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nctsworld · 4 years

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the yuletide boyfriend

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ your one wish this year is to not be single during the holidays. yangyang, as your best friend, takes it upon himself to be your temporary boyfriend. soon enough, both parties begin to wish this new arrangement could last beyond the holidays. // part of the x-mas in ncity collection WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ implied ‌anxiety attack (during the first part of dec 24th – skip if need to), smut, mutual m*sturbation, couch s*x, angst, miscommunication, swearing RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ mature TAGLIST ⇾ @infnteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ this is my longest fic to date and also... might be my worst b/c i feel like the angst plot points don’t really make sense... but i hope y’all still enjoy!!!

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t share or repost without credit!

NOVEMBER 30th

“So, anything special on your wishlist this year?”

Your best friend, Yangyang, asks you as you two sit next to each other on one of the many plush lounge couches in the Psychology building. It’s the usual lunch spot where you meet with him during your break between lectures.

The Psych building held much sentimental value for both of you because you met in Psych 101 during first year. Fast-forward three years later, neither of you expected to be the close friends that you are today.

Chewing your sandwich, you ponder on his question for a bit. Through the transparent glass walls leading to outside, you see the trickle of students heading towards the building since class is about to start for the noon round of lectures. A couple, you assume by the tight hand-holding and nose kissing, giggles as they enter the building, glued to one another by the hip.

“Not really.” You drop your head downward to your lunch container, smiling to yourself. “I’m honestly just happy to have Mark in my life, especially at this point in the year.”

Yangyang nods in accordance and smiles too, understanding the story behind your sentiment.

The boyfriends you’ve had since first year have always broken up with you before the holidays, right before the end of November. Since you only became close during second year, Yangyang’s been around for two out of three of your cursed holiday break-ups.

To have Mark, your latest boyfriend, be with you and it being already December tomorrow, it was truly a blessing for you and a silver lining that maybe this was the year to break the curse. Yangyang was grateful too, wanting you to have the utmost happiness.

You take another bite of your sandwich and tilt your chin toward the ramen eater.

“You?”

Yangyang slurps a few more noodles before he answers.

“I mean, the new Playstation would be nice,” he hums, mouth full.

Pointing the tip of your sandwich, you joke, “I’ll get it for you, but only if we share custody over it.”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head during a mid-slurp. “You know I can’t promise that.”

Both of you laugh in unison, living in the calm before the oncoming storm.

DECEMBER 5th

The E-Sports club for the university is hosting a party tonight and because Yangyang’s on one of the professional teams, he asked a few weeks ago if you and Mark wanted to attend. Of course you accepted; Mark also had some friends in the club.

However, when you text Yangyang in the afternoon, stating a change of mind, he knows something’s off.

Half an hour before the party starts, Yangyang decides to visit you. Thankfully you both lived on campus, but even if you lived across town, he’d still bus out to see how you were doing. He does it all the time to visit his family, anyway.

In the living room, the two sudden knocks at your door startle you. Peering through the peephole, you see the usual sight of your best friend, his lips curled upward and thumbs tucked in his pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

It feels like an eternity for him when you unlock your door. The hinges squeal as you open it hesitatingly, your face barely appearing through the agape crack.

Immediately, his smile dissolves. Your face is drained and blood-shot eyes avoiding his own confront him.

Yangyang has only seen you cry twice in the three years he’s known you:

Once, when you were freaking the fuck out over potentially failing a course (but, on the upside, you ended up passing the final to save your grade).

The second time was at his house for a family dinner, when his mom accidentally added too much hot chili sauce to her homemade beef noodle soup (let’s just say you weren’t the only one crying that night).

Those were tears of dread and physical discomfort.

But this… this was crying he’s never seen from you before. His chest collapses inward, fearful of the reason behind your tears.

His voice shakes as he asks, “What happened? Are you okay?”

Neither of you are major huggers and only exchange them on the rare occasion.

However, this situation screams the necessity of it, so Yangyang lunges towards you, the collision swinging the door out of the way. His arms embrace you like a large, warm blanket. Comforting and safe.

Despite the affection, emptiness has taken over your body. Tonight, you’re a dead, empty shell of who you normally are.

You feel weak to the bone, but you muster up enough energy to scarcely raise your arms over his back to return the hug. Your eyes are dry from all the crying you’ve done all day, but apparently you have more tears left in you to spare.

Your eyelids snap shut and your jaw clenches.

“Mark broke up with me.”

Your words are muffled into his shoulder, but Yangyang hears it crystal clear.

You break down, sobbing out of control over the statement.

As aforementioned, Yangyang’s been around for your last two, now three, break-ups. Sure, he’s aware of how grumpy and distant you can get, but you never cried in front of him. You made an effort to never have him see you at your lowest point.

And yet, here you are, drowning him in your misery. Guilt washes over you for drenching his bomber jacket, but Yangyang couldn’t give two shits. His arms squeeze tighter while he rubs your back tenderly.

After several minutes pass and your waterworks abate, you peel away from him. You sniffle and rub your nose with the back of your hand.

“Sorry about cancelling last minute.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” he whispers soothingly.

“I’m just… so fucking frustrated.”

With fatigued eyes, you drag yourself back inside your apartment. Yangyang discreetly closes the door behind him and hurriedly uses his feet to push off his shoes. As he does so, your mouth begins to run off while you slowly pace around aimlessly.

“Fucking done with boyfriends, especially when they think it’s so fucking awesome to keep breaking up with me right before the holidays.”

He kicks off his last stubborn shoe and catches you raking your hands through your hair, pulling it back firmly. Your lips are trembling, along with your entire frame.

“Like I get that I’m horrible and needy and emotional—”

His mouth opens, wanting to cut in to disagree with you with all his heart, but he clamps it back shut and swallows, allowing you to blow your steam off.

“—but can’t they wait until the fucking new year? I don’t know, or maybe just don’t date me in the first place! I don’t know, I don’t fucking know anymore. I’m just cursed, Yangyang...”

You flop down onto the couch and sink into the ocean of shiny pleather, shutting your eyes and trying to stop crying for the nth time. The deep sting behind your eyelids pain you, but it pains Yangyang more to watch the events unfolding ahead of him.

Unsure of what to say, Yangyang walks around the room. His gaze falls on your laptop screen and he frowns at the mostly bare Word document that stares back at him:

“WISHLIST: -KEEP ONE (1) FUCKING BOYFRIEND DURING THE CHRISTMAS SEASON!!!!!!!! GOD FUCKING SDKMFLDS”

There are a few more lines below it with more profanities and keyboard smashing. He quickly darts away, a pang of guilt striking for invading your privacy.

Then, he turns to you on the couch again. You’re now covering your eyes with your forearm, pressing your lips together. His chest twists and his throat is arid as a desert.

You’re in shambles and he’s dying to pick up the shattered pieces of you, wants to glue you back together. On a regular basis, Yangyang’s a talking machine and can talk your ear off for hours, but right now, he doesn’t know what to say to you in your current state. He second-guesses himself, wonders if he’s even that great of a friend if he can’t comfort you in your worst times.

Blowing out a long sigh and removing your arm, you speak aloud, “You should get going to the party.”

Like awakening from a deep slumber, you rise up sluggishly and sit up on the couch, slouched over. The other figure in the room steps closer to you.

“Sorry about your jacket, by the way,” you say. Your body is still, but your glazed eyes move to the dark spot on the middle of his shoulder. He glances at it and shrugs.

“It’s better like this anyway,” he says with a gentle smile, and the tight knot in his heart softens at the flicker of your own smile, albeit a small one. Unfortunately, it fades in a few seconds. “I don’t want to leave you like this, though.”

You stare at the used, crumpled balls of tissues scattered on the living room table. Some also ended up on the floor. Break-ups are shit and 98% inevitable, but you know you’ll eventually get over it. You always do.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

He raises an eyebrow, as if asking, “Are you sure?” The lack of a worded reply causes you to notice the question written on his face.

“Go,” you plead with a feeble laugh. “Have fun for me.”

Both of you head towards your front door again. Crossing your arms, you lean your head against the door frame and attempt a smile for your best friend.

“Thanks again for checking up on me.”

Yangyang nods with a half-smile, half-pout, “Of course.”

You give him a departing wave prior to sealing your door.

Usually, Yangyang would bus from your place to the student union building, where the party is being held. Instead, he zippers up his jacket and stuffs his fists into his pockets, opting to bear the early winter chill to walk his thoughts off. His blazing self-doubt burns at first, but he overcomes it by focusing on ideas to fix your accursed dating rut instead.

Halfway through the walk, a light bulb moment occurs. A plan begins to brew on the surface of his mind and he thinks on it for the rest of the week.

DECEMBER 11th

It’s been almost a week since you last saw Yangyang.

Finals started already, so classes were done for the semester and thus, your lunch meet-ups halted too. On top of that, since you were simultaneously moping and studying, you hadn’t really texted him much, nor had he, besides the occasional check-up text on how studying was going and random memes. Yangyang knew you preferred time alone to heal and he respected that.

He also thought six days was enough time to get yourself back on your feet.

Yangyang’s at your front door once again, but this time with two bowls of his mom’s beef noodle soup in tow.

“Long time, no see,” you greet. Your tone is chipper, but your eyes look heavy, which could be partially from studying, Yangyang thinks. His smile deepens, content that you seem a lot better than the last time he visited.

“Delivery for two,” he raises the bag in his hand.

“And if I told you I already ate dinner?” you playfully retort.

The boyish man shrugs defeatedly, “Then I’ll tell my mom you hate her cooking—”

“You didn’t say it was your mom’s, Yangyang. Oh, my God,” you gasp, half-mockingly. You rush to grab the bags out of his hand and stroll towards your tiny kitchen. “Start off with that next time.”

As you remove the containers from the bag and onto the granite countertop, Yangyang shuts the door and takes his shoes off.

“So, I’m gonna be upfront and say that I may have come here with a proposal.”

“Changed your mind about the shared custody of the Playstation?”

“I’m still considering that one.” Finally in his socks, he slings his backpack off his shoulder and plops it onto the couch along with his jacket. He stands next to you by the counter. “But it’s on the same page as that. Remember that day we were talking about wishlists?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum as you rip off the lid of one of the bowls. Blatant wisps fly upward and you inhale the savoury aroma, followed by a heavenly sigh.

“Last time I was here… I might’ve seen what you wrote on your laptop.”

Your expression immediately changes into full-on cringe. You bring a palm over to your face.

“Oh, God. Let’s not talk about that. That was just weepy, lonely me talking.”

Yangyang pops off the lid for his bowl and steps into your kitchen, rummaging through your drawers for chopsticks. “So you’re telling me you don’t want a boyfriend for Christmas?”

Your hand flies off your face. Eyes widening, you spew, “Do you have a boyfriend in your pocket, ready for me to have?”

In your open hand, he places a pair of chopsticks into it. “Well, actually, I was thinking—”

Sternly, you point the chopsticks at him. “Don’t you dare set me up with your friends.”

He counters and points his at you, “Even better than that.”

With your interest piqued, you slide yourself onto the counter stool and mix the noodles around, anticipating to hear Yangyang’s fantastic plan. Your friend sits on the other stool, facing you. He pauses for a second, taking a deep breath.

“Why don’t I be your boyfriend for the holidays?”

You freeze, and the noodles’ drips above your bowl are deafening to both individuals. Laughing awkwardly, you break your frozen state to drop your chopsticks and turn your head to look at him.

Sputtering, you say, “What?”

Unnerved, his mouth pinches to one side, thinking maybe he shouldn’t have even said anything in the first place. This was stupid, so stupid, but it’s out in the open and Yangyang already dug his grave—he may as well lay in it.

“Well, for one, it’s something on your wishlist that I can easily get,” he pauses mid-sentence, glancing upward in thought. “Well, really, fill? Is that a better way to put it?”

He continues, eyes back on you, “And two, I’m not setting you up with a stranger or someone you wouldn’t be comfortable with. I assume you know me well enough that you’re comfortable around me?”

Yangyang lifts an upturned palm and raises an eyebrow, waiting for a response to his assumption. Petulantly, you shake your head playfully and stick out your tongue at him.

Rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze drops down to the floor for his last point. His voice lowers.

“And, I don’t know, we’d just hang out like we usually do during that time, except we’d do more couple-y things.”

Realizing the implication of his words, he widens his eyes. “I mean, we'll do whatever you’re comfortable with, obviously. We don’t have to do any of the physical stuff—”

You burst into a giggle at his rambling and hold a hand out, cutting him off. “Okay, Yang. I get it.”

Yangyang watches your next moves carefully. You’re peering off to one side and picking at the tips of your fingers. After a minute that feels like forever, you nod slowly.

“I guess you have a point. We are sorta like a couple already.”

Your best friend sighs in relief, grinning that you’re not outright rejecting the idea.

“So,” you meet his eyes and bunch a shoulder up towards your ear. “We’ll just be a couple until what, New Year’s?”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs indifferently. “Whatever you want. It’s your Christmas wish.”

You chuckle and shake your head in disbelief that you two are actually making an agreement for Yangyang to be your temporary, holiday boyfriend.

Honestly, it’s a little crazy... but maybe it’s the perfect thing to get your mind off of Mark and the handful of holiday exes hanging above your head.

“Okay, since my last final is on the 21st, let’s start ‘dating’ then and we’ll play everything by ear, see how it goes.”

Yangyang bobs his head eagerly. “Sounds good, soon-to-be girlfriend.”

He sticks a hand out for you to shake. You take it firmly, sealing the deal and flashing him a grin.

“Soon-to-be boyfriend.”

Although the night goes on like usual between the two of you, you couldn’t deny how ecstatic you are to finally have a boyfriend during the holidays, even if it was technically your best friend as a stand-in.

DECEMBER 21st

Tonight’s your first date with Yangyang.

That sounds weird to say, you admit to yourself, but it’s the truth.

After you stroll out of your last final of the semester, Yangyang’s waiting for you inside near the main exit of the building with several layers on, including his hoodie over his head and a knitted scarf underneath. His attention leaves his phone and he stuffs it into pocket as he notices you heading over.

“Hey, girlfriend,” he welcomes you, beaming.

You snicker at the unfamiliar label. You wonder if you’re going to get used to this, even if it’s only for two weeks.

“Hey, boyfriend,” you grin harder as the word falls from your lips, trying your best not to outright burst into laughter. “Where we heading off to?”

Although you said both of you could play the dating by ear, Yangyang’s been keen on scheduling plans for the upcoming days. You told him he didn’t have to, however, he insisted by saying that he wouldn’t only be a horrible boyfriend, but a horrible friend if he couldn’t make the next weeks fun for you.

Yangyang was anything but a horrible friend, and the fact that he was willing to be your holiday boyfriend to make you happy proved it further. Nevertheless, you gladly let him take the reins.

“I was thinking the movies tonight? See the latest Marvel film?”

Concurring to the idea, you scurry towards the bus stop and are movie-theatre bound to the nearest one off-campus. Arriving at the theatre, Yangyang and you buy your tickets and a popcorn to share, then head into the respective auditorium where the movie is playing. Since the movie’s been running for a couple of weeks, the auditorium is fairly empty, giving you two the chance to snag perfect middle seats with nobody else is in the row.

Up to this point, aside from the name-dropping of boyfriend and girlfriend, this feels less like a date and more like any other hang-out with him. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing awkward.

But that changes during a third of the movie.

You’re both so immersed by the screen that neither party notices the other’s hand when both of you reach for the popcorn in Yangyang’s lap at the same time.

A jolt runs through as your hands brush together. The duo’s eyes tear away from the screen and flit to the action happening in real-time. The touch lingers for several moments.

“Sorry,” you quickly mumble, drawing your hand back slightly, but still hovering over the popcorn.

“Uhm,” Yangyang licks his lips and visibly gulps under the screen’s bright glare.

He whispers, his voice almost cracking, “As your boyfriend, can I hold your hand?”

Okay, this is just your best friend, acting as your temporary boyfriend, asking to hold your hand. No big deal, no big deal at all.

Yet, the thunderous knocking in your ears, louder than the explosions blasting through the theatre’s speakers, suggests otherwise.

You don’t even register it, but you’re already nodding in response. Your breathing slows to the rate of Yangyang’s hand inching over. At the anticipated contact, you gasp softly. His smooth fingers clasp over yours. Since the arm rest in the middle of you is positioned upward, there’s no obtrusion and you relax, letting your hands mingle in between the empty space.

Without looking at one another, both of you smile bashfully to yourselves as you try to continue to focus on the screen.

After a while, because you aren’t exactly holding hands, you spread your fingers, hastily doing so because you don’t want him to think you’re breaking the interaction, and twist your palm to properly interlock hands with him. You give Yangyang’s hand a warm, gentle squeeze. He does the same and even strokes his thumb against your skin.

Talk about playing everything by ear. Who knew you’d be hand in hand on the first date?

You attempt to not think much on it, but Yangyang’s hand in yours feels... so right, like your hand was made for this, for his to hold. Like you should’ve done this way sooner.

And if Yangyang’s thoughts could be heard, he’s thinking the same.

Despite the mutual fear of sweaty palms, neither of you desire to let go, so much that you not only hold hands during the rest of the movie, but throughout the bus ride back to campus and all the way until he escorts you to your front door.

With a certain charge in the atmosphere, you exchange sweet good-byes. That night, after the culmination of stress from finals and your worries of your holiday exes, you finally have a peaceful sleep, looking forward to your date with Yangyang tomorrow.

DECEMBER 22nd

“Babe, how do I look?”

“Very pretty, honey.” A bundled up Yangyang winks at you from behind his phone.

The second date is an evening at a Christmas light festival at a botanical garden on the outskirts of town. The lights illuminate so strongly; there was a glowing dome-like hue over the location that seemed to reach the dark sky as you got off the bus.

When stepping foot into the garden, all the encompassing lights mesmerize you. Lights on the various greenery, lights as decorative art pieces, lights lining the pathways. Different shades of colours and shapes engulf the massive area.

Yangyang’s currently in the middle of taking your photo near an arch tangled with dark blue, gold, and white bulbs. All night long, you’ve been mockingly using endearing terms, but, despite the frigid air, your cheeks heat up over something else he just said.

“You think I’m pretty?” you genuinely ask, breaking your pose.

He lowers his phone a bit, his jaw dangling.

“Uh, I mean,” he giggles awkwardly, nodding softly. “Yeah.”

Yangyang never told you, but he initially sat near you in Psych 101 because he thought you were the most stunning girl in the class. And sure, he was a little disappointed at the time to find out you had a boyfriend, but that didn’t mean you two couldn’t still be friends. Other than the first few weeks he had a crush on you, he’s never thought of you as more than a friend.

But those feelings are resurfacing, hitting him in the chest like a bag of bricks, due to moments like this one—you’re batting your eyelids, gaze straying elsewhere, and adorably chewing on your lower lip.

“And you’re not just saying that as my holiday boyfriend?”

Pouting to one side, he shakes his head cutely. “Mm-mm.”

On the flipside, the beginning with Yangyang for you was strictly platonic. You were dating Haechan at the time you met him. When Haechan broke up with you later that fall, you kept a distance from dating for a while, heartbroken from the high school love gone sour. During that period, you never told him, but you did run through the possibility of dating Yangyang since you got along so well... until you met Jaemin earlier the next semester, who stole your heart. Ever since then, you’ve never seen Yangyang under that light again.

Despite that, you can’t deny how attractive he is, and now that you’re single and technically dating him, you embrace the fact with open arms.

Beaming as bright as the lights, you tug him by the end of his puffer jacket’s sleeve to bring him closer to you.

“C’mon, handsome, let’s take some pictures together.” Prickles rise under Yangyang’s cheeks from the off-hand compliment.

Holding your phone up in the air at about an arm’s length away, the side of your heads touch to prepare for a few selfies. When you finish capturing them, Yangyang’s hovering over your shoulder as you scroll through to glance through the photos.

“We look good together,” you comment. “Don’t you think?”

In sync, your heads turn to meet each other. Your eyes waver from the blatant clouds of your breaths and over to his lips. The clouds become rapid bursts as you begin to lean forward. So does Yangyang.

“Do you guys want a picture together?” someone suddenly asks. The abrupt voice drags you both apart instantly, crushing the moment into pieces.

“Sure,” you peep, fumbling to hand your phone over to the stranger.

Posing, Yangyang’s hand rests around the middle of your back, which is the norm when you take pictures with him, but he pulls you in snugly. You smile even wider, relishing in the new-level of intimacy and allow yourself to be truly content among his presence.

“You guys are such a cute couple,” the stranger gushes while they return your phone prior to walking away.

“I guess we are, huh, babe?” you jut your tongue out in jest at him. This time, you indulge in the endearing term without a sliver of mockery.

Yangyang copies you, jutting his tongue out further than yours, and seizes your hand to continue the tour around the gleaming garden.

The almost-kiss isn’t mentioned for the rest of the night, nor is it acted upon, but both individuals dwell on the near occurrence before sleep that evening, staring longingly at their bedroom ceiling.

