#I need 2 just quit but alas I am deep rest as fucke

[karmaphone]

.

[avintagekiss24]

—belated; bucky barnes

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x black!reader

word count: 4738

warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, rough sex, anal sex, biting kink, choking kink, spanking, pain kink, vaginal fingering, mean bucky (my fave), ring kink cuz i love it when boys wear rings

squares filled: @buckybarnesbingo Y3: Birthdays ; @badthingshappenbingo Biting ; @star-spangled-bingo N1: Taking Charge

request: bucky barnes + "pay attention to me or i'll make you" + anal + choking + spanking + biting + pain

author note: it's been foreverrrrr! i'm so sorry! i had to work myself through a little slump! hopefully this makes up for the almost two months we've gone without a fic! this is story #2 for my 5k celebration, all fics will be tagged #5k...holy god. this was formatted in the beta text post editor on desktop, if anything looks weird, that's why :)

gif by @pedropcl ; line divider by @firefly-graphics

James Buchanan Barnes is possessive.

One of those massive hands around the back of your neck as you walk casually through the streets. Fingers wrapped around your wrist, or shoulder, or hip in a tight grip. He pulls you in close— right into his side as shopping bags hang from the tips of his metal fingers.

Bucky Barnes wants every man on the streets of Greece to know that you are his.

Not that you mind; quite the contrary. You just smile and giggle when he throws his heavy arm around your shoulders and hooks the crease of his arm right underneath your chin. Slip your hand into the back pocket of his loose dark jeans (giving that little tush of his a squeeze). Slink your arm around his little waist and breathe in his scent— heavy and woodsy— as the two of you stroll.

After all, he’s just as much yours as you are his.

All of his friends, Sam, Steve, Clint, all see the change in him. The little soft spot for you that blinds him entirely— turns him in a mushy puddle of emotions and puppies and rainbows. Very different from the Bucky they grew up with, but a Bucky that the three of them have come to enjoy. It’s a change of pace from the enforcer they know.

The two of you don’t talk about his work— in fact, it’s the reason why you’re in Greece to begin with. A late birthday present to make up for the fact that his “work” just happened to be the waiter at the restaurant he chose to take you to for your thirty second birthday. Come on babe, he chuckled as you scowled back at him over the rim of your wine glass, watching as he stained his white napkin red with his bloody knuckles, you know what they say, kill two birds with one stone… not funny?

Two weeks, two nonrefundable, open ended tickets, and five grand in bikinis, shorts, and shoes later, you’re getting some much needed Greek sun on your deep brown skin.

He’s even letting you call the shots for a change. Letting you wake him up at the ass crack of dawn to have breakfast— a spread of breads, cheeses and fruits on the balcony of your room as the sun rises. He doesn’t say a word as you drag him through the city, stopping at each little boutique and shoe store. Sits patiently as you try on every dress, every skirt, and every silk top in the entire country it seems.

Bucky even bit his lip as you gazed at engagement rings— hinting that princess cut is your favorite as you held your hand up into the natural sunlight as one adored your finger. Smiling over at him and wiggling your eyebrows all the while as he narrowed his eyes and plastered a fake smile on his face.

Today has been like all the others, a lazy day spent on the beach, a quick nap underneath an umbrella, a concoction of too much sun and too many margaritas going straight to your head. Now, you’re kinda sleepy and kinda drunk, but most importantly hungry— and Mykonos sounds like a great place for dinner. Despite Bucky’s objections (you’re too tired and too drunk to handle a ferry), you’re dressed in a cute little flowery sundress, him in an out-of-character white tank top, open pale blue and green striped button down and khaki chinos— you forbade him from bringing anything black— and you’re flip flops are slapping against the cobblestone street towards the ferry.

“Drop your attitude,” You say, glancing over your shoulder as he pays for your tickets, “You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, that excuse is wearing thin, girl.” You stumble a little with the motion of the ferry as you step onto it, having to grab onto the railing to steady yourself before Bucky grabs hold of your wrist, “Water only for the rest of the night.”

His voice is low and borderline threatening as he presses his lips right against your ear, and you know not to press him any further. You like to stick your toes right up against his line and that’s what irritates him most about you (always what he loves most), but you and he both know you’d never dare cross it.

Bucky pulls you behind him, hand around your wrist, that possessive trait rearing its head as male eyes fall on you as the two of you pass by. He finds an empty spot, away from the crowd, and plops down on the bench as you step up on the lower rung of the railing and stare out over the sea.

Within twenty or thirty minutes, the ferry pulls away from the dock and you can’t wipe the smile from your face. The sun sets off in the distance, the bright lights of the city turning into little pinpoints. Small droplets of the cool, salty water splashes up in your face as the wind and the ferry whips it up. You keep glancing down at the phone in your hand as you broadcast your current view to your instagram, laughing softly as hearts and emojis explode on your screen.

You lean forward, tilting your phone and smiling wide, waving into the camera before you shout out how much you love it here. The words are barely out of your mouth before an arm wraps around your middle, a wide, hard chest pressed into your back, “That’s enough,” he reaches with his metal arm, grabbing your phone, ending your live feed, “You’re too drunk to be hanging off the side like that.”

“I am not,” you struggle against him lightly as he sets you on your feet, “What is your problem?”

“I’m annoyed.”

“Well, duh. Why?”

He slips your phone into his pocket and crosses his arms over his chest, sharp blue eyes piercing into yours, “Pay attention to me,” he says low, eyes dropping down your body real slow as he drags his bottom lip between his teeth, “Or I’ll make you.”

So that’s what it’s about. Bucky Barnes feels neglected between all the shopping and beach days and margaritas. Jealousy is cute on him.

The words though, they strike you right to your core— feel them down to your bones. A hard swallow pushes through your throat as your lips part, big brown eyes softening as your breath starts to rush a little harder. You hate to admit— not really— you love this Bucky. This is work Bucky, a man you rarely get to see. Slightly scary, anger brimming just below the surface. Jaw tight, eyes hard, head tilted just a bit. He’s menacing, and it makes your lips twitch into a small smile.

Shrugging defiantly, you cross your arms over your chest, “You didn’t pay much attention to me on my birthday.”

“Not true.”

“Not true?” you nearly shout, eyes going wide, “I ate alone while you beat the hell outta our waiter behind the building! I had to wait two hours for my slice of cake!”

“How is that my fault?”

You scoff, “Oh, I dunno, maybe because our waiter was spitting out his teeth in the alley out back— all thanks to you.”

“I have to work. You know that.”

“Not,” you hiss, “On my fucking birthday.”

He knows he’s wrong for that shit, so he stands there, huffing quick before he cocks his head again and just blinks back at you— unamused. He won’t apologize, it’s just not in his nature, but his usual attempts to make you happy after he’s fucked up aren’t working; so he’s at a loss.

And you’re enjoying that. A little too much if you ask him.

But alas, it’s not fun to fight on vacation, and you have taken far too many liberties when it comes to his tolerance for attitude. It’s been fun— and you’re just drunk enough to push him one last time.

You move slow, walking right up to him, so close that each inhale pushes your tits into his body. The smirk quirked up on your lips grows as you peer up at him, eyes bouncing between his as you place your hands on his forearms still crossed over his chest.

Bucky lifts his eyebrow as you push up on your tiptoes and push your chin forward to bring your lips close to his, “And just how are you gonna make me pay attention to you, James?”

He inhales deep, pushes it out real slow as he tilts his head even further. A smile spreads on his face and you just know that this is the last thing his work sees before he rearranges the bones of their face. This is exactly why his clients pay him as well as they do.

Thick fingers are wrapped around your wrist again, nails digging into your skin as he starts to pull you behind him. He weaves you through bodies, you nearly having to jog to keep up with his strides. Laughter bubbles up in your chest, a little shriek escaping as he pulls you down some stairs to the lower level of the ferry. Once your feet hit the last step, Bucky whips you around his body, sending you spinning and laughing until you bounce into an old, rusty metal barrel.

The smell of salt fills your nose and lungs as you inhale, covering your face with your hands. Your skin is hot, lips slightly numb as you dissolve into laughter again. He’s right, you’re a little too drunk for this.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be down here.” You mumble, brushing your wild hair out of your face.

“I could give a fuck,” he answers, stepping up to you, grabbing your face in his hands, “You’ve been testing me the entire time we’ve been here all over some stupid shit.”

Another giggle pushes through your lips as you bat your eyes, “I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky sucks his teeth as he drops his metal hand around your throat and squeezes gently, the rings on his fingers cool against your skin, “I was stupid, okay? But don’t put on that little innocent act, girl. You’re trying me, and I’ve had enough.”

A smile cracks onto your face, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You wrap both hands around his one wrist and slip them up his arm, feeling the soft metal as you continue to goad him, “You got some proof, big man?”

The tip of his black and gold thumb prods at your lip, pushes just inside. You wrap your tongue around it and suck gently, keeping your eyes on his all the while.

Bucky laughs, deep and earnestly, “Proof, she says. She needs proof.” He glances around before he spins you quick, facing you away from him as he lifts your dress to reveal your pink satin thong.

You squeal loud, pushing and slapping at his hand as he grabs a handful of your ass, “Bucky! There’s people!” you laugh, “Oh my god!”

“Keep your voice down,” he warns, wrapping his metal fingers around your throat again, “Understand?”

A jolt of electricity flashes through you as you wiggle in his grasp. He tightens his grip around your neck as you wrap your fingers around the edge of the barrel, swallowing hard.

“That requires an answer, honey.”

The chill in his voice, added with the slow circles and soft tickles of fingertips against the back of your naked thigh sends a pang through your belly, “I understand.”

He chuckles soft and with a quick peck on the cheek whispers, “Good girl.”

Bucky curls his left arm around your chest, hooking your chin in the crease of his arm as he grips your right shoulder. You grab on to it with both hands, out of instinct, eyes wide and skirting around for any signs of other human presence down here. Bucky turns, moving you with him to eye the steps quickly again before that flesh hand sweeps around to the front.

The soft material of your dress falls over his hand as he rubs your stomach— his rings catching and snagging your skin. That hand pushes downward, over your thighs, gripping and kneading the soft flesh before he grabs the hem of your dress and pulls it upward, exposing those expensive panties again.

“Bucky,” you hum, his name trembling on your lips with the vibrations of your excitement, “Baby.”

He rucks your dress right up— right up around your waist and pulls the slack behind you, pressing his body into yours to keep it in place. The dark stubble adorning his cheeks and chin cuts into the side of your face as he nuzzles in, humming to himself soft before he kisses the corner of your mouth.

Those fingertips start to trace the hem of your thong— slowly. Back and forth, back and forth. From hip to hip. Your eyes flutter. Fingers grip the soft black metal of his arm a little harder. Legs go to jelly as another hard swallow passes through your throat.

“Ain’t got all that mouth now, do you?” He whispers, fingers slipping just inside the silk of your panties to tease the delicate skin underneath.

When he slips his hand in— all the way in— cupping hot skin, fingers dancing between folds and teasing a wet slit, an influx of air fills your lungs. A gasp, small and clipped sounds in the back of your throat as his fingers start a rhythm. You melt into him, head resting on his shoulder as your hips push forward to meet greedy fingers.

A naughty finger pushes in quick, and then a second— all the way to the black and silver rings dressed on them. His arm tightens around your neck as he presses his lips right against your ear, “You need to apologize.”

He fucks his fingers into you, withdrawing slow, and then pushing back in— each time the edges of his rings stopping him from going deeper. You can’t help but purr as you continue to grip his arm with both of your hands.

“I don’t think—“

“All I want to hear,” his words clip yours, each one slow and drawn and deep, “Is I’m sorry for testing your patience. I won’t do it again.” He curls his fingers, the pads stroking that sweet little spongey spot, making you clamp your legs closed around his hand, “Let me hear you.”

You can’t. You won’t. Too stubborn and too drunk to give in to him, wanting to win just this once.

If there’s one thing James Buchanan Barnes does not like, it’s hesitation. It’s dangerous, he always says. You think too long, you get hurt. Predators don’t hesitate.

Well, you like being his prey.

Only a few seconds pass before Bucky tuts in your ear, seemingly disappointed in your obstinate behavior, but you both know it’s just the opposite. His cock pressing into your ass tells you so.

The fingers disappear. The arm choking you just right pulls away and your dress falls back around the middle of your thighs. You huff, wiping quick at your forehead and pushing your wild, curly hair out of your face again.

Your hands find your hips in irritation but he slaps them away quick as he sucks his teeth, “You must really want this spanking, girl. Keep it up.”

That you do— keep it up. Huffing again. Crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child. Brown eyes cut back at him over your shoulder to find sharp blues already on you. A smirk on his face.

Metal fingers curl around the back of your neck, pushing you forward gently until your thighs press against the old metal barrel again.

“Lean forward, kitten.”

Voice as smooth as silk while you do so, gripping the rusted edges for balance. Your dress is yanked up again— rough this time— and twisted around his Vibranium hand. Then there’s warm, the warmth of skin against yours. Gentle brushes of fingers and a palm rubbing slow circles, then pinching and grabbing soft— prepping your skin for what’s to come.

He pauses for just a second, no doubt to scan your surroundings and then pulls his hand away. You lung forward with the slap he levels to your behind within a fraction of a second— the sound sharp and heavy.

There’s another, and then a third in quick succession before he’s massaging your skin again. Real soft and sweet. Tears burn at the back of your eyes at the sting that radiates through, all the way to your bones but the molten heat deep in your belly spreads like a fire. Each breath is hard and shaky, heart thumping against your chest but it’s so good.

Bucky switches to the other cheek, skilled fingers sweeping over your canvas of skin before he cracks you— one, two, three.

You squeal with each one. The thud of those heavy rings around his fingers send a quick, new shockwave every time, building on the one before it. The tips of your fingers go red from holding on to the rusty old barrel as tight as you are, but your brain? She’s fuzzy and warm, and drifting up into the clouds with each swift slap.

Bucky is a methodical man. Three for the right cheek, three for the left, three right in the middle. His hand sneaks around your hip, giving it a squeeze before it comes back around and drops to the inside of your thigh. Grabs the meat of it— digs his fingernails in just to hear you yelp. Cups your cunt in his palm, feeling the heat and the wet— makes him groan all low and dirty.

He bunches your hair in his hand, tugs you up by it. Spins you around to face him before hoisting you up and settling you on top of the barrel.

“You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t you?” He growls, ripping at the button and zipper of his jeans.

You just hum in response, wrapping your legs around his waist and throwing your arms over his shoulders.

Bucky grabs your chin, forcing it up before he squeezes your cheeks, “Huh? Answer me.”

Damp eyelashes flutter as hot air escapes from parted, hot lips. He leans in real close, cock pushing right at your slit and kisses you hard as he slips his arm around your waist. He breaks away quick, sloppy and loud before pecking your lips once, twice, three times again.

“You want me to fuck you, girl?”

The weight of his words are felt right down to your core, a shiver passing between the two of you. You let your heavy head fall back and your eyes close as Bucky nuzzles into the side of your face, his pretty white teeth skipping along your neck, nipping and nibbling.

“I want you to fuck me,” you whisper after mere seconds, finally submitting in this cat and mouse game, “Bucky, please.”

That’s all he needs— all he wants. For you to submit, after letting you have the reins for one day too long. He sinks into you slow, spreading you open with each inch, biting down into the side of your neck as he bottoms out. His teeth dig in a little deeper, a little harder as he starts to move, rocking back and forth almost succinct with the waves of the water.

You’re moving with him too, meeting each of his thrusts with your hips. You keep your legs tight around his waist, feet dangling and bouncing against the back of his thighs. A trail of hot kisses are pressed along your neck and down your shoulder before traipsing back up— teeth grazing along your jaw.

Long fingers skip up your side and between your bouncing tits to only wrap around your neck again. They squeeze, gently, as his pace starts to pick up, hips shoving harder and faster— that old barrel starting to scrape against the wood floor.

The force makes you louder, moaning with abandon as if the two of you are all alone on this little ferry. Bucky makes quick work of you, shoving metal fingers into your mouth— giving you something to suck on to keep you quiet.

“That’s a good girl.” he growls, voice gritty and low.

He’s punishing after that. Each snap of his hips thrusting you backward, the barrel you’re on top of tipping back and then slapping down on the floor. You yelp with each one, your mouth going slack around his digits as your hands fall to the edges of the barrel for some semblance of balance.

It’s obscene, the way you can hear your fuck. The wet of your cunt. The squeak of his cock plunging into tight, slick muscles. The heavy thud of his hips pounding into yours. The slap of your flip flops falling to the wood floor as he’s quite literally fucked them right off of your feet. It’s filthy— crude— and so very Bucky.

You’re back on your feet before you know it— before you realize it. Spun back around, Bucky’s hard chest and stomach pressed into your back. He grabs both of your hands and places them back on the barrel, his metal hand staying on top of yours, fingers gripping fingers.

Eager hips wiggle back into his as you hiss and sink your teeth into your bottom lip, groaning low. Your head drops when you feel his cock push through your ass cheeks— wet cockhead pressing against your hot rim.

He starts to fumble around behind you, each passing second making you more and more impatient. There’s a soft click, and then a light suction sound— something squeezing.

“Bucky,” you hiss, pushing back into him again, “Hur—”

The word breaks off right in the middle as he levels a quick smack against your hip— a warning. Then your ass cheeks are pulled apart, wet, slimy fingers sliding and prodding at your quivering rim. He brushes slow strokes, circling, pressing his fingers gently as he preps your little hole for what’s to come.

“What kind of freak brings lube to dinner?” you smile, gasping as he pinches the inside of your thigh.

You lurch forward when he grabs the back of your neck and yanks you back into him, lips right against your cheek, “The kinda freak that was gonna fuck you in an alley after dinner. Now shut that mouth.”

He’s pressing again, this time harder, his cockhead popping into you with force. You grunt with the initial intrusion, Bucky stopping his assault to allow you time to adjust to him— but that doesn’t last long. Your mouth goes slack again. Eyes slam shut, head falls forward as he slips in, deeper and deeper and deeper until his stomach is flush with your ass.

He wiggles— so you can feel him, feel him tickling the deepest part of you. Slaps at your ass again, quick, fingers glancing off your skin and leaving behind a hell of a sting. Then he’s fucking you again, slower this time, savoring the tight, glove-like hold your body provides.

Metal fingers grab at the hem of your dress again, tugging it up before they push back into your panties, finding a swollen, hot nub. Pinching and rubbing smooth circles against it, flicking and thrashing at the bundle of nerves before he shoves his fingers back into your cunt. They curl, those fingers, and pet your insides with surgical precision— only James Buchanan Barnes knows how to fuck you like this.

The heel of his palm slams against your clit as he fingers you rough and fucks your ass with gusto. Sleazy sounds gurgle up in your throat, the slapping of skin and the waves crashing against the side of the ferry, the rush of the wind filling your ears. Bucky pulls you flush against him and slithers his tongue just beneath your ear before his teeth grab a hold, tugging soft.

Teeth keep nipping— along your jaw, your cheeks, ears, neck. He fucks into you hard as he shoves his flesh hand into the neckline of your dress, gripping your tits. Pinching and kneading hard, thick nipples, mumbling sweet nothings all the while.

Your stomach churns, muscles tensing and flexing as synapses start to fire off in quick succession. Quick goosebumps pop up along your skin as your stomach tightens and you can taste it it’s so close. Bucky knows it, feels it as your walls constrict around his fingers, your asshole tightening around him. Vibranium fingers keep rubbing, keep fucking into your pussy hard, palm slapping against your clit, adding more and more pressure until the coil snaps.

It’s hard, and sudden— your body freezing as your orgasm consumes you. Bucky clamps a wet hand over your mouth as you mewl and bite into his palm, your hips thrusting forward with each wave of your release. He pulls his fingers from you to slap at your jumping clit, pressing the pads into it before he rubs quick little circles and then slaps at it again.

He drops his hand to your chin, yanking it up as you nearly cry, mewling and trembling with your release to kiss you hard and sloppy as you come. He kneads your tits with his mammoth hand as aftershocks flash through you, your used body jerking at random. Within seconds, there's a cloud of warmth in your ass. Rough grunts in your ear, growing louder with each spurt of his cock, your hot muscles milking him.

You let him use you, let him fill you up full of his silk. Grab his hands and lace your fingers with his as he empties long ribbons in you. Pull his arms around your waist and hold them there as he rides it out, his head falling to your shoulder. The two of you stand there, resting against that old barrel, breathing hard, skin sticky and balmy. Salt from the ocean in your nose.

Bucky’s the first to pull away, glancing back at the stairs before he pulls himself gingerly from you, leaving your body empty, a dribble of his come slipping out with him. He catches it with his fingers, drags them up the back of your thigh and between your ass cheeks before he shrugs out of his collared shirt and white tank top.

He cleans you up sweet with the tank top. Keeps his arm around your waist to steady you as he wipes at your thighs and your hot, sticky, puffy cunt, shushing you soft when you jump and whimper at the contact. He flings the messy tank top over the side of the ferry and rubs your hips and stomach real slow, murmuring into your ear all the while.

Diligent fingers then rearrange your thong— and cop a little feel, cupping your sensitive, swollen sex, giving it a little pinch so he can laugh when you shiver and squeak. Bucky pulls your dress, tugging lightly to get it back straight around your waist before smoothing it over your ass and thighs— even pulls at the top, making sure your tits are sitting pretty.

You can’t even open your eyes, overcome by alcohol and sleepiness and a post sex high. He fumbles with your fingers as your head lulls on his shoulder, a soft hum vibrating in your throat in your murky haze. Bucky lifts your arm by the elbow, sliding his hand up your forearm until he’s cupping your hand in his.

“Open your eyes, baby.” You groan in protest, causing a chuckle to rumble through his chest, “Come on.”

So you do. You always do whatever this man wants you to do— and there, right on your finger sits that big princess cut engagement ring you teased him with days before.

“How about we skip dinner and find a church, huh?” he whispers, kissing your cheek soft and sweet.

You glance at him over your shoulder, eyes wet as a smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth, “And if I say no?”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” He laughs as you adjust in his arms, pushing up on your tiptoes to cup his handsome face and kiss him on those pretty pink lips, “Then I guess I’ll have to fuck some sense into that pretty mouth of yours, won’t I birthday girl?”

[taestefully-in-luv]

The Island | KTH (Eight)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 10.7k

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension (?) mentions of sex, someone gets punched by someone,

Notes: Enjoy this chapter guys:) Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat about the stories!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @everythingnamjoon @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni @helenazbmrskai @justinetingball @jpeachytaev @marplest @calling-dips-on-j-hope @lecavivien @fancycollectormoon @mawwnsterr

© taestefully-in-luv

Previous --- Next

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The room you are in is as cold and empty as you feel. The one single table with 3 chairs, 2 on one side and the one you are currently occupying across from them. The room feels chilling like ghosts haunt it. Maybe they do, you think. The silence is truly deafening and the wait for these 2 other chairs to be filled makes you anxious. It’s been a few months since you have been back here and it makes you uncomfortable each time but you know little by little you are receiving answers.

Finally, after a long wait the heavy door to the room screeches open. And in comes a man and woman in professional clothing—he in a suit and the woman in a dress suit. They smile at you awkwardly like they feel pity. They both pull out their chair and take a seat.

“Have you found it yet? The island?” you’re quick to blurt out and they nervously look at one another before frowning.

“It isn’t that easy unfortunately Miss y/l/n. We’ve been in search of this company for over 50 years.” The woman taps her fingers on the table. “We have yet to find them or this island you speak of.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes you as you roll your eyes to the side.

“What kind of intel agency is this? You can’t even find some lame ass fucking love company.” You spit out.

The man hardens his eyes at you as he takes a long, deep breath. Obviously trying to gather his patience.

“Here’s what we do know.” He begins. “They tapped your home, your cell, all of your accounts and spied on you for over a year. Doing their…” he pauses, biting his lip. “Research…”

“And drugged you and your parents the night of the kidnapping.” The woman picks up where he left off, “And then they drugged you again to return you home and also your parents…assuming so it wasn’t to wake them while they were in your home…” she gulps…she understands how invasive this all is.

“You didn’t think to set up cameras around my parent’s house? For when they would return me? You didn’t think to keep an eye—”

“We did.” The man clears his throat, “But they….” He drags his hand down his tired face, “This company is smart. They obviously know what they are doing. The night of your return the cameras we had set up miraculously stopped working.”

You can’t help the laughter that erupts from your body. You begin shaking your head in disbelief, your laughter dying when you realize how serious this is.

“This is fucking bullshit.” You say with a tight lip smile. “Anyway…do you…do you guys…did you look into what I asked of you?” your eyes slide to the side as you nervously pull at the ends of your hair.

“The man you were with? Kim Taehyung…yes, we looked into it. We have been working with Korea’s intel in hopes to solve this case. He has been working together with them. I cannot release any personal information though.” The woman eyes her partner and her frown deepens. “Miss y/l/n…I know this is difficult and you two have been through a lot together. But I am sure you can find a way to reach out—”

“I just wanted to know how he is doing is all.” You cut her off, “It’s fine.”

~~~~~

You stare at the letter in your hands, it’s an off white color and the font in quite fancy. Your parents let you see it a few weeks after you returned home but every night you take it in your hands and stare at it. Not knowing how to take it. The company sent it to them the day you disappeared…explaining the company’s goals. They sent photos of you and Taehyung every week to prove you were alive and well. Your parents said this is what kept them sane…trusting you were okay because they couldn’t—wouldn’t accept any other reality.

Your heart aches thinking of what your parents must have been through but not just them…your sister found out through your mom and dad about the situation and she grew so worried without you. When she found out you were returned home she immediately came to you, sobbing in your arms and hasn’t left you since.

You set the letter down and pick up the pile of photos on your night stand…it’s a thick stack. You begin shuffling through them and you feel like someone has stabbed you in the chest with a dull knife and they begin to carve your heart out. It’s slow and painful…they finally take your slow beating heart and squeeze it in their hands, blood spilling and spilling. Killing you.

Some photos are just of you but majority you are accompanied by Taehyung and seeing his smiling face makes you relieve the experience of getting your heart carved out of your chest.

You glance up at your ceiling as tears begin building in your eyes, you try to blink them back, your eyes opening and closing repeatedly. But it’s no use, not when you feel this lost and hopeless. Suddenly, there is knocking on your bedroom door and your father is walking in.

“Ready sweetie? Got the rest of your things?” He steps into the room, a worried expression on his face but he tries to hide it behind a forced smile. “We should get going.”

You quickly sniffle and nod your head, shoving the stack of photos and letter into your backpack before you’re swinging it over your shoulders.

“Yup, ready.”

It’s moving day. Thankfully you found another job in your old town that you lived in, you found a new, better apartment that is close to where you use to live, you finally are getting out of your parents hair.

“Alright let’s get this show on the road!” your dad pats you on the back as you walk past him. He’s got the truck loaded and ready to go for the couple hour drive. Back to the city!

~

“This place is so much nicer than your last!” Your sister sets a box down on your new kitchen counter, “You actually have a decent sized kitchen! Not that you really cook.” She laughs.

“Hey!” you whine, “I told you I learned quite a bit of cooking while on the island.”

“You also told me that your boyfriend cooked a lot too…so I’ll just assume he did all the work.” She teases and your face falls.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.” Your lips curls so far down that it’s almost comical but alas, it is not because you feel your eyes sting.

“Sorry…” your sister walks to the living room, joining you. She reaches for the box in your arms and sets it down on the floor. “y/n…just message him.”

“…I can’t.” you feel your chest start to burn, “The way things got left…I don’t know how to speak to him.” you admit. “and it’s been so long. If he hasn’t already moved on then he at least hates my guts.”

“Yeah I probably would too.” Your sister nods her head and you swat her arm.

“Thanks Ellie.” You deadpan. “Anyway, I just can’t.”

“He is probably waiting for you…he loves you.”

“You don’t know him?” you laugh quietly, “So how would you know?”

“I’ve seen the pictures of you two, in the moment pictures, and dude, he looks so taken with you in every single one.”

You can’t help the way your heart drops to your stomach. You told him you thought your feeling may not be real…those are some of your last words to him and that kills you. Without a doubt he has had to have moved on from you…why would he torture himself?

~

Later that night you are snuggled up in your bed with your sister snoozing beside you. You have your phone (Damn you missed this device) and are scrolling through Taehyung’s Instagram. You notice he posted a new group photo just 4 hours ago. You look at all the tags and see all his friends…Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, Hobi, Jimin and Jungkook. But there are also a few girls in the photo. You notice the tag for Hana. You hate that your heart completely stops beating in your chest then suddenly starts racing. Hana. He’s hanging out with Hana? Wait, why are you surprised? You take a deep breath and click her name to view her page and then that’s when your heart really stops. Her most recent photo is of her and Taehyung, their faces smooshed together with wide smiles on their faces with the caption “Missed you.” With pink hearts.

She’s pretty. Really fucking pretty. No wonder Taehyung liked her. Liked? Or likes? Are they together now? They look awfully close. You feel your eyes sting for the millionth time this day and they begin to bubble with tears. This is your fault. You pushed him away, so far away, into another woman’s arms. You start to feel lost and hopeless again…you decide stalking Taehyung through social media probably isn’t the healthiest thing for you or your heart. You continue scrolling on Hana’s page…she has lots of photos with friends, pretty Korean scenery, selfies and more. She looks lively and beautiful, oh so fucking beautiful.

You exit the app and click your phone off. You squeeze your eyes shut and a few pathetic tears that you do not deserve slide out and down your face. You really need to move on, you really need to focus on you. But how can you when a huge part of you feels like it’s been ripped from you? Taehyung was a part of you and you think he still is. You feel crushed, fucking crushed. He is probably with Hana now and you absolutely cannot blame him.

Taehyung is doing fine. Just fine. With or without you. And that reality is setting in and it hurts. It fucking hurts. But you have no one to blame but yourself.

“Why are you doing this, huh? Things were so perfect.” He stops in front of you and pulls you up by the arms. Your chests almost touch from how close you are. “Unless…” he looks down at his feet, “You’re saying all of this because that’s how you feel. You’re the one unsure of your feelings. You’re the one who only likes me—loves me—because there’s no one else.” He looks into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Maybe.” You finally say. And you wish you didn’t because Taehyung releases a shaky breath and his brows crease together as he forms the saddest smile you have ever seen. The canvas of his life is full of beautiful bright colors but you continue to splatter blue and grey paint all over it. The paint mixes together and drips down, a gloomy mess.

“Oh.” He steps back. “I see.” He takes another step back, carding his fingers through his hair. He looks into your eyes as his gloss over, “I’ll leave you alone then.” And he turns around and walks out of the room, leaving you behind.

Why does this scene replay in your mind every single day. Every single night. His sad, sad expression leaving an ever lasting imprint in your mind. You feel broken, but you also feel angry. How dare the company send you back when you and Taehyung have so much to resolve? What is the purpose? What are their intentions? You ball the sheets in your hands as you release breath after frustrated breath. What was the point of all this? Somewhere deep in your gut you feel like this isn’t over. You feel like the company still has some ties to you…you can’t explain it…just a gut feeling.

To say you hate yourself is an understatement. You truly can’t stand to even look yourself in the mirror. You ruined the best thing that has ever happened to you—Taehyung. But you should be happy, right? He’s doing well. He has his friends, his family, Hana. He is absolutely 100% doing just fine and you have to accept that.

~~~~~

“You can’t live like this dude.” Namjoon throws a trash bag on to Taehyung’s bed, signaling him to use it.

“Yeah…Joon is right.” Jimin starts picking up some trash off the floor…mostly empty food containers. “This is getting out of hand. I know things haven’t been easy—”

Jimin is cut off with Taehyung groaning loudly and dramatically. He lifts his head off his pillow, his face evident with sleep as he eyes his two friends in his apartment.

“Get up.” Namjoon lightly kicks the bed with his foot, “And open a damn window or something.”

“And maybe take a shower. You reek of this hangover I am sure you have…” Jimin sits down on the edge of the bed, his hand going to Taehyung’s back, rubbing it soothingly. “She isn’t coming around Tae.” Jimin says as softly as possible, “She isn’t—”

“We don’t know that.” Taehyung cuts him off, grumbling. “She could.”

“You said it yourself, she isn’t sure of her feelings…why aren’t you letting it go?” Namjoon sits down on the bed as well.

“I know her.” Taehyung begins to sit up from his place in bed, his hand flying up to his pounding head. “Fuck. I’m hungover.” He complains.

“You went too hard last night.” Jimin frowns, “Again.”

“So what? You think she lied to you? That she does love you?”

“She was just scared.” Taehyung whispers. “Trust me, I know her.” He repeats again.

Jimin and Namjoon share a look of pity mixed with concern. Jimin stands from the bed, taking the trash bag with him, he opens it up and starts filling it with the garbage around the apartment. Taehyung just watches Jimin clean up and he starts to feel a sense of guilt. Maybe he has been a handful the last few months.

Taehyung is trying his best though.

