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k-llama-llama · 3 years

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Going Higher

Stray Kids AU: 9th member

Tori x Stray Kids

Stray Kids during the vault jump on Kingdom.

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“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Chan asked her.

“What is that, your catchphrase?” Tori scoffed. “Come on, Chan, you know I’ll be fine.”

Chan gestured wildly at the field. “You’re trying to vault jump something that’s way taller than you are with an injured hand. I feel like this is a bad idea.”

They were at the field day for Kingdom, and Tori was staunchly refusing to sit out despite her injury and the fact that she was the only girl in the competition. This was in spite of the fact that both the managers, the producers, and Chan were trying to convince her to sit out. She’d already beaten the first two groups, and now Chan was the only one standing in her way.

“I danced ballet for years, I can jump high enough to get over that thing.” She stretched out her calf.

“What if you hit your hand?” He continued trying to reason with her.

“I’ll keep my pain to myself.” She grinned. “I’m not sitting out when I’m the only girl. It won’t look good.”

He sighed. “But you’re already injured.”

“And I won’t hold the team back.”

“Do you two feel like you’re having the same argument? Because I feel like you’re both talking about different things.” Minho looked up from where he was tying his shoe.

“We’re not having an argument at all.” Tori nudged him with her foot. “I’m going to jump the vault, set a record and live the rest of my life as a legend.”

“Possible a legend with one hand, but sure.” Minho nodded. “But, sure, give it a shot.”

“I’ll get a hook.”

“Tori!” Someone shouted.

Tori looked away from where she was stretching to see Seonghwa walking over from his own tent. She was sure her cheeks went beet red, as soon as he stepped towards her.

“Hey. You guys ready for this?” She gestured out to the field where the staff were setting up the vault to the first height.

“Probably not.” He gestured to his clothes. Ateez were the only ones who hadn’t turned up in full sporting outfits. “Are you jumping or are you sitting this one out because of your hand?”

“She should be sitting out!” Chan came up beside her.

“But he’s not the boss of me.” Tori grinned. “So I’m jumping anyways.”

“Stray Kids to the field!” The announcement came through the speakers.

“That’s us.” Chan sighed, stepping away.

Tori didn’t follow, still smiling at Seonghwa.

“Good luck.” He offered his hand for a fist bump. “Do it for the team.”

“I’ll win us a medal.” She beamed.

“If you do, smoothies are on me tonight.”

Tori blushed. She’d been out with Seonghwa a few times now, but it still took her by surprise every time she realized that he wanted to spend time with her. Neither of them were rushing to put a label on it, especially with Kingdom breathing down their necks, but they always had an amazing time. They just got each other and it was so easy to be together.

“Tori? Are you coming?” Chan called.

Tori shook out of her thoughts. “Cheer for me?”

“Of course.” Seonghwa coughed. “We all will.”

Tori smiled weakly and turned to hurry after her group.

“What was that about?” Chan asked when she reached him.

“Hm?” Tori asked cluelessly.

“You and Seonghwa. You’re going out for smoothies?”

Tori winced. She hadn’t exactly broached the topic with Chan about her kinda sorta maybe considering dating someone. It wasn’t that she thought he’d have a problem with it, she just didn’t know how he would take it. She certainly wasn’t going to lie to him…but now maybe wasn’t the time to fully explore the topic.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I promised to show him that place that does boba smoothies.”

“I love that place.” He sighed happily. Tori showed up seemingly every week with smoothies from a new place that she had discovered. It probably didn’t sound that weird for her to be taking their mutual friend out for smoothies.

“It’s great.” She nodded, before trying to quickly change the subject. “So…should I jump first to get it over with?”

“No.” He chuckled. “You should wait until a few of us have jumped so that you have time to change your mind.”

“Not changing my mind.” She winked.

She went to stand beside Jeongin, adjusting the knot in the front of her shirt. She had it tied up to reveal a little bit of her stomach, as the pink sweatpants were not necessarily flattering.

Jeongin was bouncing on his heels. He’d been getting a lot of attention as the maknae of the competition, and he was very pepped-up.

“Careful, or you’ll bounce right out of your shoes.” Tori teased.

“Noona, I was worried they weren’t going to let you jump!” He exclaimed. “How’s your hand?”

Tori held up her bandaged hand. They’d wrapped a few extra layers of gauze around it just to give it some cushioning, so she looked like she was wearing an over mitt on her hand. “Never better.”

The announcement came over that they were beginning, and Tori quickly began to cheer as the vault started.

She had to be honest, she’d been confident about the jump before they started, when they’d watched the other teams go. But now that she was up close, it seemed a lot higher. And as she watched her teammates fail (even if Jeongin did fail on purpose), she grew increasingly nervous for her turn.

“And now we have the final runner for Stray Kids! The only girl competing today, the Princess of Kingdom…Tori!” Changmin shouted over the mic.

Despite her nerves, Tori did a playful curtsy as she walked over to the starting position.

“Let’s go Tori!” She could hear cheers from the rest of the teams.

“Don’t fall!” Felix roared.

“Right.” She rolled her eyes, before waving at the camera. “Tori, ready to go!”

Tori took a deep breath, sizing up the vault, and the sprinted forward. She was athletic enough that speed wasn’t an issue, but she had to focus on making sure she would hit the vault at the right speed.

She stepped onto it, springing up onto the springboard, and vaulting as high as she could. She lifted her legs wide out to the side to clear the vault, and then landed unceremoniously on the ground.

She rolled to a stop, hands still held above her head.

“Did I do it?” She looked around wildly.

She was tackled to the side, and barely had time to suck in a breath before she found herself buried under a Stray Kids dog pile.

“You did so good!” Someone – she thought it might be Seungmin – was shouting.

“And now I’m suffocating!” Her voice was muffled. She had no idea if their mics would even be picking this up, considering how smothered she was.

“Off before you break her.” Chan started hauling people off of her.

Tori sprung to her feet as soon as she was free, bowing enthusiastically to the other teams and the announcer’s tent.

“She made that look easy.” Changmin announced with a laugh. “That’s another point for Stray Kids.”

Tori practically skipped over to the tent, absolutely beaming.

“Told ya.” She linked arms with Chan. “And you said I couldn’t do it.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t do it. I said you shouldn’t because you might hurt your hand.” He patted her back. “But fine. You did a good job. Now you just need to get through the next like six rounds.”

“Easy.” She winked at him.

When they reached their tent, Tori purposefully took the seat on the edge, closest to Ateez’s tent. Seonghwa was sitting on the end at their table, and he held out a hand for a fist bump.

“You killed it.” He declared.

“I try not to disappoint.”

“There’s no way you could.” He laughed.

Tori didn’t really know how to respond to that, so she just chuckled awkwardly and looked back out to the field. “So uh…did you guys already do that voting thing for the visual?”

“Yeah, we did it earlier.” Seonghwa nodded. “Took the pictures too.”

“Who’d you vote for?” Tori asked teasingly.

Seonghwa looked down at his feet. “I don’t think we’re supposed to tell.”

Tori laughed. “It was Felix, wasn’t it? I feel like everyone voted for Felix.”

Seonghwa just shrugged. “You’ll see.”

#stray kids #stray kids au #stray kids imagines #stray kids 9th member #female kpop #female!kpop #female member kpop #requests open #au #kpop #imagines #imagine #kpop au #kpop imagines #kpop imagine

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gallifrey1sburning · 3 years

Note

Hi 👋 a prompt you can take or leave: Draco is very unsure whether he is being flirted with or this is an extension of their office rivalry that he doesn't understand (or the reverse!) Ty!

@skeptiquex and @ihavesomeideawhatimdoinghere, I read both of your prompts back to back, and they worked really well together, so I squished them into one. I hope you enjoy! Thank you both for sending me things, and thanks to @mxmaneater for the fast beta ❤️

—

The Tally

“One more for me!” Harry crowed, scratching a new tally mark next to his name on the chalkboard behind Draco’s head. “Better luck next time, Malfoy.” The board had a partner behind Harry’s desk, and the tallies recorded on one would reflect on the other, but Harry took great joy in invading Draco’s space and rubbing his victories in his face at every opportunity. Not that Draco was any better. It was part of the fun.

“Please, that one hardly counted,” Draco objected reflexively. “You only caught him because you tripped, for Merlin’s sake. Hardly an impressive arrest.”

Harry shrugged and grinned, perching on the edge of Draco’s desk. “An arrest is an arrest.”

“Whatever,” Draco grumped. He and Harry had been playing this game for over a year now, and the margin was always extremely close. Harry was just barely ahead, at the moment, but Draco would catch up to him soon. He and Parvati had a potions ring bust coming up that Harry and Weasley weren’t involved in. Once that was done, he’d have overtaken him, and the smug expression currently gracing his colleague’s face would disappear along with his lead.

“So, any big weekend plans?” Harry asked, ignoring Draco’s pout.

Draco dropped the expression when it failed to produce the desired reaction. “Nothing too exciting. Yourself?”

“I’ve got tickets for the Puddlemere game on Saturday, actually. Ron was supposed to come, but something came up, so I’m trying to find someone else who might want to go. It would be a shame for the ticket to go to waste.” Harry was biting his lip and looking hopeful, and for just a moment, Draco thought— but no. If he’d wanted to ask, he would have asked, he told himself firmly.

Taking care to keep his expression light, Draco pondered for a moment before saying. “I think McCutcheon is a Puddlemere fan. Maybe try him?”

“Oh, right.” Draco almost thought that Harry looked disappointed for a moment, but on second glance, his expression was clear and friendly. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll see if he’s free. Have a great weekend, Draco. Parvati.” He knocked his knuckles against the desktop twice before straightening and walking off, hands in pockets. Draco watched him go, sighing as he rounded the corner. It really was a pleasure watching him walk away.

He was brought back to reality by his partner smacking him in the back of the head with a stack of paperwork. “Ow! What the fuck, Patil?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, looking even more exasperated with him than usual. “Every time he’s over here, you spend the rest of the day mooning, and he finally asks you out, and you say NO?!”

“I do not moon!” He did moon, and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to say so. He still had his pride. “And he didn’t ask me out, either.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“He didn’t! He just said he had an available ticket! He very clearly had an opening to invite me, if he wanted to, and he very clearly didn’t.” There had been a number of moments like this, in recent months, and Parvati kept insisting that Harry was flirting with Draco. For his part, Draco kept insisting that she mind her own business, because she obviously could not read Harry Potter at all if she thought he was interested in Draco.

“You are an absolute moron.” Parvati shook her head in disbelief, but let it drop.

—

They made the bust on Tuesday. Monday had been a rush of preparations and contingency planning and final logistics, and the stakeout had lasted all day, but in the end, it had been worth it—they’d brought in six players in one sweep and were confident that at least one of them would give up the rest in exchange for sentencing leniency. Draco had dropped into bed exhausted but elated.

He was still riding high when he sauntered into Harry and Weasley’s office on Wednesday. He leaned ostentatiously over Harry’s desk, stretching almost directly over his perpetually-tousled head to grab a piece of chalk and carefully add six perfectly straight tally marks to his own side of the board, giving him the lead by three.

“And that’s how you do it,” he gloated as he straightened, smirking smugly down at Harry. “Suck it, Potter.”

Across the office, he heard Weasley groan and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like ‘he wishes’ under his breath. Harry looked a bit pink, but still smirked right back up at Draco, so it was probably just the heat. “Played that one close to the chest, didn’t you? But don’t worry, I’ve got something in the pipeline. I’ll be back on top before you know it.”

In Draco’s peripheral vision, he saw Weasley bang his head against his desk. “I’m getting tea,” he announced, stalking out of the office. Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, who shrugged.

Now that he was here, Draco didn’t quite want to leave yet, so he searched for something else to talk about. “How was the game?” he finally asked.

“Huh? Oh, the Quidditch game. Yeah, I didn’t end up going, actually.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not making eye contact. “Wasn’t really in the mood.”

Draco wrinkled his brow, not really sure what to make of that, but then Harry asked a question about the potions bust, and Draco forgot about it, instead focusing on a dramatic retelling of his glorious victory.

—

Harry’s next arrest came after a particularly brutal double homicide. It was all anyone was talking about when he arrived that morning, but, despite Draco’s expectations (and perhaps anticipation), Harry didn’t appear at his desk to brag about it. He was feeling a bit anxious by the time he finally saw him passing by his door in the late afternoon, and the feeling only grew when he did. Harry had bags under his eyes, and his usually confident posture was slumped. He didn’t look as though he had slept. He also didn’t look like he was going to stop.

“Hey,” Draco said, rising from his desk to catch him before he passed by completely. “Haven’t seen you today.” Are you okay?, he didn’t say, but he thought it was probably audible in his tone anyway.

“Oh. Hey, Draco.” Harry looked up at him, seeming a little lost. He looked hollow behind his eyes, and Draco could feel his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Yeah, I’ve been…” he trailed off and glanced past Draco, into his office, to where the chalkboard hung prominently on the back wall. He seemed to curl even further in on himself. “I don’t want to count this one, okay?” he said, finally. “It doesn’t really feel like a victory.”

“Yeah, of course,” Draco said immediately, and he suddenly felt completely helpless. “Can I—” he hesitated, and then put a tentative hand on Harry’s slumped shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

He was half sure that Harry would pull away from his touch, but he didn’t. If anything, he seemed almost to relax into it. “I’m okay,” he said, and it wasn’t convincing, but Draco didn’t want to push it. “Thanks, though.” He reached up and gripped Draco’s hand where it lay on his shoulder, so briefly that his hand was gone before Draco could even fully register it, and then stepped back, continuing on his way.

Draco stood and stared at the chalkboard for a while when he got back to his desk. Then, he picked up his eraser and carefully removed one tally from his own side.

—

Their next bust, they were on together. A small Neo-Death Eater group that the department had been keeping an eye on, but who hadn’t done much of anything until now, had suddenly decided to make a grand statement by threatening a large-scale attack on Diagon Alley if their (entirely insane) demands weren’t met. Needless to say, the Ministry was not interested in negotiation, and the whole Auror force had been called out en masse.

Somehow, Harry and Weasley had ended up working in tandem with Draco and Parvati, and now Harry and Draco were back to back in a dead-end alley, dueling a pair that seemed to be the last desperate stragglers, while Parvati watched the street, ready to block anyone who might try to interfere, and Weasley stood to the side, clutching his ribs and sweating but still managing to hold a fairly steady shield charm. There was an unconscious, Incarcerous-ed body on the ground near him; his Stunner’s aim had been true, but the assailant had gotten off one last hex before it hit. He wasn’t in imminent danger—Draco had been hit by the same spell before, and it was extremely painful but didn’t cause any lasting damage once reversed—and although that would be easy enough to do, they didn’t have a wand to spare at the moment.

Harry and Draco worked together like they’d been born to it, and if their respective partnerships hadn’t been working so well for so long, Draco might have considered it a waste that they weren’t paired together. Spells flew around them like fireworks, and they cast and dodged and shielded and attacked without speaking, without pause, until, suddenly, it was over.

“Ron!” Harry cried as soon as his wand dropped, but Parvati was already by his side, countering the spell, and Ron’s body relaxed almost immediately.

“I’m fine, mate. Great work.”

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and then turned to Draco, chest still heaving with exertion. Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face even as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel sweat tracking down his face, his neck, his back, and he was streaked with dirt and—he suspected—blood; but they had won, and no one had died, and he was almost high on the rush of it. “I’m not sure who those count for,” he said, half laughing. “It happened too fast. Did you catch who took them down?”

Harry was grinning now, too, the buzzing energy of their win almost visibly coursing through him. He beamed at Draco, and he looked so fucking beautiful, even though he was just as dirty and dishevled as Draco was, that Draco couldn’t help but glance, just for a second, at those lips that he’d surreptitiously observed for so long as they stretched wide with joy. When he snapped his eyes back up, however, it was clear that Harry had seen, because the smile had morphed into something that Draco couldn’t put a name to, and his eyes were searching Draco’s for something. And then—

“Fuck it,” he heard Harry say, and then there were hands on either side of his head and he was being—quite thoroughly—kissed, right there in the alley. He melted into it immediately, pulling Harry closer to himself almost instinctively. There was an iron tang of blood as their tongues met, and Draco wasn’t sure whose it was, but he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t care about much of anything, right now, besides Harry’s hands, and Harry’s lips, and the press of Harry’s chest and hips against his own, and whether Harry might want to reenact this moment later but somewhere with a bed and a lot less clothes.

“I TOLD YOU!” Parvati yelled triumphantly in the background.

“Fucking finally.” Ron sounded both amused and exasperated.

Draco ignored them in favor of sliding his hands into Harry’s birdsnest of hair, pulling lightly and making him groan into the kiss. He supposed this one counted as a win for both of them.

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#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #draco malfoy #harry potter #my writing

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of-tatooine · 4 years

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for the record. | chapter 2 - bravo

it was time you tied the name to the person behind it.

[Day 0, 2011 - 06:50:12, Credenhill, UK]

Modern warfare was a man’s world.

Everyone knew it, everyone acknowledged it. It was as if there was this unvisible barrier surrounding certain aspects of the life, unwritten rules memorized by many soldiers.

No one would speak about it, nor would anyone bother to, but everytime the guns were locked and loaded, fuels of engines were replenished and explosives were strapped - it was one of the many things running rampant in your mind.

Though you had been young compared to the others, having some considerable amount of years of service under your belt had shown you that some truths were indeed hard to swallow. Yet they had to be accepted nonetheless - it was just the way things worked in your line of duty. After all, it had been just one of the many facts of the matter that you were forced to suppres deep down into your subconscious, along with many emotions associated with them.

They taught you how to suck in your much-preserved pride as you crawled in deep gravel and dirt, your skin a mess made out of mud. As you collapsed out of dehydration during the trek in the jungles, only to be pulled back to your feet to face yet another barked order. As you roared in pain when a bullet lodged itself into your flesh, twice as loud as it was pulled out.

They never taught you how not to miss the fallen, the friend and the comrade, or how to forget about those nightmares creeping into your being at night.

It had taken a lot of pondering and controlling your mental before stepping onto that plane and getting flown out to Credenhill. Being placed on the reserve regiment for some time had gotten to you - it felt like an eternity since you had been out in the field, deployed on an assignment. Weeks that had been filled with gathering intelligence and running strategy behind operations would slowly transform themselves into lots of pushups and reloading, that you had absolutely no doubt about.

However, spoken in the silent mumble of your lips, you prayed your body did not betray you - operating behind screens and files was lightwork compared to the drills that you suspected Captain Price would put you through. At some point the muscle memory would kick in, that was for sure, yet what concerned you was how long it would take till that eventually came true.

One step at a time, Sergeant.

It indeed was a beautiful day out. The rays of sunshine out in the vast concrete of the base courtyard emanated within the short sleeves, providing some much-needed warmth and comfort. Not much time had been given as you arrived on base - “get yourself to the range right away, soldier,” were the instructions that had followed the moment your feet touched the earth in the forsaken hours of the early morning.

Task Force 141. Now, that was a nice mouthful for classic selection training, considering the fact that you had been shipped out to the common 22nd Regiment training compound, the choice baffling you. Operating behind enemy lines within a covert squad certainly could not work when you were right where the enemy expected you to be - one of the main training bases of the entire Special Air Service. He must have been planning something substantial yet hidden behind plain sight - it had been impossible to get a word out of the renown Captain ever since he had approached you in London - in broad daylight, much to your added surprise in hindsight.

That meant you would just have to wait and see.

As your light steps took you towards the armory, clad in your gear of tactical shirt and pants with all the holsters strapped in place, there was a certain mix of emotions harbored in your heart and resonated within your being. Some confusion due to the lack of direction in your assignment.

And then, even though faint, came in a deeply-lodged sense of peace. How everything seemed to fit just a bit tighter, a little bit better - the perfect little adjustment to the crooked painting on the wall. The atmosphere of the green hangars and tents, the smell of tank engine fuel with the sound of shell casings dropping, one after the other, in soft clinks. The constant rush and the ever-lasting adrenaline.

