#I can’t wait to get flamed with this by salty antis | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ill-skillsgard · 4 years ago

Note

I need Faust and Faith's reunion after he's done touring 👉👈 No pressure or anything. I just miss them a lot!

I always miss Fausty boy! I have some other prompts I wanted to incorporate into this one, but it was getting too long. I hope you enjoy!

Warning: 18+ mentions of public sex, mature language, anti-religious overtones, mentions of blood, violence, death, and drug use.

Summary: Faith goes to her first black metal show and asks Faust about the black circle.

- Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration.

Read more Faust x Faith here [x]

The duelling guitars screeched through twin stacks of speakers and filled the auditorium with malfeasance. Faith had never witnessed such a carnal reaction. As she watched from the side stage, the crowd below opened into a whirling pit of black-clad showgoers, pushing, jumping and banging against each other. The drums kicked into a blistering rhythm, and her attention turned toward the man she barely recognized with white and black makeup painting his face like the ghost of a demon.

Faust punished his drumkit with expert precision, his arms blurring in the chaos of their first song. His black hair swung as he banged his head without missing a beat. Horned and studded limbs spilled over the metal barricade, tongues lolled, and eyes lit with blissful fury. The singer's growls seemed to rise from the depths of hell, a monster shrieking at its thralls for more destruction.

Even with earplugs in, Faith felt the music blowing back in waves, shaking the column of her throat and turning her brain to mush. She dared slip one plug out to hear the true volume and quickly stuffed it back in when the intensity struck.

During the ambient interludes between songs, the crowd roared still. A few hundred people raised their hands, praising the men on stage. It reminded her of church, how they would let their eyes roll back, chanting the hymns and facing their palms skyward. This was no church she had ever set foot inside. The walls were painted black, the floor sticky from spilled beer, and its congregation made her gathering's displays of loyalty seem demure. The air reeked of salty skin and malt embedded in the paint from nights like this.

Faith saw people wearing shirts with Faust's band logo on the front, and a burst of pride warmed her belly. Though she was remarkably out of place, there was an odd sense of welcome. She could run headfirst into the crowd and get swallowed up and spit out like anyone else.

When they finished their set, Faust retired his drumsticks to a holder, chugged an entire bottle of beer and took a brief bow to the crowd before walking off stage. Faith bounced as he approached and scooped her off the floor, smearing her face with paint from around his mouth. When he set her down, his lips were partially visible through the now grey muck.

"How was it?" Faust asked.

"You guys are amazing. That's was so cool, babe!"

"Ah, you're just saying that."

"No, really! I can't believe how crazy they went for you!"

Faust sneered playfully, though their reception had been one for the books. "Probably 'cause half the crowd are friends of ours."

"Doesn't matter. You still kicked ass."

Faust's smile was unbreakable from a show well played and seeing his girlfriend waiting for him at the side of the stage. He led her to the green room as stagehands and managers nodded them through and let her dab the corpse paint off her face in the bathroom. Faust sopped up the sweat in his hair with a towel and changed his stage clothes before Faith returned. His bandmates soon joined them, and the chatter was unintelligible. People from other bands came in to talk and congratulate the young group on their first cross-country tour, and soon the back was filled with people hanging VIP badges from their pockets.

Faust pulled Faith from the bedlam before the room grew too hot. They made their way to the main floor and the rows of merchandise tables. Faith couldn't help but feel privileged to have access to the other side of the tables where Faust told her she could stash her coat and purse while a lineup of fans waited to purchase t-shirts and albums. Admirers pulled Faust away several times to take photos and shake hands. Faith watched in awe as people took turns posing with her boyfriend, who stayed looking stoic in his half-melted face paint. Her boyfriend. People from all walks of life wanted proof they'd met him, asking him to sign album covers and tour posters.

When Faust broke away from the clamour of excited metal fans, he took Faith's hand and pulled her through the crowd to a stairwell guarded by security. He flashed his tour badge, and the guard permitted them to the balcony where a few other musicians sat in a less crowded area.

"Come on, let's go outside. I need a fucking smoke," Faust said.

They went through a set of metal doors to an outdoor balcony where two men leaned against the railing, passing a joint and chatting. One spotted Faust, and a smile cracked over his face.

"Hey, Faust. Great show, man. We watched from the balcony. You guys were fucking killer," the man passed the joint to the drummer.

He hauled a significant bout of smoke into his lungs, then expelled it into the night air, handing it back with a nod.

The man refused. "Pass it to the lady."

"She's good," Faust said.

"I'll take a hit," Faith countered.

Faust glanced at her, brow raised high. "You sure?" He chuckled.

"Yes. I'll be fine."

Faust handed her the joint and turned to his fellow musicians. "Thanks. Glad you guys enjoyed the set."

As Faith inhaled, the other man turned to her and offered his hand to shake. "Hey, I'm Janne."

"Faith," she mouthed around a lungful of searing smoke.

"This is Yosh," Janne gestured at the man who'd initially offered Faust the joint. "Good to meet you."

"Is this your girlfriend, Fausty?"

"Yeah. She's my girl."

"Aw, that's cute. Didn't take you for the relationship type, to be honest. You like this scary son of a bitch?" Yosh asked.

Faith giggled as she looked up at the towering man dressed in black while he lit a cigarette. "He's not that scary. At least not to me," said Faith.

"Good man to have by your side at a show. You might get trampled down there."

"This is actually my first show."

Yosh choked on a hit and coughed, "really? And you came to a black metal show? That's ballsy."

"Well, it's not really my thing, but I wanted to see them play. I came from out of town just to be here tonight," Faith said proudly.

"Oh, right. You guys are from the green belt, right? Or should I say, the black circle?" Janne tittered.

Faust's eyes grew stony. "No. I'm not part of that shit. Bunch of fucking posers."

"We were just talking about the church fire there a couple weeks ago. You guys are known for that, aren't you?"

"I don't know. Guess so," Faust shrugged.

"They said there was a body found after they put out the fire, and it was nailed to some pieces of wood...like a cross or something. Can you believe that shit? How metal is that?"

Faith swallowed. She had heard the news break the day after the fire before they announced the unidentified body and after Faust had surprised her at the bus stop. They had prayed about it in church the following week and set up a collection to bulldoze the wreckage and reconstruct the chapel even bigger than before. Her mother was so stricken from the news that Faith had to spend a night at her parents' house consoling her while her father bad-mouthed the city's youth.

Bunch of heathen Satan-worshippers in this town. If I'd have known how disgusting some of these people are, I'd have never moved us out here.

Faith, her sisters and their mother all huddled on the sofa watching reruns of Full House while Stan stood hard-backed at the front window, peering out every few minutes as if the culprit might attack them next.

Oh, Stan, you don't know who did it. You can't point the finger when the police haven't even updated the community. Give the embers a chanced to cool. Besides, it's places like these that need the most help. We'll raise the money. I just hope to God they catch the people who did this.

All Faith could think about as she ate her sundae next to her sister was what she was doing the night after the fire. While the fire department was busy putting out the flames across town, she was pressed against a brick wall getting fucked by one of the heathen Satan-worshippers her father despised. She tried not to connect dots that had no business forming any kind of picture. Faust's appearance had been a coincidence.

I'll tell you who did this... It's that damned black circle. They've done it before, and they'll do it again.

Faust waved a hand in front of Faith's face, and she flinched from her reveries. "Babe? You there?"

"Oh, sorry," she laughed. "Kind of zoned out."

"Wanna head back inside?"

Faith didn't realize she was shivering until Faust rubbed her upper arms. "Sure. Yeah, let's do that."

"One puff of a joint, and you're on another planet, huh? Good seeing you Janne, Yosh... We should tour again."

"Yeah, man. As soon as possible. We're always on the road. We'd love to have you out for as many gigs as you guys can handle."

Faust nodded and clasped hands with both men before urging Faith along with a palm on her bottom. Once they made it inside, he snuck his fingers under her skirt and pinched her hard enough to give her a jolt but not to hurt.

"Faust!"

"What? No one's looking. Hey, you wanna check out our tour bus?"

Faith went to the balcony railing and saw the next band setting up their gear. She pointed below and turned to Faust. "Won't we miss the next band?"

"You actually wanna stay and watch?"

"Uh, yeah! This is my first show. I wanna see all the bands."

"All right. We can stay up here or go to the floor. But I'm warning you, it can get ruthless down there."

"I want to go down. It looks fun."

"Then we have to go now. We'll try to get right up front where you won't get swallowed in a circle pit."

"Really?" Faith gasped. "Like, right up front at the barricade?"

"Sure, why not? If you want the full experience. I'll stand right behind you and make sure crowd-surfers don't land on your head. Then after, I'll show you the bus, and...I dunno...Probably fuck."