The unfamiliar bed along with the unfamiliar room was indication enough that Taehyung was in a place without you. It only took him halves of seconds to realize he was in his parents’ home in their spare room. A place he didn’t frequent very often. But he understood his situation right away. The island returned him home to Korea but suddenly this place feels like the last place like home.

When he made his existence known to his mother and father they cried over and over for their son. His father going on about his regrets, how he wishes he would have supported Taehyung more in following his own dreams and so on. His mother wishing she had cooked his favorite meal more often. They basically took his disappearance on the island as his death. At least that’s how Taehyung sees it.

His parents’ received the letter as well, even the photographs. They know all about you. They know that Taehyung is in love, they know Taehyung heart aches. They know everything. They were honestly rooting for you two…they could see how much love went on between the two of you even through pictures.

But as the days went on, as the weeks went on and as the months went on, Taehyung started to feel like he is withering away with every day that passed that you did not reach out to him. Did your time on the island with him mean nothing to you? Even if you ‘maybe’ weren’t in love with him like you claimed you were still friends for god’s sake. You still without a doubt had a powerful connection.

Things have been hard. Really fucking hard. But nothing is harder than the day when the Korean intel agency notified him that you were good, that you were okay. That you were home. But they could not release any personal information. You were home…you were okay…but you still have not reached out? He’s relieved you’re well but that also comes with the disappointment that you are choosing to stay to yourself.

“Yoongi wants to work on that new song tonight, what do you say?” Namjoon stands from the bed as well and makes his way into the small kitchen for a glass of water.

“Not in the mood.” Taehyung mumbles underneath his breath.

“Listen Taehyung…” Namjoon walks back into the room, his hands crossed over his chest as he looks at Taehyung with narrowed eyes.

“If you’re serious about this, being with her, that is. Then fucking do something about it.” Namjoon continues to stare down at him while Jimin keeps cleaning.

“I don’t have her number, I can’t find her anywhere on the internet and I barely know where she lives. What the fuck can I do?” Taehyung grits out, raising his voice just the slightest as he talks.

“….There has to be something.” Jimin speaks up. “A clue.”

“A fucking clue? What are we? Fucking detectives?” Taehyung throws his hands up, frustrated.

“Jimin’s right.” Namjoon uncrosses his arms and runs a hand through his hair, “She must have mentioned something, anything. You have to think.”

“You think I have the mental capability to think right now?” Taehyung questions with a bitter chuckle. “She doesn’t do much. She never mentioned some grand event she goes to every year, she didn’t mention what school she went to, she didn’t mention what company she worked for, she didn’t fucking mention anything. She stays to herself.” Then Taehyung’s eyes go wide.

“You know I use to go to this coffee place almost every single day. I miss it. That routine. It’s called ------------…a small, family owned shop. Only one of its kind. I would read, write, journal. Just relax. Every day.” You breathe out, missing your comfort spot.

Taehyung rushes to stand from the bed, he is quick to scoop Jimin up in his arms and place a dramatic kiss to his cheek.

“Jimin you fucking genius!” Taehyung suddenly remembered the night you had a panic attack. When you calmed down enough to speak you told him all the things you missed about your real life. Including some coffee place you would frequent on the regular. But he cannot remember the name of it for the life of him.

“What? What?” Jimin starts giggling, “Why?”

“A coffee shop! She used to go to a coffee shop!” Taehyung basically yells in excitement.

“Okay, what’s it called?” Namjoon smiles and immediately Taehyung expression turns sour.

“I…I don’t remember. But it was family owned, only one of its kind.”

Namjoon can’t help the frown that decorates his face but then he tries to smile.

“Better start doing your research lover boy.”

~

“Cozy Coffee. It’s in (Your city).” Taehyung slams a sheet of paper onto the bar top in front of Namjoon. “I found it.”

“What’d you find?” Jin asks from besides him, “Wait that place y/n goes to?”

Taehyung nods his head quickly with a wide ass smile adoring his face.

“Yup.”

“Now what, kid?” Yoongi brings his beer to his lips as he takes a generous sip. “You going to call that place and ask for her?” he laughs a little.

“No.” Taehyung straightens his back as he speaks. “I’m going there.”

“You’re…” Hobi begins but stops when he sees how serious Taehyung is.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Jungkook starts shaking his head. “This girl—”

“y/n.” Taehyung snaps.

“Right…” Jungkook gulps. “y/n…she ignores you these last 6 months and you are still trying to be with her?”

All of the boys share looks with one another, frowns on everyone’s faces.

“Jungkook is right—”

“Tae told her he would do whatever it takes…he also believes in her feelings. So let’s believe in him.” Jimin cuts in, his hand going to Taehyung’s shoulder and giving him a smile.

“Jimin is right…” Namjoon breathes out, “Let’s trust in our Taehyungie.”

“But don’t forget what she did to you Taehyung.” Jungkook whispers seriously. “You weren’t okay…”

Another day passes and still, nothing from you. Taehyung brings yet another bottle of soju to his mouth as he starts downing it. He feels his world collapsing around him. He feels how everything around him is cracking and breaking apart. But the most cracked, broken thing is him. He looks at himself in the mirror and stares into his empty eyes, these same eyes that used to gaze at you. These same eyes that saw your smile, laugh, cry. These same eyes that undressed you. These same eyes that saw you coming undone over and over. These same eyes.

Taehyung chugs back his drink, his eyes never leaving his reflection as he finishes the bottle. He made a mistake tonight, a drunken mistake but a mistake nonetheless. He slept with Hana. Taehyung, the boys and Hana and her girlfriends were all at the bar tonight and he just doesn’t see her that way. Yet, he was inside her just an hour ago. He slowly closes his eyes, regret and guilt filling his entire being. What the fuck did he do?

His life is all over the place, a mess, if you will. A big, fat messy mess. He got a new apartment, leaving his parents’ house and he doesn’t think he has cleaned it even once since moving in. He drowns in alcohol, he drowns in unfinished songs, he drowns in his friends concerns and mostly? He drowns in you.

He stares at your photographs an unhealthy amount. He has cried over your photos countless times, he has touched himself to them too. Somehow that is more satisfying than the sex he just shared with Hana. The empty fuck he just gave her haunts him in this very mirror. Did he betray you? Have you also fucked someone new? Have you moved on?

Taehyung stares at himself, hating what he sees. You’re doing this to him. He went from being miserably depressed to angry. He’s beginning to blame you for everything with rage. But as much as he wants to hate you—he does want to—he just can’t. He can’t gather that type of energy in your direction. He just can’t.

Hana looks very pretty tonight…she’s been trying extra hard lately, Taehyung thinks. She is always casually got a hand on his arm, she always finds a way to be standing next to him, talking to him, leaning into him. Taehyung isn’t stupid. She wants him still. She apparently dated during the 8 months he was gone but nothing serious came from it. And now here she is, sleeping on his bed as he drinks by himself in his bathroom mirror.

So many different thoughts have gone through Taehyung’s head. Is he hard to love? That’s the main question that came out of all of this. You spent every day with him for 8 months and you weren’t even sure of your feelings. Shouldn’t a person know by then? He’s trying to be understanding…he is trying so fucking hard to understand but how can he? When he is balls deep in love with you and he doesn’t have to question it at all.

He is spiraling, he is being sucked into a darkness that he can’t crawl out of. He looks at himself in the mirror again, his eyes narrowing at his own reflection—disgusted with what he sees. He grips the empty bottle of soju as he feels his eyes wet with tears. He grips on to the bottle harder and harder, tears now leaving his big brown eyes. He growls out, groaning in frustration as he lifts the bottle up and throws it at his mirror. Glass shattering everywhere.

Startled, Hana jumps from the bed and rushes to the loud sound, finding Taehyung just standing lifeless, continuing to eye himself in the broken mirror. He likes what he sees much better. The cracked glass making for a better reflection, a more accurate representation of what he truly sees when he views himself.

“What the fuck?!” Hana yells out, rushing to Taehyungs side. “Are you okay???”

Taehyung walks closer to the mirror and lightly slides his hand down the cracked mirror, his fingers careful not to get cut.

“No.” he answers honestly and quietly. “I’m not.”

“I’m fine, Jungkook.” Taehyung assures him, “At least I will be…when I see her.”

“What if she doesn’t want to see you?” Yoongi says quietly, worried for his friend. He brings his beer to the bar top and stares at the liquid.

