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logically-asexual · 2 years

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Where's my fucking teenage dream?

summary:

Last part of this series, two years after the events of the previous part. Logan just finished high school while Janus, Remus and Virgil have been renting a house together since they graduated. Logan decides to move in with them, but adjusting isn't so easy. Logan is ace but does feel romantic attraction (for Virgil). He doesn't know he's ace, though, so the story involves some self-questioning.

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Chapter 11 (last)

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words: 1782

Both adults moved forward and Janus and Virgil stepped aside. They walked and stopped right in front of their son, taking in everything wrong with his appearance.

Logan studied them for a second. “I was participating in a satanic ritual, before you interrupted,” he said with a straight face. His parents weren’t even religious, but they still stared at him with a firm look of displeasure.

“You’re going to watch that attitude of yours,” his father scolded.

“I will not.”

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go home now.”

His mother grabbed him by his arm, but he pulled away. What even was that nickname? Logan had heard more of those come out of Janus’ mouth today than from his parents his whole life.

“I am not leaving.”

“God, this place smells awful. Have you been doing drugs?” His father pulled out his phone. “I think Dr. Henry won’t be available all weekend so we’ll have to wait until Monday to get an appointment for a magnetic resonance and make sure there hasn’t been any significant damage to your brain.”

He put a hand on Logan’s back and began pushing him towards the door, but once again he moved away.

“Stop touching me!”

His father did withdraw his hand but he didn’t seem to have heard Logan.

“Damn phone, I can’t find the number.”

“Hold on, I think I sent a message to him a few days ago.”

“Tell him that it’s urgent.”

“I will.” Logan’s mother was looking through her messages and sighed. “The fumes here are horrible, I am beginning to feel lightheaded,” she said with a dramatic tone that was hardly credible.

“Let’s get out of here, I’ll call the police.”

“What?!” Several of the boys’ voices exclaimed.

Logan snatched both cell phones out of their hands. That finally got them to look at him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

It was only the second time the others had heard Logan swear, and the first time for his parents.

His father looked at him incredulously. “Don’t you listen? We’re taking you home.”

“You’re the ones that don’t listen. I said I’m not leaving.”

“It wasn’t a question. You’re not in your senses; those delinquents have had a bad influence on you and we must fix it.”

“‘Those delinquents’ are my friends and you’re going to stay away from them!” Logan barely had to raise his voice. He had never talked back to his parents like this before, except for the night when he left. The anger in his tone by itself was enough to show his determination. “And I am staying here.”

His mother tensed up and looked around the messy house. “After everything we’ve given you, this is how you show gratitude? Abandoning all your privileges for… for this?”

Logan’s tone softened slightly as he looked them in the eyes. “You’ve given me so much; it was thanks to that that I could get into a career I could have only dreamed of.” He looked back down at the floor. “But you wouldn’t have allowed that and I… I needed something else.”

“‘Something else’…” His mother rolled her eyes. “You have everything and you exchange it for what? Geology?”

“It’s Earth Science. The field of natural science related to the plane–”

“I just can’t believe it,” his father scoffed. “I didn’t pay for all those courses in leadership and innovation for you to be sitting your ass around staring at… at freaking dirt all day!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“I don’t care what you’re doing! What are your actual career options? It’s not even an engineering degree, at least with those you can make things.”

His mother muttered to herself, “Natural scientists. I’ve seen those pretentious hippies, thinking that a PhD in fruit flies makes them smarter but they don’t even know how to dress themselves for a formal event. I mean, look at you.” She gestured at Logan. “And, for the love of God, please tell me that thing on your face is fake.”

She couldn’t get her hand close to Logan’s eyebrow piercing before he slapped it away.

“I don’t want to be an engineer. That’s the problem, you have no idea what I want, I–.”

“What you should want,” his father interrupted, “is to not waste your life away on something that won’t bring any benefits.”

“Benefits for whom? For marketing businesses like yours that prey on insecure minds to take advantage of them for money?”

“Oh, so now the problem is my job? The one that brings food to your table?”

“I know you want me to be an accountant or an economist but I can’t, there’s nothing about that system that makes any logical sense other than abusing and–”

“You wouldn’t speak like that if you had heard a single thing I’ve tried to teach you about economy–”

“I’ve listened enough!” Logan silenced his father. “Now you’re going to listen to me.”

Everyone stood still, for a moment it seemed like time had stopped. All Logan could hear was his own breathing. In and out.

“I’ve learned a lot thanks to you, and I appreciate that, so much.” It took a lot of effort to not let his voice crack. “However, I have learned more about discipline, responsibility, independence, and socializing here the past months than I ever did trapped behind a desk my entire childhood.” He took another deep breath. “Look at me.”

Both of his parents looked him in the eye. Logan almost shivered at the intense display of their hard-to-capture attention.

“This is what I want. I only ask one thing of you,” he said with his index finger lifted. “That you trust me… which is to trust yourselves, that you raised me to be intelligent enough to thrive doing whatever makes me happy.” He crossed his arms.

His father’s stern expression faltered. He looked around himself at the house. “And this… dumpster makes you happy?”

Logan nodded.

As he did, his mother took a step closer to him. Logan noticed that her eyes were now glassy. “We didn’t come earlier because we thought you’d get over your tantrum sooner. We called some of the universities that you had mentioned and figured out where you were, but we thought that you were staying in the university’s own residences. My friend Liz, the psychologist, told us we should let you cool off and wait until you came back…”

Logan didn’t dare to speak. He had never seen the stoic woman ever show a trace of emotion, not remotely like this.

“But then we were told that you weren’t at the student residences, you were at some punks’ house away from the campus. The image in my mind was awful, but…” she looked around at the other young men in the house. They all had the same wary look in their eyes her son did when she would reprimand him. They didn’t look like soulless criminals. “I’m sorry.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t think of any words.

“Please,” he whispered, “just believe me.”

“Logan,” his father said with a sneer, “if you want to study dirt and rocks so bad then… We’ll pay for your residence at the university.”

Logan looked down once again and fidgeted with his nails. “I’d like to stay here,” he hesitantly said.

“How about a generous multi-purpose allowance?” Janus suddenly intervened, earning a glare from Virgil. “What? I meant for groceries and stuff…”

“No. I can work as a professor’s assistant starting next semester and they will lighten my other classes’ workload in addition to the payment.” Logan didn’t want his parents to be able to use the money as leverage. It would take a lot more for him to really trust them.

His father shook his head, looking at the floor. “Are you sure you want this?”

“I am.”

“Fine,” he finally said, lifting the heavy weight off Logan’s shoulders. “Give me my phone back.” Seeing Logan’s hesitancy, he added, “I promise I won’t call the police.”

Logan handed it to him, then looked towards his mother.

She rolled her eyes. “I won’t, either.”

With a small smile, he gave her her phone, too.

“Let’s go, I can’t stand in this junkyard for another minute.”

They both turned around to leave. Logan walked behind them.

At the door, his mother told him that he could go back if he ever changed his mind. Logan thanked her politely, though hopefully they both knew that his conviction wouldn’t change.

As they drove off, Logan closed the door and leaned his back on it, feeling like he was about to pass out. He willed himself to stay standing, anyway. He wasn’t going to collapse in this hallway again.

The other three approached him carefully. Janus offered to prepare tea, to which Logan nodded. Virgil laid a hand on his shoulder and guided him towards the living room to sit on the couch. He sat in the middle, with Virgil to his left, Remus to his right, and Janus came to sit on the coffee table in front of them. He had made tea for Logan and himself, and brought coffee for Virgil and Remus, as well.

They stayed quiet for a minute. Virgil took one of Logan’s hands in both of his. His other hand held the warm mug close to his chest.

“Hey,” Janus suddenly broke the silence, “did you check the time?”

Confused, Logan looked at his watch. It read 00:11. December 21st. His expression lightened up with a subtle smile. “It’s past midnight.”

“That’s right, darling,” Janus said, before standing up. “I propose a toast.”

Of course he did.

Everyone stood with him, holding their drinks in front of them.

“To the only real family that I have,” Janus pointed his mug towards Logan, “and its newest legally-adult member.”

“Cheers!” They said, bringing the mugs together.

After taking a sip from his tea, Logan spoke up. “I think that’s been enough interruption. You were in the middle of something.” He nodded towards the instruments in the corner of the room.

Remus grinned. “You heard the birthday boy, let’s rock!” he gulped the last of his coffee and smashed the mug into the floor, then ran towards the drumset.

“I’ll have him clean that later,” Janus winked at Logan.

Logan smiled and put his mug down as the other two got in their positions.

They finished playing their set, then played some more. If Logan had been enjoying the music earlier, now he was reveling in every vibration of the air around him.

He was free, and he was going to do anything in his power to keep it that way.

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thank you so so much for reading! if you liked it it would be super cool if you'd leave a comment. im just glad you enjoyed it enough to make it to the end <3

#logan sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #dukeceit #analogical #ts #lunas writing

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artoperations · 5 months

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THE SWITCHBOARD METHOD OF PROJECT-BASED, SERIAL ART PRODUCTION

"Work Efficiency At The Speed of Thought"

2023-11-29 12:10:08

The Switchboard Method:

Take n number of tasks;

Choose one task at a time, work on it for approximately 15 minutes, then SWITCH TASKS;

Continue doing this continuously throughout the day, switching tasks every 5-10 or 15 minutes;

Switch tasks pseudo-randomly, that is, choose whatever task is most immediate;

Choose whatever tasks is most relevant to the given time;

Choose tasks that are more ready-to-hand either physically proximate or else close to you in your cognitive space, emotional space, your Fields of Experience or Fields of Discourse;

Act as though you were a MECHANICAL TURK at Amazon;

You will achieve more efficiency this way;

Take an example. Say someone writes 1 novel in 1 notebook;

Now you write 12 novels in 12 notebooks, except you use the SWITCHBOARD METHOD;

The other person might finish their 1 novel in x amount of time;

You will finish in x+y amount of time, y being a constant;

It will take you a little more time to write 12 novels across 12 notebooks instead of 1 across 1, but at the end of x+y time, you will have written 12 NOVELS INSTEAD OF 1;

The SWITCHBOARD METHOD is essentially a NON-LINEAR METHOD OF WORK ORGANIZATION and can provide Great Efficiencies in Time (awaiting mathematical proof);

2023-11-29 19:45:22

I am told this is the assignment problem in theoretical computer science, but usually you have n agents to whom you must assign m number of tasks;

In my case, there are only n tasks and 1 agent;

All that's really important here is the decision problem and efficient allocation of resources;

You would normally look at costs and so forth, cost functions, etc.;

Thats not my problem, though; I got rid of the decision problem and saved at least 1 bit;

It might not seem like a lot, yet computationally, with over 100 projects still actively running in my Art Operation, I needed to save as many bits as possible;

I don't decide what task to work on; I tackle whatever is most proximate/immediate/ready-to-hand;

It doesn't matter what it is,it will absolutely be an enriching,learning experience;

Randomized task assignment just seems optimal to me; I'm able to maintain over 100 complex, interdisciplinary art-research projects, and I'm a One-Man Shop, a single art operator at the Art Operation @ The Historiotheque;

More on this later; this is based on the research for a new project, and series of series, I started earlier in the year, called NOISE IN THE WORKSPACE;

The first series was called SPACE NOISE INJECTION and, you see, while the first series is still only beginning, I started the second series of experiments, called RANDOMIZED EXPERIMENTAL PARAMETERS;

After just a few months, I have enough research and experimental data to write a PhD thesis in interruption science;

2023-12-04 03:17:26

One of the ways this Method works is by removing waiting-times;

One does not spend any significant amount of times either Deciding what tasks to tackle OR any significant amount of time building up complex mental abstractions, which software developers often have to do in the course of any given period of Deep Work;

I merely look at the Surface of the Workspace and choose what is most proximate/immediate;

This literally means looking around the Studio Space @ The Historiotheque and choosing whatever is nearest in time and space;

I realize that the 3D Surface of the Workspace is where I get most of my new ideas, from actually working in the Historioteque AND in the Archive;

It's where I came up with the concept of Geogrammar or Geogrammatical Forms, as floating land-masses, as portrayed in my novelistic phenomenology The History-Project as Crackland, the Land of Fissures and as Antiface-Cloud in my sequel The Archives-Project;

The so-called land-masses or fragments are really the exposed surfaces of the Stacks (SEE: The Stacks-Project);

Each of these "Stacks" are built-up over time as sedimentary layers or through a sedimentation process;

I continuously Survey the top-post surfaces of these many Stacks and make mental links or REFCARDS which I file in my Inner Refcards-System, my DATABASE-OF-IMAGES (SEE: Database Arts);

SEE: Images below, of the 3D Workspace as Abstract Cartography (seen from above) and two diagrams of THE SWITCHBOARD METHOD as well as one for The Stacks-Project;

[...]

#historiotheque #artoperations #antique-moderne #concrete realism #workspace #delta-workspace #physical algorithms #material memory #the stacks-project #stacks #book stacks

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bruhstories · 3 years

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Sticky, Saccharine & Sinful

Summary: Professor Jaeger asks his assistant to come over and grade some papers. Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Fem!Reader (modern AU) Warnings & Content: language, protected sex, fingering, oral sex (female & male receiving), spanking, daddy kink, bossy Zeke, bratty Reader, tying up, bit of an age gap but no underage shit (we don’t do that here) Word Count: 2.5 k

A/N: Huehuehue guess who finally wrote a daddy kink smut? Also I have looped Cherry Cola by Kuwada the entire time i wrote, proofread and formatted this bitch, I think it works with the atmosphere

"Y/N, I'm gonna need you to help me grade some papers later today." Professor Jaeger pushed his glasses with his index finger as he looked up from his book.

"You got it, boss!" You nodded as you entered the staff lounge room at Stohess Uni, two cups in your hands.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Zeke?" The man sighed. “Or at least call me professor.”

"But I'm your assistant, you're my superior, that makes you my boss, boss." Sarcasm dripping down your tongue as you placed his coffee down the table. "All black, two cubes of sugar."

"Thank you. And yes, technically I am your boss, but you're, what, six years younger than me?"

"Seven and a half." You pouted.

You've been working at Stohess University for a little over a year now as Zeke Jaeger's assistant. He was the best philosophy teacher, as well as head of the department, and you nailed your internship interview, aspiring to be like him one day. He even taught you Ethics during your masters, and currently you were doing your PhD research under his coordination. The man was a genius in his field, and you didn't dare disappoint him, but your personalities always clashed. He was calm and collected, you were bubbly and all over the place. He was nice and polite, you were sarcastic and rude. Zeke knew you'd make a horrible teacher for children, but undergraduate students would adore you.

"How can you drink hot coffee in this heat wave?" You asked him as you fanned someone's epistemology essay to cool yourself off.

"It's actually been proven that warm drinks hydrate better than cold ones during summertime." He inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee before taking the essay out of your hand.

"Whatever you say, boss." You shrugged and gulped on your iced tea, a few glistening amber drops dripping from the corners of your mouth, down your chin and your neck. "Ah, shit." You wiped the tea with the back of your hand, not catching Zeke watching you curiously. "Why did the AC have to break down today of all days?"

"Dunno." He shrugged and immersed himself back into his book. "Oh, I hope you don't mind coming to my place to grade the papers? I don't think you'll be able to focus in this heat. Besides, I want to take a look at your latest PhD chapter." Jaeger told you absentmindedly, eyes glued to the pages in front of him.

"Sure thing–"

"Don't say it."

"Boss."

"Jesus Christ..."

You adored pissing your ex-professor off, but deep down, Zeke couldn't deny the fact that he loved the authority he had over you. You were a very alluring woman, after all, and any sane man would kill to be as close to you as he was, let alone boss you around like he did. And he had the strong feeling you acted like a brat around him on purpose. You took your leave after downing the rest of your beverage, going to the library to borrow some books for your own research.

•°☆°•☆•°☆°•

You rang the intercom and waited for Zeke to let you inside the building, dragging your feet down the hallway, tired from carrying so much shit with you – laptop, books, essays, papers, pens and highlighters – you were a walking, talking stationery shop and one could only wonder how someone with such a petite frame was so strong. Zeke waited in the doorway and took some of your things, relieving the weight as you sighed.

"Coffee?" He guided you to his kitchen.

"Water, please." You plopped on a chair and unbuttoned the first three heart-shaped buttons of your lilac shirt, tiny beads of sweat bundled up at your collarbone.

"You sure? I'll be keeping you up all night." Jaeger laughed. He was obviously talking about the papers, but to you, the sentence had a different innuendo — not that you minded, you had your fair share of sinful fantasies with the older man. Come to think of it, you were wondering why he was single. Zeke was undoubtedly an attractive man, he could have any woman he wanted. Yet you’ve never seen him on a date, never seen a picture of a woman when you accidentally glanced at his phone, never heard him talk about a significant other.

"Hey, mind if I smoke?" You asked, noticing the ashtray on his table.

"Not at all, I'll join you." He sat opposite you, mug of coffee in his hand. You pulled out a pack of pink cigarettes from your backpack and placed one between your lips, pocketing your jeans for a lighter. His hand extended over the table, lighter in his hand, and you slightly bent your head forward, eyes glued to his. You inhaled the smoke, not breaking eye contact, and exhaled with a sigh. Something about Zeke lighting up your cigarette made your little cunt tingle.

"Thanks, boss." The corners of your lips turned into a barely visible smirk. You really, really liked to tick him off.

"Don't mention it." He told you before lighting his own cigarette. What, no comeback? No objection? "How's your paper going?"

"It's... going." You shrugged.

"You haven't written anything in your last chapter, have you?"

"No, I have," you half-whined, "it's just that I can't find my words. I think I encountered writer's block."

"'S alright, we'll figure something out." Zeke pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and dropped it on the table.

"Wow, no shit you need help, that's a lot of papers." You twirled the cigarette between your fingers before taking one final puff and crushing it in the glass ashtray.

"Told you." He picked his resting cigarette back from the ashtray. "You can do the first years."

"I'd rather do something else." You whispered to yourself, eyes almost rolling at the back of your head.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, boss. First years, got it." Your manicured fingers pulled the stack of papers closer to you. The exams were already annotated according to subject and year and you took everything you needed before shoving them back to Zeke.

•°☆°•☆•°☆°•

You were bored out of your mind, fiddling with the red pen in your hand and tapping your fingers on the table with no particular rhythm. It was already dark outside and you barely finished a quarter of your stack while Zeke was halfway through his.

"Could you please stop that?" He asked you without even bothering to look at you.

"Why?"

"It's annoying."

With a groan you rolled your eyes and stopped tapping your fingers, instead opting to fidget your leg, bouncing it up and down under the table. The wooden furniture shook at the movement and Zeke sighed, putting the pen down.

"I understand you're bored, but if you want to be a professor, this is part of the job description."

"I know, I know, but, like, can we take a break? Please? We've been at it for two and a half hours now and I'm just so bored." You looked at him with puppy eyes and a pout on your plump lips.

"Ugh, fine. What do you want to do?"

"I dunno. Got any board games?"

"Only a pack of playing cards." Zeke shrugged.

"Perfect! Literally anything is better than this. I mean look at what this kid wrote: the ship of Theseus ARE a thought experiment. Can you believe it? How can a nineteen-year-old not know proper grammar?"

"Careful, Y/N," he chuckled, "you made a pretty embarrassing error during your masters, too."

"Nooo, don't bring that up!" You got up and walked to the freezer, scanning the contents.

"Why not? It's funny."

"Yeah, for you." You rolled your eyes. "But I still proved my worth." You triumphantly told him, tongue playfully poking out of your mouth from behind the freezer door. Ugh, you were so cute, made to be ravaged. Your eyes settled on the single raspberry popsicle and you picked it up, closing back the door. "Can I have this?" Oh, he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Of course."

With Zeke's approval, you unwrapped the plastic, revealing the rose-tinted dessert, swirling your tongue around its tip. You were a sight for sore eyes, (not so) innocently licking at the popsicle, your gaze on him and his growing bulge. He didn't even bother hiding it, instead relaxing in the chair and drinking you in. It was no mistake that Zeke invited you over, and you weren't stupid enough to believe it was a mistake.

"Do you... want some?" You trailed off as the once cold dessert began melting from your hot lips.

"If you'd be so kind." He patted his lap and you accepted the invitation. His bulge was comfortably uncomfortable against your ass, and you put the popsicle onto his lips, one arm draped around his shoulder. Zeke's tongue moved languidly around the sweet snack and you leaned in, your own tongue licking both the dessert and his lips. It was sticky and saccharine and sinful, and your poor pussy couldn't take it anymore.

"Do you wanna fuck me, daddy?" You naively asked him. He wasn't surprised in the slightest by the name, already suspecting you had daddy issues, in fact counting on it.

"I very much do." His hands were already roaming your body. The popsicle was almost gone, and you deepthroated the last bit, taking the little stick out of your mouth with a pop. Finally, he crushed his lips onto yours and you could tell he had experience. You dropped the stick on the tiled floor, twisting your body to better straddle him. Zeke unbuttoned your shirt as you slowly began grinding your hips against his bulge, earning a groan from him. "Ugh, you bad girl." He threw his head back as you loosened the tie around his neck.

"Are you going to punish me?" You slowly, too slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

"What’s the point of a punishment if you’re going to enjoy it?" He mused, unclasping your bra. You had goosebumps all over your skin and Zeke took one of your nipples in his hot mouth, a hand pinching your other one. You whimpered at the slight stinging sensation

"Does it m-matter if I enjoy it?" His touch became rougher, almost animalistic.

"Of course," he stopped sucking your swollen, oversensitive nipple, "otherwise you won't learn your lesson." You got up and turned around, your back against him, taking your jeans and underwear off, bending down and exposing your cunt to him. "You're going to be the death of me, Y/N." Zeke shook his head, removing his own trousers.

"Allow me." You tucked your fingers behind the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down as you kneeled in front of him. His throbbing cock tapped your face after finally being unleashed from its textile cage.

"I suspected you were big, but this? This is too good." You sneered at his member, mesmerised by its size.

"Just shut up and suck it." Zeke pretty much commanded you and you wet your lips, pressing your tongue against the velvety tip. You worked your way around his shaft, enjoying this more than you should've. You pulled back, a string of saliva and precum attached to your lips as you looked up at him.

"Am I doing good, daddy?"

"So good." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed your head back. You eagerly sucked and slurped until he got bored of your mouth around his cock. Zeke pulled you up, spun you around and bent you over the table. He brought your wrists together and tied them up behind your back with his tie before taking a step back and admiring the view. Ass up, face down, just like he loved it. His foot pushed yours to the side, spreading your legs for him before he gave you a good slap over your ass cheeks. You shot up with a moan but his hand forced you back down against the table.

"I think I know exactly how to punish you." Zeke announced, two fingers spreading your folds as his tongue dove inside of you, lapping at your wet cunt.

"Oh, God!" You groaned in pleasure. No man has ever eaten you out like he did. Most guys did it as a chore. Zeke? He was enjoying every single bit of it, passionately fingering you, his tongue moving in ways you didn't think were possible. "Ah, fuck– so good! Daddy, please! I'm coming!"

The way he venomously laughed told you that no, you were not going to come any time soon. Just as you were about to let loose, Zeke stopped, removing his fingers, another slap on your ass. Tears pooled at your Y/E/C eyes, frustration written all over your face. "No, no, no!"

"I told you, Y/N, you're a bad, bad girl." He bent over and whispered in your ear, his cock pressing against your entrance, his hand in your hair.

"Oh, pleaseee, I need to come! Will you let me come?"

"Hm, it depends." Jaeger straightened his back, hands resting on your hips. "Did you learn your lesson?"

"Yes, yes, daddy, I did! I promise I'll be good!" You tried to turn around to look at him, oblivious to what he was doing behind your back, cheeks crimson, droplets of sweat on your forehead.

