part, one that allowed you to hold him.

“JJ-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” JJ had been avoiding the topic of his dad since Sunday, pushing it all down and trying his hardest to lock it away so that he didn’t have to deal with what he was feeling. He hated that those bad feelings lingered, that they followed him to hangouts at the Chateau or The Wreck, that he couldn’t just leave them behind when the screen door on his porch slammed shut after him. He definitely didn’t want to talk about them with you. And not because he didn’t trust you or love you or think you were capable of understanding and empathizing but because he wanted you to see him happy and in control of himself.

“Okay,” you squeezed his hand, trying to ease him into sleep again. You knew he was still tired from the night before and no doubt he was dealing with a massive headache. It was silent for a moment and you thought maybe he had fallen back to sleep that quickly when you felt him shift against you and the sound of sniffling. At first you didn’t say anything, unsure if he wanted you to acknowledge the fact that he was crying or just ignore it and pretend to be oblivious. It was hard to know with him.

When you couldn’t block it out anymore without a knot of guilt twisting in your stomach you spoke, “JJ?”

He didn’t say anything and you almost thought he was holding his breath to get you to ignore him.

“Babe?” You heard a sniffle and continued to brush his hair, twisting little pieces of it in your fingers. When he continued to cry again you shushed him quietly, “it’s gonna be okay, I’m right here. I love you so much Jay, you’re okay, we’re safe.”

JJ pulled your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it and you could feel his tears wetting your skin as he pressed his lips to your wrist. Whatever catalyst had brought about last night’s wild antics it had dissolved into this, a version of your boyfriend you didn’t see often, one who was something beyond vulnerable? Laid open perhaps, scars on display. You repeated your words over and over until they sounded like a mantra meant to put him to sleep.

When he woke later on he’d stumble out of bed for some Advil and pretend like nothing ever happened and for now you would let him.

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife @freckled-and-daydreaming @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh@lavenderxraindrops @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @mirjanak @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @celestialmaybank @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects @balletandyuzu @oh-annaa @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn @pcterparxer @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @jolomez @timotaychalabae @solllaris

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toomanyrobins2 · 3 years

Text

One Year: December

nSummary: Clint Barton, college football star, has a new interest: Y/N Y/L/N. But with her father gone all of the time, a younger brother, and going to college, Y/N has no time for dating. Will Clint get the yes, or will life get in the way?

Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Content warning: nothing really yet, occasional cursing, mentions of drinking and sex later

Notes: I'm sorry to anyone who's been tagged in this before, but I've been forced to start from scratch on this account and I'm going to be reposting all the chapters. We should be caught up now on this story and posting will return to normal!

football game // masterlist // january

Winnie had invited Nat, Y/N, and Asher to spend Christmas at the Barnes’ home. They had been hesitant to intrude, but once she explained that Steve was already coming and that she let anyone who couldn’t be with their family into her home, any arguments were thrown out the window. The only requirement was an ugly Christmas sweater had to be worn. Asher had been worried that Santa wasn’t going to know where to bring them presents, but as soon as Y/N explained that she had written him a letter, he had hopped on board.

What Y/N and Clint didn’t know was that behind the scenes everyone else was coming together to hang mistletoe and get them together. Even after Asher’s party and the football game, neither had made a move to make it official and it was making everyone lose their minds. Clint hadn’t been with anyone since that day in the parking lot where Y/N had rejected him. The will-they? won’t-they? had gone on too long.

Christmas Eve, the Barnes home was packed to the rafters with holiday cheer. They all gathered in a giant bundle of blankets, pillows, and hot chocolate to watch Christmas movies. When it reached 10 p.m. they brought the kids up to Becca’s bedroom to sleep. They sent Winnie up to bed with the promise of cleaning up from dinner. The exhaustion from the day settled in and they lazily collapsed back into the pile of blankets. Y/N buried her head under a pillow, “I don’t want to move ever again.”

Clint chuckled at her dramatics, “We have two kids in the house. You’re gonna be awake in like six hours.” She lifted her head up to glare at him. Steve, Bucky, and Nat decided that they were done for the night and headed upstairs, leaving the two of them alone. Before she went up the stairs, the redhead turned around and winked at Y/N, who glared back.

As soon as they were gone, Clint pulled Y/N into him, resting his chin on her shoulder. She smiled at the closeness, “Can we watch Nightmare Before Christmas? Please.”

He groaned, “We’ve had this discussion before. That is a Halloween movie.”

“It’s multi-holiday. I even waited until everyone else left, so only you would be tormented.”

“Oh, I’m honored,” he deadpanned. Y/N looked at him with wide eyes and sticking her bottom lip out. Clint groaned, “Fine! We can watch the Halloween movie on Christmas Eve.” She grinned at him and pulled the movie up. They moved up onto the couch and as soon as the opening song began, she curled up into his side. He decided that he would watch this movie every holiday if it meant spending alone time with Y/N.

It was only about 20 minutes into the movie when she realized how tired she was and didn’t fight as her eyes grew heavy.

Someone moving beside her had jarred Y/N awake. She groaned and put her hand out to keep them close, thinking it was Asher. She loved to force him to cuddle with her and the bed was warm. When she heard the deep chuckle, she realized it wasn’t her little brother. Clint leaned over and kissed her forehead, “Sorry, darling, I’ve got to go put my presents under the tree and help Winnie with breakfast.”