"Oh my goodness, Faust. Yeah, right!"

"I'm serious. I'd fuck you right here if there weren't people around."

Emboldened by his suggestion, Faith whirled around and stared up at him with her brows lowered. "What's all this about the black circle?"

Faust scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"I've heard it mentioned before and that you're part of it. I just wanna know. Is it some kind of gang?"

"Do I look like I'm in a fucking gang? No. It's just some dumb shit they made up in high school."

"They as in your friends?"

"It's stupid and means nothing."

Faith stood in place. "Well, they're saying that church burned down because of your friends. Aren't you afraid someone might ask you questions?"

"I'm not afraid of shit because I've been on tour this whole time."

"Faust—"

"What did I tell you about the twenty questions? Now, do you wanna go watch the show or do you wanna keep talking about irrelevant shit?"

Dissatisfied with his response, Faith clammed up and followed Faust to the main floor. They wriggled through the tightening crowd and got upfront before the lights lowered, and a gust of smoke covered the stage. Ominous chanting heralded in a band dressed in black hoods. Faith watched, awestruck, but in the back of her mind, thoughts of the black circle fermented, giving off a foul smell she couldn't ignore.

After the headlining band opened with pyrotechnics and the frontman tossing a skull of pig's blood over the crowd, Faust took Faith around back, where the tour buses formed a barrier between the street and the venue. He led her inside and turned on the light to reveal the interior in a state of disarray. Beer bottles overflowed in the sink, ramen noodle wrappers littered the floor, and spiked leather decorum hung over seats and tables. There was a shredded porn magazine, its contents pinned to the wall and drawn over with a black marker, breasts shooting fire and snakes slithering out of places that made Faith blush.

"Sorry about the smell. Touring always has a distinct odour of unwashed balls and puke."

Faith tried not to touch any surface until Faust showed her to the back lounge area, where they sat and looked at each other in prolonged silence. Faith reined in a smile while her boyfriend sat back and studied her face.

"I'm glad you came. Sorry that it's probably more chaotic than you expected."

"It's okay. I'm having fun."

"You sure? I know it's not really your scene."

"You're my scene," Faith said.

He reached for her hand. Faith thought he meant to hold her, but he tugged her closer instead, straddling her over his lap. His hands came up under her skirt and over her ass while they kissed. Faust pulled away as she rocked her hips forth and placed his hands on her hips.

"So, how's school?"

"You're really asking me about school when we haven't seen each other in weeks?"

"What? Is there something else you wanna do?"

"I think you know what I want."

"Yeah, but I want you to say it."

Faith peered down the hall, past the bunks, toward the front of the bus. "What if someone comes in?"

"Not like my band hasn't walked in on you sucking my cock before."

"Oh my gosh, don't remind me."

Faust darkened, pulled air through his teeth. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course, I missed you. How is that even a question?"

He tilted his hips up and let Faith drop when he relaxed. She tugged his shirt up to appreciate the trail of hair leading down from his navel.

"What did you miss the most?"

"Your big, throbbing heart," Faith giggled. "I missed cuddling with you and going on walks together. Waking up with you beside me. Your cooking."

Faust pulled her down for a hug. "All right, all right. I get it. You wanna fuck, just not in the bus."

"Do your bandmates fuck girls in here?"

Laughter burst from his mouth as he rocked Faith back and forth. "They fucking wish."

The couple chuckled until another silence proceeded. Faith saw the fiery look in Faust's eyes, the appetite for her body that never tapered, his joy from having her there on his tour bus. Yet, all Faith saw was a building on fire, flames flickering behind his green stare. She smothered the thoughts with a kiss Faust took for permission to explore under her skirt again. Maybe she could kill her suspicions by reminding herself how much he loved her, the lengths he would go to protect her.

Voices yelled outside the bus, distracting Faith but not Faust, who rolled beneath her hips, oblivious to the arousal shooting through his groin.

"Yeah, come on, baby. Pull my cock out and sit on it for me. It'll be quick."

"Faust!" Someone shouted outside of the bus.

Faith pushed on his chest and perked toward the sound.

"Where the fuck is that asshole? First, he fucks off for an entire day, loses his phone, makes us cancel a show, and now the prick can't be dicked to help load out because his bitch is here? Getting real fucking sick of the bullshit, Ola."

"Mordy, chill out, man."

The bus door opened, followed by a waft of cigarette smoke. Boot tread hammered across the floor, and Mordy swayed through to the back, scoffing when he saw Faust with his girlfriend perched on his lap.

"You wanna take apart your drumkit, or are you just gonna let it sit in the way of everyone's gear? Oh, sorry, should have known you were too busy to be fucking bothered."

Faust lifted Faith off his thighs, and she bounced on the sofa as he shot up and stared Mordy down. The bass player didn't flinch.

"What? What're you gonna do, Faust? Punch me out? Good thing it's our last show. Wouldn't want your personal business getting in the way of the biggest tour of our fucking lives so far."

"You don't know shit, so I suggest you shut your mouth."

"No, I'm not gonna shut my mouth. Someone has to stand up to you, and none of these pussies will. Go load out your fucking gear, man!"

Faust smelled whiskey on Mordy's breath. He was far too sober to start a fight with the bass player and nodded, shouldering past him. Mordy crashed into the wall and cursed as the drummer stomped off the bus, leaving Faith fidgeting with the edge of her skirt and unsure if she should follow. Mordy scoffed at her and exited the bus after Faust, shouting until she no longer heard him.

When Faust returned, Faith stood up and wrang her wrists. "Should I leave?"

"We're both leaving," Faust muttered as he tore open the zipper on his backpack and scrounged up his clothes and stage effects to stuff inside. He ducked into the small fridge and took four bottles of beer, sticking two in the holders of his bag and pocketing the other two inside his leather jacket.

"Come on. We're out of here."

"But, neither of us have a car, and we're far from home," Faith said.

"Call a cab."

Outside of the bus, guitar cases and boxes of merch waited for loading. Faust opened a tote, wrenched open a steel moneybox and took some of the cash inside. He found Faith's coat and purse and passed them to her before kicking a hole into the plastic container. Mordy and Ola noticed this as Faust walked away with Faith in tow.

"Hey, asshole! What do you think you're doing? You can't just fucking take off with the merch money!"

Faust turned around, grabbed his crotch and flipped them off. "Suck my dick, fuckbags. Find a new drummer."

#faust x faith #valter skarsgard fanfiction #fanfiction

61 notes · View notes

petals-the-flower-flowey · 4 years ago

Text

Strange Discovery Pt.1

Errorfresh story

Includes:

- Threats

- Violation

- Lemon(??)

- Angst(??)

- Rape

- References

Error’s POV:

I hate him so much, he is so annoying he always comes and bothers me, usually about now but today he hasn’t shown up, I’m getting nervous and I wonder where he is

He was supposed to be here like an hour..

“Wait..what am I thinking?? Why am I getting mad over him not being here?! Stupid” I punched myself in the face “Don’t get attached to him, he just plays with your feelings!” I slapped myself

“Ugh..” I sat down on my beanbag and decided to watch a tedious undertale AU reset

‘I was sipping a chocolate milkshake while watching, it was a boring genocide route, I was bored and I usually get more entertainment when Fresh is bothering me..’, I didn’t notice what I had said in my mind until my face heated up, I quickly slapped myself again

“No. Don’t fall for the trap.” I growled to myself.

Then I heard screaming, I wondered what was happening and paid attention to the AU portal again, there was purplish pink, blue, yellow, and green tentacles attacking a sans? And there was a purple blob on the sans, I was confused by this so I decided to go check it out.

I opened the AU portal a bit more and went through, the AU portal closed behind me.

I saw as the Sans was yelling more and more and the purple blob tried to squeeze into his right eye-socket, I’ll admit I felt some pity for the Sans but not enough to help him.

Once the purple blob got into his skull, the tentacles disappeared. I would admit I was a bit creeped out and I hid behind a tree, I watched as the Sans got up from the floor and grabbed familiar clothing and when he put it on, I gasped it was Fresh.

“Heyy Glitchy brah!” Fresh had teleported behind me and when he did that I shrieked and jumped up into the tree, he looked up at me and his glasses read [LO] [L!] as he chuckled.

“F-Fresh I told you to stop doing that!” I said with royal blue blush on my face from embarrassment.

“So that purple thing was you?!” I said still a bit too startled to come down the branch.

“Yup.” Fresh said plainly

Error came down the branch after Fresh said that, a bit nervous.

“Now.” Fresh said as he pinned Error to the tree, which made Error yelp from the sudden touch.