"Convincing enough." He shrugged and you heard the condom snap against his cock. Unexpectedly and without any warning, the man thrusted into your wet cunt and you, again, shot up, but he pinned you back. "Stay fucking put, you little whore." Zeke demanded and you tried, you really tried, but your body had a mind of its own. "I see you refuse to learn."

"No, no, please!" You slammed your face onto the table, squishing your cheek in the process, desperate and helpless.

"That's better." He concluded, sarcasm dripping down his tongue as he rammed his cock deeper into you. The silken walls clenched around his hard member, and he grunted, no other woman pleasing him like your tight pussy did. "You like it when I take you from behind, you filthy slut?"

"Yes– oh my God, YES!" You bucked your hips against his for more pressure and pain.

"What would my students think if they saw you getting fucked like this on their papers?"

"Ah– I don't c-care!"

"What would the headmaster say if she knew you fuck your superior and- ugh- coordinator?" Jaeger thrusted harder and faster.

"Please, Zeke-"

His hand found its way to your neck, tightly squeezing it.

"Wrong name, Y/N."

"Shit, daddy!"

"That's right, I'm your fucking daddy and hell will freeze before someone else fucking touches you!"

"Fuc-k, fuuuck!" You both howled and panted as you climaxed, your entire bodies quivering. Zeke pulled out of you, carefully removing the rubber from his cock and giving you another slap on your perky ass cheeks. You stood up, arms still tied around your back, turned on your heels and pecked him on his cheek, giggling like a schoolgirl, marvelled by the fact that he chose you over anyone else.

"You know what, Y/N? Now that I've found you, I'm never going to let you go." He promised.

"I'm all yours, boss."

#zeke jaeger #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke x reader #zeke smut #aot #aot smut #aot x reader #aot fanfic #snk #snk smut #snk x reader #snk fanfic #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #zekeythefreaky

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sinkingsidewalks · 3 years

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why do memories glow (the way real moments don't)

Chapter 5: if your part of me is gone now (do I wanna survive)

January 2008

Jemma stood outside the building, staring out across the campus. People rushed to and fro, past and around her and all over the lawn in front of her, which had a sprinkling of snow on it. It was cold, just below freezing, and she wasn’t wearing the right coat for it, she’d gone for looking fashionable and presentable over being warm, but she stood shivering, not moving.

She was done. Her four years at MIT were over. All her classes were complete, her research finished, and her dissertation defended. There was nothing to do now.

She had job offers, research offers, but it didn’t feel the same. She was twenty years old, an actual adult now instead of the teenage one she’d been pretending to be for years. If she’d stuck to the timeline she was supposed to take, if she hadn’t skipped years of school and combined university programs, she would be halfway through an undergrad, instead she had two PhDs. Her peers would be partying, working menial jobs, and skipping classes. They would be changing their major every three months, utterly uncertain of the future; Jemma didn’t feel much more solid in hers.

Getting a job was necessary, the last eighteen months had blown through every penny of her savings and she’d no longer have a visa to stay if she didn’t, but she had no idea how to choose. She’d never done it before, had never really been employed except by the university, and as much as she’d love to teach, she was far too young to command any authority in a classroom, not when her students would be her own age. She’d tried to make a pro and con list for the various positions she’d been offered and the page had stayed entirely blank, she’d come up empty.

There had been a certain ease in choosing universities, the first one close to home, then where she’d found an advisor she got along with, but she had no idea about labs or offices. She’d met with department managers, had good conversations about science and research, but she had no clue how to vet how someone would be as a manager.

Part of her was thinking about tossing a coin, or taking the highest paycheque, but even the thought of that made her uneasy. Research could be a delicate thing, and she didn’t want to end up a lab monkey for some soulless corporation. But she was also afraid of taking too long, of being too picky and having offers dry up, leaving her stranded, on a plane back to England.

She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t move back in to her parents’ house, live with the coolness between her and her mother even though she knew her Dad would welcome her with open arms, and find a job at a UK lab instead. The mere thought made her sick to her stomach. In the intervening years she’d been for Christmas, for a week of holiday in the summer, but it put a pit of something in her stomach that she couldn’t name, it made her feel unsteady, unmoored, like she was far away from herself. Or maybe like she was far away from Fitz, far away from the baby. He’d be almost two and a half and only when it was very late at night did she allow herself to wonder what he looked like.

It felt like there was a tether between them all, like they were three points, stretching a triangle into different angles as they moved through the world. The rope didn’t reach across the ocean.

She stood outside the building, watching groups of students walk, watching people laughing with their friends and others rushing into the cover of buildings, feeling cold, feeling alone.

August 2006

She was awake as midnight ticked over, watched it on her clock as the time changed, and so did the date. It had been a year. The baby would be turning one. She wondered what his parents had planned, if they were the big party type or just a small family gathering.

She’d held her son for exactly ten minutes, after he’d been cleaned off and whisked away for testing because of low oxygen levels. She’d called Fitz while she waited, it was late enough by then for him to be home, kicked out of the lab, to tell him that if he wanted to meet the baby he should come in the next few hours. Then she’d held him gently around the cannula in his nose and said goodbye.

Their adoption advisor had showed up then, she’d walked Jemma through the paperwork she had to fill out, including his birth certificate. Even though she knew his real family would change it she had to name him, which felt odd, and she was in such an exhaustive haze she’d written the only thing that had come to mind; Leopold James Fitz. She’d had the presence of mind to tack ‘Simmons’ on the end and had fallen asleep in her hospital bed for a few hours.

When she woke May was there again, guiding her into her clothes then out to the car. It was late, the streets were dark and empty and she’d felt hollow, ripped apart. Kendra was asleep when she got into the apartment and so was Fitz, passed out in her bed. She’d crawled in with him and hadn’t gotten up for a week.

Fitz and Kendra had taken turns cooking for her, leaving plates on her bedside table and taking away the dirty ones, the half-finished or picked over ones between their work and research and classes. There were times when they both lingered at the doorway, books in hand, but she could only shake her head when asked if she wanted company, even though she didn’t want to be alone either. She felt alone, even when they were there. Her own work went untouched, but May didn’t bother her for progress, had only showed up once to drop off a peri bottle and cabbage leaves without a word. Jemma still didn’t know who took over her teaching assistants duties.

Eight days later she’d hauled herself into the shower and stood there for over an hour as the dried blood and leaked breast milk and hospital smell ran down the drain. She washed her hair twice, ran the hot water for the whole building dry, and only then, once the water dwindled to lukewarm did she emerge.

She was passed it now, or as passed it as she could be. Somewhere in Connecticut it was a little boy’s first birthday, but that boy wasn’t her son, he never had been.

She wondered what Fitz was doing, if he was aware enough to know what the date was or if he was so buried in his research he’d lost all concept of time, of reality. She knew he’d remember the significance if he remembered the date, but that was always a toss-up with him. It had been weeks since she’d talked to him, maybe even months, she could hardly remember.

There had been one late night phone call, where he’d been exhausted and delirious, talking about an issue that had come up with his thesis, but she’d been just as tired and overworked it was impossible to remember what day that had been, what week, when every hour bled into the next. She was fairly certain he’d called her by accident, by reflex, because she was the person he was used to talking to when he had an issue and vice versa, because she wasn’t sure if they were friends anymore.

It had seemed possible, at the end of her pregnancy, that they could get through it, but the more time went on the harder it was to pretend that everything was normal. The summer ended, a new school year started, Fitz was locked up in the lab and Jemma started a new TA job. They didn’t speak for days, then weeks, then a month, then two.

She had no doubt that if she needed him, that if she called him, for anything, he would come running, without a second of doubt or hesitation, but she had no reason to call him. They crossed paths on campus, they hung out with mutual friends, but she didn’t feel like she could read his mind anymore, didn’t know his every thought and feeling by the quirk of his eyebrow. She knew he would never disappear entirely, that she’d never lose track of him, that he’d never leave her life entirely, but they would continue to orbit around each other, binary stars pulled towards the barycenter of a child they didn’t know.

She rolled over in her bed, made her body relax piece by piece and counted her breathing, trying to get to sleep, even though she knew she couldn’t.

Read the rest on AO3

#aos #aos fic #fanfic #fanfiction #jemma simmons #leo fitz #aosficnet2 #fstag #fsfic #my fic #fitzsimmons #au #writing tag

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sevenfactorial · 4 years

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Info about applying to PhD programs in pure math

This is... basically what it sounds like. I’m sure a lot of this is applicable to other PhD applications but I’m only very familiar with pure math. This is aimed at current seniors about to apply, but there is a section about prepping for applications in advance.

The highlights:

Recommendation letters are the most important thing. Most schools ask for 3ish. Try to get people who know you well, not just a student in the class. Someone you've conducted research with and one from a different institution are ideal if possible

Ask for rec letters at least a month before the due date is a good rule of thumb.

Research experience is probably the second most important.

Get the opinion of multiple professors who know you in order to build a list of potential schools. Then widdle it down to your will-actually-apply list (probably 8-14 ish).

My opinion but please apply to at least 3-4 safety/match schools. Even when you're fully qualified, acceptance rates are simply low enough that a bit of bad luck means getting rejected or waitlisted from a few of them.

Most pure math due dates are in early-mid Dec but a few schools are in Nov and some are as late as mid-Jan.

Schools will generally have their own graduate application portals. Some are better organized than others. Some require you to submit all your material before you can send a request for submitting rec letters so plan accordingly.

Acceptance letters will very slowly start going out in mid-Feb but the vast majority of programs won't send out anything until like, March and not be done until later than that. Accordingly, wait until at least mid-March to begin freaking out if you haven't been accepted anywhere.

You should 100% be expecting a tuition waiver and stipend from a program if you're applying for a PhD.

The rest of the posts is.... ridiculously long so I’m putting it under a cut. I mention things to do in advance to help you decide if grad school is right for you and things that make your application look good, give a full time line of the process, a list of things applications commonly ask for, and some miscellaneous notes. (The points above are repeated in more detail).

In addition, some links to other resources math students may appreciate:

an old post of mine about grad school apps (overlaps a lot and features some ranting from during the application process)

about REUs including my addition specifically about math ones

summer programs for undergrads that aren’t REUs by @counter-example and @jungleuniversity

Tips for prospective grad student visits

Also about prospective grad student visits by @thisurlhasbeenleftasanexercise

Also for context, I went to a large state school in the US for undergrad. I started as a CS major and added on math as a secondary major after my first year and dropped CS during third year. I’m primarily interested in discrete and algebra, though I have a significant topology background from undergrad too. I got most of my advice from people around the department, as I became pretty involved during my third year. Now, I’m a first year grad student at another large state school in the US, generally considered pretty decent though not a “top math program” at all. Not that much else has happened so far.

Things in advance (aka things to help you decide if grad school is for you and things that look good on an application)

Take the standard classes. For pure math, this is at least one semester of linear alg, abstract alg, and analysis each. Linear and analysis are also good for applied math but I'm not sure what else if anything is considered standard.

Take some grad classes if you have the option. Most people are not ready for this until senior year, but some do manage as juniors. Talk to people who know you well and the prof teaching the class before you do this though.

Try to get involved with research whether this is through independent studies at your home institution, REUs, internships, or other stuff.

Be involved in your department. This helps with getting you more personalized advice for applying.

The rough suggested timeline (assuming junior yr is your second to last year and senior is your last of undergrad)

Junior April: Take the math subject GRE so you can take it again in Sep or Oct if desired (perhaps not applicable atm). The general can be taken kinda whenever; I suggest fall of senior year.

Junior April/May: Start talking to professors/post docs/mentors/etc. about programs you may be interested in. Write/type it down. Don't worry if it gets long, you will shorten again later.

Summer: Do some research if possible; an REU or research at your institution (if an REU, also get your mentor's opinion on potential schools towards the end as well)

Senior Sep: Start whittling down your list. 8-14 seems to be the "normal" range of schools to apply to but some people panic and do more. Remember that asking for waivers is completely acceptable but applying is still just generally expensive (I spent around $800 for 10 schools)

Senior Sep: Apply for the NSF GRFP. You can apply as an undergrad senior and once during your first or second year of grad school if you didn't already get it. The due date is in mid-late OC but ideally you'll have a draft of your essays and ask for rec letters by the end of Sep, if not earlier.

Senior early Nov: Ask for rec letters if you haven't already. The rule of thumb is a month before the due date. Provide them a list of schools you want to apply to including due date and where/how to submit as soon as possible (as well as anything else they request of course; many ask for a resume and a draft of your personal statement).

Senior Dec-Jan: Submit stuff! Pure math programs typically have deadlines in Dec or early Jan. I think the big days are Dec 10th, Dec 15th, and Jan 15th but some are earlier or later. (applied math masters tend to be earlier I think; in Nov). I suggest putting them all into a list or calendar. In addition, some schools won't let letter writers submit until all of your stuff is submitted so start applications early, even if you don't finish them immediately.

Senior Feb: Programs will slowly start sending out offers in early Feb and pick up in mid Feb, but don't fret until AT LEAST the beginning of March! Grad programs are just way too slow at getting out offers for it to be worth worrying until then (and even then, it's definitely not time to panic but mathematicians are frequently anxious people so I get it). Waitlists are slower to come out; usually starting in early March. Also note, there are many programs that don't actually send out replies to everyone unfortunately.

Senior late Feb-early April: prospective student days! They might be online in 2021 unfortunately but try to attend whatever form they're in if you can (only one of my visits during spring 2020 was online since the others happen to be very early and safely beat covid in the US). Be warned, it's very possible to get offers of admissions and to visit very last minute. I do not have advice for how to make that less stressful.

Senior April 15th: Common reply deadline. If you got your offer in the first round or two, this is probably your deadline to accept. In addition, this means more offers will likely come out shortly after once more people have declined.

Senior summer: graduate. Send a completed, official transcript to your new institution. Check your new email account for stuff you're suppose to do. Some programs have some sort of program during the summer for in-coming students. Most places have graduate student training of some sort for a week or two before semester starts.

Some common things to be asked for in applications

Not actually a thing asked for but many graduate schools have their own portal for which you will have to make an account to submit an application. A few use a common system that kinda sort shares a database of accounts? Some are fine and some massively suck.

Personal Statement/Statement of Purpose: Occasionally called something else and once in a while actually separate things; will usually have a prompt of wildly differing specificity. Sometimes, the prompts come from the department itself and sometimes from the university's graduate school. I suggest having one or two "base" essays then tweaking them for each school. Sometimes a word/page limit is specified but if it's not, around 2 pages/1000 words is pretty reasonable.

Transcript. Some accept unofficial but some require official but generally not an unsealed one. I ordered myself one official transcript and sent it to multiple schools instead of paying for them to be sent to each school during the application process.

Resume or CV: Most ask for either a CV or is fine with either, in which case I give them my CV. I sent more or less the same one everywhere.

Some other notes

Yes, ask for application waivers. Just be polite about it.

Your goals for your essays are primarily to show that you're interested in math and math research and are capable of like…. writing things that make sense

Do not start out an essay with either "I loved math since I was little" or "I actually didn't like math when I was young" or any variations of those. (I had one essay that started with a mildly humourous anecdote from undergrad combinatorics and another that talked about how my undergrad department has greatly affected me).

You should 100% expect to get a tuition waiver and living stipend as part of a TA fellowship (or more rarely, an research fellowship) as part of your offer of acceptance for a math PhD program (pure or applied). Health insurance is also frequently part of the package. This is not true of masters programs unfortunately.

How schools do waitlists depend wildly though most don't have super long ones like prestigious undergrads do. If you're still interested in a place you're waitlisted at, follow their instructions to confirm your placement on the waitlist then wait until April before following up again, expressing your continued interest and asking for an update. You might even want to wait until around the common deadline, April 15th. The number of people who declined before April is just really really low so nothing really happens until then.

#grad school applications #math grad school applications #math phd applications #math grad school application tips #math grad school application advise #seriously not qualified beyond i managed to do it #but hey it's good to have more people's advice for cross referencing!#seven stories #long post #grad school #god

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criminalrambling · 3 years

Text

Checkers and Coffee

Pairing: spencer reid x reader

Rating: G , fluffy! Some mention of a stalker, typical unsub stuff but story does not take place during a case. Enjoy the cute!

__________________________________________

The Charleston sun was still rising, not yet heating the air to sweltering, and the morning smelled of coffee and salt water. Most people would have been asleep at their vacation homes at this time of day, but you happened to be seated in a cozy booth at the local diner across from a certain tall, tousle-haired Doctor. The rest of his team had left earlier that morning on their jet, but unrelated to their recent case, they were transporting two Marines back to DC and two people needed to wait for a later commercial flight… you’d all drawn straws, and the lucky agents to stay behind were yourself and one Dr. Spencer Reid.

You’d checked out of the hotel, but hadn’t wanted to go to the airport just yet. So you’d convinced Spencer to join you at one of your favorite places for a few cups of coffee and breakfast. It must have been the lack of sleep combined with lack of coffee that caused you to challenge someone with an eidetic memory to a strategy game.

“You really think you can beat me?” His brown eyes glinted as he raised his left brow and smirked.

You rolled your eyes and nudged the round crimson game piece one space forward. “It’s checkers, Spencer. Not chess.”

“True,” he responded, scooting forward a black piece of his own. “But there’s still a significant amount of strategy involved. Did you know that versions of checkers were played as far back as 3,000 BCE? Archaeologists found evidence of a similar game in the Iraq city of Ur, and there have been other versions played throughout history. Though I’m not sure any of those versions involved a fabric board…”

His sentence was cut off by a grey-haired waitress who took your breakfast orders with military precision and a smile. You didn’t place a dainty order either. If Spencer thought you were a gluttonous cow, then so be it… breakfast was the best meal of the day, and you didn’t make it to Fleetwood Diner nearly often enough. You were pleased that Spencer took your suggestion of pancakes as part of his order, though his were plain and not the blueberry ones you preferred.

“Playing checkers at the Fleetwood Diner is tradition in these parts. At least, in my family it is.” You countered, jumping one of his pieces and trying not to gloat as you snatched it off the board. “Your turn.”

“Well, if it’s a tradition in the Y/L/N family then I’m happy to partake.” he shrugged, and gulped down more coffee out of the stout, thick handled cup. “Is it just me, or does coffee taste better when it’s served in this kind of mug?”

You grinned and looked over your shoulder to see where your waitress was. “Not just you - I love diner mugs. In fact, a couple of Fleetwood ones may have mysteriously made their way into my kitchen cabinet.”

“A federal agent, admitting to thievery!” Spencer laughed. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through your body at the sound of his laughter and the way his wide grin made his eyes crinkle. You hadn’t heard that laugh in several days, maybe even a week? Despite the busy workload in the intelligence department of the FBI, you’d taken off for South Carolina as soon as your sister had called asking for your help. The BAU had come down a couple of days later after you’d phoned JJ, the panic and emotion in your voice convincing her to bring the team to your hometown to help. The fact that everything had worked out… well, the fact that you were even able to smile was truly something to be thankful for.

Your sister’s 6 year old son James had gone missing from the University day-care that he attended after his half day of kindergarten. It turned out that one of her former students, now going by a new name, had targeted her. He was jaded since she’d turned him down shortly before her wedding 7 years ago and coveted the life she’d built. After 3 days of dedicated work on the geographical profile, James was found in an abandoned warehouse. He had been unharmed but was very dehydrated. The UnSub was located a few hours later as he was en route to the University, where he would have… well, done something terrible to your sister.

“I owe you one,” you smiled back, moving another piece. “And not just for keeping my diner mug secret. There’s no way I could have handled this one out without you and your team. It means the world- thank you.”

“Oh, I’m sure…” he started to brush off the commend, looking a tad sheepish before you cut him off with a look and placed your hand on top of his, squeezing gently. He gulped. “You’re welcome.”

You withdrew your hand awkwardly, hoping to whatever higher power there was that your cheeks weren’t changing colors. The two of you continued moving your checkers pieces, and you downed the last sip of your coffee before reaching for the pot the waitress had left on the table.

“The only flaw of these mugs… they aren’t nearly large enough.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood.

The corners of Spencer’s mouth turned up slightly. “I was debating doing some research through the biomedical engineering program at Johns Hopkins… There has to be a way to inject coffee straight into the bloodstream.”

“Might even earn yourself another PhD, smarty pants.” you played along, teasing him. You loved the way he lit up at the banter as you went back and forth.

“One can never have too many PhDs.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“No PhDs, and yet you’re winning at checkers.”

“Are you letting me?”

“No. Do you want me to?”

“No!” You gasped. “I like to win fair and square.”

“Oh, that’s too bad…” He smirked, and double jumped your pieces. “I might just have to make a comeback.”

“You son of a…”

“Pancakes!” chimed your waitress, swooping them down to your table. They looked perfect, as always, and your mouth watered. You knew they would taste even better. “And the blueberry, with extra crispy bacon. Syrup is on the table, anything else I can get you?”

“More coffee?” You and Spencer said in unison, looking at each other in embarrassment when you realized it had happened.

“That would be amazing, thank you.” You told the waitress as she took the empty pot from your table and said she’d be back momentarily.

You ate in silence for a few minutes - both due to the delicious food and also to take in what you were feeling. Of course, you felt relieved that your family was healthy and safe. Genuinely thankful for the smarts and skills of the BAU, especially those of the man across from you. You also felt… nervous? Oh dear, were those butterflies?

Of course, you knew Spencer prior to his arrival in Charleston to help with the case. You both worked at the Bureau and everyone knew the BAU team. You’d been with Spencer at a couple of functions (not together, just… there at the same time), and had gotten to know a few other members of the team over the years. Your department frequently passed cases their way, so you worked with JJ and Penelope most often. You’d always found Spencer handsome, but figured he was either already seeing someone, well out of your league or just… not interested.

But now, after spending the last several days in close quarters and under emotional stress, you felt that something had changed. The entire team was great, but Spencer in particular had been sweet, supportive and focused on helping you and your family. And when your nephew had finally been found, he'd been the one to talk to him, probing for details that would help in the UnSub’s capture. He'd pulled a magic trick to make James laugh, and you could immediately see how much he loved kids. Something about that combined with the extra time together… well, now that you weren't so anxious about your family, your attraction to him was ramping up into a desire for more than just the casual acquaintance you had before.

But did he feel the same?

The coffee arrived and you finished your last piece of bacon.

"So, uh.." Spencer started, fiddling with a sugar packet. "What time is our flight?"

"10:30.” you replied, sipping your coffee. It was just after 7:00. “So we should probably be there around 8:45 or so and it takes 45 minutes to get there…we can grab our checks if you want to leave a little extra time to grab our luggage from the hotel.”

“Okay, yeah. That would be good.” He flagged down the waitress quietly. “Can I get the check? Thank you so much.”

She handed over the seafoam green order slip, to which was paper clipped a crisp white receipt. He scanned the total briefly and handed it back with his card tucked inside faster than you could even move to pull out your wallet. You pulled it out anyway, feeling a bit flustered.

“What do I owe ya, Doc?” you joked, flipping through the cash in your wallet.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responded, the pitch of his voice rising ever so slightly. “My treat, Y.N. Besides, isn’t it normal for a gentleman to… well, not that this is a… um, never mind.” He looked back to your now-forgotten checkers board, his lips narrowed together in concentration.

You grinned, hoping that you had heard him right. “I love a breakfast date. Even better than a coffee date, really.”

His tongue brushed over his lower lip and he looked back up at you before responding.

“What about dinner and… well, it’s not a movie, but I happen to have an extra ticket to a poetry reading on Thursday if you’d like to join me and…”

“I’d love to.” You smiled at him, feeling absolutely giddy at the prospect of a romantic date later in the week.“We can figure it out while we wait at the airport.”