“I’ll get to that when I get to that.” Taehyung sighs out…”I can’t let go of this until I know for sure.”

~~~~~~

Settling into your new job has been smooth, thankfully. It’s only been a few weeks but you can say you really like it. Your boss is an older woman, your coworkers seem nice and the work isn’t too taxing. Your apartment is starting to come together as well, only a few more boxes left to unpack. On the outside things are honestly going well…your life looks normal and put together. But on the inside you continue to fall apart.

“Come on!” Ellie whines, “Just give me one little, tiny, juicy detail.”

“Ew, no!” you laugh, “I have nothing to share!”

“Oh, bullshit.” Ellie takes a drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke the other direction.

You two are sitting on your balcony, watching the evening sun set.

“You are trying to tell me you two didn’t fuck? Not even once?” Ellie gives you a knowing smile and you can’t help but laugh.

“Okay maybe once.”

“I call bullshit again.” Ellie starts to laugh, thrusting her hips forward theatrically, “I bet you two couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”

“Something like that.” You admit shyly.

“I don’t blame you. He looks so hot.” Ellie takes another puff of her cigarette. “What was he like in bed?”

“Ugh, Ellie.” You groan, “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Afraid of getting horny thinking about it?” She chuckles and you roll your eyes.

“Fine, I’ll tell you one thing.” You hold one finger up, giving her a look that says you are serious. Ellie giggles, nodding her head in agreement.

“He’s…big.” You basically whisper.

“He’s what?”

“Shut up, you heard me.” You laugh, “First time I saw it he wasn’t even fully hard and I was impressed.” You smirk, feeling proud of Taehyung’s gorgeous dick.

“Damn girl. Nice.” Ellie nods in approval, “Did he know how to use it?”

“Ugh….yes.” you roll your eyes back, remembering the feel of his cock. “He did. Aaaannnd he is probably using it on his new girlfriend.” You sigh, feeling your heart break piece by piece in your chest.

“What? What do you mean???” Ellie puts her cigarette out in the ash tray, “New girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” You keep it short and simple. “Anyway, I really do not want to talk about him anymore.”

“…Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

You give your sister a sad, small smile and she returns it. You feel your phone buzz in your lap and you go to pick it up, you quite literally feel all the color drain from your face. Your heart stops completely. What the actual fuck? Why is he texting you? Him of all people?

~

Finally gathering the courage to buy his plane ticket, Taehyung begins packing for his trip. He got a roundtrip flight for one week. He has one week to find you. He’s starting to get nervous, really fucking nervous. He had all this confidence to do this but honestly? Over the last 6-7 months he has become quite insecure. You left him in shambles. He grew weak without you, he grew pathetic in his eyes.

“Make sure you bring plenty of underwear.” Jimin teases, helping Taehyung pack. “You never pack enough and somehow end up going commando.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Taehyung is too nervous to even joke around, he is too nervous to even look at Jimin—his best friend—for more than a second because he is afraid he is going to see right through him.

“You’re nervous.” Jimin blurts out and Taehyung opens his mouth in shock. But should he be? Jimin is his best friend, he can read him like a book.

“Yeah…”

“I think you have every right to be.” Jimin pats him on the shoulder, “You have been through a lot…and so much is unknown.”

“Yeah….” Taehyung agrees, “I feel like I’m walking into this blind.”

“You kind of are.” Jimin admits quietly. “You kind of are.”

“Do you think…I’m making a mistake?” Taehyung sits down on his bed, messing with the blanket between his fingers.

“No.” Jimin answers honestly. “I am probably the one who has heard about y/n the most. I almost feel like I know her.” Jimin laughs, “And I think you’re right. She was scared. This company…fuck that company by the way, this company set you two up and tried to force love on you. Of course that’s going to fuck her up. Of course she is going to have her doubts…you can’t blame her Tae. Yeah, it’s fucked up she hasn’t reached out at all but dude…it’s a tricky situation.”

“I know…” Taehyung’s head falls into his hands, “Fuck…I know.”

“And…” Jimin sits down next to him, “I don’t want you to regret not looking for her, it sucks that it’s you doing everything, I can admit that. I wish she would grow some fucking balls and talk to you but looks like you got to do all the work buddy.”

“Yeah.”

~

Taehyung checks into some dingy hotel downtown in the city you live, the place is dark, gritty even. But it’s just one of the first places that was affordable that popped up when he was googling places to stay. He doesn’t totally mind, he doubts he will be spending much time in here. He receives his key from the girl at the front desk, she eyes him up and down, obviously liking what she sees.

Taehyung walks down a dark hallway to reach his room—he’s starting to feel like the main character in a horror movie. He reaches his door and unlocks it, opening it and shuffling inside with his luggage. The room smells dusty, the bed is small and the blanket thin. The room is loud with the AC unit blowing freezing air and the dark curtains don’t let in any light whatsoever.

He sets his luggage down on the carpet and sits on the bed…he takes his phone out and sends a text to his group chat that he made it alive.

Namjoon 4:02pm

Good luck man, we’re rooting for you.

Jungkook 4:02pm

Fingers crossed homie

Jin 4:03pm

Bring her back to Korea

Yoongi 4:03pm

He can’t just bring her back Jin

Hobi 4:03pm

I also vote he brings her back with him

Jimin 4:04pm

I agree, I want to meet the infamous y/n

Taehyung 4:04pm

Am I also allowed to vote that I want to bring her back with me?

Taehyung quietly laughs to himself as he clicks his phone off. He lays back on the bed and groans when he feels how hard the mattress is. But it doesn’t matter because he is here on a mission, a mission to find you and he wants to waste no time.

~

Day 1:

Taehyung wakes up early to grab a bite to eat at the diner next to the hotel, this place doesn’t even offer complimentary breakfast! The audacity. He orders pancakes but they definitely aren’t as good as yours.

Waking up and breathing the same city air you’re breathing makes Taehyung for the first time in 6 months—feel alive. Like being in the same place as you is slowly helping him regain some of his self back. He knows you are here. You live here. You walk these streets, you eat these foods, you breathe this air. The same fucking air he is breathing.

Nothing excites him and makes him more nauseas. He misses you. He wants to see you. But he is afraid at the same time. He’s so fucking terrified. How will you react? Are you okay? Do you really not love him? Have you moved on? Seeing someone new? His mind races as he cuts into these pancakes.

Taehyung pulls out his phone and checks the time…almost 7 am. He needs to hurry to the coffee place…because what if you stop by there on your way to work? Or maybe you don’t work right now and you go there just to chill? He doesn’t know but he knows he won’t miss a chance to see you.

Taehyung finishes up his plate of food and pays. He leaves the diner and starts walking towards Cozy Coffee, only a 15 minute walk. He inhales deeply, hoping to somehow get a whiff of you, he looks at all the flowers on the side of the sidewalks and thinks of you. Would you be interested in a bouquet of flowers? He recalls on your first unofficial first date he gave you a handful of flowers from the island and you liked it. Ugh, what is he thinking? All he needs to be worried about right now is fucking finding you.

Finally, Taehyung makes his way inside Cozy Coffee. It’s a pretty small place but big enough for a handful of people to be occupying the many tables. His eyes scan the area but they don’t come across you. He sighs and heads towards the counter to order a tea and take a seat at a table in the back near the restrooms.

He spends hours here in this spot. The entire day actually. No sign of you. And the owner has to literally escort him out when it is closing time. He walks back to the hotel with his head hanging low, he guesses today wasn’t a day for reading or writing.

Day 2:

These pancakes aren’t bad actually, not the second time around. Yours are still better, of course but he’s getting use to them. Maybe tomorrow he should try something different.

Taehyung walks leisurely towards the coffee shop, he somehow has this idea he might run into you on the street or something. But he doesn’t.

The coffee shop is a little less busy today, Taehyung goes inside, orders his tea and occupies the same table as yesterday. He pulls his backpack to his lap and brings out a notebook and pen, he decides he will work on song lyrics today.

Hours and hours pass, tea after tea is drank and still, no sign of you. Closing time approaches and he is once again, asked to leave. Taehyung nods in understanding, gathers his belongings and walks back to the hotel. Slowly of course, because deep down he thinks he just might run into you.

Day 3:

French toast today…not as good as the pancakes but still, pretty good. He wonders if you can make French toast? You never mentioned it. Taehyung realizes there is still so much he does not know about you. The thought kind of drives him crazy. He wants to know you. Know all of you. Know you better than anyone else.

The walk to the coffee shop is slow and enjoyable. The scenery is pretty as he strolls on the sidewalk, the flowers poking through the cement bring him a small level of joy for the day. Once he enters the shop, the owner gives him a smile. He orders his tea and makes his way to the back table, pulls out his notebook and starts writing his song lyrics.

On my pillow. Can’t get me tired. Sharing my fragile truth. That I hope the door is still open. Cause the window. Opened one time with you and me. Now my forever is falling down. Wondering if you’d want me now.

Taehyung sets his pen down taking a break from writing, he reaches for his tea and takes a few sips. The liquid has gone cold. He sighs out and lets the hours pass him by. Closing time approaches like it does every night and he is asked to leave.

Day 4:

He’s back to getting pancakes. He likes to pretend they are yours, that you made them for him. He likes to imagine a life where you make breakfast for him again. He likes to imagine a life where you’re just here again. It’s almost 7 am, he needs to head to the coffee shop. He strolls casually, wondering what you are up to on this Thursday morning. Are you finally going to make an appearance at Cozy Coffee? Are you running late for work? Are you in early today?

Taehyung enters the shop and the owner gives him a sweet smile and begins working on his tea. Taehyung feels grateful that it’s being made without him even ordering it yet, a smile adorning his face. He pays for the tea and makes his way to the his table, pulls out his notebook and continues working on his song.

I’m wondering are you my best friend? Feels like a river’s rushing through my mind. I wanna ask you if this is all just in my head. My heart is pounding tonight, I wonder if you are too good to be true. And would it be alright if I pulled you closer.

Taehyung lets hours and hours pass, his pen busy on his notebook paper. The lyrics coming to him so easily for the first time in months. He can’t help the sad smile that grows on his face as he reads and rereads his song lyrics.

Just like every day when the bell of the front door jingles his head shoots up to see who it is. Now is no different. A woman comes in and his heart almost stops because she looks like you at first glance. Taehyung groans at the disappointment. Because it’s not you.

Day 5:

Okay, he is back to French toast. It’s starting to grow on him, he definitely wants to ask you to make this for him. His imagination begins to run wild with dreams of making food with you again, kissing the side of your neck as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind you. Like the many times he has done it.

“Taehyung…” you whine as he nips your neck with his teeth. “I’m trying to concentrate on this recipe.”

“I’m trying to concentrate too.” Taehyung smirks against your soft skin, “On you.”

You can’t help the blush that begins spreading across your cheeks, his fingers dig into your hips and you moan out.

“Taehyung…”

“What is it baby?” he starts kissing your neck. “Want me to fuck you? Right here?” he digs his fingers deeper into your hips and you start grinding against him.

“Couch.” You breathe out. “I want to ride you.”

“Oh? You want to be in control? Maybe I will allow it this once.” He teases, his tongue licking a strip up to your ear, then he nibbles on the lobe.

Taehyung finds his pants getting tight as he recalls his memories with you. He misses kissing you, he misses touching you, he misses your scent, he misses your skin, your eyes, your lips.

Shit, it’s past 7. He needs to hurry to Cozy’s.

He’s seated in his spot with his tea and notebook out, he swears he is almost finished with this song…the chorus needs some work but he thinks he’s got it. Something about being ships in the night, but somehow he doesn’t have the courage to finish he song, he doesn’t want that to be his relationship with you.

Night time comes and still no sign of you. Tomorrow is his last day and he is starting to freak out. Where are you? He thought you came here all the time? Why aren’t you coming? Are you okay? He is asked to leave once again and he does.

Day 6:

Back to pancakes. Back to strolling on the side walk. Back to Cozy’s. Back to his tea. Back to his spot.

Taehyung feels the nerves in his body multiplying with every shaky breath he takes. Today is the last night, his flight is in the morning and he has made no progress on finding you. This place being his only hint.

“Excuse me…” Taehyung walks up to the counter and greets the owner.

“What can I do for you young man? Another tea?” he softly smiles at Taehyung but Taehyung shakes his head.

“I have a question…” he begins. “Do you know y/n y/l/n?”

“y/n???” the old man begins to smile after expressing his confusion, “Of course I do, that girl has been coming here for years.” He starts wiping down the counter with a rag. “Why? You looking for her? You aren’t some creepy ex-boyfriend are you?”

“No, no.” Taehyung laughs. “But I am looking for her…she usually comes here right?” he nervously chuckles.

“Usually. But she started a new job recently that has kept her a little busy…” the old man continues to wipe down the counter. “But she was in just last week! And It’s Saturday!” he cheers, “She always comes to write on weekends.”

Taehyung lights up at that. “Really??” he shows the old man a wide, boxy grin. He feels like he hasn’t smiled like that in what seems like forever. All because there is finally a chance he might see you.

“Oh…” The old man stops wiping to get a good look at Taehyung. “You look like a man in love.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen just a bit before he smiles, “Do I?”

The shop is busy today. Taehyung sits in his usual spot, writing and doodling in his notebook, his head lifting up quickly every time the door jingles. It’s never you though. It is already 6pm and there is still no sign on you and Taehyung hates that he is starting to lose hope. Are you not coming? He doesn’t have much time left.

Taehyung sits here, his pen between his lips as he thinks about you. He thinks about the first time he saw you…he really thought you were some girl he might have drunkenly hooked up with…he remembers your expression, how shocked, how scared, how overwhelmed you were. He wishes now he could go back in time and hug you. Tell you he’s with you, together. That you aren’t alone. Taehyung wishes he could kiss your temple, bring you in close and make you feel okay. He recalls the first time you two really interacted.

“We need to find out what’s going on.” Taehyung takes a deep breath, lifting his head up. He locks his eyes with yours again but you break contact to look at your feet.

“We don’t know anything…would if it’s not safe?” you quietly try to reason.

“Exactly, we don’t know anything and that’s a problem. You don’t expect us to stay in this room forever, do you?”

He has a point and you know it. You want to follow him out of this room but your feet seem to be glued to the floor.

“Well, no. But—”

“Didn’t think so.” He turns away from you, his body shuffling towards the bedrooms door but before he can become out of reach your hand flies to his shirt sleeve, tugging it softly.

“Wait! Just hold on—” Your voice wavers and Taehyung rolls his eyes. Rolls his fucking eyes at you!

“Listen, come. Or don’t. I don’t really care.” Taehyung releases your hold on his shirt, unsticking your fingers and throwing your hand towards your body. “Decide.” He states before swiftly turning around to head towards the door.

Oh. So this guy is a fucking asshole. Noted.

You end up following him because although he was rude about it, feeling someone’s touch when you feel so scared was slightly comforting and yes, you are aware of how fucking pathetic that is.

Taehyung stands in front of the door, his hand reaching for the knob when he turns his head to say, “Just trust me.”

And now you are the one rolling your eyes. Trust him? You just met the dude! 10 minutes ago his name was Future Murderer. How could you possibly trust this asshole?

“How can I trust you? I literally just met you.” The scowl on your face deepens when he smirks.

“Are you always such a fucking baby?”

“Are you always such a fucking baby?” you mock, eyes rolling so far into the back of your head.

Taehyung can’t help but chuckle. God, you were such a brat. It’s almost 7 now…still no sign of you.

“Maybe if you weren’t always following me, they would have sent us home by now.” Taehyung states bitterly as he puts his slice of bread on top of his now made sandwich.

“I’m not following you.” You roll your eyes, “I have to eat too.”

“You can’t wait until I’m done?”

“You look pretty done to me…” You point at his sandwich and he scoffs.

“I still have to eat it.”

“Eat in your room for all I care.”

You and Taehyung are getting along just fine…maybe not swimmingly but like, fine. It’s been a couple weeks and you have mostly stayed out of one another’s way but it’s moments like this that you end up interacting.

“I think I’ll eat at the table, thanks.” He grabs his sandwich and makes his way to the dining room table, sitting down with a thump. He aggressively picks up his sandwich and takes a bite while showing you a smart ass smile.

“Fantastic,” you state, “Me too.” You finish pouring milk into your cereal bowl and set it back inside the fridge. You dramatically make your way over to the table as well, giving him a wide grin as you sit down in front of him. You slightly slam your bowl down on the table, some milk dribbling over the edge of the bowl and Taehyung snarls.

“Great, you’re making a fucking mess.”

“If you went up and ate in you room you would have no idea about this mess.”

“But you still would have made this mess?”

“Ignorance is bliss, Taehyung.”

“You’re such a…” he stops, setting his lips into a firm line and you lean your head forward, clearly curious about what you are.

“Such a…?” you blink at him repeatedly and his lips curve upward into a charming smile.

“A fucking brat.” Taehyung grabs his sandwich again and takes an obnoxious bite while grinning and you give him your best annoyed eye roll.

Taehyung continues to chuckles as he goes down memory lane…he does regret being mean to you at first but god, you truly were a fucking brat. But he laughs about it now, loving every single memory he shares with you.

The door jingles and he shoots his head up, hoping it is you. But still, just like every other fucking time—it’s not.

Taehyung groans into his notebook, feeling lost and frustrated. What’s he going to do if you don’t show? He’s trying here. Is the universe really that cruel? And suddenly the door jingles again, but he doesn’t look up, he knows it isn’t you.

“Hi Mister Jones!”

Oh. Oh. That voice. That voice belongs to you. Taehyung whips his head up and there you are. You are standing at the doors entrance with a nervous smile on your face, why are you nervous? You are wearing jeans and a oversized t shirt, a casual but cute look. And Taehyung is falling in love with you. Seeing you in the real world for the first time has him frozen in place.

“The usual?”

“Yeah.” You reply calmly, glancing at the empty table at the front of the shop. You pull a chair out and take a seat, your back to Taehyung. He is still frozen. He all of the sudden feels unprepared for this. He all of the sudden feels sick. He clenches his jaw as he watches your back. You are here, living your life without even think of him aren’t you? Taehyung swallows down his anger now. He has to. Anger won’t do him any good.

He takes long breath after long breath trying to compose himself and find his confidence to go up to you and confront you. He blinks back his growing tears of frustration and stands from his table, the chair screeching against the wooden floors.

He stands here, frozen again. What if you really do not want to see him? That this was all intentional? He starts to feel sick again. He squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to get rid of the feeling of nausea.

“Taehyung…” you whisper his name, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You think having feelings for me means that’s it? That it’s the end? Baby, it would only be the beginning.” Taehyung leans down again as he caresses your face. “I know you’re scared. I know you have trauma that you’re still getting through. I know your ex fucked you up. But I’m not him. I’m Taehyung. I’m…fuck, I don’t know. y/n, please just open your heart to me.” Taehyung looks at you with so much compassion that it physically hurts.

“I know,” your voice shakes, “I know you aren’t him, Tae.” You take his hand in yours, “I do like you.” You finally admit, shutting your eyes.

“Look at me.” Taehyung commands, “Look at me babe.”

You slowly open your eyes again, gazing into his dark ones and you feel yourself grow warmer and warmer.

“I’m only looking at you.”

Taehyung quickly opens his eyes as he finds his resolve. You love him. He knows it. He feels it. You wanted him, just like how he wanted you—wants you.

He nods his head, trying to pump himself up, about to gain the courage to walk to you when the door jingles again and a man walks in. A man that immediately looks at you and smiles.

This man takes a seat across from you at the small table and Taehyung feels his heart halting in his chest. He feels himself grow warm, he feels himself grow the company of something evil, something green. He feels himself grow incredibly fucking jealous. So you do have someone. You moved on. You have someone, someone that is not him. Taehyung slowly plops back down in his chair, his mouth slightly open as he watches this man talk and smile at you.

But suddenly, Taehyung notices how tense you become. How you grip on to your purse harder and harder with every word this man speaks. He can sense you from here…something is wrong. Who is this man? Why is he making you so uncomfortable? Is this not a date? Taehyung isn’t sure what to do. He could be reading this all wrong, he could be imagining this for his own sake. He could be creating this world where you don’t love anyone but him.

But then you stand from your chair abruptly and storm out of the shop, this man desperately tries to grab for you and quickly follows after you. Taehyung stands from his chair as well, already racing towards the shops door, in search of you. He didn’t even think about it, he just acted on instinct.

“y/n!” the man calls out after you but you continue to speed walk away until you feel a hand grab at your arm. You are quick to turn around, ready to give him an earful when your face goes completely pale.

“T-Taehyung…?” you stutter out, the shock riding in waves throughout your entire body.

“I said wait baby!” The man jogs up to you and Taehyung, Taehyung releases his hold on your arm and looks between you and this man.

“Baby?” Taehyung whispers out, already feeling his heart crack inside his chest. Maybe this is just a lovers quarrel. He continues looking between you and this man and you can see the hurt plastered all over Taehyung’s face.

“No—”

“Who is this?” The man stands between you and Taehyung. “Who are you?”

“Ben, you can leave. I think I have heard enough.” You spit out and Taehyung’s eyes widen before they are narrowing at you.

“Ben…?” he asks, not even sparing Ben a glance, only focusing on you. “Why are you with him y/n?” Taehyung’s voice goes dangerously low. “I asked, why are you with him?”

“He was just—”

“I was just talking with my girl. Is that a problem?”

“Your girl?” You and Taehyung ask in unison.

“You’re fucking kidding, right y/n?” Taehyung’s face is taken over with a scowl. “There’s no fucking way you are seeing this asshole again.”

“It’s not—”

“Asshole?” Ben scoffs, “Who the fuck are you?”

Taehyung doesn’t even look Bens way as he eyes you, he stuffs his hands into his front pockets and stares at you with his hard expression.

“Answer me.” He commands. “Now.”

“Listen buddy—” Ben begins but Taehyung just a holds a hand up in front of Bens face and tilts his head at you.

“I said, now.” Taehyung finally lowers his hand, then he is feeling his body being shove backward.

“I said who the fuck are you?” Ben pushes Taehyung, his hands still on his chest at the collar of his shirt. “How do you know my girl? y/n…you been fucking other men?”

“I’m not your fucking girl Ben.” You finally snap out of your daze, “I said leave.”

Ben lets go of Taehyung shirt to face you, he walks closer and closer until his feet are practically touching your own.

“Sweetheart I said I was sorry…” Ben tries to caress your face but you smack his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You spit out, “Ever.”

Taehyung eyes the both of you with curiosity. What’s going on here? Are you with him or aren’t you? You notice Taehyung’s confused expression and move towards him to begin explaining.

“Ben is just here to explain why he did what he did…I don’t know why I agreed…but—”

“I’ve heard enough.” Taehyung stops you, he walks closer to you. “He’s bothering you?”

“I ain’t bothering anyone you fucking dick. And you never answered my question—who the fuck are—”

Your eyes are as wide as saucers and you watch the collision of Taehyung’s fist to Ben’s face. You swear you are witnessing it in slow motion, the way his fist crashes into the side of Bens jaw. The way Ben stumbles back and falls to the pavement. The way Taehyung grits his teeth as he brings his fist back to his own body. Did Taehyung just fucking punch your ex-boyfriend in the fucking face?

“She said to fucking leave.” Taehyung growls, “Now.”

“Taehyung!” you rush to his side, immediately reaching for his fist and inspecting it for any damage. You are hit with something massive…like the grandest bolt of electricity the moment your hand touches his. You try your hardest to ignore it, to ignore the fire that caught light, the raging fire that burns so wildly in your chest.

“Come. Come with me.” You say in panic, ignoring the fact that Ben lays on the concrete, probably knocked the fuck out. You hold on to Taehyung’s hand tightly as you lead him to the parking lot until you’re at your car. You hurry to let go of his hand, feeling so fucking nervous. What the hell is happening? Everything with Ben happened so fast that you haven’t even processed the fact that Taehyung is here. Here with you. In your city. In this parking lot. At your car.

“Tae—”

You stop before you can even finish his name. He looks at you with something you have never seen before. He goes to open his mouth but he stops himself, not knowing what the right thing to say is.

“I don’t know what to say anymore now that I am with you.” Taehyung finally says after a long while, his eyes are wet and his expression is troubled.

“I thought I would get here and I would tell you I am ready to make this work, that I missed you, that I love you. But now…seeing you. Really seeing you, I don’t know anymore.” He admits. “I think I am angry with you.” He says softly. “Really fucking angry.”

“Tae—”

“No.” he moves his head to the side, his eyes down at his shoes. “Let me speak. I have prepared a whole speech for you…but now, I don’t think I would mean any of the words.” He shuts his eyes, a tear escaping. “Did you go too far? Too far in hurting me?” he whispers. “Did you ruin me?”

You start breathing heavily, not knowing how to take his words. Why is he here?

“I had to fucking search for you. But did you even want to be found?” he questions you softly.

“Taehyung.” You say firmly. “I—”

“Am I a fool?” He chokes out, “A fool for doing this? Coming all the way here…sitting at this coffee place every single day waiting for you like the pathetic man that I am.” Another tear slips.

“Can I talk now?” you whisper. “Please?”

Taehyung gulps down his spit, anticipating what you might say. He gestures for you to speak and you take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out…” you begin, your chest getting tighter and tighter. “Every day that passed it got harder and harder to do it. If I’m being honest I stalked your account…” you admit with a bitter laugh, “You seemed happy. I wasn’t even sure you wanted me to reach out. Then Hana…”

“Hana?” Taehyung scrunches his brows together, “What’s Hana got to do with this?”

“You two are together aren’t you? I know, Taehyung.” You swallow hard.

Taehyung shakes his head in confusion, how do you know about Hana? You know he slept with her or?

“It was only one time.” Taehyung admits quietly…”but how do you know about that?”

“She posted you on her Instagram. I just assumed.” You say dryly, feeling a pang in your chest as you look at him. So he did get with her. You fucking knew it.

“Why are you here Taehyung?”

“I was here to tell you I love you. I want to make this work.” He says bluntly.

“Was?” you whisper and he nods.

“Now that I am here and I see you, I know I fucking love you still. But I think I’m lost and confused right now.” He admits between bated breaths. “I was so nervous to see you and to be honest looking at you now…I still feel nervous. Like, I could throw up.”

“I feel that way too.” You admit.

“You hurt me, y/n.” he steps closer to you, his gaze is dark and unwavering. “Can I forgive you?” he whispers and you choke back a sob. “Do you even love me back?...That’s also a main problem here.”

“I don’t know what to say.” You breathe out roughly, “I’m sorry for our last conversation on the island.”

“Are you?” he takes another step. “Are you really?”

“Yes, Tae…I …I…”

“You? You?” Another step.

“I was so scared, I was so confused.” You take a step back, but he continues walking towards you. “ But I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” he steps closer. “About that ‘maybe’ hmm?” he steps even closer until he is breathing the same zone of air as you. He reaches for your jaw with his hand and tilts your head up towards him. “I could have fucking told you that.”

“Taehyung…” you don’t mean to whimper, but you do. You fucking do. “I’m sorry. It just got so hard to talk to you but I have thought about you every second of every day.”

“Every second?” he scoffs, “Even as you were having coffee with fucking Ben?”

“It seriously isn’t what it looks like…” you rush to say, “He wouldn’t stop pestering me.”

“Tell me how you feel y/n. Right fucking now.” He roughly commands, his fingers still on your jaw.

“I—”

“I want everything, every detail. I want to know exactly what’s going on in this brain of yours.” Taehyung looks at you with hard eyes. “I want the truth.”

You scrunch your face up as you try not to cry, you feel so many overwhelming feelings all at once. You don’t know what to say. You love him. But is it that simple? “I…” You gulp.

“You?” his eyes soften just the slightest, “Just talk to me babe.” His voice loses all its edge as you begin to silently cry. His thumb wipes away your falling tears. “Just talk to me.”

“I miss you so fucking much.” Is the first thing that slips out of your mouth, “You have no idea…” you sob.

“If anyone has an idea, it’s me.” He chuckles bitterly.

“I let time pass me by Tae, I regret it so much. But as the seconds ticked by I knew I was losing my window of opportunity. And before I knew it 6 months had passed.” You choke, “I am so, so sorry.” You stare into his dark eyes. “The company did me a favor.” You laugh, “They gave me you. I fell in love with you, Taehyung. I just…I’m so sorry I doubted myself, doubted you.”

Taehyung’s features soften as he listens to you, he feels himself grow weak. Especially with his fingers touching your skin. He pulls back from you and leans against your car.

“Are you still in love with me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” You sniffle, wiping your face of your tears. “I think I always will be, even if you decide you hate me.”

“I wish I could hate you.” Taehyung throws his head back, “It would make this easier, I wouldn’t even be here.”

“Make what easier?”

“Leaving you behind.” He says quietly, “Leaving us behind.”

Your body begins to shake as more tears escape you, you feel the heavy weight of his words fucking crush you. He wants nothing to do with you. He doesn’t want you anymore. You fucked up too badly. Taehyung watches as you sob for several minutes, his eyes never leaving your flushed face. He clicks his tongue and puts a hand on your shoulder and rubs it.

“That’s what I think I should do.” He says, “But I can’t.”

Wait, what?

“You c-can’t?”

“I love you too much. And I all my friends voted I bring you back to Korea.” He says with a small smirk.

“But you?” you cry, “You said you are leaving me?”

“I was thinking aloud. And to be honest I wanted you to suffer a bit.” He says with his dark gaze. “I wanted to punish you just a little.”

Your wide eyes narrow at him and you can’t help but cry harder. “You fucking sadist.”

“Maybe a little.” He admits with a growing sly smile. “We have a lot to talk about.” He says after a moment. “Do you want to make this work with me or not?”

“Are you serious? Even after all of this you still want to be with me?”

“We’re soulmates, baby. Or did you forget?”

“You fucking smartass.” You wipe at your face, wiping your snots on the collar of your t shirt. “But yes…I want to make this work.”

“Spend a couple weeks with me in Korea. I want to start over with you. Take things slow. I am still angry. But I fucking love you.”

“A couple weeks in Korea?” you shake your head, “I can’t take off work that long.”

“I am not going to beg you.” Taehyung warns, “But please.”

A couple weeks in Korea? With Taehyung? Meeting his family? His friends? Starting over? Going slow? Can you two really do this?

[asterroidd]

levi’s delivery service

↬  College AU

↬  Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

↬  Word count: 1.3k

↬  Synopsis: As one sleep deprived college student amidst finals week, you never anticipated that your crush would be outside of your apartment at 2 am with cheese pizza.

   Awake but at what cost?

   Your tired eyes scanned your notes once again, hands gripping your hair in frustration as you found yourself having difficulty in understanding the lesson. It had been a couple of minutes already ever since you are stuck on that one page of your textbook, thoughts scrambled and information hardly processed. Oh, how much you wanted to just throw the damn book across the room and jump onto the sweet embrace of your bed. Alas, you can’t since you need to have a passing grade for the course.

   It was that time of the semester that every college student that exists fears.

   Finals week.

   It was the last push of caffeinated-driven system to freedom. The last battle that would decide if one would retake the course once again, or beg the professor for extra credits. And here you are between the fine line of death and life. It’s not that your grades are bad (it was the opposite rather), you have above average ones if you do say so yourself.

   However, there is a slope of adversity that you had experienced that may ultimately cost you getting a passing grade. You just had to fail the surprise test that your asshole of a professor had suddenly given amidst a fit (one of your coursemates was too loud). What’s worse is that he made it to be a huge percentage of the final grade. Now, you have to rely on the finals exam—which is about forty percent worth—to at least get a passing grade.

   So for the umpteenth time of the week, you are pulling an all-nighter just to review for the exams. You can’t afford to fail a course this semester or you’ll be drowning in student debt in no time. It didn’t even helped that your chosen degree is quite challenging. Bah, who are you even kidding? 

    It was the definition of hell.

   “I fucking hate my life,” you groaned, closing the textbook all together and slumping against the chair. That one concept. That one lesson that despite how many times you have read (and searched online for other interpretations), you still can’t seem to understand or grasp it.

   Your body was giving up, literally, with constant throbbing headaches, back pain that for sure hurts far worse that an old person’s, eyes bloodshot red after staring at the laptop screen for far too long with no rest. Not to mention the pit of anxiety settling on the bottom of your stomach, threatening bile to come up your throat.

   Ah yes, the average night of a college student.

   You still have exactly four days before the examination, maybe you could rest for a couple of hours. That said, when was the last time you ate?

   As if on cue, your stomach grumbled. You blinked, recalling the events of your day in attempts to remember the last time you had a meal. You started the day off by opening the textbooks and notes, suppose you had a cup of ramen at that time and a toast. Then, you headed out for a quick trip to the library to pick up a few books that would help you. After that, you practically had your nose deep in the pages of your textbook in the comforts of your apartment. Oh, that explains why you were famished.

   “Fuck it. I’m hungry,” you grabbed your phone, scrolling down your contacts list to call the local pizza place. You sure damn well deserve a whole twelve inch cheese pizza all to yourself after all of that hard work, and maybe a breadstick or two on the side as well as a bottle of soda. It may in be the wee hours of the morning, but a hungry stomach should not be ignored.

   “Yes, that’s all. Thank you,” you then hung up, not even bothering to hear the other side of the line. Too sleep-deprived that you probably can’t muster up all of your energy to be cheerful. Your grasp with reality practically left you already. You swore, after the week is over, you would cage yourself in your apartment to watch the hell out of Netflix.

   A little bit more. Just a few days more before freedom.

   Now that your mind had officially drifted off the academic texts and onto the savory smell of food that would arrive at your doorstep at any moment, you doubt that you could focus again anytime soon. So with a final huff, you shut your laptop close as well as notebooks, never bothering to reorganize them into neat stacks since you knew you would be scrambling through them later on.

   Your body screamed in joy once it hit the soft cushions of your bed, back sore after hours of being in a horrible sitting position. You pursed your lips, it would take an estimation of thirty minutes before your order would arrive, so maybe a quick nap wouldn’t hurt. Without a second thought, you let your eyes close shut, letting it rest after hours upon hours of strain after looking at your laptop screen. Soon enough, you welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep.

   Though, it only felt like you were asleep for a few seconds.

   Your eyes shot open, startled by the banging on the door of your apartment. Reluctantly, you pushed yourself off of the bed and trudged towards the door, fumbling through your wallet to get the exact amount of money as well as a few for a tip.

   The knocking on the wooden door did not cease. In fact, it got even worse. The delivery personnel practically hammering their fists against it.

   “I’m here. Geez, can’t you wait a litt-” you spat, ready to give them a piece of your mind but halted as you soon realized who it was. There stood before you in his workplace uniform, Levi Ackerman, your long-time friend and perhaps crush. Both of you knew each other since high school, being practically neighbors after his family moved in to your neighborhood. After that, you and he would be walking to and from school side by side, quite convenient at that matter.

   “Levi? What are you doing here?” you exclaimed.

   “I fucking hate you,” he grumbled. “I waited outside in the freezing cold for twenty minutes already.” He then shoved the pizza box to you quite harshly. You stared at him with mouth hanging open, too shocked to argue with him for his rude response. What the hell is he doing?

   Levi sighed after seeing your reaction, “Don’t ask. Just a part time job. I needed cash.”

   “Shouldn’t you be studying?” you rose a brow at him.

   “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

   “Touché.”

    His steel gray eyes watched you as you placed the pizza box on the table close by. Levi took note of the dark bags forming under your eyes, the disheveled look that you have, and the stench of cheap cup ramen noodles that radiated from you that made his nose scrunch. He knew that a plethora of students have a hard time during finals week, but he never anticipated you would also be affected by it. You had above-average grades during high school years, after all. Levi, in a million years, would never expect that you would be ordering pizza at two am in the morning.

   Looks like college can change a student in some ways or another.

   “Here you go, buster.” you uttered, tired eyes following Levi’s hands as he took the money from you.

   “You look like shit,” he commented, stuffing the cash deep inside his pockets.

   “Thanks. Haven’t sleep for three days straight,” you fought back a yawn. “Wanna head on inside for some pizza?”

   Levi shook his head, “No thanks. Still on shift for the next hour or so.”

   Then to your surprise, Levi rested his palm on top of your head, patting it lightly then ruffling your hair.

   “Good luck on the exams. I’ll treat you to anything you want after,” he spoke, the tips of his lips curving lightly. Then he disappear into the night, leaving you in a shocked state after what he did. You let a smile appear on your face, cheeks hot after his own subtle way of asking you out.

   Levi’s delivery service isn’t bad after all.

[jaskierswolf]

A Thirst Like Flames

Part 6/6  (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Ship: Gerlion - Rated: E (for smut) - Also on AO3

Rated E - for smutty reasons.

Dandelion shivered as he wrapped his heavy burgundy red cloak around his shoulders. Kaer Morhen had some of the most beautiful views in the continent but it was bloody freezing. It was his first day at the keep and he had yet to meet the other witchers, too exhausted when he’d first arrived, barely conscious as Geralt dragged him through the gates. One bath and a good nap later, he felt more like himself again. If not a little nervous, not too dissimilar to stage fright he’d experience in his youth. His heart felt like it was racing in his chest and his fingers tugged at his clothes, needing something to do.

The sound of his footsteps reverberated in the draft halls, the acoustics just perfect for a performance. Dandelion made a note to bring his lute down to dinner once they’d settled in. Geralt’s family had probably heard of him, maybe even heard his songs through other, less talented, bards, but Geralt was the only witcher from Kaer Morhen that he’d had the pleasure to meet.

And oh it certainly was a pleasure.