Y/N, still not fully awake, grumbled, “But you’re warm.”

“Alright, one more minute,” he curled back up with her on the couch and stayed until he was sure she was back asleep. Clint wanted to stay with her, but he knew had to get up before she did. He pulled the blanket up so that she was covered and headed to the kitchen. He quickly pulled the presents that he and Y/N had hidden in the closet and put them under the tree, before turning on the coffee maker.

Winnie came downstairs soon after and they started making breakfast for everyone. She leveled him with a knowing look, “I hope you kids didn’t stay up too late.”

“I think we were all done by 1:00. Y/N convinced me to watch Nightmare Before Christmas but she was asleep before we got halfway.”

“You need to ask that girl out and be done with it.”

He grumbled in embarrassment, “Ma, I’m going to. We’ve both been busy and I want to do it right. I have a plan though.”

“You’re a good man, Clint Barton,” Winnie patted his cheek and passed him the pancake recipe he’d requested.

When Y/N woke up again, she pulled on Clint’s Christmas sweater he’d left on the nearby chair. She padded into the kitchen and greeted them sleepily. Winnie passed her a mug of coffee with a smile before going to make sure everything was in the stockings and under the tree. Y/N’s head was still muddled from sleep and Clint couldn’t help but smile at how she looked. Her eyes were still a little unfocused and the sleeves from his sweater bunched around her hands as she sipped on the coffee. Y/N shuffled over to look at what he was doing and found him making Mickey Mouse pancakes, “What are you doing?”

Clint looked nervous, “Am I making them wrong? I got the recipe from Win. You said you made them for every holiday.” She was melting inside at the sweet gesture. She tried to think of something to say and couldn't. Her hand wrapped around the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. Clint dropped the spatula on the counter and wrapped an arm around her waist, burying his other hand in Y/N’s hair. She tasted like coffee and smelled like cinnamon. He heard her whimper as his tongue traced over hers.

“Something smells like it’s burning,” Steve walked into the kitchen, “OH!” They jumped apart and Y/N immediately mumbled something about checking on Asher before rushing upstairs. Clint turned back to the stove and dumped the burned pancakes, ignoring the amused look on his friend’s face. “Sooooo,” Steve drawled.

“Rogers, don’t,” Clint pointed the spatula at him, “You saw nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“But…”

“Nothing!” Clint walked upstairs to talk to Bucky about what had happened. He needed to get his shit together and hoped that Y/N would like his present. They had danced around each other for long enough and Nat had been very helpful with ideas. His thoughts distracted him as he walked into Bucky’s room. If anyone else in the house was asleep, they were awake now after hearing his screams, “Oh shit! Oh God, MY EYES!”

A pillow whizzed past his head, “Clint, get out!”

Y/N came running out of Becca’s room, where the kids were sleeping. Clint had a traumatized look on his face and when she realized what had happened, she started laughing. Nat came stumbling out, pulling a sweater on. Steve had rushed up the stairs to see what had happened. When he realized, he threw his hands in the air, “Am I the only one not getting lucky this morning?”

Nat, who always loved gossip, gasped “Who was getting lucky?” She turned to Clint and Y/N, who were both suddenly very interested in the carpet. Her finger went back and forth between them, “Did you two…” Before she could pry any further, Becca and Asher rushed out of the room calling for presents. Everyone followed the excited kids and gathered around the tree to watch them open their gifts. They oohed-and-aahed at the gifts and after the kids had torn apart all of the paper from Santa. Winnie directed everyone else to start opening things to each other. Y/N leaned over to whisper in Clint’s ear, “Bucky already got his present from Nat.”

He dropped his head onto her shoulder with a groan, “Darling, I beg of you, never speak of that again.” Everyone was exchanging gifts now. The kids were playing on the floor while everyone else was on the couch. Clint pulled a small box out and handed it to Y/N, “Merry Christmas.”

She admonished him, “I thought we said no gifts.”

“Did you really think that?”

“No, I got you something too”

“Open this first.” Y/N was shocked to see two tickets to an art exhibit she had wanted to go to. It had sold out before she could get one and had been very disappointed. “I thought it could be our first date.”

“This is crazy. How did you manage this?”

“Pepper knows some people.”

Y/N looked around to check if everyone was busy and kissed Clint quickly, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say thank you and that you love it.”

Y/N smiled, “Thank you. I love it,” She walked over to the tree and brought his gifts over, Okay so I have two presents for you. One is serious and one is fun. So take your pick.”

“Serious first.”

Y/N handed him a small box and was chewing on her bottom lip nervously. He opened it and picked up a key. “It’s to the house. You spend enough time there—”

Clint cut off her rambling with another kiss, not caring who saw, “I’m definitely going to use this key a lot.”