His whole face lit up, and he followed you out of the restaurant. A couple of hours later, your head would come to rest on his shoulder while you napped on the flight home, and Spencer would feel very pleased indeed that he’d switched straws with Morgan to get this extra time with you

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fanfiction #fluff #criminal rambling #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #creative writing

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someonexsomeone · 4 years

Text

Oddjob!Mark

Guide for the wildlife tours

He’s always been fascinated with animals, ever since he was a kid

His parents thought they nailed it with his birthday present on his 10th birthday, a dog that was full of energy, but Mark thought it was just...okay

Not that he didn’t love his dog

Of course he loved it with all his heart

But it wasn't...a tiger, a lion, a bear (oh my!)

Mark went through all the phases a kid goes through - pirate, cowboy, princess, athlete - but nothing really stuck

That is, until, he went into the third grade and his teacher had a collection of books on safari animals

There was just something about them that enamoured Mark to the extent that everything in his life was revolved around the jungles and deserts that inhabited creatures of every kind

From that day forward, Mark knew he wanted to grow up and work with animals

For a while, Mark thought he wanted to be a veterinarian

Got as far as college before he realized that he really couldn’t handle being around sad and sick animals

(and really couldn’t stomach the thought of having to tell someone their pet has passed away)

So he dropped out of that, much to his parents dismay, and transferred to a safer business major

Turns out, he has all the charm for presentations, but absolutely no idea when it came to delivering numbers

Math in high school was fun for him, but how the heck was he supposed to prove this product was worth it based on calculations alone?

His advisor was kind enough and sat down with him for over an hour trying to figure out a good major for him, one that was connected to animals

Unfortunately, zoology was ruled out pretty quick as Mark detested the idea of having to stay in school long enough for a PhD

By some stroke of luck, Mark was finally able to pick communications as a degree

He loved his classes, his natural charisma really coming in handy

He also, accidently, completed both a history and environmental studies minor by simply taking all the classes on animals that he could find

It was a strange collection of skills he had developed through his years in college, but an even stranger series of events that would somehow utilize everything he learned

On a random post-college road trip with some of his friends, they decided to visit this seemingly kiddy zoo just for fun they happened upon

They had plenty of time on their hands - no jobs, significant others, or classes were waiting for them, why not spend the whole day at the zoo?

Mark had to admit that the city they were in was pretty cute, full of people of all ages, and even a small private college to fill the space

The zoo was pretty impressive for the location, and full to the brim with families and friends just enjoying their summer vacation

Mark couldn’t help but note the small note on the corner of every map, hidden in the plea for any donation money, that this zoo also acted as a sanctuary and rehabilitation center

The boys spent their day enjoying everything the zoo had to offer, including the nasty sugared sweets shaped like the different animals throughout the park

The longest line by far was for a tropical boat ride, signs posted all around the entrance promising up close and personal interactions with animals, all from the safety of a small motorized boat. There was even a tour guide aboard to detail the experience!

Did he feel bad making his friends wait in a too long line on a hot day? Yes. Did he feel silly by how giddy he got? Possibly. Did he regret it? Absolutely not.

Within the first five minutes of the ride, Mark just felt something click

That tour guide looked like he was having the time of his life, despite the fact that this was probably the hundredth time he’s don't this exact speech

He even got just as excited as everyone else when the tiger, visible through the glass pane to their right, leap from his tree on to a rock to lounge

For the first time ever, Mark felt like he knew what he wanted to do

He couldn’t stop himself, despite protests from his friends, as he walked towards the tour guide after the tour was over

“So...uh...I really liked the show today. How do I get a job like that?”

The tour guide, whose nametag read Eric, was more than happy to tell him all about his job, the qualifications, and the amazing things he gets to do with animals during his shifts

He even got a monkey to land on his shoulder once!

Mark was completely starstruck

Within the hour, he was handing in his half-hazardly made resume (completely hand written on the back of a disposable map he found because who knew he was going to find his dream job on his stupid road trip?)

Mark has an inkling that Eric put in a good word for him, because the next day, when he was already hours away from the zoo, he got a call for an in-person interview

After ditching his friends, taking a bus back, and somehow scrounging up a presentable outfit for his interview, Mark was agreeing to his new job

And who else happened to be there, applying for an internship in the marketing department - you!

You sat beside Mark, both your legs jittering up and down as you waited in the silent back office, just waiting for your interview

Mark sat beside you (you only knew his name because he was kind enough to introduce himself when you sat down), fidgeting with a rather hideous tie

He was pulling on the ends of it, trying to get it to lay down straight but nothing he seemed to do made the fabric behave

After watching him struggle for a moment, you giggled quietly

“What’s so funny?”

“Your tie. You did it wrong.”

Mark couldn’t help but flush in embarrassment

“I haven’t really had to wear a tie recently. I’m kinda out of practice.”

“Did you want some help?”

He nodded sheepishly

It was almost romantic, the way you leaned over and redid his tie for him, fingers trying to move quickly despite how the trembled slightly

Mark tried to look anywhere but you, but your concentrated face was so cute he couldn’t help his eyes as they drifted over your features

Your blushed cheeks made you even cuter

Mark watched as you finished, your hands resting on his chest lightly as you made eye contact

Only the clearing of the interviewers throat made you two jump apart finally

She was staring down at you, a teasing smile on your face as she called you to her office for her interview

“Good luck,” he called quietly

The smile you gave him made his knees weak

Of course he got the job, and of course he was amazing at it

He was just a natural performer, entertaining the crowd

Every passenger could easily sense his passion for the things he was talking about, and it made them enjoy it that much more

(it also helped that he was extremely easy on the eyes)

Despite being able to talk and get to know people, be with animals all day, and get paid for basically being a kid again, Mark still thinks the best part of his job is seeing you every day

You make sure to pop into one of his tour every once and awhile, sitting right near the front so you can oogle at him all you want

Mark still remembers the shock of seeing you getting on his boat on his first day on the job

You looked up at him with those big ol eyes and made his heart melt

This of course did not go unnoticed by Eric, who had basically become his mentor of sorts

All it took was a single pep talk from him to get Mark off his ass to ask you out

Of course you said yes

It was obvious to everyone the minute you started dating, but who cares?

Nothing was more entertaining than watching you two sitting together and munching on the overpriced and bland cafeteria food, looking at each other with hearts in your eyes

#this one got away from me #i also am supposed to be writing an essay oops #mark tuan imagine #mark tuan drabble #mark tuan drabbles #got7 imagine #got7 imagines #got7 bullet point #mark tuan imagines

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justjessame · 4 years

Text

Dr. Tali Sullivan

The first time I met the Winchesters, I was far too young for them to make an impression. I was around two years old, and if I struggled and pressed my memory that far back, I could ALMOST make out the couple’s only son, Dean, keeping me occupied with my set of wooden blocks. Almost.

The second time I met the Winchesters, I was four. This time I do remember, because my dad was helping John, the father cope with his overwhelming grief at losing his wife. I heard the words I would be destined to hear over and over from the entirety of my life. ‘Demon’, ‘vengeance’, and of course ‘hunter’.

My mom and dad both came from prestigious hunting families. And I’m not talking about big game or seasonal hunters. No, Mom and Dad were hunters of a completely different sort. They hunted all the terrors that regular people would think were tall tales or ghost stories. I was their only child, and while they expected me to learn to defend myself against the forces of evil, they didn’t press me to take up their cause. Since their families were so important, I had plenty of aunts and uncles that could take up any slack my leaving the ‘family business’ could possibly cause. Then there were the latecomers to the cause, men like John Winchester who lost a loved one to the terrors and vowed to end them.

And so, after a few more visits from the Winchesters- when I was seven, Dean had teased me for being so boring with my nose in a book the entire time. At twelve, when Sam kept asking me to borrow one book or another, vowing to adhere to all my rules about their care. At sixteen, when John blinked at me wondering out loud how could I possibly have gotten so big. Memories of the three Winchesters were scarce, but memorable.

Now here I was, twenty nine and had finally achieved my goal. Dr. Tali Sullivan, Professor of Lore and the Occult, with a side of Ancient Dialects and Historical Significance. I was shocked, when in the second week of my second year of teaching, I looked up and saw the eldest Winchester man looking down from a top row seat. I nearly lost my place in the lecture. Nearly, but not quite. I swallowed my reaction and went back to explaining how, even within various different cultures and countries, the myths shared and circulated, all seemed to have a single thread back to one story. And that one story, branching out and circling the globe, would mean what?

“Your assignment, which is laid out in your syllabus, is to explain how that one thread untangling and branching out, would do what?” I smiled at the faces that proved they’d all been listening, almost hearing the gears churning in their heads. “Impress me, prove you’ve done not only the reading, but the deductive reasoning. Now go enjoy the long weekend!” I dismissed the class and walked to the desk provided beside my lectern. I was shuffling my notes and speaking to a few students when John approached.

“Wow, Tali,” he breathed, looking me over in my comfy and casual clothes. Skinny jeans, dark band t-shirt, and a loose button down with a pair of knee high boots. My dark red hair piled up on my head in a loose knot, with my much needed glasses covering my strangely light green eyes.

Since he was openly assessing my appearance, I felt free to do the same. John was aging like a fine wine. Salt and pepper hair, rugged scruff hiding a jaw that I knew from the years was this side of chiseled. His hazel eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement, that damn dimple deep in his cheek. And flannel covered henley paired with well worn jeans and a pair of lived in boots. Damn, when did John become so fucking sexy?

“John,” I answered, leaning back in my desk chair. “What brings you around for a visit?” I was smiling, but I had to wonder.

He leaned his hip on the side of my desk. “I’m having some issues with a case, it’s not far away, and I called your dad. He mentioned you wrote your thesis on what I think I’m after-”

“I wrote my thesis on the Barghest,” I said, staring at him. “What would be hard to understand about a huge ass dog who eats people in the dark?” I was testing him, of course, making sure he was certain that was what his case entailed.

“I think we both know there’s more to them than that.” He sighed and ran his left hand through his hair. His wedding ring flashed in the overhead light and I lost the rush of lust had felt when I first saw him. “This thing, it’s searching out a particular type of victim, and it’s attacking-”

“Acts as an death omen first, marking the victim, daring it’s victim to come out and play, and when they do.” I made a chewing motion with my mouth. “The fun things left out of Harry Potter.” I sighed, and closed my eyes, blocking John from my sight. “What do you need to know? Or better yet, what did Dad say I could offer?”

I heard him chuckle. “For one, is there a way to stop it, without being given the omen of death?” I nodded, and he went on. “What is it? And your dad said you are a font of information on all kinds of rare shit, darlin’.”

I rolled my closed eyes. “You stop it by hunting it without actually crossing its path.” I heard him writing my words down, so apparently he had a journal with him. Good student. “Don’t cross its path by getting behind it, of course. Killing it? That’s a little more difficult. Here’s the ingredients, and how to put it together, don’t fuck it up, John. I’d hate for the boys to end up without you.” I rattled off the weapon and the ingredients that it had to be soaked in, the order, the time frame. “So take that, get behind it, and aim for the back of the neck. Not the heart, not the head, the back of the neck.” I opened my eyes to him watching me. “What?”

He shook his head, but when he spoke his voice was deeper and huskier. If I didn’t know any better- “Nothin’.” He put the tattered journal in a pocket of his jacket that I hadn’t noticed before, that was laying on the top of my desk. “What do I owe you for the information, Tali?” I smiled. “Free of charge. It’s something I can give even if I turned my back on the ‘family business’.” I leaned forward to finish packing my notes away in my leather messenger back. “Be safe, John.” I was dismissing him, just like I did my students.

“Let me take you out to dinner.” His offer startled me. “Least I could do, and I do have to soak the weapon at least overnight.” He stood silent, waiting for my answer.

And a stalemate ensued. I contemplated all the reasons I could give to not accept. How could I explain that dinner would be a terrible idea, since apparently he was sex on a stick and still hooked on his dead wife, or remarried for all I knew? “I think that’s a bad idea.” I said instead, the pregnant pause finally killing me. “Papers to grade.” Netflix to watch, food to nuke I included silently.

“Thought you said there’s a long weekend?” He replied, raising his eyebrow in challenge.

Well, fuck, Tali. He actually paid attention to the end of class. Shit. “Yeah, it is, but I have other classes, other papers. Can’t get behind, you know.”

He chuckled. “Still gotta eat, right?” I shrugged. “So eat with me. I promise to get you home as quickly as possible.” He put his left hand over his heart in pledge, and that ring flashed again.

I swallowed. It was dinner. Nothing more. And I was a grown ass woman, with a fucking PhD after all. It wasn’t like he was flirting. He just wanted to have company for dinner. “Sure.” I answered, pushing the last of my notes in my bag. I scribbled my cell number on a Post-It note and handed it to him. “Call me when you’ve gotten the weapon ready for its marinade, I’ll give you my address then.” I stood and yanked my bag across my body. “See you later, John.” I tossed my parting over my shoulder, hoping I wouldn’t regret agreeing.

HOURS LATER~ COMING HOME FROM DINNER

We were both laughing. I had told John about a really strange spell a witch had cast on my parents when I was a teenager, and while mortified at the time, found it funnier later on.

“So I walk into my house after school, and there they are, tearing their clothes off on our dining room table.” I closed my eyes and tried to calm my giggles to finish. “Like fucking teenagers, horny, gross parent aged teenagers.” His laughter was contagious. “I couldn’t eat in the dining room until I came back last Thanksgiving.” I gave a dramatic shudder.

John was walking me to the door of my house, and his chuckles were more free than they’d been when we first saw one another in my class. His hand rested on the small of my back, like a gentleman seeing a lady home. “God, I’m gonna have to riff him about that the next time I see him.” We reached my door and I pulled my keys free from my pocket. “Guess I should-”

I shook my head as I opened the door. “By my estimation that blade needs another twelve hours to soak.” I said, squinting in remembrance of the instruction I gave him. “Come in and have a cup of something-” He chuckled again, “I don’t drink coffee, but I have some instant, just in case.” I shrugged, and he nodded his agreement.

Over the threshold, I moved further into the house, listening as John shut and locked my door. I made my way to the kitchen, yelling back for him to make himself at home. I tossed my jacket and keys on the counter in the kitchen and made peace with John checking over the house. He’s a hunter, so I knew he was looking around with curiosity. He’d be checking entrances, exits, and probably just looking around to see what kind of research material I had on hand. I made a cup of instant coffee, heating the water in the microwave as I grabbed a glass and filled it with ice for a glass of soda.

When I walked out to the living room, John was sitting on the sofa. He’d tossed his jacket onto the wingback chair, and he looked comfortable. It was almost unnerving how comfortable he looked in my space. “I hope I made this right,” I offered him the coffee cup and sat down with my feet tucked under me on the other side of the sofa. Taking a sip of my soda, I sat it down on the coffee table and sat back. “Why aren’t Dean and Sam with you?” I asked, burning with interest since I saw him all alone in my classroom, but waiting until we were in a more private setting than the college or dinner afforded.

John took an appreciative sip of his own drink. “Not bad, Tali.” He mirrored my move and sat his own cup on the table in front of us and looked over at me. “Dean’s on his own hunt, with Bobby. Sam, well Sam’s away at Stanford.” I raised an eyebrow, surprised not by Sam’s aspirations, but because John entertained them. “It wasn’t pretty when he asked to go, not by a long shot, but I guess seeing you, here, outside of the business makes it more understandable.”

I nodded and asked the next obvious question. “What’s he studying?” I sank into the cushions of my sofa and studied him as he answered.

“Law,” he chuckled. “Might come in handy, especially where Dean’s concerned.”

I gave my own muffled laugh. “Guessing Dean hasn’t gotten his crap together yet?” I reached for my soda and felt John’s eyes on my every movement. Taking another sip, I chose to keep the glass in my hands. “I got lucky, I guess. Studying lore and history, that made it simple to move on from the family business, but still be able to help.” I sighed, and leaned back. “Keeps me from feeling too guilty for taking my parents up on the offer to choose myself over the greater good.”

John’s gaze hadn’t left me. “You shouldn’t feel guilty at all. Even if you’d chosen some other path.” He offered his own sigh and reached for his coffee cup. “The longer I do this, the more I realize that I’ve been an asshole for making the boys follow me.”

I scoffed. “Dean idolizes you, John. He has since the first time I can remember your visits fully.” I thought back to the golden haired boy and how his green eyes were always watching his Dad, mimicking his posture, his gestures. “In fact, I bet I could tell you what he’s wearing just by what you are.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Paid a lot of attention to my boy, did you?” I bit my lip and laughed at his expression.

“We’re the same age,” I shrugged. “Since you and Mom and Dad insisted that we socialize, it was hard NOT to pay attention to Dean.” I thought back to Dean’s not so subtle attempt, when I was sixteen, to try to get in my panties. “He was a bit much, if you know what I mean?”

It was his turn to laugh. “That’s Dean, alright.” He glanced over at me as he took another drink of coffee. “So did you two-”

I nearly spit out the drink I had just taken of my soda. Coughing, and trying to swallow around the shock of that implied thought, I took a moment to calm my shock. “NO.” I answered, loud enough that he knew how wrong the very idea of Dean and me was. “We didn’t have ANYTHING, John.”

His laughter shook my end of the sofa. I glared over at him, daring him to make me choke on the sip I was taking. “Sorry, honey, it’s just your face when I asked. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen a girl your age act like Dean was the plague.”

Girl my age? I snorted, having swallowed my drink. “Girl?” I raised an eyebrow at the older man. “I’m nearly thirty. Then again, a man YOUR age, isn’t that when the memory goes?”

It was his turn to choke on his drink. He sputtered and I giggled, watching him glare at me. “You insinuating that I’m old, little girl?” The tone he was using was dangerously low, but instead of frightening me, I felt a twist of lust building.

I shrugged. “You’re insisting I’m a little girl, aren’t you?” I smirked at him as he put his cup carefully on the coffee table.

“I might have to prove just how good my memory is,” he took my glass from me and sat it carefully down too. “Like,” he moved closer so I could feel the heat from his body. “The last time I saw you, you’d just turned sixteen. You came down the stairs wearing that little sundress with cherry blossoms all over it.” He leaned in, his nose sliding along my jaw. “And your perfume smelled like vanilla and cherry mixed together.” I felt his lips ghosting over my neck, not touching, not yet. “I remember that scent, because you hugged me and told me how happy you were to see me again. Not Dean, not Sam, but me.” His lips brushed against my pulse. “I knew at that moment, you’d be the ruin of me, Tali.”

I turned, and his lips found mine. I moaned into his kiss, feeling like I was on fire. His hands gripped my hips and pulled me from my seat and over onto his lap. Straddling him, I let my fingers slide through his hair. The stubble on his face was gloriously rough and burning against my skin. One of his hands gripped my waist the other pressed into my back, pressing me tight against his chest. My hips rocked against him, feeling his arousal grow.

Breaking the kiss, our faces inches apart, breath mingling, I could see how dark his eyes were. His chuckle rocked through me, and I smiled. “My ruin,” he muttered, standing up with me locked in his arms. Before I could point in the direction of my bedroom, he’d pressed me against the nearest bare wall. My legs wrapped around his hips as his lips found my neck. His body was hard against mine, and I moaned as he nipped the curve where my neck met my shoulder. “Fuck, Tali, we’re not even naked and I swear you feel like fire.” I rocked into his hardness and he groaned.

“It’s not that I,” I had to stop when he sucked at my pulsepoint to gather my wits to continue my thought. “Not that I don’t love how this feels.” Another roll of my hips and he growled into my skin again. “But my bed is right there.” I tilted my head toward the hallway next to us. I felt the curve of his lips against my flushed skin.

“I’ve held back for so fuckin’ long, baby girl,” his mouth was hot against the skin he could taste. His hips thrust into my covered need. “If you insist on a bed, though,” he sighed, “then my princess gets what she wants.” He carried me down the hallway and through the open door of my bedroom.

My fingers reached out and flicked on the lightswitch that controlled my side table lamps. Soft light filled the room as John’s mouth claimed mine again. I felt him lower me to my feet, but then it was a rush of clothes falling, mouths, tongues, and teeth tasting and kissing exposed skin. Fingers brushing against skin, mine teasing the muscles roped through his body, his the softness of my curves.

My eyes drunk him in as he lowered me onto my bed. He was gorgeous, sexy and being far more sensual than the wall fuck he’d been going for earlier. As his lips met my breast, I gasped and arched upward toward his mouth. His tongue flicked against my nipple and my fingers gripped his head. “You taste so fucking good, darlin’.” His breath fanned against my skin, and I felt a tightening in my stomach. “God, there’s so much I want with you. So much I want to do-”

I pulled his hair, drawing him up so he was hovering over me, face to face. “Kiss me, John.” And he did as my legs wrapped around his hips and forced him to lower further into me. “I can’t wait. Don’t make me wait,” I pleaded, and he took the demand in stride. He nodded, his forehead against mine. “Later, then,” he promised, himself and me. Then his hips lurched against me, our bodies joining FINALLY as though I were made for him. “Oh, Tali,” he moaned as I rolled my hips against him. “That feels-” And then words stopped, everything stopped except for him and me. Our bodies took over. Clutching one another, as though there shouldn’t even be air between us. His thrusts, my rocking hips, sweat and moans. Everything crashing over us all at once. Not overwhelming, not splintering our focus, just keeping us going and going.

It could have been seconds, minutes, or even hours, but we both felt the climb begin. The feeling that started when he whispered his memory of me, the feeling of our lips touching for the first time, the feeling of everything coming together exactly how it was supposed to. And then fire and stars and explosions. I’d always thought that was ridiculous writers imagining what sex and love were, but then I had it. And all I could think, as we held each other in the aftermath was how much I wanted it over and over.

We had the entire night, and John and I made sure we took advantage of the hours. We tasted one another, dipping back to foreplay once we’d recovered from our first round, then more and more and more. We finally fell exhausted in a tangle of limbs and kisses mere hours before dawn.

I didn’t expect him to be beside me when I woke. He had a job to do, after all, but I was surprised by the note. The promise of his return after the hunt. And when he followed through I nearly exploded by the mere sight of him at the front door. We had the entire weekend. Two full days, and three explosive nights before he had to go. This time I saw him off, kissed him goodbye and had another promise from him. That he’d be back. He had to, he swore, because having the nights we’d stolen weren’t enough. For him or for me.

Months passed. He’d text or call. And then nothing. No texts, no calls. His voicemail, when I bothered to call, advised to contact Dean if there was a problem. I didn’t worry. I understood how hunters lived. I knew that they lived hard and on the go. I knew that he’d come back, call again, text again when he could.

I was in my classroom giving another lecture when I looked up and saw Dean sitting with Sam in almost the exact same place their father had sat. My heart clenched. They wouldn’t be here, Sam wouldn’t be here if it were good news. I managed, through sheer force of will and the fact that my lectures were practically memorized by now, to finish the class. I barely noticed the other students file out, I had eyes only on the two Winchesters.

“Tali,” Sam greeted me, smiling the same awkward smile I remembered from our youth. “You look right at home at that lectern.” Dean's eyes were burning into me. “Have you heard from Dad?” That was Dean, not an ounce of tact in his entire body.

“Not for a couple of months,” I answered, smiling and moving back to my desk. Feelings of deja vu washed over me as I pulled my notes into a tidy pile. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair, so reminiscent of his dad. “He’s missing in action, Tal.” He looked down at me. “We found the last hotel room he was staying in and you were mentioned in his journal.”

Ah, yeah, the work I helped him with. “Yeah, he came to me about a Barghest. I helped him with the right weapon and the right place to shove it in to kill it.” Shrugging, hoping that was all that John put in his journal, I glanced at Dean.

“He mentioned that, and also,” he pulled the battered journal I’d watched John tuck into his jacket in this very room. I saw a sticky note with my phone number on it in my writing. “Her eyes are still so light that they look straight through me, and those lips-”

I stopped them with a raised hand and felt my face blush. “Yeah, about that.” I swallowed hard and looked up to two far too interested Winchesters. “Look, John and I, we had a-” World changing connection that I hoped would turn into something, but he’s a hunter and I’m a professor. We settled for a weekend of passion and love, and now he’s gone? Yeah, try harder. “We made the most of a long weekend.” That damn blush was so hot I felt like I was on fire. “I haven’t heard from him in a month or so.”

