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min-youngis · 4 years

Text

We’ve Met

gif not mine

~ Pairing : Min Yoongi x Reader (Wedding Cake Baker x Maid of Honour)

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour, Pini n g

~ Summary : When Irene picked you to be her maid of honour, you didn't expect the very cute cake baker you'd be dealing with, and you sure as hell didn't expect all the bothersome feelings that tagged along.

Strangers to Lovers

~ Word Count : a fair few i'd say (10,685)

~ Warnings : swearing, some smexy descriptions of Yoongi's hands

~ A/N : if you say anything bad about this, i'll cry. but i'll also cry if you say anything good about it.

i'd love to hear feedback! spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

You pull into a parking space opposite the destination and take a good look at the building you need to be inside within the next ten minutes.

It’s a small, single storey shop, with glass windows and two tiny tables on either side of the door. If you squint just so through your glasses, you can make out the display counter and all the sweets lined up. The white sign board on top reads Kim Seokjin Bakery in large, bold script and underneath, in smaller cursive, Wedding Cakes Available For Order.

It looks comical almost, all light and welcoming, baby pink and white themed, no doubt playing some bubbly radio-friendly pop, perched as it is, in between a dark, imposing tattoo shop on the one side and a sports apparel store on the other.

Trust Irene to find the brightest, cutest, most delightful bakery in the city. You let out a quiet groan, collect your bag from the passenger seat and your coffee cup from the console and climb out of the car, putting on your best I am here because you are my best friend and I love you and this is a part of my maid of honour duties face. You cross the road and after checking the address one last time, push open the door.

The first thing you register is the Katy Perry playing so loud, you feel like she’s singing Teenage Dream right inside your ear canal. The next thing you notice is the tall, broad shouldered, brown-haired man standing behind the cash register with a bright, friendly, maybe even genuine smile on his face.

He gives you a quick bow and shouts to be heard over the music. “Hello! Welcome to Kim Seokjin Bakery! What can I get you today?”

You’re convinced that you’ve stepped into one of those weird, Care Bear style, candy cane themed ice cream castles that Irene writes about in the children’s books she authors and the dude in front of you is Cheer Bear in the flesh.

You clear your throat a bit, working through the sensory overload, and begin to shout back that you’re here for a wedding cake tasting appointment and that the happy couple should be at the bakery any minute.

You’re halfway through the sentence, hoping against hope that he can hear you, because it'd be super awkward if you had to repeat yourself, when the music is cut off abruptly and you’re screaming, “-they’re almost here!” in the sudden, dead silence of the shop.

You shut your mouth immediately after trailing off at the ending and squeak out a soft ‘Sorry,’ refusing to meet....Jin's eyes, according to the name badge pinned on his chest that you can suddenly read, now that your ears aren’t being assaulted.

Huh. The man himself.

The guy looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh at your bashfulness and he’s about to say something, when the door behind the counter suddenly slams open with a loud bang, and a man in an apron stomps out, rage evident on his face.

“Jin, what the fuck? If I have to cut the music one more time because it’s too loud, I swear to God, I’m going to murder you-Oh, hello.”

You register how cute he is, even with his half-angry half-surprised expression, with a dash of flour on his forehead and clad in a fluffy, white cardigan, though he can’t be older than 26. Distantly, you also notice how elegant his fingers look inside his messy, icing coated gloves, his slightly veined forearms exposed with his sleeves rolled up.

You half heartedly raise your hand in a sheepish wave and watch with slight regret as he bows at you rapidly and mumbles out a quick ‘Sorry,’ before scrambling back to where he came from, quick as a flash.

He was there and then he wasn’t, so to speak.

Jin looks unfazed at the prospect of being murdered, still retaining his sunny disposition, as he lets out a small laugh and says, “Let’s try that again, shall we? Welcome to Kim Seokjin Bakery! My name’s Kim Seokjin. That grouch who just disappeared back there is Min Yoongi. Don’t mind him, he forgot how to have fun when he turned twenty one. Now I heard something about a cake tasting?”

You really don’t know what you’re about to say as your mouth opens, thoughts still stubbornly fixed on Min Yoongi, and it’s really for the best for all parties involved that Irene and her fiancé walk into the bakery at that moment.

“Y/N! You’re on time today!” she says, letting go of Namjoon's hand and making her way towards you, wrapping you in a hug.

You’d be offended at her surprise but you had, in fact, been late for the flower-picking and the venue-choosing, so you let it slide, letting her pull you into her frame and inhaling her permanent, calming, lavender scent.

You pull away to watch quizzically as Namjoon goes behind the counter, smiling brightly, and begins conversing with Jin like they’re old friends.

“They’re old friends,” Irene whispers, seeing your expression. “Met at high school, stayed in touch somehow, were in a band together apparently. Them and a couple of others. The other owner of this place, too. Something with Y? Yooni, maybe. That’s why we chose this bakery.”

You swallow thickly and whisper back, “Yoongi. Min Yoongi.”

She throws you a confused look, obviously curious about how you’re so confident about that piece of information, and she’s about to enquire about the same when Namjoon calls her, saying, “Darling? Let me introduce you to Jin.”

She throws you a look, one that holds a promise of this conversation isn’t over, and the two of you make your way behind the counter. Namjoon does all the introductions and when he lands on you, ‘Y/N, Irene’s best friend and maid of honour', Jin says, “We’ve met,” his eyes filled with mirth.

“I reached a bit early,” you explain. “I was just telling Jin that we were here for a cake tasting.”

Irene gives a good-natured, at least to her, punch on your arm and gently mocks, “Early? Oh, look at you go!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come at all,” you faux bitterly mutter under your breath, rubbing at the sore spot on your shoulder.

You’re snapped out of your whine when you hear Namjoon ask, “And where is the other owner of this fine establishment?”

You barely have time to morph your features back into their characteristically neutral expression when the back door opens again, and as if on cue, Yoongi enters, gummy smile on his face, gloves and apron off. It’s like you’re watching everything in slow motion, like that scene in Madagascar where Marty and Alex run towards each other with Chariots of Fire playing in the background. Except, instead of a chasing-on-the-beach sequence, it ends with a hug.

Once again, introductions are made all around (“Jin, this is Yoongi. Yoongi, this is Jin.” They all crack up at that, bless Namjoon's soul) and this time, there’s no mirth-filled grin when it’s your turn.

Yoongi’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck shyly as he catches your eye.

“We’ve uh...met,” he drily says.

Once again, you’re rushing to explain, “There was an incident with the music just before you guys walked in.”

“Jesus, Y/N, how early were you?” Namjoon asks, slightly awed.

Again, you’d be offended if it weren’t for the fact that his shock is perfectly justified, given aforementioned past instances, so you just vaguely mumble, “A couple of minutes, that’s all,” and wave your hand in a dismissive get over it motion.

A couple more minutes pass, conversation floating around you with Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi reminiscing about their band. You find out that Yoongi used to be a rapper and you have to shake the mental image of him on stage, probably wearing dark, grunge clothes, fingers wrapped around a mic and gasping for breath.

It’s disconcertingly odd and not a little intriguing, as you try to match that Yoongi to the one currently laughing in front of you, still in that goddamn fluffy cardigan that makes you want to simultaneously wrap him in a blanket and wrap yourself in a blanket.

Different blankets.

Maybe.

Eventually, Jin moves to get the catalogue and the five of you walk to a little table at the corner, squeezing best as you can into a set up that should ideally host three people at most.

It’s an agonising hour and a half, as you discuss designs and shapes and flavours and tiers, with your left side pressed into Yoongi’s arm, his soft, low voice hitting your ear in such close proximity and his damned hands resting on the table, fingers interlocked, directly in your line of sight.

At the end of it, as you all wrap up and arrange a final meeting and you feel simultaneously hot and cold with the lack of his presence next to you, you’re convinced that the following three months are going to be...interesting.

________________________

The next week passes in a flurry of activity at work and you barely have time to think about the wedding. With quarterly reports due by the end of the month, your boss is being more of a hard ass than usual and your only saving grace is Jungkook, your roommate, who manages to pick up the groceries and keep dinner in the microwave for you every time you reach home late.

Friday night, 9 PM, sees you climbing up the stairs of your apartment, bag threatening to fall from your limp grip and exhaustion heavy on your shoulders. The rain outside has made your hair scraggly, and your glasses are flecked with obscuring water droplets, even after you had tried shielding yourself with your blazer, and the cold is seeping into your bones, clothes sticking uncomfortably to your body. Your head is filled with thoughts of a warm shower and bed, and you can only hope that Jungkook’s meeting with his new producer is over by now.

You open the door and toe off your flats, calling out, “Kook? I’m home!”

“In the dining room,” you hear him shout back.

You make your way to the room in question, only to halt to a dead stop at the entrance, comically sudden, like in those Tom and Jerry cartoons where somebody gets hit by a large frying pan mid-step.

There, leaning back against the counter, tea cup in hand, is standing one Min Yoongi.

He’s wearing a beanie, black hoodie and dark blue ripped jeans and your mouth goes dry at his ring clad fingers. Those mental images of him rapping? Yeah, they seem more believable now.

Almost unconsciously, you scan him, toe to head, past the grey socks, the peek of his knee through the hole in his jeans, the outline of one of his fisted hands inside the pocket of his hoodie, lips pursed against the rim of his mug and the few strands of black hair that have escaped his beanie. Your eyes pause at the rings on his fingers curled around the handle of the cup, and suddenly, you don’t feel very cold anymore.

Your eyes finally meet his, only to find him staring right back at you.

His expression matches your own startled one, his mouth still comically puckered around the cup, eyes wide and filled with surprise, gaze unwavering from your drenched form.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You’re brought out of your somehow hyper-aware daze by Jungkook’s voice and so is Yoongi, who softly clears his throat and darts his eyes away from you, busying himself with his tea cup.

Poor, sweet Jungkook whom you didn’t even notice was in the vicinity and, bless his soul, doesn’t seem to have noticed the very obvious tension in the room.

He’s bent over the table, takeout brochure spread out in front of him, phone in hand and trademark, bright smile on his face.

Before you can reply, and probably for the best because you’re not sure whether your voice still works, he excitedly continues, “This is Yoongi. I’m gonna be working with him on a track!”

Turning to the man in question, he says, “Yoongi, this is Y/N.”

Simultaneously, the two of you, in the same voice utter, “We’ve met,” doggedly refusing to look at each other.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, like a confused puppy, and asks, “When?”

“Irene’s wedding cake,” you explain shortly.

“Bakery,” he says at the same time.

You both awkwardly chuckle and Jungkook shrugs, satisfied with the answer(s).

“I’ve ordered pizza for dinner,” he tells you, holding the phone up. “You wanna go change into something warm?”

The realisation that your clothes are still wet hits you, and you suddenly feel a renewed wave of coldness.

You give him a ‘Hmm,’ and with a short, not-at-all awkward nod in Yoongi’s direction, you all but sprint away from the room, forcing yourself to not turn back and see if he was even looking at you.

You engage in what you think is a very necessary pep talk in front of the mirror while changing, and with a deep breath and one last, ‘He’s just a boy,’ you make your way back down.

Stepping into the living room, you find a box of pizza on the centre table, a sitcom playing on television and Jungkook in the middle of a slice.

Alone.

You feel your stomach sink.

Tamping down the disappointment, (all that work, and for what?) you return Jungkook’s full-mouthed, cheesy smile best as you can, nonchalantly grab a slice, and sit down next to him, passively asking, “Where’s Yoongi?”

“Oh, he left.”

Suavely, so suavely, like you couldn’t care less, you let out a noncommittal, vaguely inquisitive ‘Oh?’

“Yeah, he was only waiting for the rain to stop.”

You try not to let your chagrin show as you hum softly, hopefully sounding uncaring enough for Jungkook to not question your curiosity, and turn your attention to the Brooklyn Nine-Nine episode in front of you.

That night, you fall asleep to one part of your head repeatedly whispering, “He’s just a boy,” and another countering, “A very cute boy.”

You’re inclined to agree with the latter.

________________________

Sunday mid-morning sees you in a trial room at a wedding dress boutique, trying on the Maid of Honour dress that Irene’s chosen.

(Puppy dog eyes, the promise of a free community library membership through her connections and ‘I promise, if you don’t like it, we can get it changed. But please, please, please let me pick out a dress for you.’)

You strip out of your t-shirt and jeans and unzip the dress cover that’s hung from a hook on the door, carefully slipping out the dark turquoise, soft, flowy cloth from it.

After a brief altercation between your glasses and the sleeve, you manage to pull it on, and turn to your reflection in the mirror.

You have to admit, you look good. The chiffon material seems to flow down from the V-neck to the clinch at the waist, where the material spreads out and the colour begins to slowly fade into a calm, deep blue, ending at your feet.

You might just have to tell Irene that she did a good job.

Unbidden, a thought rushes into your head, I hope Yoongi will be at the wedding. It’s a little surprising because, after all, he is just a boy.

(And you haven’t exactly faced your thoughts about said boy, so far preferring to stick to your usual reaction when feelings crop up i.e. stringent avoidance.)

Giving yourself a quick once-over and a satisfied nod, you push the curtain aside and re-enter the waiting lounge, immediately greeted by Miya cooing, “You look amazing!”

She and Hyejin are sat on the couch, already in their dark blue bridesmaid dresses, similar to your own.

Hyejin looks up from her phone, grin on her face. “I almost forgive Irene for picking you as maid of honour now.”

You mumble a ‘Thank you,’ blush creeping up your neck, a tad bit conscious from the attention, even when the source is your closest friends. Moving to take a seat next to Miya, you ask, “Is Irene not done yet?”

As if on cue, the curtains of the centre cubicle part and out steps your best friend.

“My head's too big for the tiara,” she says, like she isn’t standing in front of all of you looking like a goddamn princess, in her sparkling, white, off shoulder wedding dress.

The next couple of minutes are filled with squeals and twirling and ‘When did you grow so old? I can’t believe you’re getting married,’ courtesy Hyejin.

Two hours later, you’re all in your normal clothes and leaning back in your chairs, satiated after lunch at a restaurant nearby, and in high spirits off of the company and a productive day.

Miya lets her fork clatter on her plate, an air of finality in the sound and utters, voice sleepy, “I could go for dessert.”

You hum in agreement, already thinking about a good chocolate chip ice-cream or a slice of red velvet cake.

“Oh, I’d die for some cheesecake right now,” Irene says.

Hyejin pulls out her phone and searches for dessert places nearby and really, you should have known that this day was going too well, when a moment later, you’re choking on water as she reads out from her screen, “There’s a Kim Seokjin Bakery, like five minutes away. Wait, isn’t that where you’re getting the cake from?”

Miya repeatedly thumps your back as Irene enthuses, “Yeah! Joon and I tasted some of their stuff the other day, they’re good.”

And that’s what finds you, ten minutes later, about to enter Kim Seokjin Bakery.

The entire time while walking, you had wracked your brain, trying to think of an excuse to get out of this situation without making it sound suspicious, only to come up empty-handed.

You watch, palms clammy, eyes glued onto Irene’s hand on the handle, praying to all the gods you believe in only when you need something, that Yoongi’s on holiday, or that he’s late, or even that he’s just in the back and doesn’t surface the entire time you’re here.

The door swings open, and because you didn’t go to the temple on that one birthday when you turned thirteen and the higher ups have hated you ever since, standing there, in all his white cardigan glory is Min Yoongi.

The gods can suck it, you’re actively atheist now.

Before you can make a run for it, consequences be damned, he looks up from the counter top he’s wiping with a cloth and starts in a drone, “Welcome to Kim Seokjin Bakery, how can I help-oh, hey!”

No escaping now.

You raise a hand in greeting, refusing to meet his eyes, forcing the butterflies in your stomach to cut out the bloody rager they’re throwing in there, as Irene replies, “Hi, Yoongi!”

He moves towards the register and asks, “What can I get you today?”

You focus on choosing between a red velvet cupcake and a chocolate mousse, eyes burning holes into the glass as you force yourself to not look up or in his general direction.

Did that sweater always fill out his shoulders like that?

The others tell Yoongi what they want and now it’s your turn and you want to kick yourself when you honest-to-god stutter out, “O-One red velvet cupcake, please,” like a fucking teenager with a crush, your voice pitching up as your eyes catch on the single ring he’s wearing on his left pinkie finger.

The same finger that brushes against yours when you reach over the counter to take your cupcake.

You nearly drop the pastry as you feel a blush beginning to form at the base of your neck, and you mumble out a ‘Thank you,’ scurrying away to the table in the corner where Miya's sat, already halfway through her brownie.

You have to push away the thought of Yoongi making the very same cake that you’re about to eat. It’s simply too erotic an image for a bakery.

Forcing yourself to seem placid, you bite into it, immediately understanding why the place has such a high rating.

However, you’re rudely brought out from your cupcake-induced coma when you notice Hyejin and Irene sitting down at the table with wide, Cheshire grins.

You suddenly feel very unsafe, sat as you now are in between the two of them.

Miya looks up from her brownie and says around the spoon she’s still got dangling from her mouth, “Uh, guys? What are you doing?”

Hyejin's grin grows wider. “Y/N here has a little something she’s been hiding from us.”

Irene looks like she’s trying hard not to burst into giggles, as she coos and pinches at your cheek. “You’re the colour of the cupcake,” she observes.

You swat her hand away, busying yourself with said cupcake, stubbornly refusing to meet their eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniff, before you take a huge bite, staring straight at the wall behind Miya, who looks mighty confused.

“What’s going on? What’s she hiding? Y/N, what are you hiding?”

Hyejin, truly the devil incarnate, leans back in her chair and damningly says, “She’s got what the kids call a crush.”

There’s only so much avoiding you can do around the three of them and now you’re blushing in full force, fruitlessly fighting off your own grin as Irene lets out a cackle and Miya excitedly whoops.

You immediately shush them, sure that there’s no way Yoongi won’t notice all the noise they’re making.

“Shut up,” you whisper harshly. “It isn’t a crush, don’t call it a crush.”

Blatantly disregarding what you just said, Miya softly exclaims, “Oh my god, I knew something was weird when you were being quieter than usual on the way here.”

“Miss I-have-no-emotions is in love,” Irene teases as she nudges your shoulder.

Flipping her off, you quietly whine, “Stop, it’s nothing, don’t make it a thing.”

Hyejin dabs at her mouth with a tissue and nonchalantly says, “So I’m guessing it wouldn’t interest you to know that he keeps looking at you every three minutes?”

The blush that was fading is now back in full force as you try hard not to giggle, fucking giggle, and you manage another bite of your cupcake and unconvincingly utter, “Nope.”

You’re fighting a losing battle at this point really, as the rest of the conversation revolves around Yoongi and your crush and you’re repeatedly forced to slam your palm over Irene’s mouth every time she goes to call him for ‘wedding related reasons.’

You all leave the bakery, the others throwing obnoxious ‘Bye, Yoongi’s behind them, as you manage a small, shy wave.

It is possible that, maybe, you have a teensy crush on one Min Yoongi.

________________________

The thing about liking somebody is that it makes you giddy. The thing about admitting that you like somebody is that it makes you feel like you’re permanently floating on a cloud.

You swear your glasses have been fitted with rose-tinted lenses and everything in the world has a lovely, warm glow to it. Logically, you know it’ll pass. A couple of weeks (okay, fine, maybe a couple of months) and you’ll hardly remember Min Yoongi. But for now, you’re going to enjoy getting lightheaded over something this inconsequential.

Jungkook figures out what’s happening about a week after the dress trial, when he walks in on a video call you’re having in the living room with Miya, in the middle of her squealing and you blushing. He stops at the door like he’s just seen a ghost when he hears you giggle and you don’t blame him.

Giggling and...emotion in general, are not things you do.

After getting over his shock at seeing you blush that vividly for the first time in your five year friendship and four year roommate-ship, he manages to wrench it out of you, howling in glee when he remembers how you had acted that night when Yoongi had come over.

He doesn’t let it go the entire day, always greeting you with a teasing smile when he sees you around the house and even going so far as to take the call about his collaboration with the man himself in the living room, you sitting right next to him on the couch.

You bear with him as well as you can, repressing the urge to bonk him with great difficulty. You won’t let him take away your good cheer.

That night, you’re chopping carrots as Jungkook leans over the stove, stirring at the bubbling gravy inside. He’s been relatively decent for the duration that the two of you have been cooking dinner, probably not wanting to test you when you’re holding a knife, and it’s the last thing you’re expecting when he asks, “So what're you gonna do about it?”

You nudge him to the side with your hip as you drop the vegetables into the pot.

“Do about what?”

“Your crush on Yoongi.”

You’re confused. He can’t possibly thing you’re going to do anything about it.

“Aren’t you going to ask him out?”

Apparently, he can.

As you wash the cutting board, refusing to meet his eyes, you ask, in an obvious tone, “No? Why would I?”

He turns away from the stove, letting the pot simmer and looks at you quizzically. “Because you like him?”

The poor, naïve boy.

Replacing the board behind the sink, you pick up two glasses from the cupboard overhead as you explain through a chuckle, “Jungkook, it’s just a crush. I’ll get over it, no biggie.”

His eyes grow wide with realisation as you walk past him to the fridge, and he switches off the stove, accusing stare following your motions.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Hmm? Do what?” you reply distractedly, as you pour out cranberry juice into the two glasses.

Suddenly, the carton is snatched from your hand and you look up to see Jungkook staring at you with a frown in his face.

“Not act on your feelings.”

You lean back against the counter and scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I act on my feelings plenty. I have friends, don’t I?”

He takes a gulp of juice straight from the carton, ignoring your pointed stare at the full glasses right next to you on the counter, and begins counting on his fingers as he lists out, “The barista at the coffee shop near your office, that RA during our third year of uni, Mrs. Smith's daughter who visits every weekend-"

“Are all people I’ve gotten over, just like how I’ll eventually get over this crush too,” you interrupt, now beginning to get a little annoyed. This is starting to veer dangerously on talking-about-feelings territory and you don’t do that shit sober and before three in the morning.

Twisting the cap back on the carton, Jungkook says into the fridge, “You didn’t have to get over them. And you can’t tell me that this one isn’t different. I’ve never seen you this...free before, even with your previous crushes.”

“Dude, stop. This isn't going anywhere. Don’t harp on it,” you say with an air of finality, turning around and busying yourself with piling rice onto two plates.

You feel Jungkook’s eyes on you as you walk out of the kitchen, hands full, but thankfully, he doesn’t attempt to continue the conversation.

Dinner is quieter than usual, with you deep in thought about things that don’t bear thinking about, and Jungkook biting his tongue every time he’s about to talk, so as to not send you into a bigger spiral.

As you rinse the dishes in silence, passing them to Jungkook to dry, he finally says gently, “I just want you to be happy. And Yoongi’s a great guy.”

You merely hum in response.

Taking that as an invitation, he continues, “You don’t have to be so worried. What’s the worst that could happen?”

What’s the worst that could happen?

Your head repeats it over and over as you toss and turn in bed that night, running through worst case scenarios. You fall asleep with only one conclusive thought that doesn’t answer anything.

Feelings are stupid.

________________________

You’ve practiced and perfected your signature act of stringent avoidance, and for the next two weeks, you drown yourself in work and Irene’s wedding that’s looming closer, absolutely refusing to let yourself even think about Jungkook’s words and Min Yoongi as a whole.

There were blips of course. A final cake tasting that Irene wanted you to go for, and when Jungkook asked for you to drop off some food at the studio when he was working with Yoongi. You managed to get through both events with minimal embarrassment, refusing to meet Yoongi’s eyes and sometimes pretending to not hear him when he spoke to you, coming out of both instances feeling like your heart had been put through a blender and eagerly looking forward to Irene’s wedding getting over and Jungkook finishing this damn song already, so you can just get over him in peace.

Two weeks left for the wedding and you, Miya, Hyejin and Irene are walking down a set of staircases on the pavement, all of you slightly tipsy from the tequila, including your usually teetotalling ass, about to enter a seedy looking pub with a sign on top of the door, at street level, that reads NYLON in bright, green neon tube lighting.

The thing about Irene, is that in addition to being a children’s book author who has weekly readings at the community library and volunteers in old age homes, she also lives and breathes hip hop music.

And being the incredible maid of honour that you are, for her bachelorette party, you’ve planned to end the night with a visit to a pub that often hosts some of the most famous underground rappers in the city. At least, that’s what Google said.

Somehow, from Irene’s frequent giggles as she stumbles her way down the staircases, and the slightly hazy look in her twinkling eyes as she clutches onto an equally giggly Miya, you don’t think she’ll mind, either way.

Hyejin pushes the door open with a flourish, and you all enter to the sounds of hooting. It’s fairly more packed than you had expected, crowd excited and bobbing to the bass thumping out of the speakers. There are too many people in front for you to be able to see who’s on stage, but even you have to admit that they’re really good, hardly pausing to take a breath as they rap out line after line.

And from Irene’s wide eyes and delighted grin, she seems to agree.

You can tell that you guys are a little late into the set, as they wrap up in the next ten-ish minutes or so, and for a split second, the crowd parts enough for you to see the performer on stage, sweating and panting and surveying the cheering crowd with a satisfied, cocky smirk.

The alcohol seems to drain out from your system as you make eye contact with Yoongi and your heart skips a step as he doesn’t look away, everything seemingly happening in slow motion.

The room suddenly seems too crowded to breathe, and without a word to the others, you turn around and push your way out of the pub, wanting nothing more than to get away from there.

You shove the door open and let it fall shut behind you, letting yourself take deep breaths as you slump against the wall next to the entrance. You shut your eyes and let your head fall behind, resting on the cool brick, abruptly feeling so tired as you faintly hear the thumping bass from behind you.

“Hey.”

Jumping off the wall as if a matchstick had been lit under your ass, your eyes shoot open and land on the man standing next to you, looking at you with his hand sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, small smile playing on his lips.

Min fucking Yoongi.

You force yourself to calm down again as he leans back on the wall next to you and continues, “First time here?”

Despite how supremely distracting he looks at the moment, dressed in tight black jeans and an oversized black t-shirt under a large brown coat, hair matted to his forehead with sweat and long fingers covered in large rings, you manage to say, “Yeah, we're here for Irene’s bachelorette.”

Distantly, you realise that this is the first time that you’ve been alone with him.

“Preparations going well then?”

You shrug, sinking back, what little alcohol that’s left in your system allowing you to loosen up, as you reply, “Well enough.”

He lets out a hum and now there’s quiet around the two of you, the neon sign overhead casting a muted glow and the faint sounds of traffic above mingling with the music behind.

It doesn’t feel awkward. Just...silent. It isn’t comfortable either. It just exists.

“And how's Jungkook?”

You turn your head, looking towards him out of the corner of your eye, confused as you slowly say, “He’s fine. You guys had a meeting today, didn’t you?”

He opens his mouth to reply when the door opens next to you and Hyejin jogs out, wide eyes immediately drawn to you on the side.

“Oh thank god. We’ve been so worried, you just disappeared and we couldn’t find you and the we called Jungkook to find out if you had gone ho-Oh, hello.”

Yoongi shuts his mouth abruptly and raises his arm in greeting.

“We were going to leave because Miya's head’s starting to hurt but we can stay for a while longer if you want?” Hyejin hesitantly asks, eyes locked on yours, as if she’s telepathically trying to understand what you’re doing out here in the dark, hanging out with Min Yoongi, whom you’ve declared as the-boy-who-won't-be-named in your little group over the last couple of weeks.

Hell if you know.