There was a certain habituality to it, an accustomed year’s ease and some beauty in the routine of it all - and your soul had apparently longed for it for too long.

Welcome to your new home.

“Glad you made it, Sergeant,” a familiar face would greet you as bright lights hit you upon entering the hangar, his hand gesturing towards the guns laid out on the table. Nodding your head with a small smile, you would oblige.

“I trust you know the drill. Report back to me after you’re comfortable with the rifle - Captain Price wants to see you.”

That made your jaw clench in anticipation, or was it more of a bottled worry? Whatever it had been, it certainly did help as your bullets rained down on target after target, getting used to the weight of the rifle within your hands - while some shots had been a bit lacking, it did not take too many attempts for you to get back into the groove. The metallic sounds of fake targets lowering and the explosions helping you remember.

Footsteps behind you as yet another target went down in a screeching rusty sound. It seemed like he had chosen to watch, after all. “Not bad. Might even be a bit better than the FNG,” Gaz would comment on your shooting - which you believed was his attempt at being as nice as possible - as you turned your body to face him, your grip on the weapon in front of you relaxed. That earned him a little cocking of your eyebrow, tilting your head in a newfound curiosity.

“FNG?”

And there came the words, along with a nod.

“Fresh out of Selection. His name is Soap.”

There it was again. That name. Now, you had heard your fair share of silly little nicknames thrown around to soldiers - the kinds that stuck with them forever. This had to make the list of the best you had heard.

What the hell kind of a name is Soap, anyway?

It was like he read your mind, noticing that silent pause coupled with the upwards curl in your lips - returning the smile lightheartedly as he gestured you to follow him outside. “Weird name, eh? Captain was not willing to take it easy on him,” he commented as he walked alongside you to the far hangar, the fresh air hitting you along with the grumbles and low roars of the armor passing by.

“I bet,” you returned, a slight chuckle on your lips. Your tone growing just a tad bit lower, softer and meaningful just before the comfortable silence of your walk was cut off at the entrance of your destination.

“It’s good to see you, Kyle.”

“Likewise,” he acknowledged, giving you the type of understanding nod shared between old comrades alike - gesturing you to enter through the vast metal doors as you took a deep breath in your slightly nervous state due to the unknowns behind that hangar wall.

Orders were barked, audible even right from the entrance as you heard commotion. A replica of an obstacle course was occupying most of the space, the Union Jack and the SAS emblem proudly hanging next to each other on the far end. Shots were being fired, and you could hear the heavy footsteps sprint down the wooden flooring.

On the left side, which quickly became your next focal point, stood your new team - a few soldiers huddled up and clad in blackout tactical gear, watching the monitors to perhaps gauge how well the soldier running the course was doing. And of course there he was - the signature beard was recognizable from miles away as he leaned into the microphone installed, practically yelling to the intercom even though the poor soldier was most likely double-hearing him with the echoes of his tone.

His voice followed after a couple more final gunshots dropped in the distance - "Sprint to the finish!"

As you advanced towards observation with Gaz announcing your presence, you could not help but note the uniforms. Completely blacked out gear, light waxed material. Fit for a night time operation - in and out, close quarter combat. Relatively not too heavy material that would last in water and land. It made you wonder what your next mission would look like already.

“Welcome back into the fight, Sergeant,” the familiar commanding voice spoke, the blue eyes softening ever so slightly upon the sight of you yet never losing professionalism.

“It’s good to be back, Sir,” came your response, standing still and awaiting orders as you took a look around your surroundings once more - the static of the screens helping just a tad to numb your mind as you felt all pairs of eyes in that room were focused in on you.

Nothing you had not handled before, so you stood up even straighter - and put a brave face, jaw clenched.

“We’ll debrief for the mission ahead once the FNG carries himself over,” he instructed all the others, his tone sounding almost tired of dealing with the new guy, as the other soldiers that you could not really recognize behind the dark fabric chuckled. With the grip on your weapon relaxed, you continued to hold it against your chest like you were trained to do, losing yourself in the gentle upheaval of the base behind you. The smell of cordite coming in closer, it was followed by residual panting and boots against concrete.

“Pretty good, Soap. But I’ve seen better.”

As you searched for the body to finally associate the name to, it did not take long for you to spot yet another pair of blues, these ones a bit stormy and icy in the little specks - piercing nonetheless. Tall, you would note, as his built legs took him towards the monitors you stood near. His chest heaved in a mild rhythm, the weapon clad iron tight in his gloved hands - in the split second that you had gazed at him, you would also spot his mohawk, which he surprisingly sported well.

Oh.

What intrigued your curiosity more was that he was staring right at you too - the clenching of his jaw indicated that he was trying not to, for too long. In an attempt to break the uncomfortable nature of the interaction, he would nod in an almost respectful way, though there had been some sort of light reflecting in his irises.

It was Captain Price’s authoritative voice and the clearing of his throat that brought you back to reality, from that interlude which felt like it lasted almost forever. After a soft nod of acknowledgement thrown at the man, your focus was again redirected back to your officer in command, awaiting your next assignment.

“Listen up - the cargo ship mission is a go. Get yourselves sorted out. Wheels up at 0200. Dismissed.”

A plethora of strong echoes of yes, sir rang throughout the space, the tone intensified at the hinted urgency of the mission. Perhaps you should not have been so surprised when Captain Price called out your name, beckoning you to come hither.

“Sergeant, it’s your turn to run the CQB test. See if you can get the squadron record broken, eh?”

Maybe it was your eyes lying to you in the early hours of the morning but you could have sworn you saw Gaz’s smile from the edge of your vision as he headed out from the hangar, with the FNG trailing right beside him, sunlight seeking to outline his broad back to you, adorned by the weapon strapped down. With no other evident choice presented to you other than following orders, you did so - this time, with much more purpose.

Was it the fact that you trusted Price with your life? Or was it how you fought side by side in the trenches with Gaz, as dirt and bullets rained down over you both? Was it the way the squadron welcomed you in without question nor judgement, without having their eyes trail down all over you laced in other intentions?

Was it the brief eye contact you had with yet another new soldier into the squadron that told you, somewhere deep within your subconscious, that everything would be just fine?

This de novo sense of excitement and vigor within you, originating from an unknown source led you towards the ladder with considerable ease - you would not notice the way Soap’s eyes lingered on you just for the briefest of moments, turning back before stepping out of the sliding doors - before Gaz eventually and practically dragged him out by his arm.

And that night, during the only time he got to write in his journal before the looming mission, Sergeant MacTavish would start, while his memory was still fresh, the hard lines and edges of the very, very rough sketch which would end up as his most prized artwork - a drawing of you.

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#yall im gonna have a happy ending to this #he deserves a happy ending #been writing nonstop #lmk what you think!!!!#i love his eyes so kinda focusing on them lmao #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #cod reader insert #cod modern warfare #val writes #captain price #writing

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years

Text

Wip Wednesday

Untitled fic (Correspondence)

Summary/Story so far: HotchReid, slow burn, AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. We are now months into this... tentative thing that is beyond friendship, beyond flirtatious, they still don't know much about each other on paper... but this feels a lot like dating. And then one day, Hotch abruptly stops answering his phone.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

(Set in season 6, unbeta'd, still the first draft, text/email templates are temporary)

((Notes: Spencer's POV this time, he is 29 and working at CalTech, Hotch still doesn't know how old he is though he does know that he's at least younger than 45 now. Hotch has been MIA now for about 18 hours.))

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch is working. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be apart of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking.

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

Because they do. They have... something.

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

[]You're going to get me in trouble.

[][]Did I make you smile?

[]I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[][]Then why are you checking your phone?

[]You know why.

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

Surely they know he has friends, though?

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

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is.

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

Was he really going to do this?

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

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

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

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

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

Please let me know of his well-being.

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

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

His morning routine progresses as usual, to start. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well.

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling.

He becomes even more distracted when his email pings, a response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen, right in the middle of his department announcements. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls.

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

Surgery.

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

Hotch is hurt.

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The reply is almost immediate.

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

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

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. But then his mind sticks on something from the email.

Boy Wonder.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch?

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

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

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

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

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

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or lables as official.

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

Except, every victim has elevated potassium rates.

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

There’s no time for email.

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

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

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

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?”

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

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

“Is his potassium elevated?”

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

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

tbc...

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #I s2g it is but it is also long af #legit this ended up being 1900 words i just didn't feel like stopping you know?#so yall get like... 25% of the entire chapter basically #sorry not sorry #expect a wip every week now #wip wednesday #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting #don't ask about the dots tumblr and I are in a formatting fight and aren't on speaking terms rn

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kiapet2 · 3 years

Text

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 13: A Minor Case of Major Brain Damage

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: In which Thomas takes a trip through the past.

Chapter Warnings: Unethical Experimentation, Non-Consenting Test Subjects, Semi-Suicidal Ideation

Falling.

You don’t know for how long you’ve been falling, but it feels like far longer than a person should be able to fall, and when you look down you still can’t see the bottom. The elevator shaft is just small enough that you could probably brush your fingers on either side if you stretched your arms out, but unlike last time no plastic tubing appears to whisk you off to somewhere else Occasionally you pass an open floor, but they whizz by too quickly for you to see much of anything.

Just like your previous fall down this shaft, below you is obscured in darkness, the true depth of the shaft a mystery. You guess you’ll finally get to see what’s at the bottom, one way or another.

You close your eyes and steady your breathing for what could be seconds or minutes, trying not to think about what’s coming. Then there’s a jolt accompanied by a massive crash, and your world tilts and goes black.

Groaning, you blink your eyes open as the world gradually fades into focus. Above you, a vertical tunnel stretches into infinity, broken boards hanging off the edges from where you apparently broke through. The metal elevator shaft is not embedded in a wall or ceiling as you would expect but rather hanging down into open air; the actual ceiling of this room is so far above you, you can’t even see it. Instead, the distance above you looks hazy, almost like you’re outside on a cloudy day.

You sit up, checking yourself over and finding no visible wounds, though your body feels like one massive bruise. The Portal Gun is lying next to you and you pick it up, turning it over in your hands and finding no indication that it’s broken.

So, the good news is you’ve officially survived the fall intact. The bad news is, you’re trapped in the bowels of a facility that’s about to self-destruct, and by the look of this elevator shaft you’re not likely to find transportation back up.

The area surrounding you couldn’t be more different from the rest of the Aperture Science facility if it tried. Where the test chambers were sleek and sophisticated, this looks almost like a junkyard, all twisted metal and crumbled stone. If this place is even part of the actual facility, it hasn’t been used for a long time.

You couldn’t have picked a better place to really make you realize how truly alone you now are.

You’ve felt alone before. It can be hard to remember, now that you’ve become used to one of not many friends peering over your shoulder, giving advice and making jokes at your- or each others’- expense, but when you first woke up here it was to large, empty chambers with no company other than a distant Voice. You remember how relieved you were when you first met Logan, how worried you were every time he or the others left, terrified that this time they wouldn’t come back.

And yet, during all that time you never were as alone as you thought you were. Janus was watching you the whole time, giving his sarcastic two cents even as he tried to pretend to be distant and robotic, and the others never even considered abandoning you like you feared.

Now, you’re much too far away for Janus to see you, even if he was still in a position to be able to do so. Not that he would want anything more to do with you anyways, not after you betrayed the trust he so rarely gives in the first place. And as for the others, well. They were always going to side with Patton over you, weren’t they?

God, Patton. It’s hard to believe your optimistic, friendly companion could have become the nightmarish entity that just tried to take your freedom once again. You should have had him taken out of there at the first sign of trouble, should have done something to help him instead of just watching as your friend was subsumed by whatever malignant consciousness exists in this place. But you didn’t do anything when he needed you most, and now it’s too late. Too late for him, and too late for you.

For a moment, you’re tempted to lie back down, try to sleep and forget until the facility blows up and comes crashing down on top of you. Or, failing that, until you die of hypothermia or thirst. Why bother trying to find your way out of here, when all your previous attempts only hastened your inevitable demise? Can’t you just rest, for once in your short post-cryosleep life?

But even as you consider the thought, something in you rejects it, some deep survival instinct that refuses to let you just lay down and die. You owe it to the others, owe it to Patton, to see this through, even if the inevitable end is your death.

Sighing, you tentatively push yourself to your feet as your legs groan in protest and, not sure what else to do, begin picking your way through it, looking for a way out, or at least forward.

You make your way through the rubble, navigating your way around walls, fences and pits using carefully placed portals. The ground slopes gradually down, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the facility, and as you continue to descend you start to pass signs, saying ominous things like Keep Out and Do Not Enter.

You probably should be at least a little concerned about that, but you can’t muster up the energy to really care. Your feet stamp out a regular rhythm on the ground, right-left-right-left, and you lose yourself in the monotony of walking as you move further downward. Eventually, you come to a metal door, similarly marked with warning stickers, and with some carefully placed portals through broken windows are able to move past it, into what's hidden behind.

Walking through the final door, you find yourself entering what appears to be some kind of waiting room, faded and decayed with age. As you watch, a large metal piece falls off a large iron sign hanging above the room, a piece you belatedly realize is the shape of the Aperture Science logo.

A voice suddenly sounds from the speakers, making you jump.

Welcome, gentlemen, to Aperture Science. Astronauts, war heroes, Olympians- you’re here because we want the best, and you are it. So: Who is ready to make some science?

The voice chuckles, and you glance around yourself, confused. It doesn’t sound like anyone you've spoken with during the time you've been awake, and has a different quality to it than the announcements you’re used to hearing- tinny and faded, like an old-timey radio announcer, but despite all that it still twinges a recognition deep within you, like this is someone you used to know.

Now, you already met one another on the limo ride over, so let me introduce myself. I’m Cave Johnson. I own the place.

There’s a thousand tests performed every day here in our enrichment spheres. I can’t personally oversee every one of them, so these pre-recorded messages’ll cover any questions you might have, and respond to any incidents that may occur in the course of your science adventure. Those of you helping us test the repulsion gel today, just follow the blue line on the floor. Those of you who brought in your pets for behavior therapy, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that they definitely won’t be chewing your shoes anymore. The bad news is it’s because they don’t really have teeth. Or mouths. Or head. Very well behaved, though! Anyways, so long for now, and happy testing!

You wait for a few more moments, but the recording- if it is actually that, and not another AI trying to trick you- seems to have stopped.

You look around again at the old waiting room surrounding you- a piece of history, Aperture Science when it was run by humans and their recorded announcements rather than the AIs who populate otherwise abandoned test chambers. You guess it makes sense that there must have been humans in this place once- the abandoned offices are proof enough of that, and Logan mentioned that he and the others were made by and from humans.

Your heart twinges, and you shove down thoughts of the others. You're on your own now, might as well make the best of it and push forwards.

The doors leading forward are high in the walls and the catwalks used to reach them have fallen away with age, but you’re able to finagle your way to them anyways by riding an elevator in the center of the room upwards and then using the momentum from jumping down the shaft to fling yourself over. It’s so weird to think that you used to be afraid of a simple one-story fall.

The old recording whirrs back to life as you enter the next chamber. Welcome to our next test on the Repulsion Gel, Cave Johnson’s voice says. Now, the boys over at Medical told me we should be giving testers regular drink breaks and not carrying out testing for more than four hours at a time. Well I think I speak for all you fine fellas when I say we’re not going to let a buncha namby-pamby whitecoat bigwigs get in the way of our science! If you pass out, we’ll send a retrieval bot to pick you up and carry you off to the nursery with the other babies. Now let’s get going!

In front of you is a test chamber. It’s older, with walls made out of metal and concrete rather than the sleek, moveable tiles that made the test chambers you’re familiar with, but still recognizable.

You start laughing, hard enough that you need to sit down. Even down here, even with no one else around, you’re still testing. Playing the good little lab rat, solving puzzles while you wait for the scientist to pull the plug. That’s all you’ve ever done here, isn’t it?

You take some big, whooping breaths, trying to calm yourself. You’re not sure how you know to do it, but you start counting breaths: in for four counts, hold for seven, out for eight. It takes a bit of time, but eventually you are able to get yourself to calm down, your aching abdomen the only sign that you lost control of your emotions.

Looking at the test chamber in front of you again, you notice that it’s astonishingly easy- jumping and then bouncing off the blue gel to get to the other side of a gap. You breathe deep again, closing your eyes and steeling yourself. You’ve done test chambers where you flung yourself across giant rooms filled with toxic sludge while turrets shot at you in the air; you can handle a few antique ones down here. Then you open your eyes and take a running jump.

Welcome to the Enrichment Center, Cave Johnson’s tired voice says. As you’ve made your way through the abandoned offices and test chambers that make up this old place, you’ve listened to his recordings become less enthusiastic, more run down, listened to him start talking about things like stolen inventions and bankruptcy and being forced to recruit new testers from the streets for practical pocket change. But you’ve never heard him sound quite like this- so raspy and worn he almost seems half-dead.

Since making test participation mandatory for all employees, the quality of our test subjects has risen dramatically. Employee retention, however, has not. He coughs, a harsh, rattling sound that sounds like it must tear at his throat. As a result, you may have heard we're gonna phase out human testing. There's still a few things left to wrap up, though. First up, conversion gel.

The bean counters told me we literally could not afford to buy seven dollars worth of moon rocks, much less seventy million. Bought 'em anyway. Ground 'em up, mixed ‘em into a gel. And guess what? Ground up moon rocks are pure poison- I am deathly ill. Great portal conductors, though. So now we're gonna see if jumping in and out of these new portals can somehow leech the lunar poison out of a man's bloodstream. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. He coughs again, harder. Let's all stay positive and do some science.

The recording clicks off, and you wince. You don’t really like Cave Johnson- he sounds like a bit of a jerk, honestly, and you can’t help but feel he’s at least indirectly responsible for the situation you’re in now- but hearing him like that, sad, hopeless, and slowly dying, is just painful. You find yourself wishing he did manage to get better, though you know that he’s likely long dead by now either way.

Focusing again on the task at hand, you make your way through the abandoned office and out a back door, coming out in old maintenance hallways, all smooth concrete walls striped with metal pipes. You come to a large, round vertical shaft, and while the walls themselves won’t hold portals, there’s enough scaffolding and smooth platforms to let you pick your way up with strategically-placed portals and the careful use of flinging.

Cave Johnson’s voice again fills the shaft when you’re about halfway up. He seems to be… ranting about lemons? And lemon-related weapons that burn people’s houses down? It’s kind of hard to follow when you’re so focused on the task at hand, though you almost find yourself wishing Remus was around- you’re pretty sure he’d get a kick out of it. Remus would enjoy a lot of the stuff down here, actually. The thought is slightly horrifying.

Johnson has collected himself by the time you reach the top, and this time you stop to listen.

The point is: If we can store music on a compact disc, why can't we store a man's intelligence and personality on one? So I have the engineers figuring that out now.

Brain Mapping. Artificial Intelligence. We should have been working on it thirty years ago.

The recording ends. You stand there for a bit, feeling like you’ve been hit over the head with a metal pipe. Artificial Intelligence. He’s talking about creating the program that made the others. Talking about using the program to download his own personality into an AI. Logan had mentioned that he and the others were developed from a human man’s personality, but you hadn’t ever stopped to think about what exactly that meant- that they are all aspects of someone who was a living, breathing person. Someone who was the head of this facility, no less.

Could you see the others in him? Remus, definitely, with his love of weird and dangerous science. Roman, maybe, in how dramatic Johnson seemed to have been, and Janus with his disregard for people he saw as beneath his notice. Logan and Patton are harder sells; Cave Johnson didn’t seem all that intelligent- rather anti-intellectual, actually- and he certainly wasn’t empathetic or kind. And he definitely wasn’t careful or restrained, either, so Virgil is right out. Maybe extracting certain parts of his brain exaggerated those aspects of his personality?