Dean was looking at me like I’d grown fangs, or another head. “Our DAD?” He also looked a tad green around his gills. “You and Dad?” He tried to wrap his head around it, but shook it off. “And he stayed in touch?”

“Yeah, we’d text and call almost daily.” I said, putting my papers away, feeling my shame die out. What the hell? I loved John, there wasn’t anything wrong with that. “Unless he was in the middle of a hunt. That was the last text I got, actually.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened up my messages. Clicking on John’s number I pulled it up. Handing it over to Sam, I finished gathering my stuff together.

Sam read the last message, respecting my privacy, but Dean took a turn and I saw a swipe. “Hey!” I admonished. “You never swipe another person’s phone,” I yanked it from his hand, and put it back in my pocket. “The last message was the only one you needed to see.”

Dean was licking his lips, fuck, I knew exacty which text he saw. “Well, we need to be thorough. Dad’s missing after all.”

I glared up at him. “Sure.” I brushed past them, and shook my head again. “Well, now what you’ve been THOROUGH, you know I don’t know where he is.” I waved a hand to show them I was finished with the conversation.

Of course they weren’t. I’d barely gotten comfortable at home when I heard the knock. Fuck. Opening the door, there they stood. “What now?” I asked, exasperated. “You saw what you saw. I don’t know anything else.”

Dean pushed past me into the house, Sam waited to be invited. Rolling my eyes I gestured for him to come in too. We stood awkwardly in my entryway. I waited for one of them to break the silence. Sam was the first.

“Look, Tali, we get that you don’t think you know anything, but you might.” He was trying to calm my irritation down. Irritation and worry. Worry that John was hurt or worse. “Can we sit?”

I nodded and walked them into my living room. I took the chair and they sat on the sofa. A sofa that months ago John and I had started on. Shaking the image away, I considered all the talks and texts we’d shared. Nothing strange or concerning came to mind. “I’m sorry, John and I, we were talking normal hunting research, when we discussed it.” I refused to blush again. “He mentioned only that he might be out of touch for a while, but not where he was going. And then when I felt that too much time had passed, I tried to call, but-”

“You were told to call me,” Dean finished. “Why didn’t you?” He sounded almost accusatory.

“Because,” I sighed. “I figured that maybe John started to regret it. Us. Me.” I looked up and saw that he was uncomfortable. “If there’s one thing I’m not, Dean, it’s a clingy ex.”

“You said you talked about normal hunting research,” Sam picked up the conversation. “Do you remember what cases?”

I nodded and went to the desk in the corner of the room. “I keep records of all of those types of things. I help a lot of hunters with the more obscure demons and do bads.” I grabbed my planner. Flipping back to the first day we’d met at the college, I handed it over to Sam. “It starts there,” I used my finger to point out the shorthand I used for John, “and if you flip through it, you’ll see when and where he called from, and what hunt he’d discussed.” I sat back down as they flipped through it. “Not every contact is in there, since not all of them were work related.”

Sam nodded, but Dean’s mood seemed to grow worse. “Do you have a calendar to keep track of those too?” He snarked. I glared at him and shook my head. “Isn’t that disappointing.”

I snorted at his demeanor. “It wouldn’t help you find him. They overlapped. Usually it was a call before he got the next case, and a call after to make sure I knew he was safe.” I raised an eyebrow to match the one he had, daring him to make another comment. “Can I keep this?” Sam asked, drawing my attention back to him. “Or copy it?”

“You can copy it, but I have to keep it. John isn’t the only hunter that I help with research. That’s the record I use to keep track of it.” He nodded. “If you follow me back to campus, I can get you one, or if you want me to, I guess I could scan it here and give you those copies?”

“Email it,” Sam offered, and I took the planner back and moved back to my desk to start. I hadn’t realized he’d followed me until I felt him sit in my chair. “Was he happy?” His voice was quiet, and I knew that Dean was still on the sofa.

“Yeah, he was.” I smiled, remembering how playful John had been when I’d said goodbye on my porch. “He was also coming to terms with your future, though it would seem that’s on hold now?”

He swallowed and I finally realized how tired he looked. “Something like that.” He glanced up at me and I saw such pain. “I just really need to find him, Tali. We both do.”

“I hope this helps then,” I said, as the last page scanned. “Here,” I unlocked my desktop and opened my email. “Just type in your email, and the pages are there,” I pointed at the icon. I turned back to see that Dean was still watching us, me. I sighed. Then I went back to the chair I’d taken when we got to the room. “What happened to him?” I asked, almost whispering, and gesturing with my head at Sam.

“The same thing that happened to Mom.” He barely moved his lips and I closed my eyes. “I don’t understand you and Dad, but we have to find him, Tali.”

I nodded. “You’ll have the pages, and I’ll make some calls.” I offered, knowing that the Winchesters would always be surrounded by pain and death. I just hoped that John wasn’t a fatality already. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”

Sam was back and they finally left after I assured them one more time that I’d try to learn something for them. My back was pressed to the closed front door as I listened to them walk down the steps. I felt the tears that I had been feeling build since I saw the two of them at the top of my classroom finally break free. Sobbing, I had to hope that John was alright, that he would be found. That he’d come back to me.

#john winchester x ofc #supernatural fanfiction #Smut

4 notes · View notes

voiceofreader · 5 years

Text

Katsuki Bakugo x fem!reader

Would you be willing to write angst? In particular, headcanons for how Shouto and Bakugo(separately) will react if their S/O goes missing on a mission, only to be found dead weeks later, and their body is left in obviously mocking way, as a twisted message to heroes?

This is part one. I’ll be hopefully getting Shouto’s done at some point. I just can’t find a good plot for his.

I’ve been working on this one for a long time. It’s not as angsty as I thought it would be.

Part 1. Katsuki Bakugou

Katsuki groaned, squinting at the light shining in his eyes. That’s what he got for sleeping on the side of the bed, closest to the bathroom. He turned onto his back and sighed. Y/N had gotten up to use the bathroom.

The toilet flushed, and then the bathroom sink turned on. There was a crashing noise, the toilet seat lid being thrown up, and the sounds of y/n violently vomiting.

Katsuki got up and went into the bathroom, checking on his significant annoyance, as he liked the call her. He opened the door all the way, eyeing the poor girl crouched over the bowl, coughing up what she ate for supper.

“That’s the second time today. 6th time this week. Are you sure it’s not a virus or something? You better not give it to me or I’ll kick your ass.” Katsuki squatted down to pull back y/n’s hair. Luckily, her hair was short enough to not get in the way.

“No, I’ve felt fine except when the nausea just randomly kicks in. I’ve never heard of an illness that’s like this.” y/n sat up, Katsuki handed her a washcloth to wipe her mouth.

“That’s weird. Just go to the doctor tomorrow. At least they can get you something for the random vomiting. You’re barely keeping anything down, it’s not good you know.” Katsuki grumbled. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call and get a time set up in the morning.” y/n stood up. Katsuki leaned on the sink, watching her carefully.

y/n walked past him, and out of the room, and into the hallway. Katsuki went back to bed.

He didn’t like seeing her like this. It worried him that something might be going on.

y/n slowly drank a glass of water, staring off out the kitchen window into the next apartment building. As she drank all the water, her stomach grumbled and just like that, she was doubled over the sink.

Wiping her mouth and groaning, she bit her lip. “Come on. First, I miss my period and now I’m throwing up. I can’t be yet. It’s not the right time.”

Katsuki opened his eyes, hearing the distant voice of his girlfriend talking on the phone.

“No, that would be perfect. Thank you.”

Y/n walked into the bedroom. “What was that?” Katsuki asked. “The doctor’s office. I have an appointment at 10.” She said, as Katsuki looked at the digital alarm clock on his side, on his nightstand, reading the time as 7:34am. “So, I’m stopping by the agency first because I have a report that needs approved by Kobayashi and then by the time that’s over with, I’ll be heading off to the doctor’s office.” y/n continued on, taking off her shirt that she slept in that used to be Katsuki’s until he gave in and relinquished all rights to it.

“Want me to go with you to support you or some shit?” Katsuki yawned.

While sliding open the closet door, y/n hesitated. True, she was going to a doctor. But it was more of a gynecologist, because y/n had a feeling that her nausea spells were from something else and not some random virus. And if she was right, she didn’t want Katsuki to know right away. She needed to ease him into it.

Sure, the two had been together since 1st year of high school and moved in together right after graduation, but they both were really finally getting somewhere with their separate hero careers. They had been living together in this apartment for 2 years now. Katsuki had gotten a raise, and was rising in popularity real quick since his run in with the notorious villain, The Evil Scientist.

A man who got his phd taken away after getting caught doing illegal surgeries on people. A man, whose quirk gave him scalpel sharp fingernails, that he could retract at will. He was also extremely brilliant and cunning, with great connections that made him almost impossible to find or stop.

Katsuki was able to defeat him, and get him put into police custody.

But he had escaped recently, and the pressure to catch him once more was being put on Katsuki. He didn’t mind because he knew he would win.

And y/n was finally going to be allowed to go on solo missions.

If y/n was in fact pregnant, her career would have to be halted and she’d be stuck on office duty. Because there is no way she’d risk hurting her child, trying to fight.

And y/n definitely knew Katsuki didn’t want kids yet. He hadn’t even hinted that he wanted to get married even. A child now wouldn’t work.

“Uhm, no. I’m fine. Besides, don’t you have a meeting at like 11? You know, a briefing on that attack that just happened yesterday?” y/n slipped on a nice top. “Yeah, I do. But if I don’t turn up, what are they going to do? They can’t fire me. I’m the best hero they got right now!” Katsuki let his huge ego show. He smirked, eyeing y/n’s ass in those tiny panties of hers. He started to replay last night’s events in his head. He kinda wanted to make a reenactment of it right now.

Though, he pouted when she shifted into a pair of white skinny jeans. Though, those pants really shaped her legs nicely. So he wasn’t that affected. It was a nice view either way.

“I don’t want you burning down my agency. Even if we’d be there for an hour or so, you’d try to fight someone and explode. Then the building would burn down.You have your own agency. Destroy it instead, and not mine.”

“I’d only pick a fight if that fancy pants was there. That guy really pisses me the fuck off.” Katsuki growled.

“Aannd, that’s why you’re not allowed to come with me,” y/n teased with a smile.

Katsuki finally decided to get out of bed. Y/n, now finished getting dressed, skipped over to Katsuki, leaning over, stealing a quick kiss. Katsuki groaned, pulling y/n back down by her arms, kissing her hard.

Y/n, who was emotionally sick with worry, let it all melt away. Katsuki’s love calmed her down just for a moment.

She was still terrified that she was really pregnant. Would soft moments like this disappear?

Finally pulling away, but keeping her forehead against his, y/n sighed. “I love you, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, love you too, punk.” Katsuki responded softly in a grumble.

“I gotta go now if I wanna make it in time.” Y/n stepped away, Katsuki frowned.

“Let me know what the doc says.”

“So, it says here, you’re here to confirm a pregnancy?” The female doctor said, reading the tablet’s screen. Y/n sat on the chair, fiddling with her ring on the right ring finger. It was a thin silver band, and had a white opal stone in the shape of a heart. Katsuki had gotten it for her with his first pro-hero paycheck.

She was constantly messing with it when she was nervous. “Yes.” She nodded. “Right, I’ll have you give a urine sample, as well as a blood sample as well to make sure the results are accurate. First, I’d like to ask a few questions.” The doctor sat down on the swivel stool.

“Let’s see. When was your last period?”

y/n had to think for a minute. “It was May 15th. I haven’t didn’t get one at all in June, and this month’s hasn’t happened yet.”

“Is it normal for you to have an irregular cycle?”

“No. It happens usually between the 12th and 16th of every month. I’ve never had one skip before.”

“Are you on any birth control?” “Yes. I’m on the pill. The one you take every day. I don’t have the brand name, but I’ve been taking it since I was 16 or 17 years old.”

“What are you taking it for? Is it for your cycle?” “I started taking it for birth control. But I’ve stuck with it because it really helps manage my acne.”

“Are you currently sexually active?” “Yes.” “How many partners have you had in the last year?” “Just one.”

“Now, besides missing your period and nausea, have you noticed any other ailments?” “I didn��t know what the symptoms could be so I looked some up, and yeah. I’ve been going to the bathroom more frequently, and I’ve really been more tired than usual, but that could just be from my constant vomiting in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep.”

After answering more useless questions and giving the samples, y/n finally was waiting back in the doctor’s office, legs bouncing up and down in nervous anticipation.

“All right, Miss l/n, I have the test results for your urine test. The blood results will take a few hours, and you will receive a call for that. But, from your urine test, the results say you are indeed pregnant. And we’ll have a better, more accurate answer after your blood test is done, but from my guess you are 6 and a half weeks pregnant. Do I need to talk to you about alternative options? Adoption, abortion, or any classes?”

“I- uh... I think I’m keeping it. I don’t know how Katsuki will take the news, but I’m not getting rid of it. Uhm, is there a way to know what gender it is? Or if there’s just one?” Y/n’s mind raced with thoughts, she could barely focus on anything except her growing nausea. She started to sweat, and her voice trembled. She was shaking.

“Well, we usually can’t tell the sex until 16 to 20 weeks by ultrasound. And 10 weeks is the earliest we can check how many there is. Though, I recommend just doing the one ultrasound for both after 16 weeks just for your convenience. I’d like to also give you this pamphlet telling you more about your pregnancy, what to expect, when to get checkups, ultrasounds, and what to avoid doing.”

Y/n left the hospital with her papers in hand.

Should she wait until she gets the blood results to tell Katsuki or should she just let him know now? Should she even tell him?

She didn’t want to ruin his hero career. She trusted that Katsuki would accept his role as the father of the baby, but y/n knew she’d constantly feel guilty if Katsuki’s road to the number 1 hero was delayed, or completed ruined because of this child.

She didn’t know what to do. She sat on the bench at the bus stop. While her fingers shook tremendously, she was able to call a friend.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end answered. “Kirishima? I-I’m pregnant... and I don’t know how to tell Katsuki.” y/n replied, voice wavering, stray tears falling down her cheeks. She was lucky it was mid day, and she was alone at the stop. “Pregnant? Congrats, y/n! Man, this is awesome! You and Bakugou are gonna have an awesome baby!”

“Yeah, thanks. But- but, he doesn’t know yet. And I’m scared to tell him.” y/n didn’t notice the figure in a black long coat approach her.

“What do you mean? Just tell him. I mean, if you wanna make it special, make a date out of it, and then tell him. Or those cute videos, where you know the mom buys baby shoes and puts them in a gift box? But maybe Bakugou would be too dense to understand what it means. But, just tell him, y/n. He’ll be happy, you know. He wants to be with you forever and have a family. I mean, you guys aren’t married yet, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m positive that he’ll be excited, even if he has a hard time showing it.” Kirishima babbled on.

The figure in the coat snatched y/n’s phone from her hand, and pressed the end call button.

“Three weeks have passed since pro hero h/n* disappeared. Police are still investigating. Her cell phone has been discovered, showing her last call made was to a friend. Police have stated that at this moment, they have no standing suspects. Ground Zero, has been cleared as a suspect as of last week. H/n and Ground Zero who made their relationship public as of last October, but have been together since their time at U.A. high school. Ground Zero was in a meeting at his agency around the same time h/n was last seen at the Mustafu General Hospital. There has been no suspects made at this time. Many believe it could be the work of the villainous mastermind, Evil Scientist, who Ground Zero had fought and helped put in jail. Although, the villain since then has escaped prison, and his whereabouts are unknown. Since Ground Zero and h/n have confirmed their relationship, many believe that h/n was taken just for her connection to Ground Zero. Although, police have yet to comment on the theory. Ground Zero has yet to make a public announcement about h/n.”

The T.V. in the conference room echoed in the room, as everyone in it was dead silent. A band of police and heroes together in one room, discussing more details discovered in the missing case.

“Ground Zero has yet to make a public announcement. Ha! News Anchor Suzuya says that as if Ground Zero is expected to make a speech!” The news show that was airing seemed to be cut off and a new program was playing.

Katsuki perked up at the familiar voice. The background was a surgical table, next to it, medical tools on a silver tray. There was some female laying on the table, wriggling around. Her lower torso and legs were on screen.

“Y/N!” Katsuki shouted, recognizing the shirt and pants. That’s what she was wearing the day she went missing.

“The doctor is in, my fellow patients! Here today, I’d like to give a tiny anatomy lesson. What does the uterus look like, after 11 weeks pregnant? Also, what size is the fetus at this point in the first trimester? You know, I always wanted to expand my medical expertise into women’s health. The female body able to make life. It’s so fascinating.”

Katsuki already knew that y/n was pregnant after the police had questioned him. It put him more on edge. Not only was his girlfriend, and hopefully someday wife in danger, but his child as well.

“Someone call the news station! I want this off the air pronto! Track where it’s being broadcasted!” The Chief of police shouted, giving orders to the other cops.

“Now, what does the pro hero, Ground Zero have to do with this? You might ask yourself. Well, just as Suzuya had said, Ground Zero and missing hero h/n are currently in a romantic relationship. And before I get to my point completely, I’d like to say, the hero industry is a mess, isn’t it? These people we trust to protect us, are being treated as celebrities. Merchandise, special appearances, advertisement, and all that money! Everyday people, just like the rest of us, are being praised and yet scrutinized for doing what any of us could do, except they have a little piece of plastic that says they can do what they want. H/n is missing and we bring Ground Zero into it? Expecting him to make a public announcement? About what? About how he stuck his dick into her and now she’s nowhere to be found? The only thing that connects him to her disappearance is that h/n is currently carrying his child. But I suppose, that he now has something to do with it, now that I have his little sweetheart tied up on my table. And it’s all his fault. You see, I would’ve left her alone, if it wasn’t for the little public confirmation of their relationship. What kind of monster announces the world, heroes, civilians and villains alike, something like that? You just told us villains your weakness. By you telling us your deep love for one another, you just put each other on a hook, dangling right above a swarm of starving sharks. I’m not here today, telling you that love is a terrible thing, because it isn’t. It’s a wonder mess of chemicals flooding our brains, making us feel all warm inside. But when you’re a hero, you don’t deserve happiness like love. You can’t have a happy family. Plus, I just don’t like how brash Ground Zero is. No manners. But, this pretty girl has been so good for me. I mean, what can she really do, having been tied to this table for how long now? A few weeks?”

The camera panned up, just for a few moments, revealing y/n’s face. Sweat, blood, and bruises covering her face, hair sticking to her face, eyes leaking tears as she stared into the camera as if her intense gaze would reach Katsuki. Her mouth was covered by some thick muzzle of sorts.

So her eyes were all she had to convey her goodbye and her apology.

She knew that she was going to die that night. Even if police showed up right at that moment, Evil Scientist would have her killed. He knew if he was going to get caught that night, that he was going back to prison. And y/n would be a message.

Katsuki, who no longer was sitting in the chair, hands balled up, tears shamelessly falling down his face. He also knew that he wouldn’t get to save her in time. The location was still unknown.

“Now, let’s get started, shall we?” The camera panned back to y/n stomach. At 11 weeks, she wasn’t showing yet. Scientist pulled up y/n shirt to her chest. With a long and almost scalpel like nail, Evil Scientist cut into the flesh.

A muffled, pain filled shriek came from Namie.

1 month later.

Kirishima stood on the train, one hand holding onto the handle, another holding his phone. He had headphones in, listening to the news. y/n’s death was slowly disappearing from each day’s news broadcasts. Although, many hero fans still posted about her. Pictures of y/n younger days from when she was in U.A. at any of her sport festivals, or her school pictures as well. Or her social media posts.

It was scary how fast life seemed to pass even though it seemed to have stopped on that dreaded night. It still was burned into Kirishima’s memories, as fresh and clear like he was witnessing it once more.

After Evil Scientist’s location was found, a group of heros and police stormed the place. Katsuki was advised to go home, since y/n was then already dead. Her final breath was broadcast to the whole viewing area.

But Katsuki didn’t listen, obviously. Full of adrenaline and negative emotion, Katsuki was invincible as he plowed through the countless minions and straight up to the main villain himself.

Kirishima eventually caught up to his friend, staring in horror as he found Katsuki kneeled over a body, mercilessly pounding his fists into the person’s face.

“What am I supposed to do now! You took her from me! You piece of shit! We were supposed to get married! I have the ring and everything! What about our baby! My family! You took my family away from me! Why!”

“Why! DAmmit!”

With each question Katsuki screamed, he hit, and blood when flying.

Kirishima knocked at the door. “Yo, Bakugou! You home?” He knew he wasn’t going to get a response. Katsuki had become a recluse. He didn’t answer his phone, didn’t leave his bedroom for anything. He didn’t even attend the funeral. Though, there was no one to say goodbye to. There wasn’t a body.

y/n’s body was dissolved in acid and drained into the sewers.

Kirishima walked into the quiet apartment. Katsuki no longer bothered locking the door. “Bakugou? Have you eaten today? I know your mom told me she brought over some food yesterday.” Kirishima casually called as he walked around the small apartment. Dust was slowly starting to take over everything.

Kirishima opened the fridge, seeing tupperware filled with untouched food, with a note on each bowl with loving words of encouragement signed by Mrs. Bakugou who came over every so often to check up on her grieving son.

Kirishima strode into the bedroom, seeing Katsuki sitting on the edge, perched over on his knees, staring at a small black box in his hand.

His hair was messy in a restless way. Katsuki was wearing grey sweatpants and a black shirt with a skull on it. The shirt y/n took forceful ownership of a while back.

He had dark circles under his bloodshot, red eyes.

Kirishima knew that box. Katsuki first threw it into the mirrors on the sliding closet doors, shattering one side of the doors.

Kirishima and Mrs. Bakugou had cleaned up the mess, and put the ring back into its box, after the impact bounced both across the room in different directions. Now, Katsuki never let go of the box. A constant reminder of his plans to marry y/n.

He was waiting until her birthday, which was now in 5 days.

“Have you eaten today?” Kirishima asked once more, though in a softer tone. Katsuki didn’t even blink in response. It had been like this for some time now. In the beginning, he at least spoke. Although through broken sentences consisting of profanities and threats.

Now, he was an empty shell, waiting for his beloved to walk through the front door. But that day would never come.

#katsuki bakugou x reader #Bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #Katsuki bakugou #voiceofreader #angst

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yehet-me-up · 6 years

Text

Greater Than Gold - Part One

Pairing: Chen/Jongdae x reader (female)

Word Count: 2,915

Genre/Rating: Fluff/Adventure, inspired by The Mummy 🌟

Link to Masterlist

As he stares up at the narrow four-story building the man raises his hand, squinting against the blinding afternoon sunlight. Downtown Cairo on a Friday is packed to bursting this time of day, but the aging Protected Lands Bureau building sits far from the busy city center.

It’s a building you would only find if you were specifically looking for it, and Kim Jongdae, hotshot explorer, is very much looking for it.

‘Here goes nothing,’ he says under his breath, steeling himself and walking through the heavy doors.

He nods hello to the guard at the front desk, but the older man is so engrossed in whatever he’s watching on the tiny television next to him he doesn’t even look up. Jongdae chuckles to himself and heads for the elevator.

Bending down to read the faded writing, he pushes the button for the fourth floor. قسم التصاريح the label reads.

‘Permits Department,’ he says to himself with a rueful laugh.

He blows out a breath, attempting ease. A minute later the ancient elevator finally releases him into a long room with high ceilings. The wall to his left is lined with old maps of every kind; topography, road systems, native population protected lands. He absently walks, curiosity getting the better of him.