DECEMBER 23rd

For the third date, you find yourselves at the campus’ dedicated ice rink arena to partake in ice skating.

You’ve skated a few times in the past, but you’re by no means a pro. On the other hand, this is apparently Yangyang’s first time, and he’s already skating circles around you.

“Show off,” you grumble as he does another lap past you. Your gloved hands are splayed out in front of you, careful not to fall flat on your face.

Turning on his blades, he rebounds over to you.

“Sorry,” he pants. His raised cheeks glow an adorable shade of pink. “This is really fun when you get the hang of it.”

Yangyang intertwines his fingers with yours before you can say anything. “C’mon, take my hand.”

At first, it was sweet to skate alongside your holiday boyfriend, notwithstanding the few times you almost trip. As the minutes pass, you think you’re getting the hang of it, but suddenly, Yangyang unleashes your hand and glides ahead of you, abandoning you to slide at a swift pace that is definitely out of your comfort zone.

“Yangyang, what the fuck?!” you screech, completely disregarding the handful of surrounding parents with their kids, the former sending daggers your direction. Your ankles struggle to make a T-shape to stop, but the struggling only somehow makes you move faster.

As he spins to face you, now skating backwards with ease, he says, “See, you got the hang of it-oomph—”

Air’s struck from his lungs when you crash into his body. Thankfully, Yangyang skids his blades harshly against the ice and is able to steady and support you within his arms.

“You little fucker,” you gripe, lightly punching him in the arm.

He chuckles blithely, “Sorry, but it was kinda funny, you gotta admit.”

You breathe a large huff, which makes you note how your hair is falling over your face after the catastrophe. You’re about to lift your hand to rearrange the strands, but Yangyang beats you to it and is in the midst of tucking them behind your ear.

The knocking in your ears reappears with a vengeance and the physical source of the knocking is thrashing violently against your chest.

Your scorching breaths fuse in the refrigerated rink as Yangyang eliminates the inches of space between, his plush mouth ultimately converging with yours.

You have to constantly remind yourself to breathe under Yangyang’s intensity, and remind yourself that you’re in a public space and shouldn’t be making out like this.

But everyone’s skating around the couple, daring to not disrupt the affectionate display.

God, you don’t know when was the last time you’ve been kissed like this. Have you ever even experienced a kiss that was a fraction of this? Yangyang daintily cups your cheeks like you’re glass, but his lips press ruggedly into yours, inflaming your entirety and melting any existence of your figurative fragility.

You ignore the echo in the back of your mind that reminds you he’s your temporary boyfriend.

The Talk will inevitably occur, but your future self could deal with it. Presently, you’re too caught up, drowning in Yangyang’s embrace.

DECEMBER 24th

On Christmas Eve, Yangyang decides to bring you to an outdoor Christmas market.

Understandably, since it’s the day before Christmas, the place is absolutely packed. For the first fifteen minutes or so, it’s joyous being immersed in the Christmas spirit with the assorted little shops and their respective products. You’re holding Yangyang’s hand tightly, pointing and half-shouting over the bustle about the items that catch your eye.

Unfortunately, someone accidentally bumps against your arms and your hand is gone from his.

Swivelling your head, searching through the crowd, it occurs to you that you officially lost Yangyang.

Your feet come to a halt as your hand attempts to dig into your jacket pocket to pluck your phone out, but the moving crowd forces you to constantly follow the stream.

You yell for him, but words can’t materialize. Your windpipe tightens. Your breath is becoming shallower and shallower. Blood pulses in your ears alarmingly, blocking out the clamour from around you. Your mind’s running everywhere without control.

Where is your boyfriend?

No, scratch that, he’s not your actual boyfriend—where is your best friend?

Did he leave you? He would never.

Right?

But what happens when all of this is over? Will you still have your best friend?

You’ve avoided The Talk long enough, but you didn’t expect to catch feelings for him. Not like this.

Maybe you’re just destined to be alone.

Is this how it feels to actually lose him?

Tears fight your vision. You hear a faint call of your name, but you can’t urge yourself to turn around, sinking only further into the sea of anonymity. You’re just a face in a crowd, all alone, with no one who cares—

Yangyang grasps you by the arm and maneuvers you aside to a less busy area behind one of the vendor stands.

“Oh, God, thought I lost you there—”

You cut him off, hugging him with all your might and stuff your face in his chest cushioned by the downy layers of his winter jacket. Yangyang immediately drapes his arms securely around you, reading your uneasiness.

“Hey, I got you. I got you,” he soothes, running a hand through your hair. “God, not my best idea. Sorry for bringing you here.”

You shake your head, wordlessly informing him that it’s okay. You’re just glad to be with him again.

“Wanna go home?”

You nod solemnly, and Yangyang zips you out of there in minutes with his arm tucked by your side, ensuring he doesn’t lose you in the crowd again.

Fortunately, the jitters mostly disappear when you arrive at your place in the late afternoon. You’re in the middle of rummaging through your keys to unlock your door.

“Sorry I didn’t have anything else planned for today,” he mumbles, leaning with folded arms against the wall.

“Did you...” You insert the correct key and turn the lock, clicking the door open. Your gaze lifts to match his. “Did you wanna maybe have dinner with me tonight? I was thinking of ordering pizza in.”

The grin that reaches his eyes is a sufficient answer for you.

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He hangs his arm around your shoulder and plants a kiss atop your head.

After chomping down pizza and playing a few rounds of Super Smash Bros. on Yangyang’s Switch, you peer over to him on your living room couch while he’s figuring out which character he should play next.

The little mental voice in the back of your mind prods you, reminding that you should really, really have The Talk soon. The Talk that you swept under the rug at the start by saying you’d play everything by ear.

Four dates later, and the thought of this ending scares the living daylights out of you. This not only including the interim relationship, but the dire possibility of the friendship itself too. Is it possible to go back to how you were, flipping it off like a light switch?

But the internal voice is smothered as you’re drawn to his pouting lips in thought. His pouting, oh-so kissable lips. Following the ice skating kiss yesterday, you only shared a good-bye kiss when he dropped you off. Since then, you’ve been itching to have his lips on yours again.

Yangyang eventually detects your lack of focus and finds you gawking at his mouth. Your gaze dashes to his eyes, blinking innocently, but then his eyes flicker to your mouth.

The tension in the room snaps. You two carefully throw the Switch controllers off to one side and attach yourselves together. Unlike the crashing of your bodies at the ice rink, this one is purposeful. Deliberated, as his forehead presses into yours and his tender caress carries your cheek. Your body plummets backwards until Yangyang pins you completely into the couch.

Initially, the lip-locking is gentle and mild. Your fingers lay in the vicinity of his angular visage and sturdy upper frame, in contrast to his hand curling around your waist in a light squeeze.

Soon, hands traverse to other regions—his back, your thigh, his stomach, your ass. Each touch seeking, craving, whining. Tongues slinking and dancing with appetite. Your bodies buzz for more.

Open-mouthed kisses transition from the damp lips to each other’s necks. The touches dig deeper, thriving with hunger. Your back bows, body curving into his. Grinding ensues and his robust desire is blatant against your own pulsing passion.

“You don’t happen to have any condoms on you, do you?” you groan upwards to the ceiling.

He retracts from your neck to swing his head side to side, grumbling a “Sorry, we can stop...” yet you interrupt his apology by cupping his covered length. The guttural groan he exhales into your lips makes you shiver with pleasure.

“Doesn’t mean we still can’t have fun with our hands...” you say slyly.

“Fuck yeah,” he rasps, smirking, before diving in again to taste your mouth.

Clothes are stripped with the assistance of each other, leaving you with only your bra on while Yangyang opts to be completely bare. He tops your body in the same position once more.

On the couch arm rest, your head is perched with his hand clutching the space next to it for leverage. Both figures are too scatter-brained to delve into the exquisite nudity of one another, hands flying desperately to your respective arousals.

Your pretty fingers wrap around his possession almost exactly when he dips two digits into your warmth. In unison, two sharp, quiet gasps pierce the room.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he hisses observantly. You’re so overwhelmed by the bliss that you can’t assemble any sort of response.

Your mouth’s parted to one side, chest soaring with each plunge. Through his clouded vision, he ambles over your curves and lines and yearns to see your breasts, but he respects your choice of keeping it on and opts to ambush the expanse with kisses. Your chest is launched further into his mouth and Yangyang assumes you’re enjoying this.

Fearing friction burn, you drop him from your grip momentarily, swiping a few licks over your palm. When your hand pumps him again, now drenched with saliva, grunts reverberate against your skin.

“Yangyang?” you whimper, causing his face to pull away from the temple of your body.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m-I’m close.” And he can attest to it; the contractions around him are increasing, harshly squeezing his fingers.

“Same,” he pants.

Your best friend flicks his wrist with ignition, securing your waves of elation. You attempt to do the same, but it’s difficult when he’s also sloppily thrusting himself into your fist, so you simply clench your grasp harder. His features pinch and choppy moans dribble as he yields to his climax, gushing himself over your stomach.

Still sucking in lungfuls of air, Yangyang kisses you tenderly before removing himself to clean up the mess he made.

Following the clean-up, while putting on your clothes, Yangyang expresses how he should get going since it’s getting late.

“Did you wanna stay the night?” you pipe up.

His mind races, debating on whether to leave or not, anxious to blur the lines of your relationship even further.

Sure, he’s your temporary boyfriend, thus staying over at your place shouldn’t mean anything. But this agreement is ending next week, and he’s questioning if you two can stay just friends after this, knowing that he’s going to want more. Yangyang has had a taste of the what if, and it’s now irrevocable.

He wants you all for himself. Selfishly, but deeply.

For the sake of keeping this a great thing for you, he shoves his thoughts aside. This is all about you and for your benefit, anyhow.

“Uh, sure, I can take the couch like I always—”

“Yangyang, you just put your fingers inside of me,” you snicker, snagging him by the hand to your bedroom. “C’mon.”

The rest of the night is relatively chaste with some kisses and touches here and there. Eventually, you fall asleep facing each other with your fingers interlocked, excited for the big day tomorrow.

DECEMBER 25th

Normally on Christmas, Yangyang and you spend it with your respective families, but coincidentally, both of your families, your parents being retired and all, ended up vacationing this year, leaving the two of you to spend it with each other.

After getting up around noon, Yangyang heads to his place to grab his gift. He takes longer than you expected because, as it turns out, he also went home to grab baking goods he bought beforehand since he wants to make butter cookies with you today.

The cookies end up fine, but the mess is another story. Besides the chaos on the counter, your faces and aprons are splotched with flour (you swear he started it, but he disagrees and stands his ground that you’re the perpetrator). With a damp cloth, Yangyang aids you to clean, but not forgetting to wipe your face and giving you pecks over your cheeks and nose.

The baking and aftermath occupies most of the afternoon, so dinner comes in the form of fancy, romantic instant ramen for two. Afterwards, you two sit in your living room and start to exchange gifts.

Yangyang hands his over to you first. From the size of the gift and the crumpled, oddly-shaped wrapping, you already can guess it’s a stuffed plushie of a cute animal to add to your never ending collection. You hug it tightly with a large smile.

“It’s so cute, thank you!” you squeal, but you change your expression in an instant to a serious pout. “But you can’t steal this one like you did with my Ice Bear plushie.”

“Hey, I didn’t steal Ice Bear, I just forgot to give him back.” You roll your eyes sarcastically and he laughs. “I’ll bring him over tomorrow, if it makes you feel better.”

Then, when it’s your turn, you head into your bedroom and come out with a large, white shopping bag. His eyebrows raise, unsure of what could warrant a gift this size.

“For being my holiday boyfriend,” you grin, placing the bag in front of his feet.

Despite the hugest smile on your face, his heart sinks at the label for a second, but he blinks and wills himself to look inside the bag.

His eyes shoot open, so much that you’re scared you might have to stuff them back into his sockets.

Yangyang slips the box out of the bag with precision and stares at it speechlessly.

It’s the new Playstation.

He shifts his eyes toward you. You’re swaying on the couch, pleased by his reaction.

“Your parents paid for most of it, so I can’t take all the credit.” Sticking a finger in the air, you add, “You just gotta promise to share custody with me though—”

A hand behind your head yanks you into a deep kiss. He’s not the only one left speechless on the couch. He places the top of his head against yours.

“You’re crazy, but I love—” He quickly catches himself from saying something he might regret. “—I love it so much, thank you. Now I feel bad for getting you only the stuffed animal...”

You shake your head softly, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone.

“Thank you for everything.” Your eyes twinkle. “I couldn’t have asked to spend the holidays with anyone else.”

Carefully, like a newborn baby, he safely situates the boxed Playstation to one side and nabs your lips with his again. The scene feels like repeat of last night as your bodies wrestle passionately on the couch.

“Not to be presumptuous,” he mutters between the kisses upon your neck. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation. “But I also grabbed condoms from my place when I stopped by.”

His words sends the two of you leaping towards your bedroom. Under the dim lighting, you fall into the bed as Yangyang pares your layers off, one by one. With each peel, his lips roam the revealing bare skin. You swear he has kissed you from your literal head to toe when you’re fully nude in front of him.

Your companion drags his shirt over his head, throws it off to your floor, and immediately targets in onto your nub with his mouth, finally satiating his craving from last night.

Fingers thread into his hair and over his flexed back. His tongue swirls and his teeth lightly tug on your perkiness, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And he still isn’t even inside you yet.

After leaving love upon your other bosom, Yangyang fumbles with the condom, forgetting which way it should go on. Giggling, you perch yourself onto your elbows and assist him. Rolling it over his possession, you recline yourself back and spread your legs for him.

Pensively, he sticks his tongue out as he adjusts himself between your sex, easing himself into you, and upon the full impact, you meet his gaze head-on. His stare makes you feel vulnerable and exposed beyond the physical plane.

But, unlike the others you have been with, you trust him with everything, like you always have, and be free with him. Losing your inhibitions and submitting to your whims, you entangle and become one with Yangyang.

Behind his hazy vision, Yangyang’s simply thinking how beautiful you are, how he can’t imagine anyone else under his touch but you, how he is willing to give up anything to make you smile.

Well, in this case, he’s willing to give up anything to make you pleased.

However, it doesn’t seem like he needs to do much because you’re howling his name and clinging onto his skin and the sheets in a frenzy, like you’re about to die of exhaustion.

You perish a few times under him before he finally reaches his little death himself, convulsing into the sheath.

When air’s replenished into your bodies, you rest on his chest under your blanket. Glancing up at him, you move some of his tousled hair off his sleek forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Yangyang,” you whisper, snuggling him with a satisfied smile.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he whispers back, giving you one last peck before you both drift into a deep slumber together.

DECEMBER 26th

Last night took so much out of the both of you, you don’t get out of bed until about the middle of the afternoon. Yangyang doesn’t have anything planned for today since it’s Boxing Day, since the crowds might be crazy wherever you go, so it’s officially a chill, rest day for you both.

When you step out of the shower in fresh clothes, from behind the couch, you watch Yangyang gaming on his Switch.

The little voice in your head looms, prompting that now is the time to have The Talk, and speaks up on your behalf.

“Do we have to end things next week?” you croak.

You see Yangyang’s shoulders stiffen, then he pauses the game and turns around to face you. His gaze follows you as you step closer to the couch, opting to stand.

“Uhm.” His Adam’s apple bobs and he shrugs. “It’s up to you, it’s your—”

“Yangyang, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking what you think, how do you feel?”

His lips press together and he’s staring at the floor. You can tell the gears are moving, but you can’t read his expression clearly.

“I’m down for whatever you want to do,” he says slowly, eyes still averting yours.

That’s a I’m-your-best-friend answer, you deduce. Not a I-want-to-be-your-actual-boyfriend answer.

He adds, stuttering, “I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing this a little longer if that’s what you want—”

Your face scrunches in annoyance. “Did you just sign up to be my short-term boyfriend so you can fill my empty heart?”

His eyebrows crease with confusion. “I mean, I never want to see you unhappy.”

“So it’s pity dating then?” you lash, raising your voice.

“No, I—” Yangyang bites down on his tongue, almost letting the one word slip out again. He blows out a lengthy sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I care about you, so much. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

You’re defining his words as an affirmation of friendship and as an underlying rejection of your love.

You need to know for certain.

“Do you love me, Yangyang?” you blurt. “As more than a friend?”

This is it, Yangyang thinks. This is your chance to let her know how you feel.

But the distress written on your face makes him wonder if he should even go through with it, and it’s intensifying with every passing moment that he’s not speaking.

If only he knew your distress was deepening because you took his hesitance as absolute rejection.

Your heart is breaking because of him, and he technically wasn’t even yours to begin with.

You smack your lips together and gulp a few times, trying to make the huge knot in your throat disappear.

“You know what, maybe let’s just forget this arrangement and leave it all behind and forget about the sex and—”

“You wanna stop this?” he utters quietly.

The word “this” hangs heavy in the air. This, carrying the weight of not only being the temporary agreement, but also your friendship.

“Yeah,” you whisper, tears beginning to blur your eyes. “I think I do.”

DECEMBER 28th

Two days have passed since you last saw Yangyang.

That day before he left, Yangyang, feeling guilty for how events unfolded, wanted to give back the Playstation, but you insisted for him to keep it. In spite of everything, it was a Christmas gift to him from you and his parents.

But both of you weren’t sure if the shared custody promise was going to be held up.

In hopes that things would eventually get better and heal itself, Yangyang thought it’d be best to leave you alone for a while, like how he usually did.

And maybe he was right to do so, but this time is different.

Because he’s on the other end of the stick now; he’s the one who broke your heart.

Under regular circumstances, whenever you needed space, he was always ready to be there by your side.

But Yangyang’s uncertain if you’re going to let him comfort you this time.

And you’re uncertain if you even want him to.

DECEMBER 30th

Today, Yangyang finally makes the move to get in touch with you, texting you to call him, but you don’t, so he leaves a voicemail later in the evening.

“There’s a New Year’s party I’m going to tomorrow,” he starts off, then spews the specific details.

There’s a pause and you hear shuffling in the background. You assume he’s pacing around.

“I know you ended our agreement, but I wouldn’t mind fulfilling my end since New Year’s is the last day tomorrow. I’d be really glad if you came to the party with me, whether it be as my friend or my girlfriend.”

Another pause.

On the other end, Yangyang rubs his palm over his face, considering whether or not he should say it. If you picked up the phone call, he was going to do it anyway, but this just felt improper. He wants to say it when he knows you’re listening in real-time, so he ends off the message with:

“I miss you. So much.”

DECEMBER 31st

It’s 8:40PM. Before Yangyang buses out to the party, he’s back at your front door for one more shot. His fist taps at your door, cognizant that you wouldn’t be elsewhere since your other friends are out of town for the holidays. Despite that, you don’t come to the door. Nevertheless, he speaks to you through the wooden barrier.

“Hey, I know you want to be left alone, but I just wanted to see if you changed your mind about the party.”

Still no answer. He lets out a sigh and prays the following will incite a reaction from you.

“About the question that you asked me that night...”

He closes his eyes and allows his mouth to carry him.

“I do. I do love you. As both my best friend and more. I’m sorry if I hurt you that night by not saying anything, but I love you so much and I think we should give us a shot.”

Still no answer. Yangyang continues.

“Look, I know it’s scary and crazy to date your best friend. I’m scared too, but you know what? I’m okay with being scared. I’ve watched you gone through those assholes over the last few years and maybe you’re scared I’ll end up like one of them, but unlike them, I don’t think you’re horrible or needy or emotional—you’re beautiful, intelligent, and strong for putting up with all those fuckers.”

He leans his forehead gently against the door.

“And even if we ever do break up, and this is a big if because I’ll always try my hardest with you to make it work, I’ll still be your friend. I promise. You won’t lose me ‘cause I need you in my life. I gotta keep my end up for the custody of the Playstation, right?”

A smile breaks over his face from his joke, but still. Radio silence.

“Can you at least say something?” he begs.

After a few minutes, realizing he needs to probably give you more time to be left alone, he departs and heads to the party.

Originally, you actually were planning on attending the party to see Yangyang to make-up with him.

Unfortunately, out of all the days you had to take a late afternoon nap, it had to be today.

And you overslept. Big time.

At 10:55PM, you scramble awake, realizing you’re absolutely late to the event. Since the party’s downtown, you know calling an Uber or Lyft there would be fast, but tonight’s the worst night for any share riding service and there aren’t any available drivers. Thus, you have to manage with busing there.

It’s 11:40PM when you finally reach downtown, but the bus can’t take you all the way to the core centre where the party is; hordes of people are out on the streets and traffic is dreadful. God, you’re going to be cutting it close to midnight, but you make a run for it.

You’re grateful the party is on the second floor of a small building because you slide in right through the entrance at 11:58PM. You rush to call Yangyang’s phone, hoping he’ll pick up as you try to find him in the scattered groups of people.