The scent of cooking venison filled his nose as he drew closer to the kitchens, making his stomach rumble in anticipation, and he could hear the sounds of laughter.

“Ah, found them,” he cheered to himself, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The feathered bonnet that was usually perched on his head had been left behind in Geralt’s room, instead the thick woollen hood was keeping his ears warm, and completely messing up his hair.

Dandelion had hoped that he would look his best when meeting Geralt’s family, but alas the cold had rather scuppered that dream. So, he took a deep breath and held his head up high before entering the room. As expected the witchers fell silent, Geralt’s eyes found his across the room, and it was easy to get lost in his gorgeous golden gaze. Dandelion winked at his witcher before turning to the rest of the room. There were more witchers there than Dandelion had been anticipating. Geralt had only told him about three other remaining Wolf School witchers, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. The silver haired witcher resting closest to the fire with a book in his hand was most likely Vesemir. Another golden eyed witcher who bore a striking resemblance to Geralt, aside from the vicious scar that ran across his cheek and his dark brown hair, was probably Eskel. That left a third witcher with golden eyes, who he assumed to be Lambert, and two others. One had long flowing dark brown hair, and startling blue eyes, the other bald with a thick dark beard and green eyes. The latter two both had dark tanned skin that was striking in comparison the chalky white skin of the Wolf witchers.

“Greetings, I am so sorry I’m late. I do hope that Geralt wasn’t too much of a grump without me,” he flashed a charming grin at the occupants of the room.

Lambert burst into fits of laughter and stood up, pulling Dandelion into a tight hug, lifting him off the floor. The air was forced from his lungs and he squeaked as his legs were suddenly dangling in the air, but warmth bloomed in his chest. Lambert was supposed the most prickly out of Geralt’s family, and Dandelion had apparently won him over purely by teasing his own grump of a witcher.

“I like this one, Geralt. He can stay,” Lambert laughed as he dropped Dandelion back to the floor.

“Ah, why thank you, Lambert.”

“Geralt was inconsolable, pacing the floor, pulling his hair out. If he hadn’t already gone grey….”

Geralt growled from the corner which set Lambert off again. “Shut up.”

“Oh bite me,” Lambert snapped back.

“Boys!” The elder witcher, who Dandelion was sure was Vesemir, barked and the two younger wolf witchers fell silent. “We have a guest, try not to act like animals.”

“Well-” Eskel started to say with a crooked grin, “-we are wolves.”

Dandelion giggled and strutted across the room until he reached Geralt’s chair. The seat next to his witcher was vacant but it didn’t matter. Dandelion fell into Geralt’s lap, pressing his lips to his cheek. “I think it’s sweet that you were worried about me, darling. Now then, are you going to introduce me?”

“They know who you are, Dandelion.”

Dandelion scoffed and rolled his eyes, running his hands through Geralt’s hair. It was surprisingly untangled, still soft and well conditioned despite the hike up the mountain. As he carded his fingers through the silver locks, Dandelion could smell the gentle scent of chamomile, the oil that he’d bought for Geralt on their first anniversary before their journey to Kaer Morhen. His usual lavender oil was too strong for Geralt’s heightened sense of smell, but the chamomile was subtle enough and helped to calm the witcher even when he was high on those blasted potions.

He began to separate the strands of Geralt’s hair, fingers working nimbly as he continued to speak. “They may know me, but I am afraid I wasn’t quite in my right mind when I arrived. I only know of your family, dearest, and unless I’m very much mistaken. I’m not the only visitor this year?”

“Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert you know,” Geralt gestured to the golden eyed witchers in turn. “Aiden,” he pointed to the blue-eyed man who had now settled onto the seat next to Lambert and was happily draped across the man’s lap. “Coën.” The green-eyed witcher smiled back at him. “And this is Dandelion, my bard.”

“I am absolutely thrilled to finally get to meet you,” Dandelion cooed at the witchers, not bothering to look at the braid in his hands. He’d done this so many times that he could probably do all but the most complex designs in his sleep. When he wasn’t playing his lute or scribbling away in his notebooks, he often needed something to do with his hands. Otherwise he felt restless. Geralt had noticed and suggested the braids. Dandelion had tried, and was still trying, to get his witcher to let him curl his hair, but Geralt was being stubborn about it. “Geralt has told me so much about you,” he lied.

Eskel chuckled. “That would be a first.”

“And probably a last too,” Lambert agreed.

“Fuck off,” Geralt grumbled and Dandelion giggled, poking his witcher’s nose with one elegant long finger.

“Be nice to your brothers, Geralt-” he chided before brushing his lips against Geralt’s ear, “-or else we won’t get to enjoy that fantastically large bed of yours later.”

The other witchers in the room all groaned, just as Dandelion had suspected they might, but he played innocent and smiled brightly up at them all, launching into a tirade of questions to divert their attention. Kaer Morhen was fascinating and Dandelion wanted to know everything! He was particularly curious as to why there were two witchers from other schools in the keep. There was just so much potential in just this one room! Dandelion’s reputation as the White Wolf’s bard and poet was about to get a makeover, he would be the barker for witchers everywhere!

The evening passed in merriment, music and mirth. Wine and liquor were spilled, and the roast venison was simply to die for. Dandelion kept a hand on Geralt at all times, in his hair, resting on his thigh, his arm, his shoulder. After a year together, Dandelion still couldn’t quite believe that he was allowed to love this beautiful, kind and generous man, and that he was loved in return, but Geralt showed his love and devotion every day.

It wasn’t poetry and roses like Dandelion was used to, but it was Geralt’s own unique language of love that Dandelion delighted in learning, and he’d always been a quick study.

No, Geralt’s love was more heartfelt than any superficial trinkets or flowers that would die. It was woven into the very essence of Dandelion’s lute, each note the instrument played, every word that fell from his lips. The love shone in the stars above their camp as they cuddled together for warmth, Dandelion’s chest pressed to Geralt’s back as their limbs tangled together. It was in the breath of each kiss, the swing of his swords.

Geralt’s love was all encompassing and it was his.

Or perhaps he was merely a poet in love.

What did it matter? The result was the same. They were happy together, despite the darkness in the world around them, there was light, like the flames that danced in the hearth as Vesemir began to snore.

Dandelion sighed, rubbing his nose along Geralt’s jaw and kissing his neck. “Time for bed, my love?”

Geralt grunted and swept Dandelion up into his arms. The world spun and Dandelion squeaked as he hurried to fling his arms around Geralt’s neck, not that he thought Geralt would drop him, but, well, it was always better to be safe, and it gave him an excellent excuse to continue kiss the pale skin of Geralt’s neck. The bruises never lasted more than an hour but it didn’t mean that Dandelion couldn’t try. He giggled as he nipped at the skin below the witcher’s ear.

“Would you two get a room?” Lambert groaned.

“Oi,” Aiden swatted his boyfriend over the head, “don’t be a spoilsport, we could always watch.”

Dandelion winked at the Cat witcher, making Lambert flush a deep red. “Out!” he barked.

“With pleasure,” Geralt chuckled, carrying Dandelion through the halls and back up to their room.

It didn’t take them long to disrobe, lips moving in slow languid kisses as they caressed and touched and held each other close. Dandelion’s fingers hooked under the chain of Geralt’s medallion, the only item left between them, and he held the silver wolf in his hand before kissing the cold metal. The witcher shivered as the medallion once again rested on his chest and Dandelion moved on to kiss the pale pink scars that covered his shoulders.

“I love you, dearest Geralt,” Dandelion hummed, and Geralt’s finger hooked under his chin, lifting his head so their lips once again met in a soft kiss.

They’d made love before, but this was Geralt’s room, not some shit-hole of an inn, or in the exposed elements of nature’s forests. This was a home, more importantly, it was Geralt’s home, and he was honoured to finally be a part of it. There was a whole new level of intimacy which warmed Dandelion’s heart, like the sun rising over the horizon, flowers blooming in the spring and fluttering cries of the birds to bring in each new day.

Geralt lifted him up, carrying him towards the bed and Dandelion could feel the anticipation, lust and arousal begin to cloud his mind in a dizzying haze. His witcher was looking at him with the utmost adoration and oh did that make his heart sing. As his back hit the mattress, Geralt stopped and stared at him, a calloused finger brushing against his cheek. It was almost too much, burning in its intensity.

Dandelion let out a nervous giggle, leaning into his lover’s touch. “What is it, my dear?”

Geralt just shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Poppycock,” Dandelion declared, reaching up to capture Geralt’s lips in a quick kiss. “Tell me, darling.”

“You look beautiful.”

Dandelion felt himself blush. His hair was fanned out behind his head and he was sure his face was the colour of the sweetest roses but he was nothing extraordinary, certainly nothing that Geralt hadn’t seen before. Yet this fire that burned between them felt entirely new, and his witcher’s expression was so tender, so heartfelt.

“You look beautiful,” Dandelion echoed, and then because he was a poet. “Radiant as the sun, and as ethereal as the moon, my darling, my dearest, my… hmmph!”

Geralt cut off his ramblings with a kiss and Dandelion wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him closer. They had time to savour every moment, every touch, every kiss. They had forever.

[tae-cup]

Fragments of Lace and Ribbon | PJM

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Summary: You don’t remember much, but you remember them...

Genre: Choose your own adventure, amnesia au, fluff

Warnings: N/A

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3k Words

A/N: Forgive me for not having a dancing bone in my body

Header by the talented and amazing @dnrequests​

Timeline Place: 2

Other:

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

        The sweat rolled down your cheek, raced across your neck, and fell to the ground with the grace of a cheetah. Or perhaps a swan would be a better analogy here. Lisa, the choreographer, clapped her hands together, a tight lipped smile on her face. You hesitantly stepped off the raised platform. Jimin stepped around from it as well. 

“No, no, no, you guys need to be able to capture the emotions of this scene.” Lisa snapped, massaging the crease between her brows. 

“Listen, this scene is where, for the first time, the black swan trusts her lover enough to let herself fall. Yes, it’s a metaphor, yadah yadah, that doesn’t matter.” The woman sighed. “Come on, just get it together.” 

“I can’t help it, I’m nervous. You’re asking us to do a trust fall on stage. How do I know he’ll be there to catch me.” You whispered softly. 

“Is that not the point of a trust fall, Y/N?” Lisa snapped shut her notebook and shouldered her bag.

 “Class dismissed, don’t forget to stretch.” Then the teacher turned to you with a sour expression. “Really, Y/N, it’s not that bad.”

       You just dipped your head, not one to argue with the teacher. A warm hand landed on your shoulder and you jumped, having forgotten you were not alone. Also, Jimin was known for moving rather quietly. The other students were stretching and packing up. 

“Can you help me stretch?” He asked, his voice sweet and soft. Jimin was always soft. 

“Yeah, sure.” You quickly agreed, following him to an open space. He stretched out his legs in front of him and you pressed on his back. He groaned in relief. 

“That’s good, thanks.” He praised you, making your stomach flip for an unknown reason. You pressed a little harder and he released a long breath. 

        You were busy thinking about the routine in your head. You needed to leap onto the raised part of the stage, Jimin trailing behind, and fall backwards, trusting he’d be there. The problem? You didn’t trust him. It wasn’t that he was a bad dude or anything, you just didn’t really...understand him.  

“You can trust me, Y/N.” He said softly as you readjusted your position. His words pulled you from your thoughts. 

“I know.” you answered hesitantly. He seemed pleased with that and slowly stood up. You eased off his back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Take care.” The man smiled sweetly and shouldered his bag, exiting the room. 

“5, 6, 7, 8,” Lisa clapped to the beat. Her shouts were drowned out as you focused on the routine. You knew your routine, you just hoped Jimin did as well. 

        You leapt onto the raised platform, the heat of the lights beating onto your sweaty forehead. A few wisps of hair curled onto your forehead. You did a pirouette and then sharply inhaled. You better be there. You thought to yourself as you pretended to lose balance. 

       You gracefully tipped backwards at the other end of the platform, only to yelp in surprise. The music cut and, in a daze, you slowly sat up. You had fallen. Well, not really. Jimin was uselessly holding onto your arm, just a few moments too late. 

     You blinked a few times, seeing his face peer into your peripheral. 

“Oh my god, are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He sputtered. “I’ll practice it more. I swear you won’t be dropped again!”

      Your eyes scanned his distraught expression and you decided to forgive him, though the seed of doubt had been planted. Lisa was calling for a water bottle and to turn down the lights, probably thinking you were a little out of it.

      In contrast, you were wide awake, alert, and aware of yourself. Could you trust him to catch you? The thought was swallowed and rested uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. 

“It’s fine, Jimin, just practice.” You said lightly, standing up and dusting off your tights. “But seriously, work on it. It could cause some serious issues later.” You tried to say as nice as possible, but he got the message. 

         If you were injured, there was no way you could major in dance. It was like how when you seriously break a bone and it’s never quite the same. Your art required it to be the same. 

         The performing arts had always been your dream once you had gone to college and you were thankful for the scholarship considering your awful grades. A twinge of melancholy pricked at the back of your mind. Namjoon and you hadn’t exactly worked out once college forced you your separate ways. 

        It never would’ve worked anyway. You had long since gotten over him and you were friendly, but, like a broken bone, it would never quite be the same. You just tried to ignore the same flutter of excitement that Jimin gave you. But trust was important and right now, it just wasn’t there.

         Jimin was a nice boy, you had seen him around. He was always the one to hold open the door, help you carry things when your hands were full, and the first to check in if you seemed gloomy. 

        He was a perfect angel. So you just had to trust that he could execute. Lisa rushed over with a water bottle, but upon finding you standing upright and looking only a little startled, she calmed down significantly. 

“You guys should practice this move outside of class.” She instructed. “I’ll leave the keys in my office. Please just practice it, otherwise you’re going to give me a panic attack on stage.”

“Can’t we just...change it?” You suggested sheepishly. The woman looked appalled. 

“No way, Y/N.” She said firmly. “I know it’s tough, but this is a good challenge. Besides, this is the most important part of the show.” 

      She continued on her rant and you didn’t want to interrupt so you stood quietly, nodding to her points.

“So, you see why you need to do this?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You dipped your head, having tuned out long ago. 

      Her hand landed softly on her shoulder. Her face was gentle, kind. She understood your hesitation. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have casted you if I didn’t think you could do it.” She said quietly and your pride swelled. With a proud smile, you watched her walk off to critique the others. 

“Wanna continue working?” Jimin’s soft voice said. You turned, having almost forgotten he was there. You nodded. 

“Yeah. Let’s get this thing down.”

         You collapsed to the wooden floor, exhausted and disappointed in your lack of progress. So far, you’d practiced the same thing about 20 times. 10 of those he was too early, you were, sadly for your bottom, dropped five times and you had only managed to execute it five more times.

        It wouldn’t be so worrying if those five times that worked were all together and at the end. Alas, they were spread out between your attempts and it felt like a guess and check sort of method. It was like you were gambling and Jimin was an elusive object, an uncertainty.

       You wanted it to work so bad, you had no idea what had gotten into him. He was usually so level headed, picking up moves faster than you could even imagine. And yet, you were starting to lose faith, beginning to check if he would be there in time when you ran it through. Here he was now, collapsed on the ground beside you. 

“I don’t know what’s going wrong.” He started after catching his breath.

         There was a long pause, his voice bouncing off the walls. Your eyes remained trained on the white concrete ceiling. After a taxing day at practice, you often found your mind numb and incapable of forming coherent sentences. As frustrated as you were with him, it wasn’t like you could force him to be on time like a puppet master. 

“Uh huh.” You drawled, taking a deep breath as you felt your adrenaline fading. 

        It was after dark, the fluorescent lights of the studio seeming just a little too bright. Your internal clock was fucked, especially considering the lack of windows. 

“You alright? I’m sorry I dropped you, I swear I’ll continue practicing.” 

“Continue practicing?” You sit up, running a hand through your sweaty hair. “Park Jimin, you’ve practiced a ton, with me and without me, we both know it.” 

      You took his silence as defeat. Jimin was the kind of person that worked until they dropped or their body gave in. He was a perfectionist, you could tell simply from observing him in class. So that got you thinking about...what if the issue laid within you? What if he was off because you were off? 

       There was also the possibility that you were messing with his timing by doing something off and he was worried about dropping you. You massaged the crease between your brows. 

“Jimin, I think the issue lies inside your head.” You said. Then you groaned at the implication. “I mean, I just think you’re psyching yourself out. You can trust me to keep time, just focus on yourself.” 

       Jimin sat up as well. You both faced the mirror. You saw your sweaty and disheveled reflection, wincing at how messy you looked. His hair was sticking to his forehead and slicked at the sides with glistening sweat. 

      Yeah, you both looked horrid, but together you made quite the picture. You smiled a little at the thought and maintained eye contact with yourself in the mirror. In your peripheral, you saw him glance at your reflection. 

“I know.” He said softly, steepling his fingers. He rested his elbows on his knees and remained looking in deep thought. “I don’t know, Y/N, I’m scared of letting you fall.” 

“Then don’t.” You answered quickly. 

      Then you sighed and your eyes flicked to his in the mirror. 

“I trust that you won’t let me fall. You don’t have anything to prove. Anyway, you’ve already dropped me like ten times...what harm can ten more do? As long as it’s not the performance, I’m fine with it.” 

      He nodded, rubbing at his forehead angrily. Jimin took in a shaky breath, feeling his eyes water a little. 

“Why am I like this?” He said miserably. You remained silent. 

“I don’t understand why I can’t just get it right. It’s not even that hard.” He whispered, his voice barely audible. The static of the room was suffocating, the air stale. 

“Sometimes perfection is in the imperfections.” You said softly. 

      Your hand left your side and instead reached out to rub his back. You felt the heaving of his chest and the stutters of his breath. 

        You closed your eyes for a moment, thinking back to your practice. Yeah, it had been hard, even annoying, not knowing if he would catch you, but there had been little moments you could appreciate. 

        The brush of his skin on yours, the soft and apologetic smiles, the laugh that rang like a sweet bell. You had a lot to be thankful for in this practice. You got to see how Jimin worked, the way his brain behaved. There must be something that wasn’t clicking. You both knew that he was capable, more than capable. 

           You opened your eyes, letting your gaze move to him. He was still pulling himself together. Now, you had seen, quite literally, blood, sweat, and tears, shed in this dance room. You shifted to your side slightly and gently tugged him into a hug. He didn’t resist. 

        You held him for what felt like ages. The warmth of his body flush up against yours made your temperature rise. The room felt like it was getting hotter, but you knew it was just that he was clutching onto you like you were his last hope. 

“Jimin, you’ve got to cut yourself some slack. Take it easy, okay love?” You said tenderly. “I’ll figure it out, just leave it to me.”

       You listened to the music again, and once again, you were thrown off. You were sure you had figured out the issue, but you needed to double check. Again, the question of why would this throw off such a seasoned dancer? Came to mind. But, everyone had their weakness. You wrote down a few notes and then called up Jimin. 

      He picked up on the first ring. 

“Yeah?”

“I think I may have figured out our small issue.”

“Oh?”

“Practice room A, 6:00 P.M.” 

“Great, see you then.”

       You paced, playing the music once more. Jimin sat on the wooden floor, his legs crossed and head tilted curiously. You paused the music that pulsed through the speakers. 

“Do you hear it?” You demanded.

        He just quirked an eyebrow, looking at you like you were a mad woman. And in his defense, it did look like that. 

      Your hair was a mess, strands flying in every direction, as you spoke to him. Your eyes were wide and alight, having figured out the issue. He slowly shook his head, watching your face turn to a scowl. 

“Okay, well, here’s the issue,” You sniffed, placing your hands on your hips. “The time signature.” 

      He didn’t seem convinced so you continued on. You waved your hands like mad and in all honesty, it had been a while since you slept. You had always had awful time management skills. 

“It’s in a 5/4 time signature, but your brain is trying to compensate by moving to what feels right; 4/4 or some multiple of two.” You explained. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.” You huffed, stopping your wild pacing to get a good look at his face. 

       The room was dimly lit after you burst in, complaining about the horrendous lighting first thing. He watched you, amused, but also his eyes alight with the epiphany. 

“Wow! You’re a genius, I have no idea why I didn’t notice before!” He leapt to his feet and scooped you into an unexpected hug. You refused to let your cheeks heat up, but your heart was beating like crazy. 

“Ah, it’s not a problem, you would’ve figured it out.” You said sheepishly. “You can...put me down now.” 

“Oh...right.” He awkwardly cleared his throat, setting you down. “I don’t know, Y/N, you’re smart and I had...other things on my mind that distracted me.” He said vaguely, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Do I want to know?”

“You’ll find out.” His angelic face morphed into a sinful grin. You playfully shoved him, resulting in his overexaggerated protests. 

“You’re such a dummy.” You chided, waltzing over to the ipod. “Now, let’s run it again.” 

         God, why were you sweating so much? Why were you so nervous? You had practiced the routines a million times, every step was memorized, every beat was ingrained in your very being.

         There was no way in hell you should be getting stage fright. The applause of the crowd gave you pause, your heart leaping into your throat as the overture began. Lisa appeared on stage, giving a few words. 

        The Black Swan was a new performance, a spin on the classics. 

Dressed in an inky black top with satin shorts, the swan makes her first appearance. In the kingdom of white swans, she is scorned, tossed aside. Her feathers are dirtied, her pride wounded.

 You spun, extending your hands, letting the movement flow from your fingertips to the ceiling. 

The swan comes across a large puddle of white clay one day, and in a desperate cry of anguish, slathers herself with the white clay, staining her feathers an angelic white, just like her peers. She’s considered beautiful, taken in by the villagers, who do not recognize it is her, and presented to the prince. 

You curtseyed as the prince made his solo entrance. 

The prince takes a liking to the white swan, yet every day leading up to the wedding, she must awake early and leave to cover herself in the clay. She can feel her facade crackling. 

One day, she sneaks away, days before the wedding, and runs into another black swan. 

Jimin appears on stage, leaping his way into the bushes and rolling in the metaphorical clay. He gingerly watches you.

 She drops her handful of clay, surprised to see another black swan. 

Day after day, long after the wedding, she returns to the puddle. And day after day, he greets her until she feels herself falling. The black swan is unsure of how to continue living her lie. 

The two get into a disagreement. He protests, claiming he would love her with all his heart, the color of her feathers does not bother him. She calls him a liar and runs away, unable to allow him to see her vulnerable. 

Again, the next day, they argue. The black swan cries, throwing herself into the clay to hide herself. He reaches out for her, she pulls away. 

      You ran around the raised platform, dread building. Yes, you were out of breath and running on fumes as the climax of the performance began, but you were more concerned about the trust fall. 

       Could you trust him? Your brain said no, your gut said yes. 

The man reassures her that she should love herself, she should let herself be like him, be with him. 

      The music crescendos, building and sweeping the audience up in its loving arms. The suspense continues to a dizzying climax, the strings falling down the scale as you spun onto the platform. 

      You listened to your gut, taking a deep breath, and tipping backwards.

 The swan falls into her lover’s arms, confessing herself, opening herself up to him.

      You stared up at him. The bright lights casted a shadow over his beautiful features, but you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. His sparkling eyes peered into yours.

The swan is no longer alone. The swan has been caught and she can finally breathe easy. The worst is over, now it’s time to let her true colors show. 

Want to try another path?

Go Back To The Beginning

[voltagesmutter]

The Buff Butler

Victor - “Can you guys just fuck already?, Don’t cover your mouth… “,“I like hearing you”

Prequel to: He’s not paid enough for this

The bustling sound of the city street filled your ears as you stepped out of the limo, passersby with mountains of Christmas shopping piled high in their arms, the scent of cinnamon lingering in the air. Take a deep breath in, inhaling the spicy goodness, the smell coming from the bakery next door, letting the pleasantly timing of Christmas embody you. Tonight was the night of the big LFG Christmas ball, an event dedicated to the works of LFG, extremely exclusive, a perk for all employees. 

The limo had been sent to the meeting point, you, Anna, Willow and the rest of the team squeezing in, a bottle of champagne flowing between you all. The crimson red dress clung to your body, dipping at your chest with ‘v’ as a slit ran up from the ground to thigh on your left leg, it was simple yet elegant. Your ice-blonde hair thrown up, a curl or two hanging loosely to frame your face. The group made their way into the building, beautifully decorated with christmas lights and decorations, a christmas tree stood tall laced with illuminating lights, the warmth of christmas was filled in the room. 

Your eyes darted across the room, a quick glance to check but alas Victor was not here yet, but he had promised to you he would be there. You mixed and mingled, polite discussions with other colleagues, “So have you done your shopping yet?”, “It’s christmas already, I know it’s gone so fast,”, “Yes, only a few 2 more weeks to go until the christmas break,”. As pleasant as it all was, the conversations seemed tedious, all you wanted to do was talk to the one person who wasn’t here. 

“You look really good when you scrub up,” A familiar voice said from behind you, pulling your attention from the band playing light jazz music.

“I think I can say the same to you,” You smile, turning to Goldman, tapping the champagne flute lightly in your hand. 

“Try not to look so glum, Victor will be here soon,” He teases and you playfully hit his arm, giving him a stern ‘shut up’. You'd been confining in the CEO’s assistance, a close friend to you, about your feelings towards Victor after he opened up to you about his feelings towards Anna. A sacred friendship built up on relationship struggles. 

“My god, Bella, have you seen the santa’s they’ve hire for tonight,” Willow came bundling over to you, her eyes wide with a smile. 

“Don’t you think thats a bit weird Willow? I’m not interested in a jolly fat man in a red suit with a beard,” You laugh, waving your hand at her comment.

“But it’s a half-naked, sexy santa,”. Sorry Victor but your not here right now, so how can I resist not going and ogling at the beautiful specimen handing out free champagne on the other side of the room?

“My god,” You whispered, grabbing Willow's hand as you both squealed like school girls, your eyes fixed on the man. He was shirtless with some red shorts on, a belt hanging loosely over the top, a rack of defined muscles which led into a v-shape leading right down to his…

A round of applause prevented your gaze from going any lower, turning you felt your heart sky-rocket, Victor entering the building that stern poker face plastered on him as usual. You joined in with the applause until you stopped, your heart plummeting as if a rocket was falling from the atmosphere, a beautiful woman on his arm. 

Your brain repeated repeating angrily, ‘Who is she?!’. Angry and jealously ran over you as you watched the beautiful temptress, hating her instantly, all because she was on Victor's arm instead of you. You drown your sorrows in the free drinks, unable to take your eyes off them as they laughed happily, mingling with the other employees. Everyone seemed so happy, so full of Christmas spirit and there you sat alone at the bar, the only thing to keep you company was your drink. 

“Scotch, please, neat,” A cheerful voice came to your sit, sitting next to you on the barstool. The half-naked santa now sat next to you, unfortunately with a shirt on. 

“I didn’t know Santa drank,” You laughed, turning your attention to the strange who smiled at you. 

“Well working for Mr.Li for one night would make anyone drink,” He responded, both of you sharing a light hearted laugh. He introduces himself as Chris, pressing a kiss to your hand. 

“So the whole Santa thing? Is there a reason he had to be shirtless?” You ask, sipping away at your drink, cheeks flushing at the memory of the hunk of muscle beneath the shirt. 

“I work for a… adult company you’d say, a naked butler service,” He takes a card out of his wallet and hands it to you.

“The Buff Butlers?” You laugh.

“Service with a smile,” He winks to you with a hearty chuckle. You spent most of the evening chatting away, talking about your experiences at LFG, the pleasant company distracting you from the man you lusted over with the beautiful woman on his arm. That was until your eyes caught Victors and he was making a b-line straight towards you. Brilliant.

“Mr.Li,” You nod with a light smile, he returns the nod but not the smile. The heart inside you ached as he introduced the young picturesque, who smiled directly at you. The softest faint of Victor's smile made it feel like your heart had been pierced with a dagger. Putting your bravest face, you introduced yourself and Chris.

“So that’s the girl your so smitten with,” She whispered between her smile as she turned to face her cousin.

“Smitten? Don’t be mistaken for such foolery,” Victor shook his head, watching the woman who held his heart in her hand, walk away with another man. 

“Victor please, you’ve barely taken your eyes off the girl this whole night!” She laughed, throwing her head back slightly. 

“Even if I was having feelings for the dummy, she’s clearly pre-occupied,” Victor nodded to the barman, pulling his attention, “Whisky, on the rocks,”.

“That’s because you turn up to your event with a girl on your arm! You could at least tell her we’re family, the poor girl is properly gutted,”.

“Why do you presume she feel’s anything towards me?” He asked with curiosity, swirling the glass in his palm that had been placed seconds ago.

“Because she’s not taken her eyes off you all evening either,” Her voice soft, Victor almost choking on the liquid between his lips, “Could you not see the broken smile she gave you when we went over?”.

“Of course I did, I just assumed it was because we were interrupting their conversation,” He huffed.

“Victor, you could cut the sexual tension between you with a knife, you need someone to put you two in a room together and have someone say Can you guys just fuck already?,”. Victor face a heavy shade of red at his cousin's crude words. Although he couldn’t deny how he felt towards her, there was definitely… strong feelings towards the dummy. 

“Go find her Victor, just go and say hello by yourself and talk to the bloody girl!”. The words of encouragement, he needed to hear. It was strange, Victor Li was the youngest CEO of a company, who never broke a sweat at a challenge or hard work. But when it came to the blonde goddess, her baby blue eyes filled with innocence, the girl who made his heart almost skip a beat every time he saw her; whose soul was a pocketful of sunshine, Victor was a trembling mess. 

He walked down the corridor he had seen the couple leave down, the leather sound of his shoes clicking against the floor. Just as he turned the corner, he heard the heard words that made his heart ache. “Don’t cover your mouth… I like hearing you”. His eyes falling to a heart wrenching scene, pushed against the wall, her fingers buried deep in his hair as he had his gloved hand holding her waist; his lips heavy against hers as she met him back with the same force, a slow sensual kiss, a tongue grazing out to tease the bottom of her lip with a begging for entry. 

He tried to stop time so he could run for the sight but it was too late, her eyes met his and she pulled herself away in at a heart stopping speed, the colour of her dress now resembled on her face. 

“V-Victor!” She managed with heavy embarrassment, unable to comprehend a sentence. 

“I- just… she’s my cousin,” He stammered, blinking a few times to try to clear the image of his head. He then excused himself, saving them both from pure embarrassment. 

“That was quick?”.

“Thank you to your advice, I just walked in to see my top employees playing tonsil tennis with an hired entertainer,” He responded with a deep shade of red on his face, he covered him mouth for a second with his hand to prevent anyone from seeing. He never wanted to hire them stupid shirtless butlers in the first place, he felt it was tacky to the LFG image, but the event committee saw it as light humour. 

“Ouch, am sorry Victor, I just really feel like she likes you,” She tries to console her cousin.

“I thought so too…”.

It had been nearly two weeks since the christmas ball, one of, if not, the most embarrassing night of your life. Seeing Victor with the young woman hurt too much to stand, removing yourself from the situation you felt the hurt inside you build, mixing with the slightly intoxicated state. Turning the corner she felt herself being pressed against the wall, a heavy pair of lips upon hers before pulling away.

“Sorry I just-” He started but she cut him off, her lips meeting his in the responding movement. You was so frustrated, to the point it turned you on, it was clear you would be nothing more to Victor than an employee and needed to get over him. It was working quite well, until the image of Victor filled your mind, the way he would whisper dummy, you could picture him so clearly you swore she could hear his walk in your mind. Only it was the real thing. The slightly gasp and turning of heels, the shocked purple eyes meeting her flung open eyes, Victor. Fucking. Li. 

‘I- just… she’s my cousin’, brilliant Victor, bloody brilliant. Tell me after I throw myself to a stranger out of jealousy over you, no tell me after. If there was any time for you to be striked down, then now was the perfect opportunity. You’d not seen Victor since that night, avoiding him at all costs. But today time had decided you had to face the issue, today was the last day before the christmas break and you had to go give Victor the present you had got him. You had a photo of the two of you from the haunted house you went to together at halloween printed out and framed months ago. You visited the office when you knew he was free, thanks to Goldman sending you his calendar, at first you aimed to go at lunch, then you remembered this is Victor and he doesn’t stop. 

“Enter,” He answered as you knocked on the door, slowly pushing it open as you entered his office.

“Hi,”. A light choke came from the CEO, a light blush on his cheeks as he saw it was you. There was a moment silence before you both said “I” at the same time, Victor gesturing you to continue.

“I did-n’t… nothing happened, between me and… and Chris,” Your voice trailed off in a hurried voice. 

“I wasn’t going to ask,” He replied with a calm voice.

“It just shocked me a little-... seeing you with a woman,”.

“She is of blood relative you know, my cousin,”. 

You took a step forward.

“Yes, I know that now,”.

A following pause.

“I just, next time you bring a date, can you just maybe warn some of us,” Your voice filled with softness, the ting of hurt visible in your eyes and small smile, a twinge at your heart.

The only person I want to ever take of a date is you, he thought, unable to express the words in physical form. 

“Anyway!” She smiled, brushing off the vulnerability in her voice with her usual confidence, “For you, Merry Christmas Victor,”. You placed the present on his desk before turning on your heel and leaving without a word. You heard nothing more of Victor until a few days later, a knock at your apartment door and there lay a bouquet of red roses and a small box. Bringing it inside and opening the perfectly wrapped box, a vintage tea pot you had seen weeks ago went out with Victor, pointing out how much it reminded you of your favourite one from your childhood. It brought a warmness to your heart and a heavy tear to your eye. Picking up your phone you thanked your CEO.

‘Don’t you know it’s bad luck to open presents before Christmas dummy?’ you could hear him scolding you clearly in your head.

‘I’ll do a good dead to make up for it!’.

‘How about coming to Souvenir and trying my new dish?’. A knock at the door interrupts you and you open it to find Victor standing on the other side.

“Dummy, be more careful, don’t just open your door for anyone,”. You cocked an brow to him.

“So just open the door for you…?” You ask and look confused.

“What? No, just, be more careful!” He flustered slightly, “So, Souvenir? It’s a new type of pudding,”.

“Pudding? Ugh fine, twisted my arm, lets go,” You tease, grabbing your keys off the counter and locking the door behind you. 

You enjoyed a few hours alone with him, as he made you a caramel pudding with a hint of ginger to bring a certain tang of spice, a beautiful blend. As you finish, you make a chef's kiss action followed by, ‘my compliments to the chef’. 

“So what’s my price for this,” You tease, crossing your legs, the side of your dangling foot rubbing against his lower calf. 

“Take it as a christmas present,”.

“I can’t! It’s meant to be my good deed, I can not take a free meal,”. Victor looks at you for a minute, before wrapping his arms around your back pulling you into a hug.

“Just don’t let me see you kissing anyone else,” He voice softly whispers in your ear as you freeze on the spot, swearing you hear the faintest of words saying ‘unless it’s me,”. He finally pulls back from his embrace, pressing his forehead against yours, ‘I promise’ falling from your lips as you close your eyes. Neither parting for a minute, before a plate falling in the kitchen pulls you both back, your pulse racing at the speed of a high-tech train. You was unable to get the re-playing motion of your intimacy at that moment out of your head, sending your heart racing each time. It took days to figure out why, tossing and turning at night, hunger being consumed by the motion until finally… The day when his smile was the first thing you thought about in the morning, you knew. 

You knew you loved Victor Li.

[ladypaulsvn]

Mine, Yours, Ours

Billie x Reader x Cordelia

Word Count: 1,933

Part 2/?

Read Part 1

Summary: The next morning Cordelia asks you to the greenhouse. You’re actually enjoying your time with her for once in a long time, when you get a call from Billie.

a/n: this chapter is a bit on the long side

A knock at your door woke you up the next morning. You had spent the night talking to Billie on the phone and hadn't fallen sleep until nearly 3 am.

You groaned as you rubbed your eyes, "Y/n?" You heard Cordelia's soft voice through the door. You quickly curled back up into the covers, not wanting to speak to her.

You heard the door slowly creak open and the soft click of the latch as she closed it back, the quiet creaks of the floorboard getting louder as she neared you.

Picturing the worst, you tried to stay calm, look as peaceful and in as deep a sleep as possible when you felt her soft hands brush your hair from your face, and her soft lips kiss your temple.

She ran her hands through your hair, "Y/n? Wake up honey." you shifted slightly, pretending to have just woken up. You took your time as your rubbed your eyes and sat up, watching as she took a few steps back and kept her distance.

You looked up at her for the first time and noticed the bags under her eyes were more prominent. Her face was bare and her hair still a little tousled from her sleep. "What time is it?" Your voice was scratchy as you spoke.

She cleared her throat, "Nearly 8. The rest of the girls are still asleep. I thought we'd take advantage of the morning and do something out in the greenhouse?" She sounded hopefully, her voice soft and a higher pitch than usual.

You weren't sure if she was pulling your leg, or if she really did have remorse for the way she had treated you lately. You were taken aback by the suggestion, if you weren't honest. Cordelia hadn't spoken more than a sentence to you in the past few weeks until last night, let alone suggesting you actually do something together.