He leans closer to the third map down the wall, which shows the the locations of discovered temples, tombs, and other noted historical sites.

Several of the dots seem brand new, while others are so faded they must be decades old. With a faint smile he reaches out a finger to a brightly colored yellow dot in Saqqara, representing a tomb he himself had discovered with his team a year earlier.

He straightens up, sticking his hands in the pockets of his linen pants. The rest of the room is filled with filing cabinets and bookcases. What it seems to be missing, however, is anyone to help him. Stepping further into the room he leans around a tall bookcase and finally spots a partially open office door.

Upon seeing the lone occupant his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Of all the people he would have expected to work here, you are definitely not one of them. The person he’d spoken with over the phone, by email, and by mail was an older taciturn man by the name of Asim Maroun.

You, however, are far too young and pretty, as well as far too female, to be Asim Maroun.

He watches you work for a moment, leaning silently against the door jam. He savors the unexpected surprise, taking in the way the light from the small window catches on your hair, a pencil stuck through it to make a knot. There’s a slight pout on your lips as you pour over a large register spread out on the desk.

Reluctantly, he reaches out a hand and knocks on the door of the door frame, clearing his throat to announce himself.

Startled by a loud rapping sound on the door, you turn, bringing your hand to your chest.

The man standing there is handsome, even more so in the aging, dusty office. His eyes are far too bright and intent for such an old space.

‘Can I help you?’ you ask in English, finding your voice.

‘Ah, thank goodness you speak English. I’m oceans better at reading Arabic than speaking it. Yes, I’m here to inquire about a permit,’ he starts happily, motioning to the chair across from you to ask if he can sit down. ‘My name is Kim Jongdae.’

You nod and he moves across from you, reaching out a hand to shake yours as you introduce yourself. Though the contact is brief his rough palm against yours sends a thrill of heat down your spine. A moment later he releases your hand and leans back against the seat, throwing a relaxed arm across the back.

He’s clearly someone used to getting his way, you think, and instinctively sit up straighter in your chair in response and cross your arms.

‘Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place for that,’ you say with a wry smile. ‘But most people these days request permits by email or mail. Coming all the way to Cairo in person is highly unusual.’

He looks down with a sigh, the tips of his ears turning red. ‘I’ve had a bit of trouble with receiving the permit, so I figured it would be easiest to just come down here myself,’ he says, looking back up with a warm smile.

‘Let me check my files,’ you say, standing up and turning to the file cabinet behind you.

The corners of his mouth tip up when he smiles, you notice, almost like a cat. You’re grateful for the distraction from that dangerous smile.

Something finally clicks in your mind as you flip through folders. ‘Wait a minute, say your name again,’ you demand, turning to face him, raising an eyebrow.

He has the decency to look chastised. ‘It’s Kim Jongdae. And yes, you probably recognize it. I’ve spoken with… your boss? I’m assuming. On numerous occasions. Doctor Asim Maroun?’

You snap your fingers. ‘Yes! That’s why I know the name, you’re relentless, aren’t you?’ you laugh. ‘You’ve been trying to get a permit to the protected lands in Baharia. Searching for the Temple of Isis, right?’

He stands, an excitement coming to his eyes. ‘Yes, exactly. Your boss rejected my request multiple times. He said I was a rogue and a damn treasure hunter,’ he says in heavily-accented Arabic, in a startlingly accurate imitation of your boss. You lift your hand to cover a laugh.

‘Asim is out on leave, he umm…’ you start, looking around at the cramped, dusty room. ‘He... tripped over a stack of maps and injured his hip last week. I’m filling in as Head Permit Officer until he returns.’

Jongdae doesn’t laugh, instead he looks genuinely concerned, and you like him better for it. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, I hope he’s doing all right?’

‘He should be. A few weeks of bed rest and it sounds like he’ll be good as new,’ you say absently, finally finding the folder with his name on it.

You both return to your seats and you open his file, pulling out the map and his written request. He jostles his leg impatiently while you read. Looking up you give him a disapproving frown and he apologizes with a laugh and stops. His excitement is palpable in the small office, his desire for this permit feels like a tangible thing in the room with you.

Finished, you sit back up. ‘I have to say Mr. Kim, this does look like a well thought out plan. But unfortunately I have to agree with my boss. I can’t give you a permit for these lands. There have been numerous ... accidents on previous explorations to the region, and the government has deemed it too dangerous,’ you say evenly and his face falls. ‘I’m sorry you took the trouble of coming here.’

He reaches across the table and rests his hand atop yours. ‘Please, miss. I have to find this temple,’ he implores, his eyebrows pulling together in an adorable manner.

You almost cave, but this position is crucial fieldwork for your PhD. If your boss finds out that you approved something he so clearly rejected, you’d be in deep water. No matter how handsome and impassioned this man is, you can’t risk it. Besides, it’s for his own safety, you reassure yourself.

‘I-’ you start, distracted by the casual way his hand rests against yours. ‘I’m sorry, but the decision is final.’

With a sigh he pulls his hand back, gathering himself. He seems to deflate at this final rejection. You look down at the clock and see that it’s now past five and time to leave for the day. Quietly you close down your computer and pick up your purse.

‘The office is closed for the day now, but I’m happy to walk you back down to the lobby,’ you say sympathetically.

He meets your reassuring smile and nods, the corner of his mouth tipping up briefly. You both stand and motion for him to go ahead of you. After closing and locking the office door the two of you walk in silence to the elevator. Once inside he hits the button for the first floor and positions himself opposite you.

You open your mouth to ask him something, anything, to break the tense air. But he acts first. Abruptly he reaches out and pushes the emergency stop button. The elevator jolts and you tilt forward, bracing yourself against his shoulder to avoid falling.

‘What are you doing?’ you demand, moving forward to look him in the face.

If he were anyone else you’d be worried about being alone in an enclosed space. But for some reason, he doesn’t give you any concern. Much more alarming is how aware of him you are, standing so close.

A curl of blonde hair falls into his bright, expressive eyes as he steps closer to you. A dusting of freckles across his nose is noticeable now; most likely due to a large amount of time spent outside on similar adventures to the one he’s proposing.

‘Is there any chance you’ll reconsider?’ he asks hopefully.

You watch the rise and fall of his chest, his breathing sped up by his obvious desperation. The white cotton stretches and relaxes, pulled taut across his chest. The muscles of his arms, revealed by his rolled up sleeves, momentarily make you forget where you are.

‘Like what you see?’ he teases, quirking an eyebrow when you look up to him.

You huff out a noise of disapproval, taking two big steps back. Reflexively you smooth your hair behind your ear and look down to hide the way he’s flustered you.

Pursing your lips you fix him with a glare. ‘Mr. Kim, the decision is final. I’m sorry, I am sympathetic to your cause. It sounds like this supposed temple holds a lot of significance for you. But we can’t just let any treasure hunter who thinks he’s the next Indiana Jones into the oasis.’

He looks affronted. ‘I’m not a treasure hunter. I have a PhD in Archaeology and a Masters in Classical Literature. I spent a year working on the restoration of the Djoser pyramid before I discovered the Najima tomb. I promise you, I know how to be respectful of sacred sites,’ he says in a rush, raking a frustrated hand through his hair.

The sincerity in his expression makes your resolve falter. As if he senses your reluctance slipping an inch, he steps closer, sliding a congenial arm around your shoulder.

‘What if… you joined us?’ he asks, his eyes widening at the idea.

He lifts his other hand and motions it in front of him as if he’s painting a picture in the air in front of you. ‘Just imagine it. Three weeks camping under the stars. Getting to see history up close. Visiting an ancient site that no one else has seen in centuries.’

‘But there’s supposed to be a curse on the temple, isn’t there?’ you respond without thinking.

He grins and you curse yourself for engaging in this conversation. ‘Ahh, so you do know about the temple.’

‘Everyone knows about the temple,’ you quip. ‘Even if I wasn’t getting a PhD in Ancient Egyptian History I’d know about it. Half the tourists in town have probably heard of the Pharaoh Alqamar and the temple he built for his wife Jamila, whom he believed was a reincarnation of the goddess Isis.’

‘You don’t believe the rumors about a curse, do you? A smart, logical woman like yourself?’ he asks, the cadence of his voice frustratingly seductive.

‘Well… no. Things like curses don’t exist, that’s silly. But still, there must be a reason why the local Wahati haven’t gone within ten miles of that land in centuries,’ you answer, unable to resist being pulled into speculation.

‘Don’t you think it’s time someone found out conclusively? Doesn’t it drive you crazy not knowing?’ he encourages, a gleam in his eyes. ‘One of the great unsolved mysteries of ancient Egypt.’

You open your mouth to speak but he continues, once again making a grand hand motion into the air in front of you.

‘My crew and I run a tight expedition. Just the three of us and a local guide or two, depending on the length of the expedition and the severity of the terrain. My associate Minseok has trekked across the Himalayas and probably half the Sahara at this point; anywhere we’re going, he can get us there and back safely. My good friend Baekhyun is fluent in Masri and Coptic, and is friendly enough to charm even the most reticent village leader.’

‘I promise you, everything will be above board and respectful,’ he continues. ‘The only thing we’re hoping for is to be the first to see it since historical times. We live for the joy of discovery, not even for the news or the history books, but for the pleasure of being the first. Solving ancient mysteries. We hunger for knowledge, not fame, miss. I assure you.’

He watches you carefully, scanning your face for any sign that you’re caving. His arm is still securely around your shoulders, and you can smell the combination of his sweat and cologne. Unconsciously you move closer to him, drawn in.

‘Everything all right in there?’ comes a distorted male voice in Arabic from the ancient voice panel on the elevator.

You jolt at the sound to your left. Blessedly, Jongdae removes his arm and backs up several paces to give you some room, though his eyes never leave you. With a cough you compose yourself and walk over to release the emergency stop. Lifting a finger you press the call button.

‘Yes, we’re fine!’ you say into the box, your voice much higher than normal. You chastise yourself for being so affected by his presence and take a deep breath. ‘We must have hit it by accident, I’m so sorry for the trouble Ishaq.’

The same voice continues. ‘No trouble on my part, miss, just wanted to see if I needed to call a rescue team,’ the man laughs, which turns into a hacking cough.

The speaker clicks off and you stand there in the silence. Straightening, you press the button for the first floor and the elevator resumes its descent. The air is thick as you and Jongdae wait on opposite sides of the elevator.

With a ping the elevator stops, the doors opening. Finally, you turn away from him and walk out into the lobby. You wave to Ishaq and he waves back to you warmly before narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Jongdae behind you.

Once you’re out on the steps, Jongdae speaks again. ‘Please, miss. Whatever it would take for you to say yes, I’ll do it,’ he says, sincerity radiating from his features.

You laugh in amusement, already beginning to sweat in the heat. ‘You’re going to do this either way, aren’t you?’ you ask, folding your arms. He looks up and bites his lip.

‘Maybe. But I’d prefer if it was legal and official. I’d hate to be a rogue,’ he says with a wink. ‘Makes it awfully difficult to find a guide, and much harder to get across the administrative checkpoints.’

‘Okay. Tell me, then. Why is this so important to you?’ you ask, genuinely curious. ‘If not for the fame, or the piles of treasure that are supposed to be buried there, why?’

His face softens, some memory tugging at his mind and coloring his features with nostalgia. ‘My mother told me the legends of the pharaoh and the temple growing up. She and my father were professors at the University in Alexandria. She passed away last month, and I- I don’t know, I’ve been working on the Najima tomb for over a year now,’ he says softly.

‘I always wanted to find it for her, and I’m only sad I couldn’t do it before she died. It’s time for a new adventure and this one sounds perfect.’ He looks off into the distance, to where the tip of the Giza pyramid is visible through the rooftops.

‘I don’t want fame, aside from being properly credited for my discoveries. I have no interest in money, security. Solving mysteries is what fuels me, what can I say?’ he laughs, lifting his arms openly.

You tug on the edge of your sleeve. You can’t deny it sounds like a hell of an adventure.

In all the years you’ve been studying ancient history, you’ve seen many historical sites. But something burns in you, listening to him speak. A desire to get off the beaten path, to really explore the country. To perhaps experience history; to taste it, touch it, live it, rather than just reading about it.

‘I’m not saying yes,’ you start and he visibly brightens. ‘But I’ll hear you out.’

He claps his hands together excitedly. ‘Excellent! You won’t regret it. Would you meet my crew tonight? Drinks at La Terre Lointaine, seven pm?’

‘I hope I’m not going to regret this,’ you sigh. ‘But yes, I’ll meet you.’

‘Trust me,’ he replies with a grin, sticking his hands into his pockets and backing down the steps. ‘You won’t.’

With a wink he turns, striding off down the street.

#prettyboysnetwork #kpopwonderlandtag #kpopwritingnet #exosnet #kwriterskollection #jongdae x reader #chen x reader #exo x reader #jongdae fanfic #chen fanfic #exo fluff #exo au

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bucky-my-barnes · 6 years

Text

Preference #5: You Make It Official!

Tony:

It had been two days since you had last heard from Tony, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. You were certain that you had said something to upset him at this point. Sure it might be you trying to fill in the blanks that he left but you couldn’t think of anything else that could be wrong. Finally you decide to just go visit him and find out what was really going on. It felt a little weird going into the Avenger Tower as you hadn’t been here yet but you weren’t going to back down now. Walking up to the receptionist you gave your name and stated your purpose, apparently Tony had put you on the list so you could go right down to the lab.

Getting into the elevator you got a big shock when a voice rang out to you. “What floor Miss/Mr (Y/N)?”It asked causing you to look around for the source but you were left with only confusion as there was no one in sight. “I am FRIDAY, Mr. Stark’s AI.”The disembodied voice explained causing you to relax.

“Can you please direct me to where Mr. Stark is?”You asked receiving step by step instructions from the AI after leaving the elevator until you came to a glass door seeing Tony working hard on something in front of him. Knocking to get his attention he could barely hear it over the Black Sabbath blaring in the background. Looking up a wide smile grew on his face as he asked FRIDAY to turn off the music and let you in.

“Hey there darling! I wasn’t expecting you, not that I am complaining.”Tony chuckled wrapping his arms around your waist placing a soft kiss on your temple.

“I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, I was worried.”You explained softly, your eyebrows furrowing with concern.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve been working really hard on something and well I wanted to finish it before I showed you but I guess now is a good as time as any.”He said grabbing your hand pulling you over to the elevator directing FRIDAY to take you to the roof. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders you felt yourself getting more and more confused that was until the sky lit up in amazing glory. Fireworks going off in every direction brightening the dusk falling around you. The grand finale was spectacular, even more so when the words ‘Be Mine?’ popped into the sky. Turning to Tony with tears in your eyes you could only nod and wrap your arms around his neck nestling into his shoulder happily.

Steve:

To say that Steve was old fashioned was an understatement, you had lost track of the amount of dates you had been on and still he hadn’t asked you to be his significant other. Maybe you were expecting too much out of the relationship, but it seemed you were both incredibly happy when you were in each others company. How would you even bring up the question to him if you even wanted to ask what the two of you were? So when he asked you on another date you decided to find a way to ask him before the night was over. At this point you were used to not knowing what the plans were so you just went with the flow.

Dressing warm like he asked, you were eagerly awaiting his arrival when you heard his motorcycle rumbling down the street. Fixing your hair one last time, despite the fact that the helmet you wore always messed it up anyway, you walked out to him. Wrapping your arms tightly around his waist you anticipated what was going to happen next with baited breath. Coming to a stop he helped you off the bike, placing the helmets on the seat before holding his hand out to you. Taking it, he led you to a clearing where the stars were bright in the sky, shining like you had never seen them before.

“Wow.”You said unable to take your eyes off them. “Where did you find this place?”You asked breathlessly lost in the magic before you.

“I found it one night when I took a drive to clear my head. I haven’t brought anyone else up here until now. I wanted to bring you somewhere special when I asked you this. So here goes...will you go steady with me?”Steve asked catching your gaze now the nervousness clear on his face.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to ask, of course Steve I would love to go steady with you.”You said slipping into his lap nuzzling your nose against his making him laugh lightly.

Clint:

On your second date he decided to take you horseback riding since you had never done it before. Approaching the ranch you hoped that it would be easier than you anticipated, but it was highly unlikely for that to be the outcome. The instructors there kindly explained each step to you, and said that they would be there for every step of the ride. All of these things plus an amused Clint in your ear put you at ease for the moment as you mounted the saddle swinging your legs over. The initial part of the ride was rather enjoyable and it was easy to command your horse to do the things you wanted to do.

That was until a fox jumped out of the wooded area effectively spooking your horse causing them to take off full sprint with you still on them. Well you were until they jumped over the fence line dropping you off onto the ground with a resounding thud. Groaning you rubbed your head having hit it on the edge of the fence hearing shouting coming closer by the second. “(Y/N), can you hear me? Are you alright?”Clint’s voice rang out, at least you thought it was Clint you were having trouble focusing before the world went dark.

Waking up you hear shouting again but this time there is a resounding bright light invading your eyes, and slowly you are able to understand what is being said. “You don’t understand they are my significant other! I need to be there when they wake up.”Clint was arguing with someone in a lab coat you could only assume was a doctor.

“Clint?”You called out hoarsely coughing slightly when you spoke. Quickly he pushed past the offending doctor making his way to your side.

“Oh thank god you are okay, you have a concussion I was so worried. They tried to keep me from seeing you thinking that I hurt you or something.”Clint rambled on until you pressed your finger to his lips silencing him.

“Significant other?”You asked raising your eyebrow curiously.

“Well I was going to formally ask you at dinner tonight, but I can’t wait any longer. Be mine?”He asked kissing the finger still pressed to his lips.

“I would be a fool to say no.”You said giggling lightly trying not to aggravate the headache growing worse by the minute.

Bruce:

Today was finally the day! You were going to be graduating and becoming Doctor (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N) PHD with a doctorate in Environmental Science. Of course you invited Bruce, who insisted that The Avengers come as well. It was cute how proud he was of you and how he wanted everyone close to him to experience it with him. Putting on your cap and gown you looked in the mirror tearing up at the sight you had longed to see for your entire life. There was a knock on your door catching your attention so you walked over opening it. Smiling widely you let Bruce in excited to see him since you weren’t expecting to see him until after the ceremony. “Hey Brucie.”You greeted him affectionately hugging him tightly.

“Hey there is my future Doctor (Y/L/N) are you ready to do this?”Bruce asked blushing slightly at the nickname you had given him, but it was clear he liked it.

“I am a little nervous, but also excited to start the rest of my life!”You said ecstatically trying to contain yourself just a little, but you were still kind of bouncing all over the place.

“Speaking of that, the reason I’m here early is I wanted to ask you something kind of important. I am not really good at expressing my feelings often but here goes. When I met you for the first time it was like you just saw me Bruce, a normal everyday guy and not someone who has to deal with the other guy. While I have him under control most of the time, that doesn’t mean that something couldn’t happen and that I couldn’t still hurt you. Although I would like to think that the other guy would like you too but that’s beyond the point I’m trying to make and not ramble on. What I want to ask you is...will you be my significant other?”Bruce asked finally taking a breath after getting it all out.

“There is nothing I want more in this world Bruce, and you are just Bruce. Other guy or not, you are still you and that isn’t going to change. Neither is the way I feel about you.”You said leaning up kissing his cheek wrapping your arms around his waist resting your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat.

Thor:

The nervousness you felt deep in your soul as you held Thor’s hand was indescribable, sending you almost into a panic attack. Today he was taking you up to Asgard for the first time, and you were probably going to meet his parents. What if they didn’t like you? What were the two of you anyway? I mean he had never really asked you to be his, but at the same time he was taking you to his home. Another realm that you had only read about, and now you were going to be visiting a place of dreams. “Calm down Lady/Sir (Y/N), I promise it is not as scary as it seems. You won’t even really notice going through the bifrost.”He said reassuringly thinking that was why you were panicking.

“Okay.”You said smiling meekly at him and before you knew it you were in a city glittered in gold everywhere you looked. “It’s absolutely astounding.”You said in awe, circling around not even noticing Heimdall standing there watching you with an amused expression.

“Midgardian?”He asked Thor causing you to jump as you were now very aware of his presence but that only seemed to make him laugh.

“My mate.”Thor said proudly looking to you, not understanding your confused expression. “You are aren’t you? We have gone on many Midgardian dates.”He said a grand smile stretched across his face.

“Well usually you have to ask first and the other person has to accept, but of course I am Thor.”You explained chuckling knowing you should have realized that he did not exactly understand Midgardian customs, and you did not understand Asgardian ones for that matter which made you feel as out of place as he did on Midgard.

Loki:

A few days after the ball where you had spent the night together dancing and carrying on with one another, you found yourself in the very gardens you had visited with Loki as a child. Much to your surprise he sitting on a stone bench reading a novel of some sort. Walking near him, he seemed to finally notice your presence and it caused him to smile widely before placing the book down. “(Y/N) I was wondering if you were going to show up, you are a little later than usual.”He said alluding to the fact that you came out into the garden at that time every single day.

“I had to tend to Queen Frigga a little longer than normal tonight. Were you waiting long?”You asked not wanting to waste his time, it was after all a precious commodity these days when you could barely see one another as it was.

“No, not long. But I needed to see you again, after the other night you have been the only thing on my mind. I can’t promise you the world but I promise that I will be yours as long as you will be mine. So please do me the honor of letting me court you?”Loki asked closing the gap between you, holding out a fully bloomed Lotus blossom.

“There is no one I would rather be with my Lord.”You said seriously, only being formal because it was very important question in Asgardian dating culture. Reaching up you cupped his face lovingly, feeling him melt into your touch.

Pietro:

For his birthday you had gotten him a polaroid camera to capture memories with wherever he went. Somehow he always managed to catch you off guard and snap one of you when you weren’t even looking at him. Sure it annoyed you a little bit at first, but then again you did buy it for him to do with what he wanted. It confused you as to why he would want to waste film on candids of you but it made much more sense when he handed you a photo album he had been adding to for a little while now.

“Wanda helped me think of this so I can’t take all the credit as much as I would want to. She would know if I didn’t.”Pietro chuckled as you started flipping through it page by page. “I have been taking pictures of you as you know, but the reason is that you mean so much to me. When we were younger I used to dream of finding someone that I wanted to be with. Those dreams were dashed when our parents were killed, or at least I thought they were. That was until I met you and you were everything I dreamed of and more. This is so I will always be able to remember our time together, I don’t want to forget a moment, especially the little ones. I wasn’t expecting to fall for you, but I full on face planted.”He explained laughing a bit. “What I want to ask you is if you will be mine? I don’t think I could be without you.”

“Oh Piet, of course I will!”You exclaim tearing up at his words and his reasoning behind the photos. You never thought you were particularly attractive but through his eyes you could see there was more than you gave yourself credit for.

Peter Parker:

It was supposed to be a normal movie night with Peter, MJ, and Ned but sometime between the end of school and 7 PM when you guys were going to meet up at Peter’s the other two bailed leaving just you and Peter. Actually when you thought about it, you were excited to have a night alone with him. Part of you hoped he had actually arranged it that way, but the other part was less than optimistic. Sitting on his bed he started up the movie which was Jurassic Park, one that you both loved endlessly. Slowly you fell asleep during it, not even realizing that you were nodding off.

Awaking slowly you realized Peter was shaking you softly trying to rouse you from your slumber. “Sorry Pete.”You groaned sitting up rubbing the sleep out of your eyes feeling bad for falling asleep during movie night.

“It’s okay, it gave me time to do this.”Peter said smirking leading you out to your spot on the roof. Somehow he had formulated his web formula so he could put words into the webbing taking the idea from everyone’s favorite childhood book. ‘Charlotte’s Web’. Inside the web he had cast on the roof read the words. ‘Be mine?’ “Okay don’t freak out, but I’m kind of Spider-Man and I’m really not supposed to tell people this but I can’t keep the secret from you anymore and I really want to date you. Please don’t be mad at me?”He spat out looking at his feet still in the lower half of his suit only missing the mask.