You begin to holler for him in hopes he can hear you, but the countdown is happening, drowning out your voice. Thirty seconds left until the clock strikes for the new year.

When his number finally goes to voicemail, you redial his number. Suddenly, a hand grasps you by the wrist.

Yangyang looks at you, dumbfounded.

“When did you get here?”

The harmonious chanting around you floods your surroundings.

“Ten, nine, eight...”

Getting closer to him, you practically scream into Yangyang’s face, trusting he’ll hear what you’re about to say.

“I know Christmas is over, but I want to change my wish.”

“Seven, six, five...”

“I know you might not feel the same and I know things might not work out.”

“Four, three, two...”

”But I wish to date you past New Year’s until whenever, however long we last.”

“One...”

“I love you, Yangyang—”

The one you love snatches you by the waist and your cheek, stealing your lips at the last millisecond before midnight.

“Happy New Year!”

A wave of noisemakers, clappers, and hollering erupt around the room. After it dies down a bit, Yangyang shocks you with a scolding.

“Why didn’t you say anything when I came over?!”

Confusion rushes over you. You realize he probably came by when you were sleeping.

“You came over?!”

“Yeah, I confessed my love for you.”

“Wait,” you blink blankly, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Your love?”

“Yeah,” he nods, giving you his cheesy, adorable smile. “I love you.”

“As more than a friend?” you clarify.

“Babe,” Yangyang’s thumb caresses your cheek. “I don’t think I could ever go back to wanting less with you.”

Your lips tremble with relief as your gaze melts in his.

“And, anyway, who else am I going to share the Playstation with?”

“Well, I mean, you do have Hendery, Xiaojun, Winwin...” you start to count his infinite list of friends on your fingers.

“Yeah, but I need you so I can constantly beat your cute little butt at games.”

“You do not constantly beat my cute little butt at games, I’ll have you know that I beat you at—”

Yangyang shuts you up with another kiss, the one of many for the rest of the night.

JANUARY 2nd

It’s your second morning at Yangyang’s place. You’ve only done it a few times now, but you realize that waking up in his arms is one of the greatest feelings in the world, second only to his kisses.

In his bed, spooning you from behind, he grumbles into the nape of your neck, “Morning, girlfriend.”

Half-awake, you mumble back, “Morning, boyfriend,” and sink deeper into the curve of his body.

Content, you finally broke your string of cursed holiday break-ups for good.

And all it took was to be with the one who was in front of you all this time.

2K notes · View notes

fromthedeskoftheraven · 4 years

Text

Visions of sugarplums

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Content: Pining, workplace romance, fake dating if you squint, oh no we’re snowed in, mention of food, kissing, making out, mostly-non-explicit sex (under-18s, jog on), so many sweet pet names you’ll get cavities, romantic Jack because apparently I'm a sucker for that

Word count: ~4800 (yeah. Jack is a demanding muse)

Prompt: “Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last” (Let Her Go, Passenger), for @yespolkadotkitty‘s follower celebration writing challenge 🎉

Note: I said canon Whiskey who? This cowboy drinks respect women juice.

Part two: Kentucky welcome Part three: Just say you will

Taglist (if you’d like to be tagged, un-tagged, or make a request for future fics, feel free to let me know): @writemessystarwars @keeper0fthestars @flightlessangelwings @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @songsformonkeys @beccaplaying

-----------------------------

A whirl of snow stings your cheek like a slap as you hurry through the grounds of the posh ski resort that sprawls across the valley, dotted with cozy cabins and million-dollar chalets.

Your sheer stockings, low-cut dress, and teetering heels are no match for snow bursts and the wind that cuts through you like a knife. Inwardly cursing your alter ego and her penchant for skimpy fashions, you tug your thin coat more tightly around you.

This mission was supposed to be a piece of cake. A few days at a luxe resort, posing with your partner as an arms dealer and his girlfriend to get close to your target, and everything was going swimmingly...until your search of the target’s study during a cocktail party was interrupted by two of his security staff making their rounds ahead of schedule. The adrenaline rush of your narrow escape is still humming in your veins.

Beside you, long strides making quick work of the path, Jack Daniels has transformed himself from intelligence agent to wealthy gun runner with the world on a string. The cashmere overcoat that cost more than your first car is the perfect finishing touch to his sharp suit, and his dark good looks stand out even in the hazy moonlight.

Rounding the corner of a chalet, Jack slows his steps to a stroll. A strong arm pulls you flush against his side as he walks, letting an easy laugh float on the wind like you’ve said something witty. Before you have time to wonder what’s going on, another couple materializes in the pool of light from a lamp, squinting against the gusts that throw fresh powder into the air like confetti.

“Evening,” Jack says with a tip of his hat and a winning smile, the very picture of a genial Southern gentleman. “This weather sure is pickin’ up, ain’t it?”

The couple mutter their agreement and hurry on their way. Once they’re out of sight Jack’s hand slides to the small of your back, guiding you as you both quicken your strides again. Your teeth are chattering by the time the wind blows you onto the porch of your own cabin, and in a fumble of hands on the doorknob you step together into the blessed stillness of the spacious room.

A cheerful whistle pierces the air and you turn to find Jack brushing snow off of his black Stetson and favoring you with a lopsided smirk. Even damp with melting snow he manages to be striking, all sultry eyes and dashing mustache and wayward strands of dark hair curling over his forehead.

“Nothin’ like a little skirmish to get the blood pumping.” He carefully sets the hat on the fireplace mantel to dry. “I feel like...”

“...A tornado in a trailer park,” you finish with him, earning one of those wide, dimpled grins that always dazzles you a little in return.

“Just so,” he says.

“That’s another one in the ‘win’ column.” You try to suppress a shiver as you pull the flash drive that might as well be a smoking gun from the cleavage of your dress. “A few bumps in the road, but we got what we needed.”

Jack ignores the congratulations, stepping close to take your chilled hands between his large ones. His hands aren’t much warmer than yours, but the thrill that trickles down your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

The frown lines between his brows deepen. “Darlin’, you’re colder than a well-digger’s belt buckle. Go on and have yourself a hot shower while I get a fire started and check in with HQ.”

“I can wait, I’ll help you,” you offer.

He shakes his head, already moving toward the fireplace. “Don’t you worry, sugarplum, ol’ Jack’ll have this place snug in no time. You just get comfortable.”

Helpless against the lure of hot water and fuzzy socks, you rummage in your suitcase for a change of clothes. Still, you stop at the bathroom door to look back at Jack where he’s stacking logs with the same determination furrowing his brow as when he’s reviewing dossiers or cleaning his guns.

The two of you have been almost inseparable for the year that you’ve been working for the Statesman agency. Even your code name was assigned with your partnership in mind, a little inside joke Champ never gets tired of telling when he introduces the two best agents in the New York office: “...Because you can’t have a Manhattan without Whiskey and Vermouth!”

Jack comes on as strong as his namesake liquor, but you’ve seen the steely nature under his flashy Southern charm, the practice behind the effortless shows of skill, the tender heart he hides with bravado.

And he has no idea you’ve fallen in love with him.

As though he can feel your gaze, Jack looks up, his stern expression relaxing. He gives you a wink and waves one hand to shoo you along before getting back to his task.

With a sheepish smile, you duck into the bathroom and turn on the shower before you can do something stupid.

Like asking him to join you.

***

"Mission report, Agent?”

Champ’s projection flickers into the armchair across from Jack, looking like some kind of Halloween effect with the flames dancing over the logs in the fireplace behind him.

“We’ve got all the intel we need.” Jack adjusts his glasses, stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “Agents ready for pickup.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s Vermouth?”

Jack glances toward the sound of running water. “She’s just showerin’ to warm up. We got caught in a snow flurry coming back to the cabin.”

“That so?” The ghost of a smile flits over Champ’s face. “I thought you’d want to be the one warmin’ her up.”

Jack’s not sure if he’s more annoyed by the teasing, or how quick he is to take the bait. “Champ, this ain’t a Fourth of July picnic. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m on a delicate mission with my partner.”

“Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled, son,” Champ says mildly, reaching for a highball glass. “You confided in me about your feelings, and I’m just givin’ you a little nudge of encouragement.”

“I did not confide in you.” Jack leans forward to jab a finger at the hazy image of his boss. “You tested Ginger’s new truth serum on me.”

Champ’s grin is distinctly unrepentant. “Well, you looked like a man who needed to get somethin’ off his chest. ‘Sides, I won twenty bucks from Tequila for being right.”

Jack only grunts, slumping on the couch again. “Your granny’s special mint julep recipe, my ass.”

“Jack, she’s a pretty girl. Smart as that whip of yours. You think you’ll be the only one to notice? Anybody can see Vermouth thinks the world of you, but one of these days she’ll be wearin’ another man’s ring if you don’t stop pussyfooting around and make good on all that flirtin’ you do.”

That idea settles in Jack’s stomach like a bad oyster.

Of course, Champ has a point.

You are pretty. No, scratch that...beautiful. You’re a hell of a good agent -- the quickest route to Jack’s bad side is to suggest otherwise -- but you’re so much more than that. Your sweetness and spirit are more than a man like him can hope to deserve, but damn if the way your eyes light up when you smile doesn’t thaw something long dormant in his chest.

If he’s been hell-bent on keeping things professional between you, his dreams are anything but. When he closes his eyes he sees you, soft and yearning and his. His to have and hold until he wakes up aching, with your phantom touch lingering on his skin.

He’s starting to forget why professionalism was so important to him in the first place.

“Champ, you got anything else related to this mission? Been a long day here.”

“Matter of fact, I do.” Thankfully, Champ has the grace to go along with the change of subject. “That storm’s kickin’ up too much snow to get a jet in there. You’ll have to hunker down and wait for a pickup in the morning.”

Well, if the universe wants to hand Jack another night in your company, who is he to argue?

“Copy that,” he says out loud. “We’ll await contact in the morning.”

Champ smiles. “Plenty of time for any long-overdue conversations you might want to have.”

“You’re startin’ to break up. Whiskey out.” Jack pulls off the glasses and tosses them unceremoniously onto the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sparing a glance at the darkening sky outside the window, he hauls himself off of the couch to put another log on the fire, trying not to think about how Champ just might be right.

***

When you emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, Jack is lounging on the couch in front of a crackling fire. He’s traded the designer clothes for jeans and a faded button-down shirt and managed to tame his tousled hair. You know he takes pride in his trademark hat and bespoke suit jackets, but there’s something about him when he’s dressed down and softer around the edges that tugs at your heart.

He looks up when you come into the room, cheek dimpling with a smile. “Well, don’t you look like a new woman? Thought you were fixin’ to turn into an icicle on me for a minute, there.”

“Here’s hoping our next assignment involves sandy beaches and umbrella drinks.” You hug your sweater around yourself. “What’s the word from Champ?”

“Looks like we’re here for the night on account of this storm.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind rattles the windows, making you jump.

“Come and have a seat by the fire, sweetheart.” Jack picks something up from the coffee table and waves it at you. “Got a protein bar and some water for you. I don’t know about you, but a handful of damn canapes ain’t going to see me through to morning.”

“You sure know how to wine and dine a girl, cowboy,” you tease, dropping onto the couch.

His laugh is as good-natured as ever. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you the best steak you’ve ever had.”

“The best steak since the last one you cooked for me?"

“Well, a man should always be improvin’ his technique to keep a woman happy.” His dark eyes twinkle with mischief, and you roll your eyes but can’t quite smother a laugh.

The protein bar tastes something like chocolate-flavored chalk but you’re hungry enough to make quick work of it, washing it down with gulps of water. Jack nudges your shoulder and you find him offering his flask with a wry smile.

“’Fraid it’s all I've got in the way of dessert.”

The whiskey inside burns its way down your throat and mellows to spread its warm glow through your chest. With a sigh, you hand back the flask, watching Jack’s throat ripple with the swig he takes before reattaching it to his belt.

The liquor’s fire contrasts with the chill of the day in your bones, setting off a shiver that shudders through your shoulders and arms.

“Honey, you still cold?” Jack’s voice is rough-edged with weariness and whiskey.

“Well, I like a nice walk in the snow as much as the next girl, but I was half naked in that ridiculous outfit,” you say dryly.

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. There’s something unreadable in those fathomless eyes as he watches you for a moment before opening one arm, arching a brow in invitation.

Some tiny, winged creature takes up residence in your chest where your heart should be, and you immediately scold yourself. Jack’s your partner and your friend. Of course he has the decency not to want to see you miserable after a long, cold day.

So you tell yourself, even as you go to him, nestling into his side and letting his arm come around you to hold you close. His hand is relaxed on your shoulder, his thumb trailing back and forth in a gentle rhythm.

“Better?” he murmurs.

You feel like home, you think.

“Better.”

With Jack’s heartbeat steadfast and comforting under your palm, the last of your reserve dissolves. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and melt into his warmth, breathe in his scent, musky and tinged with leather and sandalwood.

Quiet descends on the room, fleece-soft and a little sleepy, as you stare into the fire and let your mind wander. The hypnotic trace of Jack’s thumb over your shoulder is the only indication that he’s still awake.

You sneak a look at him. His eyes glitter black in the gathering dark and his profile is regal, carved into the stern dips and hollows of a Roman sculpture by the play of light and shadow from the fire.

He’s beautiful. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him.

“Jack?”

He hums in answer, almost the purr of a contented cat.

“Do you ever think about retiring?”

A soft snort of laughter rumbles against you. “You callin’ me old?”

“We both know I’d punch anyone who did,” you scold, giving his chest a playful swat. “I just mean...do you ever imagine doing something else? Something more peaceful?”

“Well, I’ve got a patch of land in Kentucky with a farmhouse. One day I suppose I’ll give up the apartment in the city and trade the Silver Pony in for a ridin’ mower.”

You frown. It’s a jarring reminder that after all this time, Jack still has his secrets. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s been in my family for generations, my granddaddy left it to me. Always thought I’d raise a family there. Houseful of kids, dogs, the whole nine yards,” he says ruefully.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he never did.

The tragic loss of Jack’s wife and unborn son is no secret in the agency, and you might know better than anyone about the hole they left in his life. It’s always broken your heart for him, but the idea of this family home that sits empty but for his ghosts makes it suddenly, achingly easy to imagine Jack building a cradle in the barn and reading bedtime stories and teaching little ones to ride their first horses.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” you offer. “You never know.”

He squeezes your shoulder for an instant, a silent recognition of your kindness, before going on with a breezy sigh. “What about you? You fixin’ to go plant yourself by a pool somewhere with a fancy drink in one hand and a book in the other?”

“What, and not get to play fake criminals at cocktail parties with you?” you scoff. “Not a chance.”

His smile is sharp and sweet as molasses. “Well, I'm always happy to escort the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s something so plain and sincere about the sentiment that you’re taken aback.

Jack throws around compliments like other people talk about the weather. But you know when he’s just greasing the wheels of conversation, filling the space between words...and this isn’t it.

Ignoring the rush of heat into your cheeks, you default to the safety of humor. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Agent Whiskey.”

The smirk, the laugh, the sly innuendo you’re expecting don’t come. He shifts to look at you, so close and so handsome it hurts, and the naked admiration in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Ain’t flattery, sugarplum.” His thumb travels fleetingly to the bare skin of your neck above the collar of your sweater. “You’re as pretty as a Kentucky sunrise and twice as bright, and that’s the truth.”

“Jack, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me...that anyone’s ever said to me,” you blurt out, and mean it.

His dimple deepens, and a dash of his usual devilish charm flashes across his face. “Well, if we’re bein’ honest with each other, I must confess to thinkin’ lots of complimentary things about you.”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. The flicker of his glance to your lips is so quick, you could almost miss it.

But you don’t.

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the wind wailing in the eaves, maybe it’s the thrill of almost being caught by the bad guys, but something prods you on, dares you to play with fire. Your hand shifts almost imperceptibly on his chest, letting the tip of one finger find the warm, tanned skin at the open neck of his shirt.

“And what are you thinking right now?”

Something hot and swaggering flares in his eyes and you know, you know he’s picked up your gauntlet.

“Well, sweetheart...” His hand moves from your shoulder, trailing lazily to the nape of your neck. He tilts his head to watch goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch before turning that smoldering gaze on your face again. “Right now I’m wonderin’ what you’d say if I were to kiss that pretty mouth.”

“I’d probably ask what took you so long.”

You barely finish the sentence before his hands cradle your face and his lips are on yours, stealing your breath with their plush softness.

Nothing in your experience of lukewarm flirtations and flaky boyfriends has prepared you for Jack’s affections. He’s a force of nature, possessive and generous by turns, and his approving hum when you open for him and the hot slide of his tongue against yours have you clinging to him like you’ll drown if you let go.

It’s only when you’re nearly dizzy that you break away for air. “Jack,” you whisper, sinking a novel of emotions into one syllable.

His lips brush your forehead. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. My beautiful girl.”

“I’ve always been your girl, Jack.” You rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes against the glaring, shimmering audacity of the words. “I love you.”

The exhale that fans over your cheek is your name. Your real name, the one thing he almost never calls you. His hand is gentle, tilting your chin up. “Look at me.”

You gather the nerve to lift your eyes to his, only to find them soft. Happy.

“Honey, I love you.” His dimple makes an appearance with an apologetic smile. “Hell, I was smitten from the first handshake. But you were a new agent, and things were workin’ out so well, I never wanted to upset the applecart by tellin’ you so.”

Your laugh is breathless with relief. “Well, then,” you say, toying with the button that stands between you and his bare chest. “I guess we’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” With the agility of his training, he hooks one hand around the back of your knee and the other around your waist and moves you to straddle his lap. His big hands splay across your back to pull you snugly against him as he traces the line of your jaw with his nose. “Now where were we, darlin’?”

Your head is spinning with the nuzzling of his nose over your pulse point and the broad warmth of his chest pressed to yours and the growing hardness under the tight denim of his jeans.

“You were--” You break off in a gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck. “You were kissing me better than anyone else ever has.”

“Baby, I’m gonna make you forget about ever kissin’ anybody else.”

You don’t bother telling him you’re way ahead of him.

Jack’s hair is soft and thick when you weave your fingers into it like you’ve always wanted to, stroking where it hints at curling at the nape. When your hand slips under his collar to shape the strong column of his neck, caress the vulnerable skin under his jaw where his pulse is thundering in time with yours, the low growl in his throat sends heat spiraling straight to your core.

He surges up to capture your mouth again, a hot, demanding crush of lips and tongues that makes you move restlessly against him, wanting more. He doesn’t miss it, and when he slides one hand to your lower back to press you even closer on his muscled thighs every nerve in your body lights up.

“I want you, Jack,” you plead between kisses. “Need you.”

His hands slide underneath your sweater and come to rest, warm and calloused, on the soft skin over your ribs. When you least expect it, he gentles the kiss into something almost chaste and when he pulls away, just enough to look into your face, his eyes have gone solemn.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart. I will.”

You could burst with love for this man.

“I’ll strangle you with your own lasso if you do.”

Jack barks out a surprised laugh, lighting up with a grin before he goes in for another kiss. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl.” His voice is silky against your lips. “Gonna give you everything you need.”

His hands move, bringing your sweater with them to whisk it over your head, and you feel the weight of his appreciative gaze roving over your bare skin and sheer bra.

“I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so gorgeous.” His hands are back at your sides, fingertips teasing at the edges of the purple lace that leaves little to the imagination. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re blown dark and deep with desire. “And I reckon you’d look even prettier spread out for me on that big bed.”

That’s all it takes to have you scrambling to your feet, shimmying out of your leggings and socks as you cover the handful of steps to the luxurious bed that faces the fireplace. You reach for the clasp of your bra, but a click of Jack’s tongue halts your movement.

“Slow down, there, honey.” There’s a hint of command bleeding into his voice that you know well from missions, the sound of him giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed that always kindles a flame in you. “Let your man unwrap his gift.”

A blush warms your cheeks and trickles down your neck as you drop your hands to your sides and wait for him beside the bed, anticipation tingling in your limbs.

Jack has beautiful hands, as graceful as they are strong, but they’ve never been so mesmerizing as they are now, making quick work of his shirt’s buttons and carelessly shedding it to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before -- it’s hardly avoidable when you spend most of your lives together -- but never like this. Never when you’re openly staring at his broad shoulders and lean waist and the smooth planes of his chest, all bronzed in the glow of firelight. And certainly never when he’s calling himself your man and looking at you like he’s starving and you’re his favorite meal.

His arms slide around your waist and the heated press of his skin against yours tears a soft whimper from your throat. He catches it with his mouth, blends it with his own hum of satisfaction in a searing kiss.

He keeps his lips on yours even as he eases you back onto the bed, laying you down on the fluffy comforter with his hand cradling the back of your head. He stands again for as long as it takes to shuck off his jeans and kick them away before he’s crawling over you, settling his warm weight over your body and into your welcoming arms. You’re so swept up in the kiss that reunites you that you barely notice the skillful flick of his fingers that frees you from your bra...until he bends his hot mouth to your breasts and lightning spikes through your veins.