She chewed her bottom lip, shifting the weight of her feet as she awaited your answer. Your voice laced in confusion, you agreed. "Uh, sure."

She grinned a little too big at your response and your face showed obvious confusion. You weren't one to hide your facial expressions easily. However, she simply ignored it.

"I'll be in the kitchen, making coffee. Meet me when you're ready, please." She didn't wait for your response this time, simple turning around and hurriedly exiting your room. The soft click of the lock leaving you sat in your bed, tired and confused. You didn't even like coffee.

***

You made your way down the stairs after fixing yourself up. You had thrown on a dress and cardigan, remembering the times that Cordelia would tease you and say you dressed like a teacher or librarian. Maybe things really would be okay between the two of you? You were almost hopeful.

You stopped in the bathroom downstairs, quickly combing your fingers through your hair again and making sure you looked presentable before heading towards the kitchen, hearing the quiet clink of Cordelia's spoon as it stirred her coffee. As you rounded the corner she met your face with a smile, "Y/n! I made you tea." She smiled, her face blushed pink as she held a cup out towards you.

You couldn't hide the fact that you were surprised. I mean, she had said that she was going to make coffee, and since when did she put in so much effort towards you? You smiled back and grabbed the cup, taking a sip. Your favorite tea, green matcha. "It's delicious." You said before taking another larger sip.

"Are you hungry?" Cordelia asked, shifting the weight between her feet as she had done earlier in your room. "I don't usually eat when I first wake up. I'm fine with just this tea, thank you though." You continued sipping from the glass.

"I had a piece of toast." She informed you. This was getting awkward. "Should we go out to the green house now?" You asked and you could practically see the relief on her face as she nodded.

Once you both made it inside, Cordelia immediately started cleaning and gathering supplies, watering plants, the whole shebang. She was always sort of a neat freak.

"Do you, um, need help?" You asked, not knowing what to do. You hadn't been to the greenhouse in awhile and she had asked you down like she had planned something to do.

"Um, just give me one moment. I should've done this earlier. I don't know what I was thinking." She mumbled the last sentence and you were amused as you continued watching her speed around the place.

You ended up sitting on a stool and nearly fell asleep when you felt a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry that took so long. I'm ready now, come here." Cordelia walked away to the back of the green house so you followed suit.

When you arrived, she had laid out multiple ingredients on a cleared table. You had no idea what she was going to do. "So..." She bit her lip as she turned to you. "Remember that spell Misty told you about?" She asked you and your eyes brightened up, you'd always wanted to try that after Misty told you about it.

"Is that what we're going to do?" You asked hopeful and Cordelia nodded. You practically bounced in excitement and that made Cordelia grin even harder.

As she explained the steps, you helped craft the paste, handing her ingredients to put in the blender and laughing with each other over the silliest things. At one point you had accidentally flung a piece of something at Cordelia and she retaliated by throwing some back at you and what followed was completely and utterly childish, but you loved it.

You had missed this. It being just you and Cordelia, bonding over magic and spells and just enjoying each other's company. Getting to see the Cordelia you knew, not Cordelia the Supreme, but your Cordelia. It was a sight for sore eyes.

"Okay y/n, this next part is important!" She looked at you with wide eyes as you nodded. "You have to stay extremely focused for it to work, do you understand?" You nodded again. "Okay, now put your hands on top of each other like this," She held her arms out and put one hand atop the other, you copied her.

"Now put your hands over the plant and close your eyes. Picture the sunlight beaming down and growing this plant from the roots up. Connect with the energy and put your all into it. Make it grow into a plant as beautiful as you." She added the last part after you had closed your eyes and you could feel your cheeks burn bright pink.

You did as you were told and concentrated on the task, wanting to prove to Cordelia that you still had it in you to be powerful. As you imagined the sunlight beaming down, drowning the leaves of the dead plant in sunlight and the leaves basking in it, growing strong and bright green, your phone began to ring inside your pocket.

Your eyes immediately sprung open, looking to Cordelia as she pulled it from your pocket, going to turn it off completely, when you saw who was calling you. Billie. You gulped as the seconds went by. You had to make a decision. Did you really want to ignore Billie? This moment with Cordelia could possibly be saved if you would just make. your. decision.

"I'm so sorry Cordelia this is important," You rushed the words from your mouth as you snatched your phone from her hands and sprinted from the greenhouse, not looking back in fear of Cordelia's reaction. You hit accept just before the ringing stopped. "Billie, Hi!" You said, out of breath as you shut the greenhouse door and leaned back against it, breathing heavily.

"Good morning sweetheart," Your heart fluttered at her voice. God you loved her voice. "Mornin," You responded. "Did I interrupt something? You sound of breath, y/n." She asked, her tone changing from her usual sultry tone to one you couldn't quite make out.

"No! No, no you didn't." You stumbled on your words as they came out. "I-i was just watering some stuff in the greenhouse and I- Ya know what it doesn't matter." You laughed softly and there a moment of pause. Silence. Had you officially scared Billie off? You barely had a day before you already made her run. Good going y/n.

"Well..." She dragged out the L, "Could I pick you up?" She asked and your breath caught in your throat. Billie. Pick you up. From here. With Cordelia being in the same vicinity? Fuck.

"I, um, to do- to do what?" You stuttered more on your words and heard Billie chuckle softly. "Well usually when one asks a question like that... it's insinuated that it's a date, is it not?" She retorts and you can't believe your ears. Billie Dean Howard just asked you on a date. A date!

"Oh yes, of course. I-i would love to." You say, your cheeks pink and your smile wide. You swore you could practically hear her smirk through the phone. "I'll be there in 30.” And she hung up. Fuck. Thirty minutes.

FUCK. Cordelia! You completely forgot about Cordelia. You swung open the door to the greenhouse and sprinted back to where you had left Cordelia, only to find the entire green house empty, and the supplies all put away.

Where the hell did she go? "Cordelia?" You called out, pacing around the greenhouse hoping you were just blind and had missed her, but alas, not a peep from the supreme.

You went back inside the academy, checking the kitchen, living room, her office. Nowhere. You finally arrived at her bedroom door and you knocked softly. "Cordelia?" You called out and the door swung open, Cordelia was sitting on her bed, glasses perched on her nose and a book in hand. How the hell did she get here so fast? Did she transmutate?

"Why'd you leave?" You asked nervously as Cordelia looked up from her book. "No worries y/n. You clearly have other things to attend to." She immediately looked back down to her book and you sighed. Of course you had fucked everything up.

You didn't bother saying anything else, you just left her room and heard the door shut behind you as soon as your foot was beyond the frame, making you jump. Damn that woman.

You immediately hurried to your room, throwing on your prettiest dress and tossing your cardigan to the floor. You didn't need to look like a librarian today. You fixed your hair in the mirror then ran down the steps.

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited in the living room for Billie to arrive. Your mind and heart both racing. What even where you and Cordelia at this point? It was obvious that you weren't together anymore, wasn't it?

She didn't speak to you for weeks! She practically ignored you. She put you off more times than you could count and you hadn't even slept in her bed for over a month. That screams "over"...doesn't it?

God she barely even looked at you! She practically slammed the door in your face... well, your back. You had no idea what was going on in her brain anymore, so you shook the thoughts from your head. You were going to enjoy this date with Billie.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

JKR 2: BRC 1

Joker x Reader

Word Count: 1921

Summary: You love him, that much is obvious, but now Wayne is being flirty suddenly.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Alas, the much awaited sequel to JKR. At some point I got an ask for a sequel, but I literally cannot find it, so … Here it is! There will be more posting randomly as I get it out. Unlike my other series, I’ve got nothing like an outline, so I have no idea how long this is gonna be or when I’m gonna be posting it.

One of your favorite parts of being a mercenary was the fact that it was extremely rare for you to have to be a functioning human on Monday mornings. It was a perk you hadn’t really expected, but you absolutely loved sleeping in while the rest of the world crawled out of bed to begin another shitty work week. That alone almost made it worth it to put up with all the nonsense you handled day to day. And since you’d gotten involved with the joker, you’d even gotten to enjoy the addition of a warm body next to yours seeing how he shared your philosophy on those mornings. 

So when you woke up naturally one Monday morning several months since agreeing to work with Joker, you were more than a little annoyed. The irritation was only slightly alleviated when you started to really observe your surroundings and realized that Joker was currently playing big spoon with you and clinging to you like a child with a beloved toy. That, at least, was a sweet bonus to waking this early. A little smile formed on your face despite yourself. You could feel his breath on your bare shoulder, softly puffing every now and then in his sleep; the rhythm of it could almost put you to sleep.

And then your bladder made itself known. 

The annoyance promptly came roaring back.

Getting out of bed was a whole little challenge in and of itself due to the way he was clinging to you, but you somehow managed to escape without waking him. When you glanced back at the bed and saw the fearsome Clown Prince of Crime cuddled up to your pillow and snuggled under your covers, your heart gave a hard thump. Try as you might, it was steadily becoming harder to deny that you’d somehow developed feelings–real, deep feelings–for the madman. Every day you tried not to think about it because of how unlikely it was for him to reciprocate, but seeing him so vulnerable–without makeup and with green hair so faded it was almost completely back to its normal dishwater blond–made some part of you swoon. He trusted you enough to be so unguarded, and that was enough for you … mostly. Part of you still craved someone to talk seriously with, but you were content enough even without it. Or so you told yourself.

Sighing, you shook off the emotions and picked up his grey, patterned shirt from the day before. Problems for another day, you supposed.

Once your bodily functions were taken care of, you quietly stalked your way into the kitchen. Clearly, you weren’t going back to sleep anytime soon, so you might as well make a coffee. Maybe that would somehow help you tame your unwelcome feelings.

Clearly the answer was a big, fat “No,” since, as you were returning to the bedroom, you got distracted with how cut he was while you were in the doorway, mug clasped between your hands. You allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere and pretend that the two of you were just normal people.

Then, true to Gotham’s nature, it all came shattering down when you heard the telltale scratching of someone picking a lock. Specifically the lock on your front door. The switch in your mindset to Business Mode was instantaneous. Your world seemed to sharpen as you slowly eased the bedroom door closed; it would be quite bad if your suspicion about the intruder was true and he saw your houseguest. Your hand tightened around the mug, ready to throw the scalding liquid in an instant if threatened.

An angry scoff left your lips when you recognized the head of brown hair that peaked inside your apartment once the door was unlocked. “You’re really making me regret my decision against getting a guard dog, Mr. Wayne.”

You absolutely hated how dashing his ensuing smirk made him. “As busy as you are? Probably not the best idea.” Unlike the last time he broke in, he wasn’t dressed like he came from a trust fund soiree; instead, he was in a more casual ensemble of dark jeans, a dark shirt, and a leather jacket with red trim.

“Any particular reason you’re breaking into my home today or were you just hoping I was still asleep so you could peep?”

“I have to say no. That’s not exactly my style.” A thump from the bedroom halted whatever excuse he had for this breaking and entering episode.

Your heart gave its second hard thump for the morning, this one out of fear instead of love. Leveling Wayne with a harsh glare, you ordered, “Stay put.”

“Of course.”

Mug still clenched in your hand, you quickly retreated back to the bedroom. Based off the sight that greeted you, you could only assume that the noise was Joker grabbing his pants off the chair and inadvertently throwing the knife from his pocket into the floor. “You good?” you asked the obviously-groggy man.

“I heard voices. What’s going on?”

“Don’t you normally hear voices?” you teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“No. And you know that,” he deadpanned. His tongue started flicking as his irritation aggravated the tick.

“I’ve got an unwelcome guest again,” you stated, deciding that blunt was probably better than finesse.”

“Wayne?”

“Yes, so you’re going to stay here while I deal with him.”

“Should I be … jealous?”

“Fuck no. Can’t stand the bastard.” Well that was a bit of a lie. As much as the richboy infuriated you, he also acted as a constant source of amusement. “But I don’t want him knowing anything else about me if I can avoid it. Be a good boy and stay here, and I’ll let you have your wicked way with me later.”

“You’ll let me do that anyway.” He was right and he knew it. There was a long pause as you stared each other down. You could practically see his brain working over his options until he finally exhaled heavily. “Fine. I’m too tired for this, anyway.”

For once, his exhaustion worked to your advantage instead of making him intolerable. “Thank you. I’ll be back in a few.”

“I await with bated breath.”

The Joker handled, you slunk back out to deal with the unmasked Batman; part of you realized that Gotham City Police would love to be in your position. Both men, vulnerable with identities out in the open? They’d probably kill for it. You, however, were just tired of today already.

When you returned to the living room, Bruce had once again made himself at home on your couch. “Boyfriend?” he questioned, eyebrow raised.

“Something like that.”

“He’s got interesting taste,” he commented with a little gesture towards your body.

You raised an eyebrow. Sure, it wasn’t exactly your style, but, “You’re one to talk. Enough of the questions, Mr. Wayne. Why are you here?”

“I need a date for a gala I have to go to tonight.”

Your eyebrows now shot up almost to your scalp. “And you came to me? First off, I don’t like you, so what the fuck? Second, you don’t like me, so what the fuck? Third, do you honestly expect me to believe that you couldn’t get a date? And for that matter–”

“Relax, Y/N. I’m hiring you for a job. I need a distraction, and I hear you’re the best.”

“Awfully short notice. What if I don’t have anything to wear?”

“Already have that handled. Come by my penthouse at six.”

“And payment?”

“Half now, half after. Check your bank account; money’s already there.”

“You’re damn sure that I’m gonna do this, aren’t you.”

“You’re curious, you want to know what I’m up to, and you always get the job done if you’re being paid for it.” He was smirking again and heading for the door as he said that. “See you tonight.”

“Bastard,” you spat at the door the second it was closed. Already, you wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed and stay there for the rest of the day and it was only …  8:13 according to the clock on the wall.

Resigned to your fate for the coming evening, you retreated back to the bedroom. This time, you didn’t even pause to admire your lover’s form splayed across the bed. You did notice that his eyes were staring at you as you approached, though, and gave him a small smile.

“Got a job tonight with the hunky rich boy, huh?” he teased while rolling onto his stomach and kicking his feet up like a girl in a movie about a slumber party. “Am I just not, uh, doin’ it for ya anymore, dollface?”

“Fucker didn’t exactly give me much of a choice, did he?” you sniped right back. “Scoot over; you’re in my spot.” 

His response was to flop back over onto his back and pat his lap. “You’re mine now, remember? I was a proper gentleman and hid away while you talked to your suitor.”

“He is not–” You were cut off by him tugging you down to straddle him. “My suitor,” you finished, doing your best to sit on him with some modicum of dignity.

“Oh, you don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart. He’s quite, uh, dreamy.” He cackled. “Any chance you could convince him to join us in here sometime?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, J. I don’t think he’d go for it.” Especially considering the whole nemesis thing … “You’re just stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

“Ah well, have fun for the both of us, my dear,” he shrugged. His fingers suddenly halted their attempts to unbutton your (his?) shirt; alarmingly, you hadn’t even noticed him doing that. “Why did Brucy know what it is you do for a living anyway?”

Fortunately, you knew that question was likely to come up months ago, so you’d long ago thought of an excuse. “Did a job cleaning up one of those trust fund brigade’s messes after a particularly nasty party–”

“Ooh!”

“–and that apparently got me on his radar.”

“Never a dull day for a mercenary.”

“Or a madman,” you teased right back. “But be that as it may, I’m gonna enjoy having you all to myself until I have to go to that stupid party.”

“Never a dull day, indeed!” he cheered. “But for real, you gotta get a video or somethin’ if you fuck him tonight.”

You rolled your eyes even as you tugged at his boxers. It was an interesting thought. While you had first priority on the Joker when he was off the clock and a serious case of feelings for the clown, you were under no illusions that this was an exclusive thing. Physically, you sated each other easily. Emotionally, you were all the Joker needed (or wanted, for that matter), but he wasn’t crazy enough to think that he satisfied all of your needs. The whole comforting thing specifically was a weakness of his. You’d discussed all this (excluding the whole love issue) months ago at your insistence since you had no desire to earn the Joker’s wrath by having an affair.

Shoving all that aside, you just scoffed. “That man is infuriating.”

“And he has a crush on you. I can tell. We madmen have a … sixth sense for these things. Besides, the flirting was painfully obvious even from in here.”

“I’m not fucking Bruce Wayne.”

“Right. You’re fucking me!” Another hysterical cackle.

“Well …” you grinned, “I’m about to be, anyway.”

[the-magic-lava-lamp]

Caught Up In You

Chapter 2 -  Sick of movies?

Summary: A story revolving around a group of teenage friends, their mishaps, their relationships and their coming of age.

Watch as they navigate through the highs & lows of high school relationships and learn to grow up as most of them are approaching the end of their Senior year.

Ships: SamBucky, ThorBruce, Stony, ValJane…(More ships & characters to come)

Word Count: 6,497

{Tuesday Afternoon} 

On half-days of school, it seemed that a silent agreement went into motion that each grade would go somewhere different & specific to celebrate. 

Freshman were designated the crummy little McDonald's where they could comfortably cause a scene yet miraculously not be kicked out. 

Sophomores got the Sub-Sandwich joint that was quite the walk away from the school and got your order right most of the time. 

Juniors were at the warm pizza shop with the most delicious slices a person could ever ask for. 

Seniors were basically living in the BBQ restaurant. It was the staple of their crummy little town and deservedly so. 

And Sam and Bucky were laying side by side on Sam’s rickety twin-sized bed, happily skipping the tradition. Bucky was propped up by his forearm which was gradually falling deeply into sleep and his spare was hanging in the air while his fingers curled and uncurled around Sam’s. The sun was coming in through the window and leaving the tiniest sun-spot against the wall behind them and from where Sam was sitting, it dusted Bucky’s face with a golden blush. He scooted over slightly to give his partner some more room but only succeeded in causing another loud shriek of protest from the bed springs. 

Bucky let his head fall back with a sigh. “God, your bed is so fucking loud.” His hair shook out of his eyes with the sudden movement. “It’s gonna give your parents the wrong idea, you know?” He spoke softly and pushed Sam’s palm back against the pillows. “And they already don’t like me.” 

Sam rolled his eyes and smacked Bucky’s hand. “My parents love you, man.” 

His partners eyebrow shot up with doubt but Sam only continued. 

“They talk about you all the time. Why do you think I invited you for lunch today-?”

“Easy, you love my company.” His voice was teasing and soft as he dragged his fingers down from Sam’s now open palm to his elbow. 

“They think you’re good people.” Sam dipped his chin down to emphasize that he really meant it and Bucky blinked his eyes away like he always did when things got serious. So Sam took the initiative and grabbed for Bucky’s left arm when he made the move to bring his fingers back up. “Hey, I’m serious. They are psyched that I’m dating such a stand-up guy.” He let go of Bucky’s arm and softly pressed his finger under his chin to lift it. 

Bucky hummed quietly and curled his fingers around Sam’s wrist. “Even though I spilled your dad’s soup all over your kitchen table last time I ate here?” 

Sam laughed loudly at the memory. “They thought that was cute.” 

“Cute?” Bucky frowned. “I ruined that tablecloth.” 

“Yeah but I told them it was because you were trying to play footsie with me and accidentally kicked the table leg.” Sam rolled his lips together to try and conceal his laughter when Bucky’s cheeks flushed with a real pink blush. 

“Hey! That was supposed to stay between us!” Bucky playfully started attempting to roll his body over Sam’s. “That’s so fucking embarrassing Sam!” He kicked his left leg over him and crawled on top, the twin bed’s springs squeaking over and over. 

Sam couldn’t stop laughing long enough to remind Bucky of the noise but he didn’t much mind with all the wrestling. That was until he started hearing the sound of his mothers footsteps coming up the stairs. There wasn’t enough time to do more than just shove Bucky off of him...sending him to the carpet with a soft thud just as his bedroom door creaked open.

“Hey boys, lunch is downstairs when you’re ready.” She smiled, stringing a dish towel through her fingers while she spoke. “And remember to keep this door open a few inches, huh?” She smirked as her eyes fell upon a dizzy looking Bucky on the floor. 

Sam smacked his hands over his face as soon as his mother left and groaned with embarrassment. 

“You’re lucky you have carpet, Sam. I smacked my head pretty hard.” Bucky teased, crawling over and kneeling in front of where Sam sat on the bed. Slowly he grabbed at his partners wrists and pulled his palms from his eyes. 

“That was your own fault.” 

“Eh, well.” Bucky shrugged. “That may be true but you owe me cause you’re the one who threw me off the bed instead of warning me like a decent person would.” He playfully shook Sam’s wrists and his friend scrunched up his nose. 

“I panicked. I didn’t have enough time.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “But I’ll get you lunch on my card tomorrow if it makes you happy.” He grinned and wiggled out of his grip so he could start getting up.

Bucky only shoved his way between Sam’s legs and grinned. “You’re so good to me, sweetheart.” 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Sam closed his legs around him as tight as he could, figuring it was ok because his mother had mostly shut the door. Bucky rested his forearms atop Sam’s thighs and shrugged. “Now can we please go eat?” 

Bucky nodded but then grabbed at Sam’s hands again, pulling at his long sleeves. “Wait, say it again, would ya?” 

Sam paused before he put together what Bucky was gettin’ at and his face fell into it’s happiest smile. He sighed dramatically like it was a hassle instead of the the epitome of how he felt. “I love you, dumb-ass.” 

Bucky happily let his hands free and broke from Sam’s legs. “Love you too.” 

                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was something about traipsing around his home with his bare-feet pressing against the cold hardwood floor that Tony loved. The long fabric of his over-sized sweatshirt hit his skin just around the middle of his thighs and the cup of coffee curled in his hand was steaming. 

He’d figured he could get away without sleeping the previous night because he’d only be at school half the time, he’d just take a nap when he got home. But of course, he never actually takes these naps that he uses to excuse this kind of behavior. 

So Tony went right back to work as soon as he came home and made himself comfortable. Pulling some of his equipment that he’d left in other rooms of the house, he strolled into what he referred to as his ‘Lab’ though it wasn’t completely up to his standards yet. 

Three desks occupied most of the space with an overflowing amount of papers and equipment that he’d saved his own money up for. 

Tony twirled about the room and opened drawers to dig for whatever it was that he wanted. They were left hung open and really hammered in the idea that he needed more space. 

The drawer that housed most of his old gaming systems (which were for more leisurely experiments that were just for him where he could borrow some pieces from) was hanging dangerously too far down. It would have crashed if not for one Howard Stark who had somehow come home early from work and into the lab without Tony even noticing. 

“Ever heard of knocking, dad?” Tony mumbled but did not turn around to greet his old man. Instead, he continued fumbling around with his work. 

“The door was open.” 

Tony rolled his eyes and finally turned to where his father was standing. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his dress pants and he sported his usual dry expression. 

“Was there a reason why you came in?” Tony fiddled with some of the papers on his desk and plopped down into the soft wheely chair nearby. His legs habitually laid atop the desk and occupied most of the space. 

Howard crossed his arms and looked painfully awkward which was not something that happened too often. “What are you working on?” 

“I know that’s not what you came for but I’ll humor you for a minute.” Tony thumped his pen down and rolled his eyes like he wasn’t secretly a little eager to share his work. “Just some model airplane kinda deal. But it’s actually a bit more than that...” 

Tony hopped up to get his project and ignored his fathers watchful eyes. “A kind of delivery system for medical aid.” he shrugged and held out his model. “I modified the program of this old gaming system, boosted the output-and here’s the clever part-linked it to a communications satellite so I can fly the thing halfway around the world on 1 battery charge.” He finished his little speech and shoved the pen behind his ear.  

Howard examined the model carefully before nodding his head. “That is impressive.” 

“You’re holding back, why are you holding back? You never do that.” Tony sat up.

Howard only shrugged. “I’d make some changes, is all. But listen, Tony, I just came here to talk to you-” 

Tony scowled and leaned back in his chair. “There it is. Whatever you wanna talk about, I don’t. I have work to do. So...” Tony waved his hands towards the door but Howard remained stoic. 

“I’ll remind you in case you’ve forgotten, I am your father, young man. You need to treat me with respect. I will have none of these childish games that you so smugly think you’re good at playing.” Howard stood tall, hands out of pocket and Tony frowned. “Your mother asked me to speak with you because she’s been worried.” 

“God forbid you show me that you care.” His eyes rolled again and he stood from his chair. “What do you want to talk about, dad? What’s so important?” 

“Your behavior. The parties, the drinking, staying out past curfew-” 

“What else?” 

Howard rolled his eyes.��“We’re back on this? I’m the bad guy because I don’t want you hanging out with...some boys. Be a respectable man and keep that part of your life private.”

Tony wiped his hand down his face to his chin and sighed. 

“What happened to the thing you had going with my assistant Annabel’s daughter...? Cecilia?” 

“Cissy was a great girl but severely not my type, dad.” He never thought in a million years that his father would ever play dumb about something. But alas, he was the great Howard Stark proving Tony wrong again for the millionth time.

Howard sighed deeply and the worry lines on his face were deeply exposed. “And you’re absolutely sure about that?” 

Tony widened his eyes for a few seconds before they grew too dry and he had to blink. “What like...have I experimented enough to prove my hypothesis?” He smacked his pen against his open palm and waited for his dad’s response. “Cause, gotta say dad, I’ve done a lot of experimenting to come up with my conclusion.” 

Tony was good at saying shit to make his dad pissed. 

“Never-mind. I can’t have this discussion with you because you obviously want to behave like a child.” Howard waved his hand in that ‘Holier-than-thou’ attitude and started to walk off. 

“No! Say what you really want to say, dad! Come on. Be a respectable man and tell your own damn son how you really feel!” He was suddenly desperate to hear what his father thought. He’d spent so long assuming it or being denied of it. 

“How I really feel, huh?” His father spun on him so fast that it knocked the wind out of Tony. He’d never seen his dad express so much anger. He usually opted for subtlety and cold looks. “You are an ungrateful brat. You stay out all night and worry your mother til she’s practically sick. And I come to find out that it’s because you’re sleeping around with guys?-” 

“I was just exaggerating, I haven’t actually slept with-” 

“I don’t care, son. It’s the fact that your Goddamn embarrassing this household. My co-workers have kids at these little high-school parties and I don’t need the talk to be about my son and some boys.” 

Tony swallowed and found that his throat was painfully dry. 

“Are you proud of that? Give me an answer and maybe prove yourself to be an honest man, at the very least.” 

Tony didn’t want to appear nervous but his heart was pounding. “Fuck off. I’m leaving.” Was about all he could muster before he took a pre-packed bag that was sitting on a desk for such occasions like this. 

He pushed past his lovely father and stormed about the house and slammed the door behind him. 

:

:

He stepped out into the street, feeling the brisk air which signaled their school year was coming up on it’s end very soon. Another block in the road towards acquiring the attention of one Steve Rogers. Suddenly the pressure of it all was getting to him. He swallowed a thick ball of mucus and enjoyed the way the low-hanging sun bled warm light onto his moist neck. 

The lighting was just that special kind of muted orange. Which reminded Tony of days he’d spent playing games at the park with the old gang. But those thoughts only lingered before the nostalgia was swallowed and adulthood was spat out onto the dirty sidewalk of a park which no more than a parking lot now. 

He rolled his lips together and looked at that empty lot, picturing the old swing sets and shit, when deliberately quiet footsteps fell next to him. 

“Missing our young, dumb days, huh Tony?” The smirk was clear in her voice. 

“Hey, Nat.” Tony chuckled and started walking his path again. 

Natasha smiled and decided to join him...apparently. She strolled on at the same pace and remained completely quiet in that eerie way of hers. 

“Was on my way to Bruce’s house actually.” Tony clicked his tongue. 

Nat shook her head. “Nah, he’s at that barbecue place with Thor, Loki and his weird friend-” 

"The witch?”

Nat smiled. “Wanda.” She corrected. “What’s with the two of them lately anyway? Never thought they were all that close, even when we were kids.” She pursed her lips and Tony smirked, having knowing something that Nat didn’t was always a rush. 

“Thor took Bruce out on a date to the theater on Monday night.” He bumped their arms together. “Not that Bruce wanted me to know about it, got my work days messed up. He seemed apprehensive.” 

“Holy shit.” She paused. “Guess I was too busy with you & Steve’s game of ‘Will-they-won’t-they’ to notice.” She returned the bump and happily sped up a bit. 

                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{Wednesday Morning}

“I will not condone a course of action that will lead us to war.” Jane Foster puffed out her chest and crossed her arms as she stood at the head of the science lab. “I was not elected to watch my people suffer and die.” She stepped forward strongly and stared dead forward for a few moments before giggling. 

From the bar tables, Thor and Valkyrie clapped next to the bunsen burner and sink. Loki set his chin on his palm and pursed his lips even though he wasn’t actually asked to be a judge. 

“I’m not trying to get a dramatics award, Loki.” She rolled her eyes. “Just trying to pass a History skit, ok?” She walked over and nudged him lightly before taking a seat next to Valkyrie. “Also last I checked, you didn’t like hanging around Thor’s friends.” She tipped her chin.

Loki smirked. “I have a free period and Wanda is in AP English. So I thought I’d spend what little time I have with you three-” Thor smiled at that. “It’s proving to be very boring.” 

“Would it still be boring if I shoved this beaker up your nose?” Valkyrie happily waved one of the skinnier looking beakers and leaned over Thor. Jane couldn’t help but smile with a touch of admiration and amusement. 

Loki didn’t seem bothered at all, just waved his hands up like he was better than that. “I’ll just wander the halls, shall I?” He winked and pushed the door open with his back and twirled out. 

“I think he’s opening up.” Thor smiled and merely shrugged when the girls gave him questioning looks. “He let me talk about Bruce with him.” He gestured his hand out. 

“More like at him.” Valkyrie added, glancing back at Jane with a grin as she squished closer. 

“All he ever has to add is those annoying little quips that sound all elegant but are really insulting.” Jane continued for her with hand-twitching gestures and beamed when Valkyrie smiled. 

Thor paused, realizing that he may be intruding on something without knowing. He wasn’t even sure they knew how close they were being. He did that little closed mouth grin and slapped the table. “I’ll just go tell Darcy about my date with Bruce.”

“Alright, moody.” Valkyrie teased, with a gentle smile. 

Thor stopped trying to stand and fell back on his stool. “SO.” He began and the girls happily listened. 

                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony stood on his tip-toes as he shoved his books into his locker. His shirt riding up as he stretched his arms and an approaching Steve found himself paying too much attention to the small peek of skin just above his hipbone.

Tony flattened his feet and twirled to face Steve who put on a grin, hugging some books to his chest. "Can you put these in your locker? Mine's too far from my next classes." He smiled a little and Tony raised his brow.

“Is it just me or is that an odd request, Steve?” Tony chuckled though he was actually panicking, overthinking already. But he reached out nonetheless to grab the tiny stack. 

Steve watched him with oddly interested eyes as Tony twisted them upright and got ready to shove them into the mess that was his locker...but-

Tony rolled his lips together and tried not to blush as he lowered the paperback of ‘The Great Gatsby’ with the napkin tapped to the cover. More specifically, a napkin from his theater with a little doodle of Steve on it. And above him, a bubble which read; “Sick of movies? how about coffee on Saturday?”

Tony glanced over at the blonde jock who looked as if he deserved someone beyond better and tried to hide his shock. “There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.” He quoted straight from the book & glanced up again with a smirk as he flicked his fingers against the cover. 

Steve grinned. “Pursing.” He pointed his thumb into his chest and Tony felt his stomach flip. 

He clicked his tongue and shut the locker with ease. “I’m not generally the pursued, Steve.” He gestured to himself and pushed past him as if he wasn’t hopelessly developing even stronger feelings for him as the days passed. “The busy and tired? More like it.” 

Steve watched him go off in dramatics for a few seconds before strolling after him with a small smile & a glint in his eyes. “Determined. Unbelievably smart. Charming ego. Better than any guy or gal in this school.” 

Tony internally rolled his eyes at the cliche teen romantics of it all. 

“C’mon, Tony. I think you have feelings for me too. How did this end up in me begging you endlessly for one date?” He smirked and was happy to see that Tony returned it with joy. 

“Maybe it’s my charming ego.” He shrugged and sped off to his next class but not before flipping Steve a peace sign and a wink. 

                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce Banner managed to get through his first three classes with no lasting effects other than the growing bags under his eyes and a load of homework he was already planning on finishing soon.

However, he did end up avoiding Thor which was just plain rude... 

Each time unsettled Bruce more but he kept finding himself waiting for the next almost-encounter with some kind of mixture of eagerness for seeing the blonde but disdain for himself. He brushed it off for a few minutes as he trudged down the hall.

His favorite part of school days was the time he spent lingering at his locker. He’d discovered the idea of bringing himself a snack to stash inside his locker at the beginning of the day would feed him for at least the rest of the day. It was a minimal joy to have amidst the passing days of agonizing work and annoying people. It had been Tony’s tradition originally but Bruce decided to copy it almost instantly upon hearing it all the way back to Freshman year. 

It helped him to have something to look forward too, which was lame but did help his grumpiness. Which, if that continued to grow, he’d become irritable and maybe have what some called his ‘anger issues’. It wasn’t if not having a snack in the middle of the day cause him to rage out. But, Bruce found he could easily get worked up to an angry state if pushed too hard. 

Bruce reached his hand in his locker for another handful of his snack for the day, those weird Pretzel Rods. He’d been told they were a boring snack but he actually liked them...Hell, he liked having something salty in the middle of the day-

“Hey Bruce.”

“Shit!” Bruce must have jumped eight feet into the air from pure shock. He banged his head on the edge of his locker and let out a few choice swears as he choked down the last crunch he took and turned behind him.

Thor leaned down a little to rub at Bruce’s sore spot for him, which made the smaller man a little flustered. “It’s fine, Thor. Just a bump.” He chuckled and ushered the much larger hand away. 

Thor nodded, backing up a little. “I was just...” He chuckled, awkwardly. “You know we haven’t talked since our date-if you’re still comfortable calling it that, of course-and I-”

Bruce shook his head. “That’s completely on me-”

“Well, yeah. I did try to reach out-” Thor paused and shook his head. “Sorry, sorry. That was rude. Go on.” He smiled in that special little pure way of his that Bruce found it hard to take any offense. 

“I just...” Bruce swallowed, not sure how to explain to Thor just how terrifying it was for him to express interest in a man who just shouldn’t even be interested in him in the first place. It was just physically impossible. “I-uh...honestly don’t know how to act and I’ve never been with a guy let alone....” he gave Thor a once over. “It’s uncomfortable for me to talk about, sorry.” Bruce nodded, accepting that it was as far as he could go. He held out a Pretzel Rod like that might help. 

Thor gently took the snack and thumped it against his palm with a smile. “Man, I really like you, Bruce.” He turned the rod over with an amused expression but quickly looked up. “I hope you know that. But if you think you’d be more comfortable as friends...” Thor flicked the pretzel through his fingers. “I’d be ok with that. I just hope it’s not because I accidentally dumped my coke on your lap.” He chuckled shyly.

Bruce brightened. “Definitely not. That was...very endearing, actually.” He blushed. The bell rang over their heads and Bruce frowned. “I’d really like to talk this out with you Thor, ok? Really. Let’s meet after school on Friday...get some tutoring done too?” he asked, feeling very open and vulnerable. But Thor made it all melt away in an instant by happily biting his pretzel rod and nodding. 

“I’ll be there.” He raised the bitten half in a ‘cheers’ sort of gesture...

Bruce strolled off with an amused and confused smile. 

                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fourth Period for the twins was Gym class. 

Which meant Pietro was having the time of his life, running around the track for the mile was probably the highlight of his school year. Wanda watched him turn a corner and felt the corner of her mouth pop up. 

They’d been a lot closer when they were younger but being teenagers seemed to change their relationship immensely. Growing into their very different personalities proved hard for them to match each other, thus made getting along difficult. 

He had his friends and she had hers...she swung the small grip she had on Loki’s palm and continued to walk the track instead of running. “He’s wearing the running shoes I got him for Hanukkah last year.” She mused as Pietro finished...first place. “Wish I was as good at something as he is with...this.” She gestured to the track with a frown.

Loki smiled. “You are.” he swung their grip that time before strolling a little ahead and walking backwards. "Look at you, the mighty Wanda Maximoff, with all your strength in the science of magic...” He trailed off and smirked when she rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Wanda. You’re one serious witch.” 

Wanda grinned. “Nobody takes that seriously except you, Loki.”

Her friend slowed down and strolled next to her again. “You’re smart, Wanda. Who cares of the physical strength it takes to run laps?” He teased her brother. “We’re going to college together, leaving our thick-headed brothers behind, and you’re going to study metaphysics.”