“Let’s keep this a secret between us, you will not speak about what you saw to anybody unless you want a very RADICAL moment” Error was shocked that Fresh’s almost didn’t use his 90’s lingo in that sentence.

“Alright, alright I won’t tell anybody but get off!” I said as I pushed Fresh away, my face got a bit warm, if you looked close enough there would be yellow blush on my face but it was unnoticeable

“Alright broski, if you break your word on not telling it would be unrad.” Some purple flame fumes out of Fresh’s glasses.

“Ugh, why do I even bother with you anymore.” I facepalmed and started to walk away from the tree until I felt myself get hugged from behind, which made me immediately start to struggle

“Get off of me!” I tried to wiggle out of his grasp

“I’ll let go broski but it was just to warn you if you break your word.” Fresh said.

Fresh finally let go and my face was so warm I could probably melt the snow if it was put on my face, Fresh just chuckled at my lemon face.

“You dumb(wad)!” I was censored by Fresh which made me angrier and it made Fresh laugh more.

I just covered my face with my scarf and pulled out my strings

“I need to go blowout some f(un)king steam!” I said in fury

“Okay I’ll come too broski” he said smugly to me

“Can you leave me alone?!” I said in frustration

“Can’t do that e dawg!” Fresh said with his signature smile

I just stringed the Frisk of the AU before they even got the chance to run away and hung them up in the Anti-Void, then found the flowey and dusted them I just started killing the monsters in Snowdin, Fresh was just watching.

The last monsters not dead were Undyne, Mettaton, Asgore, and Papyrus

I had them all strung and I was about to kill them until I heard a portal open, it was a bit far but I could tell it wasn’t Ink’s portal, I look over at Fresh to see he didn’t make a portal so I think I know who it is but I’ll ignore it for now, suddenly blue magic is on Fresh’s soul eye which shocked me, Fresh didn’t react much, his glasses read [WO] [AH]

My soul aches seeing Fresh like this because believe it or not I actually care for that dumb parasite deep inside.

Core Frisk came out of hiding with a Sans and an Undyne, the Sans was using blue magic on Fresh’s eye soul.

“Oh it’s you again.” I squinted my eyes at Core Frisk

“What’re you doing here? Aren’t you suppose to save survivors from me?” I said in a salty tone.

“Sans please let me help you. If you don’t I’ll have to take this Sans with me.” Core Frisk said with her echoy voice

I looked up at Fresh, I know that if they take him, he’ll have a hard time trying to leave and he might come after me once he is free, or he must dust due to not being able to find a host.

“..Fine, but I’m only doing this because I owe Fresh.” I said in defeat as I let go of the monsters trapped in my strings.

Core Frisk looked surprised and confused for once

“You actually accepted my help” Core Frisk looked happy, her being happy actually made me make a ghost smile but quickly I mentally slapped myself out of it.

“Yeah, yeah whatever don’t get so excited over it, I just want to see you fail to try and pacifiy me” I crossed my arms, Fresh looked genuinely surprised to see that I accepted the offer because of him

Core Frisk suddenly got close to me which me nervous and I backed up.

“Now say sorry.” Core Frisk said to me

“What?” I said confused

“Say sorry to them for murdering innocent monsters.” Core Frisk said, the guards of Core Frisk were concerned that she was trusting me so fast

“Ughh, do I have to say sorry to a copy?” I whined and Core Frisk looked at me with a determined look

“Yes!” She said with determination

“I’m sorry for you being a copy of the original Undertale.” I turned around to say that to them.

“Noo! Not like that! Say sorry for killing them!” Core Frisk said

“Ughh! I’m sorry for slaughtering all your people, snapping your wives’ neck, impaling your supposed-to-be-future-girlfriend, making your cousin disappear.” I said and with each passive aggressive thing I said my face started looking very creepy which made them all very uncomfortable.

“But what about my brother?” The papyrus asked

“Uhh- I- um-” I could feel Fresh’s glare.

“I’m sorry for throwing him into the lava of Hotlands??” I said with a shrug

“I guess that’s a start.” Core Frisk said

“I’m going to laugh so hard when you fail to pacify me.” I said to her

“Now. Gimme!” I used my blue strings to wrap Fresh and bring him down to us, I swatted at the sans to stop using blue magic, which he stopped when I stepped once towards him.

“Lol, glitchy brah needed to blow off steam, and he got unradically interrupted!” Fresh said in his 90’s lingo and his glasses changed to [UN] [RAD] to [LO] [L!]

“Shut it 90’s nightmare!” I yelled to him

TBC..

#errorfresh #core frisk #error sans #fresh sans #ink sans #undertale au #undertale #fanfiction #multiverse

23 notes · View notes

dinoyoongi · 6 years ago

Text

I’ll Play For You

SYNOPSIS: You’re a new artist who is given the opportunity to perform at the American Music Awards. When your piano player doesn’t show up, Min Yoongi steps up to save your performance.

PAIRING: Yoongi X You

GENRE: Romance, Fluff

WARNINGS: Language, Anti-Justin Bieber (I would stay away from this if you’re a big fan ...)

WORD COUNT: 4500

AUTHORS NOTE: There may or may not be a part two to this - it will depend on how much of a plot I can think of for these two going forward. But I did scrap some scenes from Yoongi’s perpsective that I might publish as an outtake so look out for that!

____________________________________

“Wait, where is my piano player right now?” you disbelievingly ask into your phone, heart twitching uncomfortably at the unspoken answer. Please be joking. Please be joking.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, he was arrested a few hours ago for driving under the influence. Apparently it's not his first offense.”

You're suddenly dizzy, your body swaying until you find the stiff comfort of a wall to hold you steady. Your grip on the device is so tight that it feels as if the screen will shatter under the strength of your fingers. “Can't you go bail him out? You can take the money out of my album earnings.”

Your manager sighs loudly. “He's trashed, Y/N. I talked to him on the phone and he's mumbling all kinds of nonsense. He's not fit to play piano for a practice performance let alone an AMA stage. I've already exhausted all of my resources and I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do at this point.”

“So that's it? Everything that I've worked so hard for these past few weeks … all for nothing? You said yourself that it's insanely rare and humbling for somebody as new as me to be asked to perform at the American Music Awards and now I have to give it up?”

You know it's not your manager's fault. If not for him, you wouldn't have been given this incredible opportunity to begin with. Rising to stardom from YouTube covers was something that was admired towards the end of the 2000's, when performers like Justin Bieber and Charlie Puth were plucked straight from the internet and onto the music charts. Rising to stardom from YouTube in 2020 when a vast majority of YouTube's content was contributed by people just like you attempting to make something of themselves? Almost impossible. But you somehow managed to defy the odds. You nabbed the attention of an agent who thought your voice was indistinguishable, one that the music industry hasn't heard before. A voice that can't be compared to anyone else, one that will easily make you a household name. You signed the contracts almost immediately.

“Ask around backstage. Maybe the staff have musicians that can fill in. I'll email you the sheet music just in case.”

With trembling limbs, you push yourself off of the wall and elbow through a crowd of excited, noisy bodies to the offstage entrance. You fumble through your clutch for your artist pass, flashing it at the intimidating security guard who studies it like an exam; probably trying to find any flaw on the laminated plastic that can deny you admittance. You don't blame him. You probably don't look so much like a performer right about now. Your eyes begin scouring the packed area for any sign of show staff the moment you take a step in. If the situation were different and you weren't terrified that your entire career was about to go up in flames, you would have marveled at the amount of celebrities that casually milled about. Taylor Swift is in the corner taking selfies with the Jonas Brothers' wives. Bruno Mars stands in a different corner while somebody attaches microphones to his clothing. BTS are squeezed onto a large sofa, a line of media outlets waiting for their turn to interview them. You should be starstruck. You should be nervous with excitement. You should be anxiously conjuring different ways to coolly ask for autographs and pictures in your head. But all you are is desperate.

Catching a glimpse of a man wearing a headset bustling past you, you touch his arm to grab his attention. “My name is Y/N. I'm scheduled to perform in the 9 o'clock hour. There's been … a mishap, with my piano player and he won't be able to attend. Is there anybody here that can play for me?”

You pray that the look of despair on your face is enough for him to at least ask around but he's shaking his head before you can even finish asking your question. “All artists are responsible for bringing their own band or backing track.”

You're knocked forward into the man when a body rams into your back. Sparing a quick glance over your shoulder, you see that the members of BTS have disbanded from the sofa and are now huddled in a group behind you. The tallest one bows in apology and opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off with a quick nod before turning back to the staff member in front of you.

“Can you please ask around for me? This performance is really important to me and I don't want there to be a gap in the schedule if I can't perform.”