“So perfect,” he praises against your tender skin. “So good for me.”

He’s perfect. Even more than you’ve imagined on the lonely nights when you give yourself over to fantasies just like this, of Jack pressing you into a mattress and murmuring sweet sentiments in that liquor-and-honey voice while his clever hands find you more than ready for him.

A whine escapes you when the cool air of the room suddenly replaces the heat of his body, leaving you bereft.

“Don’t you worry, honey.” Jack’s voice drops an octave, even as a smirk coaxes his dimple out of hiding. “I said I’d take care of you.”

Warm hands slide your panties down your legs and off, and he strips off his own boxers to come back to you in all his naked glory.

His strong biceps cage you in and his mouth finds yours again as your hands roam greedily over golden skin and taut muscles and the hot, hard length between you.

“Jack, you’re so beautiful,” you sigh, over his panting breaths into your neck. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you, for so long.”

He raises his head to look at you, lush lips parted and eyes blazing. “Honey, you’ve got me. For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kisses you like he’s sealing a promise.

And then he’s inside you, like he belongs there. Maybe he always has.

Every surge of his body, every stroke of his hands, every gritted curse and word of praise pressed to your skin makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and when you’re clutching blindly at his back and keening his name like an incantation, his voice is a desperate rasp in your ear.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.”

You do. And he does.

And when he grips bruises into your thigh and shudders in your arms and buries a broken declaration of love in your hair, you know beyond a doubt there will never be anyone else.

***

If there’s a heaven, Jack’s pretty sure he's died and gone there to be lying in a cloud of down comforters with you tucked close to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder and legs tangled with his own. The bare skin of your back is petal-soft under his stroking fingers as he watches the firelight dance on the ceiling.

“I love you, Jack,” you murmur, and his heart swells too big for the prison bars of his ribs.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He laces his fingers with yours on his chest, brings them to his lips. “You know, I dreamed about this,” he confesses.

You raise your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him. “You did?”

“I did. Felt a little guilty about it, if I’m bein’ honest, but I don’t guess I could help it.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” Your eyes sparkle at him in the dim light. “Did I live up to your dreams?”

He smiles, sweeping a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Oh, honey, they couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.”

You look pleased with that answer, nuzzling a kiss into his neck before settling your head on his shoulder again.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he muses. “Have you in my own bed.”

He feels you smile against his skin. “As many nights as you want, cowboy.”

“Careful, there. I might take you at your word, you’ll go home and find movers at your place.”

You sigh out a laugh that’s music to his ears and draw idle shapes on his skin with your fingertips in the quiet.

“Jack,” you say again, soft as a peach blossom.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Will you take me to that farmhouse sometime?”

His greedy heart can already see you there, breathing life into the place.

You, perched on the kitchen counter, feet swinging in time with your chatter while he cooks for you. Sitting with him on the porch swing to watch the sunset splash its tapestry of pink and orange and lavender across the sky. Soft and sweet underneath him in the big cherry wood bed, greeting the pale glow of morning with sleepy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

A backyard wedding.

Tiny, mewling cries in the night and your silhouette framed with moonlight from the picture window while you nurse a baby who has Jack’s eyes back to sleep.

The peace that washes over him is too good to be true, too hopeful for his battered heart, too honest for his life of compromises.

He closes his eyes, drinks it in anyway. Claims it. Squeezes you a little closer in his arms.

This is the dream that lasts.

“That’s a promise, sugarplum.”

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack whiskey daniels x reader #pedro pascal #kingsman the golden circle #agent whiskey x female reader #jack whiskey daniels x female reader

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starsfic · 4 years

Text

The Sketchbook

Summary: Art School AU- Red accidentally steals a sketchbook

-_-

It had been an accident, honest.

Color Theory was a boring class, especially at nine in the morning. It wasn’t helped by the fact that Red was in the habit of pulling all-nighters on personal projects and was usually only awake by the sheer amount of coffee he drank. He collapsed into the nearest seat he could, barely only noticing Qi Xiaotian sitting next to him. He was too tired to make some kind of fuss, so he only gave a grunt before pulling out his notebook and a recorder.

The class passed on with Red mostly in a daze, barely certain he took some form of notes down. Thankfully, the recorder would have caught anything he missed. The bell dinged for the class ending and he immediately gathered his stuff and shoved it into his bag. He headed out the door, barely noticing Xiaotian starting to panic as he looked over his section of the table, and headed to his favorite cafe without another thought of it.

It was there that he, slightly more awake, had opened his bag to get money to pay for his coffee and a red bean bun. Instead of the yuans, he found a sketchbook. Except he didn’t carry sketchbooks. Red stared at it, wondering why it was there, before the barista cleared their throat. He snapped out of his confused stare and got out the money. With his coffee and his pastry, he had sat in his cozy usual corner booth and pulled out the sketchbook.

He recognized who it belonged to immediately.

If the sticker reading Qi Xiaotian didn’t tip him off, it wasn’t helped by the monkey sticker that had been plastered onto the cover, the same symbol he was pretty sure decorated all of his rival’s clothing. This must’ve been what Xiaotian was panicking about when Red had left. He considered what to do with this.

It looked too personalized to be a class sketchbook, which meant that this was his personal one. He was curious to see what secrets he held. But opening a personal book was an invasion of privacy...

Red gave into the temptation of opening it.

The art that decorated the insides surprised him. He knew Xiaotian was good, given his high grades on projects and what Red had seen online, but...this was beautiful. He flipped through the pages, finding landscapes done in details that made it come from dreams, people done in excellent action poses, and little notes scattered across the pages that Red couldn’t help but smile at. It was a mixture of actual art and just studies but Red was entranced by it all.

His favorite people to study for, it seemed, was Long Xiaojiao and a man he could barely recognize as Sun Wukong. Their portraits decorated the pages in loving detail, some just taking up free space while others took up entire pages. Then Red turned the page and felt his face go hot.

There were three pages of portraits.

Of him.

A few of them were of him snarling or doing the ‘dramatic smile’ as Sandy had dubbed it. Others seemed to be from his previous nude modeling sessions, with him posing. (There was a little note, wondering if he ate enough.) Red, however, found himself focusing more on the others. There were hundreds of him seeming to be unaware, busy doing other things. There was one of him, clearly in shop class with no coat on and pulling his hair back, with a little note at the bottom wondering why he didn’t have his hair down more often. There was another one of him, dressed in the classic private eye getup, and Red tried to not beam at the clear fantasy.

The final piece in the Red section was...his heartrate sped up when he recognized that class. That theatre class when he had gotten so lost in the role that he had been very much ready to kiss Xiaotian. The one where he had stormed out after they had been interrupted and went to the bathroom to panic. That session that he and Xiaotian came to some unspoken agreement to never talk about afterwards. He had shoved his disappointment deep down until he had forgotten it.

Except now he was remembering it.

In very broad detail.

Red shut the sketchbook, not wanting to look anymore. Xiaotian was looking for it anyway. He should give it and all the lovely art it contained back.

Or…

A few hours later, Red found Xiaotian at the arcade. Xiaojiao was with him, patting his shoulder in comfort as he glumly played Monkey Mech. He cleared his throat. “Noodle Boy.”

“Oh no,” Xiaotian groaned, pausing the game and turning. There were visible tear tracks on his cheeks and for a moment Red wanted to forget this plan. “Not now, Red. I lost-” He held out the box. The boy paused, startled. “What’s this?” he asked as he took it.

“People said that you...lost your personal sketchbook.” Red crossed his arms, looking away. “This is to make up for the loss.”

He could hear Xiaotian opening the box then a gasp. “Red...this is beautiful!” He glanced over from the corner of his eye. His rival- although he was starting to question that term- was staring at the new sketchbook in awe. It had much more pages and was much sturdier than the old sketchbook. Red had even gone the extra mile and had a golden Qi Xiaotian etched into the orange cover. His parents would be asking about the pricey purchase, including the fee for the etching rush job, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Aw, you really do have a heart!” Xiaojiao cooed, admiring the sketchbook over her friend’s shoulder. Red scoffed, crossing his arms.

“I only got it-”

Before he could say another word, Xiaotian was hugging him. “Thank you!” Red froze at the contact, brain turning to goo.

Sandy liked patting him on the back but he had never full-on hugged him. His mother and father had hugged him when he was a small child. But when he had returned home from boarding school after his father was thrown into prison, his mother had grown colder and more distant, her only affection being cheek pinches and calling him her sweet, useless boy. His father, after the adjustment period of being home, was warmer, but he hadn’t hugged him.

...geez, how long had it been since he had been hugged?

He snapped out of those thoughts and how warm Xiaotian was and scoffed again, pushing away the other boy by the face. “I only got you it so you would stop moping about your old one.” he said, crossing his arms again in an attempt to regain his cool. “Nothing more.”

“Sure.” Xiaojiao said, tone disbelieving. “Nothing more. We get it.”

Red huffed at her tone. He found himself relaxing when he saw Xiaotian admiring his new sketchbook.

It made up for the guilt of having the missing sketchbook hidden in his bag.

#Art School AU #Spicynoodleshipping #Lego Monkie Kid #Monkie Kid #Red Son #Qi Xiaotian #MK #Mei #Long Xiaojiao #au #my writing

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years

Note

Could you perhaps do Rung's Cyclonus', Tailgate's and First Aid's reaction to their human S/O being trapped in the same room as Rung and Whirl while Fort Max he has his psychotic episode? And Fort Max isn't exactly gentle with them either so

Couple of broken ribs there at least

I love how you guys are so invested in this situation and all the potential prompts because it miiiiight just be from one of my favorite issues of MTMTE... Changing canon for all of these in that Rung emerges from this whole situation with his head intact.

Rung

·He's accustomed to the risks inherent to his profession, and despite his tiny size compared to his larger patients he's more than capable of handling himself in most crisis situations, you knew that the moment you heard that one of his more recent positions involved treating the Wreckers. But when Fortress Maximus burst in to his office, clearly in the fog of an agonizing psychotic episode, he felt fear like he hadn't in ages. His terror isn't for him however. You were preparing to head out so Whirl could have his appointment, your smile as casual as could be as you bid him goodbye from the doorway, when you were snatched up by the colossal Autobot forcing his way inside. Just seeing your fragile organic body in that gigantic fist... Whirl had been unable to stop him before being stabbed to the floor, and he'd been equally incapable of doing anything to save you as he was pinned to a chair with a few errant pieces of warped metal.

·With what Max endured, he knows the hulking mech is suffering from pain he hasn't even begun to acknowledge, but that doesn't make it any easier for him to stay calm and proffesional as you're held firmly in his grasp. Words can't begin to describe how badly he wants to ask for you to be released, even if only to be set down on an available surface so you can breathe, as his sharp audials can pick up every tiny gasp from your struggling body. Yet he doesn't dare to risk upsetting the mech and potentially spurring him to squeeze. His always in control temper is almost able to break loose as Whirl antagonizes Max with you in such a vulnerable position, but he settles for broadcasting audio from his thumb's recorder to the camera he spots on the ceiling. All he can do is hope the bots watching are planning a rescue in short order...

·Things go south quickly when Maximus realizes his demands aren't being heeded, and of all those in the room it's you that pays the highest price. His thumb being torn off hardly compares to his agony watching you be held aloft as a warning and squeezed, your hoarse cry of agony wheezing out into a whisper as your bones audibly crack. Max actually seems horrified for a moment, particularly as you cough up crimson, but he doesn't end the ordeal. Clearly guilty but not deterred, he only lays your tiny body on a nearby surface as he returns to his demands. Nothing had ever hurt more than the agonized little coughs you emitted as you lay so perilously still... It had been enough to compel him to try the worst thing one can do in a hostage situation, ask something of the captor, even if it's little more than weak pleading for only your release.

·He has no way to describe how badly he wishes he could tear himself from his bonds, but when the footage of Overlord is projected on the wall and Maximus collapses under the weight of his trauma, he still finds the softness in his spark to lean forth and comfort the weeping giant with an embrace. While he'd hear later there were plans for taking a shot through one of the many windows, the presence of your tiny body had made it impossible, and thus he had the freedom to end the situation on peaceful terms. Fort Max had been gently led to a guarded room for solitary confinement, Whirl had been proffesionally extracted from his impalement, and you had been rushed to the medical bay while he was still being unstuck from the chair... He hadn't even cared about his missing digit when he'd been told you were being taken to a private room for emergency treatment, from which the medics had refused him entry due to the intensity of your injuries.

·When he'd finally seen you afterwards it had almost broken his spark. You had looked so unlike yourself; frail, lifeless, and connected to a number of life saving machines that beeped and hummed to keep you stable. It didn't matter that you'd be fine, the suffering you had endured already and would face while recovering was enough to overwhelm him with guilt, as he blames himself for the whole ordeal. He hadn't seen the potential for Maximus to suffer a break, and hadn't even been able to talk him down, resulting in suffering for you and so many others. Though he's encouraged and comforted by his friends, he keeps a tireless vigil at your bedside until you wake, occasionally brushing a digit against your tiny hand to provide some reassurance that he's here and watching over you.

·When you do wake up, he's the first thing you see, his gentle smile looking down at you while he welcomes you back to the waking world. The guilt behind his lenses is even more apparent than the pain in every part of your body. Initially he's steadfast in denying he has any such inclinations. All he wants to focus on is your recovery, and making certain you're not traumatized by what you've experienced, he says and insists in a way you know is merely half true. Only when you've recovered enough strength to pressure him does he break, expressing his boundless guilt at having failed you in such a high stakes situation, which he shouldn't even have allowed to happen in the first place. Your reassurance that the only one to blame for the ordeal is the mech who tortured Fort Max brings a measure of perspective, but it's the feeling of your hand in his that solidifies the sense of comfort, your total lack of blame allowing him to turn some of his boundless forgiveness inward. You made it, everyone had made it, and the two of you could bask in the wonder of that simple victory together. That was enough for now.

Cyclonus

·It takes a full legion of bots to hold him back when news of the situation reaches him. You'd been near Rung's office when Fortress Maximus had apparently grabbed you in his rush, and he cares little for calm or strategy when the full weight of the situation is explained to him. The only two other bots in there with you are Rung and Whirl, meaning that you're not only without protection, you're in the middle of a powder keg. He's only prevented from overpowering the barricade when a firm reminder gets him to see the need for caution; all Max need do is bat you aside with his hand and you'll die, which makes your survival unlikely in the event of any altercation. Such painful logic reigns him in to a simmering silence. Joining the main team on the bridge, mostly so he won't try another break in, he's left to watch everything play out on the security feed.

·He only has optics for you as he stands silently by. Though his motionless self could be mistaken for a glowering statue, any bot who looked closer would see the rage boiling in his glare, and how his claws twitched every time there was sudden movement on the screen, which was often due to Whirl gesticulating and Maximus pacing with his weapon ready to fire. Like a hawk ready to dive, he keeps track of it all. You're the center of his focus of course, but he needs to be ready the nanosecond you need him, and that means knowing the terrain to plot out potential rescue missions. Ten minutes into the ordeal he already has fifty or so plans to remove you from just as many scenarios that might play out. While he's initially fine letting the commanding officers take control for the sake of a unified front, that quickly ends when he sees that no effort is being made to storm the room in order to ensure there are no casualties, a goal he hardly agrees with.

·For all of his efforts he fails to hide how incredibly worried he is for you in this situation. Though he snaps the instant someone tries to reassure him, declaring that he has no undue concern but merely wants them to consider the delicate nature of organics, he convinces no one. As he watches Rung lose his thumb, his claws dig so deeply into his crossed arms that they bleed. The lack of audio which follows only makes his worrying turn to nauseous panic. Watching your impossibly tiny form sit tensely on a table brings up a deep buried bit of self loathing, an internal voice taunting him for putting his spark on the line for something so weak, but he crushes its efforts by thinking back to the happiness you've given him. You aren't weak, he's seen the strength of your spirit time and again, your body is simply fragile... As if to cruelly make his point, Fort Max picks you up in a sudden rage, holding you aloft as he roars threats none of them can hear before he squeezes.

·The sight simultaneously breaks his spark and flips a switch inside of him. Ultra Magnus himself is an insignificant obstacle as he does what he should have when this whole thing began; run to your rescue. Cries for him to stop go unheeded, and thankfully for the sake of saving time most are smart enough to get out of his way. As fast as he is, the room you're held in is a fair distance from where he was, and thus there's an agonizing amount of limbo he has to endure on the way there. Even through the dull camera feed he could see how you'd spasmed in Maximus's grasp, and the way your face had contorted in absolute agony... It hurt in a way he wasn't ready to comprehend. There's no way for him to know if you're even still alive, but as unthinkable as losing you may be, he's well aware of what will happen if he arrives to find you lifeless behind the blockaded doors. Hopefully for Fort Max it won't come to that.

·There's a sobering dose of bewilderment when he arrives to see the doors opening of their own accord, but that hardly delays him for long, and he barrels forward to discover a hostage situation that's been settled for precious few moments. Ignoring anything and everyone else, he grabs your tiny self and runs, silent as he's informed through comm that Maximus has surrendered and the medics are ready in the medbay. Unable to be grateful at the sight of you so damaged, he holds you closely but gingerly as if he might break you further, willing your ragged breaths to keep coming unaided for just a little longer. One of his last thoughts as he arrives at the medical bay and the medics take you away is how small your body is in his claws, which somehow makes what's been done all the more agonizing. What reason would any member of his species have to hurt something so incapable of fighting back? As he waits in the common area for news of your condition the question almost mocks him with his own history of misdeeds...

·Seeing you after the surgery does nothing to quell his conscience. Though he's told you'll live, it's difficult to restrain the urge to execute violent revenge on your attacker, and only his greater need to ensure your safety prevents him from doing so. The vigil he keeps over you is tireless and appears stoic to others, but when he's certain you're alone his demeanor is soft and caring, his digits gently adjusting your blankets or brushing errant strands of hair from your face as he waits for you to regain your strength. You awaken slowly and peacefully to the sound of a regal baritone singing a soft song in a language you don't recognize. A familiar thumb brushes your face as you open your eyes, the gigantic claw that greets you not intimidating in the slightest as you behold the faintest hint of a smile on a face otherwise wrought with pain. He's barely able to contain his guilt as he relays his ineffectiveness during your capture, but his gratitude to see you alive is equally obvious in the way he relaxes as you lay your hand in his palm. Weak as you may be, you reveal that you were still conscious when he took you to the medical bay, and how his protective grasp around you had allowed you to believe everything would be okay. The news has a profound effect on him. To hear that he brought peace to you even once, in a manner similiar to what you do each and every day, is beyond anything he could ever imagine. It's enough to make him content just to enjoy the simple gratitude of having you back.

Tailgate

·When he's informed that you're being held hostage he nearly has a panic attack, and when the details of who you're with are relayed only his drive to protect you prevents full on fainting. Through his panicking he's able to convince the commanding bots to let him in the crisis room, if only because not knowing what's going on behind the heavy doors simply tears him apart in a way he can't endure. Knowing what you mean to each other, he's allowed in, and his little visor locks onto your image on the screen without hesitation. Nothing beyond your somewhat blurry face exists in his mind. Small hands clasp as they usually would to hold yours, but the emptiness due to your absence makes him feel pain instead of any kind of comfort, something he doesn't know how to process as he watches you with sad intensity.

·From the moment Maximus makes his first demand he's pushing for your rescue and advocating giving whatever Max wants to facilitate your release. Though he knows that isn't possible, the helplessness of being stuck on the sidelines makes him desperate enough to want Rodimus to give it a try. That sense of powerlessness is exacerbated by the sight of you being held up in the giant's fist. He's woken up after six million years to find someone he adores, and he's going to lose them like this, after so little time together? It's not fair to anyone, but especially you! Rage boils over in his spark as the injustice of it all tempts him to consider charging in himself. All you ever did to Fort Max was be nice, and this is what he does in return? Knowing the bot is suffering a psychotic episode does nothing to quell his anger.

·With nothing good happening on the screen, he tries to recall all the happy moments you've enjoyed together to keep himself calm, replaying the fun movie nights and dates at Swerve's that showed him how wonderful life could be... But the strategy does little to help with his traitorous optics constantly flipping back to the video feed. Nothing has changed each time, but he still can't help looking in some desperate hope that Fort Max will realize you are innocent and either let you go or end this entire ordeal. In his frustration he snaps at the commanding bots for not doing something, and their continued lack of action angers him almost as much as their reassurances. Don't they know how important you are to him?! How you made everything better and that losing you might destroy him?! He's on the verge of a kind of furious panic attack when the situation on the screen goes south dramatically fast.