*********************************

@be-patient-be-good

@spntiel

#clint barton #hawkeye #avengers #clint barton x reader #hawkeye x reader #avengers x reader #clint barton imagine #hawkeye imagine #avengers imagine #avengers au #college au #toomanyrobins

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ggyutea · 3 years

Text

into the aether // jjk [CHAPTER ONE]

pairing: agent!jungkook x agent!reader

genre: not-so-secret organization au, rivals to lovers au, sci-fi, action, slow burn, mutual pining, future mystery 👀, eventual fluff, eventual smut (probably), teeny bit of future angst

word count: 4.4k

summary: As a rookie member of an organization that deals in investigating and neutralizing paranormal and extraterrestrial threats, you get assigned to your very first case with Jeon Jungkook as your partner, a former classmate you’ve never been too fond of. But what happens when your supposed low-tier rookie case begins to unravel into something more serious than anyone anticipated? And, more importantly, how do you come to terms with your growing feelings for Jungkook?

contents: jungkook being a little shit, y/n is a bisexual disaster, the tension is real honestly, female!namjoon, long haired Kook, mild info-dumping for context

warnings: mild cursing

a/n: behold, my first posted fic! i have absolutely no idea how long this series will be but i’m super excited about it!! i hope anyone who happens to come across this enjoys it :))

previous || masterlist || next

The agency-issued suit is surprisingly comfortable. Form-fitting without being tight, the dress slacks and jacket cling softly to your body as you adjust your badge before entering your new workplace. Taking a deep breath as you push open the double doors of the Aether Headquarters, you are greeted by the sight of many bustling individuals, all dressed in suits identical to the one currently adorning your body. A potent mix of excitement and nerves light up your veins as you take in the sight, the moment almost surreal.

Your heels click across the linoleum floor as you begin to make your way through the massive atrium to the semi-circular elevator. You check and double check your badge for your assignment details, noting in relief when you realize that you haven’t already forgotten them. Floor 7, Division S01. Floor 7, Division S01, you repeat over and over again, a mantra of sorts. Beginning at a brisk pace, you inevitably slow as you take in the sights of the cavernous space. Massive glass windows stretch high towards the ceiling on every wall, letting in beams of early morning sunlight that cast a warm glow over everything they touch. Two large LED screens are affixed on either side of the main elevator across the way, one showcasing a map of the city, the other a map of the country, with all of the paranormal and extraterrestrial hotspots highlighted in bright red pulsing circles. A small cafe sits nestled in a corner to your left, baristas rushing around frantically in the midst of the morning rush. A circular desk occupies the center of the room, currently manned by two individuals as they supervise the row of turnstile doors on either side. Agents stand lined up in front of the doors, some impatiently checking their watches as they wait for the people in front of them to swipe in, others leisurely sipping their coffee.

You’re reminded that in your haste this morning, you forgot to make yourself coffee, so before you join the agents at the doors, you cheerily purchase your own steaming cup of liquid energy. You’re not sure if you really need it, with all of the adrenaline rushing through your system, but you figure it can’t hurt. Sure enough, the warmth of the drink floods your body with a sense of ease, and you can’t help the smile that overtakes your face as you swipe your badge, watching the light on the console turn green as an automated voice says, “Welcome, Agent Y/n.” Continuing your path towards the elevator, you note with glee an approaching directory indicating that the library and research facilities are to your right, with the short-term containment facilities lying to your left. Of course, you have learned about all of this in your four years of training, but learning about the immensity of the resources available in the Aether Headquarters and actually seeing them and experiencing them are two completely different things. You make a mental note to check out the library before the day is over as you enter an elevator car with several other agents.

The electricity in your veins feels nearly tangible as you ascend to your dream. You note with an amused quirk of your lips that your internal energy seems a stark contrast to the yawns and sleepy gazes of the rest of the elevator. The 7th floor arrives in the blink of an eye, and you excuse yourself as you weave past a couple agents to exit the car. After a short navigation of the floor thanks to the clearly labeled and numbered signs, you finally approach the door to your division. Pronounced in bold, simple characters, the division code ‘S01’ stares at you from the door as you regard it, a slight lump forming in your throat as you take one last sip of your coffee. Thoughts fly through your head as you go through your mental checklist. Supervisor = Agent Kim Namjoo. Your hand is on the shiny chrome door handle. Mixed division. You’re turning it slowly. Potential for other recent graduates to be working here. Before you know it, the door is swinging open and-- “Ah!” You’re suddenly met with the startled yelp of a young woman, causing you to flinch as it snaps you out of your reverie.

The woman chuckles as she brings a hand to adjust her glasses, face quickly smoothing into a sweetly dimpled smile as she looks at you. “I am so sorry,” she begins upon seeing your startled expression, “you caught me totally off guard.” She laughs lightly. “I don’t believe we’ve met! You must be Agent Y/n. I’m your supervisor, Agent Kim.” She extends her hand to you as you blush, blurting out an apology before reaching out your own hand. “Sorry we couldn’t have met under more formal circumstances, but it’s really no problem as my office is right here anyway,” she explains, gesturing to a door to her right.

“Nice to meet you, Agent Kim! I’m really very excited to be here,” you let out a soft chuckle as you begin to regain your composure. Agent Kim flashes you another gorgeous smile that puts you immediately at ease.

“I’m so happy to hear that, Agent. If you wouldn’t mind following me into my office?” She begins making her way towards her office door. You quickly oblige, stepping into your supervisor’s spacious office. Agent Kim takes a seat promptly behind her desk, motioning for you to have a seat across from her.