“As long as you won’t be mad when I tell you that I kind of already knew, and my name is actually kind of (Y/N) Stark. I think you know my dad Tony very well.”You explained hesitantly not fully revealing all of your secrets just the important need to know information.

“Tony Stark is your...dad?”Peter asked fainting on the spot leaving you to clean up the webbing and get him into bed. Chuckling you placed a kiss on his forehead before heading home for the night, trying to figure out how to tell your father that you are dating Peter Parker.

Bucky:

As your sessions went on, it seemed that Bucky had regained a lot of the man he feels he used to be. The flirty nature that he once held was on the rise once again, and you were soaking up every minute. Unfortunately that meant others were picking up on it as well, especially at Stark’s various get togethers. Going over to the bar to get the two of you a drink, you noticed a pretty blonde lady trying to chat him up. While it didn’t appear that he was interested it still made you realize that there was no clear label between you two. What if you were just practice for someone that he had yet to meet?

Seemingly like he knew what was going on in your mind he left the woman’s side heading over to you wrapping an arm around your waist pulling you into him. “Dance with me doll?”He asked softly into your ear, earning a nod from you letting him lead you onto the dance floor. Hands placed softly on your hips, your wrists crossed behind his head, swaying back and forth to the music like no one else was around you. “You know I haven’t been able to figure out the best way to do this, so I just want to come out and say it… Will you be mine?”He asked whispering the last part in your ear.

“I would be honored James.”You said whispering your answer back into his ear, using his actual name since it was such an intimate moment. “Also took you long enough.”You laughed playfully pushing his shoulder earning a loud laugh from Sam who apparently heard you from across the room.

Sam:

After a rather hard mission Tony had decided he was going to take the Avenger’s and their significant others on a vacation. Getting the time off wasn’t the easiest but nothing could keep you from spending a week with Sam, even a job which in reality wasn’t the best anyway. Immediately as soon as you all touched down in Hawaii everyone was off to hit the beach and the waves. Seeing a little pagoda on the strip walking up, you and Sam decided to rent some surf boards. It had been a few years since you had surfed but you knew it was like riding a bicycle you just never forget.

Unfortunately you didn’t count on the swell being so unforgiving, as wave after wave crashed down effectively knocking you off your board being carried into the undertow. Unable to breach the surface you started saying your goodbyes in your mind, until a pair of strong arms pulled you onto the beach. The next thing you knew you were coughing and spitting up an insane amount of water. “Babe, oh god babe you are okay.”Sam said breathing heavily leaning over you the others rushing to your side. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”He said tearing up pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry.”You apologize even though it was something that could happen to anyone. (Remember folks swim parallel to the beach and you will have a better chance of making it back to shore)

“No no, shh shh.”He said keeping you close to him for the rest of the day. As it fell into evening the sun was setting over the water, and the boys were building sandcastles while you watched on. Sam lightly picked you up and carried you over to the water’s edge. There in the sand he had written the words. ‘Be my significant otter?’ which made you laugh but also you thought it was the sweetest thing, especially after he saved your life.

“You know otters mate for life right?”You asked raising an eyebrow at him only to be met with his usual cocky grin and a nod. “Well if you are sure, then of course my otter.”

Natasha:

Somehow on a mission you had gotten separated from the others which while you were trained you weren’t exactly ready to solo by any stretch of the imagination. Reaching the room you were supposed to gather the selected intel you didn’t hear someone come up behind you sticking a needle into your neck. It didn’t take long before you were down for the count only to be woken up by a bucket of ice cold water being splashed on you. “Tell us where to find the other Avengers.”A voice commanded with a deep accent.

“Well that’s not going to happen.”You scoffed only to be met with a fist to the side of your face leaving a stinging sensation from the rings the man was wearing. Blood was now definitely trickling down your cheek. “Oooh wait until my friends get here, they aren’t going to like that you have treated me with such disrespect.”You said with a cocky grin earning you another punch to the face, and then one to the gut knocking the air out of your lungs. A loud bang was heard down the hall gaining the attention of the man interrogating you, but you knew exactly who it was.

The door busted open and the man was on the ground before he could even comprehend what was happening, a Widow’s Bite attached to his neck. “Are you alright?”Nat asked rushing over to you untying you checking out your wounds which in retrospect were a lot less severe than they could have been. “God, you aren’t ever leaving my sight again! Do you know what I would do without you? You’re mine you know.”She said trying not to show too much emotion but failing even for an assassin but it said a lot that she cared this much for you.

“I always will be Nat.”You said kissing her forehead trying to comfort her, but inside you were leaping for joy that finally you had her for your own.

Wanda:

When you were out shopping with everyone you had stopped in this little store that had a bunch of various antiques in it. Wanda was over with her brother looking at the vinyls to see if there was anything new they wanted to add to their collection. A necklace lay in the display case stating that it was a Vintage Royal Ruby Necklace, and while it was pricey it just screamed Wanda to you. Being super sly about it you made your purchase hiding it in your purse before anyone could notice. After dinner you asked her if she wanted to go for a walk with you, fully intending on asking her to be your girlfriend.

Leading the way holding her hand happily you kept using your other hand to pat your pocket to make sure that it was still there the entire time. If she noticed you doing this she didn’t say anything but once you finally reached the park you couldn’t stand it anymore. “Wanda I just want to tell you that since the day I met you, I have been the happiest person I’ve ever been. I am closer to you than anyone before, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t ask you to be my girlfriend. So will you be mine?”You asked holding the necklace out to her causing her to gasp.

“Of course draga! Where did you get this?”Wanda asked her mouth standing open as you placed it around her neck, clasping it in the back for her. “It is beautiful, unlike anything I have ever seen before.”

“Now you know how I feel when I look at you, and I got it at that cute little vintage shop we went to today. You were busy with Piet and when I saw it, I knew I had to get it for you.”You smiled hugging her tightly to your chest feeling like everything was right in the world for once.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #clint barton x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #thor odinson x reader #peter parker x reader

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veteran-shipper · 6 years

Text

Voltron’s Anatomy

part 2 of ???

so i realize that doing all how-many-bajillion episodes of grey’s anatomy is an improbable task. i’ll probably be mixing and matching episodes because ain’t nobody got time for that, least of all me. plus, let’s be real. we were really only in it for Der and Mer’s Epic Love Story.

alternatively titled: never air to breathe (never inbetweens).

Pidge slams her locker shut in frustration. “I have got to move out from my parents’ place,” she announces, yanking viciously at her shoelaces.

“What’s up?” Hunk asks, his forehead creased with concern.

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m just sick and tired of all the tension because my brother Matt has been MIA. It feels like I’ve been walking on eggshells ever since I moved back for residency. They’re being overprotective, and as much as I understand, I’m a god damn adult, and I can handle the shifts I signed on for. The fact that they also work here is literally my worst nightmare. I can’t believe I agreed to come back.”

“Why don’t you move into my place, then?” Keith suggests, shrugging his white coat on. “I have the space.”

“I thought you were trying to sell it?” Hunk says, mildly surprised. “What changed?”

Keith shrugs. “I just never got around to it. Plus, I moved back here, didn’t I? Might as well keep it around and get some roommates. It’s practically a family heirloom at this point. What do you say? I’ll keep rent reasonable.”

“I’ll think about it,” Pidge says with a shrug.

“Sure, just let me know whenever. I have two rooms up for grabs if you want in, too, Hunk,” Keith adds.

“It would be nice to be in a full house again,” Hunk says wistfully. “I’ve basically been crashing on my uncle’s couch since moving here from Hawaii.”

The three of them approach Altea for their assignments of the day. Altea’s eyes narrow. “Where’s Lance?” she asks. Keith shoves his hands in his coat pockets and shrugs.

“Dr. Altea! Sorry to keep you waiting!” Lance skids to a stop, just barely keeping a tray of coffees from tipping over. “I brought you a coffee--mocha, soy, just the way you like it.”

Altea looks slightly mollified as she plucks the coffee out of the tray. “Thank you, Lance, but next time, apologize by being on time,” she says dryly. “You’re on code team. Keith, take the trauma pager. Pidge, deliver the weekend lab results to their patients. Hunk, you’re on sutures.” She turns on her heels and starts to walk away.

“Dr. Altea!” Lance says, stopping her in her tracks. “I was wondering if I could assist you in the OR today? I think I’m ready. You know, for a minor procedure or something like that.”

“Hey! If he gets to cut, I want to cut, too!” Pidge says, elbowing Lance out of the way.

“Me too!” Keith interjects.

Hunk gulps. “Yeah, I guess,” he adds lamely.

“Okay, stop.” Altea puts her hands on her hips, eyes blue steel. “Every intern wants a chance to perform their first surgery. But that’s not your job. Do you know what your job is? To make me happy. Do I look happy? No, because my interns aren’t doing the jobs I told them to do. Nobody gets to even touch a cadaver until I think you’re ready, understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” the interns mumble collectively.

“Now move!” Altea makes a shooing motion with her hands, and the interns scatter off to their various jobs. “Vrepit Sal’s Dead Baby Bike Race starts in six hours and I need my weekend labs run and my code team staffed!”

Shiro was idly tapping on his phone when he spots Keith pressing the button for the elevator. Pocketing his phone, he saunters as casually as he can until he’s within an arm’s length of Keith’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you rode a bike,” he says in Keith’s ear, trying for casual.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Keith asks, not diverting his attention away from the ticker.

“No, I mean, a motorbike--a motorcycle,” Shiro backtracks with an internal grimace. The elevator dings, signalling its arrival. Ah, saved by the bell, he thinks to himself. “I have one, too. Never expected Nevada to be such a good place to go for a late night ride.”

Keith tries to suppress his smile as the elevator’s occupants file out. He and Shiro get on together and stand side by side as they wait for the doors to close. Shiro continues to ramble. “Now I have to like it here. I’m from Seattle. I’m not supposed to like how dry and deserted it is here. I have a thing for motorcycles,” he finishes lamely as the doors close and the serene elevator music starts up.

“I’m not going out with you,” Keith says to break the monotony of the music.

“Did I ask you do go out with me?” Shiro mentally palms himself in the face. Yes you did, you idiot, he chastises himself. “Do you want to go out with me?”

“I’m not dating you,” Keith reiterates. “And I’m definitely not sleeping with you again. You’re my boss.”

“I’m your boss’ boss,” Shiro corrects before he can help himself. Idiot! That makes nothing better, his inner monologue whacks him over the head.

“Regardless, this is inappropriate,” Keith says firmly. “This is grounds for sexual harassment.”

Shiro turns to face him. “I’m riding an elevator,” he says mildly.

“Don’t come any closer,” Keith says, a flush riding high on his cheeks, clashing horribly with the orange scrubs.

“Red’s a good closer on you,” Shiro says, and closes the gap between them, tangling one hand in Keith’s hair, dislodging the little pony tail, and wrapping the other around his waist. Keith flips their positions and pushes Shiro against the elevator wall, smashing his charts haphazardly between their chests as he fights to get closer to Shiro’s mouth. He reaches up to tug Shiro down by the back of his neck, biting gently on his bottom lip, gasping softly at the feel of the cool metal of the prosthetic sliding lower and playing with the waistband of his thin scrubs.

Just as Shiro’s about to go for the full on ass grab, the elevator dings, and they hastily break apart, Keith’s files spilling onto the floor between the two of them.

“Oh fuck,” Keith rasps, gathering up the files as quickly as he can and marching off to see his patients. Shiro’s gaze follows him, dazed and forlorn as nurses and other hospital staff file in, none the wiser.

Keith walks into a room filled with nurses and PAs rushing around, a hand absentmindedly on his bottom lip, mind a million floors away with Dr. Shirogane.

“There you are!” A harried looking PA comes into his field of view. “We’ve got a rape victim. She came in with a GCS of six, BP eighty over sixty. Exam is significant for blunt head trauma, unequal breath sounds, right pupil is dilated. We think she ran right into the bike race,” he rattles off. “She’s ready for x-ray. You ready to roll?”

Keith blankly surveys the room, taking in the blood on the body, the ruined shoes that haven’t yet been bagged, and--

“Hey!”

“Is that a penis?” Keith asks, peering into the kidney tray. It’s resting on ice, and definitely looking worse for wear. “Yeah/ Call ahead to CT. Let them know I’m coming. Load a portable monitor, and call Respiratory for a ventilator,” he orders, checking her eyes himself and her breathing tube. “I’ll do x-rays while I’m down there.”

The PA grunts in amusement. “Tough lady. Bit it right off. We found it in her mouth.”

“What a warrior,” Keith murmurs softly, checking her chart.

He takes responsibility over her and follows her from her scans into emergency surgery, where he and a couple of the less busy interns observe as Shirogane, Iverson, and Coran work to set her bones back in place and fix the internal bleeding. Shirogane lets out a low whistle as he works on setting her arm. “He really did a number on her. What is she? Five foot two, not even a hundred pounds?”

“Yeah, she’s going to spend a helluva time in recovery,” Coran says, jovial as always. “Really gave him a good walloping, though. Clearly a case of ‘You should see the other guy.’ I heard the rape kit came back negative.”

“She bit his penis off,” Keith offers. “It was in a kidney dish when I went to go get her for scans.”

The three attendings heads swivel to look at him, their hands never stopping their work. “What in tarnation?” Iverson says, incredulous.

“Jesus,” Coran says. “Well, if she can fight off the infection, she can fight off anything.”

They start to close on the patient, and before Keith can slip out to round, he hears Iverson call his name. Or, more accurately, his “designated Intern number assigned by the one-and-only Coran.”

“Intern number 3!” Keith pauses. “I need you to stay with the penis until the police arrive. Chain of custody rules, and all,” he barks.

Keith blanches. “Seriously?” he asks, looking at the small cooler they’d placed the severed body part in.

“That’s an order, intern!” Iverson says, pulling closed a stitch. Keith sighs and grabs the cooler before exiting.

Over at the HUB, Pidge sorts through the labs while Lance toys with his pager and gloats about his assignment.

“Code team rocks,” he says with a smug grin. “One minute I get to shock a heart back to life, and the next minute I have my arms full of grateful daughters and sisters.”

Pidge stacks a lab report a little harder than necessary on top of her growing stack. “You know, I have an MD/PhD from Stanford, and I’m delivering patient labs. This is going to take me all day,” she says, annoyed.

Altea whisks by briskly. “Better get started then!” she says, sipping daintily at her mocha latte. “Lance, with me!” she says. “I need as many hands as I can find, and since you’re not doing anything, you’re going to help me wade through this disaster coming in.” Lance’s expression brightens and he hurries after her, pager beeping.

“Oh! Uh, I wasn’t complaining,” Pidge says weakly, grabbing her stack of labs and hurrying off. If she's fast enough, she decides, she might be able to put staples in someone’s wound.

Cooler in hand, Keith runs into the ER just in time to see multiple stretchers being brought in. “Keith!” Altea says. “Excellent timing! I need you to help Hunk with some suturing and debridement in beds four through 8! What is that?” she asks, pointing at the the cooler.

“I’m babysitting a penis until the police get here,” Keith says, already moving towards bed four, where Hunk is dealing with a particularly rowdy bicyclist who didn’t seem particularly interested in staying for x-rays.

Along the way, he sees Shiro, sitting with his unconscious patient, flipping through her chart, though he chooses not to stop in favor of setting the cooler down and grabbing a suture kit.

“Sir, I highly recommend that you stay for X-rays,” Hunk says, a firm hand on the bicyclist’s shoulder.

“What? No! I need to get back to the race!”

“Sir, please,” Hunk says again. “You might have internal bleeding. I don’t feel comfortable taking those bike spokes out until you’ve had a thorough check up.”

His patient rolls his eyes. Then, he grits his teeth and, before Hunk and Keith can do any more than exclaim in alarm, grasps the bike spokes, pulling all four of them out with a grunt. “See?” he says, with a ta-dah wave of his hands. “No swooning, no fainting. I’m fine.”

Hunk shakes his head, holding a kidney tray for him to place the metal spikes. “Keith, this guy’s all yours. I’m going to move on to the next one.”

“Ah! Hunk!” Coran catches Hunk before he can check on the brain dead guy in bed 5. “Just the doctor I wanted to see! I’m going to be stuck in the OR all day today doing repairs, and I need someone I can rely on to check on my pre- and post-op patients. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh, yes sir!” Hunk says.

“Oh, and one of them, Mr. Mackie, is a good friend of mine. Make sure you get him everything he needs.”

“Got it,” Hunk says, leaving Keith behind to deal with the victims of the race.

Keith sutures Impatient Biker Dude closed and is smoothing the bandage over the area when he opens his mouth to speak.

“Hey, you’ve got a really nice touch, and you are a rockin’ babe. Why don’t you let me take you out sometime?”

“Excuse me?” Keith raises an eyebrow but otherwise tries not to let his annoyance show and turns to grab his patient’s chart. “I don’t date my patients. If you insist on leaving, you’ll be doing so against the doctor’s orders, so you’ll have to sign this form saying that you understand the consequences.”

“Darling, I will do what ever you want,” he purrs, taking the form. “I have to get back to the race.”

“Look,” Keith tries again. “One CT scan. You’ll be in and out in thirty minutes.”

“No can do, babe,” his patient says again, handing the form back. “I’ve got a race to finish.” He swings his legs over the side of the hospital bed and gets up. “There’s a party at the end, you know,” he says. “Maybe I’ll see you there?”

Keith rolls his eyes and turns away, only to feel a hand grab him by the waist and spin him around. He feels his patient’s lips meet his and pull him into a deep lip lock, and he freezes, indignation bubbling up behind his rib cage. “What the fuck?” he demands once his patient lets him go.

“One for luck,” he says with a jaunty wave and a wink. “You’ll be seeing me again soon.”

“For your sake, I hope you don’t!”

He whirls around, and accidentally makes eye contact with Shirogane, whose eyes look filled with hurt. Shiro gets up from his station near his comatose patient and intercepts Keith before he can get to Mr. Brain Dead in bed 5. With dismay, he watches as Lance and Altea start the next round of tests on him.

“What was that?” Shiro demands. “Are you kissing patients now?”

“For the record, he kissed me, and I definitely did not want to kiss that guy.” Keith tries to move onto bed 6, but Shiro blocks his way. “Oh come on! Dr. Shirogane, are you jealous? This is highly unprofessional.”

“I am not jealous!” The faint flush across the bridge of his nose bringing out his scar says otherwise. “Go out with me,” he says instead.

“No! You’re my boss! It’s against the rules.” Keith signs off on the chart. “We had sex once and we made out in an elevator once. That’s not going to happen again.” Keith tries again to move to bed 6, wanting the conversation to end.

Lance and Altea are debating over what they should do with Brain Dead.

“I think we should harvest his organs,” Altea says.

“What?” Lance exclaims. “He has a family!”

“Great!” Altea says cheerily. “Find them, and get their consent.”

“What? No! Come on, he’s got six hours.”

“Okay, fine,” Altea says decisively. “We’ll let the family make the decision.”

Lance narrows his eyes. “You just want a harvest surgery.”

“Don’t you?” Altea asks.

“I--” Lance throws his hands up, conflicted.

“Dr. Shirogane!” Altea motions for Shiro to come take a look.

“Just a minute!” he says normally, before lowering his voice again. “‘It’s against the rules?’ You don’t take me as a by-the-books kind of guy,” he says to Keith.

“Look, you’re an attending. I’m your intern. Unlike you, I still have something to prove. Now, I really need to get to Ms. Ho before she bleeds out.” Keith puts a hand on Shiro’s upper arm and pushes him towards Bed 5. “Go deal with Mr. Brain Dead.”

Pidge finishes with her lab deliveries just in time to watch as a car screeches into the front of the hospital, and a man stumble out of the driver’s side covered in blood from the waist down. She catches a nurse by the arm. “Get a stretcher--he’s hurt!” she orders, and motions two other nurses to come help her get him inside and onto the waiting stretcher. They get him hooked up to a heart rate monitor and a breathing tube before cutting him out of his clothes. “Oh my God!” she yelps, looking at the bloody mess of his groin. “Somebody call security!”

She ends up getting to observe the surgery that Iverson performs on the bloody John Doe.

“Medicine’s a funny business,” he comments as he cauterizes a blood vessel. “One minute you get to save the life of someone who fought off an attack, and the next, you’re trying to save the life of the attacker. Intern, why aren’t we trying to reattached this penis?” he barks at Pidge.

“Teeth tear, but reattachments need clean cuts. If she’d taken a knife to his penis, he might still be able to save it, but since she bit it off, plus the digestive enzymes in the mouth, there’s no way he’s ever going to get to pee like a normal person again,” she says, trying to keep the smugness out of her voice.

“Hmm, a moment of silence for this poor guy,” Iverson says, rolling his eyes unsympathetically, cauterizing the final blood vessel. Pidge can’t help but agree. Good riddance.

As Vrepit Sal’s Dead Baby Bike Race ends, so does the endless stream of injured bikers, and the interns finally get a chance to trudge wearily back to the locker rooms to freshen up and change into a fresh set of scrubs.

“I need a bed,” Pidge moans, lying on a bench in the locker rooms wearing just her sports bra. “Or a drink and a massage. Or a drunken massage on a bed.” She sits up with groan and starts wrestling her scrub top back over her head.

“I lost five patients today on the code team,” Lance moans at his reflection.

“Lance, ninety-five percent of code patients can’t be revived. They’re seriously dead before you even get there.”

“What?” Lance exclaims. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Because,” Pidge says loftily. “I’m Pidge, and you’re Lance.”

Hunk trudges in, looking somewhat disgruntled. “Mr. Mackie won’t stop hitting on me, and I don’t know how to tell him I’m not interested. He’s Coran’s VIP, for crying out loud.” He sits down heavily next to Pidge. “At least we found a match for him.”

“Oh yeah? Who?” Lance asks, splashing water onto his face.

“Oh, just some brain dead guy from earlier. When I told him, he cried and then tried to ask me out again.”

“Nice!” Lance gives Hunk a fist bump. “That was Allura and my’s first patient together!”

“Allura? Since when did she start letting you call her Allura?”

“Oh, she hasn’t. I just call her that in my head.”

“A patient kissed me today,” Keith announces, moodily playing with the handle of the cooler. “I wish I’d shown him the severed penis just to freak him out, but I didn’t think about that until it was too late. Plus, I don’t think it would have stopped him.”

Hunk makes a noise of sympathy. Lance, ever the incorrigible romantic, asks, “And what did Shiro think of that?”

“He asked me out again.”

Pidge groans. “Men,” she says. “They think they can just get away with anything.”

Lance, Hunk, and Keith all make indignant noises.

“I got to watch Iverson cauterize the penis of a rapist today,” she continues as if they hadn’t said anything. “Simultaneously the best and the worst thing I’ve seen today, and I had to endure twenty-seven patients’ family members hug me with joy.”

“Aw come on!” Lance interjects. “I should’ve gotten that job! I love hugs!”

“Does that mean I’m finally going to get to not babysit a penis anymore?” Keith asks, perking up at the thought.

“Keith, it’s 2AM. They’re not sending someone over at 2AM.”

Keith drops his head into his hands and groans. “Fuck me,” he mutters.

“I mean, since you asked so nicely,” Lance starts. Pidge sticks her foot out and trips him.

“Thanks, Pidge.”

“Any time, bud.”

When Keith passes by the unconscious patient again in the morning, Shiro is still there and he looks like he hasn’t slept. He has, however, moved to the HUB, where he can simultaneously keep an eye on the patient and work on charting on the computer. Keith sets the penis cooler down on the counter. “Have you been here all night?”

“Yeah.” Shiro barely spares him a glance, and he rubs at the scar across the bridge of his nose. “You know, I grew in a family of all boys. All brothers. I can’t imagine what it’s like to not have anyone waiting for me when I wake up.”