·Being a small bot means he knows how terrifying it is to be grabbed and pinned by larger Cybertronians, but he can't even begin to imagine how afraid you must be when Fort Max swipes you up far more aggressively than before after an argument none of them can hear breaks out. You're endlessly brave as always, resisting the urge to scream despite the fear and pain visible on your expression, but his worrying turns to a near breakdown when you're held up high and squeezed. The spasm that passes through you is so great he can practically hear the crack of your little bones despite the lack of sound coming through. Resisting the urge to be sick, he grabs onto Rodimus and demands that action be taken before he's forced to do something himself, and despite his tiny size his tone is determined enough to give every present bot pause. By convenient timing that moment is concurrent with Rewind finally getting into position and projecting horrifying images of Overlord into the room, debilitating the hulking Autobot and leaving him helpless whilst Rung talks him down. With you lying motionless in the line of fire Rodimus makes the call to quickly but peacefully have security forces take the room.

·Tailgate is tearing down the hallways before anyone can say another word, desperate to see you as soon as he can if there's still time. The distance between the command center and Rung's office means that he takes some time to arrive, and while he's a quivering mess of panic by then it's only made worse when he hears you're already in the medical bay and receiving emergency care, as your injuries are potentially fatal. Between exhaustion and grief he briefly loses consciousness, but when he awakens in the medical bay he has to be kept from leaping off the berth to aid you. Hearing that you've been stabilized gives him some level of peace, but he still pushes to see you as soon as he can, and no number of visitors can distract him from the agony of waiting, leading to him absolutely jumping when he's told he can see you... Though he finds no comfort in finally beholding your broken body on the medical slab. Still, he takes a dutiful place by your side and whispers idle conversation in a tireless watch that breaks only when he's forced into brief naps by sheer exhaustion.

·Your slow return to consciousness is greatly sped up when, in a rather natural gesture, you squeeze the familiar presence in your hand and get a loud squeak of surprise as a result. A blue visor brimming with tears welcomes you back to wakefulness, but the babbling that pours from the minibot is so emotional you hardly catch even a word at first, and your aching ribs make it almost impossible to speak loudly enough to get his attention. Once he finally gathers himself enough to speak clearly and relay the situation, he's despondent about his nonexistent role in your rescue, something you have to reassure him isn't his fault in the slightest. Weakly but with a smile, you reassure him that thinking about him was the only thing that kept you calm. He tears up again, but this time in a kind of relieved happiness, his helm gently leaning forward to nuzzle you with soft buzzes of affection. Knowing he was able to help in some small way... there's still a lot of healing to be done, but he's determined to stand tall by your side through it all, because you've reminded him that he's strong enough to hold others up.

First Aid

·As a medic, he's usually one of the first bots informed when something goes wrong, to get him ready for a potential influx of patients if nothing else. But this time he's contacted because he's an affected party, and his ever present ability to stay calm is put to a whole new kind of test. Though he manages to keep the panic on the inside, it's raging like an inferno in his spark as he's escorted to the crisis room, his imagination keeping him fully stocked on all the potential ways you could be hurt. Considering Maximus grabbed you in a rush to drag you into the situation, it's not at all unlikely you're already injured. Watching the grainy footage of you in the company of your less than ideal fellow hostages has his processor simmering with terrible possibilities. The reports from the medical bay regarding the rampage victims leave little doubt; Maximus is as powerful as he is unhinged.

·His optics are locked on the screen the instant he manages to gather himself. Every movement, every action and once the audio starts coming through every word is analyzed. Between searching for a solution and ensuring you're okay his thoughts are absolutely racing. There has to be a way to get you out safely, and the moment you're freed as you will be he'll need to be ready for any potential injuries. Losing you isn't an option. In the short few months since meeting you he's become so very close to you, closer than he's ever been to anyone, and in that brief amount of time he's already realized he wants to be with you always. You make him feel worthy, which is perhaps why this helplessness is so incredibly agonizing. For the first time since your relationship began he's feeling that certainty of his incompetence once more.

·The pain of his own self depreciation is offset by simmering anger at his commander's inability to resolve the situation. Deep down he's experienced enough to know they can hardly be expected to control a situation so volatile, but that logic hardly has an impact on his passionate need for action. It only gets worse as things in the room deteriorate. Whirl is hardly staying still to prevent further injury from his impalement, and while Rung covers his bleeding hand to prevent further energon loss, the casual way Max ripped off his thumb makes it clear he has no qualms about violence. An unyielding imagination fills his processor with terrible thoughts about what that same strength could do to your tiny body. Grisly images flash before his optics and drive him to try begging for action once more, though it appears too late as you're suddenly snatched up in a gigantic hand.

·The universe stops moving as you're squeezed with what he knows is too much force for your body to safely handle. The lack of sound doesn't stop him from identifying that you've undoubtedly broken bones, and in fact his hyperactive processor is already trying to work out what damage has been done. Crushed ribs, snapped clavicles, perhaps a fractured humerus, and then there were your softer organs and tissues... The blood on your lips as Maximus lays you down on the table makes it clear something important has been injured that needs immediate medical care. Demanding that a rescue be launched for your sake, he's given a rare bit of luck in the form of two minibots on rivet duty. The specifics of the operation are a blur he can't bring himself to care about, even as the gory footage of Overlord covers the wall, as your limp form is all that exists in his perception. Attempts to count your very breaths only end when the situation is reclassified as under control and he's moving before anyone can say another word.

·Immediate communication with the other medics keeps him in the loop, so he knows you've been extracted the moment it happens, and he plots his course to intercept the team that recovered you even before they reach the medical bay. A random bot on the security detail has you cradled in careful but uncertain hands when he arrives, and is more than willing to hand over the tiny body to someone who actually knows what they're doing. First Aid feels his processor split between his medical training and his personal feelings for you, with the former a calculated source of experienced reason and the latter a maelstrom of agonized panic. Though he's more than able to keep the proper half in charge, he's unable to prevent his emotions from tearing into him as he gets you to the medical bay, where Ratchet and Ambulon have already prepared for emergency procedures. His CMO is adamant on his involvement being voluntary, emphasizing that he knows all too well how hard it is to operate on those you care about, and that he can focus on their other patients if this will be too difficult. First Aid replies that he's grateful for the offer but unwilling to choose anything that doesn't mean giving his all to save you.

·Stabilizing you is a team effort only made possible by the research each medic did in advance on your species, and while he's grateful he took the time to prepare for something such as this, he'll never regret anything more than having to use that knowledge. Waiting for you to wake is harder than it's ever been for any of his past patients. As a medic he has work to keep him busy, but he constantly finds excuses to check in on you, and every spare moment is spent by your side. He checks reports, takes his meals, and even rests all at your bedside. By great fortune he's present when you finally wake up, and you've barely opened your eyes by the time he's checking you over. A worried expression is the first thing you comprehend as a gentle voice asks if you have any sedentary pain. Somehow it's a relief to have your worried medbot be the first thing you see, but you quickly put together this isn't just his usual level of concern, and that there's active remorse in his features. Firm insistence is required to get him to confess; for all of his analytical skills, he couldn't think of a way to resolve the situation to save you. It seems to surprise him when you bring up that he's literally one of the bots that saved your life. An attempt to deflect on the grounds that being a medic is just his job is stopped by himself at your look of silent pleading, and he remembers in an instant how much faith you have in him. Even if he doesn't always feel worthy of that admiration, he knows there must be something to it if it's coming from one such as yourself. That simple reaffirming of his abilities lets him focus on the miracle of having you here with him, and he begins gently and lovingly fussing over you as he always does, bringing the smile back to your face that he so adores.

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lovely-yandere-imagines · 4 years

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Zipper Man Gives me the Moody Blues: Part 1

Hello lovelies~! I’m here with another commission! with poly BruAbba! If you’d like to commission me you can find the link right here or in my bio!

Notes: 18+ ONLY! This is part 1 on a 2 part commission! This is set a few years after the events of part 5 where Abbacchio has gotten his job back at the police station and even got a promotion thanks to his mafia friends.

Pairing: Poly Yandere!Bruno x Police Chief!Abbacchio x AFAB Reader

Warnings: Mention of murder, unhealthy relationships, Bruno is delusional and has a daddy kink, Abbacchio is manipulative and has a corruption kink, this one is pretty tame compared to part 2

Word count: 1,530

Description: Bruno unknowingly kills someone in front of reader and they run to Police Chief Abbacchio for help but doesn’t realize Abba is married to the very man they’re running from.

The horrible sound of body parts landing on the ground with a slosh still fills your mind as you run. Thankfully Bruno didn’t see you spying on him so you were able to slip away quietly and get some distance between you in case he realized he was being watched. You made your way to the police station, you had to tell someone about this but none of the cops would believe you or they could have been paid off by Passione. The very same mafia you expected your boyfriend to be a part of.

Hopefully, if you went straight to the Chief of Police, Leone Abbacchio, he would believe you. He had a great approval rating and he was seen as one of the only good officers in the whole city. Chief Abbacchio was part of the reason crime has been so low recently since he was elected, drug crimes were low and the streets have been much safer to walk at night, apart from Bruno’s killings Naples has been relatively safe.

If only you knew what waited for you after you had stepped through the doors at the police station, you had your mind made up, you didn’t even bother speaking a word to the receptionist as you walked past them and ignored their words of protest, Finally making your way to Chief Abbacchio’s office and pushing open the door with a determined face.

Leone was stunned to see you there so late at night but he quickly regained his composure and before he can get out a word you say “Sir, I’m sorry to barge into you so suddenly but I have some information on the murders that have been happening recently and-” Abbacchio cuts you off and asked bluntly “Well what can I do for you, you storm into my office like you own the place and now you’re telling me you have information on the Zipperman murders and you expect me to believe you?”

You feel like your heart is going to burst and call feel the tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes, if Chief Abbacchio won't believe you then you might just be killed by the very man you called your lover. “Sir I really am sorry to disturb you but this is a matter of life or death in my case…” you grimace at the thought of Bruno finding out you went to the police. Abbacchio sighs and finally specks “Frankly doll, you look like you’ve seen a ghost...tell me what you got and then we’ll decide if it really is life or death as you say.”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you and you start from the beginning, about how you had been suspicious of Bruno in Passione and how you decided to follow him tonight. How you witnessed him dismember someone without even touching them and how you’re now practically begging for Abbacchio to believe you. You also tell him how he’s the only person you could have gone to with this because you know that the cops have been being paid off by Passione.

Abbacchio sighs and smiles at you “Well I’m very impressed, it seems you’ve pieced everything together perfectly, I’m glad you came to me with this information Y/n. And with your testimony we’ll finally make the streets of Naples safe together, that is if you will testify against Bruno that is..” He sees your hesitation and how you seem to tense up, you hadn’t even thought of testifying against Bruno, the thought made you head swarm and you could feel a tightness in your chest.

“No no no! He’ll kill me you don’t understand! I can't!” you feel like you’re hyperventilating before Abbacchio puts his hand on your shoulder and tries to calm you down “Hey! Hey, it’s okay, I won't let him hurt you, I promise,” he thinks for a minute and looks you in the eye “I don’t think it’s safe here or for you to go back home, it would be best if you came back to my place so I can protect you.” You look up at him with a tear-stained face and nod and with that, he can’t help but feel his heartache for you.

Abbacchio takes you out of the back exit just in case anyone sees you leaving and ushers you into his car and within a few minutes you are at his house, it is situated in a really nice neighborhood and you can't help but think all the houses around look like miniature mansions, “I guess being Chief of Police pays pretty well huh…” you say absentmindedly you thoughts are cut off by Abbacchio’s laugh, “It does most days but it’s mostly long hours” He winks at you and you can feel yourself begin to blush. He soon guides you inside and gets you situated in the guest room.

“Are you hungry? Or thirsty? I’ll get you anything you want” You politely decline the offer of food but then ask “Actually if you have any I’d like a glass of wine, it helps me relax after a long day… or well night I guess” Abbacchio smiles and he is quick to return from the kitchen with a bottle and two wine glasses full of the red liquid. “I hope you don’t mind but I went ahead and poured myself a glass as well” you shake your head and insist that it's alright as he joins you on the bed.

“So...this is a little awkward but uh, I like your makeup Abbacchio, I don't really know a lot about gothic culture but it um...it looks nice on you!” you say cheerfully and Abbacchio smiles at you again. “You know Y/n, you can call me Leone, I have a feeling that we’ll be spending a lot of time together” He places his hand on your thigh and feel your heart racing and cheeks began to blush before you look down and can clearly see the wedding ring on his finger as you feel the color drain from your face.

“Is your wife going to be okay with me being here, Leone?” you ask quietly and he laughs again before answering “My husband actually, and I don't think he’s going to mind at all, you see we’re in an open relationship. I think he will be very pleased to have you here honestly” You can’t help but blush as you finish the last of your wine. “I’m glad he won't mind...so what music do you like?” you ask as he pours you more wine and you can see him ponder the question for a few seconds before he answers “I like a lot of different rock bands like The Moody Blues, The Cure, Joy Division, Type O Negative, and Depeche Mode... You know the basic goth stuff” He says with a laugh that makes your heart flutter a bit.

Oh, I really like Joy Division and The Cure too” you say cheerfully as you quickly finish your second glass and now begin to start on your third as you start to feel the effects of the wine starting to hit you. “You know, if it wasn’t for you Leone, I’d probably be dead by now…” he says nothing for a moment and then caresses your face and give you a sweet smile that could make any girl smile “You shouldn’t think about stuff like that Mimma, let's talk-”

You cut him off and quickly spit out “No its truuuue! If you hadn't listened to me I would be dead by now, Bruno would have killed meeee! Can you believe that ash hole, he’s been lying to me from the beginning! I can’t believe I gave that-that MONSTER my first kiss!! At least I didn't give him MY VIRGINITY” he watches you in your drunken rambling and quickly cups your chin and gives you a passionate kiss.

“Shhh, it's okay Piccolo, you don’t have to worry about him hurting you. I promise” Leone reassures you but before you can say anything you both hear a knock on the door and he shouts for the person to come in. In your drunken state, you can barely make out the tall figure that must be Abbacchio’s husband who has an all too familiar face and white suit.

“Well, well, well...I certainly wasn’t expecting this, Leone would you mind explaining to me why Bambina here is drunk?” you can see the man shoots Abbacchio a glare. He tries to explain but decides it best if he just shuts up. The second man makes is way over to the bed and lowers himself down to you and you can’t help but feel the horror and dread building in you as the man brushes your hair behind your ear and you can finally make out the distant features of your former lovers face, then Bruno finally speaks “It’ll be so nice having you here with us baby girl, we’ll finally be a family” He kisses your forehead and you can help the chill that goes down your spine. Your fate was sealed as soon as you walked into Abbacchio’s Office.

#bruabba #bruno x reader #abbacchio x reader #yandere x reader #yandere bruno #yandere abbacchio #yandere bruabba #bruno x abbacchio x reader #poly bruabba #yandere jojo #yandere jojo x reader #commission #chief!abbacchio #yandere part 5 #yandere commission #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jjab #golden wind #sfw

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 4 years

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Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Part 4 of 16

Oh god, I’m growing attached to this relationship...

In other news, computer still dead and I’m tired and idk how to feel about this chapter. I’m slowing down lmao. But here it is anyway

~~~~~~~~~~

To say Gally was pissed that you went into the maze would be an understatement, even if you just went down the main corridor to help the boys get Alby inside the Glade.

Thankfully Gally didn’t have time to scold you too much, because after making sure Alby was situated in the Med-jacks care, the Keepers called a meeting to discuss the whole situation.

This should be fun...

As always, it was a little tough corralling everyone into council hall. But after everyone settled into their seats, Gally stood up to speak first after glancing your way for a moment.

“Things are changing.” Gally started. “There’s no denying that. First, Ben gets stung in broad daylight, and then Alby. And now our Greenie here has taken it upon himself to go into the maze. Which is a clear violation of our rules here.”

“Yeah, but he saved Alby’s life.” Frypan voiced, some Gladers nodding into agreement.

“Did he?” He countered. “For three years, we have coexisted with these things, and now you’ve killed one of them.” He pointed at Thomas. “Who knows what that means for us?”

“Well, what do you suggest we do?” Newt asked calmly.

“He has to be punished.” Gally said like it was the obvious action, making the whole room speak up with their disagreements, including you.

You scoffed. “You think he should be punished because he tried to save his life?”

Gally glared at you. “He still broke the rules.”

“So I guess that means Y/N has to be punished too.” Minho voiced, gaining the attention of the other Gladers. “She went into the maze.”

Gally rolled his eyes. “Not like that Greenie did.”

“Rules are rules, right, Gally? Or are you suggesting Y/N should get special treatment cause she’s a girl, or cause she’s special to you?”

“Minho.” Newt interrupted, sighing in frustration. “You were there with him. What do you think?”

Minho threw Gally a glare before sighing softly. “I think...in all the time we’ve been here, no one’s ever killed a Griever before. When I turned tail and ran, this dumb shank stood behind to help Alby. Look, I don’t know if he’s brave or stupid...whatever it is, we need more of it. I say we make him a Runner.”

“A Runner? What? Minho, let’s not jump the gun here, alright?” Fry voiced, along with everyone else voicing their opinions, even Chuck trying to get a chant in Thomas’ favor going, but failing.

“If you want to throw the newbie a parade, that’s fine. Go ahead. But if there is one thing that I know about the maze, it is that you do not-”

A rumbling and sudden blaring horn interrupted Gally, echoing around the entire Glade and making your ears hurt. But you knew that noise, it was what you heard when you came up in the Box. But it’s not even close to a month yet. Nothing is supposed to be coming up yet. So, what the hell is happening?

Gally and Newt ran out, taking off toward the Box immediately, you and the rest of the Gladers following closely behind.

You quickly made it to the Box, standing beside Gally as he and Newt opened the doors.

“What the hell?” You whispered as everyone crowded around the Box, Thomas pushing his way to the front.

“It’s another girl.” Newt said, looking up to the group in confusion, and to you briefly. “I think she’s dead...”

The girl was fair, long dark hair slightly covering her face. She was unconscious, but thankfully she was still breathing from what you could see. You looked to her hand, seeing that there was something she was clutching onto. “What’s in her hand?”

Newt leaned over and gently grabbed what was in her hand, a piece of paper. “She’s the last one...ever.” Newt read, once again looking up in confusion.

The girl mumbled in her state, and you could’ve sworn you heard your name come from her mouth. “Did you hear-”

The girl gasped loudly, interrupting your question and causing everyone to jump in shock, her eyes opening wide. “Thomas.” She panted, her eyes rolling to the back of her head and falling back into unconsciousness.

Everyone looked to Thomas, who looked just as in shock as all the other Gladers.

“Y/N, help me bring her up, will ya?” Newt asked.

“Why me?”

“Well, you’re...ya know...” You rolled your eyes, reluctantly hopping down into the Box and helping Newt carry the girl out and handing her over to the Med-jacks care. Thankfully, your arm was mostly healed from Ben’s attack, well, the sprained part anyway. “We’ve got it from here, Y/N, thank you.”

You nodded, but you didn’t leave. You stared at the girl, feeling a familiar feeling, almost like with Thomas. It was different, but the same. You felt a headache coming on just by trying to make sense of this feeling that you don’t remember ever having, but you knew you had nonetheless.

“Y/N?” Newt snapped you out of your trance.

“Uh, sorry. I’ll leave now.”

You left the room in a hurry, almost running into Thomas and Minho in the process. “You good?” Minho asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Just feeling a little headache.” You smiled weakly.

Thomas gave you a look, and you knew he wasn’t buying it. But you had a feeling he didn’t have the time to call you out so you pushed past them and headed to the watering station.

You just needed water, that was probably it. You’ll be fine once you have some water.

You sighed in relief once you took some gulps of the water from the faucet. It wasn’t cold, but it still felt nice. Your headache didn’t go away unfortunately.

When you saw Gally walking over to you, part of you just wanted to leave. But knowing him, he probably wouldn’t let you leave so easily without talking to him. You turned around to lean against the makeshift sink, tapping your foot impatiently as you prepared yourself for a probable exhausting conversation.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You huffed.

“Get the girl to the Med-jacks okay?”

“Yep.”

“What happened to your thumb?”

You lifted your hand up to your face, looking over your thumb. The peeled off skin had already scarred over. It didn’t hurt when you didn’t think about it, but now that Gally pointed it out, you felt the pulsing throbs of pain from the little wound.

“Irrelevant. What do you want?” You asked, briefly sucking on your thumb to try and ease the pain.

“What the hell is up with you, huh? I’m the one who’s supposed to be mad at you.” Gally huffed.

“You kept trying to make me believe that Thomas and Minho were already dead, Gally. You didn’t even try to think anything else.” You crossed your arms.

A tense pause before Gally spoke again.

“That was a really stupid thing you did today, you know. Going into the maze.”

You rolled your eyes. “I barely went five feet.”

“Minho was right.” Gally sighed. “I can’t give you special treatment. You’ll have to be punished along with the Greenie.”

“I wouldn’t need or want special treatment anyway, especially from you.”

Gally chuckled bitterly. “Just yesterday you told me you liked me, and now you’re acting like you hate me. God, if that girl acts anything like you-”

“What, huh?” You interrupted harshly.

One of the Builders came running up to you and Gally, panting in exhaustion when he finally reached you. “What is it?”

“That Greenie and a bunch of other Gladers ran into the maze.”

You quickly snapped your head towards your fellow Builder. “What?” You yelped. “When?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

Gally’s face quickly contorted in anger, shaking his head before storming off. “Where are you going?” You asked, struggling to keep up with his long legs.

“Finding Newt. If that Greenie comes back alive, there’s no way he’s not gonna be punished now.”

It was hard to argue with Gally when he set his mind to something, especially when it’s about something that he was probably right about. There was no argument that you could’ve made that would help Thomas, the boy really just loved looking for trouble.

You stopped following after Gally, and went to find Chuck to see him already at the maze doors. “Gally’s on a warpath.”

“What do you mean?” Chuck stuttered, startled by your sudden presence beside him and looking around nervously.

“Thomas went into the maze again, but you already know that, don’t you.” You smirked, causing Chuck to blush. “Gally found out about it. Make sure he knows when he gets back, okay, bud?”

Chuck quickly nodded, nervously smiling as you ruffled his curly hair.

When they got back, you stood outside council hall. You weren’t allowed in the meeting, since it was Keepers only. But you paced back and forth, trying not to bite the same thumb that you did this morning.

You really had to work on your nervous tics.

You looked up expectantly when you heard the building’s doors open, an angry looking Gally storming out and walking past you. “Wait, what happened?” You asked, jogging to keep up with his pace.

“Newt made that shank a Runner.”

You were speechless. A Runner? You didn’t think Thomas would get appointed with such a job so early on. “That’s it?”

Gally suddenly stopped in his tracks, causing you to almost trip and fall when you tried to stop mid jog. “Why are you talking to me, huh? If you hate me, shouldn’t you be ignoring me?” He said, glaring at you as he spoke.

“I never said I hated you. Don’t be so dramatic.”

Gally scoffed. “I’m being dramatic? Yeah, right.” He started to walk again, but you got in his way.

“Gally, wait.” Gally stopped, even though he could’ve easily moved you out of the way. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I don’t hate you. I don’t. I was mad at you, is all.” You looked down nervously from his intense gaze.

Gally sighed softly, gently bringing you into a hug, tender much like the one he gave you yesterday. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or anything.”

“It’s okay.” You smiled weakly. “So, what was the verdict?”

Gally scratched the back of his neck and bit his lip nervously. “Uh, well, a night in the Pit with no food or water.”

“For him?”

“For both of you.” You closed your eyes and nodded, you weren’t really surprised. “I would’ve tried to lessen your punishment if we had made up earlier.”

You shook your head and smiled. “It’s alright, Gal. I can handle the Pit. It’s not like I haven’t spent a couple nights there anyway.”

Gally grinned and chuckled, starting to walk to the Builder’s area right beside you, making sure that you could keep up with him. “Right, right, I remember. You certainly taught Winston to never catcall you ever again. Poor shank couldn’t even walk right for days after you kicked him.”

“Shouldn’t have commented on my tits.” You shrugged, smirking slightly as you remembered Gally’s laugh when it happened.

“It was pretty badass, in my opinion.” Gally playfully knocked himself against you.

“Alby didn’t seem to think so.”

“You shouldn’t have been punished for that. Even I thought it was stupid.”

“Thanks, Captain.” You smiled softly, the smile itching to grow wider when Gally’s face flushed red.

“The girl’s awake!”

You and Gally both turned to see all the Gladers surrounding the watch tower, all ducking the various rocks that were being thrown off. “That’s probably not good...” You mumbled, taking off with Gally towards the commotion.

As soon as you both got to the base of the tower, it didn’t even take a minute before Gally got frustrated with the girl. But you were more frustrated even more by all the boys that seemed to be having fun. You understood how the girl was feeling after all.

“Guys, maybe we should give her some space!” You tried yelling over the ruckus, to no avail.

Not really a surprise there.

Seeing Newt in the crowd, you walked up to him while trying to dodge the rocks in the process. “I don’t think she likes us very much.” He chuckled when he noticed you next to him.

“Well no wonder, she’s probably terrified. You guys aren’t even giving her time to adjust here.”

“We just wanna know why she’s here, that’s all! I didn’t think being curious was a crime!” Fry voiced.

“It’s not! But we’ll have to ask her when she’s ready.” You insisted, then yelping in pain when a rock landed on top of your head. “Ow...”

“Throw one more of those things!” Gally yelled, quickly being interrupted by a rock landing on his head. You tried not to laugh at the comedic timing...

Thankfully, the Med-jacks brought Thomas back from wherever he was and you quickly ran to him. “Go on and talk to her, Greenie.”

“What? Why me?”

“She said your name, Thomas. Out of all the guys here, you’ll be the one she talks to...probably.”

“Not to butt in,” Jeff voiced from beside you, “but she was saying your name in her sleep too.”

“Uh, what?”