His sigh of annoyance is loud and dramatic. “It's like I said, all artists must bring their own band or backing track. What about a backing track? Do you have anyone that can send it over?”

“No,” you mumble hopelessly, blinking away the moisture in your eyes. “I'm doing a tweaked cover of Sailing by Christopher Cross. It wasn't recorded so there isn't any backing track. It's just supposed to be me and the piano. All I have is sheet music.”

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly and you feel your heart drop to the ground. “That doesn't help anyone right now. I just have to say – this is seriously unprofessional. What label are you signed under? Why would they allow you to come here so unprepared?”

You open your mouth but find that the words do not come. You've never had a panic attack in your life but you feel as if you're on the brink. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

“Justin!” the man exclaims happily as you feel a body approach you from behind. Whirling around, your eyes widen in surprise when Justin Bieber reaches out and connects hands with the staff, participating in a childish handshake that goes on for far too long. “How are you doing? Ready for the show?”

Justin smirks, raising a glass of amber liquid. “Just keep these coming, alright?”

The staff member nods frantically. The desperation to please this singer drips off of him like sweat on a Texas summer day. It's a drastic jump from the unaccommodating, discouraging way he's been speaking to you. Feeling your eyes, he glances at you for only a second before whipping his attention back to Bieber. You can almost see the light bulb click on above his head. “I know you're here to enjoy the show but this girl,” he nods in your direction and you pale at the sudden attention, “is singing tonight and she's in desperate need of a piano player for her performance. Would you be interested in helping her out?”

The “Baby” singer looks closely at you. You're aware that he most likely has no idea who you are or where you've come from but you clap your hands in front of your chin, dropping any ounce of dignity you have left to silently beg. Justin Bieber doesn't even take a full ten seconds to consider before he begins laughing loudly. “Yeah, no.”

You stare at his exiting back in disbelief. Every step he takes away from you is like a sucker punch to the gut. The staff member claps a hand around your shoulder, at least managing a semblance of decency when he gives you a pitying grimace. “Sorry, kid. That's show business. Let the scheduling staff know in at least twenty minutes what you plan on doing.”

That's it.

You really weren't performing. You've been practicing for weeks. Months. You've daydreamed about this night daily. You've pinned so much of your hopes and goals on this night. And just like this … poof. Gone.

You don't realize you're crying until the salty liquid drops onto your lips, breaking you out of your misery-filled trance. Looking around, you're startled to see many sets of eyes watching you sympathetically. But nobody approaches you, nobody cares to ask if you're okay. That's show business, he had said.

Show business fucking hurts.

“Excuse me?” a deep voice asks from beside you. Through blurred vision, you can make out colorful clothes and dark hair. Assuming that you're in the way of the BTS members, you hurriedly move from their area, mumbling a quick apology. “No, no. I will do it.”

You sniffle quietly, dabbing at your wet eyes with the pad of your thumb. “Do what?”

“Play the piano. You have sheet music?”

Wait. What? What is going on right now? Is one of the members of BTS offering to completely save your life right now? Okay, maybe you're being a bit dramatic but it feels comparable.

“We overheard,” the tall one with tan skin interrupts. “Your … dilemma. Yoongi can play the piano well and would like to help you out.”

“Yoongi?” you ask, locking eyes with your savior. He smiles softly and you control the urge to shiver. It's a universally acknowledged fact that the boys of BTS – and most k-pop idols, if you're being honest with yourself – are ridiculously gorgeous. Now is not the time to be ogling them though. “I … I can't thank you enough but are you sure? You guys are kind of the guests of honor and well … I'm not much of anybody. I don't want to put you in a rough spot.”

The tan one, who has introduced himself as Namjoon, takes a few seconds to translate your words. Yoongi scoffs and your head whips to Namjoon, suddenly nervous that he has changed his mind.

“I want to help, Y/N,” Yoongi tells you seriously. Don't swoon. Don't swoon. While you're busy trying not to swoon, you wonder how he knows who you are. “Where is the music? I need to get familiar with the composition.”

“Oh!” you blurt, scrambling for your phone. Pulling up the sheet music file from the text that your manager has sent, you awkwardly angle your phone toward him. “I'm not sure how you want to do this. Do you want to borrow my phone?”

“I will send to myself,” he says, stealing the device. He taps a few a buttons before handing it back. You notice a new conversation thread in your texts. Holy meatballs – do you actually have a member of BTS' number saved in your phone?

“I will delete it! Your number, I mean. When the performance is over … I'll delete your number so nobody accidentally, you know -” you cut yourself off, feeling your composure about to crash and burn. Behind him, some of the other members snicker but Yoongi gets right down to business, eyes scanning the file intently. You watch him with a quiet fascination. Whenever he gets to the end of the page, he nods curtly to himself – a gesture you don't think he's aware of – before scrolling to the next. He's clearly confident in what he's doing and it fills you with a warm, comfortable sense of assurance. Although the anxiety that something might still blow up in your face is present as ever, Yoongi has pushed the heaviest weight off of your chest and you don't know how you're ever going to thank him.

_________________________________________

You tried to enjoy the show and performances with the same enthusiasm as the audience but anxiety pokes at you at the slightest hint of your guard slipping. Has Yoongi learned the song well? Does he even like the song? What if he decides that this entire thing isn't a good idea and changes his mind? You're not completely clueless; you've purchased quite a few k-pop songs and you're familiar with the fan culture. Fans seeing Yoongi on stage with you could stir up a mess of rumors. You've asked the stage production staff to push the piano out of the spotlight so that only his silhouette will be visible but you wonder if it's enough. What if he gets in trouble with his company? What if you get in trouble with his company?

Shaking away the bad thoughts, you smooth out any wrinkles in your dress and round the corner to meet Yoongi. You've changed out of your evening gown and into your performance outfit – a long, yellow sundress with chunky, wooden buttons on the chest underneath an oversized, distressed black denim jacket. On your feet, instead of the typical heels, you sport a pair of black Converse high tops. Your manager tried talking you into a different outfit.

“It's your first performance on national television. Don't you want to be a bit more … dolled up?” he had asked, frowning when he saw the mock-up outfit concept you had thrown together. Being signed to a relatively new, smaller company, you knew there wasn't a big budget for stage outfits yet. But you also knew that your manager would convince the label to splurge for a glitzier look if you had agreed. However, you were literally known for singing in front of your camera with Spongebob and Pokemon tee shirts on. It didn't feel authentic to be dolled up.

You had agreed to meet at a quiet area near the stage twenty minutes before your performance. BTS' nominations and performance would be toward the end of the show – to keep those ratings steady, of course – so you weren't interrupting his schedule. He's sitting alone on a sofa in the emptied lounge, air pods in, head nodding as his eyes studies the screen of his phone. He glances up when he senses you approaching and you gulp when you notice his eyes sweep across your figure appreciatively.

“You look pretty,” he says, his smile small but killer. Heat blooms in your cheeks and you're suddenly thankful for the layers of foundation, concealer and powder you have stacked onto your skin that hides what is surely a very, very telling blush. “Are you ready?”

“Am I ready?” you ask incredulously as you take a seat next to him on the couch. “Heck no. I'm terrified. This is my first TV performance.”

“You will do great,” he assures you, eyes moving back to the phone.

“Yoongi?” His head lifts in your direction. “Do you think we can pull this off?”

“I play piano, you sing. What else is there to do?” he asks sarcastically. The first thing you notice is that he's a lot better at English than you were first led to believe. The second is that this man is incredibly sassy. The third is that you find said sass highly attractive.

“What if we're not … you know … in sync? And you haven't even heard me sing before,” you argue. His confidence and optimism is admirable but you want to make sure that his feet are at least a little bit on the ground.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Of course I've heard you sing. Why do you think I'm helping? I'm your fan.”

“My fan?” you ask with wide eyes, jabbing yourself in the chest with your thumb. He laughs, reaching over to grab your wrist away from your chest with a playful, gummy grin. “You're my fan? Do you know who I am?”

“Yes. I watch your YouTube videos. You're very good,” he compliments. The sass has suddenly disappeared and you watch as his cheeks tinge pink. “I like the Eminem songs.”

“Not those ones!” you wail dramatically, lowering your head to your knees. “I was so young and thought I was being so inventive slowing down an Eminem song. That's so embarrassing.”

He's laughing with you when a staff member approaches, headset on and clipboard in hand. “You're on in ten minutes. The crew will come grab you a few moments before to get you set up on stage.”

Any bit of laughter or mirth stuck in your throat is swallowed down immediately. Dread washes over you in goosebumps, a rattling heart and clammy skin. You're startled when Yoongi reaches over to grab your hand. “Stop worrying. You are going to kill it.”