“Hold on just one second.” Your supervisor begins typing away at the keyboard of one of her two computers and you take the brief moment to admire the immaculately trimmed bonsai tree perched next to her. However, your gaze quickly turns back to your supervisor as you can’t help but acknowledge how absolutely gorgeous she is. Her skin has all the warmth of the first golden hues of a sunrise. Brunette hair tied back elegantly, a few strands escape to frame the elegant slope of her face. Her jawline is pronounced without being too sharp, culminating in the graceful point of her chin. You flush slightly at your thoughts, mentally scolding yourself. Great. First day of work and you’re already simping over your boss. It’s not your fault you’ve had such a wonderful first impression of her. Everything about her presence immediately calms your racing heart and soothes any apprehensive thoughts that had crossed your mind on your journey into S01.

“Alright,” Agent Kim removes something from a desk drawer before setting it on the desktop and turning her attention towards you. “First and foremost, welcome to Division S01! Like I said, I’m your supervisor, Agent Kim. This is a mixed division, which I’m sure you’re already aware of as it seems you specifically requested it.”

You nod. In the Aether, there are generally three types of divisions that field agents work in. Each is composed of agents of all levels, from rookies like yourself to seasoned veterans. Some divisions are dedicated entirely to the more peaceful reports from around the city that are generally non-violent and consist of relatively minor disturbances. Nothing too serious, but due to their nature, these divisions see a lot of cases on the daily. In your time at the Academy, you’d interned on a few of these types of cases, one of them involving the containment of an alien squid horde that was interfering with the local fishing economy. Other divisions deal with the more intense, higher-magnitude cases. Often violent, these investigations require collaboration from multiple agents throughout the division as they look into paranormal serial murder, shape-shifting extraterrestrial identity theft, and the like. Divisions like yours, S01, are a hybrid. They get the best of both worlds and are well suited for agents who are capable of handling everything across the board, and, more importantly, for agents who want to take on that kind of responsibility. Since you graduated at such a high class rank at the Academy, you had no problem securing a spot in a mixed division such as this one.

“Now,” your supervisor picks up the item she had previously pulled from her desk. “This is your tablet.” She slides the device over to you. “All of your assignments and case files will be sent to you through this, and you’ll have access to a limited virtual library via our digital databases if you find yourself needing that kind of resource. Of course, you’ll use your agency-issued ID to login and it’ll give you full access!” She beams as you hold the tablet in your hands. “Your first assignment has already been sent to you, it looks like…” she trails off, turning to glance at her computer monitor. Your heart starts picking up again. You are literally holding your very first professional case in your hands!

“Do you know what level it is, or who I’ll be working with?” You can’t help the questions that bubble from your mouth. Agent Kim shakes her head.

“Unfortunately, that information comes from higher up, so until you open the file yourself I have no way of knowing the details of your field assignment,” she says with a shrug. Your stomach twists in anticipation, and you’re tempted to unlock your tablet and read through the entire assignment right then and there.

“Alright,” you say with a tentative smile. Agent Kim returns your expression.

“Now, do you have any questions before I show you to your office?” Her eyebrows lift as she looks at you expectantly. “Don’t be timid, I know I had plenty of questions when I became an official agent, but I have found that the Academy really does a spectacular job preparing agents for the field.”

“I do have a question, actually.” Agent Kim’s face immediately brightens. “Are there any other recent Academy grads other than myself assigned to this division?” You’re already aware that your closest friends from the Academy, Yubin and Jeongin, are stationed in different divisions, but you’re dying to know if anyone you recognize from your class at the Academy are in S01.

“Ah, yes. I figured you’d ask eventually. Agent Jeong Jaehyun has been here for about a week now, and Agent Jeon Jungkook started yesterday morning. They were both listed as having graduated with your class.”

You stiffen as soon as the name ‘Jeon Jungkook’ leaves her mouth. You aren’t very familiar with Jaehyun, but Jungkook… That’s a name you’ll never forget. Top of your class at the Academy, teacher’s pet, fuckboy, irritatingly pretty Jungkook.

“Oh!” you squeeze out through gritted teeth and a tense jaw. “Good to know! Thank you, Agent Kim.”

“Of course,” she replies with her warm smile that almost eases the growing knot in your stomach. “Would you care to see your office now?”

Your office isn’t huge, but it’s certainly functional. A large sleek metal desk occupies the bulk of the room, with an equally sleek office chair to match. You silently hope that it swivels. Apart from the desk and chair, a filing cabinet stands tall in the corner, in addition to a floor lamp. Another lamp sits perched on your desk beside two computer monitors and a telephone. A screen nearly identical to, albeit smaller than, the ones mounted in the atrium sits above your desk, the blue and red graphics of your city adding a touch of color not unwelcome in the otherwise very neutral room. Immediately, you begin considering ways to add your own personal touch to your workspace, inspired by Agent Kim’s bonsai tree.

Agent Kim explains the presence of dual computers, indicating that one is strictly for classified research purposes and details regarding any cases the agency might want to keep more under wraps than others, so to speak. “The screen,” she adds, gesturing to the wall, “can be used for any video conferences, calls, and the like within the Headquarters and nationwide, as well as providing the same information as the screens--I’m sure you noticed them--in the atrium.”

You nod as she continues to talk, all the while setting your bag on your desk and beginning to unpack your few personal belongings, including your diploma from the Academy.