You turn to Yoongi as he gives you a weak ‘Don’t worry about it,’ with a soft, almost-rueful smile, before he waves at you and Hyejin and turns around, walking towards the back entrance from where he came.

Hyejin looks at you worriedly, probably only now noticing your tired face and drooping shoulders.

“Is everything fine?” she quietly asks, placing a comforting palm on your shoulder.

You let out a sigh before you say, “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s just get the others and go home, yeah?”

She gives you a reassuring nod and a soft ‘Chin up, love,’ and with one last nod, the two of you re-enter the pub.

________________________

“You’re moping again.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’ve been eating that same bowl of cereal for the last ten minutes.”

“It’s good cereal.”

“It’s plain cornflakes. I don’t know why we have it at home in the first place.”

“It was on sale.”

Jungkook huffs in annoyance before snatching the bowl and spoon from your grip and placing it on your side table, ignoring your cries of protest as he whips open the curtains, letting in the sunlight that you so dearly wanted to keep outside.

Shutting the laptop that’s playing dumb cat videos, he moves it out of the way before sitting in its place, not letting you bury yourself under the covers.

After a brief scuffle between you, him and the blanket, that really, you were bound to lose, seeing as how Jungkook’s biceps are the size of your head, he manages to wrench the bedding from your hands, leaving you glaring at him sourly, arms crossed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he scoffs, bundling up the blankets and dumping them on the floor, before he turns towards you. “Ever since you came back from that bachelorette party two days ago, you’ve been cooped up in here. It’s time for an intervention.”

You roll your eyes, kicking your legs out petulantly, not reaching anywhere near him. “I don't need any intervening. I’m fine.”

“Have you eaten anything other than cereal? No, scratch that, other than plain fucking cornflakes?”

“I’m trying out a diet,” you cautiously reply.

“Oh, please, we both know you don’t buy into that bullshit. You never shut up about unhealthy eating habits and the harmful effects of diet culture when I’m doing my monthly keto,” he says, fingers in air quotes and expression sceptical.

You let out a huff, annoyed that he saw through you that easily. You and your fat mouth.

At your refusal to engage in further conversation, lips stuck in a pout and stubbornly avoiding his gaze, he lets out an exasperated groan, before he whines, “Come on, Y/N. I’m starting to get worried here. Joon asked me how your cold was during our run today morning. I didn’t even know you had a cold.”

“...I don’t.”

His eyes soften as he leans forward and taps your knee, making you look at him.

“What’s going on?”

You let your gaze flick to the bedroom door.

Noticing, Jungkook cocks his eyebrows up. “Do you really think you’ll make it?”

Letting out a harsh sigh, you slump against the headboard of your bed as you feel the fight leaving your body. Your roommate is a muscly, stubborn little shit and you’re not getting out of this.

He gives you time to collect your thoughts, looking at you expectantly, but not rushing you, now that he knows you won’t try escaping again.

“Min Yoongi.”

He doesn’t look surprised that you open with that, probably expecting him to be the topic of conversation.

“Is that bothering you so much? Last I heard, we weren’t allowed to say his name in a non-work capacity in this house.”

“We aren’t,” you shoot back, with a dirty look.

He raises his hands, palms outward in a pacifying gesture. “Sorry, sorry, please continue.”

“Did you have a meeting with him two days ago?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Then why did he ask me how you were doing?”

Now, Jungkook looks confused.

“Wait, what? When did you talk to him?”

In as few words as possible, you relate your sad, sordid tale and watch as Jungkook’s face flies through five different emotions during your retelling.

He settles at perplexity. His hand comes up to his chin, stroking his non-existent beard.

“I had just met him. And at the studio, he had asked me about...holy shit.”

You’re brought out of your gloom by Jungkook’s slowly widening grin. You can practically see the gears turning in his brain.

“What?” you shortly ask, thoroughly sceptical.

“Okay, don’t freak out when I say this-"

“If you already think that’s a possibility, you probably shouldn’t say it-"

“Yoongi likes you.”

You lean back from him as if you’ve been burnt.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

He leaps off the bed, excitedly beginning to pace around the room, arms waving as he begins to explain, occasionally turning to your disbelieving face.

“Every time when I’m with him, he always asks how you are-"

“He's being polite, you should try it sometime-"

“And Irene was telling me how he asked her if he had done something wrong because you were ignoring him-"

“Stop talking about me behind my back!”

He waves you down as he begins to pace more feverishly and continues, “And he changed that one line to purple frame from pouring rain, I’m thinking because of your glasses-"

“He should probably change it back, that sounds like a horrible decision.”

“That’s it, I connected the dots.”

“Jungkook, you didn’t connect shit.”

Again, disregarding your protests, he continues, “And I’m pretty sure the reason he asked you about me is because he wants to know if we’re dating, but he doesn’t want to seem too obvious about it-"

“Jungkook!”

“Whoa, hey, that’s the thing you’re the most offended about? I’m hurt, Y/N-Oh, fuck.”

He rushes towards your side of the bed on seeing your stricken expression. Your head feels heavy, tears blurring your vision as you watch Jungkook bend down on the floor in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s fine, you don’t have to say anything to him. The wedding will be over in two weeks, I’m almost done with the song, you don’t even have to see him if you don’t want to,” he rapidly says, as he wipes off the single tear that manages to escape.

You force yourself to calm down and take a deep, shaky breath, harshly rubbing your eyes with your free hand.

Quietly, in the pregnant silence of the room, making eye contact with Jungkook for the first time in the entire conversation, you finally, hoarsely utter, “What if I want to see him? What if I want to talk to him? What if I like him so much, my heart almost hurts more when I’m around him than when I’m not?”

He gives you a small smile and a gentle squeeze of your palm.

“Then you’ve got the best wingman right here.”

You hiccup softly at that, feeling drained from all the emotions of the last three days. Jungkook stands up and pulls you along with him, tugging you into a hug that you welcome.

“Thanks,” you softly mutter as you pull away, slightly sniffling and refusing to make eye contact with him, suddenly embarrassed from the events that have transpired.

Noticing your discomfort, he lets you turn away from him and moves to leave the room.

He stops at the door and says, “Why don’t you come down after texting the others, and we can order lunch and watch something trashy? No boy talk,” he says, crossing his heart.

You give him a tiny grin, the most you’ve managed in the last two days, before you reply, “You��re a boy.”

“Not in the romantic way.”

“According to Yoongi, you are.”

“Oh, we’re laughing about that now?”

________________________

Twenty four hours left for the big day and you’d be happy if you never had to hear the word ‘wedding' in your life again. Despite organisation and coordination being your strong suits, nothing could’ve prepared you for the last minute rush.

Really, it’s a miracle that you and the best man, Jackson, haven’t just up-and-away'ed from it all.

You’re at the venue, securing the arch with Hoseok, one of the groomsmen, when Jackson comes jogging into the chapel, phone in hand.

Absurdly, the mental image of a labrador puppy with a tennis ball in their mouth comes to the forefront of your mind.

“The bakery called and Joon asked if you could take it because he and Irene are finalising the speech sequence,” he explains in a single, long breath, holding out Namjoon's phone to you.

Oh.

After your big, emotional reveal with Jungkook that day, you’ve pretty much just been biding your time in the romantic front and resigning yourself to passively letting any and all feelings just happen until you actually meet Yoongi face to face at the wedding. Jungkook’s more than happy to let you be, probably being able to tell how mortified you are after all that uncharacteristic word vomit, and he doesn’t bring anything up. Occasionally, when the two of you are watching television, he'll point at a couple on screen and with a wide grin, he’ll say, “Fighting, Y/N!” and once, he sent you a YouTube link that you assumed was one of his usual Vine compilations but ended up being a video titled ‘5 Ways To Ask Someone Out' but for the most part, he’s been pleasantly bearable.

He did casually let it slip to Yoongi that the two of you were just good friends and roommates and not, in fact, dating. Apparently, Yoongi gave a small smile when he heard, but you don’t know if that’s just Jungkook dramatising and his overactive imagination.

You can manage a phone call, no problem. It’s a toss up between which owner you’ll end up talking to anyway.

Taking the unlocked phone from Jackson, you redial the most recent contact (KSJ Bakery), and move away from the arch as Jackson rushes forward to take your place and Hoseok continues fastening the metal to the wall.

You bite your lip in anticipation as the ring tone hits your ear and very nearly drop the phone when it stops, hearing a decidedly deep, non-Jin voice casually rattle off, “Hey, Namjoon. Thanks for calling back, I just wanted to confirm the pick-up plan for tomorrow.”

Clearing your throat, you hesitantly reply, “Uh, this is Y/N speaking. Joon's a bit busy at the moment, but he’s given me all the details, so I can clear any doubts you might have.”

Silence.

You’re about to let out a tentative ‘Hello?’ when he says, “Oh yeah, no problem. I just wanted to make sure that the cake would be collected before five in the evening.”

Taking the pen out of your pocket, you scrawl ‘Jimin-cake before 5’ on your wrist while balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear, as you reply, “Yeah, somebody should be there before then, no problem.”

“Awesome, I’ll make sure it’s ready to go.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Once again, silence.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to get rid of this awful awkwardness (“Bye,” perhaps) but he beats you to the punch by almost delicately asking, “So, uh, how have you been?”

After inaudibly swallowing in nervousness, despite there being no reason for it, he’s just making polite conversation for fuck's sake, you reply in a similar uncertain tone, “I’m good, yeah. And you?”

“Good, good, yeah. Me too,” he hums out, voice tapering out awkwardly at the end.

You see Jackson giving you a questioning look out of the corner of your eye, obviously confused about how weird you’ve suddenly become and you rush to end the call.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow then?” you ask, stuffing your pen back into your pocket and turning away from the half erect arch, mentally punching yourself for making it sound so flirty.

You get an obviously quizzical ‘Huh?’ in response and rapidly say, “At the wedding I meant. I didn’t-I didn’t mean anything else. Of course, not that there’s anything else to mean. Joon’s and Irene’s wedding is obviously what I was referring to. Okay, bye!”

Not waiting for him to reply, you hit the red button as quickly as you can, turning back around as you softly sigh and your insides churn in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to get away from the offending device as soon as possible.

You’re met by two pairs of wide, surprised eyes as Hoseok and Jackson have completely stopped working on the arch, looking at you instead. Hoseok's eyebrows have nearly disappeared into his messy brown hair and Jackson looks like Christmas has come early.

This won’t do. This won’t do at all.

With a half-assed excuse of returning the phone to Namjoon, refusing to meet their eyes, you scamper out of the room, quick as you can, without making it more painfully awkward than it already is.

________________________

Wedding robes are, in your humble opinion, the single most simultaneously gratuitous and comfortable things, you’ve come to realise. Granted, you had turned your nose up at the concept the first time Irene brought it up, but now that you’re sat on the plush couch next to Irene’s mother at the corner of the bridal suite wearing a beige robe, watching as Irene gets her hair done and Miya helps Hyejin with her makeup, you’re convinced that you’re floating on a cloud.

You’re fairly sure that the reason Irene and Namjoon were able to get these robes without going over budget is that they just hired Miya as the makeup artist and she gave them a discount

The silk rubs soothingly against your skin as you get up and pad towards the front of the room, standing next to Irene’s chair and meeting her nervous eyes in the mirror as the hairdresser sets another curl just so.

“Tense?” you gently enquire, giving her a soft smile.

“Just a bit,” she breathes out, staying very still as the stylist flits around her.

“If you’re in this state, I’d love to see how nervous Joon is,” Miya giggles, evening out Hyejin’s blush.

Irene chuckles and moves her hand off of her lap, letting it fall and grabbing yours loosely. She gives your fingers a squeeze and you squeeze back with a reassuring grin.

“Y/N, you’re next!” Miya calls out, prompting you to walk to her as Hyejin moves towards the rack that has your dresses hanging in the centre of the room, smacking her lips as she smoothens her lipstick.

You obediently stand in front of Miya, tucking your glasses by the frame into the opening of your robe and tilting your neck back so she can apply your eyeliner and lip gloss, hands crossed behind your back.

Her already made up face hovers over yours as she delicately holds your chin in one hand, steadying your head as she runs the gloss over your lips.

She softly mutters, “Are you nervous?”

“About what?” you hum, best as you can without moving your face.

You know about what, of course you know about what.

She fixes you with a knowing look, and your eyes dart away from hers, fixing on Irene’s mother helping Hyejin adjust her dress, but she doesn’t pursue the thread of conversation, doing your eyeliner in silence.

Stepping away from her when she gives you the go ahead and turns to Irene, you move to the rack and collect your dress, turning to enter the attached toilet when your phone rings.

The caller ID reads Jackson Wang, and your mind immediately whirs into worst case scenarios.

Not wanting to alarm Irene in case it really does end up being something serious, you drape your dress on the couch arm and move to the corner of the room, while giving her what you hope is an encouraging thumbs up as she worriedly looks at you.

The first thing Jackson says when you accept the call is, “The florist just called and their truck broke down so one of us has to go get the flowers ourselves."

“Send Hobi,” you immediately say, your mind moving to the last minute problems and solutions chart that you and Jackson had gone over the previous night.

“I did, but then the caterers also called and apparently the appetisers got squished on the way, and they can’t make another batch in time.”

Well. That wasn’t on the chart.

“Uh, okay, then we can go get something from the café down the street. Is Jimin free?”

You hear a harsh sigh from the other end of the line as Jackson replies, “Yeah, but he needs to go get the cake too. I’d go but I don’t think it’s best for me to leave Joon right now, he’s started thinking about why they need a religious ceremony in the first place when he has, and I quote, ‘nothing to prove to God anyway,’ and I’ve only just stopped him from calling the priest.”

“Well, fuck. Tae?” you ask, half-groaning, referring to the third and final groomsman, crossing your fingers in the hope that he might be able to help.

“Needs to be here when the cameraman reaches.”

You look at Miya doing Irene’s makeup and Hyejin in turn fixing Miya's hair, as Irene’s mother unzips the wedding gown from its protective packaging.

Glancing at your own done up face and hair in the mirror and shooting a quick look at the tiny alarm clock on the table, you take a decision.

“I’ll get the cake. Let Jimin do the appetisers.”

“Are you sure? You need to be here for the pre-wedding photoshoot.”

“There’s still an hour to go. If I rush, I’ll be back in time.”

“All right, then. God speed, Y/N, god speed.”

Rolling your eyes at his dramatic farewell, you end the call, morphing your face into as calm an expression as possible before moving towards the others.

“What was that about?” Irene asks warily as she gets up from her seat, hair and makeup fully done.

In as nonchalant a manner as you can, you reply, “Oh, nothing. Just some last minute stuff with the florist, it's all good.”

You grab your dress in what you hope doesn’t look too hurried a manner and step into the toilet, changing in record time. You allow yourself a second to look at your reflection, fixing the strap on your shoulder and giving the fabric a sharp tug at the back so it doesn’t bunch over your ass, before you step back out into the room.

Irene’s climbing into her wedding dress with the help of Hyejin and her mother, and it’s all you can do to not call Jackson and tell him that the cake is mostly unnecessary anyway, so you might as well just not bother.

With a clear of your throat, you say, “I just have to get the cake real quick, so I’ll be going,” and with an apologetic look in response to Irene’s penetrating one, you grab your purse from the table, pull on your flats as fast as you can, and shuffle towards the door, pulling your car keys out.

You throw an ‘I know!’ behind your shoulder in response to Miya's ‘Photoshoot's at 3:20!’ before the door shuts behind you, and you make your way to the car park.

You’ve almost reached the bakery, when you become aware of the possibility that you might meet Yoongi, and you pray that Jin is also there so you won’t have to go through any time-wasting awkwardness.

Maybe it’s because you prayed too hard or because you agree with Namjoon’s philosophy and did the prayer all wrong, but when you enter, you find the bakery empty and quiet. If not for the signboard outside that reads ‘OPEN’, you’d have thought they had closed for the afternoon.

You check the time on your phone.

2:30 PM

Mentally calculating the time you have left to collect the cake and be back at the chapel (45 minutes), you tentatively ask out loud as you move towards the counter, “Hello? Is anybody here?”

You get no answer.

2:32 PM

You really have no time for this. You move behind the counter, hand poised to push open the door behind it, hoping that you’ll find one of the owners, when abruptly, you faintly make out a voice that sounds like Jin.

Inwardly cheering, you’re about to enter the backroom when you hear something that makes you stop in your tracks.

In Yoongi’s deep voice, more frazzled than you’ve ever heard, “I can’t ask her out today! It’s her best friend’s wedding, I’m sure she’s super busy.”

Your breath catches and your palms become clammy. Mentally, you try rationalising that it could be anybody, for self-preservation. Loads of people must be getting married today, and you’re sure you aren’t the only maid of honour who’s been put in charge of the wedding cake.

Behind the door, Jin replies, “You gotta do it soon, I get second hand embarrassment whenever I see you pining. You come back from every session with Jungkook with hearts in your eyes and he’s just her roommate.”

...Jungkook is a fairly common name?

You barely have time to gather your swimming thoughts and rapidly move away from the door, before you hear a low huff and an annoyed grumble of ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it,’ followed by the sound of two pairs of footsteps walking towards you.

You have no time to go back to the customer side of the counter, and trying to look as nonchalant as possible, you pretend to be absorbed in a catalogue that’s kept near the cash register. You hear the door open behind you and turn around, trying to seem as natural as possible.

Keyword being trying. Yoongi looks like a fish, mouth open, eyes widened in surprise. Jin behind him just looks vaguely pleased. You catch sight of your stricken expression in the glass cupboard behind them and mentally punch yourself for looking so obvious.

For a moment, the three of you just stare at each other, nobody moving or saying a word. And then Jin, recovering admirably well, amusedly says, “I didn’t know you could read upside down, Y/N.”

You look down at the pamphlet in your hand and see that ‘Weekend Special!’ is, in fact, upside down.

Face burning, you look back up and stammer, “Uh, yeah, nobody was there and I needed to pick up the cake so I thought I’d just-uh-come behind here and see...,” you trail off awkwardly at the end, refusing to make eye contact with either of them, desperately checking yourself from shuffling from foot to foot like a chastised student at the principal’s office.

Vaguely, you register that Yoongi still hasn’t said a word.

Hurriedly placing the catalogue back on the counter, you scurry to the other side, as a softly chuckling Jin gently shoves a still gaping Yoongi out of the way, and moves to the refrigerator, retrieving a large box from inside.

“The black hatchback parked right outside is yours?”

You shake your head out of your stupor, mind running a mile a minute. Replying to Jin, you say, “Uh, yeah. That one’s mine.”

He walks towards the door, and you know that logically, you should be following.

2:47 PM

Daring to look at Yoongi, you see that he’s shut his mouth, but his expression still resembles your own round-eyed one. Unable to handle the butterflies any longer, you violently throw an arm up, squeak out a swift ‘Bye!’ and spin around, rapidly walking towards the door behind Jin, your dress swirling around your ankles with a whoosh.

Your face is the colour of ripe tomatoes as you unlock the car and open the hatch, only half paying attention to Jin carefully placing the cake box inside.

He straightens up, clapping his hands together in a satisfied motion before turning and looking you dead in the eye.

You definitely aren’t prepared for the words that follow.

“You know, if neither of you do anything, nothing’s going to ever happen.”

And then, like he didn’t just drop that bombshell, he gives you a blinding smile, shakes your limp hand in his, and cheerily saying, “See you at the wedding. Don’t hit the brakes too hard!” he turns around and marches back into the bakery, hands tucked into his pockets, carefree as can be.

You’re in a haze as you move to the driver’s seat, buckling yourself in, head and heart all topsy-turvy.

The blinking digital clock on the dashboard warns 3 PM.

Fuck it.

In a rush, hardly registering what you’re doing, you let go of the seatbelt, not paying attention to the thwack it makes as it hits the side of the car. Throwing the door open and scrambling out, you jog back to the bakery, no doubt looking like a woman possessed.

You push the glass door and briskly walk to where Yoongi’s looking back at you in astonishment from behind the counter, tray full of colourful macaroons in his hands. Your system’s running on pure adrenaline at this point. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jin giving you a thumbs up and a delighted smile, and strolling to the back room, probably to give you guys a little privacy. A suspicious thump follows and you reckon he’s leaned against the other side of the door, ear probably pressed against it. You’d debate ethics, but really, you’re in no position to judge.

“Hey,” you start shortly, once you’ve reached Yoongi, who’s now placed the tray inside the display counter and is looking at you with a bemused expression.

“Hi! Did you leave something behind?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

You open your mouth and shut it again. In a rush, you realise what you’ve done. Like a fool, you try getting something coherent out, but all you manage is a weird cross between a tiny cheep and a squawk that sounds like a dying bird, before you clamp your mouth shut again.

From behind the back door, you hear a stifled chuckle.

Fucker.

Yoongi’s looking at you worriedly, as he kindly enquires, “Are you alright? Would you like some water or something?”

“No!” you shout, louder and more panicked than intended, as he turns around to get a bottle from one of the cupboards on the wall.

“No,” you repeat softer, with a nervous giggle that probably doesn’t do a lot to convince him as he turns around, now looking thoroughly bamboozled.

“Um, okay. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Another chuckle from behind the door.

Ridiculously, in the back of your brain, you can see Jungkook’s dumb grin as he screams, “Fighting, Y/N!”

Well, you’re definitely ready to fight someone.

You take a deep breath in. Shooting a quick prayer to the boss people up there (because that’s always seemed to work so well) and throwing all caution to the wind, you shakily ask, “Do you wanna-wanna maybe get coffee sometime? With me?”

You gauge his reaction, and your heart pretty much swoops as his face clears up and gives way to a wide, gummy smile, however much he tries to stop it from growing. Distantly, you think it makes him look like he’s having a seizure, but an attractive one.

He coughs and clears his throat, attempting to look nonchalant, as he nonetheless enthusiastically replies, “Yeah! Yeah, I’d like that!”

You can feel yourself matching his expression, as a stupid grin fills your face. You’re sure you both resemble right dorks, beaming and blushing like fools at each other, looking pleased as Punch.

Suddenly, a loud shout emerges from the back room as Jin insistently thumps the door. “Just set a time and go, Joon wants to know where Y/N is and what’s taking her so long!”

Flustered, Yoongi looks away, throwing a dirty look behind him as you look at your phone (3:07 PM) and see that you’ve got two missed calls from Irene, one from Hyejin and a grand total of six from Jackson.

With an agitated air, you revert your gaze to Yoongi, who gives you a small laugh as he waves his hand and says, “Go! We can figure it out later.”

You give him an apologetic grin and a cheerful ‘Bye!’ before jogging back out of the bakery, lightheaded.

________________________

[5:35 PM] Min Yoongi : Good luck. You look nice.

The entirety of the ceremony consists of you torn between paying attention to what’s going on right next to you on the dais and fighting your blush every time you catch Yoongi’s eye in the crowd.

Too busy thinking about his text you had received right before the doors opened, you nearly miss your cue to give Irene the ring.

________________________

Hours later, at the reception dinner, after the speeches are done, and the guests are dancing, and you can finally breathe, you feel yourself being tugged to the side by Jackson as you step down from the wedding party dais, and into a large, chaotic circle full of Namjoon’s friends. Incidentally, you end up standing right opposite a smiling Yoongi. Next to him, Jin throws you a wink.

Jackson begins introductions and there are ‘Nice to meet you's and ‘It was a beautiful ceremony’s thrown all around.

He finally reaches Yoongi.

“And this is Yoongi - part time bakery owner, part time music producer.”

A grin, a performative hand shake, and a blush from both parties involved, followed by a chuckle. Together, in the same amused voice, with twinkling eyes, the two of you say, “We’ve met.”

318 notes · View notes

mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

“Blessings”- A Domesticated Drabble

F/M Pairing: Y/N X Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Language...I guess?

Genre: Married Life AU, Parent AU

Note: This was a request from an anonymous user so I can’t tag them but here ya go!

I should have known better because it was one of those days teetering over the boundary of too perfect. I woke up next to Chan in bed, his hospital pager eerily silent, feeling as though I had been asleep for years. My body felt great, the sheets bundled around my waist because I was a notoriously bad bed partner, pulling the blankets further and further away from Chan as I sought additional warmth. But Chan didn’t seem to care, wearing nothing but boxer shorts as he remained statuesque-still with the heavy promise of a rare morning where he could sleep-in. I decided to leave Chan alone while I prepared breakfast, catching the attention of a still-groggy Felix who walked into the room with heavy eyes, grabbing a piece of toast before struggling back to his room. It was almost too peaceful, cooking alone in the kitchen with the company of my thoughts.

I fixed myself an omelet because I was feeling especially cheerful, flipping the eggs as the ingredients provided an alluring smell. Taking a seat at the counter, I started eating while scanning through my phone, excited to see a few promising emails swimming through the promotions tab. “Yogurt,” I murmured quietly, suddenly filled with an odd craving for the frozen treat.

Yet, just as quickly, my stomach suddenly started churning uncomfortably as if deciding that breakfast was a really bad idea. A wave of nausea washed over me like a profound warning before I was rushing to the bathroom. I tried to be as quiet as possible when I closed the door, dropping to my knees to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet, groaning as I tasted the foul substance on my tongue. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so sick, and I pressed my cheek against the cool surface of the floor, sweat pooling above my upper lip.

“Sweetie?” I heard Chan’s voice somewhere through my disoriented haze. “Are you okay?”

I swiped a hand across my face, flushing the toilet before pulling myself up against the sink. “I’m fine,” I tried to assure him, grimacing as I reached for my toothpaste.

“Are you sure?” Chan insisted and that’s when I knew that he must have heard my unfortunate bout of sickness. More than likely, every doctor instinct ingrained in him was demanding to assess my condition courtesy of endless training in college.

“I promise,” I said, closing my eyes against another passing pain of abdominal discomfort.

“I’ll use Felix’s bathroom,” he said kindly and I thanked every possible deity for the inclusion of Chan in my life because he always understood when it was best to leave me alone.

“How about this one?” Minho asked loudly, holding up the pregnancy test for everyone in the whole damn store to see.

“You idiot,” I hissed at him, snatching the offending object away. “I don’t need everyone in here knowing!”

“Congratulations,” an elderly woman said to Minho, offering him a pat on the shoulder and a wink in my direction.

“We’re both excited,” Minho said to the woman before I dragged him further away since he insisted on embarrassing me.

“I hate you right now,” I said, slamming a few different tests on the counter, waiting for the cashier to process my order.

“You definitely have the mood swing thing,” Minho commented.

“And you definitely have the asshole thing.”

“Why do we even have to do this?” Minho asked. “I’m sure Chan can just run some stupid tests or something.”

“Home tests are better for me right now,” I said, handing the cashier my debit card. “And Chan is a general doctor. I would set up an appointment with the OBGYN.”

“Are you planning to set up an appointment without him?” Minho asked with a gasp. “Can you film his reaction when he finds out?”

“I’m not trying to keep anything from him,” I snapped. “I need to be sure first before I go telling Chan that he knocked me up.”

“It’s not surprising, Y/N,” Minho said. “You told me that you stopped using Condoms, so what the hell did you expect?”

“It felt better that way,” I whined, snatching the grocery bag from the innocent cashier who was watching us with trepidation.

“Bad things always feel better for you,” Minho said, reaching into his jacket for a box of cigarettes. “See?”

“At least pregnancy won’t murder my lungs.”

“Yeah? But you’ll feel like shit,” Minho argued like the supportive best friend that he was. “Swollen feet, morning sickness, and carrying around an extra ten pounds? I’d rather lose my lungs.”

“Remind me again why I decided to call you this morning,” I lamented.