“I am going to kill it,” you repeat, nodding in self-assurance. “Okay, yes, I can do this.”

He taps your hand gently before turning his attention back to the screen of his phone. Your skin tingles at the missing contact.

“Yoongi,” you interrupt him again. He exhales a tiny sigh but his lips are upturned in amusement. “I'm so thankful to you right now. I just … I don't have any way to repay you for this. I could give you the money that my original piano player was going to receive but it's probably just pocket change to you. I want – I want to just confirm one last time that you're sure about this?”

Your words were stuttered and fast and you're not sure how much of it he understood, but he sets his phone down on his knee and turns his body to face you. This time, you can't suppress the shiver when he fixes his intense gaze on yours.

“I don't know how much you know BTS,” he begins, taking quick pauses to think about his words. “But we are from a small company. We were … overlooked and not taken seriously too.”

“Fucking Justin Bieber,” you mutter angrily under your breath. Yoongi pauses to laugh heartily before continuing.

“We did rise to the top by our own hard work. But I remember all the times that we asked for help. Producers, fellow idols, music video directors … so many people shot us down because we came from nothing. And … I see that in you. You are going to be so big thanks to your own talent but I want to tell stories and brag that I played piano for Y/N at her first award show performance.”

His accent is thick and he uses the wrong words in some places but you understand everything as if he's speaking perfect English.

“Wow,” you mumble, your awestruck eyes not leaving his for even a moment. “I think I just fell in love with you.”

Wait.

Did you just …

Slapping a hand over your mouth in horror, you watch the pink in Yoongi's cheeks flush darker before he throws his head back in laughter again. Slinking down into the cushion of the couch, you groan at your word vomit.

“I should have gotten drunk too,” you mutter, absolutely humiliated.

“I think you just became my fan,” he says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and kicking his leg up over his knee like the cocky, attractive little shit that he is.

“Oh, really? I guess I'll have to cover a BTS song on my channel next then,” you attempt to flirt. It's awful, you know, but he grins anyway.

“I will look forward to it.”

“Y/N?” your head shoots up at a neck-break speed. A woman with the same headset stands near the wall. “You're up. You can follow me and we'll get you settled on the stage.”

Like a robot, you shuffle quietly behind her, heart feeling like it's going to rip right through your ribcage. Yoongi notices, taking in the sight of your fingers trembling at your sides. He's not sure what compels him to do it, but he reaches down and snatches your hand in his, entwining your fingers together. Meeting his eyes, you feel the nerves begin to melt away.

“Just pretend you're singing to me, okay? Pretend that you're recording a video that only I will see. You are going to be amazing.”

His words envelope you like a warm hug and you nod, gathering as much confidence as you can before walking onto the stage. Yoongi stays away from the light, quietly sitting down at the piano unnoticed. There's a hushed murmur amongst the crowd when you step up to the microphone and sit down at your stool, various moons and stars dangling from the ceiling above your head like a galactic halo. Scanning the audience, the brightly colored hair and clothing of the remainder of BTS sticks out like a sore thumb, one chair in the middle of their row unoccupied. Upon realizing that they have your attention, their arms raise enthusiastically, clapping and flashing you the silliest thumbs up. You grin down into your microphone before glancing over your shoulder to pass the thumbs up along to Yoongi.

“Our next performer has amassed millions of views with her imaginative and beautiful covers on YouTube. Tonight she makes her TV debut with a cover of one of her favorite songs on it's 40th anniversary. Ladies and gentlemen – Y/N!”

The lights in the arena fade out, your spotlight the only source of brightness. You tense, feeling the weight of a thousand set of eyes trained directly on you. And that's only counting everybody in this room, not the millions of eyes that are watching you from their living rooms across the country. Pressure pushes onto your chest and you inhale sharply.

But then the piano starts playing behind you.

You don't understand. It's the same notes. It's the same melody. It's the same exact song that your original musician had been playing this entire time. So why does it feel different? Why does it sound better? Why is your heart doing somersaults in your chest at the sound of the keys?

Maybe it's because of him.

Yoongi is given a small piano solo in the beginning of the song. It lasts roughly thirty seconds before it's your turn.

You sing.

__________________________________________

The song lasts just barely over four minutes but on the stage it feels like hours. You're in a bleary kind of daze when you stand from the stool, soaking in the loudness of cheering from the audience and the amount of people currently on their feet for a standing ovation. A quick look over at the piano confirms that Yoongi has already left the stage so you do the same, walking as if you're on autopilot.

Since you've come to the event alone, nobody but the staff greets you when you return backstage. They congratulate you and shower you in praises as they remove your wires and microphones but you can't hear them, desperately looking around for Yoongi. Did he already go back to his seat? Was that it – the favor was done so he was done with you? Your chest throbs with two conflicting emotions; complete elation at the successful performance and reception that you've just received and complete devastation at the thought that your time with Yoongi was over. You stand in the middle of the lounge, eyes focusing on the couch where the two of you had sat so closely earlier.

“Y/N.”

You freeze at the sound of his voice. Spinning around, he stands in his original, colored clothing with a smug, proud grin on his face. The other six members bounce on their toes behind him, their hands clapping together as they felicitate you.

“That was incredible!” Namjoon exclaims. “Yoongi-hyung said you were good but -”

You lunge at Yoongi, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him as close to you as you possibly can, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You can feel your tears glide down your cheek and you know he can feel them dropping onto his skin. A man in plain clothes begins sputtering angrily in Korean to Namjoon. This must be their manager and he doesn't seem too pleased that you're manhandling his talent but you can't find it in you to care about manners right now.

If Yoongi had a problem with it, you knew that he would gently push you away. Instead, he cradles your head with the back of one hand, using the other to rub your shoulder soothingly.

“Is she … okay?” one of the members asks hesitantly when you don't come up for air.

You take this as a sign to knock off the waterworks, extracting your body from his and wiping away any traces of mascara from your cheeks before they can see. “I'm fine. Sorry for being so dramatic. I'm just really thankful to Yoongi right now.”

Yoongi's hand doesn't leave your shoulder. You can almost feel the heat of his fingertips through the thick denim of your jacket. “I told you that you would kill it. You were amazing.”

“I don't know how we're supposed to perform after that! You stole the show!” Namjoon exclaims. The rolling of your eyes is contradicted by your abashed smile.

“BTS!” a staff member calls loudly from across the room. “You're needed for a quick rehearsal!”

Yoongi holds a finger up to you, speaking Korean to his members and managers for a few moments. They all turn to leave except Jungkook, who is simultaneously the youngest but largest. He leans in to show you something on his phone. “Noona, I did what Yoongi-hyung said and deleted all of my Justin Bieber albums. See?”

Yoongi shoves him away quickly, muttering in Korean, and you can tell that it's not something you were meant to be told. Yoongi is clearly embarrassed and it's so fucking cute that you can't restrain the hideous, lovesick giggles that force themselves from your belly.

“Don't you have to join them for rehearsal?” you ask curiously, scuffing the toe of your shoes against the shiny, linoleum floors.

“It's rehearsal for announcing best male artist. Namjoon is doing the talking on stage so I'll just catch up with them in a minute.”

You wonder why Namjoon is in charge of doing the speaking when Yoongi is clearly skilled at English but for right now, you don't mind it. It's giving the two of you a few more precious moments.

“So … thank you, Yoongi. A million times – thank you. I won't ever forget what you've done for me tonight,” you tell him sincerely, choking your emotion back down. “I know there's not much I can do for you but I'm in your back pocket if you ever need me, okay?”

“I'll remember that,” he quips, gummy smile making an appearance before he turns solemn. “I'm glad I could help you out. I can't wait to see where you go from here. Starting with that BTS cover, of course.”

You giggle. “Oh, of course.”

“Well, I guess I'll let you go now. I'll be cheering BTS on from my seat later, not that you need any encouragement,” you tease. You gulp down your coyness when he takes a step toward you.

“I don't know,” he drawls in that thick accent of his that is beginning to sound awfully sexy to you. “I'm feeling kind of … terrified.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he's doing. Your grin is stupidly huge as you reach for his fingers to interlace them with yours.

_________________________________

Later that night, when you've come down off of your high and you're tucked into the comfortable sheets of your hotel bed, you get a text message.

By the way … don't delete my number.

477 notes · View notes

thewnchstrs · 7 years ago

Text

Riptide

Pairing: JensenXDanneel, JensenXdaughter!reader, DanneelXdaughter!reader

Disclaimers: cocaine use, ANGST, tears were shed

Word Count: 1.6K

Series Masterlist

Feedback keeps the oneshots coming!