~~~~~~~~~~

#the maze runner #gally x reader #tmr gally #gally #sweet pandemonium series

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brandyllyn · 4 years

Text

In our own image...(05)

Chapter 5

(Poe Dameron x OFC)

Other chapters... My Masterlist

Word count: 2600. Read it on AO3.

Rating: Teen & Up (PG). some talk of past fears/trauma (from canon).

Poe was jealous. He was man enough to admit it. Good old fashioned jealousy pumped through his veins as he sat in the Command center. It wasn’t logical. It was deep, centered in his chest and spreading out through his body until his fists clenched.

He was jealous of Rey.

She wasn’t forced to sit through endless strategy meetings. She didn’t have to listen as people droned on about dwindling supplies and troop recruitment. She didn’t have to pretend to be awake when Commander D’acy went over the base’s security protocols for the third time in as many days.

Next to him, Finn was struggling to stay awake as well and Poe reached out and kicked him with one foot. Finn lurched upright, "What?"

"It sounds like Finn is volunteering, Commander." Poe said in a quick clip, trying to hide his smile.

"I did? I am?" Finn mumbled, trying to look like he hadn’t just been woken up.

"Good to hear," Leia said with a smile, raising an eyebrow and winking at Poe as she turned away. Poe grinned back as the other officers broke into smaller groups.

"What did you just volunteer me for?" Finn whisper shouted at him.

"Cavern scouting," Poe whispered back.

"Cavern… as in underground?" Finn gasped, shock on his face. "Poe how could you?"

Poe snorted. "That’s what you get for falling asleep. Have fun with the lokka worms."

"What’s a lokka worm?" Finn called after him but Poe had seen Leia nod his way and was already halfway across the room.

"Yes General?"

"Go find Rey for me, I need to speak with her," Leia told him, leaning away from the people she was talking with. Poe couldn’t help a small sigh of relief. Leia rolled her eyes, "Wipe that look off your face. I’ll start to think you don’t like spending time with me."

"Yes ma’am," he saluted, smiling at her before turning on his heel and exiting. Finn glared as he walked by, deep in conversation with Commander D’acy.

Poe skidded to a stop at the edge of the tent covering Command. He’d been able to hear the rain but seeing it was another matter. It was coming down in sheets, wind blowing the water up ten to twenty feet inside the Command structure. Had he remembered to batten down his bunk? He wasn’t sure. Well, it was on his way to the Falcon so he might as well stop by on his way. He zipped his jacket up and ducked out into the downpour.

Luck was with him as his bunk was dry and tight. But it was the only piece of luck he had. The Falcon was empty save for Chewie who was re-running some electrical wiring.

"Hey, do you know where Rey is?" Poe asked.

"Gwwrrgghh," Chewie rumbled back and Poe groaned.

"The Droidsmith? All the way across the…" he sighed, "of course."

He stood at the hatchway on the Falcon for a moment. It was really wet out. As he looked, a flash of lightning lit the surroundings and a moment later he heard the loud crash of thunder. No matter how long they were on Ajan Kloss, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to these storms. They were beneficial, the large amounts of electrical energy shielded the base from radar and the rain kept them supplied in seemingly endless fresh water. But also it just made everything wet and sticky all the time.

Grunting, he shook the water out of his hair and plotted a path from the Falcon to the Droidsmith. There were several tarps set up between where he was and there, even a few trees that might give shelter for a moment. Provided he didn’t slip and fall on his ass. Saying a quick prayer he darted for the first shelter, barely hearing the squelch of his boots in the mud.

Miraculously, he made it to the workshop without incident, stepping inside and shaking himself off as best he could as he looked around. There was no one in the front of the shop, not even the little translator droid came out to meet him.

"Rey?" Poe peered into the workshop. He could see lanterns swaying in the high wind, hear the howl as it moved around the outside of the large tent. "Rey?" A soft beep echoed and Poe saw BB-8 for just a moment before the droid slipped under a nearby table, disappearing into the back of the shop.

Poe moved around the crates, noting that there were now two hammocks strung up in the back room. Had she taken on a roommate? Thunder rolled through the structure again and Poe felt the ground cover shift beneath his boots.

"Rey?" He called again, pushing past a set of wheels hanging in a chain from the roof posts.

A low whistle and he turned the corner to see BB-8, sitting next to a table. "Hey buddy, is she here?"

BB-8 turned his photoreceptor up to look at Poe, then rolled forward slightly and Poe realized that he could see Rey’s shoes under the edge of the table. He walked over and squatted down, "Rey?"

"Shh," Rey held a hand up, eyes darting to the woman next to her. The Droidsmith was curled up in a ball, sitting back on her haunches with her arms wrapped around her legs and her face buried between her knees. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, only shivered when a crack of lightning lit up the night air.

Poe raised an eyebrow and Rey gave him a small smile. "I’m keeping her company."

"The General needs you," Poe told her and saw the concerned look that Rey gave the Droidsmith. Without thinking he said, "I’ll stay with her."

Rey’s eyes shot back to him, and he noted the slight hint of dubiousness. "Do you even know each other?"

Poe huffed a laugh, "Yeah, we’ve met. She worked on Beebs remembers?"

Rey still looked hesitant, "Are you sure Poe…?"

Poe held his hand out, pulling Rey out from under the table and then hauling her to her feet. "I promise I’ll stay until the storm ends or you come back."

Rey nodded, eyes darting on the table once more before she squatted down and laid a hand on the other woman’s arm. "I have to go. But my friend will stay here with you. Okay?"

The Droidsmith didn’t respond and Rey gave him one last look turning to go.

"Wait," Poe reached out, catching her arm, "Where’s the little translator droid? K-0?"

Rey shrugged,"I don’t know, I haven’t seen it." Then she was gone.

Poe looked at the table, at the small space and obviously uncomfortably hard ground cover. He shrugged out of his jacket, dropping the sodden leather across the worktable. He was mostly dry beneath it, even if his bottom half was soaked through. Groaning, he squatted down, and then folded his body into the space Rey had just vacated. He cursed, trying to fit his shoulders in without jarring the woman next to him, but after a minute of squirming he had managed to stuff himself into the small area. He was bigger than Rey, and despite his efforts to give the Droidsmith room his hip and shoulder were pressed to hers.

"Well this is going to be interesting. You can’t understand me and I can’t understand you," he started conversationally, folding his hands over his chest. "Maybe that’s for the best. I have a tendency to stick my foot in my mouth where you’re concerned."

She didn’t respond and he settled deeper under the table, stretching his legs out in front of him. "So you don’t like storms huh? I was never particularly fond of them myself growing up. Storms meant I couldn’t fly and there was nothing I hated more than not being able to fly."

BB-8 flashed a questioning light at him and he nodded, gesturing with his head to the Droidsmith. Thankfully, his friend took his meaning and Poe felt the woman shift slightly when BB-8 pushed himself into the space on her other side. Now she was snug, between his body and the droid. If Poe had been a betting man he’d have said she probably drew more comfort from the BB unit than she did from him but he was okay with that. Thunder rolled through the tent and he heard her gasp in air.

"My mother used to tell me that storms were the souls of people who had passed on with something left to say." He kept his voice level, not even looking at her. Just having a conversation. "She said that every roll of thunder was someone making an announcement that they weren’t able to make before they passed."

As if on cue, a rumble of noise rolled across the two of them, making the spare parts on the table above shake. Poe smiled then frowned as she shivered next to him. "I don’t speak ghost but I think that was saying 'My daughter just graduated from flight school'." Another rumble, this one lower, not quite as loud, "That one is an older lady, she says her neighbor stole her jam recipe." He paused, cocking his head, "She’s pretty upset about it. I would be too. A really good jam is hard to find."

He sighed, resting his head back against the wall of crates behind them. "I asked my mom once what the lightning was. If the thunder was the voices of those gone, then surely lightning must have some mythic origin as well, you know? Do you know what she said?" He was speaking nonsense but it didn’t really matter since she couldn’t understand him anyway. "She said 'Poe Dameron' - that’s how I knew she was serious. She never called me by my full name unless she was serious." He paused, brow furrowed for a moment. "When she was really happy with me she’d call me Poe Bey. Those days I was only hers."

He could remember it. Remember his mom’s smile. The way she would laugh and show him the controls of the small transport. The day he’d successfully guided them out of a stall at six thousand feet without her help. He had been Poe Bey that day.

"I asked her about the lightning and she said 'those are electrical charges in the air connecting with the ground.' I don’t know why thunder has a story, but not lightning. I never had a chance to ask her." He took a deep breath, staring out from under the table, not that there was anything to stare at. He could feel a small puddle developing under him, where the water from his pants was collecting beneath him and he shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable.

And he kept talking.

"I used to not be scared of anything. Drove my dad up the wall. The number of times I came home with a broken bone or some weird bite because I had done something no one with a functioning sense of self-preservation would do… those were his words not mine by the way. I feel like I’m scared of everything now. No. Not everything. Just…" he sighed, watching the lights sway across from him. "Do you know what it’s like to be a grown man and be afraid of the dark? I have to sleep with a light on nearby. It’s ridiculous, I know. But… I was captured. A while back. Captured by the First Order. Maybe you heard about it… no. Sorry. You wouldn’t have. But anyway they caught me and … I’m supposed to be making you feel better so I won’t go into any details but ever since then I can’t stand the dark. I wonder if I had someone to share it with if it would be different, like you with the storm. It’s odd, isn’t it? How we can’t control the things that make us afraid. I guess if we could we’d be different people."

He stopped, skin jerking slightly at an unfamiliar sensation. It took him a second to realize she had turned, was leaning her head against his shoulder. She was still holding her knees tightly, but her whole body was tilted slightly toward him, her weight a steady presence. Cautiously, he lifted his arm and wrapped it over her, cupping her far shoulder and pulling her closer. She shivered against him but didn’t say anything. Didn’t pull away.

"You’re uh… you’re really pretty you know that? Sorry. Of course you know that. It’s just, I like looking at you. I don’t mean it in a creepy way. I just… I like looking at you. I like watching you work. I wish I could just hang out here with you, like Rey does. I’ve been by a couple of times. I don’t think you even noticed me though, you were caught up with the droids. Sometimes you bite your lip when you’re concentrating and I think about kissing you. Sorry. That’s not. I mean. Shit sorry."

Poe closed his eyes, leaning his head back again. Her weight was a solid next to him, grounding him even though he was the one holding her.

"Thank the Maker you can’t understand me right now. Everything I’m saying is trash by the way. If your little droid is listening, tell him not to translate any of this later. It’ll just be embarrassing for us both."

A bright light filled the tent, almost blinding him. Fuck, that lightning strike must have been - the noise that followed rattled Poe’s teeth, echoing around them like a cannon shot. She moved so fast he didn’t have time to react. One minute she was next to him and the next she was sideways in his lap, fingers curled into his shirt and face pressed to his chest. He shifted his weight, settling her between his thighs and then bracketing her with his legs, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close.

He laid his cheek against her head, "It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. That was a close one but we’re still here. Nothing broken, nothing on fire. Right Beebs?" He waited for BB-8’s affirmative and then pressed a kiss to her hair. "We’re fine. I won’t let you go. As long as the lights stay on I can be your big strong protector. If they go out though, you’re going to have to trade places with me." He laughed at his own joke, running his hands soothingly up and down her spine. '

"This feels really nice," he murmured, "I know it shouldn’t. You’re obviously terrified and I promise you I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage. But it still feels nice. You smell nice too. Like honey and… grease? Okay, so that has no business being as sexy as it is. You have no business being as sexy as you are." The storm was passing, growing fainter. Whatever that last lightning strike had been it seemed to be one of the last. "I wish I could figure out how to talk to you. There’s something about your eyes that just make me… I know how to talk. Obviously. And I don’t even need participation to carry on a conversation. Again, obviously. But you look at me and I forget how words work. It’s annoying. Do you know what else is annoying? That you can understand my droid and not me. Don’t get me wrong, I love Beebs," he glanced over at his droid and BB-8 flashed a series of lights in return, "but it’s not fair that he can talk to you and I can’t."

He kept holding her as the storm passed. Kept talking to her, silly thoughts and bad jokes and stories from when he was learning to fly until he felt her breathing even out. Her hands relaxed slightly on his shirt and he felt it loosen across his shoulders. He kept holding her even as he felt himself drifting off, the gentle swaying lights and the sound of her breathing lulling him to sleep.

Chpt 6

#In our own image #poe dameron #poe dameron x ofc #poe dameron / ofc #fic #star wars fanfiction

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

I’m only human

This was prompted by an amazing anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: gun related injury)

‘Gavin! Duck!’ The human let himself fall immediately and only due to Nines advanced preconstruction software he had made it in time. The hail of bullets pierced the wall behind Gavin a second later. Nines had taken cover behind a wall and waited for the immediate fire to subside, then turned around and emptied his magazine, before dropping behind a counter to reload. He heard Gavin shoot his own gun and turned to see what was happening. With shock he noticed that the man was about to leave relative safety to pursue the attackers that had decided to make a run for it. Normally, Nines wouldn’t have worried so much as Gavin was well trained, but they had just been caught whilst investigating the place and the man didn’t wear a bulletproof vest. This was too much of a risk.

Cursing, Nines hurried to reload and stepped out of cover to follow Gavin. He sprinted after the man that had already made it to the next room. It was the large kitchen of the restaurant they were in, but still the door they had entered through had been the only one, so he had the attackers cornered. And they knew it. Maybe it was panic, maybe it was them thinking to have the two detectives outnumbered, but they began shooting at them once again and this time, Nines wasn’t fast enough. He leapt for Gavin to make him fall to the ground next to the middle isle, but Gavin had already been shot twice in his arm. ‘Stay down!’, Nines ordered unforgivingly and took Gavin’s hand to show him how to press on the wound. Then he stepped out, both their guns in hand and made them pay for shooting his partner. As they laid on the ground groaning, Nines decided not to go through the procedures and arrest them all. Not when Gavin needed his help.

‘I called the DPD for backup as soon as we met them, Gavin’, he reassured the man as he knelt down next to him. ‘They will be here soon. I also called an ambulance. You will be fine, trust me.’ ‘Yeah? Because it hurts like a bitch, I can tell you that.’ Nines nodded, taking over pressurizing the wound as he could scan for damage. Gavin had suffered multiple fractions from the gunshots and was in severe pain. That he was awake at all was a miracle. But that also meant he couldn’t move him. Nines had to wait until the paramedics came to them. He already hated waiting under normal conditions, but this was outright torture.

Thankfully it didn’t take too long and when the police stormed the place to find all presumed members of the drug ring neutralized, the paramedics rushed in to treat both Gavin and the persons Nines had shot down. But the RK900 didn’t care what happened to their suspects, he was solely focussing on Gavin, telling the paramedics what he had already diagnosed and watched them closely as they stabilized Gavin’s arm and transported him outside. Nines had to stay at the scene to explain what happened and oversee the transport of their suspects, but more than anything he had wanted to stay with Gavin on the ride to the hospital. At least he was linked to their feed because of a sympathetic android on the team, but that was little comfort when he knew his love was hurt.

At least Connor understood as he offered to take over the case as soon as possible. So, six hours later, when everything was documented and the restaurant had been searched to the last corner, Nines could finally leave to meet his human at the hospital. Gavin had already been discharged when he arrived, the bullets themselves removed, his arm bandaged and in a cast. Nines opened the door for him and helped him sit down. Then he drove them back home. The whole way back, he was entirely silent and ignored the careful glances Gavin threw his way. He just parked their car in front of their house and helped Gavin inside. The man kicked off his shoes and struggled with his leather jacket that was only on his uninjured arm and draped over his shoulder on the other side. Nines took it from him to hang it up and then walked over to the kitchen. His human had lost a lot of blood, he needed energy to produce new cells. Also Nines was angry and if he didn’t do anything else to distract him, he would shout at Gavin and that was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. He had furiously grabbed a paprika to cut it, nearly crushing it in his hand. His first cut already had far too much strength in it as the knife got stuck in the cutting board.