“Because you weren’t going to ask Felix to shop pregnancy tests with you and Chan was unavailable?”

“That’s right,” I nodded, pausing next to my car. After my corvette was totally wrecked a year ago, Chan had decided that small cars just weren’t safe enough. This is why my ass had to drive around a Sienna Minivan now despite my protests.

“The Grandma car could use a fresh coat of paint,” Minho snickered and I sighed as I observed my bloated reflection in the side view mirror.

I held the pregnancy test up high, trying to catch it just right in the dim light of the bathroom. “Five minutes,” I murmured, re-checking the box to make sure I had read the instructions correctly. “What the fuck am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Are you almost done?” I heard Minho’s voice from outside. “God, it can’t possibly take this long.”

“Will you come in?” I asked nervously because I was starting to really hate the fact that my urine on a stick was somehow supposed to determine a very important yes or no question.

“You’re still not pissing in there, are you?”

“Minho,” I snapped through the door. “Just get your ass inside!”

He twisted the doorknob, hesitantly looking inside to meet my glare. “Sorry,” he whispered, opening the door fully to join me. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” I said, trying to hand him the test but he quickly threw his hands up.

“Didn’t you pee on that?”

“Grow the hell up,” I said, slamming the stick onto the counter. “It’s supposed to show a blue stripe if I’m pregnant.”

“So if there’s nothing, then we’re good?” he asked, squinting down at the device like he was suddenly far-sighted.

“Not necessarily,” I said, handing him the box. “Red if not pregnant.”

“But there’s nothing.”

“Thank you, asshole,” I grumbled. “Why do you think I brought you in?”

“You’re always dragging me into your problems, Y/N,” Minho said, shaking his head. “Just take another one I guess.”

I let out a groan. “I can’t spend all day taking pregnancy tests!”

“Is that so? Well, I could be with my girlfriend right now if I wasn't here with you,” Minho pointed out.

“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing a different test box.

After a series of failed observations, including an unfortunate incident in which Minho knocked a test into the toilet, we finally got a reading on a particularly expensive offering. “Pregnant,” Minho declared, glancing at me nervously. “Are you okay?”

“One more,” I insisted, but Minho reached out for my hand.

“Just go get tested, Y/N,” he said. “This will literally drive you insane.”

I whined at his words. “I don’t want to be pregnant right now, Minho. Chan and I haven’t planned for this!”

“Aren’t most pregnancies unplanned?” he grunted, swearing when I threw an empty test box at him.

“They don’t have to be unplanned! A lot of couples talk about this with each other.”

“Wasn’t there an inherent agreement when you decided to let Chan fuck you raw?”

“You know what? Stop talking,” I said, shoving him out of the bathroom. “Go home to your girlfriend.”

“Call the doctor,” Minho retorted right before I slammed the door in his face.

The OBGYN office was way too bright. I squinted against the Halogen nightmare while fidgeting anxiously on the table, holding onto the hem of the oversized hospital gown they had loaned me to wear. A smaller cart sat next to bed offering a variety of dangerous tools that looked like they were meant for a serial killer’s house as opposed to a friendly office.

“Y/N?” an older woman greeted me, opening the door before locking it behind her. “How are you today?”

“I’m fine,” I said nervously, resisting the urge to jump out the window.

“Just relax,” the doctor said, scanning over a chart. “This is for pregnancy confirmation, then?”

“A possible pregnancy confirmation,” I said, and the doctor chuckled.

“I take it that this was unplanned?”

“Very much so.”

“Is that why the father is missing?”

I took a moment to glower at the doctor. “The father is missing because I don’t know if he’s actually a father yet. My husband works long hours at the ER. I didn’t want to bring him here if this turned out to be nothing.”

“Based on the symptoms you’ve described,” the doctor carried on as if ignoring my last rant. “And the home pregnancy test results, I don’t think you should expect negative lab work.”

I bit my lower lip, struggling to keep myself in check. In actuality, I wanted to scream at the nurse that she was definitely wrong because I did not want to be pregnant right now. “That’s why I’m here.”

The doctor nodded. “Go ahead and lean back, this shouldn’t take long.”

“Will it hurt?” I asked with a wince, slowly easing myself against the pillows.

“You shouldn’t feeling any pain,” the doctor replied, negotiating her stool to situate herself right between my open thighs. I had to force myself not to cover my exposed vagina, deciding that the doctor should spend no more than five minutes down there before I was forced to intervene. “Pull up your shirt for me,” she said, selecting one of the wands situated next to my bed.

I glanced at it suspiciously. “Is that going...inside?”

“It’s for your stomach,” she said, jerking an overhanging screen to eye-level. “I’m going to use a very small amount of what might look like jelly. It might feel cold on your skin.”

This warning still didn’t stop me from jerking in surprise when she placed the wand on my stomach, rubbing it over my skin with precision. “This is interesting.”

The doctor grinned. “After this, I’m going to need a urine sample as well.”

“Okay,” I managed, watching the screen with careful eyes, searching for any signs that there was something growing inside of me.

A few moments later she pulled back, removing her gloves with a snap. “All done.”

“Just like that?” I asked incredulously.

She offered me a smile. “That’s it.”

“Holy shit,” I cursed, accepting the paper towels to swipe across the mess on my stomach.

“For your urine sample,” she said, offering me a sterile cup.

I accepted it with a sigh. “How long will it take to get the results?”

“Not long,” she promised me with a wink.

I retreated into the adjoining bathroom after downing a few cups of water, waiting until I could finally accommodate her request before re-entering the room. “Here,” I said, offering her the sample.

“Great!” she chirped. “Your results will be ready shortly.”

I watched her leave before fanning a hand across my stomach. “Why did you choose now of all times?”

Silence greeted my words and I worriedly played with my wedding band while I waited impatiently for the doctor to return. In moments like this, I really missed having Chan at my side because he always knew the best ways to calm me down. Without his familiar presence, I was left succumbing to all of my nervous ticks including that nasty habit of picking at the skin around my cuticles.

“Now I need a manicure,” I sighed, startling when the door abruptly opened to welcome my doctor back inside.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” she said, offering me a manila folder. “You’re pregnant. The scans are available for you inside that packet.”

The heavy revelation slowly settled in as my stomach churned uncomfortably.

“You’re quiet today,” Felix remarked, watching me over his bowl of popcorn. I couldn’t even remember what movie we had been watching.

“Tired,” I grumbled.

“I thought you had the afternoon off,” Felix scoffed. “Is it that hard answering phone calls?”

I glared at him. “Maybe it is.”

Felix held up his hands defensively, fingers glistening with a mixture of salt and butter. “Sorry for asking.”

In actuality, I couldn’t stop thinking about the scans sitting on top of the counter. There were a million different scenarios running around my head as I envisioned Chan’s reaction to the news. At this point, it was inevitable that I told him, no more hiding behind Minho as we experimented hopelessly with a bunch of stupid pregnancy tests. I had the confirmation in several successive scans and my heart was beating at an irregular pace against my chest.

Chan had called earlier to tell me that he was on his way home and I had immediately panicked. I had nothing prepared to say to him, except something stupid along the lines of “You see? This is what happens when you stop wearing condoms.” Then, I could shove those scans at his chest and hide away in my bedroom for the rest of the night.

But all rational thought completely failed me when I heard Chan’s key turning in the lock. “He’s home now,” Felix remarked, wiping his nasty hands on his jeans. “Maybe Chan can order us takeout.”

I slowly exhaled, watching my husband walk into the living room. “What have you guys been up to?”

I froze in place while Felix complained about the lack of suitable groceries in the refrigerator. “I ate a TV dinner for lunch, Chan,” Felix whined.

My husband rolled his eyes affectionately, glancing at me with concern. “Y/N?”

“I’m okay,” I assured him quickly, nervously wringing my hands together. “Can I show you something in the kitchen?”

“What did you break this time?” Chan joked, but his smile was gone as soon as he noticed my expression. “It’s never good when you look at me like that.”

“It’s...something,” I offered, leading a ponderous Chan into the kitchen with a nosy Felix trailing behind. I carefully picked up the scans from the table. “Chan,” I exhaled, gazing into his understanding eyes filled with adoration. But words were suddenly impossible and instead I shoved the manila folder at him. “Here.”

“What is it?” he asked with a trace of amusement, flipping open the cover to look at the first scan.

“It’s supposed to be a baby,” I replied, suddenly aware of Felix joining us in the kitchen.

“A baby?” Chan repeated, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Our baby?”

I nodded slowly. “I had a scan today.”

“We’re pregnant?” Chan asked, his smile growing wider with every subsequent confirmation. “We made a baby?”

“The sperm was good,” Felix nodded solemnly, taking the scans from an overjoyed Chan.

“Are you serious, Y/N?” he asked.

“I went to the doctor today,” I said. “The tests were all positive.”

“Why aren’t you more excited?” he asked, pulling me into his arms with careful consideration for my stomach.

I relaxed in his hold. “I’m nervous, Channie. Don’t you feel the same way?”

“Well, of course, I’m nervous,” Chan said, studying me carefully. “This is a big deal.”

I took in a deep breath. “We didn’t plan for this.”

“I know we didn’t,” Chan said, “but we should have anticipated the risks of dropping the condoms.”

“I hated those fuckers,” I complained. “Your cock feels better without them.”

Chan pulled me closer. “What did you expect, Y/N?”

“Married bliss for the rest of our lives?”

He chuckled. “Why can’t we have that with a kid?”

“Kids get in the way,” I said. “My parents had to send me to my neighbor's house just so that they could have quick sex every once in a while.”

“You’re worried that we won’t have sex anymore?” Chan asked in that ridiculous way of his that let me know I was being irrational.

“No,” I groaned, burying my face against the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m worried that I’ll fuck everything up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I honestly look like I could be a mother?” I asked, stepping out of his arms. “How do you even take care of a baby?”

Chan sighed, reaching out for my hand which I tentatively allowed him to hold. “Sweetie, we’ll learn these things together. You act like you’re all alone and that’s not true at all. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“You’re not scared?” I asked, brushing my thumb across his hand.

“Of course I am,” he nodded. “But I’m also really excited. I think that’s how most new parents feel regardless of whether or not they planned for a baby.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I could always find solace in his eyes. At least until Felix ruined the moment. “You totally knocked her up, bro!”

Chan sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “That’s not helpful, Felix.”

“Sorry,” Felix mouthed, taking the scans into the dining room. Meanwhile, I simply allowed Chan to maintain his familiar grip on my hand because there was no better feeling in the entire world.

Nine months progressed at the slowest possible pace as if the conspiring universe was determined I should suffer from every possible pregnancy symptom imaginable. I was beginning to think I was doomed to suffer, complaining to Chan until he finally forced me to revisit my OBGYN. “The sickness is really bad,” he explained to my doctor while I just groaned on the bed.

“Let’s have a look,” my doctor suggested leading to the unanticipated revelation that I was carrying not one, but two kids inside of me.

“Twins?” Chan gasped, clapping his hands together like he had just won the jackpot lottery. Meanwhile, I suddenly lost all motivation to even move from my spot on the examination table. Apparently, pregnancy symptoms were more severe when carrying multiple children, and I had just about reached my breaking point until one glorious day when my water broke while I was beating the shit out of Felix at MarioKart.

“That’s gross, Y/N,” Felix complained until I threw my phone at him and demanded he call Chan.

By the time my husband got home, I had finished ordering Felix around, demanding he pack my bags for me until there were two suitcases instead of one. “Are you going on vacation, sweetie?” Chan asked to which I offered him my most wilting glare yet. His face immediately paled. “Right, let’s get you to the hospital.”

I was practically numb with pain by the time we were finally checked-in, leaving me groaning on a hospital bed while my idiotic doctor explained that I wasn’t dilated enough. “How the hell is that possible?” I growled.

“What about an Epidural?” he suggested.

“She doesn’t want that,” Chan insisted until I reached out to firmly crush his hand beneath mine.

“I do want that!” I snapped. “And I want it right now before I die!”

“Of course! Whatever you want, sweetie,” Chan assured me, fleeing my hospital room like he had just seen a ghost.

I tried to lean back in the bed, growing more and more irritated with the endless contractions. My doctor insisted that I wasn’t ready, but I would hate to see how much worse this could possibly get. In the meantime, Chan returned only moments later with Jisung faithfully by his side. “No,” I snarled, pointing at Jisung. “Do not let him anywhere near me with needles.”

Graciously, Chan knew better than to object to my vicious demands.

“Oh fuck,” I sighed in relief when the pain slowly started to ease. “This is amazing.”

Chan grinned from his seat next to me. “Do you feel better now?”

“I feel like I’m in one of those Willie Wonka cartoons,” I said. “Channie, I think this is what Heaven is like.”

Chan seemed amused by my reaction. “Was it really that bad, sweetie?”

“I think the kids were trying to split me open,” I told him. “My entire body was at their mercy.”

“I don’t think it’s their fault,” Chan teased. “After all, it’s just your body’s way of preparing itself.”

“Those women in the movies are fucking liars, Chan,” I said. “Pregnancy is not fun and I don’t recommend it to anyone. 0 out of 5 stars.”

Chan couldn’t hold back his laughter, leaning forward to brush a few strands of sweat-caked hair out of my eyes. “It’ll be over soon, sweetie. Then, we can finally meet our twins.”

“I expect two Mozarts, Chan,” I said. “For all this pain and suffering, I want two child prodigies who can grow up and make us lots of money.”

“Are you telling me that you’ve been incubating our retirement fund?”

“Hell yes.”

The doctor’s arrival disrupted our moment. “Shall we try pushing now?”

“Please,” I practically begged him, more than ready to do whatever it might take to end this unnecessary suffering.

“Remember your breathing,” the doctor reminded me and I quickly sought Chan’s hand, gripping it tightly between sweaty fingers. Chan was always strong, but apparently, even he found his limits when his wife was steadily crushing his hand. “Sweetie, it hurts,” Chan said, but didn’t try to pull away when I only gripped even tighter, screaming out through clenched teeth.

And several hours later, I was completely spent, breathing hard as the room filled with the sounds of distinct crying. “Congratulations, Y/N,” the doctor said, but I was already falling asleep, too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

I was still tired, despite my two-night stay at the hospital, coming home surrounded by people who insisted they needed to be involved in some capacity. Chan helped me walk to our bedroom, hand wrapped securely around my waist. Meanwhile, someone had decided it was a good idea for Han Jisung to manage both baby carriers while Felix slowly drug my bags across the floor, complaining about their weight. “They’re so cute!” Jisung squealed, bouncing the carriers with far too much enthusiasm.

I gripped tightly to Chan’s collar. “Please save my children from Jisung.”

Chan nodded, eyes perfectly serious as he adjusted my blankets. “Give me a minute, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”

I groaned, reluctantly allowing him to leave the room. Of course, the pain was absolutely worth it because when I finally woke up, I was greeted to the sight of two adorable tiny babies looking up at me with wide, curious eyes. “I did this?” I immediately questioned which Chan found amusing.

“Good job, sweetie,” he said, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead.

“I guess you helped too,” I grumbled in return.

I was drawn out of my memory by the sudden appearance of Felix who wore a bright smile. “Jisung is offended that you don’t trust him.”

“I’m just being protective,” I said. “You have to take certain precautions when it involves Jisung.”

“Well, I think we might go out later,” Felix mused, lingering by the doorway. “Are you still out of it?”

“It’s not so bad now,” I reassured him. “I did just push two kids out of my vagina.”

“Don’t need the visual,” Felix shuddered, moving out of the way for Chan who walked into the room with both baby carriers in hand.

“Jisung had to go back to the hospital anyway,” Chan said. “I’ll put the twins down in their room.”

“Okay,” I agreed, eyes following the carriers until they disappeared from sight.

“How can you already be whipped?” Felix asked. “I’ve never seen you this way.”

“My maternal instincts, I guess,” I offered in return, drowsiness slowly summoning a new urge to bury my face in the pillows.

Felix seemed to notice my dilemma. “Next time we play MarioKart, you can’t interrupt the game in the middle of a round.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

In the background, I could hear Felix talking to Chan before my husband was sitting next to me on the bed. “Try to get some sleep, sweetie,” he encouraged me, but I was already one step ahead of him.

Later that night, after several wonderful naps, I convinced Chan to help me walk to the twins’ room. “Just for a little while,” I pouted at him because Chan could never resist me.

“Alright,” he agreed. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

I stuck my tongue out at him while accepting his outstretched hand. “I probably won’t break.”

“It’s my job to protect you,” Chan said, ushering me close to his side as we slowly made the arduous trek to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Eventually, when they were older, we planned to give them their own rooms. However, for the time being, I knew it would make things a lot easier if we could take care of them at the same time.

“Did Felix go out earlier?” I asked Chan as we passed by his room.

“He went out with Hyunjin and Jisung.”

“That’s a very dangerous combination,” I said.

“They know how to stay out of trouble,” Chan said, but I was already reminding my husband to call Felix later just in case Hyunjin tried to convince them to go to a strip club downtown.

“Here we go,” Chan said, nudging open the door with his foot, leading me inside as we navigated the darkened space. Chan kept a firm grip around my waist as we both looked down into their cribs. I remember when we first set up the beds when Chan kept screaming at Felix and Jisung because they couldn’t figure out the instructions. Eventually, I called over Minho and his friend Seungmin who were more adept at solving the complicated steps.

“We did it,” Chan whispered, sweet voice soothing in my ear.

I looked down at my twins and felt a burst of pride. “Yeah, we’re pretty fucking cool, right?”

“The coolest,” Chan agreed, leaning down for a kiss which I was more than willing to reciprocate.

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #chan fanfic #stray kids chan #stray kids chan fanfic

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adventuresloane · 3 years

Text

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) - Chapter 9

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

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In a winding fashion, they'd made their way to Rockport, avoiding the main roads and the smaller satellite towns most of the way there. It wasn't the first time in the past couple of months they'd stopped in a place that could be called civilization. By now, they'd gotten far enough away from Goldcliff that the smaller settlements they came across would be unlikely to have heard about what Hurley had done. Anyway, they had to stock up on provisions and refill their flasks somehow, and spending a night or two in a real bed wasn't too bad either.

Rockport, though, was not a small settlement. It was big and hellbent on getting bigger. Even in the few days they'd spent here, Hurley observed how this place close to the desert's western edge had all the greed of a green bean vine, spreading into new territory overnight, seeming to stretch a little more every time you had your back turned. Former dirt roads were being hastily paved with stone, and a fine five-story hotel had been built to house the people who came here to board the eastbound train--along with some ramshackle inns to hold the rest.

Even in the tavern, they could feel the low rattle of the engines, making ripples in the sun-colored ale on the table in front of Hurley. "I can't believe I'm saying this," they began, "but how much longer do you want to stay at the inn? I think I prefer sleeping on the ground with the occasional scorpion to checking the bed for roaches every night."

"Uh-huh," Sloane said.

"Unless of course you wanna stay in that nicer hotel on the main street, but I doubt we have the money for that." They tapped their fingernail on the edge of their glass. "Anyway, aren't you a little worried being here? You saw the, um, wanted posters they've got up here."

"Not really. They've got my face all wrong," she answered quickly. It occurred to Hurley that, for the whole time they'd been here, she'd had her face turned toward the grimy windowpane. There was a new kind of energy to her that they hadn't seen before. She was restless, like she had the rumble of the railroad tracks running up her spine. Her hands fidgeted with some coins in front of her as she kept looking outside with a grin playing on her lips.

They followed her gaze and found, at the end, the building across the street, the only one nearby made of brick rather than wood. The sign above the door labeled it as the First Bank of Rockport.

Slowly, they turned back to her. "Are you going to--?"

"What if I am, bounty hunter?" She looked them in the eye this time while she gave them a smirk. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"It's not funny," they mumbled. In fact, even now, it seemed like the kind of thing they should have been trying to stop. But they weren't about to try dissuading her. They couldn't exactly moralize at her, given how long they'd been benefiting from the horse she'd stolen, and given how they'd been eating food almost certainly purchased with stolen funds.

She chuckled, then tipped her head back and downed the rest of her drink like it was her job. "Listen," she said, a little breathless, "let's go and get our stuff out of the inn so we can check out. If we time it right, it'll seem like we're leaving with everyone else who's getting on the train."

"And then what?" they said in a hushed voice. "You're just going to go ahead and do it in broad daylight?"

"Wouldn't be the first time. Give me your gun."

"What do you want my gun for?!"

"Shh! Will you relax? You know I don't actually shoot."

"I don't care! Besides, you've got your own, even if it's a piece of junk."

She sat back in her seat and huffed. "Fine. Come on, let's go." As she began to get up, Hurley put a few of their last loose coins on the table and waved vaguely to the bartender.

Once they were both out, she went on whispering, "I usually don't even have to flash a gun these days anyway. The mask and coat's enough to scare them as soon as they see me."

"And yet you can just sit around the bar in there like it's nothing?"

"I told you, they don't know what my face looks around here, just how the Raven looks. Anyway, I haven't been back in awhile. They're off their guard." She glanced at them. "I know what I'm doing, you know. You want money or not?"

"I know you do," they sighed. "Be careful anyway."

"Believe me, I am."

-----

They did as she wanted, helping to pack up their small collection of things and load them onto the horse's back. It was only when the two of them heard the train whistle fade that Hurley asked, "What about me?"

"What about you?"

"What do you want me to do?"

With a shrug, she replied, "Not much. Just wait with the horse and be ready to leave quick. I'll meet you right outside town by that metal trough."

They took a moment before responding. "So you want me to go outside town and wait?"

"Yup. Don't worry, shouldn't take long." She gave them a grin, which was maybe supposed to be reassuring, and then hurried down a side street.

They watched her disappear. Very patiently, they counted out 120 seconds in their head. Then, with no one except the horse around to hear, they muttered, "Who does she think she's kidding?" and headed for the bank.

There was a reason Sloane had chosen to stake out the bank from the bar. It was the best vantage point around. But they knew better than to head back inside the tavern or even hang too much around the outside--that could raise suspicion--so they did their best to ride around the area looking busy while keeping the bank in view.

In spite of their efforts, they couldn't get a sense of what was happening past the brick exterior. From what little they could see through the tiny front windows, there was no movement on the inside. They couldn't see anyone, let alone Sloane, but if she was in there, she was certainly taking her sweet time. Or maybe they just felt that way, waiting with a nervous gut under the hot sun. They kept their leg from bobbing so they wouldn't accidentally kick the horse in the side.

It wasn't until they'd passed by for the sixth time that they saw something new. From across the street, they saw a dark shape move in the shadows around the back of the building. Sloane stopped every few steps to look up and down the quieter side streets, find her way out.

Hurley smiled seeing her and felt the tightness in their chest fade away as they breathed. Her steps were slow and smooth and purposeful, like those of a wading bird in a flooded field.

They were watching to see where she'd go, so that they could head that way too. They could still easily meet her outside of town, where she'd be expecting them. They would have done that, had they not felt the twinge on the back of their neck, the something inside them that told them to look to the left. When they did, they found themself outside looking in through the wide window of the tavern. Immediately, they made eye contact with the bartender.

They barely had time to process the fact that he must have been watching them for awhile, that he must have recognized them from earlier. He turned away from them quickly and squinted in the direction of the bank. He seemed to be looking through the wide, swinging doors.

There was no time. They rode into the street, and the shout burst from their mouth before they could think to stop it. "Sloane!”

Her gaze was on them in an instant. Everything but her eyes was hidden by the bandana over her face, but the way she threw her hands up at them communicated “what the fuck” well enough.

A moment later came the sound of other voices, indistinct but shouting. Sloane froze for a moment and turned at the noise. Then she brought her fist down to her side before hurrying over to Hurley, brow deeply furrowed. As she was jumping up onto the horse’s back, they started, "Are you okay? Good thing I was here, huh? Do you want to--"

"Keep your fucking head down!" For good measure, she shoved their head down with her palm before giving the mare a light slap on the flank. The gunshots started off seconds after they had begun to move. So did the screams. People who had ducked out their windows to look for the source of the commotion felt the gust in their hair as the pair of them blew by. Everyone who could was looking their way.

Hurley tightened their grip on the reins so that they would not slip from the sweat of their palms. “Where do we go now?”

“East!” Sloane called. She was looking behind them. “We'll figure it out from there!” That, they could work with.

She had a point about keeping their head down. The whole point of traveling around with her had been to avoid detection until the memory of their wrongdoing had died down. Lying low was most definitely not what they were doing at the moment, face fully exposed to the noon sun as the pistols clicked into the cocked position behind them.

The ram’s skull that they had collected was strapped to the side of the saddle where they had left it. They reached down for it and, after missing it a few times as it bounced against the horse’s belly, grabbed it by the horn and pulled it up.

It wasn’t good, as a mask. It was heavy, and they had to hold it up with one hand to their face while steering with the other, and they ended up peering through just one of the eye sockets as if through a gap in a doorway. But they saw enough. They saw the way people, unthinking, cleared a path for this glaringly white and glaring visage, high astride a horse, charging their way. It shocked all of them, awed some.

A few people tried to get in their way. A gathering burst from the general store with guns held up in the air. Hurley reacted like they'd been waiting for it all along. They pulled back on the reins, and the horse, from a full-on gallop, dug her back hooves into the ground and skidded to a stop, as they'd trained her to do. Then they whipped the horse to the side and down a street that would, they hoped, lead them straight back out of town.

"Shit," Sloane said, sounding a little awestruck herself. "Nice." It was.

They did their best to weave and dodge, to be a more difficult target. Eventually, as they left, the guns stopped firing, or else the noise of the bullets couldn’t compete with the wind and the pound of hooves in their ears.

They went the rest of the day, taking the horse down to a canter when they had shrunken and disappeared the silhouettes of the folks trying to pull up behind them. In the hottest hours of the day, they were down to a fast trot. It hardly seemed to matter. No one ever appeared on the horizon. It seemed that the town would leave their capture to bounty hunters.

It wasn’t until the approach of evening that they stopped altogether. Sloane dismounted first, dragging the pouch of money down with her. When she pulled the bandana down from her face, they could see her broad grin, the sweat shining above her lips. “That’ll show them.”

Hurley just kept staring down the burning red eye of the sinking sun. Their chest was so full that they couldn’t seem to catch their breath. “Is it always like that?” they asked in a hush.

“Well, not always,” she answered. “Lots of times, it’s hours before they notice I’ve been there, but sometimes it’s more exciting.” They had never seen her looking so light. Her teeth showed with her smile. Her head was up and her chest was out, moving as she breathed, and while it wasn’t the first time they’d noticed, the realized now more than ever how often she kept her eyes tilted down beneath the shadow of her hat and how she mostly walked around with her arms crossed over her core. Now she was shining, black and bright.

After several moments of staring at them, though, her smile dropped. “Oh, no,” she muttered. "Why do you look like that?"

They knew they were smiling. They could feel the ache of it. They hadn’t stopped the whole time.

Once in their life, they had seen a twister in the distance. It had been while they were a child that they had watched the gray-green clouds take shape. They solidified into something with purpose, intent, as they wound down and down to the earth. The sky’s gray finger gouged the earth and scraped away the land, left it clean and treeless. They saw it pick up the roof of a faraway house.

For only a few minutes before they were pulled inside, they had stood out and stared it down. They had felt the winds, even from such a distance, toy with their hair and try to push them back, and instead held onto the railing of their porch with both hands. Stood there in front of something that could destroy them just to feel the wildness of it.

That was how it had felt back there, only for hours on end.

They laughed to themself. No way that was the last time they would feel that again.