But then, if Cave Johnson’s goal was to be immortal, why split his personality into component parts in the first place? Why not just download his personality wholesale? Or did that turn out to be impossible?

By now the mystery has dug its claws into you, and you find yourself itching for more answers, more context on how exactly this came about. It’s a nice distraction, at least, from your imminent demise and the fact that none of the people you’re learning about actually want anything to do with you anymore.

And yeah, not thinking about that right now. You shake your head as if it could dispel the painful thoughts, and keep moving.

This time, when you find another stretch of abandoned offices you don’t immediately head back behind them, but instead move within the halls of the facility, using portals to traverse places that are locked or where the floor has fallen in. You move on instinct, maneuvering these hallways like you’ve done it a thousand times. You don’t consciously choose your destination, but aren’t terribly surprised when your steps take you up to an office door, the words CAVE JOHNSON, CEO engraved on a golden plaque at eye level.

The office is locked, so you smash the small office window, then shoot a portal through it to the opposite wall. The office is large but stripped almost bare, with an old computer desk and several file shelves all that remain. There are rectangles on the walls and floor, places where fancy furniture and paintings presumably used to be, and everything is covered with such a thick layer of dust you’re a little afraid if you disturb anything too much you’ll start coughing and not stop.

You move over to the computer, an old, boxy model, and start it up. Miraculously, it still works, and you’re soon greeted with an old DOS screen, black with white lettering asking you to input commands. You sift through Cave Johnson’s file cabinets, sifting through a pile of floppy disks before pulling one out with a victorious cry.

You slip the disk labeled PRE-RECORDED MESSAGES into the computer, then type in the appropriate command and start going through files.

Not having the time or patience to go through every single audio file, you scroll down to the last one and open it, intending to start from the latest created files and go back. You open it and the sound of an old audio recording once again fills the room.

Hello, sir, you wanted to see me?

Your head shoots up. That voice feels intensely familiar, in a way that tickles the back of your mind, but you can’t quite-

Thomas, my boy!

Your breath catches in your throat.

Come in, come in. Take a seat, make yourself at home. Have some tea, if you want.

No thank you, the second voice- YOUR voice- says, I’m more of a coffee person.

Probably a good idea, the last batch was exposed to radiation from Lab C and well, long story short we’re still not certain if it’ll give you bowel cancer. But enough about the unimportant things! I’ve been looking over your files, and I must say I’m impressed- you seem to be quite the renaissance man! A degree in chemical engineering, a relatively successful career in the theatrical arts, a damn near spotless record in our part-time development team, and it looks like you’ve been making quite a stir in the media department’s new short video program. What was it called, Stem? Ivy? No no, don’t tell me, I’ll get it eventually. I doubt that sort of thing will ever catch on anyways. But the point is it shows initiative, which is something I like to see in my employees!

Thank you, sir?

You are quite welcome, you’ve earned it! Now the folks in our tech department have been telling me they want someone with a well-rounded mind for the initial AI development tests, and I think you fit the bill. And you’re not a vital employee, which is good because we’re still not quite sure what being copied into a computer does to your brain. Best case scenario, you wake up from cryosleep in a few weeks with one heck of a headache, worst case scenario is brain death. But hey, chances are at least part of you will get to be immortal, so I’d say that’s a gamble worth taking!

Whoa whoa whoa, hold up. Cryosleep? Brain death?! I didn’t sign up for anything like that. I’m not even a tester!

Now, now, no one’s ever won at life by playing it safe. The AI initiative is our most high profile development right now, being selected to test it is quite the honor! And testing is mandatory for all staff as of last week, so don’t worry about being in the wrong department.

I- It’s not that I’m not honored or anything. But I really just want to go back to my desk. I’m sure you can find someone else, right? Surely someone is better suited to this than me.

I appreciate your humility, Sport, but I’m afraid it wasn’t a request. You’ll thank us eventually. Assuming that you, you know, wake up. Good luck!

Wait, wait no, let go of me! your voice screams, desperate and terrified. Please, please I don’t want this, I don’t want this, WAIT-

The recording fizzles out mid-scream. After a moment, it whirrs back to life.

Right, so you boys should probably edit some of that out in post, Cave Johnson's tired voice says. Every experiment needs initial trials, right? Like a taste tester, but for your brain. Anyways, you've got your subject, so get to work, alright? We- he breaks off into a coughing fit- we don't have much time left. Let me know when things are ready for me. Until then, this is Cave Johnson, signing out.

There’s a few more seconds of white noise, and then a click as the recording comes to a stop, leaving you in silence once more.

Your legs give out from under you and you sit down, hard. Your mind is whirling, the echoes of your own screams still sounding in your head.

How could they do that? How could they just do that? Take you away from everything you’ve ever known, without even leaving you memories of what you’d lost, and for what? So a CEO could get his immortality?

The thought that you had a life before this, that you had a family before this, had occurred to you before- how could it not?- but it always felt distant, unreal, like a dream. But it wasn’t. You had a degree, a career, a life outside of this place. What did the people from that life think when you disappeared? Did Aperture Science tell them you’d died, or just let them wonder what happened to you? Are they still out there, missing you?

You shake your head, forcibly reeling your thoughts in. You’re going to destroy yourself if you keep going like this. You need to pull yourself together.

And once your thoughts stop reeling quite so much, a new thought occurs to you. Johnson said that you were being taken for the AI program- that they were going to copy you into a machine. The Cores said they were made from a human man, and you assumed based on the previous recordings that human man had been Cave Johnson. And maybe they were- Johnson told you they were using you for preliminary testing. Wouldn’t they have moved on to him once they were done with you?

And yet, all sorts of little things are adding up in your brain, things you had noticed but never bothered to linger on- never thought to connect to each other. Singing and performing a theater song with Roman, your voices perfectly in sync. Trading silly puns with Patton. The way your heart would always leap into your throat at the exact time Virgil started giving you trouble. And most painfully, Janus’s parting words: you may act the part of an innocent little lamb, but deep down you’re every bit as devious and cutthroat as I am.

Could the others… be made from you?

Your heart pounds in your chest. You need to find out more. You need to know if this is real, or just wishful thinking. You fish through Johnson’s files, half-frantic, but can’t find anything on the subject.

Then, finally, you find in the paper files a report from the development Project JANUS. It’s short, with no information you didn’t already know, but it does include a scientist’s name and office number in the signature.

A few minutes of searching later, you’re in the scientist’s room, tearing apart their files, until you finally find a file folder labeled TOP SECRET. You flip open to the first page, heart pounding.

The top of the page reads, “Project JANUS”. It’s a diagram of a human brain, with specific sections highlighted, though you don’t know enough about the human brain to figure out their relevance. What really draws your eye, however, is what is written below the diagram.

Subject Name: Thomas Sanders.

The name rings like a bell in your head, something deep inside saying, me. Thomas Sanders. Your name is Thomas Sanders.

Your name is Thomas Sanders, and Janus was created from you.

Hastily, you flip through the next few pages of data charts and diagrams, until you come to the next blueprint, then the next, then the next, growing in speed and excitement as you go.

Project PATHOS, Subject Name: Thomas Sanders. Project LOGOS, Subject Name: Thomas Sanders. Project REMUS, Project ROMULUS, Project VIRGILIUS. Subject Name Thomas Sanders, Thomas Sanders, Thomas Sanders.

You sit down heavily in the office chair, putting your hands to your face. They’re you. All of them. God, you should have known. You think part of you did know, all along.

Part of you. That’s what they really are, isn’t it? Not you, not exactly, but parts of you. Created from different segments of your brain, different aspects of your personality.

The concept bounces around in your brain, the idea of something meaningful, some other revelation, hovering at the edge of your mind, just out of reach. Something about being parts, aspects of a person’s personality.

Aspects of a person, but not the whole. Self-preservation without the understanding that sometimes other people matter, too. Morality without the practicality to back it up. Creativity without the necessary restraints.

Oh god, you’ve been going about this all wrong. No wonder your plans didn’t work, the very premise was flawed. And wow, that was such a Logan thought, how did you not realize the connection sooner?

You need to get back to the others, right now.

After gathering the file and safely securing it in the folds of your jumpsuit, you take a quick trip back to Cave Johnson’s office with one intention in mind: his PA system. You don’t know if the announcement systems from down here will reach to where the others are, but you have to try. You press the button, ignoring the anxiety churning in your stomach, and speak.

“Hey, everyone. It’s Thomas. I know that some of you are confused and don’t know who you should be siding with right now. I know that for some of you, I have a lot to apologize for. All I ask, is if you ever trusted me at all, to come meet me at the place you introduced me to Remus. Because I have a lot I need to say to you guys, and because I’ve figured it out.”

You take a deep breath, and focus on projecting as much certainty with your voice as you can.

“I know how we can fix this. For good.”

#aperture sides facility #my writing #ts storytime

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venusofthehardsells · 4 years

Text

Dreamgirl [part 6]

ReaderxBucky Barnes

[part 5]

Summary: Bucky tries to adjust to his new life in the Avengers compound. One day he meets a girl who might be everything he needs in order to move on, but is his past really that far away? Warnings: blood/violence-ish, therapy sessions, talk of mental instability, self-hate galore, Bucky is very distressed, what is plot (general series warnings include noncon and dark themes) A/N: Part 6 is here in record time and no one is more surprised than me. The chapter didn’t actually cover as much plot as planned, but I guess that’s the terrorbeauty of writing. Enjoy the tiny little glimpse into Bucky’s past as HYDRA’s Asset for now. Thank you as always for reading and being patient with my inconsistent self ♥♥♥ And a special thanks to @cake-writes for helping me out when I was stuck! You’re the best! ♥

When the soft sound of his shoes echoes on the hallway to Dr. Trevelyan's office in the westernmost part of the compound, Bucky is as always taken aback by how loud he is. No matter which shoes he wears, he just can't seem to walk silently down this particular corridor. He tried barefoot once, just to test it, and the floor still dutifully announced his arrival. It’s the only place in the compound he can’t seem to conceal his presence.

He’s not surprised when Dr. Nadia Trevelyan, at the sound of his footsteps, opens the door to her office all the way and comes out to greet him. She does that sometimes. What does surprise him is the look on her face.

“Mr. Barnes. I was afraid you wouldn’t come today.”

Bucky frowns.

“I didn’t think I had a choice.”

The side of her elegantly painted mouth twitches and Bucky is certain it’s not from amusement. The way she proceeds to cross her arms only solidifies that certainty.

“You know there’s a choice. I just thought the general appeal of a barred cell had finally surpassed that of my office. It seemed like a reasonable conclusion to make, given your usual punctuality.”

Her calm, dry words feel like the verbal slap that they are, but at the same time a slower, more blunt feeling is oozing from them like the raw, cloying smell of an infected wound: dread.

With a shaking hand he takes his mobile from his pocket and unlocks the screen. The dread explodes into alarm. Starkly outlined against the black background, the white digital numbers of the phone’s clock perfectly justifies Dr. Trevelyan’s annoyance.

It’s 12:21pm.

It’s happened again. Bucky feels as if an ice cold fist is squeezing his insides. He’s lost time. He left the coffee shop, he ran straight back to the compound and now he’s standing here more than twenty minutes late to an appointment he’s usually early for. As if the hours just vanished in the blink of an eye.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, blood rushing to his cheeks until they physically hurt. He can't quite meet Dr. Trevelyan's big disapproving eyes.

It's his own fault, he knows. If only he had been more forthcoming in their sessions, she might have been willing to cut him some slack. But he has persistently worn her patience down over the past few months and now he fears there's nothing left. She'll have to report that he is late for a mandatory session and he'll have to undergo another full psychological evaluation, questions will be asked about why he wasn't on time, his sentence might even have to be renegotiated, Stark will be down his throat about the forest that'll have to be cut down to cover the paperwork…

Nadia Trevelyan seems to be considering these facts as well and to Bucky's immense relief, she finally sighs and uncrosses her arms.

"Since it's the first time it's happened, I suppose I can let it slide," she relents. The hard stare that follows the words tells Bucky exactly how much she likes it and he knows he'll have to grovel. Quid pro quo.

She steps aside to let him into the office and he sits down in his designated chair almost timidly.

"Thank you," he manages and she looks at him for a long time before she closes the door and sits down herself.

"So why are you late?" There's the adjusted voice of a professional shrink he's become so accustomed to by now. Bucky tries not to cringe.

"I just… lost track of time," he admits tentatively. "I was out running and I… I thought of S… Steve," he quickly amends, clearing his throat. His mind hasn't actually been near Steve since he entered the park early this morning, but somehow it doesn't feel right telling Dr. Trevelyan about Sugar. He wants to keep her to himself.

Of course, as his therapist, Nadia Trevelyan is bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, but because the sessions are a part of his sentence, that confidentiality only stretches so far and Bucky doesn't doubt for a second that anyone he talks to outside of the compound will be submitted to SHIELD's meticulous scrutiny the moment they hear about them. Sugar didn't agree to that and she sure as hell doesn't deserve it. No, Bucky wants to keep her out of his world for as long as he can. Keep her all to himself. Just Sugar and James, no complications, no messed up baggage, or spies or super soldiers or the end of the world. Just a regular guy who met a nice girl in a coffee shop and asked her out. That's all he wants.

"Bucky?"

He looks up and realises Dr. Nadia is looking expectantly at him. Shit, did he miss a question?

"You said you were thinking about Steve?" she supplies helpfully, if slightly irritated, when all he does is stare at her.

"Yes, uhm, well…" Bucky tries to regain his footing. "He, uh, left this morning for… work-"

"Yes, I'm aware," Dr. Trevelyan says, making Bucky raise an eyebrow. "My clearance is higher than yours, Bucky. How else could I be of any use around here?"

She doesn't say it, but he can hear it clear enough in her voice. You might have thought about that sooner if you ever actually bothered to talk to me.

"So you… you talk to Steve as well?"

She sighs.

"You know very well that I can’t tell you that."

But the sound of her heartbeat speeding up just a little is all the answer he needs. If he didn’t know any better, he would think she even gulped ever so slightly.

He can't figure out why, but it surprises him. Somehow he can't imagine either Captain America or Steve Rogers talk about their feelings. Not to Nadia Trevelyan anyway. Steve might look like an underwear model now, but he certainly doesn't have the confidence of one when it comes to women. And this therapist happens to be undeniably gorgeous. Tall and elegant, with long shiny black hair, she's the type of woman that turns heads; Bucky knows he would have tried his luck himself if he had met her back in the day when he wasn't broken, wasn't a monster. How Steve even gets a coherent sentence out in her presence is beyond him.

"Do you talk about me?"

There's something in her eyes when she answers.

"Whatever I may or may not discuss with Mr. Rogers isn't something I can disclose without his consent. And definitely not to another patient."

"Oh, so you do talk about me." Bucky can't help the smug little grin when Dr. Trevelyan actually relents a smile.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, Mr. Barnes. You'll have to ask him."

"When he gets back."

"Indeed."

Bucky sighs.

"Whenever that might be." He regrets the casually bitter words the instant they're out of his mouth. Dr. Trevelyan's eyes gleam.

"You're worried about him."

"Of course I am!" Bucky nearly hisses. "He's a reckless, righteous idiot with a saviour complex and a stupid star-spangled frisbee, who can't tell when to quit. If his bleeding heart isn't going to get him fucking killed, his heroic dumbassery will. And I just…"

The sentence dies on his tongue. This is one of the reasons he hates therapy. Dr. Trevelyan barely has to say anything and the outbursts line up like a firing squad inside of him. And then he ends up saying things he doesn't mean, not really. Or worse, he starts to talk about something he can't voice. Literally can't get the words out without choking and feeling like his throat is completely tied up and his eyes are full of memories that he doesn't want to have. If he starts to dig into all of those ugly, horrid nightmares in the depths of his mind, Bucky is afraid he's never gonna emerge again.

His fragile, desperate hold on reality is fraying with every hour in this office, every sleepless night, every second he's on his own, but he is sure as hell not going to let go.

“He’s my friend, so of course I worry,” he dismisses instead, looking at the wall behind Nadia’s chair. There’s a stark white square to the right of her head, as if a painting, or a picture, has been taken down after a long time, leaving behind only a faint outline of its presence in the shade of the original paint.

There is a tiny black hole at the center of the top of the white square from where a nail must have been. Bucky is surprised at the detail. He can’t quite believe something as low-tech as a nail exists in Stark’s shiny, new building.

“There are chinks in every armour if you know where to look.”

The nail is right in front of him. Held up close to his face between two silver metal fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky can see the Asset lean down behind him, lips close to his ear.

“It’s not like any of us wants to be here.” He twirls the nail in front of his eyes. “What do you say? We’ve gotten out of tighter quarters with less.”

Dr. Trevelyan nods sympathetically, but Bucky has already forgotten what he said. He barely even sees her anymore, his eyes are glued to the nail between the Asset’s fingers. For one terrifying moment, he sees the intent of his shadow self, sees Dr. Trevelyan on the floor with the nail sticking out between her eyes, blood silently trickling down her temple and he almost gags.

“Don’t,” he blurts out before he can stop himself and Dr. Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. The Asset just smirks and goes to stand next to her, leaning on her chair.

“What?” she inquires in an even voice.

“Yes, Bucky. What?” the Asset mimics mockingly.

"Just…" Bucky tries, fighting to regain some kind of control. He has to close his eyes and swallow, reaching back for the conversation Dr. Trevelyan is trying so hard to make him engage in. "Don’t act like you care. You don’t know what… how… what I’m like.”

Dr. Trevelyan sighs and rubs her temples, her long, elegant fingers uncomfortably close to the Asset.

“Believe it or not, Mr. Barnes, but I actually do care quite a lot. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. When your sentence was being negotiated, I volunteered to lead your therapy programme.”

That throws him. She normally doesn’t mention his sentence if she can avoid it and now she’s gone and done it twice in one day, but Bucky reckons he is being difficult, more so than usual.

“Yeah, well, no one asked you to,” he finally mumbles and Dr. Trevelyan’s mouth sets into a hard, painted line.

As soon as the words leave him, Bucky wishes he could take them back, but with the Asset grinning at him, it’s almost impossible to focus. The nail between those silver fingers is still too close to her temple, but Bucky knows he can’t move. The Asset will be quicker.

Dr. Trevelyan regards him in silence for a long while then, before she sighs.

“Mr. Barnes, would you rather speak to a male therapist?”

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise. What?

“Something is keeping you from confiding in me. Is it the fact that I’m a woman?” He has never heard her sound defensive before, but at this point he figures she’s well beyond caring.

“N-No, I…” He swallows when the Asset barks out a laugh.

“Oh, you’ve really charmed this one, Barnes.”

“Is it my skin then?” She gestures irritated with her cool light brown hand. “Or perhaps the accent? I realise things are very different from before all those atrocities happened to you, but that is why I am here. To help you adjust.”

“I thought you were here to cure me,” Bucky says slowly, willing himself not to look directly at the Asset.

“And I am trying, Mr. Barnes, but you have got to let me. If you don’t want my help, then there really isn’t much I can do.” She closes her eyes harshly for a moment. “Forgive me. That was very unprofessional of me. If, for whatever reason, you want a new psychologist, just say so. It’s very important that you feel comfortable with the person you talk to.”

Bucky winces so hard he almost thinks he can hear a few bones splinter beneath his muscles, but it has nothing to do with her words.

It’s the blood pouring out of her mouth as she speaks.

Down her chin it trickles onto her navy blue blouse, staining the silk black. The Asset has jammed the nail into the side of her throat. It's sticking out far more than it should given its size, as if it has somehow grown from the thin, clean, needle-like little tack into a rusty 6-inch coffin nail.

Bucky has to fight against at least a dozen different instincts telling him to run or to attack, to help, to defend or just do something other than what he does: sit still in his chair and try to think of something to say.

"Remember this?" the Asset asks, stroking Nadia's hair almost lovingly. She doesn't even flinch. She just sits there with her blood gushing out, waiting for him to reply.