“I suppose that’s about all you need to know about your office for the time being,” Agent Kim says after reinforcing that your agency ID will be your key to accessing your electronics. “Go ahead and start getting yourself settled, Agent Y/n. Agents Kang and Choi should be in the offices directly adjacent to you…” she trails off, seemingly trying to recall if those are the correct agents. “Anyway,” she claps her hands together, “If you have any questions, well, you know where to find me! Let me know if you need anything at all. I mean it.” Agent Kim once again gives you that calming smile. Her smile brings you a type of comfort you can’t quite explain, and you honestly couldn’t be happier with your supervisor so far. She’s warm and inviting, intelligent, beautiful, with an air about her that simply exudes leadership and command.

“Thank you, Agent Kim,” you match her smile.

With an amiable wave, she heads out. Your thoughts very quickly turn back to your assignment, and you scramble to sit at your office chair, which does in fact swivel, much to your delight, agency tablet grasped tightly in your hands. Questions race through your mind at the sight of the black mirrored surface, knowing what lies behind the locked screen. You figure the case will probably be something low-profile, as you are brand-new, but you really hope that it’s something more advanced You did graduate close to the top of your class... which brings your mind back to Jeon Jungkook. He had the honors of graduating first, and you’ll never forget that fact. You wonder what he’s been assigned, if it’s a more advanced case than is typical for rookie agents. You probably don’t want to know, however; it’ll only make you more upset if your assignment is comparatively mundane. At least you can rest in peace knowing that as a newbie, you’ll probably be paired with a more senior officer, and, with all of the agents who work in this division, the odds of running into Jungkook on a case are relatively slim. You hoped that after you graduated you’d never have to cross paths again, but alas, here you are. You sigh and run your fingers through your hair before focusing your attention back on the excitement of being here, your future literally in your hands. The closest you’ve ever been.

Finally unlocking the tablet, you’re greeted by a relatively simple interface that allows you to very easily navigate to your newly received assignment. The small folder icon sits amidst a sea of other completely unassuming icons, the tiny graphic completely unaware about the significance of its appearance to you. You open the file, trying to empty your mind of any expectations, and then… your heart sinks. At the very top of the document, next to your own, who else’s name do you see but Jeon Jungkook. Well, fuck.

You spend the better part of the next hour contemplating whether you should read the file by yourself or get your shit together and go track down Jungkook’s office so you can go over it together. Eventually, you settle for a quick skim, though the words barely stick in your mind as you find yourself somewhat preoccupied with thoughts about your partner. How are you supposed to work with him? You certainly don’t hate him, but you’ve always had your disagreements. And you’ll never forgive him for taking your spot in the class, not to mention breaking your best friend’s heart.

After absorbing as much information as your distracted mind can handle, which consists of a jumbled mass of something about a flower shop and floating objects, your rational professional brain gets the best of you, and you head to your supervisor’s office to inquire about the location of Jungkook’s--Agent Jeon’s--office. You have a job to do, and as much as you’re dreading facing Jungkook, you’ll get the job done, and you’ll get it done well. Just as you always have. And though you can’t stand Jungkook, he’s not useless.

You approach the doorway to Jungkook’s office, finding the door already ajar, before stopping to lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms with your tablet clasped in one hand. Jungkook is currently intently focused on one of his computer screens, face tense in concentration, chewing lightly on his lower lip. Tie hanging loose around his neck, the top few buttons of his dress shirt undone, jacket foregone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows with his long slightly wavy hair dangling in his eyes… yep. That’s Jungkook. You clear your throat and give a small knock on the threshold. Jungkook immediately shoots up. “Y/n!” He exclaims, eyebrows lifted, a goofy smile toying on his face. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Sorry,” he clears his throat, “I mean- Agent Y/N,” he says, face growing serious as he emphasizes ‘Agent’. “So,” he folds his hands dramatically on top of his desk. “What can I do for you?” You enter the room at last, mouth pursed in a firm line. “Agent Jeon,” you begin, taking a seat across from him. “It appears as though we have been paired together for our first assignment.”

“Oh, that’s right! I saw that. I already read the whole file. Simple stuff.” His hands are still perched steepled on top of his desk.

You gawk before realizing that of course he had gotten the file first; he’s been here since yesterday, and you figure that there was probably a fair amount of sucking up going on mixed in with, apparently, file reading. “You...already read the whole file? Were you ever going to come find me about it?” It’s about mid-morning at this point, pushing towards noon, and most agents are already well into their work days. You wonder what Jungkook has been up to all day if not coming to find you, but you suppose you can’t complain. Reading Jungkook’s name on your assignment with an hour to process that information before actually seeing him is a far better scenario than him randomly showing up at your office expecting you to work with him.

He shrugs. “I figured you’d come to me first once you found out about it and got settled. I asked her about you and she told me you’d be here today. I’ve been busy, and besides, it’s not like it’s a top priority case.”

How can he be so nonchalant about everything all the time while still managing to kiss nearly everyone’s ass? And what the hell has he been busy with? You smooth your hair back as you take a deep breath, mentally steeling yourself so as not to go off on Jungkook on your first day of work. No doubt, you’re still harboring several grudges from the Academy, but you’re a professional now. A professional. What a way to start your dream job.

“For future reference, if necessary, I would prefer that we go over the file together in detail first. This isn’t the Academy anymore, Agent Jeon. These are real people dealing with real problems and I’d like to be on the same page as much as possible at every given moment. Even if the case isn’t ‘top-priority.’”