“I can,” Keith says. Shiro looks up at him then, and stands to go make himself a cup of coffee, eyes soft.

“So,” he says, coming back with two paper cups of the hospital’s cheap free brew. “We’re kissing, but we’re not dating?”

Keith made a sound of annoyance. “I knew this would come up,” he says, accepting one of the cups.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like the kissing. More kissing, any day, I say,” Shiro says.

Keith rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee. “You sound like Coran,” he teases.

“I just want to know if this is going to happen again in the future. If it is, I’m gonna need to carry around breath mints. Maybe a,” Shiro lowers his voice, “condom in my wallet?”

“Shut up,” Keith whispers back, finishing off his coffee. Together, they stare at the patient in silence. All the monitors start beeping at once, and Keith and Shiro immediately move into action, calling for nurses and equipment.

“Prepare for an emergency craniotomy!” Shiro yells at a nearby nurse, who nods. Together, they mobilize the hospital bed into the OR, and Keith waits anxiously outside until Shiro’s done, looking more worn than ever.

“We had to leave the top of her skull flap off,” he tells Keith. “Until the swelling in her brain goes down.”

Keith sighs. “She’s not going to make it is she?” he asks.

“She’ll be fine,” Shiro replies, with a soft smile. “Come on. You have rounds. Don’t forget your penis.”

Keith sighs, shooting the cooler a look of distaste. “I just want the damn police to show up already,” he says in annoyance, heading back toward the HUB to catch up on some charting.

As soon as he reaches the HUB, however, a nurse motions him over. “The police have arrived to take custody of the evidence,” she tells him pointing over to where two uniformed men stand.

“Oh sweet! Thanks, Nyma,” he says, making his way over to the cops standing near the water cooler. “Hello sirs, I’m Dr. Kogane. I hear you’re here to collect my penis?”

The two cops look distinctly uncomfortable for a split second, before one of them notices the cooler in Keith’s hand. “Oh! Yeah, you just need to sign a couple of forms, and we’ll be out of your hair,” he says.

Keith gladly takes the paperwork and fills it out, handing both the forms and the cooler over to the cops. He runs into Pidge and Hunk halfway through rounds and they both give him high fives when they realize he’s no longer holding onto the penis cooler any more.

“Hey, so about those rooms,” Pidge says. “I’m in.”

“Yeah, me too,” Hunk adds. “I think I’m ready to give up my uncle’s couch.”

“Oh okay, cool,” Keith says. “I just need to get a few copies of my key made for you guys, and then you can move in whenever.”

Pidge and Hunk cheer loudly and get shushed by Mrs. Cobb in bed 9.

#sheith #voltron's anatomy #voltron #vld #grey's anatomy au #grey's anatomy #slow burn #fanfiction #allurance #multiship #everyone's going to sleep with everybody #let's be real #it's grey's anatomy

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

the tangled web of fate we weave: vi

shh, this is very therapeutic.

part v/AO3.

Lucy gets through the next several weeks mostly on autopilot. There’s spring break in there somewhere, but she doesn’t really notice, since she spends it working anyway. Her dissertation is inching toward the final finish line, though she still has to write a conclusion, put together her bibliography (which will be an absolutely torturous process of going through the whole thing and copy-pasting every footnote – why hasn’t someone invented a better way to do this yet?) and add her acknowledgments: places she went for trips, foundations who gave her scholarship money, people she’s collaborated with, that kind of thing. Most of it is straightforward, but when Lucy gets to the personal section, where people thank their parents, significant others, grade school teachers, supervisors, etc., she stares at the screen until it goes out of focus. Ordinarily she’d write, Thanks for everything, Mom and Dad, no problem at all, but how can she do that now? Thanks for everything, Mom and Henry Wallace, except for never telling me who my biological father was? Thanks for everything, Mom, but Benjamin Cahill, why?

Lucy leaves that part undone, just adds Amy for now, and finally pushes back her chair and lets out a hoarse war cry of victory, punching the air with both fists and startling the nearby students. She emails it to her supervisor, Dr. Kate Underwood, with the triumphant subject line FIRST COMPLETE DRAFT!!!!, then cleans out her carrel with something probably akin to what a new mother feels, when they finally hand her the baby after the sweat and strife of labor. Not that Lucy’s interested in kids, at least for a while, but still.

She sleeps like the dead for the entire weekend (her neighbors are actually still being quiet, and she certainly isn’t going to tell them that she’s probably never going to see Flynn again) then gets up and goes off to her final review meeting with Dr. Underwood on Monday. Most of the changes she suggests are small, though there’s one part of the last chapter that she pushes Lucy to do a little more with. Nothing outside her usual corrections, but since that was the chapter Lucy was dramatically interrupted from writing with the Weekend of Total Insanity, it triggers something in her. In one of the more embarrassing moments of her life, she bursts into tears in Dr. Underwood’s sunny office, as her supervisor looks bewildered, gingerly hands her Kleenex, and finally asks if everything is all right.

Lucy figures that last-minute nervous breakdowns are far from uncommon for PhD students just about to submit, and there’s a ready-made way to play this off as just that, which she more or less does. There are student counseling services that she could probably make an appointment with, though they’re busy enough at crunch time that it would be another few weeks until anyone saw her. And she just can’t picture sitting across from some graduate-student psychiatrist-in-training and actually making sense of this. Has the usual feeling that she doesn’t need to burden people with her first-world problems – “starving kids in Africa syndrome,” one of her friends called it. This is a little more than ordinary, perhaps, but still.

Having promised that she will have the changes in by next Monday, Lucy confirms the date for her oral examination, six weeks from now, and realizes that she has no idea what she will be doing for that time, aside from sleeping and bingeing on TV shows. Her work is done, she has class to finish teaching but only two days a week, and her schedule gapes perilously wide open. She isn’t good at sitting around and doing nothing; can manage maybe a week or two, then she starts feeling that she needs to be productive. Another gift from her mother. She never let Lucy just veg out during the summer as a kid. She had to be doing an extracurricular, or preparing for a AP exam, or off at Young Achievers Camp, which is exactly as nerdy as it sounds. She’s not sure she even knows how to rest.

Once Dr. Underwood has sent her off with advice to get some sleep and feel proud of her accomplishment, Lucy staggers out into the world beyond Stanford like Rip Van Winkle. It’s a nice day, warm and summery and almost difficult to remember that that whole ridiculous seventy-two hours ever happened, and she pauses. Then on a sudden impulse, she digs out her phone and scrolls through her contacts. Hits call, and waits.

Wyatt Logan picks up on the last ring, sounding slightly breathless. “Hello? Lucy?”

“Hi. I’m sorry, is it a bad time?”

“No, it’s fine. What’s up? Are you all right?”

“I. . . yeah, I am. I just. . . finished my dissertation, actually. And I thought if you were in San Francisco, maybe we could meet up and grab a coffee, or. . . or something?” Her heart flutters in her throat. “Just, you know, to catch up?”

There’s a slightly awkward pause. Then Wyatt says, “I’m, uh, I’m back in San Diego, I’m based out of Pendleton. And I promised my wife we’d go to the beach today, or whatever.”

“Your w – ” Lucy can feel her cheeks turning the color of a fire engine. “Oh my God, I didn’t – I really wasn’t – of course. No, no, of course. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt coughs. “Congratulations on finishing your dissertation, that’s an amazing accomplishment. Nothing else weird has happened recently?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. Maybe they’ve given it up.” Lucy knows this is too easy, but she wants to think so. Likewise, she both does and doesn’t want to ask. “Have you heard from Flynn?”

Wyatt hesitates. “No. I called back to the hospital a week later, they said they let him out, but I have no idea where he went. Probably off the grid. I would, if I was him. There’s an APB out, anyone who sees him is supposed to call it in. Whoever Rittenhouse is, they’re still very, very pissed.”

Lucy struggles to take this in. On the one hand, it’s good news, of a sort, that Flynn somewhat recovered and was released from the hospital, but was this because he was ready to roll again, or because he didn’t want to take the risk of lying there waiting for his enemies to show up? There are a nearly unlimited number of ways that they can kill him in a hospital and make it look like an accident, after all. If he is officially persona non grata for a lot of powerful and high-ranking people, and he’s hurt, that doesn’t sound like a good combination. Maybe he’s fled the country, gone up and crossed into British Columbia and hidden out somewhere in the Canadian Rockies. Lucy reminds herself that either way, she shouldn’t care. Whatever the hell his actual feelings on her might be, he made himself clear.

“Thanks,” she says, after a too-long pause. “Let me know if. . . well, whatever happens, all right?”

“Do my best. Congrats again on the dissertation.” Wyatt clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Lucy echoes, cheeks still hot, and hangs up rather quickly. Well, that was a disaster. She should have known that the only guy she’s even attempted to ask out recently was unavailable, though there’s a cute-ish geek with glasses who smiles at her whenever he sees her in the coffee line. Lucy thinks his name is Alan. But not even for the principle of the thing can she really work up any desire for a closer approach. After a final moment, she fishes her keys out of her purse, heads to her car, and tries to decide if 280 or 101 will be more congested at this time of day. She ends up taking the latter, despite the unpleasant associations of recent escapades on it, up to Amy’s apartment in South San Francisco.

Lucy turns into the complex, parks, and heads up the steps to Amy’s place. She rents it with two of her friends, one of whom is named Sage Tranquility and the other of whom is usually getting arrested at protests. There’s plenty of room at the Preston house in Mountain View, it’s not like Amy had to move out, but she’s always butted heads with their mother far more than Lucy has. Said that she would rather live in a shitty apartment, away from Carol’s domineering and constant questioning about why she’s doing this sociology degree and wasting her potential, and build something that was hers. Lucy doesn’t know how much she should tell Amy, but she is the only person she feels like confiding to.

Amy opens the door a few moments after Lucy’s knock, her headphones around her neck still emitting the echoes of her music, but she pauses it at the sight of her sister. “Hey, you. What are you doing here? Aren’t you still working on your dissertation?”

“No, I just finished it. Just. Hey, are you doing anything right now?”

“No. Come in.” Amy frowns. “You don’t seem super jubilant, Luce.”

“I. . . have a lot on my mind.” Lucy blows out a breath. “I’d kind of like to talk.”

Amy agrees, gestures her in, and goes to fetch some cookies from the kitchen, before they got to the secondhand futon, Amy sits down, and beckons Lucy to put her head in her lap. “Okay,” she says. “So talk.”

As Amy gives her a head rub, which feels heavenly, Lucy closes her eyes, tries to find somewhere to start, and can’t think of any way to do this delicately. She teeters and stumbles at the edge, then finally comes clean about Flynn, about Rittenhouse, about Benjamin Cahill, about Wyatt, about everything. That it turns out they’re only half-sisters, that Carol has lied to them – to her – her entire life. That her real father is Corporate Darth Vader, and all of this. . . all of this. . . she’s slowly losing her mind, and has just squashed it down and put it away to concentrate on finishing. Now that’s done, and she’s. . . here.

Amy stays quiet as Lucy talks, until she finally chokes up and can’t finish. Then she grips Lucy’s shoulder hard and says fiercely, “We’re sisters, all right? We’re sisters. I don’t care what Mom did or did not tell you, it doesn’t change anything. We’re just the same as we’ve always been, and nothing is ever going to take that away from us.”

“Thanks.” Lucy’s voice remains stuck in her throat. “I just. . . this has been a lot.”

“Shyeah.” Amy reaches over her for a cookie, breaks off a bite, and dangles it above Lucy’s mouth like a zookeeper feeding the seals. Lucy manages a weak laugh and snaps it up, as a sigh shudders through her from head to heel. They remain in silence for several more moments, until Amy says, “So, this Flynn guy. You have feelings of some kind for him, but he’s a complete emotional disaster, not to mention possibly on the run from the feds for God knows what or where or why. Accurate?”

“I don’t – ” Lucy opens and shuts her mouth. “I wouldn’t say I have feelings feelings for him, he’s – I don’t really – ”

Amy raises one eyebrow. “Now who’s being the emotional disaster?”

Lucy feels as if this is rather unfair – she’s here sharing her problems and trying to work through them like a grownup, even if, yes, she did repress them for several weeks beforehand and hope they would go away. “I’m not the one who set my phone passcode as the day he saved my life, then told me not to fool myself that he wanted to see me again and basically vanished off the face of the earth!”

“Fair.” Amy considers this. “But you do feel something.”

“He saved my life. Twice. He did endanger it the second time, but. . .” Lucy stops. “Maybe there was something between us, or I believed a little too hard in fate or design or whatever. I could have been imagining it, but. . .”

“But you don’t think you were,” Amy completes. “He just blew it. Super hard. Complete buffoonery.”

Lucy snorts. “Remind me why I bother with men again?”

“You could always date another lady,” Amy points out. “I liked Carine.”

Strictly speaking, this is true, and does have a certain appeal after the recent overabundance of testosterone in Lucy’s life. But she dated Carine Leclerc, a journalism student from Montreal, for eight months in her senior year, and while Carine was making noises about looking for jobs in California after she graduated, it stalled over the fact that Lucy never got around to introducing her to Carol. It wasn’t exactly a secret – Amy knew, her friends knew, they went to a pride parade, there were pictures – but Lucy never talked about it directly with her mom. It wasn’t the queer thing, exactly. Just that whenever Carol discussed Lucy’s future, it always seemed to involve a husband and kids. Not because of any awe or reverence for the patriarchy – Carol gave both her daughters her own surname, rather than, apparently, either of their fathers’, and was a women’s studies professor for many years – but, well. It just did. And while you can obviously have a family by non-traditional methods – adoption, fostering, surrogacy, whatever – Lucy somehow didn’t get the impression that was what her mom had in mind. The kids just seem to be part of it. It’s why, although she’s not really had any enthusiasm for the idea now, she’s subconsciously penciled it in for five or eight years in the future, once she’s presumably met Mr. Right. Lucy has all kinds of arguments with herself over whether that makes her a bad feminist. But because it’s what her mom wants –

“Oh, God,” Lucy says hoarsely. She raises both hands to her face, then drops them. “You’re right. I really have let Mom dictate my life, haven’t I?”

The expression on Amy’s face clearly says, no duh, although she charitably refrains from uttering it aloud. Instead she says, “I still think you should have followed through on that band thing. At least it would have shown her that you can stand up to her.”

“I – no, that was definitely a bad idea, I’m glad I didn’t.” Lucy is still Lucy, and thus cannot believe that she ever treated the prospect of her education so frivolously. “But maybe if I went over there now and confronted her about Cahill – ”

“You’re sure that’s a good idea?”

“What? You’re always the one telling me to push back against her more!”

“Yeah, I know.” Amy chews on a thumbnail. “But this is more than about just that, isn’t it? From what you said about Cahill, it sounds like he’s mixed up in some pretty skeevy shit. I give Mom a hard time a lot, but maybe she did have a good reason for separating us from all that. Are you sure you want to know?”

“If they come back, I should at least know the truth.” Lucy rubs at her tired eyes with her fingertips. “I’d like to think they just gave up, but I’m not sure. Maybe if I tell her that I know, it might help clear the air.”

Amy gives her a probing look. “And are you going to tell her about Flynn?”

That catches Lucy short. She wants to say that she will, that if she’s demanding or even requesting honesty from her mother, she should be prepared to return the favor. But something – she doesn’t even know what, not quite what it was with Carine – gives her pause. “Why would I?” she says feebly. “It’s not like anything actually happened.”

“Aside from him turning up and you two going on a three-day joyride that ended with him getting shot and telling you to go piss up a rope.” Amy’s tone is more or less lighthearted, but her expression is serious. “That’s definitely something that happened.”

Lucy opens her mouth, then shuts it. She reaches for the last cookie and eats it, partly to give herself an excuse not to talk, then brushes off the crumbs and gets to her feet. “Well, if I am heading over there today, I should get going before the traffic gets too bad. I should at least tell her that I finished.”

“Because you’re hoping she’ll finally tell you that she’s proud of you?” Amy glances up at her. “You know you did a good job even if she can’t choke it out, right?”

“Of course I know.” Lucy manages a smile, picking up her purse. “See you later, Ames.”

Her baby sister hugs her, not without a final look, and Lucy lets herself out, heading to the parking lot and getting into her car. She drives down to the Preston family home in Mountain View, the attractive four-bedroom ranch house on an affluent, leafy street where Lucy grew up. Worth a tidy chunk of change if Carol decided to downsize, since it’s currently just her living there, but she has held onto it. Not good at letting go of things, Carol Preston. It is only in the last few days that Lucy has realized just how much, and it saddens her.

A light is on in the kitchen as Lucy parks by the curb and gets out. She heads up the front steps, noting that the plants could use some watering; it’s not like her mother to let things droop, or look anything less than perfect, daughters or azaleas alike. This is her house as much as anyone’s, and yet Lucy stands there for a long moment, feeling as unwelcome as a door-to-door salesman or friendly local Jehovah’s Witness. It feels as if she finally got here the way she was intending to do seven years ago – before the accident, before nearly dying, before Flynn, before Flynn’s reappearance, before Benjamin Cahill and Rittenhouse, before everything that’s brought her back. She tries to rehearse words in her head, questions, justifications. Nothing really occurs to her.

Lucy swallows hard, and rings the bell.

It takes a bit before she hears footsteps, and then Carol Preston opens the door. She looks down at her eldest daughter in surprise, or perhaps confusion. Something about her seems as off, less than pristine, as the drying flowers, and her makeup is slightly smeared, though Lucy can’t imagine her mother actually crying. “Lucy,” Carol says. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been finishing my dissertation.” Lucy twists her fingers together anxiously. “I – I did finish, by the way. Just today. Dr. Underwood gave me her final changes, Dr. Gardener in anthropology still has to look it over as well, but he’s at a conference until Friday, so that will take a little longer. But – yeah, it’s done, I did it.”

“I see.” Carol considers, then steps back. “I think we should talk. Come in.”

Lucy follows her mother inside, wondering if Carol’s guessed somehow, if Cahill came by to creep on her as well or ask why she never told Lucy the truth, and feels absurdly guilty for causing more trouble. She almost starts to apologize, though with no idea what for, and a tiny, ridiculous part of her half-hopes that Flynn will be sitting in the kitchen, somewhat recovered if doubtless no more tactful, come by to ask Carol what she knows about Rittenhouse. Which seems like a bold move, given that he’s a wanted fugitive from the government, but reality doesn’t have much to do with Lucy’s thought process just now.

Nonetheless, it comes crashing back in in a cold, sobering wave when they step ins. There’s a piece of paper lying on the counter, and Lucy can’t see the wording, but it looks clinical. Hospital. Carol turns it over as Lucy tries to get a better look, then says, “Tea?”

“No, it’s all right, I was just over at – ” Lucy stops. “Mom, is… is everything…?”

“I went to get that cough checked out, like you wanted,” Carol says, after a slight pause. “And, well, the scan turned something up in one of my lungs. They’re going to run more tests, they can’t be sure, but there’s a possibility it’s malignant.”

She says this like the professor she’s been for thirty years, explaining a difficult fact with her usual classroom voice, and so it takes Lucy a moment to understand. Then she does, and it feels as if the world has gone out from under her feet. “M… malignant? As in cancer?”

“Yes.” Carol takes a deep breath. “I suppose it’s not entirely unexpected – your father was a heavy smoker, after all, and I never picked up the habit until I met him. I stopped when he died, of course, but if this does come back positive…”

Part of Lucy wants to inform Carol point-blank that she knows Henry Wallace isn’t her father and never was. The rest of her wonders how awful you have to be, to confront your mother about that when she’s just told you that she might have cancer. “I – I, I’m so sorry,” she stammers, once more as if this is her fault, has not gotten the right score on a test or has whined about never having summers off. “Mom, I’m sure it’s fine, but if – ”

“But if it’s not?” Carol looks at her levelly. “I know we’ve had a bit of distance recently, Lucy, but this is the sort of news to put things in perspective. Of course, there’s medicine, there’s chemotherapy, there’s options. We don’t know anything yet. But if the worst-case scenario does come to pass, I really want to make the most of whatever time I have with you. There’s still so much I need to teach you, to talk with you about.”

Yes, Lucy thinks, there is. But any urgent desire to force answers to all her questions has vanished in her flood of guilt and fear and concern. “Of course, Mom, of course. If there’s anything I can do – and I’m sure Amy too, we’d both be happy to – ”

“I’m not sure about Amy.” Carol sighs. “But if you have finished your dissertation, like you said, and therefore don’t need to be at campus every day… I’ve seen that apartment of yours, Lucy. It’s terrible. Is there any way you might consider moving back in? We would be closer here, we’d be together. It would be easier, and if I did get sick…”

“No, of course. Of course I’ll move back in. Absolutely, you don’t have to worry about that at all. My lease on campus runs through the end of the school year, but – ”

“I’ll pay your early termination fees.” Carol takes Lucy’s hand. “I really want us to be together again. Believe me.”

“Me too,” Lucy says in a rush. “But – if the test did come back clean – if you’re not really… well.” She can’t bring herself to utter the name aloud, speak of the devil and he will appear. “If you’re not… sick, do you… will you still want me back?”

“Why on earth wouldn’t I?” Carol looks hurt. “Do you think I only love you when you’re useful? You are my daughter, my eldest daughter. So much like me, my historian. You’re so bright and you’ve worked so hard. Of course I want you back.”

Lucy opens and shuts her mouth, then reaches out, and Carol wraps her arms around her, pulling her close, as Lucy rests her chin on her mother’s shoulder and has to struggle to blink back tears. And so, within ten minutes of going home with the intention of some final confrontation, some ultimatum or insistence on separating herself from Carol’s trunk, Lucy instead cleaves back in, root and branch, and promises that she will never bring it up again.

There really isn’t time to arrange a move – even a short-range one – between the last-minute rush of dissertation edits, job applications, and graduation plans, and Lucy’s apartment has a few pitiful half-full boxes sitting around, which she will toss things into when she remembers. She feels like a terrible daughter, which is not helped when Amy calls her up at the end of the week and wants to know what happened to telling Mom off. “You know how she is, Lucy! Even if – God forbid – she was actually sick, doesn’t this seem a little…?”

“A little what?” Lucy challenges. “Are you really going to accuse our mother of faking possible lung cancer just because she wants – I don’t know what, something?”

“I didn’t say she was faking,” Amy says reluctantly. “I’ve been worried about her health too. But Mom has a couple nest eggs, you know she does. If it got to the point that she needed a live-in helper, she could hire someone who actually knew what they were doing and would get properly paid for it. That’s not your job. You’re not that kind of doctor.”

“I know.” Lucy shifts the phone to her other shoulder. “But – look, I know what we talked about, I know what we said. I just don’t think this is the right time to bring it up.”

Amy doesn’t argue with her again, but Lucy can sense that she still isn’t pleased. And yet, all of that goes out the window when Carol calls them both and says they should come by, there’s something she needs to tell them. That doesn’t sound like the kind of invitation that ends with “and nothing’s wrong, the doctor said I’m fine,” and indeed, it doesn’t. The biopsy results came back. It’s cancer. Carol’s prognosis isn’t terrible – they caught it before it was already irreversible – but it’s not particularly great either. The words fifty-fifty chance are used. A lot will depend on how she responds to treatment.

Amy starts to cry – she and Mom have fought a lot, but they do still love each other – and Lucy puts an arm around her, feeling numb. It feels crass to ask for any graduation celebration, even if she’d like one. Suddenly, even applying for jobs is up in the air. Lucy doesn’t want to complain about being inconvenienced by her mother’s serious illness, but she was so ready to start her own life, do something else, stretch her wings, and now she’s back in the birdcage, throwing away the key. It just doesn’t seem (and she winces at the thought) fair.