Yes, Bucky remembers all too clearly. It’s as if the miniscule scar in the junction between his shoulder and neck pricks at the memory and if he didn’t feel sick before, he really does now.

The girl in his memory doesn’t look much like Nadia Trevelyan. She’s younger, with pale skin and even paler eyes, a mop of dark brown curls, tiny freckles around her eyes and nose…

But the coffin nail is exactly the same.

“I don’t need a new shr- a new therapist,” Bucky forces out as evenly as he can. “I… It’s not you.” He stops to swallow around a throat so dry and thick he’s sure it must be about to choke him. It’s nothing less than what he deserves.

“She was quite a little wildcat, that one,” the Asset reminisces and it’s all Bucky can do to not vomit on his running shoes. HYDRA’s dark soldier is obviously enjoying the torment his words are nurturing in Bucky. “Gave us quite the fight. Do you remember her name?”

Miriam.

Two of the three wheels under Dr. Trevelyan’s chair are now situated in a shallow pool of blood that only grows larger by the second. It’s covering the ground beneath the Asset’s feet and is creeping closer and closer.

He draws his feet back just a little.

“I just can’t talk about her. It! I can’t talk about it.”

Triumph at his slip-up is evident in Dr. Trevelyan's dark eyes, a sparkle of relief that she has finally gotten something out of her stubborn patient. Well, that's all she is going to get. Bucky clenches his teeth to the point of pain, vowing not to slip up like that again. No matter how badly the Asset rattles him, no matter what cruel tricks his mind is trying to play on him. Even if the bleeding woman in front of him is looking less and less like his doctor and eerily more like a girl twice buried many, many years ago.

"Who is it you can't talk about, Bucky?"

It feels almost worse knowing her sympathy is real.

"Doctor, please. I can't."

"Why not?"

His hands must have made indents in the arms of his chair with how tight he's grasping at them. Dr. Trevelyan doesn't push for an answer, but he's sure she captures and analyses every little movement he makes, most likely correctly too.

“I just… I wish that…” He has to swallow so hard his throat ought to rupture with the motion and his eyes are awash with the pressure of tears. “It’s too… too painful and I- I would rather be dead. If I’d just died back on that train, then… then everyone would be better off.”

His whole body trembles, but the words are out, hanging there between them as if he had shouted them.

“Would Steve?” The question is almost tender, as if she’s afraid to break the silence. It still feels to Bucky like a punch to the stomach.

“Steve’s fine,” he mumbles, not quite meeting her eyes. “He did just fine before I came and screwed things up. Should’ve just shot me on that bridge. Or let me drown.”

“Bucky, you have to stop thinking like that.” The genuine concern in Dr. Trevelyan’s voice is of a very different kind than the one he’s used to. Perhaps that’s what makes him listen. “I know there’s nothing I can say at this point to change your mind, but I still think you need to hear it. Whatever HYDRA made you do was not your fault. Now, we both know I can repeat that until I run out of breath and it won’t make a difference, but… I mean it. You are not guilty of what happened to you. What was done to you was vile. Cruel. You deserve this second chance more than anyone. The fact that you think you don't only makes it that much clearer."

She sends him a smile that would have been reassuring if it weren't for her bloodied exterior. If she weren't his doctor he's almost sure she would have reached out and squeezed his hand too. For a moment, he wishes she would. He wants to feel the touch of another human so badly he aches with it, but he doesn't deserve it. Right?

He recalls Sugar's soft, pliant lips and the comforting warmth of her skin. Would she have let him kiss her like that if she knew who he really is? What he has done?

The pressure becomes too much and before he knows what's happening, the tears have trailed warm tracks down his cheeks.

"It will take a while, but I can help you if you’ll let me.”

“I don’t want to feel this way…” The admission is so quiet and so soft that for a moment he isn’t even sure it has even left those hidden depths of his soul where it has stubbornly refused to be snuffed out by the heavy hands of his guilt. He’s almost ashamed of it. “But I don’t know… I just don’t know how not to.”

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Dr. Trevelyan assures him. “That’s why we’re here. So that you can figure it out.”

Bucky dares to look up and take in her face. Her lips and chin are still caked with semi-dry blood and the rusty coffin nail is jutting out from the softness of her neck.

But the Asset is gone.

Alhabor smiles at the tall Frenchman as he sits down across from her at the small café table. He's as handsome as ever, even with the bottle blond hair that drains him a little bit. It gives him a haunted edge that makes his face even more interesting. He looks like a lost Romantic poet, she thinks longingly when he sends her a smirk and lowers his small black sunglasses to look at her.

"Good morning, mon coeur." They haven't seen each other in over three months and she knows it's her fault. Her job always comes first. Sometimes she wishes it wasn't like that. Sometimes she wishes she could run off with Christophe and let him take care of her the way he always promises he will on those few precious nights of passion they manage to steal from time to time. Sometimes she wishes she wasn't such an idealist.

"Good morning, my love. It’s a beautiful day in Paris, don't you think?”

He reaches out and places a brief kiss on her knuckles over her lukewarm cappuccino.

“I prefer Marseille. Fewer tourists. One day perhaps you will forget about those secretive morons and let me take you there.”

“Can you even show your face there?” Alhabor asks with a raised eyebrow and Christophe chuckles, shrugging.

“Pictures get lost, money changes hands, files disappear… I wouldn’t worry.” The sly smile on his perfectly shaped mouth makes her heart beat ten times faster, but she tries to compose herself. This is work.

“You know that I do.” She takes a miniscule sip of the cappuccino. “Did you get what I asked for?”

Better to get this over with fast and get back on track. She tells herself she’ll have more time for Christophe and his charms once this assignment is completed. Deep down, she knows she’s lying to herself, but it makes her feel better.

“Most girls want flowers or diamonds or expensive perfume.” He grins as he reaches into the lining of his trench coat and retrieves a small box. She can’t help grinning in exchange when she takes it and quickly confirms its contents.

“Oh, you know I’m never one to turn down diamonds,” she teases, making the box disappear into her own coat. Their gloved fingers barely even touch at the exchange. “But as romantic gestures go, you’ve outdone yourself this time, my love.”

"Anything for you, mon coeur." His smile isn't as brilliant as it usually is and it makes her frown.

"What?"

"Is it true you have the Lazarus assignment?"

"Yeah, like I said." She tries to sound casual, but they both know she can't fool him. He reaches out and takes her hand before she can pull away. His grip is hard, insistent.

"Promise me you'll be careful," Christophe says quietly and she can feel her heart come to a full stop in her chest. "He's still dangerous."

She can't quite meet his eyes when she answers.

"I know. But the order is very clear. We need him back. The Wakandans may have tampered with his head, but there's no telling what might still be in there. We simply can't risk it."

"You really believe that, don't you?" He sighs and squeezes her hand, but he doesn't let go.

"Are you surprised?"

"I like to think I know you too well for that. Just please tell me you know what you're doing."

"Oh, don't worry, my love." Alhabor pats the inner pocket of her coat where the little box is now hidden. "It's all going according to plan now. And you of all people know how persuasive I can be."

Tags will be added in reblog ~

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #marvel fanfic #dark!bucky barnes #dreamgirl

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chucklegigglechortlesnort · 4 years

Text

Meet Me on The Dance Floor

A/N: literally no one asked, but here you go. This is self indulgence at its finest. If you haven’t watched Kekkai Sensen already, I recommend it - both sub and dub are gold - it’s one of my very favorites.

I’m finally done with school, so I’ll be back on the fanfic grind.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: kissing, mentions of alcohol (legal drinking)

. . . . . . . . . .

“Hey, do you wanna go out tonight?”

It had all started with those seven simple words.

It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to hang out on weekends, in fact, it was one of the few things that Leo had become accustomed to while living in Hellsalem’s. However, typically the two of you usually spent that time lounging in your pajamas, eating junk food, and marathoning old true crime shows.

Going out was different.

Zapp had teased him relentlessly when he found out - god knows how - but it’s not like it was really anything new. It was obvious to everyone that the two of you were close and despite how that may have appeared, it never transcended beyond friendship. Even after all the obnoxious prodding that Zapp had subjected him to, Leo just couldn’t bring himself to make the first move.

“Out?”

The volume of Leo’s voice nearly made him wince, but he cleared his throat instead, face slightly rosy. You recoiled slightly, breaking eye contact in favor of the tiled floor of the common room. Leo inwardly cringed at the look on your face, regretting his outburst, but if you were hurt you didn’t dwell on it.

“Well… yeah! I mean, I know the owner of the club and I’ve heard good things.” You shrugged, glancing back up to meet Leo’s gaze. “I know going out isn’t really your thing, but I promise it’ll be safe. If anything happens, we’ve got each other. Besides, I think all these snack-filled movie marathons are starting to get to me.” You grimace as you jokingly pat your stomach.

Normally Leo would’ve laughed and shared the sentiment, or told you that you still looked pretty good to him, but instead he was just… silent. What did this mean? Were you asking him out as a friend? Were you asking him because you wanted more than just a friendship?

“I- I mean, you really don’t have to if you don’t want to, I can just ask Chain if she wants to- “

“N-no! I’m, I mean- I would like to go out with you!” Oh god, this was pathetic, “I mean, yes I would like to go out with you to the club! Yeah, the club-”

Once again you recoiled from his sudden outburst, but this time, after a few seconds a happy grin stretched across your face and you laughed. Oh, thank goodness.

“Alright then, I’ll see you at my place after work. The venue isn’t too far from my building so we’ll meet at quarter to ten and head over then. Sound good?”

“Yeah… sounds good!”

Leo waved you off as you happily turned on your heel and out of the room to run an errand. Not long after, Zapp came sauntering into the room like usual, dragging Leo off to do who knows what.

By the end of the day, Leo had almost died twice, a record all-time low considering what his norm was.

He had rushed over to your apartment having lost track of time after the long workday and despite wanting nothing more than to drown himself in the unreasonably soft pillows covering your living room, he began to psych himself up to go out. He knocked on the door of your apartment, slightly out of breath. This was going to be fun right? Just two good friends going out together for a good time, nothing more nothing less-

Your door swung open and Leo’s jaw hit the floor.

Your hair was slightly messier than normal, but he could only assume it had been done on purpose as you normally came into work looking neat and professional. It suited you. Your eyelids glittered with a subtle shimmer and your skin looked practically flawless, lips coated in a layer of gloss that he couldn't tear his eyes off of.

“Le- oh.”

“Huh?” Leo returned, snapping out of his hypnosis as he glanced back up at your eyes, “What?”

“You look like you just got jumped, no offense.” You reply, moving aside to let him in. He lets out a tired sigh, trudging through the doorway and flopping onto your couch.

“None taken.” He uttered through the cushion fabric, it was more or less what had happened anyways.

“Well, I was just about to get dressed, but are you still up to go out? We can always take a rain check and go out another night you know. We have an emergency snack supply and a new true crime show to binge so we’d be totally set.”

Leo kept his face pressed into the pillow and weighed his options. As nice as your proposal sounded, he knew he’d feel guilty if the both of you ended up staying in. He didn’t want to go back on what he said either, even though he knew you wouldn’t hold it against him.

“No, it’s okay, just give me a minute.”

He heard you snort and his head shot up from the pillow, “What? What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, trying to force down giggles at the way his hair stuck up at odd angles.

“Don’t worry about it,” You answered, disappearing into the hallway and to your room which wasn’t far off. “Oh, and Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“Is that what you’re wearing out?”

Oops.

With all the commotion of the last day, he’d completely forgotten to bring a change of clothes, though he wasn’t really sure if he had anything that suited the venue, to begin with. After a little while of no response, you stuck your head out of your bedroom to see what the hold up was.

Leo had sat up on the couch, rubbing the back of his head bashfully, “Uh, it's all I really have, sorry.”

“Hey, don't worry about it then. Come here a sec.”

He slowly rose from the comfort of the couch, shuffling apprehensively over to your room. It wasn’t that he’d never been in your room before, but it still felt oddly intimate, like he wasn’t supposed to be there or something. When he reached your doorway, he saw you going through your closet, tossing items of clothing haphazardly onto the bed behind you.

You glanced over to see Leo awkwardly standing in the doorway, looking mildly unsure, “Come in come in, you’re not going to get scolded,” you joked, dragging him further in, right next to where you stood previously.

You motioned to the items of clothing splayed across the comforter, “See anything you like?”

“Aren’t these all your clothes?”

“Yeah, but a lot of the things I buy are actually ‘men’s clothing’.” You say, putting air quotes around “men’s clothing.”

Leo glanced down at the pile of clothes, completely lost. Sighing, you reached down and grabbed an over-sized, white t-shirt, a pair of solid, black dress-joggers, and a maroon bomber jacket that, funnily enough, matched his hair.

“Here,” You tossed the bundle of clothes into his arms, skirting around him to your vanity. You picked up a simple silver chain and handed it to Leo. His eyebrows rose slightly and you shook your head.

“Just, trust me.”

He only sighed and shrugged, mumbling, “Alright,” under his breath.

As you exited, you turned to pull the door shut, catching a quick glance at the way his shirt rode up his back as he pulled off his sweatshirt. You knew Leo never was one to boast, but despite all the claims that he was weak, he was actually quite… built. Heat rose to your cheeks as the image of a shirtless Leo flashed through your mind and you were thankful he hadn’t caught your eye when you had closed the door.

Not long after you had shut him in, Leo popped his head out of your doorway, once again looking mildly unsure.

“Well? Let me see!” You exclaimed impatiently.

Tentatively, he stepped out into the hallway, revealing your handy work. The t-shirt that would have normally swallowed you whole hung slightly loose around Leo’s torso, the bomber jacket fitting surprisingly well around his shoulders. The black joggers and chain pulled the look together, making the outfit look slightly more expensive than it actually was.

“So…?” Leo didn’t know quite what to make of his outfit. He rarely ever wore anything other than his staple hoodie, which eas beginning to wear down after all the wash cycles it had been through, so it was… nice to dress differently than he usually did.

“Perfect,” You stated, clasping your hands together in front of you enthusiastically, “Now all I have to do is change and we can head out.”

You were in and out in record time, and you looked absolutely stunning.

You had shed the over-sized sweatshirt and replaced it with a cropped leather jacket, a lacy maroon bodysuit peeking out from underneath it. A high wasted mini skirt met the jacket as it stopped just below your ribs, slits strategically placed on either side to show off a little extra skin while providing a little extra mobility without the risk of your skirt riding up. The whole look was pulled together by a pair of Dr. Martens.

Leo was at a loss for words for the ‘nth time that day.

Luckily you didn’t waste any more time as you brushed past him, calling over your shoulder, “Ready to go?”

“Y- Yeah! Just let me get my shoes on!”

He stumbled after, regaining his footing by the time he made it to your front door. He thanked the gods that he had chosen to wear his new shoes today. His last pair had been absolutely totaled by the last monster he had encountered the other day and these ones went much better with the outfit than the previous ones would’ve.

By the time he had finished tying up the laces, you were already excitedly waiting with the door open. He quickly exited the apartment, waiting for you to shut and lock the door before following you out of the building.

The walk to the venue was short, Leo having internally debated whether or not he should just grab your hand the whole five-minute walk. It was too soon that you had arrived at the entrance and with a wave of your hand you made your way past the bouncer, announcing that you had brought a plus one with you. Disgruntled bar-hoppers protested against your bypassing of the line but were swiftly silenced by one growl from the alterworlder guarding the door.

Bass blasted through the speakers surrounding the dance floor and off to the side was a large bar boasting a plethora of liquors and fine wines. You grabbed Leo’s hand, pulling him straight to the bar.

“Two Blue Moon’s to start off the night please!” You shout over the music. The bartender nods, grabbing two bottles and sliding them down the counter. You pass one of the already cracked open beverages off to your companion, clinking the drinks together before taking your first sip.

Three beers and two shots later, you began to feel the familiar buzz setting in. Leo had finally begun to loosen up halfway through his third beer and you were currently boisterously laughing at his recollection of the day’s past events - something about zap nearly getting his dick blown off by one of his crazy one-night stands.

You were mid-laugh when the song suddenly changed and your face lit up with recognition. You turned to Leo, a hopeful look on your face.

“Hey! I know this song, wanna go dance?”

He glanced up from his beer, looking slightly shocked. His cheeks were already tinted rosy from the alcohol but he could feel the color rising to his cheeks at your suggestion.

“Um, yeah, sure.”

Your face lights up at his words and butterflies swarm around in his stomach, despite the alcohol in his system. Hopping down from your seat at the bar, you grab his hand once more, this time intertwining your fingers with his as you lead him to the dance floor.

You expertly wove your way through sweat soaked individuals gyrating to the beat of the music, ending up somewhere not too far from the edge but far enough that you were surrounded on all sides by other people. Once you seemed satisfied with your location, you pulled Leo towards you until there was less than a hair’s width of space between the two of you, placing the hand you held in yours on your waist, encouraging the other to follow suit. Your arms circled around Leo’s shoulders, bringing him impossibly close as you gently swayed to the beat.

Leo felt as if his whole body was on fire. Not a single part of him was unaware of your closeness and his intoxicated mind could barely fathom how much had changed in that single moment you had decided to pull him against you. One moment he was buzzed without a care in the world, the next he was close enough to kiss you if he wanted to.

And he really wanted to.

Feeling oddly brave, Leo brought his forehead to rest against yours. It may have just been him being too hopeful, but he thought that maybe he saw your gaze flick to his lips for a moment before glancing back up at him through lidded eyes. And maybe it was just his poor depth perception from the alcohol running through his veins, but it was almost as if with each sway of your bodies, your face was inching closer to his.

Fuck it.

Mustering all of the courage he had, Leo closed the distance between you, gently slotting his lips with yours. It only lasted a few seconds before he pulled away, wanting to make sure he hadn’t overstepped his bounds. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for you to push him away, to tell him that you didn’t see him like that, or maybe even slap him, but none of those happened. Instead, he was pulled back towards you, this time your lips crashing together. With newfound confidence, Leo pulled your body flush against his to deepen the kiss. Hands slowly traveled up his shoulders and threaded themselves into messy maroon curls as you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth and softly bit down. Leo let out an embarrassing whimper at the sensation, suddenly thankful that the music had drowned out all other noises. His grip on your hips tightened reflexively when your tongue glided over his lip to soothe the bite, before slipping past his lips and tangling with his own.

Suddenly you broke away from the kiss, panting heavily as the song came to an end.

“Let’s go back to my place, yeah?” you asked breathlessly, intently searching his face as you waited for an answer.

The two of you hadn’t been out for more than an hour and a half, but despite this, Leo found himself nodding in response. Fingers laced themselves through his and he allowed himself to be lead off the dance floor through an obstacle course of swaying bodies and to the club’s exit. The sudden gush of fresh air did little to sober the two of you up as you insistently tugged along a stumbling Leo, who wondered how on earth you were able to walk so effortlessly despite the alcohol in your system.

As soon as you made it past your building security you were practically dragging him up the stairs and to your apartment door where you hastily unlocked it, barely making it inside before your lips connected again.

Who really initiated, neither of you knew, but it hardly mattered. The heady mixture of alcohol and pent up sexual tension had overriden any inhibitions that previously lingered in your minds and the only thing your inebriated brain could focus on was how good it finally felt to be doing this.

Your back was flush with the wall while your front was pressed completely against Leo’s, who’s hands had found their place back on your hips. Your arms wrapped around his neck, hands threading themselves into the curls at the nape of his neck and tugging. This time Leo let out a mixture of a whimper and a moan, muffled by your tongue slipping past his lips and into his mouth, tangling with his own.

You pulled away shortly after, trailing your lips first over his jaw before coming to a halt over his pulse. You hovered over the spot for just a moment, before firmly placing your lips on his skin and softly sucking. A sharp intake of breath could be heard and almost immediately Leo’s arms snaked around your waist, holding you tightly to him and completely closing the distance between you. His lips found yours once again, this kiss just a little bit needier, just a little bit sloppier than the last.