‘Nines?’ The voice was careful, and the android closed his eyes, sighing and hoping the anger would subside. He had to keep calm. Gavin didn’t have a preconstruction software. He had to try and hope for the best. And although he knew to rely on Nines in those situations, the heat of the moment could get to his head. This was normal for humans. He hadn’t gotten hurt on purpose. Still, he could have died and then… And then… ‘You are pissed’, Gavin stated. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘What’s wrong?!’, Nines asked, turning around. He had forgotten he still had the knife in hand and distributed the few pieces of vegetable all over the counter. He tried once again to breathe deeply, but it didn’t work as good for androids as it did for humans. ‘Gavin, you could have died. You got hurt because of your stupid stubborn wish to… I was scared, Gavin. I’m scared still. I could have lost you. Had I not been there in time…’

Gavin stepped closer to him and loosened his grip on the knife, instead taking his hand in his free one. ‘But it worked out. I’m here. You were there in time.’ ‘And what about next time?’, Nines asked, looking into Gavin’s eyes. ‘You can’t promise me this is how it ends every time you run to do something risky.’ ‘No, I can’t’, Gavin nodded and smiled at him. ‘But what should I do? I can’t change who I am. Can’t change what instinct dictates when it takes over. If I could preconstruct every eventuality like you, love, then I could. But I’m only human.’ He let go of Nines’ hand to reach up and cup his cheek instead and smiled when the android closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. ‘You could quit’, he whispered quietly. ‘You could stop being a Detective. I could work for both of us. I’m mostly bulletproof.’

Gavin actually laughed. ‘Me? Quit being a detective? Nines, that’s out of the question. Why should I do that?’ ‘To stay safe? To keep living? To be with me longer?’ The android had opened his eyes now and looked directly at Gavin. The man swallowed at seeing the raw emotion in them. The android had really been scared to shits when he had been shot, hadn’t he? And he still worried for him and hoped to convince him. Unfortunately, that really was impossible. ‘Nines, I can’t. I can’t just… No, I can’t quit my job!’ ‘I will already lose you!’, the RK900 spoke up louder this time with more vigour. ‘I know the day will come that I will lose you. But I want it to be in many years when you are old, and your body just can’t keep up renewing your tissues. I want it to be in peace after a long life lived together. I don’t want it to be now, not today, not tomorrow, not even in ten years. Can’t you understand that?’

‘I understand’, Gavin sighed and took a step back, trying to look as collected as possible. ‘I understand that this is what you want. Hell, I want the same thing. But I also want to keep doing what I do. What is a long life worth if you haven’t lived a day of it, huh? I like being a cop. Hell, it isn’t a job with good reputation and one half of the population hates you and the other half pretends not to. But phck it, I feel like I do something. Like I move something and do something good. I’m proud of being a Detective. I worked hard to get where I am and I won’t just drop it because you say so, no matter how logical the reasons might be. No matter how right you are, okay? This is my life.’

Nines blinked at him twice, then looked to the floor, all strength gone from his pseudo-muscles. ‘But it’s dangerous. You will get hurt again. I don’t want to see you in pain. I don’t want to lose you.’ Gavin cursed and stepped closer to pull Nines in a half hug, keeping his injured arm and shoulder out of it. ‘But you will be by my side whatever happens. You have my back; you will always be there to warn me.’ ‘I can’t be always there.’ Gavin sighed. ‘Okay, then how about this: You are in pain right now. Do you think I want to see you like this? All worried and close to tears? No. I learned my lesson today. Nines, I will try my best. I promise. That’s all we humans can do. I will try to be more careful and listen to you. And not always run after the next criminal just because maybe I get one more to arrest. I will try to be better. But I won’t quit my job. Okay? A compromise?’ Nines pressed himself closer against Gavin.

‘Okay’, he caved in then. ‘But promise me one thing: If you try your best and it doesn’t work and you get injured on the job yet again, you quit. Without wriggling out of the deal again. That’s the only way I’ll accept your compromise.’ Gavin nodded against the android’s shoulder. ‘Okay. You can record this to have proof: I, Detective Gavin Reed, promise that if I ever get hurt on the job again, I will quit my job the very next day.’ ‘Recording saved’, Nines stated and smiled at his human. ‘Wait, you actually-‘ ‘Yes. And now sit down on the couch, I will clean up the mess I’ve made and cook you something. At least now we get to spend some more time together.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #The first day Gavin is back on the job he cuts his thumb on a piece of paper and Nines savagely plays his recording #checkmate Gavin you are becoming a stay at home dad #okay that's kinda crack but hey it could lighten the mood

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stxrrywildflower · 4 years

Text

saudade (3)

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - you and spencer finally reunite, the two teams work to solve the case

warnings - cursing, mentions of case, injury

series masterlist

recap:

“where’s my boy?” you asked.

you swore spencer was with morgan. “hey now, relax. he’s parking the car now. should be in any second.”

nervously, you tapped your fingers on your palm as audrey relayed some information to you though you weren’t quite retaining it. all you could think about that any moment, your boyfriend was going to be walking in the door. as soon as the door opened, your head snapped up.

“spencer?” you spoke quietly, looking towards the doorway where the man you hadn’t seen in ten months now stood.

----

tears welled in your eyes as you looked forward. your mouth hung open slightly as you let out a shaky breath. spencer was feeling the same. however, his face relaxed as he took in the sight of you.

in an instant, you both were rushing over to each other. your bodies collided as your arms went around his neck and his were around your waist. the force of your movements caused you two to spin around slightly before coming to a stop. you burried your head into his shoulder, taking in everything you had missed in ten months. spencer’s hand slipped under the hem of your shirt and rested on your back. he needed to feel your skin to make sure that you were really there.

a few stray tears fell down your cheeks, landing on spencer’s shoulder. when you two let go, both were grinning like idiots. your hands moved up to rest on his cheek as his were on your waist. the two of you kissed, sharing an extremely loving moment. but, it didn’t last long due to the fact that neither of you could stop smiling. instead, once you pulled away, you rested your foreheads together.

you ignored the comments made in the background by morgan and clay but instead savored the moment occurring.

“i have missed you so much,” you whispered, now making eye contact with your boyfriend. spencer let out a watery chuckle, “i see you still wear the necklace i got you.”

without even thinking, your hand went down to grip the chain spencer had gotten you. on your one year anniversary, obviously the two of you couldn’t be together. instead, you sent gifts from afar. for spencer, you had managed to find one of the vintage book sets he had been wanting since forever as well as a journal.

spencer, on the other hand, sent you a simple gold chain necklace. it wasn’t flashy by any means and you absolutely loved it. it never left your neck except for any cases involving water and then the time you were injured. you were honestly thankful that spencer hadn’t said anything about your scar.

now that the initial excitement of seeing each other died down, spencer kissed you again. however, only moments later, a voice made you two pull away.

“hey lovebirds! i know you two are having your reunion but we do have a case to solve,” clay called.

you blushed and hid your head in spencer’s neck. “someone’s jealous that they’re single,” you spoke in a sing-song voice. clay frowned as your whole team snickered. after placing a final kiss to spencer’s cheek, you went up to your desk to grab one of the files while he went over to the boards.

after ten minutes of reviewing some of the details, you went back to the floor area. “alright everyone! since there’s two teams here we’re going to need to split our resources. morgan, abe, and hotch i need you to go to the victims homes. find out what you can about their personal lives. amelia and j.j., the familes are waiting at the police station for interviews. audrey and josh you two are already working on the background information. finally, emily, spencer, and rossi you all stay here and work victimology and geographical profiling,” you ordered.

before everyone could leave, your phone started to ring. “hold on a second, i need to take this. excuse me,” you spoke after seeing the caller name as ‘strauss.’ you then moved to the different part of the office and shut the door being you.

“hello ma’am,” you greeted.

“hello agent y/n, how is the case going?” strauss asked. “i just gave everyone their orders and once i finish talking to you, they will all be leaving,” you responded. “alright well i need to talk to you about something,” strauss started.

you sat down on one of the tables and kept the phone pressed to your ear. “i don’t want to promise anything yet, but there is a possibility your team will be relocated,” strauss’s words made you stop.

“it wouldn’t be for a few months though. quantico is getting an expansion and should be ready by february which is in five months. my superiors are discussing it and with the success rate that your team has had, there is talk that you may be transfered back to washington d.c. and be a second bau team. obviously the details are still up in the air and i have a meeting with some people about in a few days but for now, once you get the chance, i need you to talk to your team about their opinions. once i get the details, you would have to fly out and meet with some people. but again, it’s up in the air,” strauss explained.

“alright ma’am i will talk to my team when we get the chance,” you replied. after exchanging goodbyes, you hung up the phone and entered the office.

“my team, once this case is over or we have a spare moment, we need to have a meeting,” you called. upon hearing the groans of your agents, you added “strauss’s orders.”

from there, everyone dispersed. rossi stood next to you, “everything okay?” you nodded. “yeah,” you simple said. the eldest agent shrugged before turning back to the board.

____

a week later, the two teams were just minutes away from finding the unsubs identity. it was late at night and rain was due to fall any minute. all you had to do was wait for garcia to give you a call with the name and address.

in the meantime, everyone was getting on their vests and making sure their guns were loaded. as your team put on their vests, morgan turned to you with raised eyebrows. “are those the new kevlar vests?” he asked.

you nodded, “strauss sent them as gifts. you’d be suprised what you get when you don’t fight her.” suddenly, the main phone rang. hotch leaned down and pressed the answer button.

“rhett jones, the address has already been sent to your phones,” the tech genius spoke up.

“alright let’s go, everyone make sure you have your communicators on. i’ll be giving instructions on the way over,” you called. everyone left the police station, each going to their separate cars.

josh drove while you were giving orders. “first off, turn your sirens off. he can’t know we’re coming. my team will be the ones storming the building. the unsub is inside and has a victim with him. an ambulance needs to be on standby and for everyone else, wait by the enterance,” you spoke. staticky responses came back, all agreeing with you.

upon arrival at the abandoned warehouse, your team stood in the clearing before you were due to enter the building. as for hotch’s team, they leaned against the cars, watching your movements as they waited. by now, the rain was pouring, creating droplets that streamed down your cheeks and soaked your hair. thankfully, you had already pulled your hair up.

hotch watched from a distance as your team circled up, wrapping one arm around each other. he could hear you giving orders and saw you motioning with your hand. from an outsiders point of view, it looked almost like a huddle a sports team would do before a game.

“clear your room first, announce it and then move on. no one goes anywhere without my clearance. this guy is dangerous and we can’t be going alone. got it?” you asked.

once seeing your teams nods, you all put your hands in for a split second. your pinkie finger and thumb were out. emily looked over to her boss and mouthed, “what are they doing?” hotch, however, just shrugged. after bumping your hands together quickly, you all made your way over to the door. you kept your gun by your side as you glanced towards the piece of metal.

“this is going to hurt,” you mumbled before kicking it hard.

unsurprisingly, the door swung open and your team rushed in, slowly staring to clear each room. “that’s new,” morgan commented after seeing that you had taken the role of kicking down doors.

you were in the boiler room when you heard amelia’s voice in your ear. “i think i found something. i’m about to move in.”

you paused, “stand down.” your radio crackled once again. “but he’s in there, and he has the girl,” amelie responded.

“stand down agent green. that is an order,” your voice was stern and demanding. your team knew you hated having to order your team around like that and they knew that you hated using last names even more.

from the outside, hotch and the others listened to you directed your team around. they never heard you talk in that voice, making it most likely something you developed with your new job. spencer ran his hands over the detailing of the car, as he was incredibly nervous. mostly because you were in a warehouse with a dangerous unsub and he wasn’t in there with you.

“unsub is in sight. approach with caution,” you whispered.

out of the corner of your eye, you could see your other five team menbers all surrounded the open space the unsub was in. true to amelia’s word, a girl was with the unsub, a gun pressed firmly to her temple. she was most likely drugged as her she was barely moving except for her breathing. you motioned with your head for clay to move in.

“you don’t have to do this,” abe spoke, keeping his voice incredibly calm. the unsub jerked around just in time to see the six of you step into the light. the gun was then moved from the girls head and pointed directly at clay. you swallowed nervously.

“shame you don’t know about my partner,” the unsub taunted, “he is going to wreck havoc even when i’m gone.” outside, the washington d.c. team all glanced at each other. they had never even considered the possibility of a partner.

“how do we know you aren’t lying?”

“wait until another body shows up,” the unsub smirked.

“just put the gun down,” audrey motioned.

at first, the unsub looked as if he was lowering gun. then his expression changed and he fired a shot directly at clay. you immediately pulled your trigger and a bullet went soaring into the guys heart. after hearing a loud grunt, you turned to see clay clutching his arm with blood seeping through. “leave the unsub, get everyone out of here,” your voice was slightly shaky at seeing your friend shot.

hotch heard the gunshot sound but he knew that he couldn’t do anything. then, everyone heard your voice, letting them know you were okay. two sets of emt’s were already on standby, waiting with a stretcher. your team left the warehouse only moments later. rain continued to pour down, soaking everyone in the vicinity.

“amelia go with the girl, call me as soon as you get the maximum information out of her possible. abe go with clay, make sure he’s okay and gets stitches. it’s only a graze but it still needs to be checked out,” everyone watched as you ordered your team around, pointing with your hands in the directions for people to go.

spencer wanted to step forward and ask if you were okay but you had different ideas. you motioned for hotch to follow you as you moved over to one of the suv’s. josh and audrey were already leaning against the car with a slightly damp case file displayed in the hood. “what do we have?” you asked.

hotch furrowed his eyebrows and was about to as what that meant but audrey cut him off. “his only known assets were the people he was roommates with in prison,” she explained.

“how many?” you questioned.

“six.” you frowned at that answer, that was too many. “who did he spend the most time with?” hotch added. you shook your head, “no that wouldn’t make sense. who did he spend the least amount of time with?”

if the two were planning to go on a killing spree, they wouldn’t want to be around each other a ton. “it looks like the lowest was dominic herera. there’s still two other names,” josh spoke.

“get those three to gracia, find if any still live in california and if they own property here,” you commanded.

hotch pulled out his cellphone and put it on speaker. “garcia we have some names for you to run. do any of them own a large building or area around here,” hotch started before reading our the names.

“one, dominic herera owns a house with five acres only fifteen minutes away. sending you the address and photos now,” garcia’s voice echoed out of the phones speakers. so you were rigjt.

“send one to amelia too.”

only minutes after the photos were sent, you got a text informing you that the victim had identified the man as the partner. “you guys go,” you told hotch. “i’ll leave reid and j.j. behind,” he replied.

after the team had taken off to the location, you took your hair out of its original style and ran your hand through it with a deep sigh. “good work you two,” you complimented your fellow agents.

spencer was over to your car in an instant. despite knowing you were okay, he still pulled you into a tight hug and rested his head on yours. “i thought that gunshot was aimed at you,” he revealed.

you looked up at your boyfriend with sad eyes, “what?” he exhaled before adding, “i thought you had gotten shot. and i know the vests you wear do a better job at protecting you than before but i still got scared.”

“yeah well clay drew the short end of the stick and is the one with a graze,” you chucked, “but in all seriousness, i’m okay.”

“you have to explain to me how you managed to find the partner within five minutes” spencer spoke. you rolled your eyes playfully. “that’s something i’ll tell you later,” you said with a kiss to his cheek.

now that the case was done and your teams relocation back to washington d.c. pretty much inevitable, there was only positive hopes for the future between you and spencer.

#criminal #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #penelope garcia

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httpjeon · 5 years

Text

𝟎𝟏. ʏ ɪs ᴀ ᴄʀᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ — ᴊᴊᴋ (ᴍ.)

jungkook/reader | angst | hybrid!au

wordcount: 5.2k

contents: police officer!jungkook, k-9 hybrid!taehyung, tattooed!taekook, hybrid crimes, discrimination/mistreatment of hybrids, mentions of blood&death, guns — nothing too graphic yet

— synopsis: jeon jungkook and his k-9 hybrid, taehyung, are sent deep under cover to infiltrate a deadly underground hybrid fighting ring. it's a dangerous job and both are terrified about what they will see and endure.

note: welcome to a new hybrid series!

𝐃��𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑:

ᴛʜɪs ғɪᴄ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴜɴsᴇᴛᴛʟɪɴɢ, ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴏʀ ᴜɴᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴏᴍᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs.

ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴏʀᴏᴜɢʜʟʏ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ.

ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇsᴘᴏɴsɪʙʟᴇ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs ʟɪsᴛᴇᴅ. ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇᴇʟ ɴᴇᴇᴅs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀɢɢᴇᴅ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

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Jungkook sipped his coffee, wincing as it burnt his tongue as he slipped into the doors of the department building. The air conditioner was on full blast even though it was mid-winter, he could feel goosebumps rising on his skin as a shiver traveled through his body despite him wearing a leather jacket. His heavy boot steps turned silent when the linoleum met the carpet of the office area.

He kept his head down, hoping to avoid any interaction with his coworkers. The brim of his hat his his eyes. While he couldn’t see the TV, he could hear the news rattling on from where it was perched on the wall.

"And in most recent news,” the man said, “Following the recent protests against hybrids' newly granted rights, the city has decided to create a police force solely dedicated to the protection of hybrids and their rights," the news anchor droned voice even and professional as to not reveal any opinion on the matter, "We can only hope the Hybrid Protection Force can stop the new wave of crimes against hybrids."

"Hey Jeon," a fellow cop, by the name of Doyeon, yawned in greeting, sharp eyes angled down at him coldly from where he was leaned back against his desk, "Saw you're packin' your desk up. Where you headin'? You take that job offer over in Busan or somethin'?

Jungkook breezed past him to his own desk, feeling the eyes following him as the cop awaited a response.

"No," Jungkook sighed, already growing tired of the barrage of questions, as he placed his coffee cup down in favor of placing the final pieces of his in his desk into the cardboard box beside him.

"Where's Taehyung?" Doyeon asked, not put off by Jungkook cold behavior.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, "Over in the new building waiting for me," he replied easily, placing a picture frame carefully in the box.

Doyeon made a sound of disgust before scoffing, "The Hybrid Protection Force Department? Why's he over there?"

"Because that's where I'm moving to," Jungkook answered mechanically, an admission that drew him even more attention — very unwanted attention at that.

"What?!" Doyeon gasped, drawing the eyes of the other cops who stood around their desks, "They moved you there? What the hell for?"

"They didn't move me," Jungkook answered, leaning on his hands against his desk with his head hanging between his shoulders, "I asked for the transfer."

"Dude..." Doyeon snorted, a sound that made Jungkook cringe, "Why would you move there? Half the departments in the country would give their eye teeth to snatch you up and you choose to join the grunts and do hybrid work? Are you insane? How the hell are you supposed to advance your career if you choose a stupid, useless path like that?"

"You seem to be forgetting I have a hybrid, Doyeon," Jungkook growled, clutching the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Yeah but..." Doyeon, oblivious as ever, huffed, "He’s just your K-9 hybrid. For the best cop of your year to work for hybrids...it's a shit choice, dude."

"Doyeon," Jungkook stood up straight, rolling his shoulders until one popped. "You're my senior here but don't think for a second I won't knock you on your ass for talking to me like that. What I do for my career doesn't concern you," he picked up the cardboard box by the two holes cut out angrily, jostling the objects inside so they rattled loudly, "The reason I chose the Hybrid Force is because of people like you. I'll use my ability and status to do some good, unlike you who only cares about furthering his own career. You're a cop — you're supposed to protect the citizens of this country whether human or not."

Doyeon finally looked a bit flustered, his jaw locked as he felt the eyes of the other cops burning into him. He held his head high, however, trying to pretend he didn’t feel humiliated being called out by Jungkook in front of everyone.

Jungkook stood there, glaring at the man for several long seconds before finally storming past him, ignoring the whispers and mutters from the other cops and staff who had witnessed the interaction.

He stepped into the cold outside, his boots crunching on the snow that covered the sidewalk. Usually someone would have cleared it off but it seemed not today. He began his short walk to the newly built building across the property, keeping his eyes on the ground to avoid large piles of snow or sheets of ice.

The building was put up fairly quickly despite the HPD being formed only a month prior — the city had expedited the construction. It contrasted drastically against the old main building, which was over 50 years old. It was in desperate need of renovation but the city wasn’t willing to pay for it — something that angered the anti-hybrid citizens.

Hopping up the stairs, taking two at a time, while he balanced his box between his hip and arm to free his other to open the door. Just like the other building, the air conditioning was running and he rolled his eyes, wondering if he could get someone to turn heating on instead. Still, he was thankful for the jacket, jeans, and boots he wore.

His superiors had long since stopped trying to force him into the police uniforms, allowing him to dress as he pleased. When he was new to the Department, he got plenty of write ups but as his reputation and rank grew, he was allowed to freedom to dress how he liked.

He nodded at the receptionist, breezing through the security scanner, thankfully not sending anything off.

"Jungkookie!" he heard the enthusiastic call of his best friend, "You're late!"