“Shit,” Sloane said. “Please don’t tell me you had fun.”

#yeah baby we are back!#hurloane #taz #the adventure zone #taz balance #the zone cast #taz fanfic #sloane #hurley #the wanted

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donnajons · 5 years

Text

Leave Paris, Move to Gotham Chapter 1

More than 180?! Are you guy okay?! No but in serious note, thank you guys for liking this story, but special kudos to @mikantsume for being the first one. This an small chapter, not too much Daminette but more about Marinette.

New last name was a total accident.

In Marinette’s defense she has never been good at speaking English while under pressure, so when her new landlady asked her what her last name was, the blue eyed girl look around searching for a last name. It was totally a coincidence that her future landlady had a newspaper with title in gigantic black letters “WAYNE INDUSTRIES...”

“My name is Marinette Wayne.”

The woman looked at the girl. It wouldn’t be the first time that a girl with no papers, no luggage, and a ton of small bill wanted to rent an apartment at the same time they claim that their parents were fine with it. She knew that look in marinette’s face. It was the same face that she has seen in hundreds of girls that ran away. The landlady didn’t ask any further questions. She just gave the girl her key of her new apartment.

“The rent is due every first Friday of the month. It includes water and light bills.”

Marinette took the key and walked to the stairs. The elevator was out of service since seven years ago.

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A month is enough time to develop a routine, and Marinette had a routine that she followed so religiously.

She woke up every morning at 4:30 a.m. to take a shower and prepared something for breakfast. Then at 5:30, she would go to work. She was lucky to be hired as a seamstress in a fancy boutique on the other side of the city. The pay wasn’t bad, and the owner of the boutique didn’t ask many questions of why she would like to work there. She must have thought that she was a high schooler in search a Summer job. She had to catch the bus of 5:45 to get to work at 6:20. She worked until 4:30 p.m. Then she came back to her apartment to make sure that the box of the miraculous was where she left it, under some loose boards of the floor under her bed. By five, she was back to her apartment, where she began studying the miraculous with help of Tikki. She studied, trained, and finally ate. Ten she prepared herself to go to sleep.

This was her least favorite part of her routine.

Every night, she woke up around midnight choking on her own tears. The nightmares began the day she moved to Ghotam, and they always were the same: her parents being crushed the bakery while they were set on fire. Every single time, she failed to save them because those emerald eyes were always holding her back.

The hero became the pray.

If it wasn’t for Tikki, Marinette wouldn't have the strength to wake up every morning and get out of bed. She was deeply in debt with the goddess of creation.

“Marinette, I think you should go out.” The red Kwami told her as her holder keep writing.

One benefit of working at Gotham Boutique was that Marinette got Sundays off. She was free to do as she pleased, and in this case, it was to study the miraculous.

“Thank you, Tikki, but I am fine.” She kept writing.

Tikki flew towards the bluenette and took her pencil away.

“Tikki, please give it black!” She tried to catch her, but she flew to high.

“No until you catch a break.” She looked at her holder with sadness. “Marinette, look at you. You are slowly getting sick. You just work, study, and train. You are getting thinner, and there are black bags under your eyes. You cannot do this any longer. You will get sick if you don’t catch a break”

It was true. Marinette wasn’t the same person than she was a few months ago. Her cherish; her innocence was gone. She just wanted to survive instead of live. Things that she found pleasure before didn’t make her happy anymore. She didn’t design anymore because she didn’t have time and will power. She didn’t allow herself to eat sweets because it reminds her of the bakery. Thank the Kwamy that Tikki liked the cookies of the supermarket because Marinette couldn’t bake. It just brought so many memories.

“Tikki, please”

“No, Marinette. If you don’t do it for you, at least take care of yourself for the sake of the miraculous. If you get sick, then no one is going to protect the miraculous anymore.” Tikki hated when she tricked her holder with selfish motivations like this, but it was the only way.

The girl was quiet for a moment and signed.

“I guess a little walk will not do any harm.”

The goddess of creation smilled, “Good. I heard there is a park not too far from here. There is also an ice-cream shop. We could go and try one.”

Marinette picked up her purse (her bose gave it to her as a bonus for a well done job) and took some money from a hidden cookie can that she had beside the dishwasher. She has been putting money there in case they need to flee. Tikki insisted that Marinette shouldn’t work too much because she could simply make money with her powers, but Marinette didn’t want to risk it.

So, all those years with the miraculous, made Chat and Ladybug sensitive to when other Kwamies use their powers. Marinette couldn’t risk their positions for something so trivial like money.

After Marinette checked that the miraculous box was well hidden for the third time, she and left the apartment.

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Gotham is not that bad… in the day.

The city of course has its dangers, so many that mugger was considered an official profession, but there are places that made it tolerable. An example of this is the ice cream shop that was three streets from Marinette’s place. It had pretty good flavor and even ice cream yogurt. They weren’t as good as Andre’s, but maybe that’s why Marinette like it. The place and its ice creams were far too different from Andre that it didn’t bring any memories about Paris.

The girl bought a strawberry ice yogurt with an immense number of cookies for Tikki, and they decided to eat it on a bench in the park that was in front of the ice cream shop. The park was considerable nice. Yes, it lacked the color green, but it had a playground and a pretty fountain, were they decide to eat their yogurt. The fountain, as well as almost the whole Gotham city, had a Gothic design.

Marinette tried to focus on her yogurt and the fountain to not think about the miraculous box and how she left it alone in her apartment, in the city where anyone could get there and stole it from her.

Marinette was about to stand up and run to her apartment when a tall woman appeared in front of her.

“Hellooo! Sweetheart! Would you like to get a pretty good, new hair style?” The woman in front of her was in her mid twenties and had blonde hair with the points dyed blue and pink. Her skin looked too pale that made her look like a course. Her clothes… well her clothes matched her hair.

The mysterious woman gave Marinette a smile and flyer.

“There is a new beauty salon two streets from here. My friends run it. If you bring this flyer, they will give you a discount on anything: dyeing, cut, hair extensions, a permanent. You name it they will do it!” Then without any warning, the energetic woman left, leaving a very confused Marinette.

The girl looked at the flyer. Maybe, it was a good thing that the mysterious woman interrupted her. If it wasn’t for her, she would be in her apartment counting the miraculous one by one. She still wanted to go to her apartment, but at least the that horrible feeling pressing her chest was almost gone.

“Are you thinking on going?” The red Kwamy asked her and breaking her from her trance.

Marinette took a few deep breaths and shocked her head as she covered her mouth to avoid attention. “We don’t have the money to do it even if it had a discount. They may charge at least fifty dollars for just doing highlights.”

“But what about the two hundred dollars in you right front pocket?”

The girl opened her eyes in surprise to quickly search her pockets. She found out two hundred dollars in bills of twenty.

“Tikki! You cannot make money like this!” She whispered a she put the money back at her pockets. “Char will know that you use your powers and will find us!” Marinette felt how her eyes water up and her chest numbing up.

Tikki hugged her hand inside of the purse.

“Marinette, he will not. He will feel that I used my powers, but he will not know where I used it. We are safe. You are safe. Breath, just breath.”

It was moments like this that Marinette remembered that she hated this life. She couldn’t allow herself to be weak even though akumas could not longer hunting her. She was the guardian of the miraculous, the last of her kind. If she was weak, somehow, she exposed the life of millions.

The guardian took a deep breath, “A-are you sure. Tikki? What if he finds us? God, I’m an invisible. I-I deserve this.”

“A hundred present.” The goddess took her hand even tighter. “You deserve a better life Marinette. You deserve to have a night of sleep where the only reason you wake up is because you drank too much water before bed, not because of terrible nightmares. You deserve to have more free time instead of working too hard because you are keeping cash in case we need to go. You deserve to do your own clothes instead of buying the discount clothes that sell in Walmart that are either way too big or short. You deserve a pretty hair style, maybe cut the bangs that almost cover your eyes, and you know why? Because you are the best person in the world. What people may think about you, what he may want you to be, doesn’t define you worth. Listen to me, You don’t deserve this life, you deserve better.”

Like it was mentioned before, Marinette survive because Tikki was there with her, loving her, being her mentor, even a mother.

Cleaning her tears and petting the goddess head, Marinette stood up and walked away fast.

“Where are we going Marinette?”

“To the salon, I’m going to paint my hair pink.”

The beauty salon was call The Sirens.

The place was pretty, painted with the colors of white, black, and baby blue. The woman that attended her was beautiful, gorgeous. She had short hair and pretty eyes. Her name was Selena. She gave her a smile when she showed her the flyer.

“So, I guess you met my peculiar friend.” She said as she put a cape around her shoulders.

“I-I did, she seemed… energetic. I like that she called me Sweetheart. Not many people call pet names without being malicious.”

Selena let go a smile. “Malicious? You aren’t from here, don’t you? Not too many people use that kind of language here.”

Was her accent too thick? She tried to make it less Frenchish and more American or at least a little bit of Asian.

“No, I just moved to Gotham, looking for a new start.”

“And why here? If you don’t mind me asking. There are other safer and prettier cities like Central City or Metropolis, even Coast City.”

Marinette moved her shoulders. Selena thought that the girl was too shy.

Why Ghotam? Well the answer is simple. Gotham has something that those cities don’t, or well, something that is more prominent there: real vigilantes, and real criminals, and why the hell this could be a good thing? Because the media focused on big criminals like the Joker and Vigilantes like Batman, not in a run away girl like her.

“But Marinette could not tell her that.

“I guess luck.” Marinette said in a tone that was almost a murmur.

“SO, let’s see. An alone teenager with a forgein accent in the most dangerous city in the US is looking for a new hairstyle though her hair is super pretty (maybe a cut on her bangs) without visible parents or friends” Selena had enough information to make an assumption about the girl: she was a run away just like her when she was her age.

“Pray tell, do you have a Summer job? Most kids like you have one to you know to buy things like wphones buy pretty clothes ” Or any kind of income so you don't starve to death or sleep in the streets.

Marinette looked at the woman. Maybe she wanted to be nice “I do actually, I work as a seamstress in a boutique. It a pretty good job.”

Selena smiled as she took off her ponytail. “That's good. So what do you want me to do?”

“Can you make my hair pink?”

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@cyborgcandy @mikantsume @cyborgcandy @northernbluetongue @mystery-5-5@livpc @serina-leigh @tazanna-blythe @blue-peach14 @justarandomtumblerblog@fantasticfourintraining@indecisive-mess-named-me @xxmadamjinxx @ captainmac6 @luckysouleaglenerd@sidefrienda@mindfulmagics @komaedasnatched @adrienne7698@akira-daiyamondo-suta @raingirl0135@kittyotakunoir666 @a-cat-with-a-knife l@thebananathatwrites@howtoshuckatlife @dolph1nch1ca1@spicytacos @re-side-this @emocinamonroll@mystery-5-5 @spicybelladonna a @salladanne @mjisntme @lunar-wolf-warrior @tazanna-blythe

#daminette #damian wayne #maribat #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #batman #damien x marinette #LPMG

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stusbunker · 4 years

Text

What Lingers Within: Five

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini Series

Featuring: Past Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Written for @thisismysecrethappyplace

Amazing help & beta’ing from @itmighthavebeenintentional

Lovely aesthetic from @thoughtslikeaminefield

Word Count: 1972

A/N:There are some quick flashbacks and talk of rotting bodies, but nothing out of the normal of the show for warnings. Angst. Thanks for reading! xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

^*^*^*^*^

In a strictly “looking for a silver lining type way,” Sam was impressed with how Dean held in the road rage as they reached the city limits. He felt it too, the worry, the restlessness, the need to do something, anything. Dean drove, Sam thought; it was all they could do in the moment, however unsubstantial. Luckily, the natural progression of intense emotion defused overtime leaving logic and hunters’ patience on their side.

They spotted Michelle in her parked truck, right where she’d told them to meet her. Dean had to circle back twice before they found a spot big enough for the impala. They made do with only their handguns hidden on their backs, clocking their bustling surroundings on the way to the old pick up. Michelle dodged traffic and met them on the sidewalk, her shock dulled with exhaustion. Sam tried his best to reassure her before walking her back to wait in their car.

Ten yards before Sam reached his brother, Dean’s phone rang.

^*^*^

The first week had been a blur, being introduced to everyone repeatedly and suffering through hours of online training in your tiny bland cubicle. Your new job, essentially, was double checking other people’s work. “Quality Assurance Specialist’’ had been thrown around, but your title didn’t matter; it was entry level work.

You went home each day to your airy, quiet apartment alone. Hours spent reminding yourself that you had made the right choice moving and starting over. But there were moments when it felt like you were stuck, by moving you had acted on a hidden impulse to search for something. Something missing from your life.

Your nights were spent scrolling decorating boards cuddled on the couch in an old flannel that had started to wear in patches from burying your face in the soft fabric, searching for a scent that had long been washed away.

Mornings were easier, especially with a coffee shop just around the corner. Slowly you had built a routine, growing more comfortable with your surroundings and your coworkers.

Then came the afternoon Katelyn called you into your office, the day this all began when somehow you had put a chopping block over your own head and inadvertently, Chase’s.

You had been doing your job, she couldn’t fire you over the discrepancies you had bubbled up. But, whatever scheme she had been working was deemed more important than two people’s lives. The memory burned into the back of your mind as you listened to the call ring over the line.

“Agent Berkman.”

“Dean?” You croaked, his voice broke through your fighting mentality, bringing an instant vulnerability.

“Thank God! Where are you?”

“I don’t know! Katelyn got out on bail—the cops know you guys aren’t FBI!” Your mind jumped back, warning Dean before you could focus. His fake business card crumpled in your clenched fist.

“Is she there now? Are you someplace safe?” Dean coached.

“Um, I think I’m in a basement, it’s all cement and smells. This is Katelyn’s phone, I had to—,” you started to sputter.

“Hey! Listen to me! Is there a door? Can you get out?” Dean pressed.

You exhaled slowly. “I think so? I don’t know who dragged me here. I didn’t see them clearly before they knocked me out. I got fucking chlorofomed! I didn’t think people really did that.”

Dean grumbled, and you realized he must have been catching Sam up.

“Well, generally they don’t. I’m guessin’ Katelyn and her partner aren’t exactly experienced kidnappers.”

“That’s oddly reassuring.”

“You movin’ yet?”

“Oh, right. Don’t hang up.” Drawn out of your daze, your eyes focused onto corroded metal, your only exit.

“Honey, I wouldn’t dare,” Dean huffed out a chuckle. It made your cheeks burn as you wiped away the tears. You took another deep breath for courage and cranked open the heavy, old door.

*^*^*^

Her voice rang through the pre-dawn air, she was already giggling his name as he nuzzled against the back of her neck.

Dean was already hard, but the way her laughter broke off had him aching. Noises in any other context would be annoying were melodic, craved, sought out there. She was soft against his chest as he wedged a knee between her thighs. He rocked into the inviting cushion of her ass as they rolled, sheets twisting into an inescapable cocoon.

He took his time, sprinkling kisses over every inch of her back as they settled into place. With nowhere to go and no one that needed them, they indulged in each other. It had been a hard fought couple of months finding a new normal without Sam, but they’d done it together. This was just the dollop of whipped cream on their slice of pie. A perfectly lazy morning lay, something they’d done dozens of times before and Dean couldn’t imagine them ever stopping.

She whined with exhaustion and moaned with pleasure, a soundtrack he never knew he needed. He fell back asleep sometime after nine, and she lingered beneath him, playing with the hair at the scruff of his neck as he drooled in the crease below her bare breasts. Sticky and sloppy and stupidly content.

They went for brunch or ate in or any number of other silly weekend things regular couples did. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was the feelings never left Dean’s memories. They were folded in among the layers of her scent and the flash of her smile, the warmth of her voice and the shape of her body against his. Things time had faded but could never fully erase.

^*^*^

Dean and Sam beelined for the alleyway, retracing her steps until they ran into the trail they had followed to the vampire den less than a week prior. Dean switched his phone to his other hand as he held open the hatch for Sam to ease into the service tunnel. He prayed he wouldn’t lose service as he continued to talk her out of one room and into the labyrinth.

“Alright, are you being followed? Check again. Don’t stop watching your back, you hear me?” Dean huffed, his shoulder pinching his phone against his ear as he climbed down after Sam, leaving civilization behind.

“I am!” She was whispering all the sudden, which only made him more worried.

“Do you see anything? Any emergency lights or signs, pipes maybe?” Dean offered, crouching as he kept up with Sam’s hurried pace.

“Oh god,” she broke off.

“What is it?” Dean barked.

“I figured out what the smell is,” she coughed.

“Let me guess, bodies?” Dean jutted his chin to Sam.

“Who says that as your first guess?” She muttered the rhetorical question. “Wait, did you do this?”

“Maybe. Listen, whoever dragged you down there knew the vamps had been cleared out. Keep sharp.” Dean pushed against Sam’s back, speeding up as much as they could in the cramped space.

“I’m not going in there, I just spotted them through the hole in the wall.” She was adamant; Dean knew exactly the face she was making with that tone in her voice, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Alright, we’ll be there as soon as we can. Just, uh, keep talking,” Dean prompted.

“So, uh, is it weird that I’m hoping to see Michaelangelo or Donatello down here? Because I am getting some weird nostalgia vibes right now,” she wondered aloud, earning a solid guffaw from Dean, which got him a questioning grimace from Sam.

“If you see a man-sized rat, I wouldn’t stop and ask for any Kung Fu tips,” Dean mock warned.

“Master Splinter is more than a mere rat, dude,” she tisked.

“You see the new ones?” Dean kept her talking.

“With pretty boy Casey Jones? Or the cartoons?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Look, they could have been worse—,” Dean was cut off.

“Shit! Roy’s calling! What the fuck do I do?” She started to panic.

“It’s call waiting, just let it ring through, you’re fine. It’s going to be okay,” Dean tried to soothe her with only bullshit and a sliver of hope.

“What if it was him that drugged me, Dean? What if he’s looking for Katelyn and comes looking for me?” She continued to spiral and Dean felt like they were moving backwards. It hadn’t taken them this long to find the vamps the first time, had it?

Just when he was going to butt in and calm her down, the line went dead.

^*^*^

If Katelyn’s phone had grown hands and punched you in the face, you would have been less surprised; Roy’s face, in an altogether uncomfortable smirk, stared back at you from the blue tinged call screen. Somehow he had managed to interrupt your call to Dean.

There was no hiding that you weren’t Katelyn. You had no reason to answer her phone before, why would you now?

Too bad logic didn’t ease your worry.

You pushed End Call and shoved the phone in your back pocket. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you ducked into the hole with the decapitated vampires and hugged your knees. Any moment you could be discovered. You kept yourself quiet by reminding yourself that there was hope that Dean or Sam would find you before Roy could.

You buried your face in the grime and sweat on your clothes, trying to block out the stench of decay. You felt eight-years-old again, hiding in your grandmother’s closet waiting for the older cousins to find you. You remembered they had given up and started playing baseball without you. No one had come to find you until it was time to leave. Your dad said you had won Hide & Seek, but you knew what he wasn’t saying: you had been forgotten because you were unnecessary. A bother.

It wasn’t the last time you had been left behind.

Just when you decided to try and continue escaping, heavy footfalls echoed closer. You trembled in place, face hidden in your forearms while your eyes slammed closed in fear and childlike instinct.

“Where is she?!” Dean’s voice broke through the eerie quiet. “She said she was out here.”

“Here! I’m, I– I didn’t know where to go?” You crawled onto your knees and then climbed out through the gap in the wall.

You fell into Sam’s side, one pair of warm hands caught your waist and another righted your shoulders. Before your eyes could readjust to the light, you found yourself drowning in freckles and lashes.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Dean searched your cheeks and neck, wrists and feet for any sign of injury. His touch was hurried, but careful, like you could crumble at any moment.

“I’m fine, just a little woozy.” You mumbled, suddenly self-conscious of being the center of attention. “We really need to get going.”

“Did you see Roy?” Sam asked, gun out and eyes darting around.

“No, but he’s bound to track Katelyn’s phone eventually.” You held up the phone. Hastily, you wiped it off with your shirt best you could before dropping it to the mildewed floor and crushing it beneath your shoe.

“Why’d you do that? Why not just leave it for a false trail?” Sam cocked his head.

You shrugged. “I was hoping it would delay the inevitable. Katelyn’s dead. Or at least I think she is. I killed her.”

“You what?!” Dean and Sam gaped in unison.

“Look, can we keep moving? I need you guys, uh, to hold off on the questions, because I am not really sure how I feel about it yet.” You hoped your desperation was coming off as endearing, because you still needed their help. Sam was obviously befuddled, but Dean’s expression looked more like pride.

You pressed your luck. “Be my getaway driver?”

“I’m all yours,” Dean smirked and clicked his tongue, ushering you to follow Sam’s lead.

^*^*^

Series tags: @tiggytaylor @vicmc624 @kalesrebellion

General SPN tags: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @thoughtslikeaminefield @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @princessofthefandomrealm @wingedcatninja

^*^*^

Read On: Chapter Six

#what lingers within #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean angst #amnesia fic

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

About a boy (Part-11)

Word count: 2.8K

Warning: Suspense, feels, physical abuse, child-trafficking, kidnapping, child-violence, bullying.

Characters: Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Benny, Michael, OCs and… Sam?

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. A secret that could really land him in trouble. He never expected to connect with anyone when he walked into the ‘Blue Stone Orphanage for Boys,’ but even then, the walls he has put up are slowly coming down. Now, a series of strange events are threatening to expose him. When everything starts falling apart around him, will he still be able to save the one person that matters the most?

A/N: Okay, I really hope you all like this chapter! <3

Thanks to my lovelies @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and @deanssweetheart23 for beta reading this story <3

About a boy masterlist

“You know what would help? Lightsabers!” Will proclaimed.

Dean laughed and Cas gave Will an amused look.

“You guys think it’s funny, but we sneaked a Star Wars tape last year- you remember that, don’t you, Cas?- and those sabers could light up the whole place,” he reasoned.

“You know Lightsabers aren’t real,” Cas said patiently.

Will rolled his eyes at that. “Of course they aren’t real. I know that! But they must be using something similar during the filming. That’s what we need. We could light this whole place up. No need for dumb flashlights that give out in the middle of creepy staircases.”

Dean smiled indulgently. “That was one time.”

“And one time was enough,” Will said decidedly, his tone effectively dismissing the matter.

It sure had been a struggle, sneaking each night into the record room without letting anyone know. Even more, it was a task to smuggle and return Will from and back to the 4th floor. But if Dean was honest, Will kept them going. He had the sort of brightness and enthusiasm that never gave out… even on the dullest of nights.

It had taken Will a few days to come back to himself, but after that, Will was the driving force behind the ‘Sam search mission.’ In fact, he seemed too bright sometimes. Dean worried if somehow Will was overcompensating, thinking that it was his job to find Sam before he left with his adoptive parents at the end of the month. That was another thing- No one was to bring the adoption up. Dean wasn’t sure it was denial. It appeared more like Will was pushing it deep, deep down. His anxieties only surfaced sometimes in the dark when it was just him and Dean, with their backs to the grill. He would suddenly go quiet and Dean would just know.

“Found another!” Cas announced. “Matt Wilcox. It says he was transferred to Missouri, but no paperwork to prove it.”

“We have twenty-three now,” Dean said, grimly.

They hadn’t found many leads on Sam. Will had suggested that they go by the law of omissions. Eliminate those files that had no chance of being Sam’s. Like all kids who hadn’t been admitted around the age of 6 months, or whose physical descriptions were way off. It was time consuming, but it was still something. Meanwhile, Dean used the same idea to look into Stynes. In the past three weeks since Dean had actually started investigating the matter seriously, they had come across multiple instances of paperwork that wasn’t just shoddy but didn’t make any sense. Most of these were kids who had been abruptly displaced. Dean didn’t know if bad paperwork or a complete lack of follow-up would be good enough for Jody to make a case out of it, but if they found enough files, maybe some other link could be found.

It was serious work, and Will’s periodic complaints about the lack of good flashlights- which had become an essential commodity at this point- was the only entertainment.

Dean stashed his files away and checked his watch. It was just past 4 am.

“We should get back,” he suggested. “You don’t want to fall asleep in the class again, Cas.”

“It’s what the English Lit class is meant for,” said Cas, getting up anyway and stretching his arms. Beside him, Will nodded in agreement.

Dean smiled fondly at him.

Quietly, they made their way back to the left wing under the light of a single flashlight. It was little help, but too much light could attract attention. It was vexing to crossover from the barren left wing each night, but it was much better than risking being sighted.

Just as they landed on the fourth floor, a weird creaking noise came from the further left part.

“What the hell?” Dean scowled, pointing the flashlight. There was nothing there. Acting on an instinct, he shut the light off completely, gesturing with his hands for his other companions to stay put.

As if on point, a dark figure emerged at the very end of the corridor. Dean’s breath hitched; behind him, there were similar gasps of shock.

“Shhh…” he said, pushing them back into a deeper corner. The figure at the end was well-built and tall, and was looking straight at them in the darkness, as if suspecting their presence. After a few moments that stretched too long, the figure disappeared into the hallway ahead.

They stayed put like that afterwards for what seemed like ages just to make sure that they weren’t caught; then at Dean’s signal, took another flight of stairs and reached the 5th floor, opening the door and crossing over to the dorm side of the building.

Cas sagged against the rusted iron door, with his hand over his chest. “What. The. Hell was that?” he gasped, breathing heavily. Will was looking wide eyed, completely silently now, waiting for Dean to answer the question.

“I don’t know,” Dean finally said. “Whoever it was, wasn’t scared of being found, that’s for sure.”

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking?” Cas asked, brow sweaty and furrowed. Both Dean and Will nodded.

Neither of them said it out loud, but if whoever it was didn’t care about being spotted, it was because they thought they had the upper hand. Almost like… they owned the place.

The Stynes.

“Tomorrow,” Dean said. “We find out what the hell is happening there tomorrow.”

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

All through the day Dean couldn’t concentrate. It didn’t help that Cas kept falling asleep in every class. Maybe it was the complacency from staying in a place as dangerous as the bellstone orphanage for so long, but Cas was taking their impending adventure in stride. He was behaving ordinarily. In fact , he had even prayed like he usually did in the morning.

Cas’s calm energy gradually caught up with Dean and by the time they got back from school, his nervousness was almost ebbed. It was ticking in the back of his mind that Will and Barry hadn’t joined up with them after school as they usually did, but he didn’t pay much heed to it. Lately, the school was conducting weird psych analysis on Will to determine if he was all set for the adoption and subsequently the move to New York.

Dean couldn’t think about it without feeling a punch to his gut, so he pushed the thought out of his head.

“Hey,” Cas whispered as they reached the entrance of the boys home. “I’m going to go see if I can pick some more flashlights out of Garth’s supply closet. Meet you in the dorm room later?”

“Alright.”

They had put their heads together and deduced that there was no way Garth was involved in any of the stuff going around here. As Dean made his way to the shower room, he thought to himself that it may very well be possible that Garth was completely unaware. He lived down in the town, a good five miles away from the orphanage, and rode on his decrepit motorcycle every alternate day to do the essential maintenance or janitorial stuff that boys in the home couldn’t take care of. On occasions, he had stayed over late, but it was plausible that he didn’t know that there was something sinister going on here. Besides, anyone who had met Garth knew him to be absentminded. Good, but lost in his own tune.

Somehow the thought was uplifting for Dean. Not everyone in the staff was horrible. He hadn’t given the cook and the two henchmen like dudes that seemed to hang around with Andy the benefit of the doubt yet.