Your right hand gently de-tangled from his hair and slowly trailed down his arm before slipping between your bodies and underneath the fabric of the loose, white t-shirt. Your hand trailed up his abdominal and just about reached his rib cage, lifting the hem of the shirt along with it.

Your fingertips had just about reached his upper chest when suddenly-

“Hold on.”

Leo abruptly tore away from you, gazing down at your face which was tight with confusion and borderline hurt. He hated it, and he hated it more that he was currently the reason for it, but he couldn’t go any further without knowing.

“I don’t- I wouldn’t… do this, with just anybody. And I, um- I don’t want to- wait, no. I do want to, but only if, you know, the feeling is… mutual.”

There was a pregnant pause as you contemplated his words, and suddenly your face was flushed a deep crimson red, the alcohol in your system doing nothing to subdue the embarrassment overtaking your entire body at the moment. You buried your face in your hands, trying to will away the intense blush that painted your countenance.

Oh jeez, you were such an idiot.

“Well. You see, I had a plan.”

“Huh?”

“I was going to start asking you out on more… date like outings, and somewhere along the way you’d hopefully get the message or I’d build up enough courage to, you know, ask you out,” you explained. “I certainly wasn’t expecting this to happen, and I just thought, well-“

“-that I got the message.” Leo finished.

“Mhm.” You nodded, “I definitely got a bit carried away though, I’m sorry.”

Another pause settled over the two of you, and after a little while you slowly peaked from behind your hands to gauge his reaction. To your surprise, his face was covered in a blush of its own, his normally squinted shut eyes drawn open in shock.

“Leo? Are you-”

“A complete idiot? Yes.”

“Well, that’s not what I was going to say, but if the shoe fits.” You cracked, trying to ease the tension that had settled over the two of you. Leo only blinked in response, and you thought that maybe you had made the wrong choice until-

“Pft-“ The both of you burst out into a fit of giggles, marveling at the ridiculous situation.

You gently shook your head as the giggles quieted, but the smile on your face remained. You glanced over to the time displayed in bright, green numbers on your microwave, taking note that it was only half past eleven.

“You know, it’s still pretty early and those snacks aren’t going to eat themselves.” You concluded, settling your gaze back onto Leo.

His own countenance was decorated with a soft smile, the blush still present, though it had subsided to a slight flush just underneath his eyes.

“I’ll go throw on the true crime documentaries.”

. . . . .

Early morning sun streamed through the curtains that covered your windows, a strand of light hitting Leo right in the eyes. He groggily cracked an eye open to find foreign surroundings.

He wasn’t in his apartment? Oh, right.

Memories of the previous night came back to him and he felt his cheeks flush. A soft groan came from just beside him and he nearly yelped in fright before realizing it was just you.

You.

He smiled to himself as he gazed down at your peaceful face, letting out a soft laugh. You cracked an eye open to see him staring down at you. You let your lid shut, snuggling deeper into his chest.

“What’s so funny?” You asked. Though it was more of a statement than anything.

“You’re drooling.”

“Am not…” You retort, voice scratchy as you brought your hand up to make sure, “Whatever you jerk, go back to sleep, it’s too early to be up on a day off.”

You heard another soft laugh as Leo readjusted himself so he was out of the line of light, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you closer. He pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline and you buried your face deeper into his chest to hide the blush creeping up to your cheeks. He certainly was more bold when he was half asleep.

You’d have to tease him about it later though, you noted, drifting back to a content slumber.

#kekkai sensen #blood blockade battlefront #kekkai sensen imagine #blood blockade battlefront imagine #leonardo watch #leo watch #leonardo watch x reader #sfw #fluff #friends to lovers

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deanstop13billyjoeltraxx · 4 years

Text

Superposition

a deancas college roommates AU

Dean Winchester had it all at Wichita State University — a second chance, a future devoid of his father, and a roommate-turned-best friend who understands him inside and out.

But his father dies, he fails out in his second semester, and Castiel Novak leaves without so much as a goodbye.

Three years later, Dean has picked up the pieces. He works at the most trusted auto-shop in Lawrence, he’s putting Sam through college. Dean thinks it can’t get much better than that.

Then Castiel Novak gives him a concussion, and everything falls apart. Again.

Chapter 2 is up on AO3 (and below the cut)! Tumblr chapter masterlist here.

Classic Rock and Other Foreign Concepts

Three Years Earlier

Castiel Novak was ready for his second chance.

Sure, the name “Wichita State University” held no cache, and sure, it was only two hours away from home. But it was a full ride, it was free of old high school acquaintances. It was enough.

Castiel stood at the door of his empty dorm room, hope blooming in his chest as he regarded the dingy bunks and linoleum floors.

He didn’t have much in the way of belongings, so moving in was quick and easy, even by himself. Castiel made his bed, hung up his limited outfits in the dresser, and filled his desk with his books and paper. Only one thing remained in his suitcase — a picture of his family, two Christmases ago. Castiel took it out and looked at it for a moment, before deciding to place it on his desk.

He decided it might be a good idea to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. That was sure to calm down the inevitable anxiety that his first trip to the showers would bring. Castiel strolled down the hallway, doing his best to stay out of the way of all of the other freshmen moving in on his floor.

After successfully discovering the bathroom and the water fountain, as well as narrowly avoiding an awkward encounter with two giggling girls who were apparently intent upon introducing themselves to him, he returned to his room with a sigh.

Castiel moved to his desk and opened his computer. He pulled up his course schedule, reviewing it again, despite having already committed it to memory. Tuesdays and Thursdays would be difficult, he thought, with financial accounting, economics, and an intro to business. The other days were more interesting, holding philosophy, creative writing, and nineteenth century British literature.

Castiel was about to read the class descriptions for the millionth time when a loud thud and a grunt interrupted his thoughts. He stood up, fast, almost knocking his head on the bottom of his bed. Castiel got to his open door just in time to almost run into someone.

“Shit! Watch it, man!”

Castiel found himself face to face with… Plastic storage bins. The man holding them shifted to reveal a mild scowl. Castiel cleared out of his way, and the man set the three boxes down.

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered.

“You’re fine,” the man grumbled. “Sorry, long drive.”

“Dean Winchester, I presume?” Castiel said, cautiously. He had seen his roommate assignment online weeks earlier.

“Damn straight,” Dean said, and he offered a hand out to Castiel, who accepted it graciously. “Sorry, man, I’m terrible with names. Have we met?”

“I’m Castiel Novak,” Castiel replied, then added, “We haven’t met, but the website informed me of your name and email address. I emailed you a few weeks back.”

Dean nodded. “I definitely didn’t respond. Sorry ‘bout that, I kind of haven’t had access to the internet in… Well, it’s a long story. Anyway, good to meet you.”

“You as well. Do you need any help unpacking?”

“Least you can do after nearly killing me.” Castiel tensed, but then Dean clapped him on the back. “Kidding. Help would be great.”

Castiel moved to unpack the box nearest him, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No! Uh, not that one. No offense, but that’s the most important thing I own. Give me a second, you can start on this one.”

Castiel tilted his head in inquisition, but Dean said nothing more, just got to unpacking the bin. Castiel set to work on the second of the three, first grabbing the sheets to make the bed.

When Castiel had finished with Dean’s bed, he turned to see Dean had set up a record player and a pair of bookshelf speakers on the floor.

“Behold,” Dean announced. “My prized possession.”

“A record player?” Castiel asked.

“Not just the record player,” Dean said. He went back to the box, which Castiel could now see was filled with vinyl LPs. “The whole collection.”

“It’s quite impressive.”

“Fuckin’ A-right,” Dean said. “Here, you like Zeppelin?”

“Embarrassingly, I have no idea who that is,” Castiel said, blushing.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Dude! No way! Oh man, it’s time to educate you. How have you survived this long Zeppelin-less?”

“My father was strict about music.” Castiel felt suddenly very nervous that this, combined with his near-toppling of Dean moments earlier, would have him solidly fixed on Dean’s bad side. But Dean was flipping through his records with animation, as if Castiel’s ignorance was a game to be won.

“That’s utter bullshit,” Dean declared. “Here, listen to this.”

Dean put on Led Zeppelin IV. Castiel turned back to the plastic bins, intent upon doing something while the record played. He was quiet as he worked, setting up first an ancient-looking coffee maker, then a small, LCD monitor. Dean unpacked his clothes, quietly singing along to the music.

“Do you need help with the rest?” Castiel asked when they had finished, assuming there had to be more than just those three boxes. Dean chuckled quietly.

“Nah, this is it. Thanks for the help, Castiel.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, but only said, “You’re welcome.” Dean had brought even less than he had.

“That’s a weird name, by the way,” Dean said, turning the volume down on the speakers. “Castiel. It sounds kind of --”

“Ancient?” Castiel supplied, and Dean nodded. “That’s because it is. It’s adapted from the name of an angel in the third book of Enoch.” At Dean’s blank look, Castiel added, “Christian apocryphal lore. My parents are very religious.”

“Ah,” Dean said. “And you…?”

“Haven’t been to church since I was fourteen,” Castiel finished. “We are very different, my family and I.”

Dean nodded. “That them?” He asked, pointing at the picture on Castiel’s desk.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“That’s a lot of kids.”

“Yes, there’s five of us.”

“Road trips must have been fun,” Dean said.

This actually got a laugh out of Castiel.

“I’ve only got one. My kid brother, Sam,” Dean said.

“How old is Sam?”

“God.” Dean rubbed his face, considering. “I guess he’s fourteen now. It’s weird — I feel like I can never see him as any older than, like, eight.”

“I can’t say I understand,” Castiel replied. “I’m the youngest.”

“Damn, that must suck, four older siblings. What’re their names?”

Castiel picked up the picture. “The boy on the left — he’s the oldest — that’s Gabriel. The other is Bartholomew. The redhead is Anna. And then there’s Hannah, she’s just a couple years older than me.”

Dean nodded, moving to his record player. He pulled a small, worn piece of paper from the inside.

“This is old as hell,” he said, showing Castiel the picture, “but that’s my dad, and that’s Sam when he was… ten, maybe?”

“It’s just the three of you?”

“Yeah, my mom died when I was, like, four.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to --”

“No worries, man,” Dean said. “Long time ago.”

There was an awkward pause that made Castiel want to open his computer just to look preoccupied, but Dean spoke.

“I’m sorry, I can’t get over this name stuff. I can’t be roommates with a dude named after an angel.”

Castiel felt his entire body deflate. Day one, and just his name was already making things difficult. “I’m… Sure there’s a way to switch roommates. But, what’s wrong with being named after an angel?”

“Dude, I was totally joking,” Dean said, putting his hands up defensively. “I’m not switching roommates — unless you’re secretly a vampire or something.” Castiel smiled at that. “And there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just not into the whole religion thing. Makes me feel weird. Nah, I’ll just have to call you something else. Any suggestions?”

“I’ve always just been ‘Castiel.’”

“Man, haven’t had many creative friends,” Dean said. “Cas it is, then.”

“Cas?” Castiel replied. He considered the new nickname. Castiel actually found it strange that no one had ever thought of it before, now that he had heard it. “I suppose it is a great deal shorter.”

“Easier to say, too,” Dean said. “It fits.”

Castiel smiled tentatively. “Sure.”

The music faded, and Dean flipped the record to the B-side.

“What do you think so far?” He asked.

“It’s certainly different than what I’m used to. In a good way,” Castiel added.

Dean beamed at him. “Awesome. I have more in here, too, and it’s not just Zep. Mostly the classics — the Stones, Rush, AC/DC… And a shit load of grunge, too. Man, wait til you hear Alice in Chains…”

Castiel smiled at his animation. “Music is important to you?”

“Dude, I couldn’t function without music. I feel like every time I listen to a song I like, I find something new that makes it even better.” Dean chuckled to himself. “Sorry, I’m geeking out about classic rock.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said, and he found that it was true. “I feel similarly about books.”

“You like to read?”

“Immensely.”

“You’ll have to give me some recommendations. I read Vonnegut in high school, and that was cool, but other than that and Harry Potter I think I’m pretty hopeless.”

“I will,” Castiel said, even though he knew he wouldn’t, even though he knew Dean was simply saying the polite thing. He had learned by now that when people asked about him to talk about the things he liked, they were just being nice.

Dean asked Castiel which end of the hall the bathrooms were on, and excused himself.

When he returned, Dean clapped his hands together. “So,” he said. “I gotta ask you the Freshman Questions.” At Castiel’s confused look, he elaborated: “You know, the two things you ask everyone for your whole freshman year. Where are you from, what are you majoring in?”

Castiel nodded. “I see. I didn’t know there was a procedure.”

Dean looked at him for a moment. “It’s not — I was kinda joking.”

“Oh. Right,” Castiel said, rubbing his neck. “Well, I’m from Guthrie — it’s a small town in Oklahoma, just a few hours south of here. And I’m studying accounting and creative writing.”

“Guthrie… I’ve driven through there, on our way to Oklahoma City for a job my dad worked once,” Dean said.

“It’s not very impressive.”

Dean laughed. “Nah, not really.”

“What about you, Dean?”

“I’m from Lawrence — it’s northeast of here. And I have no fucking idea what I’m gonna major in,” he said. “I’m not really… Well, Sam is the smart one. That kid is gonna kick ass when he goes to school. I’m kinda just here to…” Dean trailed off.

“Experience it?” Castiel suggested. Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Why accounting? I get the writing thing, you said you like books — but accounting? I feel like those two don’t mix.”

“They don’t,” Castiel agreed. “But I don’t want to be a starving author. I do want to be able to take care of myself.” I want to be far, far away from everything I’ve ever known. I want to leave and never look back.

“Fair,” Dean said. “I don’t know about you, Cas, but I’m starving. Wanna grab some dinner?”

“Sure,” Castiel said with a smile.

The next day, in his first creative writing class, the professor asked each of them to share their major, their hometown, and a fun fact. He called, “Novak, Castiel?”

“Double major in accounting and writing. I’m from Guthrie, Oklahoma. I suppose a fun fact is that I’m named after an angel, but you can just call me Cas.”

#superposition #destiel #supernatural #fanfic #deancas #castiel #dean winchester

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jjungkooksthighs · 4 years

Note

finally got enough time to read yearn for you and girl!!!!! where do I start from? first of all, I'm sorry you did not receive enough love for this fic but I'll try my best to try and express all the gratitude for you. ok so, this is gonna be messy because english is not my first language and I'm a bit dyslexic so forgive me😔... I remember reading edacity and thinking damn! she can write! and got soooo hooked on the way you write. then I stumbled on claws of carnality and I already told you anything I had to say about this fic: a masterpiece. then I decided to read undercurrent (I couldn't read it straight away because of how long it is and how hectic life could be) but then again, what else could I have expected from you? the way you described the scenes (don't wanna spoil anything if people didn't read it yet).. it was like I was there (this applies for all of your fic but this one has something different to it? can't really describe it, I'm sorry). you are such a talented writer, so elegant, so eloquent, so detailed, so entrancing, so attractive in a way? so when you announced you were going to post another story I was thrilled! and you delivered, god, did you deliver. I was so frustrated with jk at the beginning of the story, you pulled me in your story with just a few sentences.. but at the story went, I felt so content because of how you described their relationship, the trust they have in each other, the desire to please the other, the love you can basically feel through the words and when I was reading about the flashback, I could feel the love. I also loved how even if he is a hard dom, he is so whipped for her... when she stands after he strips her and he sees her kick her heels off and he grins? my heart beat a little faster, don't ask me why. I loved how even if jimin was there, he could also have not been there at all and the after care? the way he is basically going around, calling her his fiancee, love them. at the end, my greedy, curios brain (and heart, who am I kidding) wanted more lmao. I have a few questions if you don't mind.. what happens with taehyung? because he was a bit of a brat, trying to get in her pants and then complaining when he got a bit left out? honey, you got a big storm coming. will you ever write little drabble for this couple? like, how did he propose? not gonna lie, kinda curious about the dress he picked out for her for the gala.. no pressure tho baby, feel free to ignore this part. I also loved how he called her petal and flowers and how he didn't even think twice about buying the necklace. want something like this for me, it would be the life, having someone you love who loves you back and is always ready to remind you... anyway, this is all for today, gonna go read yean for you a few more times now☺️🥴. hope you are having a good day, we love you💙

Your english is very impressive for someone that doesn’t speak it primarily, darling. You don’t need to apologize for being dyslexic, either. You can’t help that and should not apologize for something beyond your control. Anyway, you found me through Edacity, huh? It’s always interesting hearing about how you guys find me, I have to say. That one was written in a lust filled craze following the video that the gif used for that fic was recorded from. Manbun Jungkook really took my pussy (and fingers) and said WORK FOR IT. Ugh, he’s just so hot istg I really couldn’t help myself when I wrote that fic, lol. Anyway, it’s cute that you cycled through like all of my fics and I’m glad that you liked my work enough to keep reading through everything that I had posted on here! I will say that Undercurrent is very precious to me because it’s the very first reader x member fic that I wrote and posted to Tumblr. I love that story so much and I’m so elated to know that you appreciated it as much as you did! It took about two weeks for that like YFY, but every time that I sat down to write it, I just would smile like an idiot whenever I’d read through it at how cutely I encapsulated the lovers to be in their feelings for each other.

Truly, who else writes a damn novel for their first ever fic? Gah, I am still so soft over Undercurrent. That fic is like my first child, lol. It is very special to me. So is COC, but we all know my sentiments about that fic at this point. I feel like I’m being annoying with it, but the self-consciousness and insecurity about that one still persists and whenever I hear about it from my readers, I get nervous because I have this lingering anxiety that more negative comments will be given on it. Well, this ask isn’t about COC, so I should move on, I think. Sorry about that mini-rant, anon!

Switching back to YFY, Jungkook’s personality in this one is a little different than what I have done before and I am glad that you liked the way he’s built in terms of his characterization. I wanted to show a Jungkook that was so in love with you that he is willing to give you anything you want (even if that means fucking another man) while also staying true to the possessive creature that we all know he is in real life. He adores reader very much and because of that, he just wants to see her happy at the end of the day. She is a constant in his life and gives him stability where the world would fall apart under his feet and he cherishes her for that for sure. I adored their relationship just as you did because they care about each other so much and each one of them just wants to please the other always. It’s funny that you say that Jimin could have not been there because the person that commissioned this fic from me actually wanted just a CEO!Jimin fic in the beginning, lol. Kook wasn’t even factored into the story in the initial stages and it actually was going to be a hybrid CEO!Jimin fic where he goes into heat while at work, but that idea was never fully fleshed out because Jungkook had to come out with his D’ICON stuff and really, it was over for me when I saw that video of him in the leather fit.

I talked to my commissioner about it and she was more than eager to have Kook involved in the fic (even though she originally thought that I would not go so far as to write 31.5k words worth of shit that Kook was responsible for over 22.3k for before Jimin even makes an appearance, lol. I couldn’t really help it being the Jungkook slut that I am, but hey, it brought such sin out of it and I can’t apologize for THAT because it was too much fun to keep writing the lewd escapades of reader and her fiance that loved his future wife too much to deny her of anything so as long as he is part of it.

As for Taehyung, well...let’s just say that Jungkook had a nice “chat” with Taehyung and the two ended the discussion with Jungkook sat in his office while Taehyung got to listen to a recording of reader fucking herself with Jungkook’s name falling repeatedly from her lips. Taehyung may or may not have had a tent in his pants while Jungkook gave a cruel smirk and when you’re summoned to his office, let’s just say that Taehyung gets a nice show while Jungkook fucks you over his desk. Now, this is done AFTER Jungkook orders you to bind Taehyung’s wrists with his tie so that he can’t do anything while he watches, his lips drawn between his teeth the entire time that Jungkook fucks into you like a crazed man. When it’s all over and you lie boneless on the desk, Jungkook eats the sandwich you brought him off your stomach before eating you out and let’s just say that when Taehyung leaves the office, his cheeks have never been more red both with embarrassment and rage.