Jungkook has been like this for about as long as you’ve known him, and although you are mere acquaintances, albeit rivals of a sort, everyone in your class at the academy was well-aware of Jeon “The Golden Boy” Jungkook’s disposition and ass-kissing tendencies. Top of your class, he always managed the best possible marks while seemingly caring about his work as little as possible. Showing his face at every party, event, club--you name it--available to him, you have no idea how he managed to get along as well as he did and continues to do. You suppose it’s probably due to his incredible charm, and some suspiciously large quantity of natural talent, not to mention his good looks. You may dislike him, but you aren’t blind. Naturally, his success always bugged you, as you constantly worked your ass off. Always trailing behind him, never quite catching up, like a dog chasing its own tail, you graduated second in your class. Years of hard work and careful studying, focusing nearly all of your attention on taking every possible opportunity available to advance your standing, was evidently not enough to best The Golden Boy. You always got the feeling he wasn’t too fond of you either, not that you really care. I guess the universe has a strange way of torturing you by assigning you two to the same division in the Aether.

“Noted.” Jungkook nods.

“What were you so ‘busy’ with anyway?” You can’t help yourself.

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, eyes shifting away from yours. “It doesn’t matter, Agent Y/n. Sorry I didn’t come get you earlier,” he says before clearing his throat, eyes meeting yours once more. You decide to let the matter go. Work awaits.

“Very well, Agent,” you say, eyeing him curiously. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go over the contents of the file with you so we both know what’s going on and we can go forward from there.” You put every effort of your being into injecting nothing but professionalism into your voice, even managing a small, tight smile.

“Fair enough,” he replies as you scoot forward in your chair and unlock your tablet as Jungkook does the same. Upon closer inspection of the document than earlier, you glean that the report comes from a Mr. Kim Seokjin who apparently owns a flower shop called Worldwide Bouquet downtown. He claims that his bouquets are disassembling themselves overnight which, understandably, is negatively affecting his business. He reports instances of his materials floating out of his reach, flowers being flung about his workspace, and the resulting frustration. Jungkook taps his fingers on the table as you scan the screen, one hand lazily scrolling through his own tablet.

“Sounds like some sort of sprig,” you mutter after perusing the report. Sprigs are one of the more docile paranormal creatures you’ve studied, typically materializing out of the playful spirit of a child. As a result, these spirits are typically very mischievous without malicious intent. Some have telekinetic abilities, some illusory capabilities and the like, but all in all, they are generally fairly easy to take care of and contain until their energy eventually dissipates into the atmosphere. At least, the Academy had taught you as much.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Jungkook offers. “A telekinetic one, most likely. Should be a quick job.”

You nod, slightly disappointed that you weren't going to be dealing with something a bit more exciting than a simple sprig, let alone dealing with it with Jungkook. The Aether probably isn’t too fond of handing off the more sensitive cases to newbies, even if you and Jungkook more than proved yourselves in the Academy. Too bad there isn’t too much about the case to actually discuss. You feel a bit foolish for making such a big deal about Jungkook not coming to you after he originally read the file as you feel your shoulders slump ever so slightly.

“See? Not top-priority,” Jungkook smirks. “You didn’t think they’d really give us something important for our first case, did you?”

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Yep.”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been hoping for something more, but it’s all important work Agent Jeon.” Besides, if you manage to execute this mission perfectly, considering working with Jungkook proves to be manageable, you’d hope that your next case will be of significantly higher status.

“Of course,” Agent Jeon says, tucking a stray strand of inky hair behind his ear. “The super important case of the floating flowers,” he snorts.

You scoff. “Can’t you take something seriously for once in your goddamn life, Agent Jeon? I will literally never understand how you managed as well as you did in the Academy.” Grabbing your tablet in preparation to leave and shaking your head, you stand up. Jungkook sits unbothered.

“Apparently not,” he retorts, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“Since you seem so blatantly disinterested in this case, I’ll just take care of it myself,” you huff. “Go back to whatever you were so busy with before, Agent.”

“Agent Y/n, we both know you can’t do that.”

He’s right. If you execute the mission by yourself without Agent Jeon, it wouldn’t reflect well on either of you, and you can’t risk compromising your image this early in your career. Especially if it meant you’d be stuck investigating nothing but sprigs for the next ten years.

A long sigh escapes you as you shoot a glare at Jungkook before sitting back down across from him. You force the fakest smile you think you’ve ever conjured.

“We’re going to stop by Mr. Kim’s later today to get the initial visit out of the way, okay Agent?” Your voice is thick with mock sweetness. “3:00, my office. I’ll be calling Mr. Kim and letting him know we’ll be checking in, kay?”

“Sounds great, Agent.” Jungkook returns your phony expression.

You stand up once more, this time with the full intention of actually leaving. “It was a pleasure, as always, Agent Jeon.” You straighten your jacket with one hand before promptly exiting, not bothering to close the door behind you. The last thing you hear is a prolonged, exasperated exhale. That makes two of us, you muse to yourself.