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

"Are you sure about this?” Jensen asked, standing in the doorway of their daughter’s room, his wife at his side. Danneel nodded, hands on her hips.

“Something’s not right with that girl,” she said. They’d been worried about Y/N, and it wasn’t just them. Teachers who had always had good things to say about her began calling home, saying Y/N wasn’t as involved, her grades were slipping. She stopped going out with friends and staying out late like she’d done nearly every weekend. Now, she preferred to stay home, locked away in her room.

At first, Jensen and Danneel were glad she was spending more time at home especially because she was spending more time with JJ and the twins. However, her being home quickly spiraled into isolation and quietness from the usually social and energetic teenager.

Danneel scanned the room, beginning at Y/N’s desk, pulling open the drawers, opening every contain, opening every notebook, and even emptying out pencil cases. She searched for any sign of something off. However, as she looked to Jensen, he still stood uncertain in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

Danneel sighed, standing to her full height as she stood in front of him, “Hey,” she began, making him look down at her, “we’re doing this because we love Y/N, okay? Not to be mean, or, or invasive. You’re worried about her, right?”

“Of course I am-”

“Then if she’s not opening up to us, we’ll have to get down to the bottom of it for ourselves.” She knew how Jensen was feeling. They felt awful betraying Y/N’s trust by going through her room without her permission, but if it meant they’d find out what was wrong with their daughter, they would do anything. Their bigger fear, however, lay in what they might find that Y/N had been keeping from them.

Danneel looked up at her husband, running her hands up and down his arms slowly, “It’ll be okay.”

Jensen nodded, trusting his wife, following her into the room as she went back to the desk and Jensen began at her bedside table, pulling open the drawers one at a time. Magazines, food wrappers, nail polish, headphones. It all seemed normal to Jensen whose uneasiness began to waver. Maybe they were just over analyzing Y/N’s recently distant behavior.

“Table’s clear,” Jensen said, turning to his wife who shut the desk drawers.

Danneel nodded, moving on to her dresser, raking through the numerous clothes and socks. “So is the desk.”

Jensen turned on his heel, searching through the closet next to the bed, pushing the clothes away but still coming up empty handed. His eyes raked the closet, eyeing a box sitting atop a shelf. He reached towards it, his fingertips just grazing the edge of it. He sighed, reaching again as he stood on his tip toes, extending his arms out to pull the box down. However, as he hooked a finger around the cardboard it came toppling down over him, numerous random items falling around him.

Danneel jumped at the sound as she looked over to Jensen who was still shielding his head.

“Nice going, James Bond,” Danneel laughed lightly, helping him to clean up the box, throwing back in pieces of loose paper, notepads, her old iPod, CD’s and a few books.

Jensen threw the last of the items back into the box, getting down on his stomach to check for any loose items that may have rolled under the bed. However, as he blindly searched, something under the bed glinted off of the sunlight pouring through the window directly above them.

It was secured with duct tape to the bottom side of her mattress frame, three long, cylindrical objects along with a more rectangular one.

A sick feeling of dread overwhelmed Jensen as he reached for the tape, slowly pulling it away from the wood until the four items still stuck to the tape rested in the palm of his hand, just the weight of them making him want to vomit.

He slowly pulled them out from under the bed, his hand shaking slightly as they were brought into the light, the harsh reality of the truth of what they were pouring over him.

“What is that?” Danneel asked, unable to see it over the box between them. Jensen’s hand shook at the effort it took for him to keep himself afloat, part of him wanting to hide what he’d found from Danneel for forever. Danneel’s eyes flicked up to Jensen who kept his eyes trained at his open hand. Her heart dropped, “Jensen...please.”

Without a word, he pushed the box away, revealing three syringes and a bag of powdered cocaine.

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

Jensen and Danneel made sure JJ, Arrow, and Zeppelin weren’t home when Y/N arrived. Jared and Gen were more than willing to bring them into their home for a few hours.

They sat at their kitchen table, uncovered drug sitting in front of them as if taunting them, mocking them as if saying, I’m what stole your daughter from you.

They didn’t say much as they waited for four o’clock when Y/N got back from school everyday. They held each other like life preservers, anger and sadness and guilt rushing through their veins.

How could they let this happen?

Jensen and Danneel had been so caught up in their thoughts they hadn’t heard the front door open, signaling Y/N was home. They didn’t hear her when she threw her backpack down onto the floor, they didn’t even hear her when she entered the kitchen.

“I’m home,” she said quietly, jolting her parents back to reality as they turned halfway around in their chairs, their eyes sad as they, for the first time, took in the true sight of their daughter.

Y/N’s skin was pale, a striking difference from its usually golden tan color. Her eyes used to be a powerful green, just like Jensen’s. Now, it’d seemed like they’d lost all color. She was thinner, too. Her eyes and cheeks sunken, clothes looking as if they were three sizes too big.

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked, only half interested, wanting to retreat into her bedroom.

Jensen and Danneel’s eyes raked over their daughter’s body sadly before Danneel spoke, “Why don’t you take a seat, honey.”

Y/N stood frozen in her spot as she eyed her parents suspiciously before slowly coming around to the other side of the table when her worst nightmare came true.

It was the long needle that grabbed her attention first, her heart dropping what felt like hundreds of feet down to her stomach and then another hundred feet down to her toes when she saw the baggy laying next to them.

Y/N’s palms began to sweat, her heart racing as she subconsciously felt her inner arm where she chose to inject herself. Her knees buckled, her face went white.

“What were you thinking, Y/N?” Jensen asked, noticing her reaction. Anger licked at his words but sadness gripped him like a vice.

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed, unsure what to say, clenching her fist at her side, saying the only words she could think of, “Why did you go through my room?”

The words snapped something deep inside of Jensen, igniting the already burning flame of anger. He stood up so fast the chair he’d been sitting in clambered to the floor, his fist coming down hard on the table, startling both Danneel and Y/N.

“That’s what you’re concerned about!?” He nearly screamed, his face becoming red. “These drugs- these things will kill you, Y/N!”

“Jensen-” Danneel tried, resting a hand on his arm but he shook his head, hoping, pleading that his daughter would hear him.

“Why?” he begged. Y/N’s head hung low, tears brimming her eyes. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

They waited for Y/N to answer, to give them some kind of clue as to why she thought this was a good idea. She struggled with the hard truth or a lie that wouldn’t make them feel as bad.

“Other kids were doing it-”

“Bullshit, Y/N.” Jensen said calmly, shaking his head. “You’re better than that.”

Y/N sighed, swallowing roughly, not taking her eyes off of the floor, “I was lonely,” she said simply, choosing her words carefully, “I felt like, with the twins being born and JJ and everything, I didn’t fit into your perfect little picture anymore, you know? A young couple with a young family.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Danneel asked, her heart breaking, the scene making her want to cry. “Y/N, your dad and I, we love you more than life itself, honey. We- we can’t imagine life without you. You’re our baby girl.”

Y/N snuck a glance at her parents, her mom, her superhero and best friend. Her dad, her knight in shining armor, her protector. Jensen shook his head at his daughter’s words in pain.

“You’re my baby,” he said through tears, “my little girl, and when I saw this, under your bed-” he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I was so fucking scared that I was going to lose you.”

Y/N wiped at her tears with the sleeve of her shirt, regretting every choice she’d made in the last two months that lead up to this. “I’m so sorry.”

“C’mere, honey,” Danneel said, opening her arms to bring Y/N onto her lap, sobs pouring out of their daughter. Danneel wiped away her tears as she smoothed down Y/N’s hair, “If you ever feel this way again, you come to us, okay?”

Y/N nodded, looking up to her dad who quickly brought her to his chest, his grip strong around her shoulders. “You’re my girl, Y/N. Don’t you forget that.”

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

Forever Tag List

Want to be notified every time I post a oneshot? Let me know by sending me an ask to be added to the Forever Tag List!

166 notes · View notes

daniactuallysnuffledthatpopcorn · 7 years ago

Text

Once Upon a Time

Summary: A retelling of Cinderella; an unapologetic fairytale.

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 2.1K

[A/N] Written for the Phandom Writing Challenge 1: the Anti-Trope Challenge. Beta’d by the amazing Jasmine.

Dan barely remembered his mother. She had passed away when Dan was barely six years old, and his father had remarried so quickly that he had completely grown into his new situation. His stepmother brought two children with her: a son and a daughter. Although Dan had tried to befriend them at first, he had soon retired his efforts when he realised that they were not at all interested in being nice to their new, young stepbrother. It had taken years for him to understand why they were so hellbent on picking on him: they were jealous. Jealous of his curls and his dimples and his laugh that made everyone around him smile with him. And it wasn’t just Mark and Erica, his stepmother seemed jealous too. Every other day she came home with presents for everyone but Dan, dressing her children in expensive clothes and putting shiny bracelets around their wrists, while leaving Dan with their hand-me-downs.