The shower did its work and Dean felt alert as he made his way back to the dorm room. As he reached the 5th floor main corridor, he saw Will.

Will was white. His forehead was clammy with sweat and his eyes were wide in horror.

Every thought abandoned Dean except for a nameless alarm over Will’s horror. Was he hurt?

Before Dean could utter another word, Will came barreling forward, almost tripping over his own shoes.

“Dean!” Will said, the name falling out of his lips like both a call for help and a prayer of relief.

“What happened?” Dean asked dreading the reply

Tears Swam in Will’s eyes. Tears of helplessness and fear. “They took him, Dean,” he sobbed. “They took Barry.”

With that, he collapsed on the floor, his knees completely giving out beneath him.

Dean rushed to him, falling on his own knees. “Barry?”

Will’s lips were quivering, but his voice was surprisingly strong. “I saw him at school in the morning, but he said he was feeling sick, so they let him go early. I-I just had a bad feeling about this so I skipped the class and came back here, but Barry was just gone.”

“Hey, maybe he’s just hanging around somewhere,” Dean tried to rationalise. “Maybe he went into town instead. It’s just 6 in the evening. You don’t know that he’s decided to play hooky and be somewhere else.”

“No-no,” Will shook his head. “Barry isn’t like that. You know him! I’m his only friend and he always sticks by me. Besides, I asked this other kid who had stayed back from school today, and he said Barry had definitely come back.”

“We need to ask Andy,” Dean said. “He’ll-...”

“I asked already!” Will cried. “He said Barry was transferred.”

Shit!

“I- I,” Will said, looking around wildly. “We need to go to the left wing. I know that’s where they are keeping him. They have to be!”

Dean didn’t think it was possible to be more horrified… but somehow he did.

“Will!” Dean shook his friend by the shoulders to get him to snap out of it. “Listen to me! We will find Barry. We will go there tonight and bring him back, okay?”

Will’s eyes stilled, the black pupils were so dark they overpowered the hazel around it.

“You promise?”

Dean cursed internally, but outside, he said, “I promise.”

So fast that Dean didn’t have time to react, Will flung his arms around Dean’s middle and hugged him hard. Dean’s own hand instinctively came to rest over Will’s head, his fingers weaving into the soft brown. He could feel Will’s sobs wracking his own body, the tears staining his shirt, but Dean held on, tightening his grip on the boy, as if by sheer willpower he could fix everything that was wrong.

A part of him did not want to let go. Something deep inside was just screaming at Dean to hold on to Will and make a run for it. Leave everything behind to just protect this kid. But there were lives at stake here. He could picture Barry’s crying face when that bully at school had raised his arm at him, then the absolute faithfulness with which he looked at Will.

Dean ran his hand over Will’s shoulders, over and over till his heaves subsided.

He moved back ever so lightly to look Will in his tear stained, anguished eyes. “You listen to me now, Will. Go back to your room and wait for us to signal you at night, okay?”

Will nodded,with implicit trust in his eyes and Dean wanted to kick himself for lying.

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

Dean sprinted all the way back from Will’s room, after having walked him down there, and skidded to a halt in his dorm room, almost banging into Benny. He let out a yelp of surprise at the intrusion but then gave Dean a brief, hesitant smile. Benny had been trying to be nice after his blow out almost a month ago. Sometimes Dean could see he was struggling to say the words, to make it okay, but hadn’t been able to.

Today, he actually tried. “Hey, Dean-,” he started to say but Dean cut it off quickly.

“Where’s Cas?”

“He’s not back yet.”

Dean turned around and kicked the foot of his bed. “Damn it!” he yelled.

“Dean!”

Behind him, Cas had just entered the room, slightly sweaty and breathless, two flashlights clutched to his chest.

“Barry-”

“I know!” Cas said, forehead crumpling. “A couple of kids were talking about it.”

Dean gave another frustrated yell.

“What? What happened?” Benny asked, vigilant now, all awkwardness gone.

Hurriedly, in a low voice, Dean repeated everything that had happened with Will. When he was done, both Cas’s and Benny’s faces were identical masks of horror.

“We have to go to the west wing, Dean!” Cas said decidedly, his voice grim.

“Yes,” Benny agreed.

Dean sank down on his bed with a thud. “You can’t come with us, Benny.”

“What? Why-” Benny started to protest but Dean cut him off. Again.

“You can’t come with us, because I want you here, standing by the door, making sure no one knows or follows us.”

“I don’t see the need,” Benny reasoned. “No one will be up at night.”

Dean exhaled, slowly. “We are not going to wait for nightfall. We’re doing it now, in an hour.”

“But Will? You just said that you promised him we’ll go after the lights go out...” Cas trailed off.

“This is because of Will,” Dean said through his teeth. “I lied to him. He’s just a kid. Sneaking into the record room at night is one thing, but dragging him into this? When even I don’t know what’s waiting there? I can’t do it. Better for him to be angry with me tomorrow than risk his life. Besides, he is in no shape to go anywhere. He’s scared out of his mind for Barry.”

Dean knew everything he was saying made sense, but the real reason behind lying to Will was that Dean knew he'd be himself paralysed with fear for Will, if he was to go anywhere near whatever crap was happening in the west wing. The mere thought of Will being in danger made Dean’s knees give out.

“In fact, Cas,” Dean said slowly, “I can’t ask you to risk your life for this either.”

“Oh, shut up, Dean!” Cas sais, exasperated. “How old do you think I am? 12? I can make my own decisions and I’m coming with you.”

Dean felt his body loosen slightly with relief. While thinking of Will in a dangerous situation filled him with dread, knowing that Cas was going to be with him, made him feel relieved. Friendship was unpredictable like that… you couldn’t guess how it would make you feel.

“Alright, then,” Dean said, “This is how we do it.”

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

It was as dark as it always was in the west wing, despite it being just over 7 o clock, and the lights in the compound still on. Both Dean and Cas had their flashlights throwing lights into the far end of the corridor as they made their way through the stinking, grimy passageway. Benny had deftly taken his place next to the door, without any hesitation. Dean had handed him the set of keys and decided on a certain knocking rhythm so he would know it was them when they returned and opened the door for them. The door opened easily from the outside, and unlike the long nights, today Dean didn’t have the luxury of trying all the keys in the dark till the right one fit.

With precise coordination that only came after weeks and weeks of sneaking around in dark decrepit places, Dean and Cas moved along the decaying wall towards the end of the corridor. From what Dean knew of the building footprint, having extensively inspected the form from the outside, the corridor should lead into something of a hallway. Even as they rounded the corner, a sense of foreboding gripped Dean. In all of their nightly excursions, they had never ventured this far into the west wing. The hallway opened up into another short corridor that swiftly made a left turn, blocking all view.

Dean quickly exchanged a look with Cas, confirming that they both agreed upon continuing further ahead. The swift left turn wasn’t in fact a turn, but a narrow, crooked staircase. What was more? There was light emanating from the bottom of the stairwell. It was dim and threatening, but there was definitely something going on there. With another cautious look, Dean started descending the staircase, now switching off the flashlight. Behind him, Cas did the same. Together they climbed down, clutching the wall for support.

The staircase led all the way down till what would be the first floor. The passageway ahead was lit with less wattage bulbs emitting a dull reddish light. It was menacing. The floor itself was like the dormitory wing he slept in. Rooms on one side, next to each other, all connected by a single, small passage. But unlike the dorm, the wall opposite the rooms didn’t have a line of windows; it was blank and solid.

Suddenly there was a banging noise. Without thinking, Dean dashed ahead, passing small rooms with grilled iron doors. His peripheral vision caught something and he came to a skittering halt.

One of the rooms was unlocked and the rusted, the metal door swaying off his hinges. Inside, hanging from the ceiling were long chains that ended in shackles. What was worse? There were dark splashes on the wall- dark brown in colour- of what suspiciously looked like blood.

Dean’s stomach turned and he looked away. If there had been anything in his stomach, it would have come out now.

“Is that… is that…” Cas was too disgusted to even complete the sentence.

The banging echoed again and Dean rushed towards the door it was coming from. That particular room was in darkness as the light within had been turned off. However, there was movement in the shadowed corner.

“Dean?”

The voice was muted and hopeless… but it was definitely Barry’s.

Dean banged against the door. “Barry! Oh thank God you’re okay.”

But he had said it too quickly. For Barry’s small figure dragged its way across the small room towards the door, and in the little light reflecting from the bulbs above, Dean could see the dark wetness of blood against his face. Barry’s spectacles weren’t on him, and his leg was twisted in a way that was anything but natural.

“My God,” Cas whispered, and fell against the grill, trying to shove his hand between the rod to get to him. “Barry!”

Barry broke down completely. His face was bloodied and bruised but the most horrifying thing was the hopelessness in Barry’s eyes. He had given up.

“Barry!” Dean reached out so the tips of his fingers touched Barry’s brown hair. “I’m gonna get you out of here.”

Barry just shook his head. “They’re coming for me, Dean. I heard them, the car is right outside,” he cried, in a dead voice. “You can’t help me.”

“I’m not giving up, Damn it!” Dean said fiercely. “I’m going to get out of here and inform the police. I have a pager stashed under my clothes. They’ll free you.”

They had to free him.

“Cas,” Dean said, “Stay here and raise a riot if you see any movement or hear anything, okay? I’m gonna head up and contact Jody.”

Cas’s chin jerked up in quick acknowledgement and he shuffled closer to the grill.

Dean turned to Barry, his eyes stinging at the corners. “You hold on, Barry. Cas is right here with you. I’ll be back in a moment.”

At long last, Barry nodded, a small light of hope in his pained eyes. With one last look, Dean bolted back towards the hallway, and up through the staircase. Nothing seemed real to him anymore. He banged three times as they had decided, and within seconds the door opened. Dean stumbled out and onto the floor.

Benny was next to him in a flash. Maybe it was the look on Dean’s face or Cas’s absence, but Benny stiffened.

“I- I need to get to the pager,” Dean heaved breathlessly.

Benny didn’t ask for an explanation or even what had happened. He moved quickly and helped Dean to his feet which were starting to feel like the bones were beginning to melt. Somehow, Dean managed to stand straight and reach his room. Once there, he hauled his duffel bag from under the bed and yanked the zipper, frantically digging into the base of the bag to find the rolled up wad of socks in which he had hid the pager.

Soon, his hand wrapped around the small plastic object and he pulled it free of the clothes. He hurriedly turned it on. It seemed like an eternity before the pager beeped to life and the small line blinked on. With shaking hands Dean typed-

EMERGENCY. COME NOW.

He hit send and the pager tumbled out of his shivering hands. It would take Jody at least an hour and a half to get here. And Barry had said that the car was already here to take him. Till then Dean had to do all he could stall them.

“Get a grip!” Benny said, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. His voice was gruff, but kind. Dean felt a welling gratefulness towards Benny.

“Benny,” Dean said, getting to his feet. “We have to hurry, but there is one more thing I have to do.”

“What?”

“Hide Will here!”

There was a sick feeling in his stomach that refused to go away, and it only multiplied whenever he thought of Will. “I’m going down to fetch him, and then we’ll lock him in our room. I know it sounds stupid but I just… I…”

“You don’t need to explain, brother,” Benny said. “I understand how you feel. I would have done the same for Jaime. I’ll go find Castiel in the west wing, you find Will.”

Dean quickly explained the location of Cas and Barry, and then Dean was running again. It was dinner time so he rushed to the dinning hall first, but in all the crowd, he couldn’t spot Will’s particular mop of brown hair. With rising alarm he looked in the library, the game room, even the godforsaken record room, but his friend wasn’t to be found anywhere. Finally, almost on the verge of nausea, Dean reached Will’s room. His sandy haired roommate was sitting on the bunk bed, shuffling through laundry clothes.

“Will?” Dean asked, throat parched. “Where’s Will?”

The kid gave Dean an odd look. “He’s not here,” he said. “Left with Andy a while ago.”

The blood in Dean’s veins seemed to go cold.

“Andy?”

“Yeah,” the kid shrugged. “Andy said his adoptive parents were here for him, for some urgent formality. That their car was waiting outside. Will wanted to say goodbye to you, but Andy said he could say it when he came back.”

The car was waiting outside.

Blood thundered in Dean’s ears, and without his mind directing, his body moved, taking him upstairs in a desperate numbness.

Outside, his body collided with Cas’s.

Castiel was crying. There was a thin stream of blood trickling down the side of his face, along his ear and neck.

“Barry is gone,” he said, voice completely hollow. “I was waiting there, but something hit me hard on the head and I clocked out. When I came to, Benny was standing over me and Barry w- was... gone.

From the grounds, there was a sharp sound of an engine revving, and all three of them turned to watch through the north windows as two cars drove away from the fence… their tail lights becoming pinpoints as they disappeared into the night.

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

A/N 2: Man, I am soooo sorry for the cliffy! If it helps, the next chapter is written. I’ll post it within the week!

Please do tell me what you thought of the chapter? I live for comments!

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#dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn au #weechesters au #aab 11 #anawrites #anawritesspn #Ana writes Dean #Ana writes aab #q

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spideytingle616 · 4 years

Text

Five Months [2]

Part 1 / Masterlist / Part 3

*based on the five stages of grief*

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female reader

Warnings: Angst, death, swearing, possible implications of anxiety, mentions/implications of sexual activity, blood/injury

Description: The first time you touch your soulmate, you’re able to see a glimpse into your future. What happens if your future is also your end?

Chapter Summary: Still best friends and nothing more, you learn this battle isn’t so easy after all. You hope Peter feels it too, but you also hope he doesn’t. At least you have Nationals to keep you busy.

Word Count: 7.7K lol whoops (bold and italics are thoughts)

Month Two, Anger: Love Isn’t a Decathlon Event

As the days of continuing your charade with Peter roll into the next couple of weeks and eventually the next month, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed at this game. The next half of the semester has started, and you couldn’t blame tests for the lull that continued to grow.

But the more irked you became, the bigger the guilt grew in the back of your head. How dare you feel like this, you thought. Putting yourself first seemed far too selfish, but you couldn’t exactly talk to Peter about this, especially when he’s avoiding you whenever possible. Not being able to talk about it was killing you, as if your confrontation at his apartment brought no closure.

As the weeks passed, and the fall breeze brushed through the trees, you’ve had time to think about the facts at hand. You and Peter were soulmates, and though the situation wasn’t ideal, it did confirm your feelings that preceded this chaos.

All the times you caught yourself staring at Peter meant something, and all the times you’d flash a dorky smile at his corny jokes were genuine signs of admiration. You were smitten since you met the boy, and part of you wants to kick yourself for brushing off these moments. Maybe everything could be different if you realized sooner, and your flashback could’ve been something nicer, or something that indicated a forever…

These thoughts have started to cloud your head far more than you would like as your brain was off in another world during class. Your grades aren’t slipping quite yet, but you know they eventually will if you continue to let this distraction get to you more than it already has. The only thing you can do is to simply accept the decision Peter made; it’s his life, after all. Unless miracles exist, you’re stuck being the heartbroken girl.

At this moment, however, you were also the exhausted girl. Today was fitness exam day in gym, and you were stuck on the sweaty mats, forced to do sit-ups for the next few minutes. MJ was your partner per usual, holding your feet to keep you steady. You didn’t really care about your numbers, so you took your time and talked to your friend instead. You were multitasking by watching Peter going up and down on the mat, only pretending to be struggling. Just earlier he got around fifteen sit-ups in the first ten seconds.

Damn spider-powers….

“Okay, so it’s been, what, a month since you and Peter figured out you were soulmates?” MJ asked as you came up. “And to clarify, you two are still just friends?”

You did another sit-up before responding. “Yep, same as when you asked the other day.” And the day before, and the day before…

“Well sorry, but it’s kinda confusing, isn’t it? You two are basically together all the time; you’re just adding boning to the equation.”

You prop your elbows on your knees, stopping to look at MJ with wild eyes.

“Seriously, MJ? You didn’t have to say it like that.” You scoff. “And besides, it’s more complicated than just adding ‘you know what’ to our friendship.”

She laughs at your innocent wording as you fall back down, ready for more dreadful sit-ups.

“You’re such a dork sometimes, which is exactly why you’re perfect for Peter. You even told me that you thought you had feelings for him before you found out. I wouldn’t be so worried about his crime-fighting, if he was going to get seriously hurt, he would’ve by now.”

What?

The coach blows the whistle, indicating for each pair to switch roles. MJ lets go of your feet and takes a seat in front of you. You both knew she wasn’t going to do the sit-ups, avoiding the physical activity most of the time by sitting on the bleachers reading.

“How did you-” You shakily begin, breath trying to steady after the work you’ve just been through.

“You’ve seen all the times he’s up and left? Weren’t you the least suspicious as to why? I mean, it was either Spider-Man or a male escort, so.”

“I’m glad you didn’t go with the latter, then. Ugh, did everyone piece this together before I did? Some best friend I am.” You sigh, rolling your eyes at your stupidity. Peter was never one to keep secrets that easily, yet this still passed your radar.

“I know everyone’s secrets, Y/N. You’re not a bad friend, everyone knows you and Peter are perfect for each other. Except for you, apparently?” MJ raises an eyebrow at you, going back to her original question.

“I mean, I’m still shocked about it, but Peter doesn’t want anything to change. He’s too busy to worry about all this soulmate bullcrap.” You try to excuse. Whether or not you liked the situation, you weren’t going to tell your friend the actual truth, not until Peter is okay with it.

Before MJ had a chance to argue with your comment, you hear a yell. Specifically, one near where Peter and Ned were. All heads snapped toward the source of the sound.

“Peter knows Spider-Man!” Ned says all too excitedly.

“Oh god,” you mumbled softly, squinting your eyes in disbelief. Peter was the same way, mouth agape at his friend’s words.

Fortunately, the claim didn’t expose anything. In fact, it earned the two an invitation to Liz’s party, which wasn’t as fortunate. Jealousy slowly started to creep onto your face as you shifted your stare between the two of them throughout class. Peter likes Liz, and Liz likes Spider-Man. Despite being soulmates, Peter seems to have the stars aligned with someone else. The rest of class somehow sucked even worse than normal.

As you walk with MJ to the locker room, you’re stopped by none other than Liz. How great, you thought. You try your best to keep a pleasant face, but your smile was too tight to be genuine.

“You probably heard earlier, but I was planning on having a party this weekend. I’d love for guys to come too if you want.” Liz invited, her smile as charming as ever.

The offer took you aback. The two of you weren’t very close, so you were surprised she really cared enough to acknowledge you.

“Are you sure, Liz? I mean, we’ve never really talked all that much.”

“Well consider this an opportunity to do just that. I invited the whole decathlon team so this could be a good way to bond before nationals. And besides, I already invited Peter, and you two are super close. It only made sense.”

“Well, we’re not like, that close or anything.” You fumble.

“Oh, come on, it’s totally obvious you guys were made for each other. I bet you two are soulmates and everything.”

R.I.P to Peter’s chances, even Liz thinks you’re meant to be. (Well, Peter never really had a chance with any non-soulmate, but a guy can dream). MJ turns to you and offers a cheeky smirk, waiting for you to reply to Liz. Awkwardness starts to seep into the conversation, much to your dismay.

“That is, a crazy idea. I-I don’t even know where to begin with that. Like, totally not true. At all. Nope. He’s my buddy.” Your mouth feels like it’s full of sand at this point. You wish you could muster up more than that pathetic excuse.

“Huh, I wonder who is then. He’s too cute to still be soulless, you know?”

Your eyes largen as the fake smile cramps your face. So, the attraction is mutual… great. A burning in your chest emerges out of anger. Life really couldn’t go your way lately.

“Yep, totally…” was all you could say. “I should go, you know, change and stuff, but thanks for the invite. I’ll try to come, and, stuff.”

You immediately turned around and headed straight toward the locker room, not even noticing Liz and MJs’ confused faces.

Due to your runoff, you were headed to your next class earlier than usual. As you turned the corner, you body checked into none other than your superhuman soulmate. You put your hands on his chest to prevent an embarrassing fall. Under his sweater and layers, you could still feel how hard his chest was, which wasn’t a surprise considering the view you saw not that long ago.

What felt like minutes, you finally came to your senses and quickly put your hands down and awkwardly crossed them.

“H-hey.” You stuttered.

The most conversation you’ve had lately was during class, and those were just questions about the lecture. You hated that you felt awkward with your best friend.

“Um, sorry. I wasn’t looking” Peter replied, feeling the tension as much as you did.

“No, you’re fine.” You reassured. “Hey, uh, sorry about Ned. That kid is such a blabbermouth sometimes.”

The boy sent an airy laugh. It’s been a long time since you heard him laugh, so even hearing a half-hearted one was enough to make you miss him even more. You could’ve sworn your eyes got misty at that moment.

“No, it’s cool. He knew I want to impress Liz and just went overboard.” Despite Ned knowing you two were soulmates, he still remained loyal to Peter’s wishes of pining over Liz; Talk about an ultimate wingman.

You didn’t dare to mention the fact that Liz called him cute, as you were too selfish to say anything. I have to deal with a soulmate that doesn’t even want me, let me have this.

“I need to print my English essay so I should get going. If you go to Liz’s party, you could maybe hang with Ned and me or something.” Peter offers.

The invite was a surprise considering the past month, but you wanted nothing more than to spend time with him again. Even if it was at a party hosted by his crush and with people you didn’t know, you gladly accepted.

——-

The car ride to Liz’s was awkward, to say the least. Peter was asking for some advice about parties and girls, to which May offered back some words to wisdom. You assumed that she didn’t know anything about you and her nephew, and obviously you weren’t going to be the one to tell her. The fact that Peter wouldn’t even tell his family gave your heart a dull ache. You’ve gotten over the initial pain for the most part, but instances like these still trigger your sensitivity.

When you got inside, all three of you were surprised at the place in front of you. You all knew that Liz had a house outside of New York, but you didn’t imagine it to be so big. Jealousy pangs you once again; Liz Allen just seems to have it all.

“Sup losers,” greeted an uninterested voice.

You all turned to see MJ at the kitchen table eating tortillas straight out of a bag.

“You actually came?” You asked puzzled. “Yeah, I thought you didn’t like parties,” Ned replied, adjusting his fedora. He insisted it made him look cooler.

“Maybe I’m not here and you’re just seeing things. Ever think about that?” Your friend replied, raising her eyebrows in fake revelation.

Both Peter and Ned turned to each other in confusion before looking back at the girl. You rolled your eyes; they never really got MJ’s jokes.

“Well, anyway, I need to talk to my friend here, but you two can go ahead without me.” You told the two boys before grabbing MJ’s wrist and taking her to another room you believe is the dining room.

“Jeez, and I thought I wanted to leave that situation more than you.” MJ joked, not bothering to fight your grip.

“I’m going freaking crazy, dude. Weeks of constant awkward conversation, I almost peed my pants because for some reason he invited me here and I was stupid enough to come.” You rant, eyes wild with absurdity.

“Oh, so now all of a sudden you care?”

You roll your eyes, slightly annoyed that your friend thinks this is a good time for jokes. However, she was right. Up until that point in gym, you were accepting of the fact that Peter wanted to keep a distance and stay friends, though the awkward attitude between you two wasn’t exactly “friendship”. But seeing that he actually intended to have a shot with Liz made you sick to your stomach.

“I just- I don’t get why. Why is he chasing a non-soulmate to begin with? I can be fine with staying friends, but what’s he doing?” Your eyes kept grazing the floor as you complained.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? It’s not like I have all the answers, though I do know what’s happening seventy percent of the time.”

You sigh, “He’s not going to answer-”

“He’s also not going to answer your questions if you never actually ask him. You clearly don’t like the relationship between you two, so talk to him about it. If he won’t listen, then make him.” MJ quipped, having tried to tell you this how many times. “I think both of you know deep down that you two are the best thing that could happen to each other. But clearly, there’s something else going on, which is why you need to talk to him instead. Figure out how to be together.”

All you can do is stare aimlessly at her. Your mind, like your heart, is going a hundred miles an hour. Perhaps her advice would be different if she knew, but this wasn’t the time to tell her. Not in a chaotic party with Flash chanting “Penis Parker” in the background. Not when Peter himself is an enigma to his soulmate. If you knew more, or knew what to do, then maybe MJ could offer more for both your sakes. But it’s not your secret to tell. Even if you’re transparent to MJ, it’s not your place to say something to ruin your best friend’s life, especially considering the fragility of it.

MJ widens her eyes and tilts her head to the side, motioning for you to go out and find Peter. You sigh, nodding your head. The quick conversation was over before you knew it. A part of you thinks she also just wanted to get rid of you, but you couldn’t blame her. You probably weren’t the only one angry and annoyed with the predicament at hand.

You go back to the kitchen where you left the two boys to fend for themselves. It probably wasn’t going too well considering you could still hear Flash’s nonstop teasing. You spotted Ned and his spunky fedora, but there was no one else with him.

“Weren’t there two of you?” You asked, trying to use sarcasm to mask any panic you may have felt.

Ned snaps out of his slight daze. “Well, Peter went to go, you know, change, so he can impress Liz, and prevent the future embarrassment of not actually knowing Spider-Man.”

“First of all, does he technically know him if he is him? Second of all, you caused all of this so you kinda screwed him over. And third of all, aren’t you supposed to be on my side too?” You asserted, slightly hurt.

The sensible side of you thought that there was no way that Peter would go through with this. All this for a girl that wasn’t even his soulmate? Just thinking about it made you more upset. You were also hurt by your raven-haired friend and his betrayal, but one step at a time you suppose.

“Well in my defense, I have no idea what’s happening, like ever. And Peter doesn’t seem to be doing so well lately, so I thought this might make him feel better. You know, bros before hoes. B-but you’re not a hoe, Y/N. It’s just that you’re a girl- not that all girls are hoes, guys can be hoes too-“

“I’m gonna stop you before this gets any worse,” You warned. “It’s whatever, I can forgive you for now cause you’re a good guy. Just, where is he? I really need to talk to him.”

Ned sighs, slightly guilty that about the plan he participated in. He points upward to the ceiling. The motion leaves you confused, but upon looking up and seeing the skylight in the middle of the roof, you understood. Where else would you find a spider?

A few room searches later, and a risky climb, you were able to get on the roof of the house. The possible twenty-foot fall was worth it when you were met with a familiar face and a red and blue suit to match.

“Kinda envy your powers right now, could’ve found you a lot sooner.” You said, a half-smirk appearing on your face.

Peter turns his head from where he’s sitting, offering a rather sad smile. He soon goes back and focuses on the mask in between his hands, fidgeting with the fabric. You start to feel a little awkward for intruding, but you knew you this was something you had to do. Brushing away any stiffness between you two, you shimmy closer to Peter and sit down next to him.

“Shouldn’t you be down there, doing I don’t know, spider stuff?” You observed.

“Spider stuff makes my amazing powers sound rather lame; don’t you think?” Peter mumbles, trying to make a joke.

“Well, I’m terribly sorry.” You chuckle. “Seriously though, how long have you been up here? Ned is looking like a lost puppy without you.”

Peter gives a small laugh at your comment. Your conversations always included some form of witty banter, and even in predicaments like these, it doesn’t seem to go away that easily. “Couldn’t do it, I guess. I was about to head back, but when I saw everyone downstairs, I don’t know, something changed.”

“Changed as in, you don’t know why you’re doing this?” You prod.

Peter nods once as if to say you were right, but doesn’t want to admit it just yet.

“I’m doing this to seem like someone else. But it’s not someone else, i-it’s still me, you know? I love Spider-Man and all, but going there as him seems…” He trails off, a loss for words.