Upon returning to your office, you slump down in your chair, mind spinning with the incredulity of what just happened. You’re not sure at all how you’re going to manage working with Jungkook, especially since he seems so hellbent on being as difficult as possible. This is exactly what you were afraid of. The feeling, however, is probably mutual, so all you need to do is get through this. Hopefully after this you’ll never have to man a case with him again, even if you are still stuck in the same division.

Encouraged by that sentiment, swiveling ever so slightly back and forth in your chair, you manage to boost your mood just enough to finally be able to pick up the phone to call Mr. Kim.

Well, you sigh inwardly. This should be interesting.

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slytherflynn · 3 years

Text

Old and New | Pt I

Blaise Zabini x muggle!reader

word count: 1971

summary: y/n is new to France on a study abroad trip. Blaise is visiting France post-Hogwarts. rags to riches story of an unfortunate muggle falling for a complicated, ridiculously wealthy person who just so happens to also be a powerful Wizard.

a/n: this started with an idea, became a moodboard, then became an entire fleshed out fic! I thought it would be short but my brain had other ideas. enjoy! note: I did write this from my personal perspective in life. as a result it is not very inclusive. I plan to change that with my next fics, I’ve just been having a really hard time lately and have been writing a lot of comfort fics and/or self-inserts to escape from irl bc irl is rly shitty for me rn

It’s a brand-new start, in a brand-new apartment, in a brand-new city, in a brand-new country... an ocean away from home. I can bring Tacoma to France, right? At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Study abroad is fucking... scary. I kinda regret it. It’s a good opportunity and for someone who doesn’t travel, it should be a fun experience. But I’m currently having an anxiety attack over taking out the garbage, so I’m not sure my positive self-talk is working.

I look out the window of my top floor apartment, wait until someone finally finishes walking down the stairs, and run out my door - I nearly trip about five times going down the spiral of death, my arms feel like jelly thanks to perpetually pushing my garbage deeper in to avoid this trip, and I swing with all my might to hurl my garbage bag into the trash compacting dumpster - only it hits the bottom lip and falls to the ground, splitting open.

“Great!” I say, sarcastically, “First they send my luggage to the wrong location, then they try to say my passport isn’t valid because my apartment was a temporary address, then I’m greeted with a fridge full of rotting food and no power, then I’m bitten up by fleas and now - I just- fuck. Why can’t I just- do anything- right-“ I cut myself off when I hear a screen door slide and blink a couple times to erase the threat of tears that had been creeping up on me while I ranted.

When I look up, I see a tall, dark-skinned guy about my age - handsome. He’s wearing a suit, and expensive jewelry. Combine that with the fact he’s living in the apartment building next to me, which is worth more than my life just for one month of rent, and I put together that he’s probably rich beyond belief. I quickly look away, not wanting to stare. I silently pick up my garbage, piece by piece. As I work, I feel eyes drilling holes in the back of my head. I ignore it. It continues, and I still ignore it as I finally shove my ripped garbage bag in the compactor and slam the door shut. I hear a slight jump up above, and chuckle to myself.

I zoom back up the stairs and almost make it to the top, but I trip 5 stairs away from my door - and fall, hard. Body laid out flat hard. Cheek scraped and stinging from the metal grating on the stairs, hard. Lost the goddamned slide that caught on the stair, and can see it gradually falling, bouncing and rolling down the stairs, hard. I lift my head and see blood on the stair. I feel it running down my face. All I can think is that this really fucking hurts. The tears come, a combination of pain and frustration, and I pick myself up and stumble my way into my apartment, completely forgetting about the attractive rich boy who just watched me be a danger and inconvenience to myself.

I rush to the kitchen and grab a roll of paper towels, and run to the bathroom, I see the markings in the mirror and can tell it will leave a sizeable scar. Do I need stitches? I don’t know. Anyway, I start dabbing at everything and blood is still oozing out of every nook and cranny, to my displeasure. I’m about to start bandaging my face when I hear a knock on my door. “Fucking Christ!” I mutter to myself as I slap a wad of paper towels on my face and sulkily go to fling open my door.

I’m not sure who I’m expecting, but to see the same rich guy on my doorstep, slide in hand, probably wasn’t it. “Hey, um, I saw what happened, and I thought you might want your shoe back.” His accent sounds very British - I was expecting it to sound more like a snooty Frenchman’s.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” I say flatly.

As my muscles twitch to begin closing the door, he says, “Would you like some help cleaning that up? I have certifications to give medical aid... and stitches. My name’s Blaise, by the way.”

Doctor, maybe? Probably. “Sure,” I say, opening the door wider and standing back so the blood doesn’t drip on his suit. “I’m y/n.”

A few minutes later we’re in my bathroom, me sitting on the toilet, him sitting on the bathtub as he helps me fix my face. “So, Mademoiselle y/n,” He asks, “Do you find yourself in these predicaments very often?”

“Which one? Poverty, flea bitten, or bloody?” I say.

“I suppose whichever you’d like to think I was referring to.”

“Well, in *that* case - I’m usually caught unawares in all kinds of predicaments - though I’d say self-injury due to clumsiness is an uncommon one. And do you usually find yourself in predicaments requiring you to treat someone’s wounds?”

“I used to, though now it’s only on the occasion.”

“Sounds like an improvement,” I note. “I won’t guarantee it, but I think I’ll get the hang of walking up the stairs soon enough, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily mind it if I did worry about you once or twice more. Why were you running? It seemed like you wanted to get away from something. Does your garbage compactor smell that disturbing?”