Wow, I really let myself keep going with that, huh? I guess that shows just how much I’m fond of YFY, lol.

I would consider writing a drabble for YFY, but that would have to be commissioned as I am facing a financial crisis right now and can’t really afford to spend time writing anymore unless I will be compensated for it! It’s very sweet to ask that because it shows me you want more of this story and that’s very heartening to know!

As for the dress, I would be more than happy to show it to you if you message me (you can go through anon again if you prefer) once more with that question because this ask is already really long!

Also, I’m pleased to know that you liked the pet names! I have a weakness for them, you see, so you’ll find an abundance of that in just about everything you read from me.

It would be quite a life to have a man like YFY Jungkook in it, wouldn’t it? You would never want for a thing with him, that’s for sure. You also would never feel deprived of attention or love because he’d readily relinquish both to you 24/7. I wanna swoon over YFY Jungkook because he’s just so dreamy, isn’t he?

Anyway, I am so happy to hear you liked the story. Thank you for reading my work and taking the time to say all of that, lovely. It really makes my day so much better when you guys tell me things like this and I can’t thank you enough for being nice enough to let me know all of this!

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chogiwakeupsheeple · 5 years

Text

TaeKai; The F in Friendship Stands for Feelings ~ pt. 3

Genre: Angst (fluff) Pairing: Taemin x Kai Words: 2200

Being a horny, gay teenager isn’t easy - no one claimed it would be.

Part: one | two | three

The whole relationship with Allison had been an accident of sorts; an unfortunate event caused by Jongin's mom interrupting his, until then, peaceful breakfast. There were plenty of girls at school, some of which he knew as cheerleaders from his sports matches, but he had never been close with any of them other than just regular politeness and acquaintances. He had never wanted to make a ton of friends at school, and definitely not a girlfriend, seeing as his friendship with Taemin was more than enough to get him through life. His mom, however, seemed to have other sinister plans that morning.

Jongin had, as he always did, come downstairs to enjoy a bowl of his favorite cereal (that his parents only allowed him to eat during weekends because of ''all the sugar'') when he noticed his mom already in the kitchen. He said a quiet 'good morning' and she replied without further comment. Bowl, cereal, milk - Jongin loved the simplicity of breakfast. It was one of the few silent moments in the house as he always got up before his talkative sisters. The moment, however, ended as soon as it began.

''Did you know that Allison from your grade has a crush on you?'' his mom suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence. She dragged out the word crush as if it was something she had read in a teen magazine and was just now trying out for the first time. Jongin nearly choked on his cereal when hearing her question - he did not know. ''Please don't ever use the word 'crush' again and how do you even know?'' he answered with a question of his own after making sure his breakfast wasn't going to kill him by getting stuck in his throat. ''Her mom told me last week when I ran into her at the supermarket - I think it's adorable'' she explained. Jongin did not think it was adorable. His mom had her back to him as she calmly cleaned some dishes from last night's dinner, but she turned around slightly and involuntarily tensed her shoulders before continuing, ''you know, the other parents at school asked me if you were gay-'' Jongin tensed up even more than his mother and had to put down his spoon before dropping it in shock and splashing milk everywhere. ''-Are you?''

Of course the other parents had to go spread rumors like that, he thought, fucking typical. Jongin had the sudden urge to bite his nails to get rid of some of the nervousness that was rapidly spreading throughout his body, but he knew that would expose him. Parents always tell their kids they'll love them no matter what, but when it came to Jongin's family there were a few things that they simply didn't talk about - this was one of them. For his mom to even utter the word 'gay' meant that whatever he answered next could change everything. ''Of course not, why would they think that?'' he finally answered, trying to sound genuinely offended. His mom turned her back to him again and continued with the dishes, this time scrubbing them excessively hard as if she, too, was getting rid of built up tension. ''They just think it's odd that a handsome, young man like you haven’t ever dated'' she explained, but it was clear that 'they' weren't just the other parents - her and his dad had definitely had this talk before she confronted him.

Jongin had completely lost his appetite and pushed the bowl of soggy cereal away before looking at the wall-clock, hoping he could escape the conversation by pretending he had promised to meet Taemin. Shit, it was too early to meet on a Saturday, his mom wouldn't fall for it. When Jongin didn't answer, his mom forgot about the dishes in favor of shuffling across the kitchen floor before coming to a halt at the table of judgement. Jongin wasn't a small guy but he felt incredibly tiny with his mom looming over him with her figurative gavel, ready to announce the penalty. ''I think you should ask Allison out on a date this afternoon, you owe your dad and I that much'' she said sternly. And just like that, Jongin was sentenced to three hours of dating with no chance of bail; the movie theater became his prison and Allison's fingers interlocking with his became his handcuffs.

Taemin's breath hitched in his throat once he had registered Jongin's words; ‘’...the most important person in my life.’’ he’d said. He didn't know if the slight tingle on his skin was from the closeness of his friend or the cold tiles of the bathroom floor they were still seated on, but he didn't care. The words echoed in his mind as he tried to calm his frantic heart; they were so close that Taemin could just lean in and- no, he shouldn't be having those urges. Jongin was not his boyfriend and Taemin had been hurt - this was simply a case of a friend helping out a friend and he shouldn't misunderstand. But oh how he wanted to misunderstand. Jongin's breath felt warm on his neck and sent small sparks through his body and made him feel almost electric. As much as he tried to calm himself, he however soon became very aware of the not so slight tingle spreading to a specific part of his body. Oh no. His hormones were racing at the speed of light - he was a teenager with his crush right in his face, what was he supposed to do?

''Are you ready to stand up?'' Jongin asked, ''I should probably follow you home.''

Taemin panicked at the thought of getting up, considering his current situation. There was no elegant way of standing up without revealing the very suspicious shape in his pants, he had to calm himself down first and it had to happen fast. Not only would he risk Jongin seeing it, but anyone could walk into the bathroom at any moment and see the two boys on the floor - one of them possessing a painfully awkward boner. That would definitely warrant a visit to the principal’s office as well as rumors spreading across the school. Well, more than there already was. Taemin was used to rumors like that - he'd be rich if he had a penny for every time someone called him gay, sissy or some variation thereof. But he couldn't do that to Jongin, especially not considering the family he had. Taemin knew his family very well, he'd been at Jongin’s home and slept over numerous times, but that also meant he was painfully aware of their thoughts about same sex relationships; it had been a cause for many awkward conversations over dinner. No, he couldn't do that to his best friend, he had to find a way out of this situation. Fast.

''We'll get in trouble if we ditch school - just go to class, I'll be fine'' Taemin answered, trying to sound convincing, but he'd never been a great liar. ''Tae, it's fine, really, I'll follow you home'' the other reassured with a bright smile, only worsening the pants situation. Jongin was resilient, Taemin knew that - everyone knew that. It was a quality he usually loved about him, but right in this situation it was very f-ing frustrating as Taemin knew he didn't stand a chance at making the other give up. ''Well,'' he sighed, ''I have to use the bathroom before we go.'' Jongin replied with a quick 'sure' and got up from the floor, sticking out his hand to help his injured friend up. Taemin merely looked at his hand as if he wasn't sure what to do with it, and unfortunately the other noticed this. ''This is a hand, Tae, you're supposed to take it'' he mocked with a glint in his eyes, but Taemin didn't react. He was thinking of an escape plan.

''Actually,'' he sputtered, choking slightly on his words, ''my mom will kill me if she sees I got my tie dirty, will you wash it while I pee?'' He tried laughing at how ridiculous the whole thing sounded but it came out more like a high-pitched hiccup. His friend agreed and went to take off the tie, but as soon as his warm hands graced Taemin’s neck, he panicked all over again with a yelp, took it off himself and nearly threw it across the room. Jongin put his hands on his sides like a mother about to scold her toddler and lifted an eyebrow. ''You must have hit your head on the floor…'' he muttered but went to pick up the tie anyway. Taemin finally saw his chance and yanked himself off the floor in record time and threw himself into the nearest stall, making sure to lock behind him before proclaiming that he couldn't pee while the other was still in the room.

''Are you kidding?'' he laughed, each word getting slightly louder as he moved closer to the stall his friend was hiding in, ''you've never had a problem with that.'' He was leaning against the stall next to Taemin's with the tie still in his hand. ''Remember that one summer when we were 7 where we decided to 'water' my mom’s hydrangeas together?'' he laughed, reminiscing their shared childhood. Taemin did remember and the thought made him smile. Jongin’s mom was so pissed back then - literally red with rage - and the two of them had made their naked escape into a shrubbery his mom didn't dare follow them into. ''Yeah I remember,'' Taemin laughed, ''I totally got a rash from those bushes by the way.'' They laughed together at the memory for a while before Jongin spoke again: ''I refuse to believe that you all of a sudden have a shy bladder, but you also did just get beat up, so I'm not allowed to say no to you.'' After that Taemin heard the footsteps of his friend followed by a door opening and closing - finally alone.

He looked down to assess the situation only to find a tent big enough to fill an entire campsite. He cursed under his breath as he undid his belt and carefully stuck a hand down his underwear; there was only one way to get out of this situation and he knew what he had to do.

Jongin was leaning up against the wall next to the door to the bathroom, picking dirt out from under his nails when Allison rushed to his side. ''Jongin! Are you okay?'' she panted, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze. ''I'm fine'' he stated without further comment - he wasn't really in the mood to deal with his fake girlfriend after what had just happened. ''You just suddenly barged out of class, I was worried something had happened'' she continued, genuine worry in her eyes. Jongin shook her hand aggressively off his shoulder before finally turning to look at her. ''Taemin got beaten up,'' he snapped, ''because of you.'' Allison's eyes widened in shock and confusion as she stammered out both a what, why and how but Jongin didn't answer. He knew it hadn't actually been her fault, she genuinely cared about him but he was pissed his best friend got hurt and needed someone to blame. Besides, maybe this could make her break up with him, then his mom would finally leave him alone. Tears started to well up in Allison’s eyes as he wouldn't answer her. He was unnecessarily mean in his demeanor; it wasn't fair but neither was what the bullies had done.

It was at this moment that Taemin finally exited the bathroom. Upon seeing the scrapes on his face and the dirt on his clothes, Allison realized the severity of the situation - that he had actually gotten beaten up and that it might actually have been her fault. Tears finally spilled from her eyes as she turned around and ran away from her boyfriend as fast as she had run to him in the first place. Taemin observed the situation in confusion before looking at Jongin for answers, but he simply shook his head, saying ''don't worry about it.''

Taemin cleared his throat in an attempt at resolving the awkward tension that had quickly formed between them. Besides what had just happened, Taemin also feared that Jongin somehow knew what he had just done. He felt dirty - perverted even - more so than the grimy bathroom floor had made him feel. ‘’I, uh, think I’ll go home now’’ Taemin stated, eyes glued to his feet out of shame. ‘’I’ll follow you’’ Jongin insisted, but Taemin merely shook his head in response before grabbing his tie from the hand of his friend and walking away. Jongin didn’t follow him.

Taemin had always thought the worst day of his life had been the day he threw up on himself in front of his entire class because he was nervous about a presentation, followed by him tripping on the doorstep when running away crying. He was wrong. This, this was without a doubt the worst day of his life thus far.

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a-stone-world-saga · 5 years

Text

“Senkuu? Are you busy?”

Senkuu glances up from the melting contents of the test tubes he’s been waiting on. Ruri is standing in the doorway, one hand pushing the curtain aside, half-turned away like she’s unsure of her welcome. Haloed behind her, the moon hangs heavy and full in the clear night sky.

“Nah,” Senkuu shrugs, setting his latest experiment to the side. “I have to wait for these to defrost first, so the next step can wait until morning. Chrome will complain if I start without him anyway.” He considers her for a moment. “It’s late. Did you need something?”

Ruri’s chin dips into the fur of her coat but her gaze remains on him. “I couldn’t sleep,” She admits. “So I thought I would go for a walk.” She pauses, eyes darting away, then back. “Kohaku told me you don’t sleep much, so I wondered if you would like to come with me?”

Senkuu stares at her, more than a little surprised. He must take too long to answer though because she winces like she’s committed some horrible offense, and in the next second, she’s already apologizing, “I’m sorry, I overstepped, I just thought-”

Senkuu snorts loudly, and then has to hide a wince of his own because he always forgets to be a little gentler with Ruri the way everyone else naturally seems to be around her. It’s not really in his nature though, to be careful with people, except maybe Suika, sometimes, since she’s a child. But Ruri... Ruri’s somehow always registered as tough in his mind, when he thinks about her, and so it never occurs to him right away that she’s technically more delicate than all the other people he usually interacts with.

Ah well, too late to take it back now. Onward and through it is. “Don’t be stupid, why would you be overstepping?” He grumbles, pushing to his feet and stretching the stiffness out of his muscles. “Besides, I don’t have anything better to do right now, and I could do with some fresh air. Let me just get my coat.”

He fetches it from the wall hooks in the corner, and then rakes a critical eye over Ruri before grabbing an extra scarf as well.

“Jeez,” He grumbles, sparing a moment to blow out the oil lamp on the table before joining Ruri at the door. She’s still blinking owlishly at him, like she fully expected to be turned down in the first place. Senkuu just sighs and loops the scarf around her neck, knotting it loosely before tucking most of it inside the collar of her coat to make sure it does its job. “I know you’re not sick anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get sick again. It’s almost winter; look after yourself a little better.”

He pulls on his own coat, and when he glances up again, he finds Ruri smiling at him, faint and softly delighted the way her sister’s brashly confident grins almost never are. Sometimes, Senkuu looks at them and can’t believe they’re sisters. But they have the exact same steel in them, straight down to the core; they just show it in different ways.

They don’t need words as they set out for the surrounding woods, although Senkuu does smirk a little when he spots the bridge leading to the village in the distance. “How’d you slip past your guards?”

Ruri tips a secretive smile up at him this time, something just shy of mischievous. “I just told them I had important priestess secrets to impart to the village chief right away because it’s a full moon. Same with the guards on bridge duty.”

Senkuu barks out a laugh. “You’re lucky it’s not Kinrou and Ginrou’s shift at the moment; they’d never believe that anymore.”

“Why do you think I didn’t come earlier?” Ruri retorts lightly, and for a moment, they grin at each other like old friends.

The days have been getting shorter, the nights longer, and the woods feel extra quiet as they walk through them. The trees whisper with the night breeze all around them, and it’s peaceful in a way Senkuu’s modern world probably never could be. He misses it of course, but the longer he lives in this Stone World, the more he thinks that it isn’t so terrible, even if a lot of everyday activities he once took for granted aren’t so convenient anymore.

As if reading his mind, Ruri peers over at him, eyes bright with curiosity as she asks, “Kohaku and Chrome have caught me up on much of your modern world, but was it so very different? Were there still places like this in your time?”

Senkuu makes a considering noise as they step out onto the grassy bank of one of the nearby rivers. The water is clear enough that in some of the calmer parts, he can see right to the bottom like there isn’t even anything there.

“Some,” He says to Ruri. “In some parts of the world, there were still a few pockets of civilization similar to Ishigami Village. And lots of places still had natural wildlife and vegetation, although if you compare it to now, you could say there weren’t nearly as many.” He grimaces a little. “I suppose that’s one issue with civilization advancing as far as it did. The planet can only produce so many resources at a time, and we humans always wanted more. Pollution was a pretty big problem too - our species tend to generate a lot of garbage, and nature had to pay for that.”

They stop right by a mostly smooth spike of rock that juts out over the water, and once Senkuu’s hoisted himself up onto it, he turns to offer his hand to Ruri, who takes it firmly and lets him pull her up as well. They sit right by the edge, legs dangling above the river, and the moon is low enough on the horizon that it almost looks like the water is pouring right into it.

“But you made incredible things too,” Ruri says, sounding a touch wistful, imagining a world that Senkuu knows won’t ever be exactly the way reality was, no matter how well he tries to describe it.

Humanity’s legacy, forgotten by humanity.

“We make incredible things now,” He says out loud, flashing a smirk when Ruri looks up at him again with a startled expression. “We’re all humans, even in this world, and we’re still alive. We’ll go on to make more and more incredible things, and it won’t ever be the same, but it’ll still be pretty exciting.”

Ruri’s eyes widen, and for a long minute, even after Senkuu turns to stare out at the sprawling woods in front of them again, she doesn’t look away. Senkuu lets her at it, content with the silence between them. It’s comfortable, somehow, even when he’s acutely aware of her gaze on him.

She looks away, at last, but she also sways to the side, her shoulder knocking gently against his, and when he glances down, she’s smiling again. Perhaps it’s Senkuu’s own occasionally whimsical imagination, but somehow, Ruri has a way of smiling that radiates a quiet sort of inner joy now that illness and impending death no longer plague her, as if every breath she can freely take these days is something that makes her happy.

“Tell me something,” She says, her words fogging the air at her lips. “About your world. Something I would like.”

Senkuu’s eyebrows go up, and then he chuckles. “What, electricity and ramen not good enough for you?”

When Ruri only peeks up at him, tentatively expectant, Senkuu sighs and hums in thought for a few seconds, casting his mind back to a childhood lived a lifetime ago.

“Libraries,” He finally says.

Ruri blinks. “Libraries? What’s that?”

Senkuu lifts his hands, outlining the vague shape of a square. “I told you guys what books are, right? Stories and information, knowledge, all written down on paper, recorded for everyone to read. Now imagine a whole building of them, lined with shelves, containing hundreds of books, a place where people can go to read them for free. Libraries were a thing all over the world, at least one in every city, dozens in just about every country.” He drops his hands. “The library nearest my house was three floors high. It wasn’t the biggest, but it still had tons of books on every subject you could imagine - fiction and non-fiction, fantasy and adventure stories, physics and chemistry texts, books suitable for everyone from children to adults. It opened early and closed late, so you could spend the whole day in there and read as much as you want. Most of the walls were floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and you know that couch we made for your birthday? Imagine rows of them, right by the windows, where you could sit in the sunlight and just read from morning to night. The third floor had a balcony too, with chairs and tables and umbrellas over them, so you could go outside on nice days and sit in the shade and enjoy a drink and read a book.”

He stops for breath and rubs the back of his neck as he checks Ruri’s expression. “Eh, I don’t know if I’m describing it very well, but I think it would be something you’d like.”

Because Ruri has the same thirst for knowledge as Chrome, as Senkuu himself. It isn’t as science-oriented, but she’s taken to asking him about the Tales. She’s memorized them all from her mother, like every priestess before her, but now that she can, she also wants to know what they mean, and that led to questions about other old-world stories, about fairy tales lost to time, romance novels that are more up Taiju’s alley than Senkuu’s, even old theater plays and the famous names that wrote them. Ruri was the first to ask Senkuu for lessons on the written word. It’s slow-going, but Ruri wants with a passion that Senkuu knows very well, and he thinks that in the modern era, they would’ve had to pry her out of the library every day.

“It sounds wonderful,” Ruri announces, drawing Senkuu’s attention back to the present. She claps her hands together, then spreads them, palms up. Her father despairs of the broken skin and new callouses she sports these days, but she insists on helping with their science, now that she can, and she’s just as stubborn as Kohaku when she wants to be.

“One day, I want us to build our own library, in this world,” She continues, gaze focused on some point beyond her hands, a vision of her own in her mind’s eye. “I want books of our own that we’ll be able to write ourselves, good enough to be passed on to the next generation, and the next, and the next.” She folds her hands together and smiles up at him. Her hair glows almost white in the light of the moon, and the determined steel shining from her face is... incandescently captivating. “I think it would be just as exciting as your science, Senkuu.”