Wanda reached for his hand again and was happy, at least for the moment. Knowing both of them were actually proud of their brothers. 

“So, Thor’s after that Banner guy, you said?” She asked as they turned the fourth corner on their second lap. 

Loki scowled. “Yeah. Seems rather hung up on the whole idea of Bruce.” He shrugged. “They used to hang out a lot when we were younger. But mostly just at school. At home...” Loki shook his entire body and Wanda chuckled. “He’d have all those sleepovers with those testosterone filled jerks and that Sif girl.” 

Loki hated remembering all the times he’d tried to join those sleepovers as a mere child and been mercilessly teased out by Thor’s friends. Sure, he understood the classic younger sibling is ‘lame’ family trope but...it was Hell when added on to the fact that Thor was Odin’s favorite. 

Wanda nodded. “Growing up makes us all jerks sometimes.” She spoke in her ominous tone and looked off in the distance before Pietro jogged past them; she instinctively held her hand out for a quick high-five. 

The sound of their hands slapping made Loki smirk. “You’re right. Siblings are a torture but they are...” He looked off in Pietro’s path. “fun to have around.” 

The two of them grinned and continued to slack off. 

:

:

:

: :

:

: 

“Pietro is driving some of his friends home so he doesn’t care if I go home with you guys.” Wanda spoke as she walked back over to where Loki was leaning on the brick wall of the school building. Her eyes squinted from the glare of the sun but she smiled at the heat. 

“Tell your parents you’re sleeping over, I wanna try out some new stuff with my make-up and I-....” Loki paused and watch the oddball twirl about his pointer finger, which was dripping with subtle blood. He smirked. “What are you doing weirdo?”

She held out the cut for him to examine. “I cut it on Pietro’s watch-” She waved it around for a second before raising it up to her chin. 

Loki rolled his eyes, disgruntled at the sight. “I thought you stopped doing that, it’s so...uncivilized.” he watched the girl pop her finger into her mouth and suck the blood like it was no big deal. She shrugged and smiled around the finger, held still by her teeth now. 

From over her shoulder, Loki spotted a carefree looking Thor bounding over. He was making quick goodbyes to his little group, winking at Valkyrie as she and Jane fled school grounds. 

He stopped short of the pair and smiled brightly. Wanda tried to return the gesture but once she pulled her finger outta her mouth, lines of blood covered her teeth. Loki laughed at her but Thor just continued to grin at her. 

“Shut-up.” She pinched Loki’s arm as they followed Thor to the car and began swiping her tongue across her teeth. 

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{Wednesday Night} 

“Your body heat is making me uncomfortable.” 

Sam tried to look up at Bucky while he spoke but the man’s chin was resting on the top of his head which made it rather difficult and though it was a touch too warm, Sam felt quite relaxed. 

They were curled up on the small bed that conquered most of the room in Sam’s room, his elbow probably poking into Bucky’s ribs. It wasn’t often that Bucky spent the night, due to the fact that Sam’s parents were wise to their relationship. But, they made an exception as long as Bucky slept in the guestroom once it was time for sleep...that and the door stayed open a few inches. It was no paradise but...they liked to be together. 

Bucky pulled slightly back and allowed Sam to scoot off his lap and plant himself firmly next to him on the couch. “The problem is that you’re always freezing.” He threw his arm around the man once more as if that previous complaint meant nothing to him which was something Sam often did. 

“Sam, you almost always feel like you’ve been out in the sun for a week.” Bucky scrunched up his nose, wondering just how it was that Sam could feel feverish so often. He reached his hand up and gently rested it on the side of his face, feeling for the heat, and then brushed it down across his chin to the other cheek. He could tell that the other man really loved when he did things like that. 

“Maybe it’s all the working-out.” Sam smirked, tilting his head to the side and meaning a lot more with that comment than he usually would. Bucky pursed his lips and pulled away slightly, the fabric of the couch rolling under his pants. 

“I only said you worked out too much cause I didn’t want you to keep hugging me when you were dripping with sweat.” Bucky said strongly before realizing how bad that made him sound. But Sam only started to laugh and soon enough, Bucky joined him. 

That was something he really loved about them being an ‘us’. He’d found their relationship was constantly full of playful bickering that was special just to them. Nobody else got it. Sam was just so...easy-going. It naturally rubbed off on himself that way. They found the perfect harmony as a couple.  

“It’s not that bad.” Bucky giggled and Sam happily shoved him a little.

“You’re always so sweet to me.” He playfully held Bucky’s hands to his his chest and then let them fall from his own grip but the boy only reached for Bucky’s hands again and absentmindedly played with them. 

Bucky looked at Sam with all the love in his soul and cuddle closer on the damn tiny bed. “Aren’t I, Doll?” He mumbled softly into Sam’s ear. 

“Can’t believe we hated each other at first.” Sam shook his head and chuckled.

“Did we really though?” Bucky bumped their arms together and nuzzled his nose along the line of Sam’s neck. 

“Maybe not, I mean...you told me you loved me within the first two weeks of dating, Buck. I think that says a lot about our ‘hatred’" Sam turned and bumped their noses together and chuckled lightly when Bucky blushed with embarrassment. “And what’d I say back, Buck?” He asked smoothly. 

Bucky looked thoughtful and bashful in the way only Sam saw. “That you loved me too.” He scooted closer. “And that we were probably dumb kids for meaning it so early.” 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{Wednesday Night}

The laundry basket that should have been on it’s way to the dryer, sat on the floor just in front of the small window in the living-room. The sunlight that poured through the open window highlighted the array of flying dust and bathed the pile of moist clothes in the kind of heat that would surely begin a blooming sunburn on any person who dared to sit there for that long. 

The basket had been sitting there for just about a half-hour without Steve managing to notice he’d forgotten all about it. 

He whistled softly to himself as he crossed the hardwood floor and set some magazine down on his coffee table. While he made the move to sit down, he noticed the plastic white basket out of the corner of his eye and hesitated. He wasn’t usually the kind of person who huffed about simple chores but it just served as a reminder that his regular routine of things had been newly shaken by his Fathers longer work hours.  

The joints in his legs cracked as if he was an old man when he heaved himself back up from the sitting position and over to the damn thing. He looked at it as if it had personally attacked him for a few seconds before kneeling down next to it, hand digging into it. He debated on whether or not it was necessary to rush this dryer journey and unfortunately, he would be needing these clothes soon. 

Hiking the basket up, he walked towards his door and heard the pleasing sound of the static television playing some family-friendly show from the living room. The lights above him flickered eerily and really set the mood for how creepy the Roger’s laundry room really was. 

He dug through the damp clothes to really examine what he’d shoved inside the basket and glanced at the TV every once in a while by peeking round the corner. It was some show he didn’t recognize but he pegged that to his distance from television lately. 

Through the wiggling static that made up the TV display, Steve made out some father figure on the show talking sternly to his daughter. Something about boys. “It’s always the funny ones that ya gotta watch out for. They can make you laugh, they can charm ya into anything. I don’t trust this guy-” 

Steve bit the inside of his lip and shook his head. He remembered hearing some line that was quite similar to that one on some show he’d watched as a kid. It never sat well with him, even as a little boy who sat way too close to the TV. He wasn’t a very funny guy himself. At least he never thought so. He’d been told on a few occasions that he could really be a hit with jokes but he didn’t think of it as stand-out or especially good. ‘Course, he didn’t think anything about himself was. But he always sorta wished it was a better talent of his. He’d seen a few pals of his get women that way and maybe it’d work just the same for him but it was a method he never practiced on purpose....-

‘Not that it mattered’ He smiled at the thought of one Tony Stark, who always made Steve laugh. He was just one of those funny guys which saved Steve from the problem all together. 

For the first time in his life, Steve found himself on the other end of the...’usual relationship arrangement?’. ‘Not that it was a problem’. But he’d been used to asking a lady out and sure-he’d been the one to ask out Tony but...man oh man...Tony had Steve completely wrapped around his finger like no other gal did. 

                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their night was about to begin; The palettes that Loki had purchased were sitting in the middle of the carpet next to Wanda’s lit up mirror (which she’d continued to forget at the Odinson household for a solid two months) & Wanda was wrapping a Scooby-Doo band-aid around her finger. 

All was settled until Thor busted (gently walked if you asked Wanda) into Loki’s room with a hopeful expression. “I don’t wan to interrupt but I was wondering if you’d like me to drive you guys for ice-cream?” He smiled and took a seat on the carpet with them. 

“Something’s troubling you brother.” Loki chuckled. “But if your misery works in my benefit, I’ll allow it.” He shrugged but shot Thor a tiny yet meaningful smile. 

“Loki’s gonna do our make-up first.” Wanda smiled. 

Loki bit into his cheek and felt a sharp sense of nerves go through his body. It wasn’t as if Thor didn’t support him or even cared at all if he wore make-up but he’d never...done himself up with him in the room. 

“Can I watch?” Thor asked, happily. 

Loki shrugged. “Sure. I’m going to start with Wanda, who likes a lot of red shadows...so I’ll just get those ready before we start with her base...” He hummed as his finger waved around the palettes.  

He carefully began his work on Wanda and tried to pretend he wasn’t nervous under Thor’s eyes. “So how are things with Banner?” He glanced over. 

Thor rolled his lips together and shrugged. “We had a nice time on our...” He paused. “date. But he wants to talk things out on Friday.” 

Loki hummed and urged Wanda to close her eyes. “Bruce was always the oddest of your old little group.” He shrugged. “He’s not one for attention or...” Loki waved around a brush before trailing off. “I’m sure he likes you Thor. There’ll just be some things you’ll have to understand about him before you two actually get together, you know?” 

Thor perked up a little. “You are wise on these subjects, brother.” Loki shrugged, with fake modesty. 

: : : : : : : Wanda was glossing her lips as Loki swiped a perfect winged eyeliner down the slope of his eyes, mirror in hand. He tried to keep the proud look off his face as Thor actually seemed impressed with his work. 

It was a more subtle take on the look he’d been testing out but as he pulled back for a full view, he grinned. 

“I love it!” Thor smiled. 

Loki shoved down the literal pride he felt. Odin, his own father, was always ashamed to see these looks. But his Mother would always cheer and look amazed. And Thor...He just always seemed so naturally pleased and astounded by the talent it took. 

He never once made Loki feel weird about it. 

“Of course you do.” Loki put on a half-false confidence and picked up a lingering mascara tube. “Ruby Red...” 

He flicked the tube towards Wanda, who took her Que to really show off her glittering red look. 

“And...” Loki pointed back to himself. “Emerald City.” He gestured to the shimmery greens and smirked over at his best friend, who was now getting ready to get the ice-cream promised. 

“Now let’s go. You’re paying.” Loki smacked Thor’s arm as the younger two darted out the bedroom door. 

[candyshua]

It’s a Long Way Home | Chapter 10 (Finale)

Pairing: Joshua x Minghao x Reader

Synopsis: It was dark, and then it was light. You’re finally lucid. After 15 years of not being conscious, you wake up in a desolate and post-apocalyptic earth where infected flesh-eating beings roam the streets. Soon enveloped into a mysterious group of survivors, you consistently wonder who they are. But most importantly, who are you?

Genre: Heavy angst, some fluff here and there

Warnings: Gore, bad language, physical & verbal abuse

Word Count: 2k

The world unfolded before your meek eyes. What was happening soon sunk in, and you immediately ripped your already bitten arm from "Joshua's" grasp. Looking down, you noticed a bite mark was there.

But then, like magic, it disappeared. It faded off of your skin gradually within the course of a few seconds, and you displayed no signs of turning any time soon. The moment your blood touched Joshua's tongue, a series of gargles elicited from his mouth and then he fell, clutching his chest. The Doctor watched intently, and Minghao merely rushed over to help you. "Are you okay?" He stuttered, and you just nodded emptily. You paid no mind to Minghao, your attention was on the dramatic scene happening in front of you.

The first thing you noticed about Joshua was his eyes. Soon, a familiar brown coated the white vastness, and pupils sprouted like a sudden unexpected rainstorm. Color returned to his face, and his flesh tightened and cleansed itself. The reverse transformation was surreal, along with extremely satisfying. His teeth whitened, his lips weren't a pale blue anymore; he was Joshua.

Clutching his chest with both of his hands, he fell to the ground and passed out in front of you. If somebody would've walked in at this very moment, they would've seen four humans.

Soon, your eyes widened and the tears on your cheeks dried. Your eyes wandered to the open cut on your arm, no signs of being bitten near. It was just a cut, like being sliced with a knife.

You were immune.

And you were the cure.

-

Time blended together in a haziness. Days felt like weeks, as your mind swam in and out on consciousness. The reality of the power you held kind of drove you mad temporarily, but any heated haziness can be replenished with a sweep of ice cold reality.

It started when Joshua would wake up in the middle of the night, in the hospital of Fort Lockwood of course, and then he'd puke up blood. You assumed it was just his body getting rid of the infection, but to be fair you had no idea how to react in this situation. Any medically experienced fellow would have been absolutely stumped. Slowly, Fort Lockwood was rebuilt and The Doctor was under constant surveillance. You helped revive the fort to what it used to be, along with taking care of the excess scientists.

You had felt heaps of guilt, knowing many people died due to their mere inconvenience. So many souls succumbed to the title of "Collateral Damage". They were executed because they were in the way - and that was that.

Truth be told, it had been four days since your attack on Fort Lockwood, but it felt like four months. Everything was so slow, worry tended to drag things out until the final show - where everything all comes crashing down. It was like you were in a play, and the end was near.

But one more plot twist was in store, just to mess with you.

Today, you would finally talk to The Doctor - face to face. Alone.

You walked into the dimly lit basement where Joshua was once constricted, that thought being enough to stimulate an anger deep inside you. You strode over to the beaten down man, who once reigned down upon his own miniature civilization. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Now, he was under the control of somebody he used to own, somebody he used to control.

You could do whatever you wanted to him. You could torture him like he did to you, you could let him starve to death, hell - you could untie him and let him walk out a free man. You weren't foolish enough to do so, but you knew you could have.

You were powerful. This time, you were mighty and great, you were no longer the girl subject to a glory-desiring genius or her amnesic self. You were the one with the good hand, it was like showing your royal flush to fellow poker players. The prize was so close, yet so far. But, was it as glorious and magnificent as it was prophesied to be? Was power what you wanted?

You knew you wanted to make him suffer, like he did to you.

Alas, you were a living example of it - you had won.

And, The Doctor had many answers you needed. But, you wanted his name to be forever tainted - not glorified as he had wanted. So, when you walked in that room, you had a vision in your mind.

"Hello." You hissed, the pure rage burning inside of you. The Doctor scoffed, his ragged, pale skin and scruffy grey beard only adding to his pathetic and defeated nature. His icy blue eyes were no longer sparking with the evil dreams that blew inside of him, instead they were hollowed out with the harsh winds of you. You played with the gun in your waistband, until you pulled it out and pointed it directly at his head.

"I'm making it quick. Have fun rotting in Hell, buddy." You grumbled.

And then you squeezed the trigger.

The gunshot rang through out the room, but you didn't care. The incessant ring in your ears was overpowered by your triumphant smile. Victory was yours, and it tasted oh so sweet.

-

A week later, Joshua's puking wouldn't stop. You had talked to Seungkwan about it, but his blood loss was extremely risky and potentially fatal. You didn't have the technology nor the staff to figure out what was happening.

Yet, you didn't really need that. Joshua called you to his room one day, and he knew exactly what was happening to him. The thick quiet atmosphere spoke louder than so many things you wanted to say, the air impregnated with a poignant awkwardness. You two had talked over the course of this week, but there was something gone. He wasn't the Josh he was before, but did you expect him to be?

"He did horrible things to me." Joshua mentioned oddly, the once quiet air now drowning in those sad words. You didn't need to be told, for you knew the horrible extensiveness of The Doctor's actions. You just nodded and let him talk.

"He told me why he did it...How he created the virus, how you were immune...And then he fucking injected me with it- and you saved me." He continued, and you just nodded solemnly. "I don't think your blood cured me though, Y/N. I think your blood reversed whatever happened...I think it's poisoning me."

The cruel reality of fate was quite entertaining at times. It was obvious -- if your blood was the cure, then why didn't The Doctor have you hooked up to a machine? Of course he had tested your blood before. And, of course, it didn't work.

What were you supposed to do? Pretend to be shocked at the inevitability? You and Seungkwan had tried everything in your power to end Joshua's sickness, but it was no use. You knew - you god damn knew - that Joshua was going to die. And it was your fault.

You wanted to cry, but it was like you were dried out from the insurmountable amount of tears you have cried this week. You just sighed, and then laughed.

You laughed hysterically, to the point where tears rolled down your face endlessly. Joshua didn't react, he knew it was an odd reaction of some sort. Soon, your laughs surprisingly turned into tears, and then choking sobs. "I'm so sorry!" You wailed, and Joshua just held you like he used to, before everything went to shit.

You weren't at home when you in Joshua's arms. Joshua wasn't himself anymore, and you both knew that. "It isn't your fault." Joshua soothed. Truth be told, it really wasn't. He would've continued to be a mindless infected buffoon if you hadn't tried to save him with your blood. You had given him a little more time.

"I fucking poisoned you..." You shakily sobbed, as he stroked your hair and bit his lip. He wanted to cry, but he had accepted his fate. The pain of knowing that Joshua couldn't hold on to his love for you is what troubled him the most. For your love was a flame, but eventually it dwindled and burned out.

Now, just ashes were remaining. And here in the pile of ashes, you cried for what could have been.

"You gave me more time, Y/N."

"I shouldn't have killed The Doctor. He could've fixed this-"

"You did what was understandable." Joshua interrupted, hushing you softly. Soon, a comfortable silence engulfed you two, and all that could be heard were your quiet sobs or Josh's soft, slowing breaths.

"I want you to be happy, Y/N." Joshua mumbled, and you knew what he was getting at. You knew he knew, but you refused to believe it. Denial was a strong force after all.

"What do you mean?" You questioned dumbly.

"You know exactly what I mean. Don't guilt yourself into being alone forever. I can rest happily knowing that you'll be happy." Joshua mumbled, and you just sucked in a sharp breath.

You wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that he shouldn't give up because you loved him, but that wasn't true. You weren't at home with Joshua, there was no warmth. The love was gone, and it rekindled for the man who had been waiting for you. Joshua had still loved you, and he would die loving you. And in another life, he would be happy with you.

Just not in this one, for you would be happy with someone else. And Joshua? Well Joshua would be dead.

-

That night, Joshua had died beside you. And soon you learned that your blood wasn't the cure.

Not only that, you had discovered everybody from the ship you were previously on came down to Earth, and your father was no where found. And now, you lie in bed next to Minghao, a year later, still in Fort Lockwood. The world would continue on, and The Doctor's name would forever be cursed.

You and Minghao sat on top of the watch towers, looking over the forest that surrounded Fort Lockwood. It was around 2 AM, and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence. You wanted to say something, like that your period was late -- or that it had been a year since Joshua died.

But you just sat there, in silence. It was like Minghao knew the sound of the silence, he could listen to it.

During this past year, you and Seungkwan had worked endlessly with samples of your blood. No cure had surfaced.

Not only that, but no word from your father had been heard either. And as you stared into the dwindling dawn, you realized some questions would never be answered. Then, the sun rose and everything went on, like it always had.

And for a split second, you were again that girl who was confused with herself, who didn't know who she was or what she wanted, but then the feeling died. You lied in bed next to Minghao, resting after your night shift, and stared at his closed eyes.

A new passion erupted in you, a passion that was fueled from your love and experiences. It made you want to protect Minghao, it made you regret not being able to protect Joshua, and it made you you.

It was like a new reality was discovered -- a clearer more dense one. You weren't one of the good guys -- you had killed, stolen, and lied. You did all of those things because you thought you were right.

Yet looking back at it, you were so wrong. And an even harsher reality sunk in once you realized you could never make it right. You would forever be a killer, and a burglar, and a liar.

Your eyes sunk into Minghao's closed ones, and tears fell out of your eyes before you could stop them. Everyday, you would try to find a cure to help the fucked up world you lived in. You had no time to think about your happiness, because the world sat in your hands.

In another life you would be just another normal girl -- but not in this one.

THE END.

[australian-desi]

Qurbaan Hua ~ Episode 5-9: Of IVF Being Horrible, Windchimes, Cunning Aunties and Disgusting Husbands

Gonna dive right in

Episode 5

Mans has gone from “me and Meera have been dating for 6 months” to screaming “I LOVE YOU MEERA” at the top of the mountain 

Time for another coincidance - it’s purnima so he’s going to go ask for a mannat and on this day different people from different faiths go to this certain place for their wishes and prayers - and we all know what that means

Also now that I’ve watched a few episodes, I have to say I really like the styling  for Chahat they’ve given her a mix of ethnic and western wear and the fancy clothes she wears are really pretty (so far) and I hope it stays this way

I am a complete slut for mannat scenes and this one was very pure

Why can’t these people say Saraswati, it isn’t that hard

Also it’s 2020, surely it’s time we understand just because a woman is pregnant doesn’t mean she’s disabled and needs to be carried everywhere

Also, Naveli (Anjali2.0 and Neil’s cousin) is superrr suss

SHE TAPED HIS FACE OMG IM MORE IMPRESSED BY HER BY EVERY MINUTE

And she’s given him meds to give to the people he interacts with coz he causes them headaches (and he’s held onto it the whole time coz Pehle Pyaar Ka Pehla Tohfa) 

Awww our OTP has ‘Bhags stamp of approval’ 

They’ve also touched her feet how cute

Episode 6

So Ghazala has ruined Chahat’s mum’s sharara and like this is what I mean they’ve written her horribly, like why would someone go out of their way to hurt a kid like that - her mother’s dead what more does she want

And daddy dearest has another pooja to attend so he’s said no to attending his daughter’s baby shower, something Neil is now salty about

For a doctor, Chahat’s dad is quite daft 

And for a pandit, Neil’s dad is quite mean

Nice touch by Ghazala by turning this whole thing on Chahat, and thankfully her dad believes her

Episode 7

So this Kamini wannabe of a mami has said that Saraswati’s baby is najayaz, and at this point I really have got to ask - how the fuck did she jump to that conclusion?????

Apparently coz she was barren for 8 years, so how can she be pregnant now, so something must be up 

The logic fails me here, IF SHE WAS BARREN/WAS UNABLE TO GET PREGNANT, HOW TF IS THE CHILD ILLEGITIMATE???

OMFLLLLLL SHE’S SAYING THAT COZ THE CHILD WAS CONCEIVED FROM IVF, THAT’S WHY IT’S ILLEGITIMATE 

I CANNOT

I’M SO CLOSE TO QUITTING 

DO THESE DUMBASS PEOPLE NOT REALISE THAT AN IVF BABY IS ALSO A BLESSING IN ITSELF, IT’S NOT 100% GUARANTEED TO GET YOU PREGNANT EITHER BUT IT HELPS 

By this logic they shouldn’t use annnnyyyy modern technology 

I understand Neil now, and why he’s so done with this bullshit

YAAASSS NEIL, GO FUCK THEM UP 

Look Chahat, I love you and all, but like listen to Neil when it comes to his crazy psychotic family

Also do not tell me like the Oberoi family, this whole family cannot have 1 smooth sailing function/party 

We love a sibling duo that had to raise each other because their parents were dead/useless 

I’m so fucking done, now not only does your doctor have to be of the same religion, he/she has to be from the same caste 

YEH DOCTOR DHOOND RAHE HAI KE RISHTA 

Neil’s trying to talk some sense to these people, but as usual, he gets shut down for talking sense 

OMG HE’S COME OUT WITH FACCSSSS AND HAS GIVEN HIS DAD AN ULTIMATUM - His daughter or his dharm 

Also by saying that if he’s so for modern technologies in other areas, why is he against iVF 

Omg daddy pandit finally got some sense - this was an exhausting feat

Poor tacky Kamini, unlike the og, this one’s plans always fall short 

Neil, take Saraswati and just get the fuck out of here, this dumbass mami has come with a plan and is not going to rest until one of these kids gets disowned 

Episode 8

So Vyasji in a twisted turn of events has accepted Neil’s gf, as long as their kundlis meet 

Let’s be real their stars ain’t aligning in this life 

Chahat is talking to her mother through this windchime she made with her mother’s jhumke (I guess its a coping mechanisms) about how she’s gotten a cake ordered and needs to pick it up

The windchime has told her that she needs to learn how to cook to get married 

Basically even if your Indian mother is dead, her ghost will still taunt you on your inability to get married even when you are a doctor 

She has decided she will marry a chef so that she doesnt need to learn how to cook 

The foreshadowing, the cluelessness

Omg Neil’s dad writes with ink and a peacock feather (why did I think this man would write with a pen like a normal person)

He’s literally whipped out a chart and started making Neil’s (ex)gf’s kundli RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS DAUGHTER’S BABY SHOWER BECAUSE #priorities 

Anjali2.0 is literally sitting there praying as if Vyasji is sitting there calculating her Year 12 results and not a kundli

And we’ve got an “asambhav”, but we all knew that - Neil’s literally smirking coz he knew no matter what, the stars won’t align 

Omlll he’s inherited the whole “I write my own destiny” from Arnav 

“Main uss ladko ko kabhi nahi apnaunga” “Toh kya faraq padta hai, main usse apna chuka hoon” Boisss I really like this dude 

I wish I had this confidence but alas, I do not

And Neil has decided to leave the chat, go to Delhi and get married there, while giving everyone a fuck you (except his sister ofcourse)

Little does he know he isn’t even gonna make it to the bloody bus stand before he ends back here 

Anjali2.0 is begging her dad to stop him, but he’s talking about the stars and shit 

And right on cue Chahat and Neil are walking on the same bridge, none of them paying attention, they crash and just like that, the cake has fallen into the deep sea, adding to the pollution 

OMGG THIS MAN TOLD HER HOW ALL DADS ARE USELESS AND SHE GOES “oh hello, tumhe bohot saare childhood issues hai, lekin mere baba aise nahi hai ... woh mere liye taare bhi tod sakte hai” 

THIS IS WHY WE NEEDED A FEMALE LEAD IN THE MEDICAL FIELD - SHE UNDERSTOOD WITHIN 2-3 MEETINGS HOW FUCKED UP OUR DUDE IS 

and now he’s sarcastically congratulating her on her father because “aur ek mere baba hai jo hamesha taaron mein uljhe rehte hai, aur vaise tumhe tumhaare taare todne waale baba, bohot, bohot, bohot hi ziada mubarak” 

LOLLL SHE’S PULLING AND DRAGGING HIM TO GET HER THE SAME CAKE AND HE TRIED TO GIVE HER MONEY TO BUY A NEW ONE, AND SHE’S LIKE NOPE, THE BAKERY I GET THIS FROM IS CLOSED AND SO YOU WILL PROVIDE ME WITH A NEW CAKE 

Lolll I never knew he will be stuck here because of a cake 

AND NOW SHE’S TAKEN HIS BAG AS HOSTAGE AND HE’S LITERALLY SCREAMING THAT SHE’S LOST THE PLOT 

But personally, I feel she gained it 

Turns out the shop that she got the cake from, is his friend’s shop, and now he’s baking the cake himself because my man is also a pastry chef 

And he’s friend has left the chat because he doesnt want to get beaten up 

So it’s time for the kitchen romance.tm

Omg he told her he’s a chef and she’s so turned on 

OMGGGGGGG IM DEDDD 

But should’t she tie her hair #justsaying

Now back to the Neil’s crazy fam, where the only other person with sense, Anjali2.0 has also said to her dad, that Neil was always right about him 

Yesss gurlll, give it back to him

She’s telling him off how he forego his religious beliefs for her, but why can’t he do the same for Neil

I actually like her so much and the way she’s written

She’s also telling him how she tried to make sure that Neil never felt their mother’s absence (a responsibility she didn’t to take up), because her dad never let Neil feel loved 

OMG SIS SAID THAT BY BEING HEAD PRIEST, YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR DUTY AS A FATHER AND SHE DID NOT STUTTER 

Everyone is shook (including me)

I was not expecting her to give her father an ultimatum

So she said, that if he does not give Neil and Meera his blessing, he will see her dead 

OMGGG WHYYYAYFOIHFBEI THE ANXIETY 

Episode 9

We’ve begun with some cuteness regarding her rubbing flour all over face 

And like the idiot he is, he’s told her that her face is completely clean 

OMGGG HE’S GUIDING HER HANDS 

HOLY SHIT SISSS IS ALREADY IMAGINING HERSELF BEING MARRIED TO HIM 

Like same, but I also cannot 

Also I’m lolling at the fact she’s imagining their Nikaah, like his family won’t kill him for that

OMG THIS DICKHEAD HAS GIVEN THE CAKE HE MADE FOR HER DAD TO THE GAREEB CHILDREN LIKE SHE GAVE HIS SANGORIA TO THE GAREEB CHILDREN 

Awww I spoke too soon, she left the cake at the shop and he was just messing with her 

Guysss I really love their chemistry

He said that he won’t sit behind her, coz he doesn’t sit behind girls *rolls eyes*, but she’s not having it and reminded him that she beat him in a motorcycle race so he should suck it up

And they’ve had their first ‘accidental’ pressed up on each other fall 

A trope I do love with all my heart  

NOW HE’S COVERING HIS CHEST LIKE HIS IZZAT HAS BEEN LOOTED 

I’m hoping that Shyam1.5 isn’t as bad as his predecessors, but I do realise that is wishful thinking coz the couple scene where he talks to Saraswati was quite sweet

OMG THERE’S AN INTRUDER IN THEIR HOUSE AND I REALLY DON’T WANT SARASWATI TO GO CHECK, AND I’M FREAKING OUT 

She’s found Naveli’s earrings on the ground, Shyam1.5 and her are having an affair aren’t they

I FUCKING KNEW THAT NAVELI WAS SUSS AND SO WAS THIS HARAMKHOR SHYAM1.5 

I AM SO GROSSED OUT RN, WHAT IS SHE 10 YEARS OR MORE YOUNGER THAN HIM 

OMG HE’S ACTUALLY YUCK, LIKE SHYAM WAS YUCK BUT AT LEAST KHUSHI WASN’T HIS SAALI

AND WHAT TYPE OF COUSIN DOES THAT 

Saraswati please go fuck him up 

OMG OMG OMG YEH PADA THAPPAD!!!!!!! 

Well that’s another week done

[shark-from-the-park]

FIC: The Fitzier of It, Episode Two

A Fitzier The Thick of It AU in several parts.  You can find Episode One here .

In this installment, spin doctor James continues to try to get noticed hired by Minister Francis and those around him offer helpful advice…

Warnings for very bad language throughout, NSFW discussions, endlessly snacking LeVesconte and John Franklin.

@casperthefriendlylittlefan @litttlesilkworm @boisinberryjamarama @thegreenmeridian  @coffeesugarcream @cinemaocd @the-jewish-marxist @hereliesnils @nashilena @itisa-profoundbond-sarandom @idlesuperstar @what-a-terrorific-mess @pipuhattar @kahootqueen69 @jaredharrisankles @shit-in-silk-stocking @bobbole @twerkinshield @fellowshipofthegay @aconfusedwriter @uncannybrightside

Episode 2

“Alas, I find myself out of touch, gentlemen.”  Sir John Franklin was saying over steepled hands.  “The electorate wants something new.  Someone younger and more dynamic.  Even… someone more radical, perhaps.  I am no longer the man for the hour.”

This little speech would have had more impact had not James and Dundy been hearing various iterations of it for the past few weeks.  

“James, I want you to go to Francis.”

“Sir John, I’ve tried!  I went over there last week, Sir…”

“Now, James.  I know that you and Francis haven’t always seen eye to eye.  In fact, you two have been butting heads for as long as I can remember…”

“Sir John, I did try…”

“Now James!  The political landscape is changing.  This enmity between the two of you has gone on for long enough.  It’s high time that you and Francis, well… kissed and made up, so to speak.”

Dundy snorted violently and James shot him a death glare, even as he was horrified to feel himself blushing.  

Undeterred, Sir John spoke on.  “Now I know that Francis is a difficult, combative sort of man, James, but no doubt his heart is in the right place.  If you’ll only give him a chance.  You’ll need each other, when the news of my retirement is made public.  No doubt he will want to rule over you with a firm hand, James.  And we all of us know that you’re not used to that.  But you’ll just have to swallow down your pride and submit to him -”  Dundy appeared to be choking.  James hoped he’d be quick about it.  “- You’re both good sorts.  He’ll learn to see your worth in time.”

James had not gotten this far in life without learning to accept defeat, especially when defeat entailed Sir John stopping talking.  

He cleared his throat and studiously ignored Dundy’s shaking shoulders.  

“You’re right, of course, Sir John.  I’ll go and see Francis again.  I’ll see if I can get him on his own and make amends.”

Sir John smiled magnanimously.  “There now.  I knew you’d see sense.  Frankly, I’ll be glad when you and Francis can finally put your quarrels to bed.”

*****

Lurking in elevators was not James’ favourite part of the job, but being the head of communications for her majesty’s opposition had taught him the value in it.  

And he was very, very good at it.  

There was many a junior minister who would automatically piss their pants at James’ looming, immaculately tailored visage ambushing them from the lift’s blind spot.  

This was all to the good – James’ bread and butter.  

But Francis Crozier, of course, was a different matter entirely.  If he had ever in all his years been cowed by an enforcer or a party whip, James had never heard tell of it.  

All the same, when the man himself finally came striding down the corridor towards him, all rumpled grey suit, no tie, and comfortably-soled Clarks boots favoured by scruffy dads the world over, James immediately wanted to slap him.  

The Irishman’s eye-roll upon spotting James was impeccable – honed over years of practice to ooze just the right amount of world-weary disdain.  

“Well done, James. You appear to have gotten the drop on me.”  He drawled, one thick finger stabbing at the button for the ground floor.  

“Well, I wanted to have a word without your hirsute bodyguards present.”  James could actually feel his mouth pulling into the prim little grimace he reserved for their altercations.  “Francis, have you considered what you’re doing?  You are squandering your shot at the top job by refusing the assistance of the one man who can actually help to get you there.”

“You know James, I’ve often wondered how the corridors of power functioned at all before you were born.  Enlighten me on that, why don’t you?”

“For God’s sake, Francis. If you could just stop putting all of your energy into being offended all the time, we might actually be able to have a productive conversation, for once.”  James hadn’t meant that to come out sounding quite as petulant as it had.  

Francis turned the full force of his curled lip and razor sharp eyes onto him.  

James involuntarily took a deep, preparatory breath.

“I know what you want, James Fitzjames.  Your sugar daddy is finally giving up the goat.  You’ve racked the entirety of your public school brains, casting about for the next sucker you can sink your hooks into.  All so you can cling onto your power and influence like a limpet and remain a self-important, uppity, egotistical prick a little longer. Finding, due to the deplorable state of political discourse in this country, that the only candidate with any grass-roots support is this backwards Irish turd, you’ve decided to polish me up.  Is that the long and the short of it?  Well, this turd doesn’t want to be polished.”

The lift doors dinged open on the ground floor even as James’ mouth hung open.  

“I never…”  He spluttered (and he never, ever spluttered). “Francis…  I don’t…”

“Good conversation James, we should do this more often.”  Francis sardonically straightened his jacket lapels before striding from the lift.  

James watched him go, blinking as the lift doors began to shut again.  

*****

“I’ve never called him a turd.”  James muttered over a late lunch.  

“I can believe that.  You’d never say anything that vulgar.”  Agreed Dundy, shovelling forkfuls of lasagne into his mouth.  

“I might have… I mean, I did…  call him ‘backwards’ a few times, I suppose.  I mean, no more than, probably, seven or eight times.  I used to throw around that word a lot, back in the early days with Sir John.  I was a different man back then.”

Dundy nodded in agreement.  “You were an insufferable prick back then.  You were young, though.  Now you’re an older, more sufferable sort of prick.”

“Oh fuck off Dundy.  Don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this.”

“Because you can’t bear solitary introspection?”

“I mean, who else is he going to get to spin for him?  Hickey?  Francis wouldn’t touch that immoral piece of shit with a barge pole.  I’m the best, most senior, most experienced communications officer this party has. Why wouldn’t he want to work with me?  I’m a safe pair of hands! Is he really going to cast me off just because of a few offhand jokes I may have made years ago?”

Dundy chewed thoughtfully while he let James finish.  “You do realise, I suppose, that the reason this is all so personal for you…” He paused to take a few gulps from his bottle of Peroni. “Is because you’re obsessed with him?”

James couldn’t quite make his normally agile mouth form words.  

“I used to find it pretty funny that you didn’t clock it…” Dundy continued. “…but it’s starting to wear a bit thin now.  Do you know, years ago, when we first started working with Sir John, you used to literally go out of your way to interact with Francis.  And then when it became obvious that he didn’t think very much of you, you got even worse.  Taunting him down corridors just so he’d take a verbal swipe at you and you could tell me all about it at lunch the next day.  What he said to you, what you said back, what exact colour his face turned…  You’d get so excited talking about how awful and uncouth and boring he was.  Do you know, Francis Crozier must legitimately be your favourite topic of conversation.  Usually insulting him, I grant you, or laughing about how much you’ve riled him up.  It’s getting a bit embarrassing at this point, Fitz.  So here I am, doing my friendly duty, for once.  Maybe next time you approach Francis about his leadership bid, you should just drop to your knees and suck him off.  Or maybe you could offer yourself to him arse first.  Break the ice and get it out of your system.  Two birds, one stone, that sort of thing.”

James’ fork had clattered onto his plate at some point. He couldn’t seem to order his thoughts.  

“Dundy… you are… you’re… miles off with this whole thing, you know… Ha. Francis?  Ha.  It’s utterly ridiculous.  I mean… You’re completely missing the point.  He’s not even – I mean… He’s… Francis.  He’s…  This is about the good of the party.  And about my career.  And about your career.  And OK, it’s about his career too.  And about the good of the party.  For fucks sake…”

Dundy rolled his eyes and gave James a look which he must have perfected on his twin toddlers.  

“Hey Fitz, remember when you told me about your gap year and how you fucked that weird guy in the toilets at Heathrow?  And then mid flight you realised you still had the condom stuck up your arse and you had to spend twenty minutes in the plane loo trying to fish it out, all while a stewardess was knocking on the door asking if you were alright?  All so they wouldn’t think you were smuggling drugs when you got to Bangkok?”

James blinked at the hard turn in conversation, but just about managed to nod.

“Do you remember when I told you the one about how I accidentally came all over Jane Garibaldi’s face that time and got her right in the eye and she made me take her to the walk-in centre and tell the nurse what had happened?”

James nodded dumbly.

“You laughed your head off through both those tales, Fitz.  And a hundred other embarrassing stories.  You’ve got no shame.  Never saw you blush once.  But you’re blushing now, alright.”

James spluttered. “That’s because you’re talking about Francis Crozier!”

“Exactly.” Concluded Dundy sagely, swigging down the rest of his beer.  

*****

“D’you reckon it’s time we brought Fitzjames on board yet?”  Enquired Ed Little, seemingly out of the blue.  

“Nah.” Francis answered at once.  “He pissed me off the other day in the lift. Entitled public school wanker.  Let him stew a while longer.”