"Sorry, I got caught by Doyeon — you know how he is..." Jungkook huffed, making Taehyung scoff.

"Total jerk," Taehyung nodded, black ears bouncing atop his head. His tail wagged excitedly as Jungkook followed him over to their desks — connected right across from one another separated by two desktop terminals for their work.

It was still a relatively empty in the office — not many officers having been assigned to the force yet. Still, the few cops that were there were lower rank than Jungkook himself so they avoided one mostly another.

Jungkook’s reputation led to many people avoiding him, not wanting conflict or because he intimidated them. Taehyung, on the other hand, easily made friends and was somewhat of a social butterfly with a good reputation.

He placed his box on his side of the desk, chuckling when Taehyung sat in his own chair and began spinning in circles. Jungkook shed his leather jacket, placing it on the back of his chair and pushed his sleeves up, the array of tattoos covering his arms making themselves known to anyone who looked.

It had been 7 years since he got his first one alongside Taehyung — who had also become increasingly inked up as the years passed. A tattooed hybrid was one of the most uncommon things seen in society, so the Labrador pup got a good amount of looks and comments daily.

He didn't really mind, however, he was confident and happy and that was all Jungkook really cared about at the end of the day.

Opening one of his drawers, he began to organize the files he'd brought with him. He placed the picture of him and Taehyung on his desk. It was dated, he needed to put newer one up but it was sentimental — it was taken the day before they entered the Police Academy together.

It'd been hard getting though, many nights ending in argument between the two due to stress and exhaustion.

Jungkook looked up, smiling when he saw Taehyung was still spinning in his chair happily.

Everything was worth it, in the end. They were partners and were going to be doing good work to help better the world.

"Hey," Taehyung suddenly said, voice dropping a few octaves. The change in tone had Jungkook's attention immediately. "Look who it is."

Jungkook followed his friends gaze to find his eyes met with the sharp ones belonging to none other than Min Yoongi.

"Jeon, Kim!" both heads snapped up at the sound of their names being shouted before they shared a look.

Standing on the landing of the second floor, leaning over the balcony overlooking the main office was a man dressed in a suit, blonde hair slicked back off of his face. His sharp eyes were fixed on them as he gazed down, “My office,” he said before turning around, vanishing from sight.

Jungkook was the first to move, standing up with Taehyung following close behind.

"Shut the door," the man said once they walked in. The click of the door closing was his signal to start, "My name is Kim Namjoon, I'm the appointed Captain of this department."

Inside, sitting on a chair in front of the Captain’s desk was another man. He wore a bred expression and sat slouched in his chair with his foot tapping impatiently.

“This is Min Yoongi, he’s from the Daegu Police Department,” Namjoon introduced, although they both had definitely heard of Min Yoongi.

"Pleasure to meet you both," Taehyung said immediately, bowing his head slightly.

"The two of you are the highest ranking officers I currently have in this department," Namjoon said, sitting on the edge of his desk with a sigh, "I'd like to be as transparent with you as possible on the core purpose of this department's development."

"Core purpose?" Taehyung asked, head cocked to the side and ears alertly perked up from his mess of black hair.

Namjoon nodded, picking up a folder that was sitting beside him and handed it to Jungkook. He opened it, the other two looking over his shoulder curiously.

"It's a file," Jungkook mumbled. "For a Park Jimin? He's listed as undercover, are we allowed to be seeing this?"

"I wouldn't be showing you unless it was important," Namjoon explained, "Park Jimin is with the Hybrid K9 Unit from the Daegu Department. He has been deep undercover within Korea's biggest and most notorious hybrid fighting ring for over 2 years," his gaze shifted to Yoongi, “He’s the reason Yoongi has been transferred over.”

Yoongi nodded, making the other two look at him in confusion, “What’s he got to do with us?”

“Jimin is my partner,” Yoongi replied,

"I wasn't aware hybrids were allowed to go undercover two years ago," Jungkook said, brows furrowed.

"And since when does Korea give a rats ass about hybrids trafficked in the underground, anyway?" Taehyung grumbled, mood quickly plummeting.

“Originally, this was a DPD case but with the new Hybrid Unit here in Seoul, it’s been transferred over to be handled by us specifically,” Namjoon explained, "Jimin is a special case but we're not here to discuss the ins and outs of his career."

"Then what are we here for?" Jungkook asked as Taehyung took the folder from his hands to read more closely.

"What do they have to do with the core purpose of this Unit?" Taehyung urged, tail beginning to flick impatiently as he motioned over to Yoongi.

"For the past two years Jimin has been undercover, he has been steadily feeding us information regarding this specific ring. The Hybrid Protection Force was actually secretly formed years ago centered around the confidential mission of breaking this ring up," Yoongi spoke up again, "Unfortunately, Jimin can only rank so far up within the ring due to being a hybrid himself. It's taken a lot of time but he's reached a position where he can't advance by himself."

"So you're pulling him?" Jungkook asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No," Namjoon looked all three of them in the eyes, "We're sending two more undercover."

"It's taken Jimin two years to get as far as he has," Taehyung frowned, quickly realizing what the plan was, "It's going to take us just as long to advance."

"That's not necessary," Namjoon said, puzzling the two of them, "Jimin is in a position of recruitment — taking new masters and hybrids in for the fighting. The two of you will be the new members."

"What about Yoongi?" Jungkook asked, “Shouldn’t you be with Jimin?” his gaze shifted to the man in the seat.

Yoongi sighed, “Unfortunately, at the time they didn’t want a pair. Jimin volunteered to go— I didn’t like it but I couldn’t tell him no. He’s on a solo mission, I can’t join him now,” he explained, “I’ll do the work here, preparing everything for the bust when the time comes.”

"I'm not sure about this..." Jungkook admitted, shifting uneasily on his feet.

"What's the problem?" Namjoon asked, meeting Jungkook's gaze.

"This is a fighting ring...Taehyung..." Jungkook sighed, "This will put him in serious danger."

"Danger is part of your job, Jungkook," Namjoon snapped, eyes narrowed.

"I know that but..."

"It's alright," Taehyung placed a hand on Jungkook's shoulder, "We won't be undercover for long...right?" he looked at Namjoon.

"That's right," Namjoon nodded, "Highballing it; a year, but I highly doubt that.”

"Alright," Jungkook sighed, nodding his head, "What’s the goal here then?"

“What we need from the two of you is to join this ring with Jimin’s recruitment,” Namjoon explained, “He’s gotten everything ready on his end. Once you've infiltrated, you'll pose as a new master and hybrid and engage in the fights.”

“You have to appear eager,” Yoongi suddenly said, looking over his shoulder at the other two, “Join in on any and all fights that you can. The more eager you are, the more attention you'll gain...especially if you win.”

"I've arranged with Jimin to have a meeting in a week," Namjoon said, "The two of you will have to be caught up with everything by then. Information can be found in your terminals for you to review along with the stories and identities you're going with. I'll have files delivered to you on those, you know how it works–”

“Memorize names, locations, dates, and social security numbers,” Taehyung and Jungkook said at the same time.

“That's right,” the Captain smiled and stood up straight, “Take the file with you. You're dismissed.”

The three of them bowed as Namjoon took his seat behind his own desk, turning his gaze to his computer terminal. Shutting the door behind them, they heaved a collective sigh. With much weighing on their minds, they all silently walked to their desks.

Both Taehyung and Jungkook were tense for the entirety of the day. The hybrid's good mood had quickly vanished and Jungkook couldn't help but look at his companion in concern.

He turned his eyes to his monitor, file after file detailing the people associated with the fighting ring.

The particular ring they were investigating was also the closest in relation to the Black Market. In fact, many of the higher-ups within the crime syndicate were Black Market sellers — illegally trafficking hybrids. It was a dark business and the more Jungkook read about it the sicker he felt.

He could only imagine how the hybrid across from him was feeling.

Jungkook's keys jingled in his hands as he unlocked his front door — it was a simple first-floor apartment with two bedrooms though truthfully the other room was more of a spare since Taehyung never slept in it. He always opted to sleep with Jungkook and the human was all too willing to oblige.

Taehyung was precariously balancing the fast food bags and drinks in his hands. His dog genes helped his balance and he easily nudged the door shut with his foot.

"God, I am beat," Jungkook groaned as he tossed his keys down on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room.

Taehyung hummed in agreement as he sat down on the couch and placed the food on the coffee table. He grabbed the remote and clicked the TV on, mostly for background noise.

Jungkook kicked his boots off and walked down the short hallway to the bedroom, eager to get out of his jeans and put on some sweatpants. He went back out, dressed in a department-issued t-shirt that was overworn so the print on the front was faded.

"Hey Tae—" Jungkook paused in the entryway to the living room. Taehyung was hunched over, elbows on his knees as he rested his chin on his hands. His eyes were locked in on the TV; the news, "You okay?"

"I dunno," Taehyung confessed, sighing when he felt Jungkook reach up to pet his ears.

"Tell me what's on your mind," Jungkook urged, leaning back against the couch and encouraging Taehyung to do the same.

"Human on hybrid crimes are the biggest epidemic in Korea," Taehyung grumbled, "It's only gotten worse since the government has opened up to allow us rights. It's not much, we're still fucking owned like animals and we can even be euthanized," he met Jungkook's gaze and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, "No offense, you know I love you."

"I know," Jungkook smiled, patting the hybrid's back to urge him on.

Of course he knew that Taehyung would never include him in the “humans are terrible” category. Even Jungkook openly admitted how terrible people could be to hybrids. Taehyung always felt lucky to have someone who supported him and his kind so openly. Many hybrids ended up in awful situations that resulted in injury or death.

Taehyung was glad he never ended up being another statistic.

"The trafficking of hybrids is by far the worst and highest committed crime but humans would rather stay investigating every day thefts and shit," Taehyung spat, malice coating every word as he continued on, "They treat hybrid crimes like they're nothing! It infuriates me! Every day on the news there's another hybrid being kidnapped or found dead after being sold on the black market," Taehyung's eyes were glassy as he clenched his teeth through his anger, "When there's protests, the government does nothing but offer empty words and promises. They'd rather keep the idiots who want hybrids to stay nothing but pets happy than protect a whole race!"

"I know being on this force means a lot to you Taehyung," Jungkook cooed, still stroking his friends ears, keeping him relaxed, "You know I'm with you one hundred percent but...do you think you'll really be able to do this? You're going to be doing a lot of things that go against your morals and you're going to see so much awful shit. Hell, I may even have to blend in with those pieces of shit."

"I..." Taehyung sniffled, resting his head on Jungkook's shoulder, "Truthfully, Jungkook. I'm just...I'll have to fight them."

"You feel guilty," Jungkook whispered, feeling Taehyung nod against his shoulder.

"I know most, if not all, are probably going to be there against their will and I'll only be adding onto what they already go through," Taehyung whispered, voice watery as he finally let his tears fall.

"Yeah I get it," Jungkook resting his cheek atop Taehyung's head, whose ears twitched when his breath fanned over them, "But it's for the greater good in the end, yeah? We'll be able to get them out of there and they'll be able to get real help."

"I guess you're right," Taehyung sniffled, sitting up to wipe his tears away with the back of his hand, "I'm going to get dressed for bed and then we can eat. It's probably cold by now."

"It's okay, we love cold french fries," Jungkook chuckled, making Taehyung smile, flicking the channel to something more light-hearted instead of the news.

The rest of the week was filled with a heavy feeling neither of them could shake. The two of them going through the motions of work and returning home to snuggle in bed, ignoring the looming mission they were going to be undertaking.

They were both terrified of what could happen but neither was willing to speak of their fears.

The day before the operation was set to begin, Namjoon called them into his office before Jungkook could even think of taking off his jacket.

"Yes Captain?" Jungkook greeted, taking a seat in one of the two chairs in front of Namjoon's desk with Taehyung occupying the other.

"I’d like to go over your new identities to be sure you're both well prepared," he said, sliding two folders over to them.

"Yeah that'll be no problem," Jungkook replied nonchalantly, grabbing the folder in front of him and flipping it open.

He’d already memorized everything he needed to but he still scanned the papers inside. Taehyung did the same as Namjoon watched.

A new, fake ID was taped inside along with a couple papers of information. As Jungkook scanned, he soaked in the gist of his new identity.

"Han Jungseok," Jungkook chuckled, the name sounding weird rolling off his tongue, "Code name JK."

"As you’ve learned through your research, it's common practice within the Underground for people to go by codenames," Namjoon explained, "It's more common for humans than hybrids but Taehyung will be going by V anyway."

"Cool name," Taehyung mumbled, looking through his own papers.

"Now, Jungkook," Namjoon said, leaning over to open a drawer. He pulled out a set of keys and a cellphone, sliding them across the surface of his desk until Jungkook grabbed them, "The department will be providing a car for you along with a cellphone. They may confiscate it but Jimin assures me when they accept you, they'll return it. This has phone numbers that you will need to contact throughout your time under cover including the one you will call when you're ready to begin the bust. Officers will be on standby the entire time for your word so use it only when you're positive, understand? You'll have one shot and that's it."

"I understand," Jungkook replied, confidence flowing through him. He knew how this went, he'd been undercover countless times in the past.

Though he knew, deep down, how different this was from the past times. The weight of this operation wasn't lost on him, in fact it'd kept him up restless the past few nights as the date came closer and closer.

"There's also an apartment that will be serving as your residence during the operation," Namjoon said, "It's probably not as nice as your current one but it'll be home from tomorrow on.”

"Yes Sir," Taehyung and Jungkook said in unison.

"The two of you take the day to correlate everything, learn your identities, and get prepared," Namjoon ordered, eyes following as the two cops stood up.

"Thank you, Captain," Jungkook said, bowing. Taehyung followed his lead before the two of them left the office.

The car door slammed as Taehyung got inside, casting the two of them in darkness when the interior light shut off. Jungkook put the key in the ignition and cranked the engine. They were both quiet, the weight of where they were going heavy in their minds.

"We're meeting Jimin downtown," Jungkook said to break the silence, "You got your story straight, right?"

"Yep," Taehyung replied, eyes gazing out the window, "You bought me off the market and you've had me for 2 months."

Jungkook nodded as his partner rehearsed their cover. It fell silent again, Taehyung’s eyes pinned to his hands as they were folded in his lap.

"Are you nervous?" Jungkook asked, glancing at the hybrid out of the corner of his eye.

"Honestly?" Taehyung asked, finally looking at Jungkook. The human nodded, already knowing what the response was going to be, "My hearts beating so fast I can hear it in my ears. I'm scared I'll fuck this up. We've been undercover countless times before and I've never worried about making a mistake like I am now."

"I think appearing more anxious will be a good thing," Jungkook said, not missing the way his own voice wobbled, "I know regardless you can sell this and I know you can do it but being anxious will be more believable if you're being forced into the underground ring."

"I hope you're right," Taehyung whispered, gnawing on his lip.

Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightened and be swallowed thickly — he hoped he was right too.

The neighborhoods slowly became darker and less well-maintained. Jungkook would sigh whenever he'd hit a pothole, whispering that he was thankful it wasn't his car. Taehyung couldn’t help but crack a smile at his muttering.

The decrepit houses gradually disappeared and turned into warehouses -- in an even more secluded area than before. It set Taehyung's heart racing even faster and it was beginning to bleed into pain. He wished he had something to take to ease the anxiety.

Jungkook finally stopped the car and turned it off. The two of them sat there for a moment, gathering themselves before Jungkook stepped out first. He walked around the car and opened the door, jerking his head to order Taehyung out.

It was almost incredible how Jungkook could so easily fit into a role and persona he was given. It was one of the reasons he was so highly regarded in the undercover operations game — he certainly had a talent for it. The tight grip on his arm had him tensing but when Jungkook gently soothed his thumb over the soft skin, he relaxed slightly.

No matter how cold and detached he appeared, Taehyung couldn't lose sight of the fact it was Jungkook and none of this was real.

"You JK?" an accented voice had Jungkook pausing. The accent was extremely familiar and it immediately made his body tense.

Busan.

"Yeah I assume you're Jimin?" Jungkook responded, keeping his own voice level -- masking the anxiety that hammered at him.

"We'll have more company soon," the new hybrid whispered, anxiously looking over his shoulders. Large, pointed ears twitched in every direction as he listened out for footsteps. "I want to warn you. Whatever you've heard cannot describe what it's really like in the underground. It's much worse than what you think."

"They just...let you roam around alone?" Taehyung asked, not intending to have Jimin expand on what he meant. He'd be seeing for himself soon enough.

"I've gained their trust enough," Jimin shrugged his shoulders before suddenly freezing, "They're coming."

Taehyung's heart skipped a beat as Jungkook tightened his grip on his arm. The human’s face morphed into one of pure cold detachment, turning his nose up at the two hybrids. Jimin took a few steps back to a respectable distance, once gentle gaze turned cold as well.

"These the two?" a short, overweight man asked. He was flanked on either side by a tall, muscular man and a short, stocky guy.

"Yes Sir, JK and V," Jimin answered, hands shoved casually in his pockets.

"How'd you hear about our operation?" The man asked, wandering over to Taehyung, "My name's Hyo by the way."

"Who hasn't heard about it?" Jungkook chuckled, "I got this mutt here a couple months back and he put me out for a pretty penny. He's kind of a little shit so I thought he might as well be of use, right?"

"Right, right, I understand," Hyo chuckled, circling around Taehyung, "He purebred?"

"Black Lab," Jungkook nodded, forcing himself to not check if Taehyung was okay though he could feel the trembles of his partner beneath his grip.

"Damn, hard to find Pures on the Market," Hyo hummed, circling the timid hybrid, "He's a pretty thing. It's a shame his face'll get busted up."

"Not like he can do any other work," Jungkook chuckled, making Hyo smirk.

"Jae!" Hyo shouted, making Taehyung jump. The stocky man immediately walked up to Jungkook, making him stiffen in alarm, "Hope you don't mind, it’s just a formality. Can't be too careful in this line of work."

"Ah..." Jungkook let out a harsh exhale when Jae began to pat him down, "I understand."

Jae worked Jungkook's cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Hyo, which made Jungkook uneasy. He also took his keys and wallet which was also given to Hyo, who opened it and began to look through everything inside. Then, Jae moved on to search Taehyung which was a quick process since the hybrid didn't have anything on him.

"Just a little cash, card, and ID," Hyo said, announcing it to the three other men working for him, "Kim Jungseok, born in 1997, residence here in Seoul. I hear your accent though, where are you from?"

"Um, Busan," Jungkook responded after clearing his throat.

"All clear," Jae called from behind Taehyung, returning to Hyo's side.

"Jae, here," Jungkook watched nervously as Hyo handed his ID to Jae, "Go scope it out."

"Another formality?" Jungkook chuckled, watching as Jae made his way to the car, confiscated keys dangling from his fingers.

"Like I said..." Hyo paused, looking at the two of them, "Can't be too careful."

"Yeah, I guess so," Jungkook mumbled, glancing at where Jimin stood straight and stiff.

"Well, follow me," Hyo said, "Jimin, go open up."

The hybrid immediately rushed to do as he was told, unlocking the padlock on the garage door with a small key before pulling it open. It made a loud series of metallic bangs as he pushed it up about halfway.

They all crouched down and entered, Jimin letting the door slam back down behind them. The sound made Taehyung flinch, something Hyo caught sight of.

"Better take care of that, pooch," He sneered, "The others catch even a hint of weakness and they'll tear you to pieces. Wouldn't be much use to your Master if you were a broken mess, would you?"

Taehyung clenched his jaw, looking away from Hyo before scoffing. Hyo didn't seem to appreciate it when he suddenly reached out and grabbed hold of Taehyung's hair, making the hybrid yelp in surprise. Jungkook forced himself not to do anything, simply staring with almost detached boredom while his insides were burning with anger at his best friend being treated like that.

"You answer when a human is talking to you, Mutt," Hyo growled. Jungkook watched, forcing himself not to intervene as Taehyung spat out a half-assed apology that the man thankfully accepted, "You weren't kidding when you said he was a little shit, huh?"

Jungkook barked out a laugh, casting a glance at Taehyung while everyone's backs were turned, "Yeah maybe getting his ass kicked will remedy the problem."

"Oh no doubt!" Hyo laughed, pausing when they finally reached the middle of the warehouse, "Lots of people come in with disobedient animals. The ring really teaches them to straighten up."

Jungkook looked around, nodding his head at Hyo's words. It was mostly empty, clearly not used for anything in particular. Most likely, it was just for meetings like the one Jungkook was currently in. One thing he did notice, however, is a foul smell emanating from somewhere within the large area.

It was strangely familiar, it made him uneasy.

"You know JK," Hyo sighed, a strong put-on sound that had the hair on the back of Jungkook's neck standing on end, "The biggest problem we have out of recruits would have to be...they like to lie."

There was a loud click and both Taehyung and Jungkook froze on the spot. The tall unnamed man had a gun pointed at Jungkook's head.

It was then he realized what the smell was.

The vile stench of blood and death.

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