Lucy finishes the rest of the revisions recommended by her second supervisor in a blur. At the last meeting before this three-hundred-page monster is sent off to the committee for reading and to the printing service for binding, Dr. Underwood mentions that she’s been in contact with the history department at Kenyon College in Ohio. Kenyon is a small liberal arts college, upper-tier and avant-garde, and while it would unfortunately mean living in Ohio, there is currently an opening in the faculty for a junior lecturer with almost exactly Lucy’s research specialty. Dr. Underwood has passed her name on, and the people at Kenyon would like to speak to her next week, if that works.

Lucy’s first reaction is delight and disbelief. Tailor-made opportunities for academic jobs at places where you would like to work, and that are looking for your research interests, are as rare as the proverbial rain on the Sahara. She’s thought for a while that she’d like to teach at a small liberal arts school, one of the places that doesn’t think SAT scores are a good measure of academic performance and give a lot of focus to student development – somewhere in the Northeast, maybe. Sarah Lawrence, Vassar, Middlebury, Wellesley, something in that vein, the usual schools described as “diehard liberal” by U.S News and World Report in their college rankings. Stanford is obviously Stanford, but it takes a lot of work not to get lost in the machine, and plenty of students who come through Lucy’s classes now are clearly just checking elective boxes and playing on their laptops during lecture. At a place like Kenyon, she could actually talk to them more, have smaller and more immersive seminars, supervise senior projects and have more of a say in shaping the department. Have that exact chance to make it her own, rather than following in predestined footsteps.

At that, however, something catches Lucy short. She remembers Benjamin Cahill essentially promising her that he could get her any dream job she wanted, anywhere in the country. Is this Rittenhouse’s clever new strategy? Realize that the face-to-face approach backfired bombastically, and take a more subtle approach, pull some strings and call in some favors so this fat juicy worm just happened to land on the right hook? Would she move there and find herself surrounded by their people, or expected to pay something substantial back?

Asking Dr. Underwood about this, however, just makes Lucy sound crazy. She doesn’t mention anyone by name, but she delicately probes whether anyone just happened to call up and offer this, and if so, why. Dr. Underwood is puzzled, says that no, this has been in the works for a while and it just happened to time well with Lucy’s completion. Due to someone who knows Dr. Underwood, who supervised so-and-so’s thesis, etc. – not the creepy Rittenhouse networks of patronage, but just the usual byzantine channels of academia – Lucy currently holds right of first refusal on the job. If she turns it down, they’ll shop it more broadly, but assuming she doesn’t completely bomb the interview, buys some winter clothes, and is all right exchanging Palo Alto for Gambier, it’s hers if she wants it.

“I…” Lucy hesitates. “My… my mom was just… she was actually just diagnosed. With cancer. She wants me to move back in and spend more time with her. I don’t know if I could justify going to Ohio instead. That’s the exact opposite of what she wants.”

Dr. Underwood hastens to offer her sympathy, and appreciates that this is a difficult decision for Lucy to make. However, while she knows family commitments are important, ultimately Lucy needs to think about what she wants from her career and getting established and so on. If Lucy does decide to stay in California, there will probably be several teaching opportunities at Stanford for her, and she’ll submit papers to journals and attend conferences and the rest of the rigmarole that it takes to be a Professional Academic ™. It’s not necessarily the wrong thing to do. But Dr. Underwood thinks Lucy should consider the Kenyon job carefully. She knew Carol when they were both faculty in the department, knows what kind of personality she had, and maybe it’s not the worst thing for Lucy to go.

Lucy nods and smiles, even as she wants to go somewhere private, put her face in a pillow, and scream. At least the damn dissertation is done, exam date is firmly set, no more of that, no more, praise Jesus, NO MORE. She picks up her bag, swings it to her shoulder, and heads out of Dr. Underwood’s office, riding down the elevator and stepping out into the foyer. As she does, she collides with someone coming the other way, and starts into the usual apology. But as she does, she catches a glimpse of the face under the hat, and freezes. Reaches out to grab at his jacket sleeve, her voice a hiss.

“Flynn?”

Garcia Flynn has not been having the greatest week. Or two. Or three.

He stayed for six days in the hospital, being cared for by a doctor named Noah who was entirely professional to all outward manners and appearances, but who kept shooting him looks out of the corner of his eye that made Flynn suspect the worst. Either he’s a Rittenhouse agent, or he used to be some sort of gentleman acquaintance to Lucy, and Flynn would almost prefer the former. At least that way he could kill him without anyone being too upset about it.

Of course, and regretfully, killing is off the table, at least for the moment. At least for Flynn himself, as he’s fairly sure that Rittenhouse has authorized everything short of public beheading to apprehend him, and which was why he decided that he was no longer going to trust to the dubious safety of Santa Rosa Memorial and the judgment of Noah. . . whatever his damn last name is, Flynn hasn’t been arsed either to find out or remember it. So he checked himself out against medical advice, gave a fake name and address for the bill (the American health system is a racket anyway, and technically he’s supposed to have insurance – yes, the NSA does offer dental) and left the rental car in the garage. It’s too conspicuous, and he has bigger fish to fry than whether he is blacklisted by Enterprise in the future. They can take it up with John Thompkins, later.

After which, Flynn rode a Greyhound (yes, it’s as miserable as you’d think, especially when you’re six-foot-four) to some shithole Inland Empire city, somewhere in California close to the Nevada border where nobody goes if they can possibly avoid it, probably still riddled with decades-old radiation from the Las Vegas test site. Rented a room in some motel that definitely has one filled with haunted clown dolls, laid low, gingerly tended his raw wounds with over-the-counter antibiotics and sutures, and was forced to admit it was a good thing he did not die of septicemia. He hasn’t succeeded in coming up with a new plan just yet, as it’s clear that he’s been cut off from the usual channels with extreme prejudice. He has kept his old phone with the NSA numbers, but keeps it switched off and hasn’t used it. He can’t risk calling Karl to see what he did, or did not, know about the Wyatt Logan fiasco.

And so, Flynn grimly considers his options. He can try to throw together another fake identity and go to Canada, or travel on his real name back to Europe and hope they haven’t gotten Interpol on this, or just lie here in a motel room that might literally be the manifestation of hell on earth, with air conditioner that barely works in 25-plus Celsius heat and a stain that looks like a murder victim on the carpet. If Rittenhouse is after him, no holds barred, he may just be able to avoid their notice if he stays, especially for a man whose professional tradecraft is disappearing. And yet.

The more Flynn thinks it over, the more he can’t account for everything going sideways as fast and as comprehensively as it did, unless Rittenhouse was plugged into the whole thing almost from the beginning. They must have multiple high-level operatives across several branches of government, focusing on the ones you’d expect – CIA, NSA, FBI, Homeland Security, whoever’s stealing your personal information these days – but by no means limited to them. They could be salted through every level of middle bureaucracy (he wonders if all DMV and IRS workers get an automatic membership) and beyond. It sounds ridiculously, relentlessly paranoid, like that prizewinning intellectual who insists that the Royal Family and other leading British celebrities are all secretly lizard people. But given what Flynn saw at the gala, Cahill and his powerful, well-connected, wealthy friends, this also might not be entirely off the ranch, and that means he has to do more digging. Where?

It takes him a bit, but he recalls what Lucy said to him at their first (well, first real) meeting. Something about David Rittenhouse, who Flynn discovered to be a famous eighteenth-century astronomer and professor at the University of Pennsylvania, and asking if he founded it. Flynn doesn’t know the answer to that question, but it seems to strain credulity that the man it’s literally named after has nothing to do with it. It also is not a given that Rittenhouse’s secret archives are housed somewhere at UPenn, but there are several things named after the man in Philadelphia. It’s not entirely implausible.

That, therefore, is where Flynn is faced with the final part of the plan. It’s going to be hard enough for him to get in as it is, what with the Take Dead or Alive order they probably have out on his head. But if he didn’t appear to be attached to it – if it was just an innocent research visit from an up-and-coming academic who would have plenty of legit business with UPenn’s history collections on colonial America, and he just so happened to appear –

Flynn is well aware that this is quite a reach. That it’s dangerous, that it’s unfair, that he doesn’t really have any right to ask it, given how their last parting went, and what he said then. That she has any number of things to do right now, and none of them necessarily involve dropping all her work and heading cross-country to pick up, again, the world’s most demented and dangerous scavenger hunt with him. No sir.

He checks out of the motel and hops a ride with a trucker the next morning.

As they stare at each other for a very long and very excruciating moment, all Lucy can think is that he shouldn’t be here. Rittenhouse could have been watching her from afar, guessing (correctly, apparently) that she will prove too tempting a target for Flynn to resist contacting again. Maybe this is the moment they jump out and dogpile them both, or – or –

Lucy hesitates only a split second before tightening her grip on Flynn and dragging him around the corner into an unused classroom. She bangs shut the door behind them and leans against it, legs trembling. “You need to get out of here.”

“You just shut me in.” Trust Flynn to have a smart-aleck response readily at hand, as he watches her from under hooded eyes. “We would need to try reversing that first.”

“Just be quiet.” Lucy clenches her fists, fighting a brief urge to slap him. “Did anyone see you?”

He shrugs. “It’s a public university, I imagine they did. Nobody who seemed to recognize me, though.”

Lucy blows out a breath, getting the table between them just so there will be something to prevent her – or him – from anything intemperate. “You’re such a bastard.”

A hard, sardonic smile glimmers in the edges of his mouth. He seems unruffled by the accusation, almost even pleased. He does not bother with small talk, explaining where he’s been, or why he said everything he did in the hospital. (Don’t fool yourself that I want to see you again. . . this is my war, I don’t need you and yet, lo and behold, here he is. He’s a disaster.) Instead he says, “Did you finish your dissertation?”

“Yes,” Lucy says, curt and unwilling. “I have a lot going on, a lot, so why don’t you just – ”

“Is there anything else you can pretend to be working on?”

“What?” Screw the table, she might want to do something intemperate after all. “Why?”

His eyes remain on hers, cool and unswerving. “I need your help.”

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #timeless ff #the tangled web of fate we weave

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warmau · 6 years

Text

College!AU Hongbin {Sequel}

please read college!hongbin before reading this sequel this is an edited version of a commission i did!! but more artist!hong for everyone | tw: nsfw implications

as much as you love hongbin,,,,everything from his messy hair and skewed glasses,,,,,,paint under his nails and unorganized notes for class

you know he can get a little over his head when it comes to big projects

which is why when he tells you one evening, as he’s walking you back to your dorm after a date to a gallery opening

that he really wants to apply to the masters program for painting - you are nothing but supportive,,,,

but in the back of your mind you feel a bit uneasy

whenever finals comes around or hongbin has a lot due he kind of ,,,,,, loses his grasp a bit

already a rather nervous person, he can get even more anxious when their are deadlines and big decisions involved

you and gongchan had to practically force hongbin to drink enough water and get enough sleep during fall midterms and you had never seen him so,,,,,,,,,,,,

drained,,,,,,

the usual shy, but vibrant sparkle in his eyes had dulled to a muted brown - he barely spoke a word to you, gongchan, ravi, or his professors

at some point hyuk had tried to play a harmless prank on him and even then,,,,,,when he’d stepped out of his room with toothpaste smeared across his face courtesy of hyuk, he didn’t even seem phased

just went on like some kind of depressed phantom,,,,,,you and gongchan had lived a little piece of hogbin hell that entire week

and you knew that applying to the master's program meant,,,,,,a lot of work

a portfolio, a writing sample, good final marks,,,,,,,,,,

and you had thought for a moment - painting was his minor,,,,not his major,,,,,had he changed his mind about art history?

but you didn’t want to pry,,,,,,you had just smiled and leaned in to kiss him gently

“if that’s what you want to do, ill help you as much as i can.”

hongbin clasped his arms around you, his handsome face lightening up in joy and he pressed you into a close hug

letting you go only when a group of students turned the corner and his shyness of your pda kicked in

but there you were,,,,a week later sitting in hongbin’s dorm room

you were wearing one of his old t-shirts, little splatters of unwashed watercolor around the hem, and talking to gongchan who was feeding their pet bunny thumper

“are you also going to be applying for the masters program?”

he asks and you sit under the covers of hongbin’s bed and shrug

your options are pretty open- right now,,,,the only thing on your mind is making sure hongbin is doing the right thing

“are you worried about hong?”

you look up and gongchan pets thumper who sits calmly in his lap

“how’d you know?”

gongchan laughs, “i was there you know. for the whole midterm meltdown.”

you give a weak smile and shrug a little,,,,,,,,it’s an understatement to say you’re just ‘worried’,,,,,,,you love hongbin you don’t want to see him in such a horrible mood ever again,,,,,but ,,,,how could you stop him,,,,,this was his future,,,,,

“doesn’t a masters in painting require a portfolio, and one piece has to be large scale. i don’t think ive ever seen hongbin do one of those,,,”

gongchan’s voice doesn’t betray his concern either, but before you can say aything the dorm door opens and hongbin comes in, carrying the takeout he’d run to get

he passes gongchan his order and sits at the desk beside his bed as he gives you yours,,,,the silence is a little tense

and hongbin looks between you two with wide eyes,,,,, “did,,,,,,something happen while i was gone?”

you and gongchan shake your heads and you lean forward to steal some food from your boyfriend’s plate

he scrunches up his nose and tells you to keep your hands to yourself

and you just laugh and tell him you can’t do that around him

a blush dusts hongbin’s cheeks and he motions to you that gongchan can hear you,,,,,but gongchan just rolls his eyes and says “im used to you two by now, don’t worry about it bro”

and everything seems normal,,,,,,,,,

the days pass and hongbin is still the same sweet, tender, and loving boyfriend that he always is

oblivious to the stares from others when you two are on dates because of his good looks, the usual “we can’t kiss here, but maybe if we hide our faces -” caution that he still has around your relationship, gushing over artbooks in the library together, and embarrassing late night karaoke jams featuring hongbin crying to the entire discography of park hyoshin ,,,,,,

being in his arms still feels warm, his body is lean and perfect and you’re never not impressed by the way it looks highlighted by the dim lights coming through his dorm window as you two lay tangled against each other

but,,,,,,,the fantasy crashes around you when hongbin begins working on his portfolio for his application

because, like gongchan had said, one of the pieces has to be a large landscape piece

when you had met hongbin in paintings class for the first time,,,,he had primarily worked in portraits - small to medium scale

you’d never seen him attempt something so large and so detailed

something that he had to ask ravi to use his studio for recording for a while as a place where he could draw

the canvas he’d bought nearly covered half the wall

and when you first visited hongbin there, you already saw the bad effects of stress coming over him

instead of just messy hair and paint everywhere, there was a blank canvas. untouched paint cans. and hongbin’s motionless figure seated in the middle - watching the wall blankly

“are,,,,,,you thinking of what to draw?”

you asked, sitting down beside him and pushing off your jacket

hongbin didn’t answer for a bit, before turning to you and nodding

“it’s supposed to be a landscape,,,,,,,but -”

his voice falters a bit, the deepness horace as if he had just woken up and gotten here,,,,you wonder vaguely how long he’s just been sitting there

“but do i draw the countryside? the mountains? the han river?”

his eyes, wide and doeish, are ridden with the onset of panic

you reach out, touching his cheek and feel the tension almost - you tell hongbin to not worry,,,,,,whatever he picks it’ll be beautiful,,,,,,,you’re sure of that

but even though hongbin puts his hand over yours, his eyes don’t lose that panic and you don’t want to leave him there but you have class

so with a kiss goodbye, you get up, looking over your shoulder before closing the door to see hongbin’s head drop into his hands

you don’t even think about it, you just text gongchan and unhappily admit that you two might be in a serious situation

hongbin finally starts sketching on the third day of borrowing the studio, he works frantically and through the night

ravi sees you at the local cafe and tells you that maybe you should get some snacks up there, he’s pretty sure hongbin hasn’t left that place in 72 freaking hours

you nod, rushing over during a break between classes to drop off an assortment of 7/11 candy, frozen food, and sandwiches that you could get to fit in two bags

hongbin,,,,,,is still in the overalls and old shirt you saw when you first came

his eyes are ringed with darkening bags and he jitters as he sips black coffee every now and then

you realize you don’t like this,,,,,not one bit,,,,,,,,,,,,

nothing can ruin his handsome, doll-like features but that shimmer you had fallen in love with - the wrinkles around his eyes when he smiles - it was all gone

gone,,,,,,

and when you tried to get hongbin to stop for a moment, pick whatever he wanted to eat from the bag he mumbled politely that he wasn’t hungry

“i like where the painting his going,,,,,your sketch looks almost done!”

you put on the best voice of support you could, but hongbin’s nonexistent energy and plain look of tiredness made it hard for him to respond to your enthusiasm

quietly, you left him there, feeling your heart break a little when he didn’t ask for a kiss goodbye

“im telling you, if we leave him there we might end up walking in on his passed out cold.”

gongchan sighs, sitting with you outside on the quad

you both have your own applications and finals to worry about, but gongchan is hongbin’s best friend and you’re his significant other,,,,,,,,,you two can’t just sit around and wait till the worst occurs

“what if ,,,,,, i was going to say help him but can you paint?”

you shake your head and gongchan throws his hands up in defeat

“neither can i , so we can’t help him with that,,,,,,,,,but,,,,,,,,,,somehow we have to knock some sense into him,,,,,,,,,”

“do you think taekwoon can help us? hongbin respects him a lot,,,,,,,”

gongchan sighs, “taekwoon is probably having enough on now too. he’s applying for the phd program which is even harder,,,,,,,”

you sit there - hopeless - till you get your things and tell gongchan not to worry. one way or another you’re going to fix this

he watches you, march off in the direction of the studio hongbin has holed himself up in and you hear him yell out a shaky “do your best!”

you nod, because you’re going to do your best. you’re going to make sure hongbin doesn’t overdo it, but that he also gets into the program of his dreams

how? well,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

you let yourself into the studio, hongbin has just finished sketching and it looks like the landscape is ready to be painted

he has some cans opened for the base of the mountains and hills

but when he sees you, he only gives a robotic wave

“hongbin, it looks amazing.”

you comment first, looking at the pencil outline of the rolling scenery of one of the many beautiful korean mountains

hongbin grins wearily, but there is nothing behind it “it’ll look better with paint, hopefully.”

he reaches down, to pick up one of the cans but you stop him

he looks up at you curiously, and you pull him up

his tall frame nearly blocks your entire view of the painting behind him and he opens his mouth as if to ask what’s going on

but you beat him to it,

“remember when i came to your dorm to congratulate you on completing last semester's finals, i got you that cake but we barely had time to eat it because ,,,,,,,”

you look down shyly and hongbin’s own ears go red,,,,,he remembers that day quite well

it had been the first time you were able to be intimate with each other,,,,he had touched you in a way that was soft and felt magical

but why you were bringing it up now,,,,,he wasn’t sure

“i think you had done really well on those finals because you didn’t take it all in one stride. you even said yourself, you had never painted better than that semester.”

hongbin watches you, “that’s because that was the semester ,,,,,,,,,, i met you,,,,,,,,you made it easier,,,,,,,,,”

you take this chance to flick your eyes up to meet hongbin’s again and you nod

“exactly, and i want this to be easy for you too. hongbin, we’re worried - do you remember what happened for midterms? you had to nearly go to the hospital for an IV drip,,,,,,,i dont want that happening again. i wont let it.”

he seems to want to argue, which is so unlike hongbin, unless he’s in a stressful situation but you catch his lips in a kiss

that nearly drives him back against the wall

he has to mumble against your mouth to watch the painting and you retort that the floor might be safer to do this on

you don’t know how or why hongbin gives in so easily, but hongbin knows

you’re addictive to him, if there is one thing that can get him to stop and do absolutely anything it’s you,,,,,,,,,,

with your hands on his neck, his lip between your teeth and the feeling of two bodies close and generating heat

something that makes his head spin, honey sweet and sunbeam bright - you make him feel something that his body doesn’t want to let go of

so even though the painting is in his mind, the application, the writing sample, the deadlines

they all mean nothing,,,,,,,,with you in his arms

and the overalls pulled off, his shirt tossed over his head, you see hongbin beneath you - a real life greek statue come to life

and neither of you notice that on your down, some the cans have tipped over and paint is pooling in the old newspapers around you

at some point, you find the back of hongbin’s shoulder has been coated in spots of forest green and aquamarine blue

when you find yourself under him, there’s paint on both you and it makes hongbin laugh

so so so sweetly into the skin of your shoulder

and,,,,,,,,,,,,,,the world is only for you two - for you two in this small makeshift art studio

afterwards, hongbin is always careful with handling you,,,,but for a while you just lay there and stare at the massive sketch on the canvas

“i know you’re going to get into the program, but please don’t hurt yourself in the process,,,,”

your sleepy voice makes hongbin smile, he promises you that from now on he’ll slow it down,,,,,,

actually eat some meals and take some breaks from his portfolio

you thank him, propping yourself up on an elbow to kiss his olive toned cheek

and tell him that he needs a shower, you two have paint all over

gongchan is happy to hear that you have seemed to succeed in making sure hongbin doesn’t work himself into an emergency

you of course leave out,,,,,,,,some of the more private parts,,,,,,of how you got him to do so but gongchan just gives you a smile

that kind of says he figured it all out on his own

and two weeks later, the landscape is done !!

you, the rest of vixx, and other of hongbin’s friends come to admire it

and shyly hongbin leans over to whisper into your ear, “is it really ok?”

you nod, “hongbin, it’s beautiful. it looks almost real,,,,,,,”

and when he finally applies for the program, you’re waiting outside of the art department for him

and when he gives you a nod, and a small “i did it,,,,,” you throw your arms around him

and he picks you up in a spinning hug, tight and warm

“i think it turned out so good because you were there to pace me,,,,,,,,really thank you and,,,,,,,,,,i love you,,,,,,,,”

even though he’s said it before you see hongbin’s cheeks go slightly red

you nuzzle your nose against him and say that you two should go on a date to celebrate, maybe stop by your favorite restaurant

and right before graduation, hongbin gets an email with his acceptance into the master's program for painting

you rush over to his dorm and you, him, and gongchan crack open some wine to celebrate

there’s a small moment where you look at him as he’s laughing along with gongchan that you think,,,,he’s doing what he wants with his life

and you’re so grateful to be a part of it,,,,,,,,,,to be by his side

and ok omg hongbin ???? in the masters program???????? some how manage to become even more of a cluttered mess than before

now that he’s always working in actual art studios he’s got stains on all his close

he’s constantly complaining about his wrist from late night sketches

and the amount of times you’ve had to shift through the unfinished art on his desk to help hongbin find his hair brush or his school ID is ungodly

but you’ve still got the same kindhearted and slightly oblivious boyfriend

who sometimes is shy to ask you to model for him for a class

and you’re reminded of when he first gave you a sketch he did of you before you two started dating

and he lugs around big canvases and easels now, and wow it’s doing wonders for his already tone arms

his work even gets put in at a gallery and you nearly have to catch hongbin from fainting with the help of ravi

he doesn’t get to be a part of the gardening club anymore and he doesn’t have time for sports, but everyone knows that hongbin is on the track he wants to be

an artist,,,,,,,,,,and he has the talent and all the love he needs from you to do it

so when times comes around for you to start applying, hongbin actually manages to push away his heavy workload

sit down with you in the library and offer you the support that you gave him

but it’s hard because your artist in the making boyfriend is so god damn adorable, with lips parted in confusion as he stares down at all your essays and books

mumbling how the last time he wrote an essay he nearly cried,,,,,,,,

that you tug him into a corner for a while to give him a full length kiss, much to hongbin’s own shyness

but like i said, you have this spell over him, that once you start - he can’t help but give in hehe

#vixx scenarios #vixx imagines #hongbin scenarios #hongbin imaignes #vixx au #hongbin au #lee hongbin scenario #college!au #vixx #hongbin #lee hongbin #this was fun to write because i love artist hong wooo

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