Senku huffs a laugh. “Well, why not? I’m not planning on leaving this world without writing down everything I know, and a library’s not complete without a decent science section.” He leans back and grins up at the sky. “A library’s not any harder than everything else we’ve done so far. And one compiled by all the weirdoes we have in our Kingdom of Science? It’ll be one hell of a library!”

It’s not entirely science-oriented, but Senkuu thinks he could see it anyway. Glass is not an impossibility for them anymore. And if Ryuusui can lead the construction of a ship, then a building wouldn’t be difficult.

A library, three stories high, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Why not?

He pushes off his hands, suddenly itching to do, to make something, to create. He hops off the rock, then turns back to Ruri, and maybe it’s infectious because she looks just as alive as he feels in this moment. When he holds out his hand, she grasps it, but she also half-leaps off the rock after him, and her laughter spills out into the night - silver-bright and free - when he spins her once before setting her on the ground again.

“Tell me a story, Senkuu,” Ruri requests, cheeks flushed, a little breathless, and so, so alive.

What can humanity not do, so long as they live on?

As they begin making their way back towards the village, she slips one hand around the inside of his elbow, fingers light with unspoken question.

Senkuu bends his arm and tucks her hand more securely into the crook of his elbow. Ruri takes a half-step closer, settling into his side as her other hand comes up to join the first.

"Ever heard of old man Homer’s Iliad?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“It’s a long one.”

“I have time. Tell it to me, Senkuu. I want to hear it all.”

#dr stone #senri #ishigami senkuu #ruri #cross writes #oneshot

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unavenged-robin · 6 years

Note

“Can you please come and get me” Damian and Tim

He was expecting it would happen, and, on some level, maybe he was even hoping it would. He knows it’s unfair to even think about it, but Dick had preferred Damian to him. Not in the beginning, of course. Tim knew that in the beginning it was just out of obligation and good intentions that Dick had taken the Robin’s cape away from him to give it to their newfound little brother, a child who didn’t fit anywhere else but with them. Tim had hated Dick for it anyway, but over time he had understood him too. It was necessary, and it worked. They owed Damian at least a way out of the League.

But what had hurt the most - and this is something he’s never going to say out loud because he’s too ashamed of himself to even admit it in front of a mirror, let alone bring it into words ― what had hurt the most had been observing the duty turn into affection, watching from the sidelines how Dick had slowly fallen in love with the brat. Dick had loved Tim too, of course, but not like that. Never like that. Tim had been Dick’s little brother ― he too unwanted, at first ― but Damian had been something else. His Robin. His son.

But now the cape and the cowl were back into Bruce’s hands, and Bruce was not Dick. Now the Batman was flying alone.

If he were a slightly more deluded and cruel man, Tim would believe that Bruce missed him, that he preferred him over Damian, but he just couldn’t shake off the obligation Dick had left him. There was some sense of vindictiveness in that thought: that the true Batman wanted him, Tim, and not his own blood son. And why not, after all? Damian was everything that a Robin shouldn’t be: he was violent and dangerous and arrogant and he had blood on his hands. At the age of ten, Damian had already killed as many people as the enemies they chased every night. Why would Bruce accept that? How had Dick accepted it in the first place?

Tim sighs and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. He’s being unfair, he knows. He’s angry and alone and he had missed Bruce so much, he’s almost gone mad with the quest to bring him back. And now Bruce was here, and he was alive, but still out of Tim’s reach, still out of his life. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth even if it shouldn’t: Tim doesn’t know what he was expecting, it was obvious enough that Damian was not going anywhere, it’s not like he thought he would be Robin again.

…except that maybe he was. Bruce had sent Damian back to his mother once, hadn’t he? He had washed his hands of his son once, so why not twice? But no, this is unfair too. Damian was different now, better. Still a brat through and through, but he was getting the hang of Robin, and Dick had softened him around the edges with so much care and attention that it would be just shameful for Bruce to throw all that work out of the window.

But there was another way, and Tim discovers he believed in that second option so much that he took it almost for granted, to the point that he never even talked about it with anyone, including those directly concerned. The truth is that Tim always believed that, after Bruce’s return, Dick would just go back to being Nightwing and keep Damian with him ― maybe as Robin and maybe not, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway: there could be two Robins, one in Gotham and one in Bludhaven. It would’ve been even. It would’ve been right.

There was nothing of Bruce in Damian, he was all Talia and a little bit of Dick. Even the pang of jealousy he felt every time he thought about it couldn’t deny the evidence of the facts: Damian belonged with and to Dick. He loved him, he respected him. It was so easy too see it even through all the brat’s defensive shields, that every time Damian looked at Dick his eyes were full of the unmistakable wonder of someone who’s seeing the one and only hero of his life. It would be cute, if anything related to Damian could ever be cute.

And Dick… well. Tim knows about Dick’s inquiries with their lawyers, of his weekly appointments with social services, he knows about the adoption paper Dick had asked to get in print. Tim remembers the proud looks, the praises always ready on the tip of Dick’s tongue, he remembers the love he kept hidden behind the teasing, the way Dick never lost his temper with Damian and, in contrast, the burning fury that he bestowed upon anyone who dared to threat or hurt his Robin.

Now Tim stares at his computer screen without actually seeing it, his work momentarily forgotten. Dick going back to Bludhaven and to Nightwing like nothing ever happened sounds unfair too, for him, for Damian, even for Bruce. Tim doesn’t know if they ever talked about it, if there was an argument or a fight, if Bruce had insisted on keeping Damian with him, or if Dick had handed the boy over before the question even presented itself. He could ask Barbara: she would know, wouldn’t she? And then again, what would be the point? Dick’s back to his city and his life, Bruce’s back to the Manor with Alfred, and Damian’s back with his father. Tim’s the only one who can’t go back at all.

Except for this.

A red light on his monitor flashes three times, signaling an incoming contact. Tim checks the input and approves the connection, then he turns on his microphone, his mind already focusing on the coordinates that now appear in front of him.

Batman’s voice rumbles through his headphones, filling his head with the bittersweet memory of the few nights that Tim had believed, even if just for a moment, that he would never hear that exact voice ever again.

“Red Robin, I’m going to need your support tonight”, Bruce says, impassive as ever.

Tim checks his cameras feed and by the sheer number of thugs currently gathering in the new Penguin club, he can easily believe that even the Batman would consider this a two-man job, the kind that requires a Robin to his side.

Tim bites his lips. He should ask about Damian, shouldn’t he? He hasn’t seen Robin in weeks. Where the hell is the kid? Is he grounded? Is it Tim’s business if he is?

“Red Robin?”, Bruce calls to him again, and there’s a new edge to his voice, something Tim can not define.

“ETA ten minutes”, Tim responds out of habit. “I’m on my way, Batman.”

“I’ll wait for you”, Bruce announces.

And Tim can’t lie to himself: it does feel good.

Months go by. Batman stops flying alone. Damian starts to look a little bit like Bruce too. Nightwing is back to his city for good. Tim keeps mostly to himself. It’s not good, but almost. It’s a new thing, a new balance. And all things considered, it could be worse.

Then Damian dies. Bruce shatters and Batman snaps. Dick dies too. It’s all so quick, it would stand to reason it should barely have the time to hurt, but that’s wishful thinking: it hurts as hell, so much and so deep Tim feels like he’s drowning in pain, burning from the inside out while falling into an arctic abyss.

The first thing he does when they get Damian back, is fall on his knees and hug the brat to his chest for the first time in his life. He’s surprised to learn that Damian smells good and that he feels little and soft into his arms. He’s not surprised when Damian, in spite of everything, hugs him back.

Still, Tim makes sure he’s not there when Bruce tells Damian about Dick. He can bear a lot of things, but not that. He can barely deal with his own grief ― meaning that he does his best not to deal with his own grief. It’s simpler that way.

But after he’s sure the news has been delivered, he tries to stick around. Pop by the Manor more often, try some small talk, lend a hand in a few missions where his presence was never requested in the first place. He can’t be Dick, he could never be Dick, but he can at least make an effort.

He’s still surprised when, while he’s driving home from the office, his phone starts ringing, and Damian’s name comes across the screen. Calling each other is not something they do unless they’re forced to.

“Hello?”, he asks tentatively.

“Drake.”

Damian’s voice sounds deadpan as ever, but there’s something weird in the way he breathes out Tim’s last name: unlike the usual, this time it doesn’t really sound like an insult.

“Hi brat”, Tim answers, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “What’s up?”

Damian inhales quite violently and for a moment Tim’s worried he’ll start screaming at him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Can you please come and get me?”, Damian asks instead and Tim hits the brakes just a little too strongly, screeching to a halt in front of a yellow traffic light. The car behind him honks at him, but Tim doesn’t care.

“What?”, he asks, because it’s not even the weird request of picking him up, it’s that please that makes his skin crawl. “Damian, what happened? Are you in trouble? Are you hurt? Did someone take you hostage and now you’re trying to sound like a normal kid?”

Damian doesn’t answer, not really. But his breathing stutters just once, and Tim understands.

“Alright, whatever, I’m coming”, he corrects himself. “Where are you?”

The boy needs two more shaky breaths to answer. It hurts that Damian’s trying to hide the fact that he’s crying even if he knows that Tim already knows.

“In Bludhaven”, he manages to say eventually, and he seems to choke on the word.

“I’ll be right there”, Tim answers softly. Damian doesn’t need to say where exactly in Bludhaven he is, Tim already knows.

He runs the first red light of many, and barely takes notice of it.

He gets to Dick’s apartment in record time, and finds Damian sitting on the doorstep. His eyes are perfectly dry and his face more than stoic, but there’s no hiding his slumping shoulders or his messy hair. When Tim suggests to get inside the apartment the kid shakes his head with such determination, he doesn’t have the heart to insist, even if he’s tired and really needs a rest.

Instead he just walks Damian to his car, sits again in front of the wheel and starts the engine. He doesn’t turn the radio on, and doesn’t ask any question either: if Damian’s uncomfortable with the silence, Tim’s sure he’ll let him know.

“They stole the car”, Damian offers after a while, as Tim speeds through the evening traffic. “That’s why I needed a ride from you.”

That’s a lie. Damian could have stolen another car without batting an eye. Then Tim’s mind registers: the car.

“The car?”, he repeats out loud, glancing at the boy sitting next to him. Damian’s looking the car window, all that Tim can see is his reflection mixed up with the street lights. “What car? Bruce’s car?”

Damian shrugs, like it’s inconsequential to him. Tim sighs. He’s not looking forward to having to tell Bruce that one of his expensive car has gone missing by the hand of his youngest son, that has also just risked to get caught by the police by driving it in the first place.

He doesn’t argue with Damian about it. He’s not in the mood, and it would be useless anyway.

“I miss him”, Damian says after a minute.

Tim’s grip on the wheel stiffens so much his knuckles turn white, but he tries to sound as normal as he can when he answers the boy.

“I know, gremlin. Me too.”

“Father refuses to talk about him”, Damian adds. “It’s like he’s never existed for him. How could he- “

There’s that choked sound again, then silence, and Tim can see it all so clearly even without other words: he can see Damian asking one, two, three-hundred times about Dick, grasping at memories, trying to relieve the good times, holding on whatever scrap Dick’s left behind him. He knows that feeling all so well: the need to keep the person you lost so close in words and memories since there’s no other way to have them with you anymore. And he can see Bruce turning him away, refusing to talk, refusing to share. Pain was something too personal for Bruce, something that only the Batman had the right to see. Tim had felt it on his own skin, he knows how much it hurts, and it was more than Damian deserved.

“We could go back to Dick’s apartment”, he says after a moment, even if the very idea makes him sick. “Stay there for a few days. He wouldn’t mind, you know? He’s always loved having us there.”

He keeps his voice soft, clear of any emotion. This is Damian’s choice, not his.

But again, Damian just shakes his head no. The doorstep is as close as the boy’s willing to get. Tim understands that too.

“Okay, then let’s go to mine”, he counterproposes. “I have a new couch and it’s quite comfortable.”

He leaves the offer there for a moment. Damian doesn’t say anything, but from the corner of his eyes, Tim sees him shrug again and takes it as acquiescence enough.

#tim drake #damian wayne #richard grayson #bruce wayne #i missed writing about these two #and i missed writing Tim #h/c prompt meme #my fic #shari writes #Anonymous

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inkstaineddaughter · 4 years

Text

Soft Drop Chapter 7: Ferromagnetism

Charlie/Reader

Fluff, implied smut, angst?

2k words

There’s time to kill between one task and the next. Work is over and you don’t have to be at the airport for a few more hours. It’s tea time. And trashy magazine time! The new issue of Cosmopolitan on your sofa has been tempting you with the promise of “13 Sex Positions to Drive Him Wild!” and you’re determined to find out just how wild that may be. You figure it might be a nice “Welcome home” for Charlie after one of his horribly draining West Coast trips.

You’re dipping your teabag into the mug and wondering why on Earth anyone would name a sex position Froggie Style, or name a perfume Guilt, for that matter when you hear the sound of your door being unlocked and opening. It must be either your mom or dad. They’re the only ones, other than Charlie who have a key. You glance quickly at the clock on the stove. It doesn’t really make sense for any of them to be here at this time. Especially when your dad is always complaining about walking in on you in various states of undress. Jesus, just stop showing up announced! You consider whipping off your shirt and greeting them with just your bra on. It would serve them right!

But there’s only a single figure in the entry, tall and slightly rumpled. He tosses his bags onto the floor and holds out his arms. “Charlie!” You almost sound more scolding than surprised. “You should have called me! If I’d known you’re were going to be early, I still would have met you there!” But you press yourself against him, bury your face into his chest as he rests his chin on top of your head. He smells like recycled airplane air and unfamiliar laundry detergent. Why can’t Nicole just keep her ass in one spot? Or at least wait until she gets back from visiting her mom to discuss Important Divorce Things. Is it really worth dragging him across the country on like, no notice?

It feels so good to have him back though. At least, it almost feels good. Today, it seems like there’s more than just jet lag throwing him off. And his muscles feel tense under your hands. You pull away and look closely at him. “I got an earlier flight,” he says and rubs a hand over his hair. “I just wanted to get home. Wanted to see you.”

“Something’s wrong. What happened?” you demand. But he only shakes his head and gives you a pained look and an irritable twitch of his shoulders. Whatever is wrong, this is a man that is badly in need of some TLC. And while you’re fresh out of candles and rose petals, you do still possess some creature comforts and maybe a few new sex positions too. But first thing’s first. “I have tea,” you offer, grabbing his hand. “Come have tea with me?”

You’re dragging him into the kitchen and he stops, pulls you back toward him. “We’re going to be all right, remember?” he reminds you. Of course, your heart drops through the floor at that. Why? Why do you need to remember? Why now? And why is it that, whenever anyone tells you not to worry, you immediately assume the worst and start worrying? You may as well just throw a chair through the window now and save some time. At least then, Charlie won’t have to say any more. There. Subject closed.

You both manage to remain calm long enough to sit down and drink your tea and clutch at each other’s hands. You lament over how much you missed him this time and Charlie vows to absolutely fuck your brains out that night. All is back to normal until he drops the bombshell.

“So, they’re moving the trial,” he says in a flat voice as he sits back in his chair. “To California.” That makes absolutely no sense and the only thing you can picture is a tour bus and a circus tent and taking the act on the road. Like Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters, but with less acid and more divorces.

“The whole thing?” you ask. “I didn’t even know that was something that could happen.” You think back on your childhood days staying home from school when you were sick. All those episodes of Divorce Court never prepared you for this. “What the hell?!” you demand.

“Nicole refiled,” Charlie says, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. “She enrolled Henry in school out there and something about establishing residency, I guess.” You’ve known Nicole to be moody and changeable and a pain-in-the-ass, passive aggressive wife, but this is diabolical. And it doesn’t feel like anything other than an open declaration of war.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Charlie sounds almost desperate. His eyes are red as he looks back at you and you notice how his hands shake as he reaches for the teapot. “Hire new lawyers now? I’m supposed to make it look like I’ve put down roots out there and have a stable home environment for Henry? He has a stable home environment. It’s here! But sure, I can just rent someplace else like no problem. Fuck!” he swears as he drags his fingers through his hair, making it look even more disheveled. “The goddamn show is moving to Broadway and I can only be there for what, like two rehearsals a week now? How the hell are we supposed to manage with that?”

The anger is obvious, but you can hear the panic creeping into his voice and the sound makes you sick to your stomach. You’re trying really hard to let him vent his own feelings and remember that this is not about you, but you’re so damn frustrated! Why can’t any of this be easy for him? You’ll always be moral support and you’ll keep it together if he needs you to. But right now, you feel like flipping the table over and shrieking, “Universe! Stop doing shit to my married boyfriend!”

Charlie buries his face in his hands, pressing his fingertips into his eyes. You silently add a whopping dose of ibuprofen to the list of things you need to do for him tonight. “Apparently, I have to pay for half of Nicole’s legal fees and now my own housing costs. And all the fucking airfare? Flying there and back all the time? I… I can’t do this. She’s….” He stops and looks around your small apartment almost desperately, as if the answers could be hung on your walls or written in your grandma’s old cookbook. “God, she could destroy my whole life, (Y/N),” He continues in a lower voice. “All of it. Take my son away from me, my theater company, my whole life. Everything I’ve worked for and created, just gone. And I can’t do anything about it! I have to just stand by and let her?”

Again, he covers his face, whether to stop himself from crying or stop himself from screaming, you don’t care. Either way, it’s goddamn unacceptable and you have to fix this. “Okay, stop. Stop,” You order him softly as you pull his hands down. “Charlie,” you ask. “What do you need here from me?”

“Other than just you?” he asks and shrugs helplessly. “I really don’t know.” But the wheels in your head have already started turning. No way in fucking hell are you going to let things spiral away from him like this. “Okay,” you sigh as you try to organize the ideas already popping into your head. “I’m definitely not going to be able to spend four days a week out there with you, but I do have sick time and vacation days and I’m sure I can make something work with that.”

All right. Visiting hours are taken care of. This is a good start. Now keep going. You frown. “God, I don’t know how many off the top of my head, but I know I have a crap-ton of frequent flyer miles. I’ll go online at some point tonight and transfer those to you, okay?” You know that “Tropical Island Getaway” you’d vaguely been dreaming of since childhood is never going to actually happen anyway. You blame Wheel of Fortune for that one.

What else? What else? You bite your lip as you wrack your brain. Charlie sits across from you, staring like at you like the goddamn Easter Bunny has materialized in your kitchen and he can’t believe his eyes. You can send him nudes as a morale booster. Nudes? Sexting? Never mind. Not when phones records can be counted as testimony. Dammit.

And the words leave your mouth before they’ve even become a solid thought. “I mean, shit, if you need me to, I’ll move into your place and help with rent. That would take at least some of the strain off.” Yikes. Did you really just say that? And would you actually do that? The answer is easy. Of course, you would. For him.

“Really?” Charlie asks. He sounds utterly disbelieving, but a hint of sarcasm still colors his words.

“Why not?” you shrug. “I like your apartment. You have a washer and dryer. And your bed is bigger.” Unless it becomes public record and somehow jeopardizes him getting custody of Henry, there really is no reason why you shouldn’t move in together.

You can see he’s losing steam though and all the prior events are catching up to him. His shoulders are slumping and the dark circles under his eyes are getting darker as the sun moves across the sky outside your kitchen window. “You said yourself, it would take a hell of a lot to get you to leave your place.” Charlie’s voice cracks with frustration and defeat, but it’s still an accusation and he still throws it with as much strength as he can muster.

But you don’t deflect it or even fire back with your own. Instead, you’re out of your seat and in his arms in an instant. And if your combined weight breaks the chair, then so be it. Charlie’s dining set is nicer anyway. You want to be closer to him, to ease some of the anguish this whole thing causes him. Just see him happy and keep him that way.