“It doesn’t smell great,” I admit, “But truth be told, I’m not a fan of human interaction. It’s scary. Especially when everything is new to me.”

“How long have you been In France?”

“A few days, just enough to get myself physically settled.”

“I see. And you are from America?”

“Mhm. Let me guess, my accent gave it away.”

“And the slang, I’ve yet to hear someone from France use certain terms that you seem to favor.”

“Oh, most of my slang is specific to my city, not just my country.”

“Your city?”

“Yea, Tacoma. It’s near Seattle, if you know where that is. Tacoma’s better, though.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. My mother is a fashion designer, but she only travels where there’s inspiration or a business deal.” So that’s how he gets the expensive clothes. The rest of the money too, probably.

“Must be nice, having a handmade closet.” I muse. “Not that I care for having any more clothes than I brought. They’re pretty reliable, if I do say so myself.”

He laughs. “Yes, well, if the blood stains don’t come out of your jumpsuit you might need a new one. They shouldn’t be too difficult to remove, though.”

“Yea, I’ll just dump a bucket of Oxi-Clean on it and call it a day. That is, if any stores nearby have it.” I frown, realizing I have no clue if France carries any of the products I usually get. This is gonna suck. Hopefully the internet has some answers so I don’t have to ask anyone for help.

“Why don’t I take your jumpsuit back with me? Save you the trip. Believe it or not, I used to have chronic nosebleeds, so I know a thing or two about stain removal.” Blaise offers.

I smile, only just. “Well, if you insist. But I love this jumpsuit practically more than myself, so I expect it back right away!”

He returns the smile. “A fan of fashion? You ought to meet my mother.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure your mom would despise me - I only own seven jumpsuits and some athleisure for going on runs.” I pause, then tack on: “Oh, and some fuzzy pajamas for when I’m sick.”

Blaise cocks a brow at me. “And when you’re not sick?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I grin mischievously.

A wave of recognition graces his eyes, and he very quickly looks away, I assume for being flustered.

“You Americans, always so scandalous.” He tsks in mock scorn.

“That’s what we’re known for, is it not?” I say cheekily, “Beer, boobs and gun barrels. And all the other problems that come with that, but that’s a can of worms I am not looking to open today.”

He ties off his handiwork, and says, “It looks like my job is finished, other than stealing your jumpsuit off your back to fix it. I can wait in the other room, if you’d like?”

“Um, yea, that works. Lemme just, grab my next jumpsuit. Gonna have to do laundry early, I suppose-“

“I can wash your jumpsuit for you. I’m pretty good at reading labels, if I do say so myself.” He jokes.

“Oh?” I say, “Then you must be a real genius! Who taught you, Einstein?”

“No, but it was another white-haired, eccentric man, so you’re not that far off.”

“When all teachers are like that it’s kind of impossible not to hit relatively close to the mark.” I remark, then change clothes as quickly as I can, tossing the dirty outfit into a trusty plastic bag and tying it shut.

When I walk out to the living room, Blaise is toying with one of my sculptures. He’s definitely been meandering and lurking around. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, at which he jumps. “You’re rather skittish, Blaise.”

“And you’re rather quiet on your feet, y/n.” He observes. “But yes, I quite like your eclectic style. If only you had an apartment that let your customization shine. Something more minimalist.”

“Yes, well, it’s something I’ll forever dream of and likely never accomplish. I don’t suspect I’m going to be someone leaving the income level I was born into.” I say, just a little bit cynical.

“And why is that?” He asks.

“Because most people don’t, and the ones who do are the ones who make money. My career isn’t going to make me money.” I reply.

“So why did you pick it?”

I sigh. “Because somebody has to care about the people like me. The politicians don’t, the middle class don’t, and the rich are hell bent on keeping us there so they can have factory workers and have people going straight to prison after they graduate because we’re all desperate and miserable.”

He frowns. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s reality. And I don’t want to be like the people who get rich and stop caring because all they see is the wage difference and pretend it’s justified so they don’t have to feel complicit in the system.” I look him in the eye, my face grim. “Not all luck is by chance. Most of it is by design.”

He nods. “I understand, in a way.”

“Everyone does.” I say. “But understanding in a way and caring enough to do something about it are two different things.” I look away from him when I see his posture change. “I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s impossible not to notice the wealth gap between us when you’re wearing designer clothes and living in what looks like a mansion and I’m living in a building made in like 1900 with no elevator. It’s just the way things are, though.”

“I know.” He says quietly, thoughtfully. “I’d better get going. Your clothes?” He reaches out tentatively for the bag I’m still holding.

“Oh. Right.” I say, handing it to him. Our fingers brush against each other slightly, and it sends chills down my spine. He heads to the door while I’m rooted to the spot, collecting myself.

“I look forward to seeing you again, y/n.” He nods, meeting my eyes with a rather changed expression.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” I ask, not quite sure which answer I’m expecting.

He smiles, only just. “As soon as I am able.” Seconds later, he’s out the door, and I’m alone in my dingy ass apartment. How in the fuck did any of that just happen?

#Blaise Zabini #muggle!reader #blaise x reader #slytherin #hogwarts #lady zabini #harry potter #hp #imagine #fanfic #slytherflynn #part 1

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