“They wouldn’t look at you as Peter, just Spider-Man.”

Peter nods again, this time to agree with your theory.

“I understand, it wouldn’t feel like they’re genuinely impressed with you. But hey,” You bump his shoulder with yours. “You’re Spider-Man because of who you are, because of who Peter Parker is. You’re the one trying to make the world a better place. I mean, Spider-Man isn’t a real person, but Peter is, and it’s their loss if they aren’t impressed with someone as cool as you.”

The words sent a bright smile onto your friend’s face. It was actual, good advice: something that he wished Ned or anyone could’ve given him sooner.

“Could’ve told me that before I went through all the trouble of putting this on.” Peter joked, bringing you back into your old rhythm of conversation.

“Well, I’ll try to climb the window faster next time. But if I’m on the ground and not up here, you know why.” You quip back, causing Peter to laugh once again.

Everything started to feel familiar again, all it did was a little talking. You suppose the hostility between you two couldn’t be fully blamed on him. Maybe if you tried to talk to him like this more and showed that you cared, you’d be able to find a balance in your lives.

The thoughts caused you to space off, your stares stuck on Peter. He eventually notices when he turns to look at you. Now the two of you are looking at one another, neither one of you wanting to ruin the moment. A part of you wanted to lean in, even if it was just an inch. You would’ve followed your urge too, but you didn’t want to lose focus on your purpose.

“Hey listen Pete, the reason why I came up here-”

“Holy shit,” He interrupts, staring into the distance, mouth agape.

You scrunch your face. What the hell, dude?

Looking in the same direction as Peter, you see what he’s referring to. A single, bright light beamed in the distance. It was too blue and too unearthly to be natural, which caused both of you to worry.

The spiderling stands up before looking at you again, this time with a guilty face. You sigh, this is just like the first time. When he left you in the dust at your own apartment to go fight crime after just finding out about his identity. You knew he didn’t want to leave just as much as you, but there was nothing he could do. No one else can risk their lives to save the city.

“Guess I’ll see you later, then.” You answer his silence.

You stand up afterward and motion for him to go, but he doesn’t move from his spot. He wants to, but there’s something stopping you and you couldn’t quite pin it. Before you know it, Peter wraps you into a tight hug. You can’t remember a time that he’s ever done this (which makes sense considering you found out you were soulmates after years of friendship). Yet despite the confusion that enveloped your head, you bring your arms around him, squeezing back. You close your eyes, enjoying the moment of warmth brought between you two. Peter lets go, much to your dismay, and puts his mask on. He webs away, leaving you to a party you didn’t even want to go to.

Since that party, you haven’t seen much of your Spider-friend due to Decathlon's practice. Nationals were coming up, and Liz was really making sure everyone was prepared for the competition. Peter has continued to dedicate his life to fighting, even more so than usual. You figured he needed a distraction, like decathlon was to you, but you still missed him nonetheless. Flash isn’t doing too hot as Peter’s replacement, and it only makes you miss him more.

After another week or so, you and your team were headed to Washington D.C. for the awaited competition. Waiting for everyone to load their luggage onto the bus, you and MJ were quizzing each other when Peter runs toward the group, packed and all.

“The hell,” You mumble under your breath.

“Hey guys, yeah um, I was hoping I could rejoin the team,” Peter quickly asks, nervousness seeping into his words.

You don’t say anything, not only because you were at a loss of words, but also because Flash looks like he has steam coming out of his ears. “No freaking way, Parker. We don’t even need you.” Flash boasted.

The rest of the group looked at each other, all awkwardly sucking in the breaths and gritting their teeth. No one dared to say anything afterward.

”Actually, it would be great of you to join us again, Peter. Who else is going to answer all the chemistry questions?” Liz smiled.

You tried to suppress a gag. By the look on Peter’s face, you could tell he was flattered, which only made things worse for you. This was the one rom-com you hated.

Peter continues to receive warm welcomes from the rest of the team, and especially Mr. Harrington. However, you leaned against the bus and watched from the sidelines confused. He dropped so much for Spider-Man; he wouldn’t join back all of a sudden. You wonder what your friend’s hidden agenda was.

Once you started to load on the bus, you decided to join Peter in the back. As you approached the end of the aisle, you reminded yourself you were doing this because you were friends. Aside from the intense hug at the party that seemed like forever ago, you and Peter were never more than best friends. Any harbored feelings were kept under lock and key, and you know it’s for the best.

“Okay,” You start to say as you slump in your seat. “Why are you actually here?”

“Was it that obvious?” Peter timidly asks.

“To me at least. Seems weird that you’re not busy with spider stuff all of a sudden. Unless of course, you are doing said stuff?”

Peter sighs, checking around to see no one’s watching. Once doing so, he opens his backpack and his hand reappears with a violent-tinted object. Though it seems obvious to Peter what the object means, it doesn’t answer your question.

“Uh, you’re going to D.C. because of a rock?” You asked.

“What, no, it’s not a rock. It’s tech, alien tech.” He rambles, basically shoving the subject in your face.

“And you got this from…?”

“Well, some guy tried to vaporize me-”

“What!” You scream. You would’ve continued to yell but Peter tells you to quiet down.

“Hey relax, I’m fine.” He looks back up to make sure you didn’t grab anyone’s attention. “But after I left Liz’s party, I caught some weapons trade deal going on. Turns out, someone’s combining alien tech with human tech to get rich.”

“Okay well, clearly I have missed a lot in the last week.” You say. “So wait, where exactly does D.C. come into play?”

“Well I put a tracker on one of the guys and they’re heading toward Maryland for another deal or something; D.C. was the easiest way to get there,” Peter explained.

“This is getting a little complicated, does Iron Man or Tony Stark or whatever you call him know about this?”

You don’t mean to sound like a mother, but going all the way into another state seems too overwhelming for a teenage superhero.

“Well, no he doesn’t really trust me. But Ned’s my ‘guy-in-the-chair’ so I’m not doing this alone, and when I catch the guys behind this, Mr. Stark will know I’m capable.”

You stay silent for a little bit, processing your thoughts. You don’t want Peter to get into any danger, especially when you know about his future. However, you knew you couldn’t stop him. He was dedicated, and clearly, this guy was bad news. If he truly needed help, you knew you would be there.

“Well, I’m just glad to have you back. We’re bound to win now, no offense to Flash.” You joke, letting go of all your previous thoughts.

The rest of the bus ride is consisted of decathlon practice, sleeping, and laying on Peter’s shoulder. Friendly, of course. You were tired after all…

——-

“Flash is totally jealous. The kid reeks of ‘I’m compensating my rather sad life by pretending to be cool so fuck you, Peter’.”

“Harsh, MJ. What did he ever do to you?” You reply, starfish on the hotel bed.

“I’m not saying that as a negative, it just makes sense as to why he’s the way he is.” MJ defends.

You hear your phones ring, interrupting the conversation. Too lazy to grab yours from the nightstand, you wait for your friend to tell you what’s up.

“Liz says she wants the team to have a pool night before the big day. Quick bonding session apparently?”

“Ugh, what’s the point? What is a party gonna do for us?” You groan, face down on the mattress.

“She’s captain, after all, wouldn’t want to go against her orders, right?” MJ jokes. “It probably won’t even be that bad. We don’t even have to swim; we can just sit in the chairs.”

Ten minutes later you find yourself heading down the stairs, expensive candy bars in hand. You’ll never understand why the minifridge is always so pricey; MJ blames capitalism, but when doesn’t she?

As you approach another hallway before heading to the pool, you see Peter coming out of his room in regular normal clothes. Did he not get the memo? You slow down as you get closer to the boy.

“Didn’t know you swam with gym shorts, dude.” You say, eyeing his inappropriate attire.

“Y/N, h-hey.” Peter stutters, which confuses you even more.

You cross your arms in front of your chest, which in turn highlights your assets there. Peter couldn’t help but glance at where your arms were placed. Your swimsuit clung to your body nicely, making him take a small gulp. Much of your skin was exposed, and Peter wondered how many times he’s looked at your body without realizing it. If you didn’t reply, god knows how much longer he’d stare.

“Something tells me you’re not going to the pool with us.”

“Yeah no, there’s something else I gotta do. I’ll tell you in the morning though.” Peter coughs, coming back to his senses.

He can see your disappointment at his urgency to leave. You didn’t mean to take it personally, but it felt like he was ditching you again.

You also couldn’t help but worry once again. He’s keeping this secret from the Tony Stark, someone who he has looked up to since he was saved by him all those years ago. Maybe you could at least try to stop him? But before you got a chance to, Liz interrupts your conversation.

“C’mon guys, let’s get a move on.” Liz cheered. “Peter you’re not even dressed yet. You know, you better be going. You’re back on the team, after all.”

“Yeah totally, I’ll be there. Just need to grab something first.” He explained as a blush warmed his cheeks.

You wondered if this would be an inappropriate time to gag. Anger stiffened onto your face as you clenched your jaw. You try to keep cool; it’s ridiculous to be mad as such a basic conversation, even if it left Peter smitten.

By the time you found your chill, Liz joined the rest of the team and hurried to the pool, leaving you and Peter alone again. He was about to run off, but you grabbed his arm before he turned away from you completely.

“Peter, don’t you think this is all, I don’t know, a bit much?” You warned, not letting go of his wrist.

“Seriously, Y/N? You too?” Peter snapped as he moved his arm out of your grasp.

You were taken aback by the sudden annoyance. Didn’t he get how dangerous this was? Nonetheless, a part of you felt bad that he was feeling helicoptered by you.

“I just mean that if it’s serious maybe you can call Stark or one of the Avengers-“

“I get that most of the Avengers are twice as old as me, and I get that it’s risky that Mr. Stark doesn’t know about this. But goddammit, I went to Germany and stole Cap’s shield right in front of his freaking eyes; I’m strong enough to lift cars and I can swing onto the Empire State Building if I wanted to, which is on my bucket list thank you very much. Look, I can do this, but I can’t if everyone I love is trying to stop me. I may be a kid to Mr. Stark, but no kid can do what I can do.”

Your friend’s speech leaves you silent. You look at him: Peter’s eyes were wide and his mouth was closed tight. Part of you thought he was going to say more, that he wanted to say more, but he stayed silent as well.

Peter wanted to add that he knew he wouldn’t get majorly hurt in Maryland. After all, he’s going to be in New York when it happens. He quickly forgets the thought, tightening the grip on his backpack straps. He turns away from you for what he thinks is the last time. He was in a hurry, and plus he was too upset to stay.

“Can you at least be careful?” You yell across the hall. “Even if you’re mad at me, it’s the least you can do.”

Peter turns back around to face you.

“You aren’t gonna stop me?” He asks.

“Don’t think I can, which is why I’m asking you to be safe.” You reply, offering a small but genuine smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be careful,” Peter nods. “I’ll try to keep you posted more, maybe you, me, and Ned can be a team.”

“We’ll see, don’t want him to be kicked out of his unofficial job.” You joke, causing you both to laugh.

Peter then leaves you by yourself in the hallway as he heads into the night. By the time he’s on the rooftop of the hotel all dressed, he sees you and the decathlon team in the pool. You were still sitting in the chairs while the rest of the group were splashing each other. You laugh at the commotion before looking up. A certain hero caught your eye, and your smile stretched from ear to ear.

You mouth “good luck” to the boy on the roof. Peter laughs at the cheesy situation, but he’s grateful you have his back. His heart tightens at the gesture, something that he didn’t notice until he swung away and the feeling still lingered. A part of him thought that maybe, just maybe, you guys could stand a chance.

——-

Not good.

Very not good.

Not very good at all.

In conclusion: bad, bad, bad.

Peter’s thoughts left him in a feverish panic. Okay, so maybe the plan didn’t go as well he hoped. He knew there was something bound to go off the rails. He just didn’t think being locked in a warehouse until the morning was going to be one of them. Of course he had to pass out in a moving truck…

Minutes felt like hours as he walked around the large, deserted building. There wasn’t much he could do but throw webs and talk to his newfound A.I. Karen. Eventually, he gave up trying to find ways out. He’ll just have to leave in the morning and rush to the decathlon competition, another amazing consequence of his failed mission. Peter is even gladder he didn’t tell Mr. Stark, he couldn’t bear to stand the embarrassment.

Karen helped to calm the boy down, even prompted him to talk about his life. Soon, Peter found himself in a therapy session, more or less.

“I just don’t want to be seen as some small-town hero, you know. Helping old ladies across the street is cute and all, but I want missions. Like Avenger-level missions. The only people that seem to be okay with that are me and Y/N, which doesn’t help change Mr. Stark’s mind.”

“Y/N?” Karen asks, unfamiliar with the person in question.

“Wha- oh, yeah. She’s just a friend. Well, I mean she’s my soulmate but-“

“So you’re in love with Y/N,” Karen confirms.

“What no, no. I’m not in love with her. I’ve never looked at her as anything more than a friend. Plus, there’s Liz who’s this girl that I like.”

“Why do you like someone who’s not your soulmate?”

The question silences Peter for a second. It’s a question he never took the time to ponder as he’s tried to keep himself distracted. He avoided ever thinking about soulmates, but in a situation where he’s stuck for the next few hours, he doesn’t have anything to distract himself with.

“Well, Liz is nice to me. She seems interested in me too, and she hasn’t found her soulmate yet so there’s no harm. There’s no rulebook to follow.” Peter explains, almost sounding like he’s defending himself.

“Could you at least see yourself with Y/N?” Karen pushes, causing Peter to sigh.

“I mean, in a perfect world, yeah. She’s my best friend, we know each other so well. She always seems to know what I’m thinking, even if she doesn’t say anything. And she cares so much about others. It shows how beautiful she is inside and out, which is amazing to me. I was really worried she’d stop being my friend once she found out about Spider-Man, but she accepted it almost right away. It- it’s good to know that she always has my back. If things were different, maybe we’d be together. But Liz, she’s got it all too. She’s really cool and stuff. I mean, we haven’t talked all that much, but I know she’s great. Yeah, she- she’s great…” Peter trails off.

It was obvious to Karen, an A.I. that doesn’t even experience emotion, that Peter was blindsided with his quest for Liz. To chase someone he doesn’t really know was clearly a distraction from something, though Karen wasn’t exactly sure what. Comparing how he talked about the two girls would prove to any competent person that you were his soulmate, and one that he clearly liked.

Peter soon ended the conversation as he became more restless. He continued to search around to see if there was anything stored within the warehouse. Good thing too, because soon after Peter is begging for dear life to escape.

Well, this isn’t ideal.

Not very ideal at all.

This is very bad.

Bad, bad, bad.

You and your team’s glorious victory fades into a dream as you dangle from a broken elevator more than four hundred stories up.

The morning already left you in a panic as Peter was M.I.A. for the competition, angering many. You lost in the penultimate round due to the fact that your best chemistry guy was nowhere to be found. While the members were annoyed at his sudden disappearance, you couldn’t help but be worried sick throughout the whole morning. Half the questions passed your ears as they were too busy focusing on your rapid, thumping heartbeat. You were lucky MJ answered the final question that won you guys the championship; you didn’t even hear it. Soon everyone’s anger at a certain team member dissipated and turned into whooping cheers and congratulations. You hugged MJ and Ned, but you were left with your worries still unanswered.

Your celebration led you to nothing but the one and only Washington Monument. Sightseeing was always your favorite part of trips, but you had a feeling that would change after this. Of course the elevator had to get damaged when there were a dozen people inside it. You turned to your friend, a gnawing suspicion that he knew what just happened.

“Ned, sweetie. Did you bring that goddamn alien rock?” You mutter with gritted teeth.

“Yeah b-but, why does that have to do with anything?” Ned stutters with fear.

“Well, I don’t think my phone caused the elevator to hang by a freaking thread.” You quip, raising your eyebrows. “It’s whatever, we can’t do anything about it now.”

“You seem too calm about this situation, we could die at any moment, Y/N.”

“We’re not gonna die in here, Ned. Not me, at least.” You whisper the last part.

“You don’t know that,” Ned says.

Oh, but I do. I have to watch my fucking soulmate die before I die too.

“I have a hunch,” You snap, ending the conversation.

Soon you could see security guards above you, opening the doors that would’ve exposed the elevator. They tell you to climb out one at a time carefully as to not mess up the balance. Flash pushes everyone else out of the way, him and the decathlon trophy climbing out first. Figures…

You let everyone else get out first since you were the farthest from the hatch. You helped Betty, the last person before you, by giving her a leg up. But the push must’ve been too forceful for the now delicate elevator. You hear a snap, and the elevator plummets another five or so feet. The sudden jolt causes you to scream and grip the railing. Even if you don’t die here, you were still terrified. Dropping to a near-death doesn’t sound any better than dropping to your actual death.

“Hey, over here! I got you,” You hear a familiar voice call.

Through the hatch, you see Peter. Well, Peter in his Spider-Man suit. He was still Peter to you, though. Relief flows through your body.

“Just climb out and jump out,” He says.

You don’t move from your spot, and instead you give him a glare of disbelief. He cannot be serious right now. Perhaps free-falling isn’t as bad as you think…

“Trust me, I’ll catch you, okay? Do you trust me?” Peter pleads.

“Always,” You reply right away, and you mean it. You always trusted Peter, and this was no different. If he says he’ll catch you, he’ll catch you.

You take a deep breath and nod. You make your way out of the elevator slowly, ignoring the loud creaks. Both your arms and breath shaky, you stand up after getting through the open hatch. Looking up, you stare at the boy above you. Even though his face was covered, you could easily imagine how bright his brown eyes looked. You still saw his face through the mask.

“Okay, just jump with your arms up so I can catch you. You’ll be okay, Y/N.” Peter reassures you. You hope no one caught the fact he knew your name.

With your knees bent, you try to jump as high as you can. You close your eyes so tightly, half expecting yourself to be falling hundreds of feet down along with the elevator. When you open them, you see yourself dangling in the now empty space, webs wrapped around your wrists. Slowly Peter pulls you up to the top and you were soon met by the floor that you missed oh so much.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks as you stand up.

You throw your arms around him tightly, not wanting to let go. Though shocked, Peter hugs you back and you’re reminded of the time he hugged you at the party. You bury your face in his neck with glee. Not only were you relieved that you made it out, but you were mostly happy that Peter was safe too.

“Yeah, I’m just glad you are too.” You say, face still close to his.

“Uh, what?” You hear Flash say.

Shit, you forget the rest of the team was behind you, watching you hug a “stranger”. You doubt none of them would piece it together, but you surely didn’t want to risk it. Quickly opening your eyes back to reality, you let your arms go slack by your side.

“I uh, I- I said I’m glad I’m safe too. Yeah. Thank you, Spider-Man, you are indeed a real hero. This is definitely the first time I’ve seen you face to face. I mean, face to mask, cause I’ve totally never seen your face before.”

MJ was right; you were a terrible liar, but you didn’t realize it that bad. You were left cringing by what just happened. Luckily, despite the atrocious lie, no one thought anything of it. You were a girl in shock after a traumatic event, they didn’t expect you to be completely sane right away.

“Okay, well bye,” You abruptly say, trying to ignore what just happened.

Peter gets the memo, also not wanting to expose himself in front of his classmates. He says his goodbyes and awkwardly waves to everyone. He gives you one last look, eyes glassy under the mask. The whole time he saw you in the elevator he was terrified for you, he wasn’t even sure his plan would work. He was still queasy to his stomach afterward. But looking at you, all safe and mostly collected, made him smile. Perhaps he looked at you for longer than he should’ve before swinging out and away. You didn’t mind. You were giving him heart eyes back.

“Shit,” Flash mumbles. “I forgot to ask if he knows Peter!”

——-

No one seems to care too much that Peter randomly showed up once again. You assume it was because everyone was still a little shaken, and it was for the best that they didn’t say anything. Your eyes light up when you’re face to face with Peter, glad that you could see him without his hero persona.

You hug him for another time. The feeling of his chest becomes more familiar, and you’re shocked that you’ve never done this sooner. Maybe it’s because you haven’t been put into near-death experiences until recently, but you still enjoy these moments all the same.

“Peter!” A voice that you’ve been dreading called.

Liz jogs over to you guys and Peter quickly lets go of you. You purse your lips with slight envy. You didn’t think the hug would seem that compromising, plus you also missed the warmth of his body against yours.

“He- hey Liz,” Peter blushes.

“Where the heck did you go? I mean, I should be pissed cause you missed the competition, but I’m more worried. I haven’t seen you since last night.” Liz rambles.

You feel slightly awkward just standing there, but Liz was too concerned about Peter’s whereabouts to really talk to you. It’s understandable; you’re concerned too. Yet it still leaves a foul taste on your mouth.

Peter and Liz continue to talk, with Peter asking Liz if she was okay after the elevator fiasco and Liz still shaken by it all. Eventually, it leads to the two of them completely forgetting your existence and sitting next to each other on the bus. You were left by yourself, staring daggers at their seat as you sat in the back with MJ and Ned. He abandoned you and you couldn’t help but be a little mad. Okay, you were furious. This past month you thought you were making progress with the curly-haired boy. Even if you couldn’t be together, which you understood, you at least thought you could come to an agreement about your feelings. He’s still in Liz Land, and you were left feeling rejected. You had a right to be angry.

You wish you had powers so you could hear the conversation between the two. They looked too close and chummy for your liking, but there was nothing you could do. You wondered if Peter even looked at you as more than a friend, and your heart sinks as you realize maybe he doesn’t. You hated this routine you’ve put yourself through: having a moment with Peter that inevitably ends up being interrupted by Liz, and you being left upset afterward.

If this month has shown you anything, it’s that you liked Peter. You loved how much of a hero he was and how he always wanted the best for others. Even though he ditches you for Liz, you knew he’d have your back when you truly needed, like today with the elevator.

As the anger settled in your stomach, you came to the conclusion that you hated this reality, and that you couldn’t do anything about it. If this will save him, then it’s worth it. Maybe…

Part 1 / Masterlist / Part 3

----

Taglist:

@eridanuswave

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teenytinystorage · 4 years

Text

A Poolside Chat

Summary: A relaxing dip in the pool to add to his wonderful birthday soon turns into a surprising and gay-panic-festered chat between Roman and Logan.

Word Count: 1,804

Warnings: Multiple food mentions

Pairings: Logince

Happy birthday Roman! Enjoy the Logince, y’all :)

—

As he shut the Imagination’s door behind him, Roman let out a satisfied exhale and fell back, shifting the grasses below him into a pool and landing upon a circular dragon-witch floatie.

He then transformed his usual outfit into a pair of bright red, gold-embroidered swim trunks and a pair of yellow sport sunglasses.

The sun blazed above, but this being the Imagination, the heat was nowhere near oppressive. A cool breeze was only a hand-wave away, and so was a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade.

Peace enveloped him as he let himself drift upon the waters and reflect upon how his birthday had been going thus far.

He woke up to a birthday cupcake (red velvet, of course), and a burst of writer’s inspiration. Then Roman received his individual birth wishes from the other sides throughout the day, each giving him a gift.

They were all standard for each side: one Nightmare Before Christmas poster reluctantly given by Virgil (“No bugging me for any more posters after this, though.” “You got it, Sappy.”), a maroon pair of comfy floor-sticky socks from Patton, a free “no vibe checks for one day” pass from Remus, a pile of Thomas’s nostalgic Playbills from Janus, and a promise of a birthday cake later from Thomas (delivered, not homemade. Who knows how that’d turn out).

And now he sat at his very own pool, relaxing and drifting under the clear sky.

A lovely day indeed, but he soon found himself grappling with hurt as he realized who was missing from that gift list. Logan.

Roman hadn’t seen the nerd all day. No one even knew where he was, especially not Roman. He was looking forward to spending some time with Specs today. Seeing his clear, pristine face, hearing him ramble on about how uncanny having a cupcake for breakfast is, being near him, and maybe even getting to playfully elbow him to feel those cold, strong arms of his…

Roman felt a dopey grin line his cheeks, and although he hadn’t changed the temperature of the Imagination, some warmth coated his face and ears upon the thought.

But, alas, he hadn't seen Logan today. Roman decided that was, ultimately, okay. It meant fewer times for him to embarrass himself, after all.

He took another breath in of the air, coconut and citrus-scented, and dipped his hands into the water-- a door near him creaked open.

Roman didn’t mind it at first. Probably a side giving him a reminder of spaghetti dinner tonight, his favorite meal, or just to check on him.

It was only when the figure’s silhouette entered his shades’ vision did he feel the warmth from before burning him.

“Roman? Are you in here?” Logan called, wringing his hands as he strolled through the Imagination.

Roman secretly wished for his dragon-witch floatie to devour him in its plastic casing. It, sadly, didn’t. But his sunglasses vanished from his face. So that was something.

“Down here!” Roman waved, minimizing the lovesick smile he felt bubbling inside into a cheerful grin.

Logan’s gaze drifted down to him as he approached the outskirts of the pool.

Roman waved again, chuckling. One tick onto his “how many times can this lovesick dope humiliate himself today” list.

Logan crouched down next to the pool, his tie dangling down and nearly dipping into the water. “Greetings, Roman.”

“Hi!” Roman said with enthusiasm. He tried and failed to hide how overjoyed he was.

“It appears my daily attire is unfit for this setting, hm?” Logan noted, standing back up. “Here.”

He swiped his hair up with his hand and shifted from his usual polo and slacks to a pair of black swim shorts.

“There we go. Normally I’d wear a swim shirt as well, but since this is the Imagination, I can’t imagine that I’d be getting any sunburns.”

“I can’t imagine so either,” Roman agreed, forcing his drifting eyes to look back up into Logan’s rather than staring at his bare chest.

Gosh, did he have it bad.

Logan crouched down again and submerged his feet into the water, kicking them back and forth against the pool wall. “So Roman, how has your birthday been going so far?”

“Uh, good,” Roman nodded, leaning on his elbows atop his floatie. “Just the usual birthday routine, y’know? Gifts, desserts, fun, all that-- fun stuff.”

He barely avoided slapping himself.

“I’m quite glad to hear that,” Logan added, his hands moving behind his back. “You deserve to be having a good birthday today.”

“Oh, well, that means a lot, Specs. Thank you!”

“Of course,” Logan bit his bottom lip, glancing away.

Roman let out an awkward chuckle before taking notice of Logan’s hidden hands. He paddled himself over to the wall and floated a few inches in front of Logan. “Whatcha got behind your back there?”

“Ah, it’s…” Logan stopped. He took in a breath.

Roman leaned over, trying to sneak a peek. He couldn’t see what it was, though, so it couldn’t be anything big. “It’s?”

Logan ran one of his hands through his hair and took in another shaky breath. “A gift. For you.” He hesitated, closing an eye, before shoving out his hand and revealing the gift.

It was a red rose, roots still intact.

Logan flinched, looking back at Roman.

Roman dumbly stared at it. “A rose, hm? It’s quite pretty.”

“Yes. A red one, at that. Red. A symbolic color. Happy birthday,” Logan rambled, his arm pulling back a tad.

Roman paddled himself closer, somehow planning on accepting the rose and putting it… where? How would he even get it without falling off the floatie? He didn’t think it through at all, just like anything he did around Logan.

“Did I do this wrong?” Logan asked, curious. “I thought a single red rose signified romantic feelings between people.” He inspected the flower down-up, staring at its roots. “Is it the roots that threw you off? I had a sneaking suspicion that the roots were unnecessary, but I couldn't be sure.”

“Roh… romantic feelings?” Roman stammered, gaping at Logan.