He looks way too relieved and too grateful as one arm snakes around your waist and his other hand goes up to cup your cheek. “I really don’t deserve you,” he says and shrugs. “Shut up,” you scoff, smiling into his palm. “You know you do.” Just as you’re convinced that you deserve him. So, you’re both selfish and horrible, but why shouldn’t you be selfish together? Charlie sighs and rubs his thumb across your lower lip. “But you’re so perfect, how are you so perfect?” You have to laugh at that. “Do not put me on a pedestal, Mr. Barber. You know better than that. I’ll fall off that shit and break my leg.” Charlie shakes his head. “I don’t want you on a pedestal,” he says. “I want you down here with me.” He slides his hands down your arms and over your back, pulling you closer to him and cradling you against his chest. “I don’t intend on going anywhere else, I promise,” you tell him.

Knowing Charlie, it’ll only be a matter of time before you start to feel his hardening cock strain through his khakis and press into your thighs. Before you’ll swing your legs around and straddle his lap, when he slips his hand between your legs and his tongue into your mouth.

It won’t be until much, much later, after he carries you off to your too-small bed and makes you come at least four times, that you’ll finally allow your mind to wander onto topics like lease agreements and whose pillows are nicer, what train you’ll need to take to work now, address labels and Lord in Heaven, how the hell are you going to explain this one to your parents?

#Soft Drop #Charlie/Reader #Charlie/You #Charlie Barber #Marriage Story #new girlfriend story #writing #ew my fic

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snowbellewells · 5 years

Text

Face to Face in the Broad Daylight: Chapter One

Hello there, friends! I have to apologize profusely for this being a couple days late this week. I was visiting family over the 4th, helping to wrangle several little ones under five, and then was exhausted, but the first full chapter of my @cssns fic is here now. Hope you will enjoy and forgive the slightly longer wait.

A million grateful thank yous to @branlovestowrite for this beautiful banner to go along with the story. It adds so much, is absolutely beautiful, and I just smile every time I look at it! Please make sure to send kudos her way for the brilliant work she did.

If you did not get to read last week’s prologue, you can find it here: Prologue

And now, one with the show....

~chapter one: the element of surprise

Sunlight slanted through the tall windows onto the long, wooden shelves crammed and stuffed full of books in all sizes, hard and soft covers, old and new, and onto the table where a petite sprite of a brunette sat at a long conference table with more volumes spread open around her where she jotted several notes in a pad at her elbow. The beams of sunlight bathed her in yellow glow, and golden highlights seemed to sparkle in the strands of her hair as it curled over her shoulder. She was intent on her work in this haven of her beloved stories, so enthralled in her own magical make-believe realm of tales that she didn’t even hear the soft footsteps padding through the aisles toward her, nor the soft chink of the front entrance clicking back into place from her visitor’s arrival.

He didn’t garner her attention in fact until he neared her side, a gentle whisper of her name on a soft, affectionate breath caused Belle to look up in surprise, an exclamation of startled pleasure on her face as her pretty lips formed an “O”.

“Hello Lass,” Graham murmured warmly, leaning over to press his lips to her upturned mouth in greeting, neither one able to resist seeing the other without wanting to kiss them as well. Belle had spent so many years with a man who cared more for possessing her than actually spending his time with her or allowing her into his confidence. The luxury of loving someone not only open to her care and advice, but who needed her closeness and trust, thirsted for it as desperately and had looked for it as long as she herself had, was something Belle appreciated every day - never taking it in the least for granted.

“Hello yourself, Sweetie,” she answered, returning his kiss, and lifting a hand to stroke along his stubbled jaw with lingering fingers, reluctant to let the contact go.

For his part, a low hum in Graham’s throat, almost a rumbling, vibrated against her fingertips. The wolf inside was happy, turning to mush at her ministrations, puppy eyes and all. Even as their lips parted, he lingered to rub his nose along her cheek and nudge against her adoringly, a wordless signal of his devotion, chuffing almost as a wolf in the wild would to its mate upon returning from a journey or hunt.

“You asked me to meet you here,” the small town sheriff eventually prompted his girlfriend curiously, shuffling back just far enough to sit in the chair to her left. Even at that, he still reached forward to take Belle’s hand in his, twining their fingers and stroking hers with his thumb. “I’m always happy to see you, but… is something wrong?”

Belle looked at him for two, then three, searching moments, seeming to gather herself for a serious announcement. As if finally determining that she saw what she needed to in his face, she leaned toward him as well, bringing their joined hands to her chest. Graham realized then that she was blinking back emotion as she answered, “No, nothing’s wrong. Something is very, very right.”

Seeing him cock his head in puzzlement, she almost giggled joyfully at the truly canine trait before resuming her speech. She could see that he genuinely wasn’t sure what she wanted to tell him and didn’t want to leave him in the dark long enough to make him worry unduly. Graham had lived a far from simple or pleasant life, and snapped into fighting stance at a moment’s notice to protect her and the good life they had begun to build, as if still not certain after all he had suffered that something so precious could truly last.

“Graham, calm down. It’s fine, I promise. At least I think it is… and, well, I h-hope you will too… I’m - I’m counting on it anyway…” Pausing only momentarily, Belle daintily caught her lower lip between her teeth in just one more slight moment of hesitation. Her wide, dark brown eyes fell to study their joined hands where she had clasped them close to her heart as she gathered the courage to continue.

However, even before that was necessary, Graham tugged gently, bringing the back of her palm up to his mouth, where his words brushed against her skin. “You needn’t worry, Belle. Whatever it is, you must know that I’m here for you… that I’ll understand.”

And with those words, the tiny seed of worry that her news might not be something he’d want, vanished like the dark clouds after a storm, melting away from where they had begun to constrict her throat and loosening her tongue at last. With a sure and steady gaze centered on his scruffily comforting face once more, she forged on with renewed confidence. “Well, it’s just that… for the last week or so I’ve felt a bit off - nothing serious!” she hurried to add, seeing the worry wrinkle his brow almost immediately. “Just not quite myself. I had a suspicion of what might be going on, but after a test and a visit to the doctor, I know for sure. Graham… I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby!”

His eyes, always so expressive and open windows to his thoughts, widened almost comically. He shook his head, seemingly stunned, and opened and closed his mouth several times before he could manage to speak, but when he did, she heard the depth of feeling quavering in his gravelly voice, blinking glassily to hold back tears of his own.

“We’re to be parents? Truly?” he finally whispered. Even as he spoke he was easing to the floor to kneel before her, still holding her hand, his other coming tentatively to rest on her stomach, still almost ginger with stunned disbelief. “I never imagined … never thought… that we could… that I… that we… And you’re glad of this? You’re sure you’re alright?”

She nodded fervently, now unable to voice her reply, so choked up was she by his reaction. Beaming up at Graham, she was blinking back her own silent tears and couldn’t even care that they were falling.

With his warm, strong hand covering her stomach still, he leaned to press a kiss there as well, making her tingle even through the fabric of her dress. Leaning to rest his cheek against her warmth, Belle found her own free hand combing through his wild curls in a soothing gesture, much as his obvious love and acceptance for the new life within her and his touch to her midsection had calmed her. She had never feared for a second that he would abandon her, but she hadn’t been sure how he would react to the idea of fathering a child. Graham had been alone all of his life until Ruby had found him in the woods and she and her Granny had taken him in. He had never known his own parents, never felt a mother’s caress or heard her sing him a lullaby nor been bounced on his father’s knee. His closest siblings were literally wild animals; ‘raised by wolves’ was more than a mere expression in her beloved’s upbringing. The fact that he wanted this little one, this blessing that would forever link them, that they would have a chance to raise him or her differently than they had been, to care for and protect, making them a family forever, meant everything to her.

When he did at last lean back again to look up at her fondly, Belle saw the hope in his eyes, making them even brighter and more lovely than she had always thought them. Rarely had she seen such uncomplicated, untainted hope in his face as she glimpsed in that moment, her heart fairly overflowing. “And you’re happy, Sweetheart? This is what you want?”

“Absolutely,” she assured, cradling his face in her hands. “There is little I could imagine wanting more. A baby… with you… it’s almost too wonderful to believe.”

He nodded his agreement, a wide, crooked smile breaking across his face with the power of a beam of sunshine. “It’s almost like a miracle,” he concurred. “A child… a pup… of our own.”

Belle nodded once more, “That is why I wanted to meet you here,” she acknowledged with a tilt of her head to her gathered research materials and notes. “I’ve been trying to find out what I can about werewolf-human couples and childbearing. We ought to know if a child of ours would have your dual nature and abilities, if there are many risks to such a child being carried by a human mother… those sorts of things.”

Graham’s forehead creased with worry for her almost immediately. “What did you find?”

“Not much, honestly,” Belle sighed, shaking her head in dismay. “I realize that it isn’t an everyday occurrence, but we aren’t even the only interspecies couple in our town. I would have thought there would be records of others somewhere, that there might be some trace or knowledge of offspring from such a union - at least in legends or lore, if nowhere else. We can’t be the first ones to ever become pregnant… can we?”

The former huntsman’s brow was furrowed in thought, and she hated to consider than he might already be regretting his excitement at the prospect of a child. She wanted the little one she already felt as a part of her, human infant or wolf pup, however they decided to refer to it. Even after a mere day knowing of its existence, she found she was willing to defend its life fiercely with her every breath, every bit its mother. Graham’s clouded aspect didn’t fully clear, but his voice remained calm as he answered her query. “I wouldn’t have believed so - as you say, in a town full of werewolves, fairies, dwarves, and the like, I had almost let myself believe our coming together wasn’t all that peculiar…”

She was already beginning to shake her head against whatever he said next, sensing his hesitation, his fear for her safety, and that lingering blend of self-doubt and shame from the scars he bore, even before he got the words out. “No, Graham, it isn’t… don’t start thinking that! I don’t. Not even for a second.”

He leaned into the hand she was still pressing to his cheek, but he shook his head firmly, not willing to be completely dissuaded as he pressed his lips together before continuing, “But if you would be endangered, Belle… I couldn’t bear it. I would treasure beginning a family with you… for us to raise a little one together. But if carrying my child - a part supernatural child - puts you at risk, if it could cost your life… then I can’t help but worry. You’re the best, purest, most wonderful thing in my life. To lose you now… it’s unthinkable. No matter what we might gain. I’m sorry, my Heart, but it’s how I feel.”

Belle simply listened, knowing she couldn’t change his mind nor ease his fears. She would have to hold onto her faith for the both of them for a bit, but she could do that. Something inside told her this little one was going to be a gift, a miracle, and that she would be just fine and there to see it all unfold. Graham’s initial reaction gave her all she needed to know about her love wanting this new arrival just as much - it was only concern for her holding him back. Leaning forward, she rested her chin on his bowed head silently as they drew strength from each other in the hallowed quiet of the library’s walls. To her, her happily ever after had begun when Graham opened the door to her cell and set her free. Every moment they’d had together since had built on that promise, and this baby was one more thing she had once believed lost to her as a desire she would never see realized. If she needed to carry all the optimism for a time, then she would do so gladly - she held her biggest reason to do so in her arms, and an added reassurance was growing within her at every breath.

~~***~~***~~

The afternoon hours had proven rather long and tedious at the station for Emma. Graham had returned from a long lunch visit with Belle bearing a grilled cheese and onion ring order for her in thanks for covering while he did so, and they had chatted a bit as she ate, but something was clearly troubling him which hadn’t been weighing his shoulders that morning. Emma didn’t pry - that wasn’t their way - but she did watch her boss and friend as he retreated to his desk to “catch up on paperwork” and hoped he would let her help if need be. They had worked together long enough and come to trust each other well enough that she felt reason to hope he would share with her when he was ready, but in the meantime she hated to see him struggling. It had been wonderful to see him happy this last half year, when Emma knew he had spent so much of his life isolated, controlled, and lost.

Needless to say, when Killian had arrived at a few minutes after 3:00, wondering if she needed help with anything, or if she wanted company to ride with her as she made afternoon patrol rounds, Emma smiled at him gratefully, happy for any small diversion from the quiet bordering on monotony. Bidding Graham goodbye, she stood with the announcement that she was heading out on patrol, and Killian followed her quietly with a momentary greeting and wave to his friend. He obviously sensed Graham’s worry in the air as well though, and didn’t even attempt to pursue teasing or conversation beyond the quick ‘hello’.

Once they were settled into the department’s sturdy, if dated, car, Emma backed out into the street, moving slowly down Main and sent Killian a playfully devious smile. “Couldn’t go another hour without seeing me, hmm?” she teased, winking at the retired pirate beside her in the passenger seat. She was more than glad for the company and entertainment, but some small part of her felt the need to hold off declaring it immediately, trying to play just a little bit cool.

“Me?” her wolf man scoffed back, mock affront in his jocular counter. “It was you who jumped up like your seat was on fire and practically drug me out of there the moment I arrived with the offer of my accompaniment.”

Shaking her head, Emma snorted in feigned derision, attempting a haughty flick of her hair over her shoulder, as if his very insinuation was ludicrous, but she couldn’t keep up the unaffected façade for long; instead humor quickly got the best of her, and her frosty, unfazed expression melted in laughter, his deep chuckle rumbling right along with her giggles as she rested her right hand over his forearm where it lay atop the glove compartment when she finally tried to catch her breath. “Okay, Hot Stuff, you win,” she panted at last, eyes actually watering they had laughed so hard. As they reached the end of the street, she turned to make a loop past the school, the convent, and then to check the more deserted and less tended area of Storybrooke out by the old cannery.

Killian waggled his eyebrows with excessive flair as if needling her to say the words of her admission in full. “I win?” he prompted, “Why Swan, whatever do you mean?”

She huffed, though only really making a show of annoyance. “Of course I wanted to get you alone. Why wouldn’t I? A dashing alpha like you?” Even as she made her slightly embarrassing confession, Emma blinked her long lashes coquettishly, gazing up at him from under them for a moment, in a way she hoped was tempting.

Killian swallowed hard, and just like that, Emma knew she had turned the tables on him. He gave her a look every bit as seductive, practically singeing her skin as he murmured, “Easy there, Darling. I doubt you can handle it,” lowly against the shell of her ear. She shivered in reaction with no way to hide it.

For a moment, she had all she could do to bite back a moan at the wash of heat he sent cresting through her veins, press her thighs together against the lust that threatened to overtake her faculties, and simply keep the cruiser on the road. By the time she could see straight again without a haze of desire blurring her vision, they had passed the cannery and were now circling back around the outer edge of Storybrooke’s limits, headed toward the forest and the town line. For his part, Killian appeared quite pleased with himself, sitting quietly in the passenger seat, but with a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Emma knew the time to explain her more serious reasons for being so happy to see him that afternoon would come. If Graham didn’t confide in her, perhaps Killian could offer a listening ear and help him with whatever was troubling him. Of course, they needed to know and deal with it swiftly if the issue wasn’t merely personal but the matter of some new trouble brewing in town. Right now however, she just wanted to sneak a few more private moments with this man she has come to love - and want - so intensely. She had never been able to let go this fully in a relationship before, to give up her doubts and her need to be in control, to let someone else take the lead and trust they were worth following. She didn’t go to prom and then to the local makeout spot with a date, didn’t get to attend college and smuggle her boyfriend back into a cozily crowded dorm room with her scrunchie on the doorknob as a warning to stay out. Emma had never been free to enjoy the youthful abandon that most did, and though Killian had been similar and understood that sort of stolen youth as few others could, he also inspired a bit of it in her now, and she wanted to enjoy it for at least a little while longer.

It was quiet all the way out at the town line where she parked by the side of the road near the “Leaving Storybrooke” sign. With the branches of the forest trees hanging over the pavement, their shade made the spot seem dim and secluded, even in midafternoon. Turning in her seat to face Killian, Emma arched her bow and shot him a challenging look, unbuckling her seatbelt and scooting a bit nearer as she did it. Licking her lips salaciously, her eyes automatically fell to his toned chest and the dark hair smattered across it generously, practically taunting her with its luxuriant abundance. Once her eyes locked onto his deeply opened collar, Emma couldn’t tear her gaze away from the feast before her; one hand moving of its own accord to brush through the thickly curling hair on his chest, appreciating the solid, warm muscle below it as well, and slipping beneath the loose material of his shirt to trail along his pectoral. Her hungry eyes took in his nearly sculpted beauty, and she wondered - not for the first time - why Killian even bothered with buttoning his shirt at all. She spent an inordinate amount of time doing just as she was now, imagining ripping it open completely and sending buttons scattering everywhere.

Killian’s head fell back against the seat, eyes slipping closed as a sinfully deep groan left his lips in response to her wandering explorations. Emma bit her lip, knowing she was about to unman him even more completely, and yet, hardly caring, simply unable to resist the tempting image he made laid out before her. With one hand still planted on his chest, she let the other begin to work its way leisurely down toward his waistband, slipping her fingers teasingly beneath the tight denim as she worked her way to the button and zip.

Her boyfriend’s eyes snapped open at that, darkened with arousal that made her own pulse pound even more furiously. His hips bucked up toward her questing touch of their own accord, and a whine that sounded nearly as animal as it did human, escaped his throat, but he still managed to ask on a heaving breath, “Emma… are you sure? It’s the middle of the afternoon…”

Gazing down at him, Emma allowed the mischievous gleam in her green eyes to show him just how certain she was of what she was doing. As if to prove her point, she swung her leg over the center console and was already beginning to shuffle across to straddle his form in the passenger seat even as she nodded and answered, “Yes, but the whole town’s quiet. No one’s out here. It’s just you and me, Sailor,” in a low croon.

That last reminder seemed to be the final break in Killian’s tenuous control. His arms came around her, pulling her down on top of him fully and surging forward to kiss her with the same sort of fire that had already captured her. His hand was nearly fisted in her hair, drawing her head where he wished to kiss her more fully, and his hook traced over her curves, seeming to touch everywhere else at once.

Emma practically purred with satisfaction, hips rocking against his as they neared the point of no return, awkwardly close quarters and broad daylight long forgotten, when an inconvenient yet impossible to ignore sound broke into her consciousness. Heavy crashing noises approached through the woods nearby, moving quickly with no fear of noise or damage being left in its wake. She would almost swear the ground beneath them seemed to be quaking with the footfalls even before she heard the mournful howl of a wolf ring out on the breeze. Killian’s eyes were already riveted to the tree line, as if he had known what to expect from the first reverberation, and Emma’s gaze followed in time to see a large wolf break wildly from the forest, howling again and then bounding toward their car with purpose. The huge creature was nearly as tall as Killian when he shifted, but this one was more leggy and lean than her muscled mate - and where Killian’s wolf coat was startlingly black as night, this wolf was an exquisite near-white dusted with almost silvery grey accents across its back and haunches.

The look in the creature’s eyes though was what arrested Emma’s attention. Even before it reached the cruiser, she was throwing the door open, she and Killian scrambling out together to meet it. Just as she had seen numerous times with her love on full moon nights, there was still something compellingly human lingering in the lupine gaze as the wolf neared them, whining and circling, panting heavily, but refusing to sit or be still.

It motioned with its head as if asking them to follow, pawing the ground and then darting back toward the woods, only pausing to see if they would follow. Though Emma’s friend had never actually shown herself to them in shifter form, clarity suddenly came to Emma in a flash. “Ruby?” she whispered, awed and concerned at once. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The wolf dipped its head, as though giving a nod of confirmation, but then shook itself as if banishing all other questions and made for the tree line once more with a pitiful rumbling moan in its throat.

Killian’s blue eyes met hers, clouded with worry instead of lust, their private interlude pushed aside in concern for their friend. He nodded tightly, the tense movement in his jaw flexing before they plunged into the forest side by side, following the werewolf who had taken off again, leading them toward whatever new danger had arrived.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @branlovestowrite @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @spartanguard @laschatzi @bmbbcs4evr @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @therooksshiningknight @whimsicallyenchantedrose @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @let-it-raines @drowned-dreamer @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814 @linda8084

#cssns19 #cssns au mc #cssns werewolf sequel #face to face in the broad daylight #chapter one #captain swan #graham x belle

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