Blanky looked even more thoughtful than usual.  “Let the lad come down another peg or five, maybe learn a bit of humility.  Then and only then, Edward, will we bring him to our loving bosoms and let him sup the milk of socialism.”

Francis grunted in amused agreement.

“You know,” Mused Ed after a moment, with a muted little smile.  “I reckon that maybe there’s only one of us whose loving bosom Fitzjames is interested in…”

Francis snorted in derision and rolled his eyes.

Blanky howled.

*****

Episode Three here...

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite Chapter 16 Part II

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, smut, penetrative sex, creampie 

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Oya had returned to the library the moment Gallant had finished his interview. As soon as he stepped in he was bombarded with endless questions to which he all explained the basic rules for the interview and some of the questions. Apparently, Michael had struck quite a nerve, Gallant seemed positively distort, unsure what to do with himself until he found the way to mask his exposed soul with what he did best. He began speaking of the sexual tension, how Michael had made a hit on his… ‘gay-dar’ or whatever he called it, to where Coco began to prompt that he couldn’t possibly be gay if anything he was bi.

By then Oya had lost interest in the direct conversation and instead seethered in her own sexual frustration and blatant jealousy. In this expiration she walked with intent through the halls, her purple skirts basking around her as she stormed up the steps, only to halt when she saw two hunched over shadows tip through the hall.

The anger evaporated and turned into curiosity. She stepped behind a pillar, hidden from the two teenagers clearly lurking eyes. They snuck into what she expected to be Michael's room, closing the door after them. So they were spying on him… It was laughable with the knowledge she held. If they found anything it wasn’t my mistake, it was with full intent.

He’d been here for a day and there was already anarchy in the air. Oya made a face between impressed and glee before continuing on her way, a little less angry than before. This was going to be fun.

The teens weren’t the only ones that had been up to mischief or so it would seem when the day after Oya watched Gallant be dragged away in his undies with a bothered expression upon his face that was slightly concerning given the severity of the action. Whatever he had done he looked pleased with himself and Oya could only imagine what’d he’d been up to. Which she did with a frown on her face.

Alas, she breathed out to calm herself and rolled her neck again before passing through the hall to her room.

It wasn’t before Oya was sitting in the library ignoring the stupid conversation between what Coco labelled the other team as the old people and her own team of ‘youths’ over who had it the hardest, that she was to see Gallant again. This time there was something unhinged in the way he held himself, eyes distant and still there with obscure anger. She leaned forward and sipped at the water waiting to watch the show unfold.

If she weren’t the goddess of the underworld she’d be the goddess of chaos, strife and mischief.

Evie stopped fanning herself, eyes widening at the sight of her grandson. The air shifted to one more tense and severe, with everyone but her holding their breaths waiting for what was to come. Gallant picked up a glass of sparkling water with a childish pout on his lips.

He breathed out harshly before speaking. “Surprised to see me breathing, Nana?” Now his eyes were set ablaze, his anger unquenchable. “They usually shoot people for fucking...or,” He made a face at his ‘Nana’ looking mildly manic. “Did you not remember that when you turned me in?”

Evie smiled at her grandson, though there was no love there, indifferently shaking her head. “No hard feelings, darling. I wanna live and the only way to achieve that is to get rid of these 10 little Indians who stand between me and the golden ticket out of here.”

“Umm, we’re sitting right here,” Coco intervened offended.

“I knew you were a bitch but I underestimated how big of a bitch you were…” Oya commented earning an agreeable ‘Yeah!’ from Coco and Dinah. In all honesty, she didn’t know whether to be impressed or not by how cunning Evie really was. She set her own grandson up, watched as he’d fall and find his death to be entirely justifiable. If it weren't for how much Oya hated Evie she’d think there’d be a slight chance of her joining the Sanctuary.

“It is not my fault you can’t control carnal urges,” Evie threw at her flesh and blood, trying to justify her behaviour. This was the signal, it was kill or be killed. This was battle royal, what would you do to survive?

“YOU have LIVED!” Gallant shouted pointing violently at his grandmother. “I haven't.”

“Oh yes, you have! You have crammed 10 lifetimes of failures and screw-ups into your 30 years!” Evie rose to challenge Gallant with her own raised voice. Call it a byproduct of having been locked up with them for a year but Oya felt a pang of sympathy for the man who was standing up to his bitch of a grandmother. She wondered if he’d smash the glass on the table and jab it into her wrinkly neck. Gallant wasn’t bad, he was lost and had always been.

Where Michael might have been cruel or indifferent, Oya could be much softer, it all depended on the person.

“Am I the only one who makes mistakes?” Gallant blatantly asked to the room, holding his hands up. “Hmm?”

“No, but I’m always the one that has to clean up after you. Let me see 3 expensive rehabs on my dime, fancy lawyers to keep you out of prison. When your grandfather rejected you because of your perverted lifestyle-,”

“Gay’s have been around much longer than you’re propaganda history books tell you so shove that ‘perverted lifestyle’ up your cobweb cunt,” Oya defended with deep annoyance. She always did hate how humans disenfranchised everything they didn’t perceive as natural and made it so it was permanent, especially when it came to sexuality when it is so clearly fluid and more nuanced than black and white. They did the same with cultures and skin colours, and she had seen it all with her own eyes.

“As I was saying,” Evie dismissed Oya’s comment with a scoff. “ your ‘perverted lifestyle’ I took you in! And what did I get back?” Gallant turned away from her attack, swallowing the water with clear discomfort. “Yes, you went and you bankrupted 2 salons and then you snorted the third one up your nose.”

Evie turned to the room not a hint of regret on her face. “I deserve to live. I am the bridge between the past and the future. I mean when those poor survivors arrive what do they know about culture and music, and art? And I will be there to tell them all about it.”

“You’re a rich old white hag 99% of your ‘culture’ is stolen,” Oya mumbled under her breath catching an approving glimpse of Dinah.

“One lifetime of me is worth 50 of yours! Humanity may be in a sorry state,” she stared Gallant up and down with a diminishing look. “It deserves better than you.”

With a shaky breath, Gallant drew in a breath before speaking. “I should have put you in that motion picture home years ago. The only thing I ever wanted from you was for you to love me and accept me. Why couldn’t you just give me that?”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just not in my nature,” she spoke without regret. It was like watching a painting fading, the colours drained out of Gallant with his last hope of love. Evie patted her grandson on the cheek before leaving, knowing she had devastated him.

What she didn’t think were that with every last hope of love stripped away, with the betrayal and disappointment she had caused her grandson, she had also made an adequate enemy. Gallant was now a hairpin trigger and she had a target on her back. It wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge and knowing Michael, he’d see to that it’d happen.

Disappointment and betrayal make the perfect enemy. In Evie's desperation for survival, she may very well have caused her own downfall.

“Well it's a good thing you convinced me to bring your nana,” Coco commented with no feel for the tension in the room. Either that or she didn’t care. Gallant ended up falling to the cushions between Oya and Coco who so rudely rose up biting that he should sit on the other couch. He sank until his head rested against the back of the couch, eyes empty and breath still.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Coco spoke loudly and looked at Oya.

“I’m not,” she shrugged. “Sexuality is fluid. I’m not gay or straight, I’m just…” Oya made a hand gesture that was meant to mean ‘something’. A headache was forming just behind her eyes making her pinch the bridge of her nose frowning.

“That’s a shame,” Coco blabbers.

���Why?”

“Because that means you’d be willing to fuck your way into the Sanctuary.”

She isn't wrong on that one. Oya doubted that if it stood between fucking for survival and death that anyone would choose to fuck regardless of their preferences. It was just funny how Coco thought she’d stand a chance when Michael so clearly wasn’t interested in anything more than playing cat and mouse.

But the statement brought back the nib of jealousy and possessiveness both of which were irrational and if Michael were to know of it there’d be endless teasing.

“We can count Gallant out, he already tried it.”

“He’s right there and he still breathes,” Dinah commented at the distasteful words. “I’d say he’s ahead of all of us.”

“He’s the only one who’s been interviewed,” Coco barked in her usual tone of voice. “It’ll all change when the rest of us is called in. Gallant can’t be the only one Langdon chooses and he most definitely will not be on the radar if I get my chance.”

“We don’t know if it was Langdon he fucked,” Oya injected. Coco waved her hand dismissively before striking up a less intelligent conversation with Mallory. In sympathy, Oya patted Gallant on the head before leaving.

Whomever Gallant fucked remained a mystery, though Oya had her suspicions, much clearer than her co-inhabitants, but Gallant proved not to be the only one who let the desire run wild.

Through Mallory, she found out that Timothy and Emily had both been dragged away by Venables henchmen followed by the ruler herself. Their salvation came in the form of Michael who shaved them from the bullets that were going to be planted in between their eyes. Why Michael choose to save them remained a mystery but she had the suspicion that he was setting up something bigger and if anything he was just toying with them.

Soon others were called into Michael’s appointed office Oya awaited her call in the library sitting among the other residents awaiting the news of each person's interview.

There was an unease creeping under her skin, her heart beating faster each time a resident entered the room. Each had a different reaction to the interview, Mallory being the one that seemed the most jarred, while others came back sexually frustrated.

“Oya Jeon,” the voice travelled from behind the slide doors, sending a shiver down her spine and straining her heart. She drew in a deep breath and entered the room with her back held straight and head held high, hands calmly connected in front of her.

He was sitting behind the desk, eyes studying papers that couldn’t possibly be hers with disinterested eyes and waved his hand as he spoke to motion her towards the chairs. “Please take a seat.”

“I’d prefer to stand,” Oya spoke cooly, feeling the wave of emotion collide with her body. The anger was the most prominent feeling and the one easiest explained. When it burned hot it burned blinding hot and at this moment she settled for anger and pushed any other feeling away.

Michael looked up through his lashes, blue eyes catching the orange flicker and darkening. Oya listened to the doors being closed behind her. The trap snapped shot. She masked herself perfectly with a cool expression one to rival his own. Then a Cheshire smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes swallowed up by his pupils. Slowly he stood, body stretching out before her and suddenly it was as if she was seeing him for the first time in… well, a year. The hair had grown well past his collar, all the way down to his collarbone, with soft waves that fell down around his face. He looked older somehow, his features sharper and eyes more calculating. With a predatory stalk, he walked nonchalantly towards her.

“Stop.” Her voice was firm. She glanced towards the door with a lingering question.

“No,” Michael spoke with a charming drawl. “They can’t hear us.”

Her eyes turned towards him once more, eyes burning holes in him. The only thing that could be heard was the crackling fire, the orange flames licking at the air and sending waves of warmth out into the otherwise cold room. There wasn’t a way to be sure if the room would have frozen over or been set ablaze had it not been for her powers being locked away.

Michael raised a brow at her.

“You lied to me,” she broke the silence, voice stern and unflinching. “You left me here with these people! Do you have any clue as to how fucking excruciating it’s been? And for what? For spying on them?” Her voice began to waver and it broke towards the end when Michael took a single elaborate step towards her. She held her hand up and stepped back. “Stop.”

Michael’s head fell to the side, eyes eating up every micro-expression she made and caught on to when her voice wavered with emotion. He remained silent and she wasn’t really sure as to why.

“That old hag Evie is quite possibly the most insufferable person I’ve ever met, Coco is impossibly shallow and superficial and I’m not sure if the obnoxiousness is to hide something else. Then there’s Gallant whom I’m pretty sure you’ve got all figured out by now. Dinah is elusive but quite possibly the one candidate to put a bet on. Mallory is the only interesting grey solely because her whole character seems to make herself impossibly small all the while glimpses of something else shines through. Dinah’s son is just whiny and annoying. Then there’s your choice to lead this outpost!” Her voice grew louder as she was allowed to revel in the fire of her anger, letting it all out in angry sneers and elaborate arm movements ending in aggressive pointing. Michael allowed all of it. He didn’t stop her, never attempted to. “Mrs. Venable… Why do I continue? You already know all of this, you already made up your mind about them.”

Oya was breathing heavy, eyes wild and bitter. She could feel the confining embrace of the corset straining at her ribs and thereby her lungs. With each breath she took the shadows dug into the skin of her shoulders, edging out her collarbones that had become more prominent at the lack of proper food. The fire dimmed, if only a little, quenched by the feeling of hurt.

“You abandoned me here with them,” she expressed and swung her palm through the air, the sound of it smacking against skin ricocheting through the room before the stinging set in. There was a flicker of something wicked in his eyes, an entertained tug to the corner of his lips before he brushed it away with a swipe of his thumb. His cheek burned red and so did her hand. He pressed forward and Oya took another step back swinging the other hand only for it to get caught in a firm grip. Weakly she tried to pull it to her but Michael refused to let go, his grip as iron and yet without the promise of a nasty bruise. Oya spoke again with a wavering voice trying to retain the flicker of rage that had started to slip away. “I-I thought something had happened. I thought you were dead.”

“No,” Michael countered, eyes never leaving hers, ever-changing. At this she was speechless, gaping at him with wide eyes. No? What does he mean ‘no’?

“No? No?!” She pulled her arm to her and almost stumbled when he let go.

Her eyes caught the sight of his tongue darting out to wetten his lips before he spoke again. “If I were dead you’d know.” He began stalking towards her. With each step he took, she took one backwards.

She would have thrown poison at him, spoken with violence that maybe it would have been better if he were dead because then he had an excuse to abandon her here. Instead opened and closed her hand, palm still stinging from her attack but also with a need to be swung once more. With clenched jaws and a pointed glare she spoke. “Tell me, Michael, did you fuck him?”

His lips parted to draw in a breath, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards in the most wicked way all the while his eyes drowned in mischief. His head tilted a little before he purred. “Would it bother you if I did?”

The question hummed inside her mind, tickled and grew. With another step backwards she felt the wall stop any attempt of retreat, efficiently trapping her between it and him. Michael only stopped when the tip of his pointed boots touched the skirt of her dress, all too close for her liking and not close enough. Oya realised something when she searched his eyes, read his face, almost leaned into his presence and the warmth he radiated. He was like a playful cat but far more dangerous.

The realisation was quick, the humming inside her mind stilled and soothed the sliver of jealousy that had set root within her by the lusting humans that wanted nothing more than to sink their teeth into him. It should be them that was afraid if Michael were to sink his fangs into them. But it wouldn’t of one very simple reason, it’d give them exactly what they want and there’d be no satisfaction in that. He wouldn’t just let anyone touch him. Even though Michael were the embodiment of sensuality he found no interest in sex, not with anyone but her. Sensuality was a weapon turned towards everyone else.

“No,” she drawled just like he so often did. He pursed his lips tilting his head to the other side. “You could fuck him -you could fuck any of them if you so desire.” Michael blinked at her intrigued. “But you won’t… and even if you did, I know I’m the only one you’d ever find ease with.”

“Have you thought about it a lot?” His voice was a low rumbling thunder that sends electricity throughout her system. Then she felt it, a tug at her skirt that ever so slowly hitched higher. Never did his eyes leave hers.

Her heart drummed against her fragile ribs, adrenaline spiking her system and enhancing her senses. His scent engulfed her, the familiar spice pricking at at her tongue that made her mouth water. Her red lips were parted, soft breaths filling her lungs. More than ever before were the restraints of the corset present, she felt that with each breath she filled out the confined only to feel it loosen when it left her again. She was wet, she’d lie if she said she wasn’t wet the moment she stepped into the room but now the ache became more prominent.

It had been 18 months since she was last touched, her body ached and longed for his touch, it would revel in it. For 18 months she had tried to subdue the growing want for him.

“Tell me, Love,” he purred, hitching her skirt up higher. Even though the Victorian knickers she felt the heat of his fingers burning through the fabric. The first touch was light as air, trailing up her thigh ever so slowly.

“I-I’ve been here for 18 months, of course, I’ve thought about it,” she stammered wrapping her fingers around his scorching wrist forcing him to stop. It was getting increasingly harder to think, to keep up all the pent up rage she had been building. The castle of anger she had built around herself came tumbling down with one blow from the big bad wolf.

“All those long nights,” he continued voice lowering. His hand began to move again and she felt herself weaken her grip. “Did you touch yourself?”

“Yes,” she breathed licking her lips while his eyes darted to his.

“Did you think of me?”

“Yes.” Her knees felt weak as if they could give in any moment. Fire burned on her skin, his fingers leaving a trail up her thigh, slowly inching towards where she needed him the most. He was playing with her but unlike the other inhabitants, she was the only one to taste victory. He could leave her, just stop all of it and it would be entirely within his character, it’d be cruel and merciless, but it would also make for great sex later on.

But the thing was, she wasn’t the only one who had gone without the touch of someone else. She wasn’t the only one who felt the desire burn through her veins. And by far she wasn’t the only one affected by the presence of the other.

Michael’s pupils were dilated, blown out of proportions and swallowing up the blue of his gaze. Even though his breathing was normal he felt the air strain in his lungs. When she let him go completely he let his fingers travel to her mount and watched as her head fell back against the wall, lips parted in a silent breath and eyes fluttering. He marvelled at the sight of her, the shimmer of her lips, the flush colour building under her skin, her black eyes reflecting the fire. Under his touch she pushed her hips forward greedy for more, it made a chuckle form in the back of his throat.

“Did you miss me?” The question was light but it was like having thrown a bucket of water over you. Oya stilled, body tense and heart galloping all the while skipping beats. It felt as if she would surrender her anger to him, forfeit the grudge that had been building up in her, to give him her bitterness of being lied to and left for what felt like an eternity. Honestly, she’d have taken her little plot of land in Korea over this outpost any day.

“I can’t forgive you,” she began quietly. She reached for him, cubing his cheek and felt that he leaned into her touch just a little. “And I will make you pay for it.” She licked her lips before continuing, eyes softening with affection. “But I did miss you.”

“I’m sure you’ll make me pay in all sort of ways,” he rumbled pressing into her.

Their lips met briefly, her lips chasing his only to part in a low moan as his fingers circled her clit. The fabric stuck to her uncomfortably, cool everywhere but where his fingers touched. The ache pulsated between her legs, begging for her to just spread them right then and there so he could get between them.

“You’ve been playing a lot of games,” she purred, fingers hooking into the smooth fabric of his jacket, pulling him to her. “It’s been very entertaining to watch unfold.”

“There’s more to come,” he said, lips brushing over her jaw, nibbling at the skin of her neck. His fingers travelled downwards, pushing shallowly into her. She could have unravelled right then and there, it had been long since she came finding it difficult to bring herself to the edge and over.

Michael removed his hand, the skirt falling to the floor now that nothing was blocking it. Oya almost broke out in protest, no not protest more like sobs. A whine managed to escape her quickly shut lips. Michael merely grins at her, taking her hand and guided her through the room. With one tug she swung around, hands harshly placed on the wooden desk in an attempt not to fall straight on her face. Her nails scrapped over the wood when she balled her hands into fists, biting her lips as the skirts were thrown up over her ass, his hands gripping at her hips.

Michael knocked at her heels in a silent order, making her spread her legs more. Then she felt it, his large hand going from her hip to run down her ass, gripping it tightly. She held back a moan, melting further into the stance. Once, twice, thrice he ran his hand up and down her ass feeling her up before his fingers brushed against the wet cloth.

“Have you thought of me?” She found herself asking before she could stop the words from spilling out through her lips. With her back turned to him she didn’t see how his head fell back, bottom lip caught viciously between his teeth, but she did hear the ragged breath he took before answering.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?”

“No,” he answered. Confusion made its way onto her face, fisted hands turning into flat palms. She didn’t know whether to take offence or not. Or maybe she should be impressed by his restraint. She herself couldn’t exhibit the same level of it. He did have a lot to do after the end of the world, maybe the time wasn't there. But by god the vision of Michael’s firm and slender fingers wrapped around his cock with the look of desire plastered all over his face, with his perfect lips parted in soft gasps, eyes sultry and half-lidded.

“Oh?”

“I would much rather wait,” he drawled. The air hit her hot wet core as soon as the fabric was tugged down. In the candlelight, she must be glistening. He ran his palm over her mount, fingers wrapping around her swollen clit and pinched. A feeble weak sound escaped her throat, knees buckling a little. Michael dipped a finger into her and curled it, her walls beckoned him further, convulsing around him trying to get more stimulation. Then he added another finger and began to scissor them, each brush drawing out hitched breaths from her, arms beginning to tremble.

The other hand that remained placed on her hip pulled her backwards all the while bending her further over the table. If anyone walked in there would be no doubt as to what was going on with Oya lying bend over the desk, legs parted and ass bare to the world. When he moved his thumb to her clit she let out a moan, feeling just how slick she really was.

With little shame she pushed herself back onto his fingers, efficiently fucking herself. The feeling almost brought tears to her eyes. “Fuck,” she breathed.

For a moment Michael admired the view, the sight of his finger slipping in and out of her pussy with a frivolous need. He swallowed at the sight before adding a third finger, stretching her out further. “It’s almost pathetic your need to be fucked, it’s so human.”

“And you made me this way,” she bit back at him, eyes fluttering when he twisted his fingers while pushed at her clit almost too hard. “Fuck, Michael. Please, I’m ready.”

His fingers left her, her walls clenching around the emptiness. She imagined he’d use her juices to cover himself, pumping his fist a few times before gliding the head of his cock up and down her folds. The feeling was enough to make her mewl. In one upstroke, he caught on her opening and shallowly dipped in making both of them hitch their breaths in unison.

She couldn’t take the anticipation any longer and caved. “Please, Jagi-ya .”

Michael pressed into in one slow fluid motion. His fingers dug into her hips with steel and iron, without a doubt leaving bruises there for later inspection. Oya couldn’t withhold the moan that tore through her throat, nails digging into the wood as Michael pulled out and re-entered with a harder thrust. She could hear it, the low grumble from deep within his chest making its way up through his throat.

“If it wasn’t because you have to remain in the shadows, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk,” he grunted speeding up. With each thrust came a wave of pleasure. The feeling brought tears to her eyes, the delicious stretch and the full feeling better than she had imagined for months now. His words almost made her cum right then and there.

“I’m su-sure,” she agreed. For a moment she was afraid that cumming once would be enough after having repressed the aching need for weeks now. Not even when she was bound in Korea would there have gone as much time by before she had to satisfy herself. Then a savage smirk formed on her lips and she clenched around him as much as she possibly could, almost breaking her trail of thought. “But when all this is over it -it is you who won’t be able to walk. I’ll turn your b-bones into that gross jelly they feed us here. S-see what world you’d build when you’re bound to the f-ucking bed, Jagi-ya .” The last word was said in an extra sweet tone.

Michaels strong hand wrapped tightly around her throat, forcing her backwards to him. Her back was arched. The grip was tight enough to make her feel her own pulse but not tight enough to do any form of damage. His breath was in her ear, lips grazing over the shell of her ear. She could hear the smirk in his voice. “I could make you go out there with cum leaking out of you.” He snapped his hips to her making her eyes roll back in pleasure. “Or maybe have your breath smell of cum.” His grip tightened as he snapped his hips to hers, the lewd sound of flesh hitting flesh filling her ears with a low hum of her own pulse. “But I can be nice.” Now his voice was dripping with sweet sweet poison. “So very nice.” She could feel herself clench around him, the wave of hot white pleasure washing over her with vengeance. One hand found its way from the desk to Michael’s fine jacket, clutching the fabric violently as her breath was caught in her lungs. “I’ll let you choose.”

“C-come inside me,” she croaked out, voice dampened by his tight fingers. She heard him take a strained deep breath, she could almost feel him bite his lip and he tried to concentrate.

“How lascivious of you, Love,” Michael moaned thrusting into her one last time, burying himself deep before spreading his seed. The warmth was familiar, it was strangely obscene, but it felt… missed. She didn’t know whether it was him buried deep within her or the feeling of his seed she missed, most likely the former. Michael released his grip on her, Oya falling forward with a relieved breath, hands firmly planted on the desk’s cool surface. She felt him withdrawal, felt the movement of his seed.

Oya swallowed before letting out a breath, slowly beginning to redress herself, putting on the Victorian knickers that she’d have to wash herself to remove the cum stains guaranteed to happen. Cum stains she could handle, what she couldn’t handle was her breath smelling of it when she was to face the other inhabitants.

“You’re enjoying the humiliation of me going out there, asshole,” she said lightly with a faint smile on her face. Of course, he did, he enjoyed toying with people and she was no different, though with his way of toying with her were only between the two of them. The embarrassment came from both of them knowing.

Michael tugged up his pants, fixing the slick fabric to a point where it looked utterly perfect, while she fought with the barbaric ruffles of her dress to make it sit properly. He had the devil on his shoulder, that’s how he managed to look completely perfect while she lacked her own little devil. He was cheating . With a huff, she pulled of the purple fabric and swore that whenever she got out of here she’d never wear purple ever again. Fuck purple and fuck Venable for making them wear it.

Michal sank into the chair behind the desk, palms flat on the surface like hers had been. He watched her as she prepared to fall into the role of Oya Jeon once more. She brushed her tied up hair back in place, the loose strands fastened by tying them into the elaborate hairdo Gallant had managed to give her. Of course, Coco never allowed him to let Oya outshine herself.

Now that everything was in place, she let their eyes meet. “So, do I meet the requirements of the sanctuary?”

Michael tried to repress the smile on his lips, forcing it into seriousness. “You will know in time.”

“Did you miss me?” They looked at each other silently for a moment before Michael went to answer in a smooth drawl.

“Yes.” The answer made her heart flutter. The orange flames caught his blue eyes with warmth. Then the warmth seeped out and he fell back into the role of Michael Langdon, the one mean to pick and choose who to save and who to kill. Oya let herself find the mask she had worn, let his presence affect her negatively to a degree as a cover for what really happened. She brushed her hands over the material of her dress, collecting her hands there and waited.

“You may leave now,” Michael said with indifference, waving his hand towards the door and turned his attention to the papers in front of him. Oya rose from her chair, slipping out of the room and was met with curious stares that picked at every seam of her being to see if they could catch something beneath her blank expression. Oya decided to lean up of the others accounts of what questions he asked, how he had acted and made it convincing by the jaded tremor in her voice.

“Did you hear?” Coco asked after the endless questioning. Oya shook her head with a weary frown. The blond woman licked her lips and inched closer, a smile unmistakable smile on her lips. “The old hag died in her sleep! No more listening to her endless stories.”

This surprised Oya. She thought the bitch would never bite the dust… Unknowingly, her eyes travelled to Michael’s closed doors. Nothing happened in the bunker that he wasn't aware off, nothing happened without him pulling a string. For a moment Oya wondered just how intricate a web Michael had spun, just how deep the game was and if she were a mere piece or puppet.

“These past several months have been difficult for all of us. And perhaps in my efforts to keep us safe, punitive measures have been taken too far. I believe now what we need is a moment of celebration. Comradery. Which is why, this weekend, as a gesture of goodwill we will have a Halloween soiree,” Mrs Venable voiced out loud with a smile on her darkened lips. Coco and Gallant looked at each other in excitement, one seemingly shared with most inhabitants, if not with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

Oya was the ladder, finding the sudden need to celebrate perplexing, to say the least. For months it had been the same. No holiday celebrated, no birthdays, no celebration of any kind, just the same disgusting jelly, the same vitamin water, the same music over and over. The sudden change was worrying. Not only that but earlier the grounds had once more been breached and no word of what it was had yet been told. It all smelled fishy, or so the Americans tend to say. She couldn’t help but feel strings were being pulled, and she knew exactly who was the puppetmaster. This celebration was not the work of Mrs. Venable, though she might not know it.

“It will be in the style of a Victorian masquerade ball,” Mrs. Venable continued.

“If only my Nana were here to enjoy it with me,” Gallant muttered, the sudden excitement turned into something solemn and dark.

“We’ve all lost track of time a bit. And this festive occasion is the perfect opportunity to remedy this. And I encourage you all to use your imaginations,” Mrs. Venables voice rose with festiveness. “To create what I am sure will be exquisite costumes.” Now her voice fell into the same old track, stern and cold. “Attendance is mandatory.”

With that everyone was allowed to leave, most hurrying to make their costumes. Oya adopted the same vigilance and glee the others held while maintaining the slightest sliver of scepticism. Dinah held the same look in her eyes, the gleam of knowing something the others didn’t, knowing something similar to Oya’s own knowledge. The two women looked at each other, their masks off to reveal both of them being wary, before plastering a polite smile on their lips to maintain the mask once more.

“I know we’ve only just been told of this but do you have any idea what you’ll wear?” Dinah asked, taking Oya’s arm in her own as the two of them headed towards their quarters.

“No,” Oya answered frankly. “I have the six same dresses in my closet that I’ve always had and have no idea how to transform them into something new. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of wardrobe choice nor any excess material to work with.”

“I find it odd that they chose Halloween of all holidays, though I suppose it falls into Mrs. Venables taste,” Dinah shrugged and chuckled at her last sentence.

“Victorian masquerade! Couldn’t she just have called it Masquerade? We’re already in the Victorian,” Oya gestured to the tight garments with puffy skirts. She had lived through the times where victorian was the fashion, she had pale strangers come to her for her abilities, wishing remedies or blessings or curses. She had seen the fashion first hand even without leaving Korea and her plot of land. She had lived through many fashions, many invasions and occupations trying to take the land from the ones living there. Hell, she had seen kingdoms rise and fall, both her own and the in the world around her.

“True,” Dinah agreed. “Admittingly I do look forward to the celebration, we have to take what we can, right? And by the looks of it Mrs. Venable has something in store for us.”

“She sure does,” Oya grumbled, eyes flicking over the firepit in the middle of the room as they passed through the hall and up the stairs. The flames danced with gleeful abandon, the shadows following suit on the walls. Sometimes she had through to put her hand in the flames just to feel the pain but she didn’t.

“Do you think Mr. Langdon will join us?”

“Mr. Langdon?” Oya looked puzzled at Dinah who smiled kindly to her, her dark eyes catching the flames, lips thick and pretty. Dinah was a beauty but she was also that ever so positive talk show host through and through. Sometimes it was too much. Enough to make Oya want to strangle her. But there had always been something else, something hidden, a dark tint.

“Yes, the party would be the perfect time to tell us who’ll join him at the Sanctuary.” Dinah let go of Oya’s arm having reached her door. She brushed her fingers over her purple dress nervously, with hope and something else in her eyes.

“It is a possibility,” Oya commented meekly, not able to agree or disagree. It seemed to be enough for the darker woman, she smiled at Oya as she headed into her room and closed the door behind her. Now Oya was left alone in the hall, the cold creeping along the stone walls, nibbling at any exposed skin. She let out a breath and rolled her neck, heading towards her own room. The door closed and locked behind her with a soft click. Oya trotted to the bed, sinking down onto it with a huff before ripping the leather laces up from her boots, kicking the leather off with a sigh of relief. Those boots might look good but by the gods were they confining and painful. For a little while, she sat and massaged her feet dreaming of planting them on the soft soil, letting her toes dig into the ground as she walked through the garden. She missed it, having something to do, letting things grow and expand. She missed lifeunrestricted but knew it wouldn’t come for many years to come. There was also a bigger part of her that missed her powers, how they flowed through her, how they could twist and curl, how it was mischievous and playful. Michael had them, somewhere.

Oya took of the dress and kicked it across the floor with venom before attacking the corset hidden beneath, that which was thrown through the air and into the wall with just as much venom. “You better have tons of airy clothe in the Sanctuary and much prettier because if I’m forced to wear something like this again, every fucking day, I’ll castrate you.” She threatened the empty room, trotting through it and into the shower. The warm water relaxed the tension in her shoulders while she washed the sex off of her, fingers splashing water between her legs while the dirty imagery of her interview played in her head. He had looked better than ever, more mature and grown somehow, his edges refined and perfect. In the 13 months, she had been nothing but human he had grown to be the master in a lot of things, he had found himself, or rather, he rested in himself. The confidence had always been there but now it was matured. There was still a vulnerability to him but she hadn’t yet seen it fully, just caught glimpses. She supposed it was to keep level headed, being apart so long and with such difference in power and environment would have changed anyone.

But they were still connected, she felt it in that room. Oya had been herself for the first time in months and the relief of that was hard to hide. When she’d get her powers back she could finally breathe again, she knew it.

Oya turned off the water and exited the shower to find a note written on the foggy mirror. Come to my room. She wiped the surface clean, revealing her reflection beneath. Her features were sharper and more edged out due to the lack of food. Although she had always been on the thin side, visible collarbones and ribs, they were now edged into her like a crude statue, showing just how little they got. She couldn’t wait to soften her look, not feel so fragile and delicate. Oya dried her hair and braided it into a long thick braid, then twisting it into a bun held together with what once was a decorative letter opener, forced between the strands. She threw the towel over the side of the tub, one much smaller than what she had grown used to, before entering her room naked and clean. A dress had been neatly placed upon the covers of her bed, it’s look a mix between Victorian and something along the lines of traditional Korean hanbok. The fabric was much softer than the other dresses in her closet, it was without ruffles and strange textures that was nothing more than a terrible fashion choice. No, it was cut cleaner, with lone soft lines, a neck dipping an inch or two lower than what she was used to, with black see-through puffy sleeves.

She drew in a breath and began dressing, the Knicks, the underskirts, the corset and then finally the dress. It fitted her perfectly and she shouldn’t have expected anything less, it was after all Michael who had left the dress there. It was a plum purple that managed not to make her want to throw it in the pyre.

The door was unlocked, daring anyone to enter, with only a few brave or stupid enough to accept that challenge. Oya entered the room, locking the door behind her. She had made sure the shadows had hidden her form as she moved through the halls, no eyes catching sight of her.

The room was like any other, though it was a bit smaller. It had the same furniture, the same bedsheets, the same dark aesthetic. The candles flickered upon her entry, shadows dancing on the walls. Michael silently entered too, a towel wrapped around his lower body while his hair was tied up loosely to escape the water he had just exited.

Oya clenched her jaw at the sight, eyes following his every movement as he stalked through the room, throwing the damp towel he used to dry his upper body with onto the bed.

“If anyone were to have seen me...” She said calmly walking to the wardrobe to pull out one of his black shirts. By the time she turned around, Michael was hitching up his pants.

“They didn’t, although it would have made quite the tale,” he drawled, zipping up his pants. Oya nuzzled the soft fabric of his shirt between her fingers as she waited for Michael to be ready for it.

“What have you been planing? You’ve been puppeteering, I know you have.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, eyes bright blue with mischief. “Now, it wouldn’t be much fun if I told you.” With her help, he slit his arms into the shirt. Her hands trifled over his shoulders, fingers brushing against him as she came around to face him.

“You’ve made your decisions then?” Oya asked and began to button up his shirt, fingers working nimble.

“Yes, I will be making the final draft during the festivities,” he answered her with a slick smile. Oya pursed her lips at him, brows furrowing together in a frown. There was the slightest touch, a simple brush of his fingers against the fabric of her dress. She paid no mind and looked up at him, buttoning yet another button. “You will not be joining us?”

“As much fun that may entrail I still have work to do and I’m sure Mrs. Venable wouldn’t mind my lack of presence.”

“Paperwork even after the apocalypse,” Oya grumbled discontent with that matter. She was now half way up his chest. With a flash of her displeasure shining through her eyes Michael chuckled. “And the witches? They were the reason why we’re here after all, what of them?”

“A few survived the blast, that I’m sure of.” he breathed with a low voice, fingers dancing through the air to motion ‘somewhere out there’. Oya buttoned the last one, prushing her hands over the fabric and ran her eyes up and down to see if she had missed one or it the shirt was crooked.

“How so?”

Michael smiled entertained and began to fidget with the cufflinks. “Haven’t you felt them?”