“Yes. That’s right, isn’t it? The internet isn’t always a reliable source, however…” he reasoned, “I spent all day making sure this flower would imply the correct meanings… and maybe also just milling about nervously.”

If he felt warm before, Roman was smoldering now. Like all his cells were replaced with stoked coals. He was probably as red as his swim trunks, too.

“I… I…” Roman tried to sit up from his floatie, still barely comprehending the confession just spoken to him.

But his arm slipped, and he squeaked as his floatie tipped off-balance and caused him to plummet into the pool.

“Roman!” he heard Logan call before he met his aquatic fate.

The cool waters rushed over his burning skin, and he was quite thankful for that. But he found a chilly grip resting on his hand, and soon, another splash met the water.

His blurred vision faintly recognized Logan’s flushed, clear figure ahead of him. Logan’s hair floated above his head in a flowing tuft, and his eyes were shut behind his soaked glasses.

Roman was swimming with a real-life Poseidon.

He would’ve stayed to enjoy the view, but his eyes started to burn and his lungs were pleading for air. Roman breached the surface, bobbing on the water and taking in a long breath of air.

Logan rose out right after, a small coughing fit following.

“You okay?” Roman frowned.

Logan nodded, removing his glasses and taking in a breath as he waded in the waters.

Roman then realized Logan was one of those rarities who looked hot even without their glasses. Unfair! his mind cried as his body warmed once more.

“So, you like me?” Roman said, “Like, you like like me? For realsies?”

Logan nodded, “I do. Like like, you. Or love you, in clearer terms. Or am utterly and illogically infatuated with you, in my own terms.” He glanced over to the rose that lounged alone where he sat before.

Roman grinned like the lovesick fool he was.

“Well,” Roman turned, scratching his neck and looking at Logan through his eyelashes. “I like you too.”

Logan looked back at Roman, holding his glasses in his hands. His calloused, cynical expression softened into a calm, admiring one.

Before Roman could stop himself, he swam to Logan and gave him a peck on his exposed widow’s peak.

He then cupped Logan’s cheek and smiled wider. “I hope that suffices as a worthy reply to your rose.”

Logan glanced down, a small smile quirking his lips as he flipped his hair back-- then Roman could barely react to the new feeling of Logan’s lips on his.

The edges of Roman’s smile curled up before he melted into the moment, Logan’s tangy softness taking over all his senses. He released Logan's cheek and wrapped his arms around Logan’s shoulders to pull him closer. Logan followed, wrapping his arms around Roman's waist.

The kiss ended what seemed like years after as Logan pulled away, his eyes fluttering in that pleasing way only kisses could spur on.

Roman, despite still being above the water, wanted to submerge himself inside this moment forever.

“Hey there, kiddos,” a voice dripping with uncomfort echoed. “Uh, bad time for a five-minute supper warning, huh?”

Logan and Roman yelped at the interruption, separating and turning to face the awkwardly grinning Patton standing at the foot of the pool.

“Thank you for the warning, Pat!” Roman took all his remaining energy to act as normal as possible while still being drunk from the kiss. “We’ll be there soon.”

Patton nodded and quickly dismissed himself, sinking out.

Roman turned to Logan and broke out in laughter.

Logan joined in, and soon, both of them couldn’t stop laughing as they bobbed in the water.

Roman then lifted himself up onto the pool’s wall and sat on its tiles, spilling water everywhere around him. He raised his hand out to Logan and beamed.

“You coming, nerd?”

Logan put his glasses back on before he grabbed onto Roman’s hand.

“Sure am, prep.”

Roman tugged Logan out of the water and watched as Logan sat next to him, grasping the rose and offering it to him once more.

“I now accept your rose,” Roman cooed, taking it from Logan and taking a brief whiff before sending it off to his room.

Logan then summoned two towels, brandished with their respective logos, to dry off with. They both wrapped the towels across their shoulders and stood to make their way to dinner.

But before they left, Roman gave Logan a small smooch on the lips and grasped onto his hand again.

Logan’s lips turned upward with his own foolish, lovesick smile.

Two sugary desserts, a takeout spaghetti dinner, five gifts, a boyfriend, and three kisses? Roman tallied.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

—

#roman blowing out his breakfast cupcake’s candle: please... i want my Nerdy Boyfriend so bad #logan showing up at the pool later: so i heard you chose same-day shipping for that?#nsndhdhbd #happy birthday to roman!!#aaa this fic went through like... 3 drafts!!#hopefully third’s the charm and yall enjoy this :D #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #logince #romantic logince #food mention tw #patton mention #virgil mention #janus mention #remus mention #(not for triggers!! just bc they show up for a lil and i wouldnt wanna clog the patton tag w/ logince. yknow?)

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thelittlesttimelord · 4 years

Text

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 15

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 15 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 15/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

[A/N - First chapter of “Flesh and Stone”. I love writing mummy River.]

“Up. Look up”, the Doctor told them.

Elise pulled her head from River’s neck and looked up. Her mouth dropped open as everyone stumbled to their feet.

“Are you okay?” River asked Amy.

“What happened?” “We jumped”.

“Jumped where?”

“Up. Up. Look up”, the Doctor repeated.

“Where are we?” Amy asked.

“Exactly where we were”, River told her.

“No we're not”.

“Move your feet”, the Doctor told her.

Amy moved and he knelt down to sonic a circular hatch. “Doctor, what am I looking at? Explain”.

“Oh, come on, Amy, think. The ship crashed with the power still on, yeah? So what else is still on? The artificial gravity. One good jump, and up we fell. Shot out the grav globe to give us an updraft, and here we are”.

“Doctor, the statues. They look more like Angels now”, Octavian told him.

“They're feeding on the radiation from the wreckage, draining all the power from the ship, restoring themselves. Within an hour, they'll be an army”.

The hatch opened as one of the lights surrounding the hatch exploded.

“They're taking out the lights. Look at them. Look at the Angels. Into the ship, now. Quickly, all of you”, the Doctor ordered.

“How?” Amy asked.

The Doctor jumped through the hatch into the ship.

“Doctor!”

The Doctor appeared to be standing in a vertical corridor. “It's just a corridor. The gravity orientates to the floor. Now, in here, all of you. Don't take your eyes off the Angels. Move, move, move. River! Pass Elise through first”.

River lowered the small Timelord into her father’s hands.

“Hello there”, he said, kissing her cheek. He lowered her into the harness again as the group dropped down into the corridor. The Doctor rushed over to a control panel and pulled out his sonic screwdriver to start working on it.

“The Angels. Presumably they can jump up too?” Octavian asked.

The hatch closed.

“They're here, now”, the Doctor told him, “In the dark, we're finished”.

A door on the other side of them started to close.

“Run!” the Doctor yelled.

“This whole place is a death trap”, Octavian said as the door closed.

“No, it's a time bomb. Well, it's a death trap and a time bomb. And now it's a dead end. Nobody panic. Oh, just me then. What's through here?”

“Secondary flight deck”, River told him.

“Okay. So we've basically run up the inside of a chimney, yeah? So what if the gravity fails?” Amy asked.

“I've thought about that”, the Doctor said.

“And?”

“And we'll all plunge to our deaths. See? I've thought about it. The security protocols are still live. There's no way to override them. It's impossible”.

River was working on a control panel. “How impossible?” she asked.

“Two minutes”.

The hatch they came in through opened.

“The hull is breached and the power's failing”, Octavian said.

River groaned. She really wished Elise was older so she could help out. The lights went out for a second and the angels started crawling into the corridor.

The Doctor read River’s mind and started helping her with the control panel.

“Sir, incoming”, a cleric said.

“Doctor? Lights”, Amy told him.

As the lights continued to flicker, the angels got closer to them.

“Clerics, keep watching them”, Octavian ordered.

“And don't look at their eyes. Anywhere else. Not the eyes”, the Doctor added, “I've isolated the lighting grid. They can't drain the power now”.

“Good work, Doctor”.

“Yes. Good, good, good. Good in many ways. Good you like it so far”.

“So far?” Amy asked.

The Doctor opened up the control panel. “Well, there's only one way to open this door. I guess I'll need to route all the power in this section through the door control”.

“Good. Fine. Do it”, Octavian told him.

“Including the lights. All of them. I'll need to turn out the lights”.

“How long for?”

“Fraction of a second. Maybe longer. Maybe quite a bit longer”.

“Maybe?”

“I'm guessing. We're being attacked by statues in a crashed ship. There isn't a manual for this!”

“Doctor, we lost the torches. We'll be in total darkness”, Amy mentioned.

“No other way”, he told her, “Bishop”.

Father Octavian turned to River. “Doctor Song, I've lost good Clerics today. You trust this man?”

River nodded. “I absolutely trust him”.

“He's not some kind of madman, then?”

“I absolutely trust him”.

The Doctor patted River’s shoulder in thanks. “Excuse me”.

Elise watched as Father Octavian had a quiet conversation with River before he said, “Okay, Doctor. We've got your back”.

“Bless you. Bishop”.

“Combat distance, ten feet. As soon as the lights go down, continuous fire. Full spread over the hostiles. Do not stop firing while the lights are out. Shot gun protocol. We don't have bullets to waste”.

“Amy, when the lights go down, the wheel should release. Spin it clockwise four turns”.

Amy nodded and said, “Ten”.

“No, four. Four turns”, the Doctor corrected her.

“Yeah, four. I heard you”.

The Doctor walked over to the control panel. “Ready!” He stuck his sonic screwdriver into it and pressed the button. “Elise, the lights are going to go out and they’re going to shoot the angels. Okay?” He felt Elise nod against his back as her small arms wrapped around his neck.

“On my count, then”, Father Octavian ordered, “God be with us all. Three, two, one, fire!”

The lights went out and the clerics opened fire on the approaching statues.

“Turn!” the Doctor yelled to Amy.

“Doctor, it's opening. It's working”.

The door opened just far enough for Amy and River to squeeze through.

“Fall back!” the Doctor yelled at the clerics.

One by one they ran through the door.

The Doctor and Elise were the last ones through before it closed again. The Doctor ran to a control panel and opened another door that led to the secondary flight deck.

“Doctor, quickly”, River told him.

“Doctor!” Amy yelled.

The Doctor squeezed through, barely able to make it with Elise on his back.

The Angels started banging on the door as the wheel slowly started turning.

“Doctor!” Amy said as he ran to the controls.

Father Octavian placed a device on the door and pressed a button. T

he wheel stopped turning.

“What are you doing?” Amy asked him.

“Magnetized the door. Nothing could turn that wheel now”.

“Yeah?” the Doctor challenged.

The wheel slowly started turning again.

“Dear God!” Octavian gasped.

“Ah, now you're getting it. You've bought us time though. That's good. I am good with time”, the Doctor told him.

“Doctor”, Amy said, pointing to another door where the wheel was turning.

“Seal that door. Seal it now”, Octavian ordered.

A cleric ran over and did the same as Father Octavian.

“We're surrounded”, River said as another wheel started to turn. “

Seal it. Seal that door. Doctor, how long have we got?” Octavian asked.

“Five minutes, max”.

“Nine”, Amy said.

“Five”, the Doctor corrected her again.

“Five. Right. Yeah”.

“Why'd you say nine?”

“I didn't”.

“We need another way out of here”, River said.

“There isn't one”, Octavian told her.

“Yeah, there is. Course there is. This is a galaxy class ship. Goes for years between planet falls. So, what do they need?” the Doctor asked.

Even Elise knew the answer to that question.

“Of course”, River said.

“Of course what? What do they need?” Amy asked, not understanding.

“Can we get in there?” Octavian asked him.

“Well, it's a sealed unit, but they must have installed it somehow. This whole wall should slide up. There's clamps. Release the clamps”, the Doctor said. He knelt down and soniced them.

“What's through there? What do they need?” Amy asked.

“They need to breathe”, River told her.

Elise’s mouth dropped open as the wall slide up to reveal a vast forest.

“But that's…That's a…” Amy stuttered.

“It's an oxygen factory”, River said.

“It's a forest”.

“Yeah, it's a forest. It's an oxygen factory”.

“And if we're lucky, an escape route”, the Doctor told them.

Amy laughed. “Eight”.

“What did you say?” River asked her.

“Nothing”.

At this point, the Doctor, Elise, and River realized that something was very wrong with Amy.

“Is there another exit?” the Doctor asked, “Scan the architecture, we don't have time to get lost in there”.

Octavian ran into the forest. “On it. Stay where you are until I've checked the Rad levels”.

“But trees, on a space ship?” Amy asked.

The Doctor entered the forest. “Oh, more than trees. Way better than trees. You're going to love this. Treeborgs. Trees plus technology”. He pulled on a section of bark, exposing wires and fiber optics. “Branches become cables become sensors on the hull. A forest sucking in starlight, breathing out air. It even rains. There's a whole mini-climate. This vault is an ecopod running right through the heart of the ship. A forest in a bottle on a spaceship in a maze. Have I impressed you yet, Amy Pond?”

Amy giggled before saying, “Seven”.

“Seven?” the Doctor asked her. He came closer to her to look in her eyes, trying to pinpoint what was wrong with her.

“Sorry, what?”

“You said seven”.

“No. I didn't.”

“Yes. You did”, River told her.

“Doctor, there's an exit, far end of the ship, into the Primary Flight Deck”, Octavian said.

“Oh, good. That's where we need to go”.

“Plotting a safe path now”.

“Quick as you like”.

The communicator the Doctor was carrying came to life again.

“Doctor? Excuse me? Hello, Doctor? Angel Bob here, sir”.

The Doctor pulled it out and went to sit in the chair after pulling Elise out of the harness and setting her on the ground. “Ah. There you are, Angel Bob. How's life? Sorry, bad subject”.

“The Angels are wondering what you hope to achieve”.

“Achieve? We're not achieving anything. We're just hanging. It's nice in here. Consoles, comfy chairs, a forest. How's things with you?”

“The Angels are feasting, sir. Soon we will be able to absorb enough power to consume this vessel, this world. And all the stars and worlds beyond”.

“Well, we've got comfy chairs. Did I mention?”

“We have no need of comfy chairs”.

“I made him say comfy chairs”.

Amy giggled. “Six”.

The Doctor stood up. “Okay, Bob, enough chat. Here's what I want to know. What have you done to Amy?”

“There is something in her eye”.

“What's in her eye?”

“We are”.

The Doctor looked into Amy’s eyes again.

“What's he talking about? Doctor, I'm five”, she told him, “I mean, five. Fine! I'm fine”.

“You're counting”, River said.

“Counting?”

“You're counting down from ten. You have been for a couple of minutes”, the Doctor informed her.

“Why?”

“I don't know”.

“Well, counting down to what?”

“I don't know”.

Angel Bob came back over the communicator. “We shall take her. We shall take all of you. We shall have dominion over all time and space”.

The Doctor sat down in the chair again. “Get a life, Bob. Oops, sorry again. There's power on this ship, but nowhere near that much”.

“With respect, sir, there's more power on this ship than you yet understand”.

There was a loud screeching sound.

Elise ran to River and wrapped her arms around the woman’s legs. River picked her up and held Elise to her chest as she asked, “What's that? Dear God, what is it?”

“They're back”, Octavian said.

“It's hard to put in your terms, Doctor Song, but as best I understand it, the Angels are laughing”, Angel Bob told them.

“Laughing?” the Doctor asked.

“Because you haven't noticed yet, sir. The Doctor in the TARDIS hasn't noticed”.

The way Angel Bob was taunting him reminded Elise of Prisoner Zero in the hospital. She turned her head and her eyes went wide as she stared at the crack in the wall.

“Doctor…” Octavian said.

“No. Wait. There's something I've missed”, the Doctor told him. He turned around and saw the crack.

Oh this was very not good.

#eleventh doctor fanfiction #eleventh doctor imagine #eleventh doctor #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #amy pond #amy pond imagine #river song #river song imagine

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nazario-sayeed · 5 years

Text

Grey area (Sonia x F!MC)

Author's note: I've had part of this fic written for weeks but I just couldn't finish it; I was experiencing some serious writers block. But last night I got inspired and somehow manage to write all of it. I'm Brazilian who lives in Rio and I wanted to use that in my fic. My MC's name is Agatha. English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Summary: One year after the heist, Sonia wonders where Agatha is, and whether they'll meet again (WC: around 2,100).

Rating: pretty sure it's PG-13 (kissing, sexual tension but very light)

tag list: @nazariortega @duchess-ash-flame @lahelalove @poeticscolt @donutsgirl36 @queenkaneko @msjpuddleduck@quinnskelly @flyawayboo @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard@jlpplays1 @desiree-0816 @sibella-plays-choices @mfackenthal @unwrittennovel @shreya-mackenzie @emomoustache (I'm using my general tag list from my Nik and Jaime fics, feel free to ignore me and/or let me know if I got anyone wrong)

Sonia was sitting on her usual table, at her usual bakery, having her usual breakfast. Nothing about the present day seemed anything other than ordinary. But as she put down her coffee mug, something caught her eye on the tiny tv screen against the wall, a picture she knew all too well by now: the empty case of the crown jewels of Monaco. She didn't even need to check the calendar to realize what day it was. It's been one year.

It’s been one year since Agatha and her crew successfully stole the crown jewels of Monaco, which went down on newspapers all over the world as the greatest heist in history: no traces left behind, and none of the crew members had been located yet. All of this was being said on the morning news, and Sonia smiled despite of herself as she started to reminisce about her last encounter with the criminal who completely changed the way she viewed the world.

After the night they spent together in Vegas, Sonia hadn’t seen or heard from Agatha, but that didn't mean she hadn't been thinking about the blonde thief; she still couldn’t believe she had fallen for a career criminal. How clichê was that? Her feelings for Agatha were part of the reason she hadn't gone back to work- she was too biased to be useful.

Sonia used to think it was so simple. In her head, there used to be the side of the law and the mischievous side. Everything used to be black or white, right or wrong. But as the law favored people like Ansel, and Agatha was one of the “bad guys”, how could she ignore the grey area?

After the security fiasco at Carlisle’s wedding, Sonia decided to take some time off from work. Her head wasn’t in it anymore; she didn’t feel like she could be a part of justice when she didn’t even know who the true bad guys were. As the reporter on TV talked about the heist, Sonia couldn't help but think about Agatha; her lips, her blonde hair, her green eyes, her stunning body… A warm feeling that had nothing to do with the hot coffee spread across her body at the memory, and she let herself wonder where the now multimillionaire thief might be. Sonia hated to admit how often Agatha crossed her mind, and how much she wished she could see her again.

When she got back to her apartment, still thinking about Agatha and absently smiling, Sonia noticed something inside her mailbox, something that wasn't there before. She picked it up and frowned in confusion. "A postcard? Who would send me a postcard?", she thought to herself.

It featured a picture of the famous black and white sidewalk design from Copacabana Beach- a couple of miles away from Sonia's apartment in Laranjeiras. At first, it seemed like there was nothing written on it. No date, no name, no address. But as she looked closer, Sonia noticed there was actually something: a tiny note on the corner saying "2 pm".

She glanced around but there was no one on the street, no one who could possibly know who sent this. She decided to just go up to her apartment and take a closer look at it, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. As she stared at it, eyebrows furrowed, something clicked inside her mind: "Wait, 2pm? People in Brazil don't write time like that. Could it possibly be…? No, I won't let myself think about it. It's not her. It can’t be."

As much as she tried to push her own thoughts away, it made sense. Didn't it? Or was it just wishful thinking? Sonia had always loved puzzles and solving riddles, and she was good at it. She was good at following leads and finding logical patterns when nothing seemed to make sense. But all her logical, rational side would disappear when it came to Agatha, and she couldn’t think straight anymore- one of the reasons she decided to step down from her job. She sighed and looked at her phone. 9:17am. She had a long morning ahead of her.

Sonia tried to distract herself from the stubborn clock that seemed to have stopped. After what felt like an eternity, the time finally came. She swallowed her lunch in five seconds, took a quick shower and headed to Copacabana Beach. As she sat on the bus, she let her mind wonder to the possibility that it was actually Agatha waiting for her.

As an ex police officer, she knew better. She knew it was probably a bad idea to follow an anonymous, almost ominous, instruction like that. It was most likely a trap, but that small voice inside her head telling her it could be Agatha waiting for her made Sonia ignore all the obvious red flags.

Copacabana Beach was crowded, as always, and most of them were tourists enjoying the hot spring sun and photographing the illustrious, breathtaking landscape. The beach was 2.2 miles long and she didn’t know where to wait, or whom to look for, so she just walked towards its most touristy spot: the sidewalk in front of Rio’s most famous hotel, Copacabana Palace. She sat on a table of a kiosk on the beach, with her back to the sand, enjoying the warm sunshine on her skin as she took a sip of the most overpriced coconut water in the city.

Sonia began to meticulously examine the crowd; she would feel her heart skipping a beat everytime a blonde woman walked by, which made her feel pathetic. She checked the clock and it was 1:58 pm; she was already absently tapping her foot on the wood board and biting her lips, her head frantically turning from side to side, looking for any face she might recognize- but, mostly, for one face specifically. When she realized how quickly her heart was beating, she took a deep breath and counted to three. "You need to calm down and lower your expectations", she told herself.

As her breathing began to slow down, she felt soft fingers touching her exposed shoulder and a woman's voice behind her, talking in Portuguese with a strong American accent "Com licença..." Sonia turned her head and she could swear her heart stopped for a few seconds. "Do you know what time is it?" Agatha continued, in English, smirking at Sonia through her sunglasses.

"It's… 2 pm" Sonia somehow managed to answer, not even bothering to check if she was right. She stared in disbelief at the woman in front of her, unable to move. Her hair was shorter and darker, but it was her. It was Agatha.

"I'm right on time, then" she announced, walking around Sonia and sitting at the chair next to hers.

"You're here. I can't believe you're really here, Agatha." Sonia babbled, trying to convince herself. Agatha casually leaned in on her chair and stole a sip from Sonia's coconut, before placing her hand over Sonia's on the table.

"I'm really here. And for the rest of the world, I'm not Agatha anymore, I'm Emily. But I can make an exception for you." Agatha removed her sunglasses and smiled at Sonia, looking into her eyes. The ex security agent couldn't believe her instincts were right and that Agatha had found her.

"This hair suits you, Aga… Emily." Sonia commented, dumbfolded.

"Thank you. After my last job, I had to make some changes, keep a low profile. But I'm glad you enjoyed. And you look just as good as I remembered" Agatha said, letting go of Sonia's hand to tug a lock of the Brazilian's thick hair behind her ear, their eyes locked on each other.

But Agatha's gentle touch surprised Sonia, which made her jerk away from her hand. She looked down, breaking eye contact, and bit her lip. Agatha lost her smile, looking worried. "Should I… have not come back?" she tried to catch Sonia's gaze again, but she kept looking away.

They were both silent for a few minutes. Sonia tried to understand what she was feeling before saying something. She finally let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest, and began talking with a tone that was something between angry and hurt.

"You're probably one of the most wanted criminals in the world. Interpol interrogated me for weeks, trying to locate you, and I know they haven't given up. You ruined my last job, and I helped you, and then after Vegas you just… disappeared. I should want to lock you up. I should want to handcuff you and call the agent who interrogated me and turn you away. But I..." she lost track of her thoughts, finally looking up to meet Agatha's gaze. She felt her heart melting. "I don't. At all. I should be feeling a hundred different things now and none of them should be happiness, or excitement. But here I am. And all I can think about is kissing you" she admitted, her voice breaking a litte. Agatha smirked at her.

"Well, you know I'm not against the idea of you handcuffing me. But maybe we're too exposed here" she teased, and Sonia could feel her cheeks blushing when she thought of their encounter during Carlisle's wedding, when she first admitted to herself that the thief had her smitten. Agatha leaned forward, her face coming closer to Sonia's, whose breath got caught in her throat as she felt the other woman's breath on her lips. "And I'm definitely not against the idea of you kissing me" she whispered, her lips almost touching Sonia's. She cautiously placed a hand on Sonia's thigh, and touched the agent's cheek with the other. The Brazilian woman felt her skin on fire where Agatha was touching her, and she let out a small gasp as the thief closed the distance between them, capturing her lips on a gentle kiss.

Sonia seemed to wake up from a trance when she felt Agatha's lips on her own. It took her a few seconds to react but once she realized what was happening, her whole body responded to the familiar feeling of Agatha's kiss and touch. Sonia put one hand on the woman's neck, pulling her close, and hugged her waist with the other. Agatha couldn't help the small moan that escaped her lips when she felt Sonia pulling her closer. Their kiss grew more passionate by the second and after a few minutes they broke apart, both a bit breathless, their faces flushed. Everyone around them was staring uncomfortably at the two women, but they only had eyes for each other.

"Now do you believe I'm here?" Agatha teased, placing a kiss on Sonia's cheek, who let out a small laugh before meeting her eyes. She placed her hand over where Agatha's rested on her thigh, running soothing circles on the back of her hand.

"I might need a little more convincing." She provoked, and Agatha smiled and bit her lips. She gave Sonia a quick peck on the lips and reluctantly pulled away, gesturing as to acknowledge their very public setting.

"Don't worry, I'll take my time convincing you. But maybe we can get out of here? I wouldn't want to break the law by committing public indecency, you know." the criminal joked, and Sonia laughed despite of herself, rolling her eyes. She was feeling light and content for the first time in months.

"My place is close. We can go there. But I have to warn you about something…" Sonia leaned in, letting her mouth brush over Agatha's ear "I still have my handcuffs. Maybe I should use them on you, just in case you're planning on running away from me again."

Agatha felt a shiver run through her body, despite of the warm weather. She tightened her hold on Sonia's leg for a second, holding back a moan.

"I don't plan on leaving anytime soon. But maybe you should cuff me, just to be sure… And then you can do whatever you want to me" she teased, pulling back and smiling seductively at Sonia. "What do you say? Let's get out of here?"

Sonia didn't bother answering. She grabbed the thief's hand and pulled her away from the uneasy looks from the people around them, clearly uncomfortable with their passionate display of affection, but the women didn't care about any of them. As they made their way to Sonia's place on the back of the cab, they couldn't stop smiling at each other.

Sonia wasn't thinking about the irony of it all. She didn't care that Agatha was on the most wanted list and that she once was a law enforcement agent. She had tried to fight her feelings ever since she and Agatha left that prison island together, but when she finally let go at Carlisle's wedding, she knew there was no going back. That was the first time she wasn't thinking about right or wrong. If the grey area meant she could go back to her place with Agatha and do all the things she's been thinking about since they parted ways in Vegas, then grey was her new favorite color.

#sonia x mc #sonia alves #fanfic #fanfiction #choices fanfiction #playchoices #the heist #the heist: monaco #th:m

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ryik-the-writer · 4 years

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Chapter 26 - Temporary Fix

[A03]

Chapter 1: Pan meets a Wendy Chapter 2: Scars (Felix’s Story) Chapter 3: Day One Chapter 4: Revenge and Fireflies Chapter 5: Brighter than Stars Chapter 6: filler: The Tigress Chapter 7: Operation Spotless! Chapter 8: Operation Spotless: Reporters Down Chapter 9: A Dance with the Devil Chapter 10: filler: Felix and the Pancake Chapter 11: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 1 Chapter 12: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 2 Chapter 13: The Girl With Blue Eyes: Underground Chapter 14. Recovery Chapter 14.2 Recovery some more Chapter 15: Trapped Chapter 16: Filth Chapter 17: Fairydust pt. 1 Chapter 18: Fairydust pt. 2 Chapter 19: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 1 Chapter 20: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 2 Chapter 21: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3 Chapter 22: Reflections pt. 1 Chapter 23: Reflections pt. 2

Chapter 24: Closing

Chapter 25: Felix is helping Pan

So guess what…

THIS BITCH FINALLY GOT A JOB AND HER OWN PLACE TO LIVE!!