Dan’s father died, four years after his remarriage. Dan abruptly gave up complaining about the situation. Now that the only person who seemed to care about him was gone, he was forced to resign his campaign. He grew quieter with every passing year, simply waiting it out until he would be old enough to move far away and start anew for himself.

One day, when Dan was sixteen, spending his days doing chores and being silent, Erika came dancing into their main room. She was holding a beige envelope, and from the corner of his eye Dan could see the red royal mark, stamped on the front. “Mum, Mark, come in here!” She tossed the envelope on their futon and waved a letter at her family. “The prince is looking for a partner. He is holding a royal dance for the most beautiful people in the country to choose from. And we’ve got an invitation.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Mark asked.

Erika waved her hand dismissively, “You and me, of course.”

Dan, who had been paying close attention from the corner of the room before, sighed and returned his attention to the ironing board.

The peace and quiet returned as his stepmother and stepsiblings left to go buy outfits in town. They left the letter on the table, unattended, and Dan couldn’t contain his curiosity. After a quick glance out the window to make sure he really was alone he picked up the piece of paper and read it. At the bottom, in chic and loopy handwriting, were the names of Mark, Erica, and himself. He was on the list. He stood frozen in place for a moment as he thought over his options. Of which there weren’t many, admittedly.

When his family came home he was immediately set to work, sewing sleeves just a bit tighter to show off Mark’s biceps, embroidering flowers onto Erika’s dress, and attaching feathers to his stepmother’s hat. And as they were all sat in the main room of the house, Dan did something he hadn’t done in a very long time: he spoke up. “I was invited too.” It was quiet, but not inaudible. Three pairs of eyes focused on him, confirmation that they had all heard him loud and clear.

“Excuse me?” His stepmother raised her eyebrows almost mockingly.

“My name. It’s on the invitation.”

Erica rolled her eyes, “Probably a mistake. Focus on your sewing, it’s crooked over there.”

“They wouldn’t let you in. Could you imagine? You look like a scarecrow with a bird’s nest on your head.”

They all laughed. A loud cackling that filled Dan’s ears, ensuring he would shut up and never bring it up again. He sewed in silence.

On the day of the ball the household was up in arms from the moment they woke up. Dan was busy making last minute amendments to clothes, while Mark and Erika perfected their own and each other’s hairdos and makeup. Their mother was circling around them, perfecting her children’s looks, before going back to her own styling. She insisted on going to ‘make sure all went well’, but Dan knew she secretly hoped the prince’s eye would fall on her. As if an eighteen-year old royal would fall for an angry-looking middle-aged woman. He said nothing.

When they all got in the horse-drawn carriage, Dan was left alone in the cold house. The street was deserted and the other houses around them dark. Everyone was at the ball tonight. Dan retreated to the kitchen, where he knelt next to the small fireplace, crying as he tried to warm himself up. He was trembling, holding his hands over the small flames of a fire no bigger than his hand. Salty tears streaked his cheeks and dropped down into the ashes, shaping into grey steam as they made contact. Suddenly, the tiny wafts of steam started mingling, forming an ever-growing cloud that rose above the fireplace and made Dan fall back onto his butt, crawling away. The cloud started sparkling, becoming a shiny silver rather than grey, and eventually mixing in all the colours of the rainbow until it disappeared and a small old woman appeared in its place.

Dan was dumbfounded, staring with open mouth at the lady with her soft white hair tied back in a bun and her wrinkly but open face. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.” She said, approaching carefully, “I am a fairy and I will make sure you can go to the ball. We’re short on time, so quickly, go to the basement and catch four mice. Then meet me in the garden.”

After being used to following commands pretty much all his life even in his baffled state Dan managed to get to his feet and obey the request. He ran down to the basement and collected four mice in the pockets of his apron.

When he brought them to the woman in the garden, she took them and gave his next order, “Find me two lizards and pick a pumpkin.”

Again, Dan went off to follow the instructions. Catching lizards in a garden proved much harder than catching mice in an enclosed basement, but he still managed, holding the slippery animals tightly as he hurried back to the fairy woman. “Excellent.” She exclaimed, taking these from him, too.

She put all the items on the ground, where for some reason they all stayed in place and made no attempt to escape. With a wave of a thin wooden stick the pumpkin and mice grew first, shaping into a beautiful white carriage and four grey horses with glittering white manes. Dan couldn’t believe his eyes, stepping closer to touch on of the horses, just to make sure it was real.

While he stood there and examined the animals, the fairy waved her wand over the lizards, and out grew two footmen dressed in chic red velvet dress coats and high white boots. They curtsied to Dan, a boy in shabby clothes with dust in his hair from retrieving boxes of jewellery from the attic that morning.

“There, all ready to take you to the best night of your life.” The lady said contently.

“But I can’t go looking like this. They would kick me out.”

“Gosh, I almost forgot. How silly of me.” She stepped closer, and gently tapped his forehead with the wand, sending cool shivers up his spine. When he looked down at himself, he saw a beautiful golden suit, stitched with silver thread, and a pair of shimmering grey dress shoes on his feet.

“It’s beautiful.” He exclaimed breathlessly.

“Now go, and have an amazing evening.” The fairy said, “But remember that you need to be out of the palace by midnight, as my magic loses its power then and all will return to how it was before.”

“I can’t thank you enough for this.” Dan said.

“You don’t need to. Now go.” With a tap of the wand to her own forehead, the lady disappeared.

One of the footmen opened the door of the carriage and Dan stepped inside, sitting down onto the soft red futon.

The palace lit up brightly in the distance and as they approached Dan could make out the candles and lights decorating the imposing building. Outside, servants were taking coats and directing carriages. They curtsied for Dan as he entered through the gates into the ballroom.

The moment his feet touched the wooden floor the orchestra on stage stopped playing and the people stopped dancing. All eyes turned to the new entrant and his radiating looks. The crowd split, forming a path to Prince Philip who was already making his way over.

“May I have this dance?” He offered Dan his hand, and Dan gracefully accepted.

The prince’s first dance was for Dan. So was his second. And his third.

The people around them were murmuring to each other, speculating about the identity of this beautiful boy who had captured the full attention of their royal. In a corner of the room were Mark, Erica and their mother, pouting and complaining. “He should give others a chance. This is so unfair.”

But Dan and Philip had no eye for anyone else. They danced all night and Dan had never felt happier, spinning around light as a feather in the prince’s arms thinking of nothing but him.

Until the clock struck twelve. Dan was roughly awakened from his haze and pulled away from Philip. “I have to go.” He said, and turned around. On the seventh beat of the clock he was out of the palace, tripping down the stairs and losing a shoe along the way. He had no time to come back for it, disappearing into the night.

Prince Philip was left by the gates. “I don’t even know your name!” He shouted into the darkness. Just as he was about to give up and go back inside he noticed the shoe on one of the steps in front of him. He quickly made his way down and picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

As he ran home, Dan’s clothes changed back into his cotton trousers and shirt, but his one shoe remained the same. He took it off and stuffed it in the pocket of his apron. He reached home barefoot and cold, going straight to the kitchen where he curled up in spot by the fireplace and cried himself to sleep.

Mark, Erica, and their mother woke Dan up with their shouting upon returning to the house, but he didn’t stir, pretending to still be asleep. He could hear them complaining in the next room about how if Dan had just ironed Erica’s dress better or made the buttons on Mark’s suit shinier, the prince would have chosen one of them. Their mother was trying her best to console them, “He still might choose one of you. After all, that mysterious prince disappeared. Who knows if he’ll come back.”

Prince Philip, however, did not seem keen to let it go. The day after the ball the country was plastered with posters, advocating that whoever fit the Silver Shoe, Philip would marry. In an attempt to stay positive Erica proclaimed, “It says ‘whoever’ and doesn’t specify a gender. If it fits me, he’ll have to marry me.”

They waited impatiently for the royal servants to reach their house and offer them the shoe to try on. Dan watched from behind the ironing board as his stepsiblings eagerly grabbed the shoe from a servant’s hands and fought over who could try it on first.

Erica won, sitting down on the futon and shoving her foot into the dress shoe. It was too big, falling off her the moment she lifted her leg. “Wait, let me try again.” She begged as the servant handed the shoe to Mark.

“It clearly does not fit, miss.”

Mark’s foot was too big. He couldn’t even get his heel in there no matter how much he struggled.

“That’s quite enough, sir. You might break it with this aggression.”