HELL YEAH!!

So slight negative note on that: that kind of means updating is going to be REALLY slow for a while. The place I moved to, while really nice, is kind of out of my budget and I am pulling as many hours as possible to pay for it and such.

On top of that, the place doesn’t have internet and I’m trying to see what my budget will look like after I pay bills so I can consider getting my own (which I really need as a writer and as a journalist).

So just know, I’m not giving up on any of my stories. I’ve just started a new chapter of my life and have to let the ink dry before I can pick up my old interests.

Anyway, here’s Papers and Sleuthers…

-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-

Wendy half-heartedly checked that she had her notepad full of her old notes before she locked up to head to Peter’s. If he started acting up she could use her lack of supplies as an excuse to slip out. She truly hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She wanted this week to be a sort of awakening for them, a chance to finally pull the hatchet away from each other’s throats.

She was linked to him now in the worse way. They’d been through hell together so many times but it hadn’t done anything to shift their relationship into a more stable light. Perhaps if they took the chaos out of the equation something would change. Things really needed to.

She found herself checking her hair as she exited her apartment before she chastised herself. This was an after-hours investigation, not a date!

Wendy scoffed as she locked her door. Her and Pan on a date? What a nightmarish thought!

She grimaced when she reached his door, the unpleasant memory of confronting him the day Mother Superior died still vividly fresh.

“Tosser,” Wendy muttered, wanting to call him something much crueler. However, learning to tolerate him now that they were going to be in close proximity for an unknown amount of time might be beneficial.

With that, she took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door.

There was a light thud behind the wood before it opened, a wild Pan greeting her with a sharp once-over.

“You’re wearing that road-kill?” he scoffed, pointing harshly at her feathered sweater that had been more than appropriate for the weather.

So much for patience.

“Shove it,” Wendy hissed, pushing him into his trashed living room.

“The hell happened in here?”

Pan circled her, not answering, and pulled a giant marker board from the kitchen.

“I’ve started putting some notes together,” he said, adding a picture of Cruella de Vil on the board.

“Um…” Wendy started, her heart speeding up at the site of their old nemesis. “Where are we starting?”

Pan pondered at the start of his chaos. “From the beginning. The devil woman is our best bet. Somehow she set all of this off.”

“How do you figure that?” Wendy inquired.

Pan passed a folder over his shoulder to her, eyes still trained on the board.

Wendy shifted through its components, her gut dropping at the various photos of the dog murderer.

Her brow wrinkled in thought as she went through de Vil’s information. Exact date and location of birth unknown, though her last address was in Manchester…with her now-deceased husband. Wendy whistled at the rap sheet of her marriages. Four times, all but her last ending in death (the last abruptly ended in divorce following a major arrest of the husband.)

There was a scan of her passport as well, signifying that she had been in the country at least six months before she kidnapped Storybrooke’s dogs.

“Why here?” Wendy wondered aloud. “Why Storybrooke, and why dognapping? It’s such a cartoonish villain move.”

“Except in cartoons the villains wouldn’t bleed the dogs out and turn their skins into coats,” Pan muttered, back still to her.

“Coats?” Wendy gasped, the mental image making her stomach twist.

“Last page in the file,”

Wendy balanced the folder to find the page and blinked at the printed out copy of a news article before her.

MANCHESTER WOMAN CHARGED WITH 13 COUNTS OF ANIMAL CRUELTY

Wendy gulped at the picture of the drunk-looking mugshot of de Vil, her intense eyes seeming to stare right at Wendy, as if blaming her for her past crime.

A local woman is being charged with the kidnapping and death of several dogs.

The dogs, all of Dalmatian and mixed Dalmatian breeds, were taken out of the Manchester and Liverpool areas within a three week period, according to authorities.

The woman, identified as 39-year-old Cruella de Vil, was apprehended at an abandoned windmill outside of the Liverpool area where over 20 dogs were being kept. Upon her arrest animal control discovered the mutilated remains of eight dogs. The remaining five dogs very rushed to the Wrightsville Veterinarian clinic for emergency treatment, and are expected to survive.

De Vil is being held at the Wrightsville Police Station without bail.

This story will be updated as more information becomes available.

Wendy checked the date of the incident to find that Cruella committed her first act three years ago. She shifted to Pan’s slightly cleared off the counter to spread out the devil woman’s file and located an additional article.

MANCHESTER DOGNAPPER TRIAL UNDERWAY

The trial Manchester dognapper Cruella de Vil will begin Monday morning.

De Vil was charged with 13 counts of animal cruelty following the torture and murder of several dogs in January.

De Vil’s lawyer originally declined to comment of her client’s state for her case, but De Vil stated to the press before being led to the jail: “I’m not worried, Darlings. Who would sentence a woman in diamonds?”

Wendy snorted. Now that was quality journalism! She flipped to the next article.

‘DEVIL WOMAN’ CRUELLA DE VIL EXPOSES PLOT FOR DOGS DURING TRAIL

Manchester dognapper Cruella de Vil stated during her trial that she abducted the Dalmatians with the purpose of using their pelts for ‘the perfect coat’.

De Vil continued to go into great detail about how she mutilated the dogs ‘when it was their time’, much to the disturbance to the court.

“I took one pup by his stringy little tail and hoisted him up,” de Vil, who was clothed in an elaborate gown and furs, detailed, “The little bugger wouldn’t stop squealing, even after I slashed his throat open.”

Evidence shows that De Vil had dozens of sketches for coats not just for the Dalmatians she abducted, but also for poodle and Shi Tzu breeds. The sketches also showed plans for various muffs, boots, and glove items.

When asked what she was going to do with all the coats, De Vil said, “Why, wear them of course! I’ll be the envy of every bitch at the social club.”

De Vil's criminal record includes dozens of speeding tickets and two cases of vehicle homicide attempts. Records show that De Vil was acquitted for both cases and never paid off the tickets.

De Vil’s sentence trial will be held in October. Until then De Vil will be held in Manchester Sanitarium for the Mentally Unwell for further observation.

Wendy sighed in exhaustion. What a story! How could someone so heinous be so close to her neck of the woods?

The other articles were faded from an obvious lack of printer ink, but Wendy was able to make out enough from the headlines to guess what happened next.

De Vil was sentenced to two years in a different sanitarium that specialized in disorders like her. She was deemed “cured” after a year and released due to a special project. She left for America right afterward for a “fresh start”.

“Oh she stared fresh alright,” Wendy commented.

“Great,” Pan said from the board. “You’re where I was thirty minutes ago. Let me know when you get where I’m at now.”

Wendy resisted throwing De Vil’s folder at his head.

“I don’t think there’s anywhere else to go with this one,” Wendy pointed out. “She went crazy, killed a bunch of animals, ran here and started all over again. That’s really it.”

“But the motive!” Pan growled, looking her dead in the eye. Desperate. “There had to be something else. Maybe she was working for someone or trying to start a multi-dognapping franchise here or…”

Wendy edged back at the desperation in his voice. He was grasping at straws, but there were none left for him in this case.

“Pan,” Wendy tried carefully, “There’s nothing left,”

“How the hell would you know!” He shouted.

“Because sometimes people are just bad,” she shouted back. “Sometimes they do a few terrible things just to do them! There doesn’t have to be a reason or a great scheme behind their actions! They just cause chaos and kill over!” with a spike of adrenaline, she stepped up to him, feeling his hearted pounding in the buzzing air.

“Don’t they?”

Pan twitched, glaring at her with a raw sense of hatred.

Wendy thought for a moment he might throw her out, and she really didn’t want him to. Pan had to see logic, had to stop filling his mind with information that just wasn’t there, and she couldn’t just run off and leave him to fill in such non-existent gaps.

He’s scared. He’s frustrated. He needs to be kept busy.

With a deep breath, she stepped back to locate one of the other boxes on the couch, tensing a bit when she saw Jekyll’s name on the cardboard.

“We can start with him now,” she said, pulling out a folder.

In a flash, Pan slapped it out of her hand.

Wendy gasped and brought her stinging hand to her chest where a shallow papercut was surfacing, staring at Pan.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he said, looking just as surprised as she did.

It was the closest thing to an apology she would get from him, she knew, and she expected it, but it still did not stop her from hating him.

“What is your problem!” she yelled as she sucked the blood from her stinging cut.

“Nothing,” Pan defended, though he was tenser than a tightly wound spring.

Wendy looked him over, trying to pinpoint the root of his harsh mood. Of course, going through their old cases was certainly stressful, with the memories that surfaced as they saw photos of their former nemesis faces…

Ah.

She stared at Jekyll’s case box where the corner of his photo was just peeking out, turning Wendy’s stomach.

Gods know what the site of him was doing to Pan.

The journalist stepped away, twisting to pick up de Vil’s box.

“What about her lackey’s?” Wendy inquired, picking through her file. She didn’t meet his eyes as she dug through the very scarce information. “We don’t know how they play into all of this outside their association with de Vil.”

Pan looked at her, his expression solid and unreadable, but Wendy swore she saw a glint of something in his eyes.

Gratitude?

No, Peter Pan didn’t thank anyone for what they did, for him or otherwise.

Good thing Wendy didn’t expect it from him, or anything else for that matter.

They began adding Horace and Jasper’s notes to de Vil’s board, though a now were quick glance told Wendy it wouldn’t add much. They were jailbirds on and off as far back as the records could show, became acquainted with de Vil sometime after their most recent parole hearing, and thanks to her and Pan were tucked safely in a Boston prison until they could be moved to one in London. Nothing more, nothing less.

But Pan wasn’t ready to accept that, so Wendy pretended to stay busy until she commented on ordering from the Chinese menu on Pan’s fridge.

Half an hour later they were sitting silently in his living room, munching on greasy eggrolls as they stared absently at the evidence before them.

Fuzz the cat made a lazy trail from Pan’s bedroom to where they were eating, plopping himself next to Wendy.

The blonde smiled, charmed by the odd-looking cat, and reached out to pet him.

Pan readied a warning. Fuzz was known to scratch first-time visitors to bleeding shreds, but with a flash of naughtiness, decided to let the little bird find that out for herself.

However, Fuzz the cat purred in delight at the attention and collapsed next to Wendy, hungry for more.

“You…slut!” Pan hissed at his sorry excuse of a cat.

Wendy’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“The damn cat,” Pan barked, turning back to his food to begin another round of silence.

Wendy shrugged and quietly offered him another eggroll, which he took with no additional fuss.

It was strange, this quiet domesticity. No violence, no fighting, no apprehension of what was to come.

It would have been peaceful if it weren’t for the wave of uneasiness Pan was letting off.

His leg was shaking with antsiness, and he kept making small sounds to break the silence.

I suppose it’s better than him yelling, Wendy thought. Might as well attempt conversation.

“So…” she begun, earning a questioned glare mid-chew. “I…ran into someone today,”

Pan looked up at her, looking slightly bored.

“And?” he shrugged, mouth full.

Wendy shrugged. Of course it was a stupid thing to bring up. Pan probably knew everyone in Storybrooke, and he had little interest for all of them.

“It’s nothing,” Wendy responded. “Just thought he was…” She searched her vocabulary for the word to describe the man with unsettling charming manners.

“Different,”

Pan’s eyes flickered at that.

Wendy Darling was smitten.

“Sounds like a scoop,” Pan smirked. “Let’s go find him.”

Wendy coughed on her fried rice as he stood. “What?” she laughed, truly mystified.

“Let’s go meet this mystery man,”

Wendy blinked trying to comprehend his shift in emotion as he put on his coat.

“Pan, it was dark out, I didn’t get a good look at him,” she explained. “I don’t even know his name!”

“It’s Storybrooke,” Pan waved her off. “We’ll find out who he is in an hour.”

“This is insane,” she barked with a laugh.

Pan wadded up her jacket and threw it at her, earning a yelp.

“Well, I’m bored. Are you coming or not?”

She stared at him, wondering just how high up the cliff of insanity he had already climbed. Boredom was making him scattered-brained and seeking action in the tiniest occurrence.

It was sad, like watching an animal trying to chew its way out of a trap, but also fascinating. Pan needed her, whether he would say it in words or in action. He needed her to keep him from jumping off that cliff, especially when they had no way of knowing what was waiting for him at the bottom.

With an exhausted sigh, she unraveled her jacket and followed him into the icy night, missing his satisfied smirk as he closed the door.

.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.

Wendy was having trouble keeping on his heels. It was dark and cold and he was the only one who really knew where they were going.

If he even knew himself.

Pan was all over the place tonight, and Wendy was starting to get dizzy from his back-and-forth.

She was practically having to skip to keep up with him. It was like he was forgetting that she was with him. Already he was trying to focus on something else.

Her loud cobbling seemed to echo through the street of Storybrooke, and in the dim night she felt a wave of paranoia run up her spine. It sounded like there was someone behind them, following them.

“Do you hear that?” she asked Pan.

“No, here we are,”

He stopped so suddenly Wendy ran into him, her face hitting him square in the spine. She gained her balance and glared at him before she stepped to his side, staring into the bright building ahead as it spilled vibration into the night.

“What is that?”

“The Rabbit Hole,” Pan smirked. “Sleaziest place in town.”

Wendy snorted through a shiver. “And you thing the well-polished man I ran into tonight is in there?”

Pan shrugged. “Maybe. Either way I want a drink. Come on,”

Wendy followed him with a sigh. At least she would get out of the cold.

Her ears began ringing as soon as she entered the nightclub, her eyes cloudy from the flashing lights.

“I don’t know about this,” she shouted, her voice lost in the sound.

This time, Pan took hold of her sleeve and pulled her through the cluster of tipsy people.

“Good thing it’s not a workday,” Wendy muttered to herself as Pan pulled her to a cluttered table.

She swept bits of food off the sticky surface, wincing at the music and hard chairs. Across her Pan was staring out into the crowd, his eyes glistening bright as he watched the gyrating bodies.

“You…come here often,” Wendy joked, feeling claustrophobic and savagely out of place.

“Once or twice with Tiger Lily,” Pan shrugged, somehow able to hear her over the music.

“And you’re not deaf?” she shouted.

“It’s not loud enough. It never is.”

“Huh?”

Pan looked up from the dancing sin to stare at her. Really stare at her. Truly look at her for the first time in days.

Her hair was growing out more evenly, her curls had even started to come back.

But the bags under her eyes were darker, hollower. She was tired, and he knew it was his fault.

“You want to dance?”

Pan looked as shocked as Wendy was when he looked back up at her.

“Did I…did I hear you right?”

Pan’s bright red face was hidden by the flashing strobe lights. The fuck did he say that?

“You’re not deaf yet are you?” he smirked, standing. “Let’s go.”

Wendy glanced out onto the dance floor. “I…think I’m overdressed.”

Pan glanced out at the half-clothed bodies and chuckled. He slipped off his jacket and undid the first two buttons of his shirt.

Wendy’s heart leapt and her throat tightened.

“You’re turn.”

Wendy shot from her chair, her clothes suddenly feeling stuck to her skin.

“Oh don’t be so damn modest,” Pan cackled, easing out into the dance floor. These little outbursts were giving him some energy.

Wendy shivered, feeling naked under her multiple layers.

Damn it! Why the hell did he have to get under her skin so easily!

She clutched her sleeves, watching as he began to get swarmed by dancers.

Yet…strangely enough…he was still waiting for her. As if he actually wanted her to come out there with him.

Keep him distracted. Keep him busy.

And he was actually smiling!

Well…leering, but he wasn’t as threatening as usual.

With a groan, she shed her feathered coat and eased out into the crowd, instantly getting sucked into the vortex of sweat.

She reached out for stability, hoping she wouldn’t accidentally grope anyone. Out of the sea of grinders a hand grabbed her wrist and—thankfully or unthankfully, she wasn’t sure yet—she fell into Pan’s chest.

“Bet you didn’t do this kind of dancing in your London prep school,” Pan snarked against her hair.

Wendy detached herself from his chest, getting some much-needed space between them.

“I went to a public school, thank you,” she barked, a smile tugging at her lips. It was hard to find a balance with so many people crushing them together.

“What do we…how…” she yelled, desperate for just an inch for space.

She felt Pan’s laugh rumble against her chest, the feeling much more put-together than the vibrations in the air. His hands snaked up her shoulder and gave them just enough space so that they could look into each other’s eyes.

“Just do what I do.” He said.

I already do.

He took her hands and helped her sway in their tiny space. Wendy could have fainted from the heat and the shock of the situation. Here she was dancing with the biggest arse in the entire world! She must be as mad as he was bored!

Her heart pounded as she copied his movements, almost afraid to let him go. So many people were brushing and bumping into them. She could easily be trampled, and something told her she wasn’t leaving the bar tonight without at least a cracked rib.

She looked up to find Pan watching her. He looked strangely human. Less territorial and ready to fight.

Like he was actually…enjoying himself.

“Okay,” he instructed, pulling her arm over her head. He began twisting her wrist and Wendy caught on quickly, letting her twirl her until spots flashed before her eyes.

But he didn’t stop, and she kept going, catching the light in Pan’s eyes each time she spun back to him.

And before Wendy knew it, she was laughing, the sound much more soothing than the trash flowing through the intercoms.

For a moment Peter Pan and Wendy Darling weren’t small-town reporters who got into too much trouble far too often.

They were just two normal adults who were having a fun, random night.

Wendy couldn’t remember the last time she did something like this. Perhaps back in college…when she wasn’t as dark, before the bloodshed and the grittiness of the world became part of her daily routine.

And it was nice to be having this fresh taste of life with the person who had drug her into it.

“Not bad, Wendy Bird,” Pan teased as she grabbed on to his shoulder to stop the dizziness.

“Same to you, Peter Pan,

He scoffed, covering the hand on his shoulder and grasping this one.

“Let’s make you fly.”

With that, he pushed into the crowd, anchoring her with the hold on her arm. She spun back into him naturally, howling like a fool.

“Don’t let go if you’re going to do that,” she laughed.

“I promise, I won’t.”

Wendy had to admit, she rather liked this fun side of him. Sure, he was really just distracting himself from his current issues, but he was doing it in a constructive way that was keeping them both out of harm's way…mostly.

She nearly slammed into a dancer during her second twirl. When she spun back to Pan she was ready to tell him to try something else, but he looked so…happy.

She couldn’t do it…and had he had said he wouldn’t let her get hurt.

And she was safe…

Thank you.

Until he spun her out again…

Time to fly.

And let go.

He was gone in the blink of an eye and she stumbled out into the crowd.

The more drunkard dancers shoved her away and she stumbled to find stable ground.

“Pan!” She called out, drowning.

She was wedged between so many people, blind and hot.

“Pan!” She yelled again, feeling for him. “Where are—“

Someone’s elbow pounded into her lip and she flew to the sticky ground. Blood filled her mouth in seconds, and she stopped caring if she found Pan or not and started searching for a way off the dance floor.

Pan had taken them too far out. She had no idea where she was. People were stepping on her like she was nothing. On her hands, her hair.

She was going to die here. Had Pan done this on purpose? Had he really hoped her death would somehow entertain him?

She was going to die and no one would know until the club closed, or morning at least.

She was going to die…

“I got you lass!”

She was picked up effortlessly and drug from the crowd, the person clutching her moving through them like Moses through the parted sea.

A savior, it would seem.

Before her brain truly recognized what was going on, her savior had her outside, away from the noise and her unintentional murderers. Her lungs painfully filled with fresh, icy air and she started coughing up blood from her wound, very uncaring how disgusting she looked to her companion.

“There you go, love,” the savior—a man?—instructed, patting her back. “Get the sin out of your lungs.”

Love…

Wendy brushed her bangs from her eyes and met the haunting blue eyes of her earlier savior, the very man she and Pan had set off to find.

“You!” she gasped, nearly laughing with the insanity of it. “I…we…hi!”

He chuckled. “Hello again.”

She tried to catch her breath as she went back and forth with the odd coincidence and Pan’s disappearance.

Disappearance…or abonnement?

Wendy’s stomach flipped when the idea passed through her mind. It seemed almost too cruel for him to do, yet it seemed like something that he would do.

He was all over the place tonight, jumping back and forth like a frog on a scorching lily pad.

But really, he was always like that, she just hadn’t accepted it yet.

And now he had left her to be trampled to death in a night club, wandering off to gods’ knows where.

And he didn’t care. He just didn’t care.

“Are you alright?”

Wendy blinked, not realizing that her eyes had been misting.

“Yes, of course,” she breathed deeply and stood. “I just…I need to get home.” And get a club, she added to herself.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered immediately.

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

The man chuckled. “Each time you say that I find you in peril,”

Wendy made a sound, not wanting to be rude but really not wanting to stick around much longer. “Really I’m fine. But thank you.” She nodded at him and began walking away, the raging fire in her heart, melting the ice in her bones.

“Killian Jones.”

Wendy paused and glanced back at him. “What?”

He smiled, at pearly whites and charm. “My name. I think it’s about time, you learned it.”

Wendy worried at her lip, letting the name rest on her mind. It suited him somehow. An old-world name for an old world charmed man. It was an interesting combination.

“I see. Well then, thank you, Killian Jones.” She said with a nod, picking back up her step.

“Wait.”

Wendy halted, slightly aggravated. If he turned out to be a maniac like Jekyll she’d bash his lights out with a chunk of ice.

He stepped forward, his hands resting in his pockets, showing he meant no harm, posed no threat.

“Would you like to get a drink sometime?”

Wendy laughed, her face burning. “That’s…forward.”

Jones chuckled with a shrug. “With your track record, the next time I may see you is in a hospital.”

Wendy shrugged that was true. She gave him another look over. Mysterious creature of the night.

She had learned already that trusting people was too dangerous, especially the kind who lurked in the dark.

She didn’t know him, and he, despite his multiple rescues, didn’t know her.

“Why on earth would you want to have a drink with a perfect stranger?” she inquired aloud.

Jones cocked his head, his eyes gleaming with intentions Wendy couldn’t trace.

“To get to know you, of course.”

Wendy stiffened, her anxiety rising.

“That’s not a good idea,” Wendy gasped, desperate for space. “I have to go find…” she shook her head, her mind too cluttered to find a definition for her current view of Pan.

“If you change your mind,” Jones called after her. “I’ll be waiting. Tomorrow at the diner.”

Wendy increased her speed, making a direct line to Pan’s apartment.

She was going to kill him. She’d made the threat many times before but this time she meant it.

He left her.

He pulled her into all of this madness, and then just released her to break her neck without him.

Where had he gone? What temporary rush was he following now?

Why hadn’t he taken her with him?

She found his apartment the same way they had left it: locked up and dark. She searched for a spare key in the places anyone else would, but Pan wasn’t like everyone else and thus wouldn’t think to leave a spare key.

Out of aggravation, she picked up a loose brick, check over her shoulder, and hurled it into the glass.

It was exactly something Pan would do, and Wendy couldn’t help the small flame of satisfaction that came with damaging his property—which she had to plan to fix thank you very much.

She stormed in, flicking on lights and opening doors to find him. Fuzz the cat ran out of the bedroom as she checked behind checked in his closet.

“Pan!” she howled, her hands shaking.

Why?

“Where are you?”

Pan wasn’t there. He hadn’t returned to hide from her or even to continue their work. He had vanished completely with no warning for her.

With a stiff sob, she collapsed on the couch, feeling right at him with the shattered remains of his home.

“Peter…”

He left you.

“He left me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

He wasn’t sure when or where he was.

But it was bright there, and surprisingly warm. It couldn’t be a memory of his childhood. Those were always dark and cold.

But he was somewhere…at least he thought it was him. There was glass in front of him, well-made and clean, and big enough to cover an entire wall.

But he couldn’t see his reflection…

Nor anything outside the window.

That’s why when the little bird flew closer, it terrified him.

“Stop…” he tried to scream just as the bird hit the window.

A loud bang…

It landed at his feet—

Its neck was broken.

He startled into consciousness, his fuzzy mind going into an automatic death mode.

Someone had grabbed him…he thought.

One second he was throwing Wendy out—letting her fly just enough from him—and then she was flying out of his grip while he was being pulled further from her.

He wasn’t sure what happened after that, but now he was tied up in some sort of darkroom, his hands above his head on some kind of meat hook, by the fill of it.

Something equivalent to a lantern was in the corner, giving him just enough light to keep him from going into a state of complete panic.

Jekyll’s prisons were always too bright.

A noise indicated he was no longer alone. A second later a door in the corner opened, and a man stepped in, the light behind him silhouetting him just long enough for Pan to get a good idea of him.

“Good to see you again,” the man said as he pulled a chair up and straddled it.

“Again?” Pan scoffed. “Go to hell, you wanker.”

“That’s captain to you, boy,” he returned firmly. “Captain Killian Jones, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t care, and know, who the fuck you are.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Killian said casually.

“I tend to forget people who aren’t worth remembering,” Pan smirked, his face warmer from the trail of blood leaking from his temple.

Killian chuckled, charmed. This was going to be the most fun he’d had in a while.

“I suppose it won’t matter anyway,” he sighed. “Not with you knocking on death’s door.”

Pan licked his lips. A challenge at last!

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” Killian said. “You see m’boy, I’ve been sent by someone who really wants you dead.”

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Pan winked.

“No one you’ll need to worry about,” Killian alluded. “Just know that you’ve caused enough trouble that it warrants a very clean—and if you behave yourself—a very quick one.”

Pan scoffed. “If I’m scheduled to die, know that I’ll make my last days your worst,”

Killian seemed unphased by Pan’s threat, and while Pan wasn’t yet worried about it, it did make his gut turn just enough to be noticed.

Then, Killian laughed, and tapped his fingers on the back of the chair.

“You know, you actually gained our attention after that boy with the scar inquired Henry Jekyll’s files,”

Ice…the blood can’t move.

“Oh…I can’t quite remember his name…”

You have to keep count of the spasms…you have to know where the blood is going…

“That’s his benefit I suppose,” Killian smirked, watching as the blood drained from his face.

Felix…oh Felix I’m sorry…

“After all, it’d be a shame if that poor boy succumbed to one of his little fits in the privacy of his own home one afternoon…”

Pan bolted against the restraints, blood raging and teeth desperate to break skin.

“You fucking go near him I’ll kill you!”

Killian grabbed Pan by the jaw and forced him into the wall, pressing his knee into his stomach.

“I’d love to see you try,” Killian husked, his ice blues evenly hitting Pan’s forest greens. “I’d love to see you help any of them. Him, that pixie of a girl who hates you more than life itself…” his grin widened. “And that pretty blonde distraction you brought into this whole bloody mess.”

“Wendy…” the word left his lips before could stop it.

He didn’t know how to protect her the way he did the others.

“Such a pretty name,” Killian gloated. “Such a pretty girl at that. And she’s so desperate to find you, even after to abandoned her on a dangerous dance floor,”

Pan glared at him. “You bitch,”

Killian released him and made his way to the door.

“I’ll take no pleasure from killing her, m’boy,” Killian said, surprisingly quite truthfully. “However, this is as much to do with her as it does with you.”

Pan dug his nails into the cloth binding his wrists, trying desperately to stare a whole through Killian’s heart.

“How quick or how slowly she goes depends on what you can do for me within the next few days,”

Pan winced.

“Goodnight,” Killian winked, turning off the light and enclosing Pan in a blanket of darkness.

#darling pan #darling pan fic #wendy darling #peter pan #killian jones #captain hook #papers and sleuthers #ryik's fics

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