The servants turned to Dan, but his stepmother intervened, “He’s just the help. He’s nobody.”

“The prince wants everyone to try it on. That includes him.” He insisted.

Dan avoided everyone’s gazes as he took the shoe and put it on. It fit perfectly, of course. The moment the servants realised this, they all took a knee. “Sir.”

“He didn’t even go to the ball.” Erica shouted. She was pulling on her hair in pure frustration.

“I can’t afford a wedding suit,” Dan said softly, but I do have a pair of shoes.” He pulled the matching silver shoe out of the pocket of his apron and put it on.

“The prince’s fiancé has been found.” They guided him outside, leaving Erica, Mark, and their mother dumbfounded. Erica was screaming something as Dan entered the royal purple carriage, but no one was listening anymore.

That same day Philip bought his groom-to-be a satin suit with a line of diamonds on either shoulder.

The next day, Dan married his prince.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #phanficchallenge #cinderella #a cinderella story #phanfichallenge

16 notes · View notes

theloudmute-deadaccountwheee · 8 years ago

Text

Don’t Feel Like Dancin’

It had been an awfully long time since Anti had felt mentally exhausted; he hadn’t felt this way since he’d been in Jack’s body. That’s how he had felt 24/7. That, and anger, confusion, and loneliness. Today, he just wanted to shut his brain off. He’d spent almost every day metaphorically trapped in his own mind- breaking down the constructs of what made him tick, what made Dark tick, what it meant to be a demon yearning for a “normal” life…he felt like a philosopher and a psychologist had a baby and, regrettably, that baby was him.

Sadly, he found it hard to do anything else, lately. Every time he picked up his paint brush he couldn’t think of a thing to paint. Dark came home exhausted, sometimes smelling like that putrid blood…Anti hadn’t gathered the courage to ask him about it. As much as Anti loved the snow he was starting to crave springtime- he could have a garden, more fruits and veggies would be in season. Anti did like to reflect, and he enjoyed this quiet moments.

Not so much, today.

He laid on the cobblestone sideway leading to the sidewalk, staring at the light gray clouds that drifted by. So much gray. Anti kind of regretted being “born” in the autumn, now. He shook his head. No, he was happy! He forced a smile, but it faded quickly. God damn, he was bored.

Suddenly, Anti felt a quick burst of heat at his feet. Dark jumped over him; his legs bowed and his feet at either side of Anti. He squat down and shoved his face into Anti’s, shark toothed smile stretched from ear to ear. Anti hadn’t seen Dark this energetic in a while. Dark’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning.

“No more moping around, string bean!” Dark jumped back, still squatting down, then grabbed Anti’s arms and pulled him up. The blood rushed to Anti’s head and made him dizzy; he laughed as he stumbled up. Dark pulled his phone from his pocket and clicked ‘play’ on his google playlist. “I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’ “ by the Scissor Sisters came from his speakers. Dark grabbed Anti by the hands and moved his own arms back and forth. Anti laughed; he had no idea what had gotten into Dark but he didn’t care. This was so much fun.

Dark let go of Anti and moved from side to side, clapping his hands to the rhythm. “So how come I feel so lonely when you're up gettin' down?” Dark sang along to the song, pointing ‘finger guns’ in Anti’s direction. The upbeat song got Anti to bop his head up and down. Dark too Anti by the hand and twirled him around and sang in as high a pitch as his voice could go, “But I don't feel like dancin' when the old Joanna plays!” After twirling him, Dark pulled him in close and dipped Anti, close to the ground and leaned in, kissing him on the lips. He lifted Anti back up and they stood straight, noses touching. Dark’s hand rested on Anti’s back as he held him close.

Anti felt out of breath as he laughed, “Dark, what has gotten into you?”

“You’re in existential crisis 24/7 and I’m always busy. We’re gonna spar, I’m gonna kick your ass, then we’re going to a nice place to eat and then back home to watch some YouTube. Sound good?” Dark grinned, eagerly awaiting Anti’s response.

“Wu-well, uh, yeah, that sounds great! Sudden, but hey, we haven’t done anything in a while!”

“You know…” Dark’s hand slid down to Anti’s rear and cupped his cheek, then playfully squeezed. “…we could do something else.” Anti shrieked and broke from Dark’s grasp and Dark chortled.

Anti’s pupils shrank. His palms sweat. He hated when Dark did this. It made him feel awful…because that’s what a relationship was supposed to be, wasn’t it? That was supposed to be the end result, right? And Dark wanted to so badly. Anti…did not.

Or did he? He didn’t know; thinking about it just made him so nervous. He’d seen sex before, through Jack’s eyes. On the computer. In Jack’s home. It didn’t appeal to him. Did that make him wrong? To deny Dark something that Dark clearly ached to do?

Dark’s playful smile faded when he saw Anti’s face, lost in thought. “Hey, you alright?” Dark pulled his phone back out of his pocket and paused the music.

No, I’m not, I just want to go hide in that tub. Look what I’ve done now…Dark was in such a good mood and I ruined it. I owe him this, now. Anti faked a smile. “Let’s go to the bedroom, hm?”

Dark sighed. “Backyard, Anti.” Dark carefully took his hand and the walked around their home to the backyard. A small cobblestone wall divided their home and the neighbors; Dark hopped up on the wall and Anti followed. “There’s no way I’m gonna make you do something you don’t want to do.”

Anti looked at his feet, “You want to so bad…I don’t know if I even want to…especially if it’s something I have to do.”

Dark delicately held Anti’s chin and lifted his head up to face him. “You don’t have to do anything. If you discover you’re ace, that’s perfectly fine and I’m proud of you for being you. If you’re just not ready yet then I’ll wait for you. For as long as it takes.”

“Do you mean that?” Anti asked.

“You know I do. I’ve waited for you this long.”

Anti breathed a sigh of relief, though he still felt like he’d disappointed Dark. Like the spark was gone from Dark’s eyes…but what could he do?

Oh!

Anti reeled back and punched Dark off the wall, sending him crashing to the ground. Anti hopped off the wall and got into a fighting stance, waiting for Dark to stand. Dark slowly picked himself up, softly chuckling. He rubbed the spot on his cheek where Anti punched him and spat. “You cheeky little bitch.”

“You told me you always have to be on guard.” Anti smirked, his glitch dancing around his arms. Anti lunged towards Dark and Dark stepped out of the way, fiddling with his phone.

“Wait wait wait, lemme get a song going!” Dark pleaded, scrolling through a playlist.

Anti kicked at Dark’s face but Dark bent backwards, still on his phone. He straightened his back and finally found the song he was looking for, “Tattoos” by Caravan Palace, and pressed play. He shoved his phone back in his pocket and let the fire in his heart swirl around his arms and on his hands. He let the flames form a wall around him.

Anti teleported into Dark’s ring of fire, grabbed Dark by his shoulders, and flung Dark out of his ring/wall of fire; Dark landed on his back. Anti ran through the wall, fast enough for the flames to ignore him, and charged and Dark. Dark scuttled backwards as fast as he could.

Dark hopped up, Anti went to knee Dark in the stomach but he dodged. Dark panted sweat but, all the while, had a huge smile on his face. He could think of nothing better to do than to spar with Anti…

Anti felt the area around his power limiter burn and ache…he was used to the burn, at this point. It was almost…rewarding. Pushing the limits. He hadn’t realized how much he missed sparring with Dark. He never realized how much he enjoyed the burn around his limiter…

Dark dodged Anti’s every blow. Left. Right. Uppercut! Anti’s getting so much better at offense! Fuck yeah!

Anti didn’t realize how hungry he was…

How badly he missed the warm sensation of salty…bitter…blood.

How badly he missed tearing into the fibers of human flesh…

“WHEW! HEY! ANTI!” Dark shouted, stopping and bending over. Anti stopped in his tracks and shook his head. The burning sensation faded—what in the hell was Anti thinking? “Whew…I could hardly keep up, man! How about we go get cleaned up and head to a pub for some grub?”

Anti blinked a few times, getting back to reality. “H-hey, man, sounds good to me.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead…he was pretty hungry. As he and Dark walked through the back door and upstairs to get clean, he excitedly thought of where they were going to eat. What they were going to watch later that night…

It was as if the thoughts that crossed his mind…never happened.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ I can’t thank y’all enough for your patience. I’ve been staring at this fic for so long. I’ve gotten mad at it a few times. Called it names. But we made up over a cup of tea. I thought the fic was going to take a certain turn, it went a different way or two, and I’m happy with the results. More to come, as promised! ...slowly but surely!!! Thank you guys so much for reading; let me know how I can improve, what you liked, and whatnot! <3

22 notes · View notes