“I’ve felt a lot of things, Michael, and most of it were pure and utter rage for you, ” she poked him right in the chest in the most childish manner. What was he expecting? That her hair would stand on the back of her neck? A tingle under her skin? Goosebumps? “I’m human, unless it’s in my face and obvious I won’t notice a thing.”

“Dinah Stevens was the voodoo queen of New Orleans before she became a talk show host and Mallory...Mallory is something ,” Michael informed with vague interest in what he was actually saying. Oya narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms over her chest and made a displeased motion with her mouth. Voodoo queen? Dinah didn’t seem all that powerful and she certainly wasn’t a threat, but it did make sense why the mask of positivity sometimes cracked to reveal someone more clever and cunning underneath. But Mallory, she surprised her in a way Dinah didn’t, mostly because of the way Michael said her name.

“Is she something to be worried about?”

This seemed to draw attention from him, his eyes flashing up at hers. Michael breathed in between his teeth and tilted his head. “No, not that it mattered if she was.”

“Because you’re going to kill them.”

“Actually,” Michael began, a devilish smirk growing on his lips. “I’m not the one to kill them.”

“Venable is,” she finished with an eye roll of his dramatics. There was no reason to get blood on his hands when all he had to do was pull a few strings to watch the whole outpost unravel. And that’s what he wanted, he wanted the humans to be the cause of their own destruction, he simply laid out the tools and waited for them to choose. “I don’t know whether to think it’s going to be a dull party if everyone dies or if its ‘a total banger’ as Gallant would phrase it.”

Oya walked to the closet and picked out a black jacket, helping him in it with ease. Michael released his hair from the small bun, letting it wave down over his shoulders, perfect as always. She was fixing his collar when suddenly he pulled an apple out of thin air, the red fruit catching the light of the candles. Oya paused, eyes growing at the sight of something fresh, it’s sweet smell engulfing her and made her mouth water. Then she looked past it, to the mischievous smirk of her counterpart and withdrew from reach with narrowed eyes filled with suspicion.

“Is it poisoned?” Now she knew of the lure Snow White couldn’t resist, the lure Eve couldn’t resist.

“Not this one no,” Michael answered her, taking her hand and placing the fruit in her palm. He could clearly see the hunger in her, the starvation that had cast shadows over her form and edged out her bones. There were no doubt that he admired her, if she wasn’t so transfixed on whether to believe him and sink her teeth into the apple or to throw it at his head, she’d have seen the abortion shine through the cheeky smirk. He admired her persistence.

“But the rest is,” she concluded and fished out the knife hidden in Michaels jacket. The blade cut through the fruit with incredible ease and she quickly ate the piece  eyes fluttering at the taste. “I suppose this is a nod to the forbidden fruit.”

Michael took hold of her jaw lightly, bringing her sweetened lips to his only to find the touch of her fingers on his lips as she withdrew. Oya tsked and shook her head, rivaling his own playfulness. “I spend too long on this makeup for you to ruin before the party.”

“And I, who gave you a most precious gift! You wound me,” he fauxed hurt, hand on his heart as if to underline what he said. Oya chuckled at him, enjoying the playfulness she had missed so much, the ease of his presence.

“What of the rest of the witches?” The seriousness returned.

“They could have died in the blast although I’m sure they’re out there somewhere. They’re like cockroaches,” Michael said with such an ease it filled her with confidence. If it wasn’t for the makeup or the apple currently being enjoyed to the fullest, she’d have kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

When the apple was carved to the core, Michael took it from her thin fingers discarding the remainder in the fire. Oya placed the knife on the mantle before coming up behind Michael, wrapping her arms around him and pressed into his warmth. His scent was intoxicating.

“We’ll find them. One way or another we will find them and then destroy them,” she assured him and tightened her grip to emphasize. Although she couldn’t see him, a rumble tingled through his back and into her. He turned to her, her hands working around his movements and landing on his chest as he came to face her.

“I think it’s time you wear this,” he said and held up a stone black as obsidian framed by silver so that it hangs as a pendant from a chain. It was beautiful. Oya touched the stone and felt a tingle at her fingertips, warmth radiating off what should have been cold. She recognized it instantly.

Michael opened the chain and led the parts around her neck, the black stone standing out against her otherwise pale skin, lacking the touch of the sun and health of nourishment. It almost hummed against her chest. Was it as alive for him as it was for her? Michael’s hands came to rest against her neck, fingers tracing soft patterns on her skin while he angled his head towards her. “You will know when it’s time to break it.”

“Thank you,” she breathed softly feeling closer to freedom than what she had felt in a long time.

Everyone had on their finest attire and masks placed upon faces. Oya watched as they were all drawn to the perfect red apples that had been rolled in like fine dining to be placed in the small tub of water. They had all drawn in a breath of the sweet smell, mouths watering. She had watched them with amusement and played her part as well. Gallant was right about the symbolism… Something that’d soon turn to irony.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Mrs. Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt,” Mallory introduced from above in the most expanced way possible clearly tired of Coco’s bullshit. Coco stepped out onto the balcony, lips painted in a heart shape and hair rising so far up from her head it reminded her of the elaborate headpieces back in Korea once upon a time. She stood as Marie Antoinette, or a watered down version anyway. The hair was impressive, even she had to admit that.

“Mhm! Can we clap please, thank you!” Gallant implored for people to clap at his masterpiece, clapping his own hands in the face of others to push their own actions. Oya joined in, eyes following the girl down the stairs.

“You did that?” Mrs. Mead asked in astonishment.

“Without a blow dryer sometimes I even astonish myself,” Gallant beamed with confidence. Clack, clack, clack, the erie sound of Mrs. Venables cain beating against the tiles travelled through the hall and into the library. It was a clear indicator of what came next. The claps slowly died out but Coco didn’t realise the shadow that had fallen upon her, not before Mrs. Venable leaned in beside her ear and said ‘boo’. Coco jumped in chock, the light teasing air within the room now tense with the usual kind of cold that followed Venable everywhere. Intimidation was the perfume she wore.  

“Tonight is all hallows eve,” Mrs. Venable began after Coco had scuttered away like a small mouse, the longing for the spotlight already showing upon her face. Oya breathed in, quietly moving into the shadows.  “-Which marks the beginning of the dark half of the year, when the boundary between this world and the other thins, and lost souls pierce the firmament desperate to find their way home. It is a night to remember the dead and there have been far too many to mourn.” A chilled quiet formed within the room, the losses heavy on their souls. Oya couldn’t count herself a mourner, she had lost far too many and the people that had been alive not long ago, were all mere spectres, mere thoughts.

“But also to celebrate,” Mrs. Venable continued with a smile on her lips. “That we have yet to join them.” The tap of her cain began anwe, Venable passing through the room with the air of superiority surrounding her, shoulders almost razor sharp with the edge she had on them. “We delight in the small things, that were once taken for granted. To eat, to drink, music and dance. Everyone! -and I mean everyone, should savour this night as if it were their last.”

Oya wanted to burst out laughing or quite maybe just yell. Venables whole speech was littered with cues and indications, like any villainous speech. The idea of throwing one of the candles at the redhead crossed her mind, but she remained quiet, the itching in her fingers never subsiding. It was a speech Michael would have liked, just for the fact that he knew exactly what was going on. He’d love the irony, appreciate it even. In this instance, she didn’t.

The music began, a new song and slowly the room began to move, bodies dancing throughout the space. Oya herself began to sway, taking a glass of sparkling water that quite honestly tasted like ass. Timothy and Emily swayed together, eyes connected in loving gaze. It was nice, she had to admit that, regardless of the end in sight.

“It is bewildering is it not?” Mrs. Venable said approaching Oya, whom eyed her over the rim of her glass nothing how revived the woman before her had become by the decision to play god with her own garden of Eden. Venable would present herself as God and the snake lureing starved humans to their own ruin. Poetic. “What little it takes to change everything, something so simple as apples.”

“I believe the promise of hope is what brings this change,” Oya voiced, fingers tapping with the rhythm on the glass. Venables eyebrows rose slightly, dark eyes fiery.

“Hope?”

“Hope is the smallest of things, it’s almost impossible to get rid of and it brings the biggest of change with it. Hope, want, desire, they all set root and grow.”

“And Mr. Langdon brought all of this? Hope? Want? Desire ?” The way she says the word, like it burns her mouth and leaves nothing but ash. Venable had always been opposed to desire, it was so easy to see in the way she gripped at control that desire was the fundamental of which the world was brought to ruin. That desire was the thing that made everyone who possessed it no better than rats. They were beneath her, those who were controlled by it and she was so far above because she was in control.

“Mr. Langdon brought many things, didn’t he?” Oya asked, following Venable through the room. They walked slowly, with sure steps although Oya trailed a few inches behind letting Venable control the pace. There was no need to look at the taller woman, she already knew the look of loathing upon her face mixed with the knowledge that she was soon to be rid of the thing she found so displeasing. “There’s been desire.” Oya said looking out into the room. “There’s been want.” They passed Mrs. Mead by the radio. “There’s been hope…All of this brings chaos of course, and this unabided is what brought the world to its knees, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Venable looked slightly surprised halting. “The old world was built on desire and the constant need to fulfill it. There was no control. People just did whatever they wanted. They were without discipline and those who was supposed to be the authority disregarded rules and mismanaged entire countries.”

“The world was ended because of men like him.” Venable looked over Oya with contemplation the younger girl giving no nod to her own thoughts. She wasn’t sure if Oya was taunting her, if the girl had some sort of knowledge and was now just toying with her or if she revealed for the first time her true thoughts. To her Oya had always been dubious, her intentions had always been unclear, she was a mystery that presented herself as simply another body that inhabited the place and her file had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Then Oya continued. “So why should we follow him?”

“I am not sure what you are saying, Miss Jeon,” Venable said ambiguously. “Do you not believe in the Sanctuary? Or do you not believe you’ll get in?”

“I am as sure as my position as any,” Oya said. “But these days it’s hard to know who to trust.”

“Indeed, which is why it makes me question your intentions. You’ve never been interested in the politics of this place, while the others have thrown their childish fits you’ve remained quiet. Now, however, you’ve decided to voice your views. You say men like him were the cause of the apocalypse and yet you’re willing to put your life in his hands?” Venable shook her head, eyes dark with fiery teeth ready to sink into any weakness presented. It was admirable what she was willing to do to be the queen, paving the way to her kingdom with the corpses of those who got in her way.

“For survival, I’d do anything. Wouldn’t you ?” Oya answered with a tone Michael would have been proud of, the same nonchalant mocking he had mastered so well. Venables eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Oya send Venable a sweet innocent smile before turning around and joining Gallant and Coco on the dance floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Venable return to where Mrs. Mead was, the two clearly sharing a few unknown words. If Michael had been there he would have been proud.

Mrs. Venable was a fox in sheep's clothing but there were other bigger and more dangerous creatures mimicking sheep as well.

A dark tall figure entered and began dancing with Coco. It wasn’t Michael that she was sure of but it could be one of this tricks, Oya simply shrugged and joined Dinah by the fire, chatting together as the mood began to brighten even further. It wasn’t before Coco’s disappearance down dim lit hall that Oya excused herself, disappearing as well. She had done her part, she had shown her face and now was the time to withdraw into the shadows while the attention was elsewhere.

“Let’s begin the bobbing for apples!” Mrs. Mead voiced out loud, turning down the music and gathered with the others around the small body of water. Oya looked over her shoulder one last time before walking to her own room.

Death had been invited in with open arms, a feast was thrown as a welcome and now was the time kiss death on the lips and take his hand for the festivities were for a goodbye and another world awaited.

When the door opened and Mrs. Venable and Mrs. Mead entered, Oya stood by Michael, she had one hand that rested on his shoulder in a familiar touch. Already she could feel the hardened glare of Mrs. Venable, the eyes that cut like glass and pricked at her back. The cane tapped at the floor, one after another until it came to a rest and then the door clicked closed.

“Ladies I’m a little busy right now formulating my selections,” Michael voiced with a nonchalance Oya couldn’t match. She was after all human and her body reacted to the threat of these people by sending a spike of adrenaline through her body even though her mind knew that Michael wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“This won’t take long,” Venable said with a cold venom. Oya turned to face her, mild entertainment showing on her face. Venable’s eyes cracked to her the hostility almost unnerving. Michael shut the laptop gently, turning towards the intruders with the same nonchalance that he had spoken with.

“What’s this?” Michael asked with faux obliviousness, one that tugged at the corners of Oya’s mouth as Venable narrowed her eyes at him. The cane clicked as she came closer, invading the space of the two.

With one last click of her cane Venable answered with a victorious smirk. “We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon.” Her eyes traveled to Oya with sharp accuracy, the anger towards the other woman apparent. “I see you really would do anything for survival, Miss Jeon. I will admit, I am a little disappointed by your choice, you were after all supposed to be the smart one…. But you’ve made your choice.”

“And so have you,” Oya responded in a tone equal to Venables.

Venable drew in an unbothered but still strained breath before speaking, her eyes once more on Michael, who remained in his mask of faux confusion and obviousness. It was so apparent that it was faked. “And I’m afraid neither of you made the cut.”

Oya and Michael looked at each other and burst into chuckles that was neither warm or friendly but rather mocking. It was hard to keep the chuckle in when faced with someone who thought they were the puppeteer when in reality they had as many strings as the ones they thought they controlled. Venables power had been as superficial as Michael’s confusion.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment but I just couldn’t hold it in,” Michael said carelessly. He could be looking down the barrel of a gun and know it’d not be enough to take him down. Venable thought herself superior in the face of a god. That was better entertainment than what she had seen the last year. Still the arrogant smirk remained on her dark lips.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think I’m impressed, Mrs. Venable,” Michael answered. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.” Stretching his body to the fullest of his height, Michael stood. He glanced at Oya before returning his eyes towards the enemy. “You passed the test. You’re perfect for the sanctuary.”

The woman behind him made a face of disagreement but remained silent. If Michael wanted her to go with them, then she’d accept it but that didn't mean she’d like it. Maybe he’d forgive her for killing Venable because that certainly would be the case if Oya had to live with that wretched woman for the rest of her human life. But of course, the woman she knew would never agree to fall in like under the heel of a man like Michael, any man actually.

“Mrs. Mead,” Venable breathed with annoyance. The smaller woman with ink hair and paper-pale skin fished a gun out from under her jacket, the sound of it clicking following quickly after. With her human body, Oya reacted to the sound, a wave of goosebumps washing over her. Unconsciously she stepped behind Michael, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket, the motion of it without a doubt known to Michael. She knew he felt her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Michael warned and by doing so extending another chance for survival. He wouldn’t give another one. Venable’s smirk grew, the fire in her eyes burning bright by the victorious end in sight.

Michael tilted his head towards Mrs. Mead, brows rising in anticipation. By this show of what some would call carelessness but in reality a certainty, Oya felt a boost of confidence. It was strange to watch Mrs. Mead with her ghosty blank expressions as if a million thoughts were going through her head.

The delay became too much and Venable’s delight turned to impatience. “Mrs. Mead.” Venable turned to glare at her companion but found that the gun was now pointed at her. Before she could register it went off, the expression of her face changing to surprise and then betrayal. One Oya recognized all too well. The sound of the shot resonated through the room and ran a cold finger down her spine. The air smelled and tasted metallic, a small gush of blood exploded into it.

Oya couldn’t help but breathe relieved, the joy of seeing Venable fall from her pedestal to lie on the ground among all those she had killed. If she believed in karma this would be it. But there were also surprised bubbling within by the reveal that Mrs. Mead had been the one among all of them to protect her. That she hadn’t seen coming.

Mrs. Mead, however, looked as shocked as Venable, her actions a complete surprise to herself. She shook at it, body trembling while she watched the woman she had thought she was to protect now lying dying on the ground, gasping for air as she drowned in her own blood.”I don’t know why I did that. I was always so loyal to her.”

Oya felt sympathy for the woman but remained standing in silence while Michael crouched down to look Venable in the eyes as life left her. Rarely had she felt pleasure to watch life leave a person but a few occasions changed that.

“It’s alright,” Michael said with a calm voice. “You were obeying command. Like you’re programed to do. My commands.”

Oya stepped up to him, placing a hand on his back as he stood and looked at Mrs. Mead, satisfaction shining through his eyes and the corners of his mouth turned into a delighted smile. “Did you enjoy executing the poisonous apples plan as much as I enjoyed coming up with it?”

Mrs. Mead was at a loss of words for a moment. You could see everything going through her head, how disoriented her thoughts were. Her body was frozen in time, still pointing the gun as if Venable was still standing. “You wanted everyone dead?”

“I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty,” Michael explained with a drawl. “Learned that from my father.”

Oya looked down at Venables dead body, the bullet torn through clothing and skin as if it were the same and left a bloody gaping wound in her chest. From the looks of it it had tron through her chest plate and into her lung. There were no blood splatter nor any bullet hole behind her, so the bullet was still inside of her. Either she drowned in her own blood or her heart gave in. By the time Oya looked up, Mrs. Mead was trembling even more, bottom lip quivering and tears streaking down her pale cheeks.

“-Always more fun to entice men and women to dirty deeds. Confirms what I’ve always believed.”

“W-wa-what do y-you believe?”

“That all people, if given the right pressures or stimulus are evil motherfuckers,” Michael continued. Oya made a face and pursed her lips. Whether there was a flaw in Michael’s belief or not, were not hers to dispute. To her humans was oblivious little creatures capable of great monstrosity or kindness, each holding their own value. Humanity was flawed and just maybe a new set of rules, a new world, could make up for that flaw. In chaos, there were always the greatest fun.

“I-I’m having trouble with this,” Mrs. Mead stammered. “I know, I’m just a machine-,”

“Never say that!” Michael broke, the tremor in his voice indicating how emotional he was in this moment. It cut into her, the sudden realisation that this woman was more important to him that she initially thought. “You’re not just a machine. Not to me. When I tasked the Cooperative’s R&D department to have you constructed…” Oya put a hand on the small of his back, coming up to stand beside him. Michael glanced at her and revealed the tears in his eyes, the pain and sadness in the blue. “I gave them a prototype to model.”

“A prototype?”

“Someone from my childhood,” Michael said gently. “This one very dear to me.”

It was like she was watching the sun rise for the first time. Pure and adulterated realisation shining through every ounce of her. It looked like a door had opened and all that was hidden behind it washed over her.  

Oya couldn’t help but feel a strange sadness at the bottom of her stomach. This woman was created in the image of someone else, someone human and she had been lost to him. This woman was made out of his pain and sorrow and loneliness to replace the one he had lost. But in the end, to Oya at least, a robot could never replace a human.

“The beautiful boy,” Mrs. Mead said calmly.

“That was me,” Michael said back, voice barely above a whisper and breaking. “But I had to keep the most important part of you hidden from your mind.”

“Why?”

“To protect you,” Michael answered. “And the plan. But now it’s time to remember it all. I lost you and I couldn’t bear it. I can’t imagine a new world without you by my side. One of two women who ever really understood me.”

There were no other way to explain it other than pure happiness showing upon her face. “Who ever really loved you.”

Michael embraced the woman, hugging her tightly. The sight moved Oya, her heart swelling in her chest. He looked like a child, a boy who was finally hugged by their absent parent that had returned to them. She had seen the boy in him before, seen the loneliness and heartbreak. If a simple thing like a rose or an embrace could bring this sort of happiness, belonging, she’d shower him in it. For all he had gone through he deserved better.

Michael sat Mrs. Mead down and told her about the woman in which image she was created. The conversation was intimate, between the two, mother and child, and Oya felt strangely out of place. She watched as the two were hunched together, the aura around them thick and warm. Standing back she wrapped her arms around herself and looked away while nibbling at her bottom lip.

“...Who better than the one person who I never stopped trusting,” Michael said with a gentle drawl. “Or loving.”

Mrs. Mead smiled, eyes sparkling with artificial life, with joy and prosperous love. Truly, it was like she was looking at her son, with the same proud eyes mothers had when their child achieved greatness. An oddly jealous ache settling in her heart. The woman stood and Michael with her, she took his hands with a gratified smile upon her lips.

“Mrs. Mead, I do believe you’re glowing,” Michael smiled at her.

“For the first time I feel like I know my place in the world,” she said. At this Oya smiled, knowing exactly what that felt like. She walked to Michael, wrapping her arm around his and smiled at the both of them.

“Oya,” Mrs. Mead said and looked at Oya who’s eyes widened a little unsure what to expect. The woman simply smiled and brushed a hand down her arm and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here,” She answered. Michael smiled down at Oya only for his smile to stifle, slowly turning into a frown as his eyes unfocused out into the room. The air changed, electricity filling it up making the hairs on her body stand. Not even the candles and fireplace managed to warm the air that seemed to be forever chilled.

“What is it?” Mrs. Mead asked.

“A powerful presence,” Michael answered.

“What do you mean everyone is dead.”

“Not anymore.”

[frejahertziswritingthistime]

An Education chapter 24 (finale)

A/N: Oh. My. God. I CANNOT believe this is the end. I’ve been quite emotional writing this chapter, and the look back to the beginning of this has brought a little tear to my eye. It has been such a wild ride for me to write, and I’ve seen my own growth with this story. I’ve learned so much, and I’ve enjoyed every single comment, reblog, like, ask and message I’ve gotten for this story – this has really been a wonderful experience, and I’ve truly, honestly, loved every single second of writing this.

Now, to some less sobby stuff! This is the final chapter, BUT fear not, I might do a sequel (gasp, I know), and I’ll definitely do a few one-shots; sort of a day in the life-thing AND definitely a smutty one-shot of Freyja and Sam getting it on.

Without further ado, enjoy the final chapter of my longest running fic, and let me know if you’ve loved it!

As always, remember, I always say yes to requests, and feedback feeds the writer (I am a very insecure writer)!

MASTERLIST

An Education masterlist

Buy me a coffee – find my list for commissions here

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, language, a little flangst (I guess)

2 months in Hel

 I had so far managed to get on Hel’s nerves in more ways, than I had expected. I had managed to get Baldur in on it, so we frequently sang Wannabe, My heart will go on (duet-version, of course), Eye of The tiger and Waterloo – I had to teach Baldur every single song, but it didn’t matter, as soon as we saw Hel’s face. It was worth it.

I had also tried my hardest to make her fucking insane. I kept up the soccer-mom “it’s just a phase, honey”, whenever she showed up, along with lines like: “Oh, honey, black makes you look so ashy”, “have you ever tried to do a pink wardrobe instead?” and “You just need a little concealer!”. Needless to say, Hel was close to a nervous breakdown.

I was currently in the throne-room, walking in circles, searching for something, anything, that could make Hel more annoyed than she already was – I had been humming “Under the sea” for the duration of the day, and Garmr was bouncing around after me, woofing gently and tail wagging. Hel had been so damn pissed, that Garmr seemed to like me more than her, which I utilized to the fullest extent – I had taught him to sit, roll over, play dead, high-fives and he was now always only a step behind or in front of me, whenever I went anywhere.

It was hard, though. I had a sense of time was slipping out from under my fingertips. The longer I stayed, the harder it would be to get back. I knew that Freyja had told me, I could go back, but it felt as if sand was running through my fingers. Like I would disappear, be dust, with a snap of Hel’s fingers. I also knew, that time moved slower down here – my two months might be four years in the real world, which meant that the longer I stayed, the older my daughter was, and the possibility of Dean finding someone else was imminent.

It scared me. I talked with Baldur a lot, trying to hear if Freyja had kept tabs on Dean and my daughter, but she never answered those questions. She always told Baldur that the world was right again, Loki had been put back to his old punishment, which, to be fair, did sound awful. He was chained to a cliff, with poison dripping down, one drop at a time, onto his forehead. I idly thought that it wasn’t enough. He needed to suffer even heavier, than he did. Baldur was sweet and caring, trying to keep my spirit up – he made small lights flicker around me, shaped like fairies, sun, trees, anything that would remind me of what I was returning to. If I did return.

I was starting to lose faith, that Hel would ever let me go. I knew it had to be by her own hand, that I was set free, she would have to release me, but so far, I had only managed to make her angry. Annoyed. I doubted it was enough.

I danced around, humming Under the Sea, while Garmr was running in circles around me, tongue hanging out, his spit creating small sizzles and smoke-puffs, as it hit the ground. His spit was some sort of acid – at least he knew never to lick me anywhere. I was sure, even though I was technically dead, it would hurt like a bitch, if he did. I smiled down at him placing my hands out, and he quickly placed his front paws on my palms, hopping and bouncing, as we danced together. I heard the low growl of Hel behind me, and I stopped to turn around and look at her.

She was sitting on her throne, her long, pointed fingers squeezing the bridge of her nose, as if she had a migraine. A fleeting thought of wait, can Gods get migraines entered my mind, but it quickly pushed it aside; I knew instinctively that this was my one shot. This was what I had, this little moment of weakness she showed, was my way out.

I quickly scanned the circular room, spotting a few hands trying – once again – to grab the sleek, stone wall to crawl out, moans and wails echoing under me. Right next to them, two skulls, gray and sodden, sat, and I smiled grimly. Sorry, dead people, I need your skulls.

I grabbed them, pushing the hands away, that tried to grab my ankles, and picked them up. I walked slowly but perky to Hel, and stopped in front of her.

“If you are planning on telling me, that I need to wear pink again, I swear to Odin, I will rip every single bone from your body and use them as toothpicks.” She said in a low voice. I smiled at her. “nope. I made you something. A little… Appreciation-song, if you like.” She glanced at me. “Do not sing. No more. I cannot take it.” I smiled wider yet and held the skulls up, rattling them a little; the teeth, that had been pushed out of the skulls, rattled inside. I smirked and drew a deep breath, stepping out of arms range and started to rattle them in sync with the melody of under the sea. I cleared my throat and walked like a person making fun of Egyptian dancer, back and forth in front of her.

“Hel’s is great! Hel’s great! It’s dark, damp and moldy, down where it’s smoky, Hel’s GREAAAAAAT!” I glanced at her. She was squeezing her eyes shut, and I knew I had to keep going. Garmr was dancing as well, jumping back and forth next to me. “Come on, Gammie, one more tiiiiimeee!” I drew a deep breath, and Garmr woofed a little, before I started again.

“Hel’s great! HEL’S GREAAAAT! It’s dark, damp and moldy, down where it’s smoky, HEL’S GREAAAAT! Up in Asgard, they don’t give a fart, HEEEEEEL’S GREEEEEAAAAAAAAAAT!” I finished it all with loud rattles from the skulls, and Garmr was barking loudly next to me. I glanced back at her, and I could see smoke steam from her deep-set holes, that once was nostrils, and opened my mouth again, starting the song once more.

“STOP!” She roared, the sound of her voice echoing around the walls. I stopped with a smirk. “Don’t you like my…” She growled, interrupting me. “I do not care for your stupid, mortal songs. You are driving my sanity to the edge. I believed that I would have a strong, fierce Valkyrie to help me, to protect me, reap my souls for me, but you?” She glared at me through slits. “You may be the most useless, piece of mortal, I have ever had in my chambers. I wish I could extract your soul, make you fall into my pit, but alas, I can’t. You…” She drew a deep breath, and my palms were suddenly sweaty. “You must leave me. Go. Leave my realm, and do not ever come back. I cannot stand the sight of you.” She fell back in her chair with a loud groan, and I couldn’t keep my smile off my face.

I knew I barely had time, before I was removed from here, and I quickly ran to Baldur, Garmr on my heels. “Baldur!” I shouted through the corridors, and his voice rang clear. “Y/N!” I screeched to a halt in front of his cell with a huge grin on my face. “Baldur, I’m free. I can go home, I can… My daughter. My husband.” Baldur smiled widely, overwhelming me with love and admiration. “I always knew you would. Freyja is calling to you.” He said. I grasped his hand tightly in mine. “I am so sorry, I can’t take you with me. I wish there was something I could do.” He smiled sadly and laid his other hand on top of mine. “You must not worry about me. I will be fine. Your strength and your company has kept me happy. Please, all I ask, is that you do not forget me.” I nodded, a light above me growing stronger. Garmr was whining behind me, and I knew my time was running out. “Never.” He hastily squeezed my hand and I felt a weird weight in the palm of my hand. “For the Valkyrie, that helped me. Kept me happy. A token of my appreciation.” He unfolded his hands, and I looked down – a beautiful, silver chain rested there, with a vial of shining light, flowing gently like fabric in the wind – my eyes were wet, and I looked up at him with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Baldur. I’ll be sure to tell your tale to everyone.” He smiled and looked up at the light, still growing stronger, above me. “Thank you, Y/N.” He fell back to the shadows, and I turned back to Garmr, who was whining, pushing his nose against my leg.

“Gammie, I’m sorry, but I gotta go.” He whined. “You can’t come, I’m so sorry.” He whined again, louder this time, and laid down on top of my feet. “Friend, Gammie, please…” I was crying now. This dog had been my friend, my companion in the months I had been here. I couldn’t bear to leave him. He didn’t move, and before I could do anything more, the bright light swallowed me, forcing me to close my eyes.

 When I opened them, I was instantly taken aback by the sheer beauty of the room, I was in. It was a golden, shimmery tone along with wood-pillars and flowing, light fabrics. Before I could look around further, a slight whimper sounded from below me, and I realized the weight on my feet. I looked down in shock, to see Garmr still resting there, eyes closed. I quickly bent down to scratch him behind his ears. He perked up, looking at me with his big, red eyes. “Gammie! You’re… You’re here!” He wagged his tail.

“We could not leave your companion alone in Hel’s realm.” Freyja’s voice rang through the golden room, and I turned around, Garmr standing up, bristling at the goddess. I smiled widely and felt myself tear up. “Freyja.” She smiled and walked briskly to me, laying her hands on my shoulders. “My Valkyrie. You did wonderfully.” I sighed and grinned at her. “You must have questions, but first, let us clean you and dress you.”

I was escorted to a huge bath, my gray and torn sack was removed, and a few Asgardians helped to lower me in the golden bathtub. The scents of wild roses, lavender and rosehip fell over me, relaxing me completely as the ten people surrounding me, washed my hair, my body, scrubbed me clean and talking in hushed voices. I wasn’t even shy about my naked form. The feeling of being in warm water was something I would never, ever take for granted again.

When they finished, three new people entered, hands full of fabrics and a single chest-armor in a deep, mahogany leather – the last person to enter, held a sword in her hands as well.

They dressed me, draping fabrics around me, making the different colors shimmer against each other; it was a deep burgundy, a white, translucent fabric, shining like the rainbow, when the light hit it, a forest, evergreen was draped over my chest, and at the end, they fastened the armor on my chest, and handed me the sword. It was beautiful. It was crafted perfectly, weighing nothing in my hands, with the handle wrapped in leather and carved with runes at the top – the blade was curved a little and the silver shone in the bright lights around me. They braided my hair, pulling it away from my face and twisting it gently, pinning the big and small braids together with flowers and golden clips.

I thanked them, and they all smiled. “We thank thee, Valkyrie.” They said and bowed, leaving the room. Garmr was still at my side, refusing to leave me, and we walked through a golden corridor to the room, where I met Freyja at first. My feet were clad in a leather sandal, that wrapped around my shin, and felt like I as walking on butter, in – I felt beautiful.

I was met by the bright smile of Freyja, Frigg and Sif. They stood, hands crossed over their stomachs, with beautiful braided hair, and huge, thankful smiles directed at me. I stopped a meter from them and bowed gently. It felt right to do that – I was, after all, in the presence of the Queen of Asgard and two other goddesses.

“My dear, beautiful, Valkyrie.” Freyja said with a soft smile. “My goddess.” Frigg smiled widely at me. “We are sure, you must have questions.” I nodded and sat down on the gold chair on my left. Garmr laid down at my feet, keeping a close eye at the goddesses. “He seems quite taken with you.” Sif said in a melodic voice. I smiled and looked down at him. “As am I with him.” My words came out weird. It felt like Asgard was affecting my words. It didn’t matter.  

“How could I return? How… Why wasn’t I a damned soul? I made a deal with the goddess of Death.” Freyja smiled. “You never gave your soul. You never promised your soul. You said you would do anything, but you never once offered your soul to her.” I nodded, still confused. “As to why you can return… Well, you are a Valkyrie. You do not belong in Hel. You belong on my field. When your time is right, of course.” She nodded slowly to Frigg, who took over.

“No one wished to see you in Hel. Unfortunately, we could do nothing, except wait for your return. It was your final battle, dearest. You turned out to be far stronger than we ever could have realized.” I smiled. The necklace, Baldur had given me, rested warmly around my neck. The vial felt warm, like a comforting kiss or a hand, held in the darkness. Sif stepped forward.

“You have a choice to make. You can stay here, along with us, be Asgard’s protector alongside Heimdall, or…” She glanced at Freyja. “Or you can return to the world of the living. You are free to make your own choice.” I looked down at Garmr.

“Can Gammie come, either place I chose?” They nodded in unison. Freyja stepped forward and sat down on her knees, grasping my hands. “He can go where ever you chose, Valkyrie. The decision is yours, and yours alone.” I looked into her blue eyes, my own eyes wet. “I… I want to see my daughter. My husband. I want to go back to my family.” She smiled and got up, pulling me up as well.

“So it shall be. I will never be able to thank you enough for your sword. For your bravery. You, dear Valkyrie, are a queen worthy.” She smiled at me. “I cannot possibly show you my gratitude, in any shape, but I have a parting gift for you.” She reached into her dress, pulling out a beautiful, silver ring. It was adorned with crystals and diamonds, the band sleek, and it glistened in a way, I didn’t think it could. She put it on my finger. “If you ever need me, Asgard’s services or help, you will only need to twist the ring. I will feel it. I have woven it with a strand of my hair. The diamonds are my tears. This is made for you, and it can only be used by you.” I cried silently as I looked down at the beautiful ring, at a loss for words. Frigg stepped forward. “My parting gift for you, is this.” She handed me a piece of iridescent fabric. It was light, almost as air, that breezed through your hair, and it felt a little like a stream of quiet water. She smiled.

“This is woven by me. I weaved it with my hair, and it will keep you protected, if you ever encounter danger in the world. It will be your shield. It can protect you or your family, your beautiful daughter, if need be. Please, accept my protection.” I nodded, crying harder now. Garmr was whining a little at my tears.

Sif stepped forward, handing me a golden horn, adorned with gems and runes. “This is my parting gift for you. This horn will be your call for strength. You can drink from it, and it shall give you the strength of a thousand warriors. You can blow it, giving you a warriors call. You can leave it, and it will help you to keep your strength.” I took it from her hands, and all three gifts overwhelmed me. It was too much, too special; I felt a deep admiration for the three goddesses in front of me. Freyja smiled.

“I cannot express what I wish to. I can only say thank you, and may the gods be with you on your path.” I smiled through my tears. “As one last little gift, we have made sure that your companion” she glanced at Garmr “will not harm mortals. He will continue to be big, he will protect you, but he will not cause harm, unless you wish him to do so.” I smiled widely and Garmr licked the palm of my outstretched hand.

“Thank you. I don’t know… I can’t…” I drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t tell you how much I owe you. Thank you, all of you, for helping me. For… Making sure, I knew I could get out.” They nodded. “Before I leave, I just… Baldur. Please, try to help him. He was truly a light in the darkness down there.” They nodded again, and Freyja stepped forward, grasping my free hand.

“You must go, my dear Valkyrie. You have your fate awaiting you.” I nodded. “Thank you.” I scanned the room for the last time, and kept my hand on Garmr, steading both him and me for my imminent descent.

Freyja stepped away with a sad, soft smile and nodded. “Fare thee well, Valkyrie. May the gods be with you.”

A blinding light, and I lost sight of the three goddesses in front of me. When I opened my eyes again, I was in the middle of a field, trying to get my bearings. I wrapped the horn in the piece of fabric and hung it from a leather strap on my armor. Garmr was sniffing everything wildly, and, with a pang in my chest, thought that he had never smelled the grass or felt wind on his fur. I whistled, and he ran to my side with a gentle woof.

“We got to go, Gammie. We need to find Dean.” He wagged his tail and walked briskly in front of me, leading us off the field. I felt out of place. The sun beaming down on me felt too hot, the wind too fresh, and my clothes too… Asgardian. I walked, my sword sheathed by my side, through the field, following Garmr and I had to stop a few times, closing my eyes and feel the sun on my face. It was strange, how much the sun felt different. I remembered the sun differently. The soft breeze, making the trees rustle, felt like a soft caress, and I idly wondered if the goddesses were sending their last goodbye to me.

As we reached the outskirts of a small, rural town, I walked quickly to the nearest kiosk, grabbing a paper and checked the date. Tears well up in my eyes. It had been five years. Five. My daughter was five years old. I had been dead for five years. The clerk stared at me.

“Are you straight from a Con, or something?” he asked, his eyes roaming over my outfit. “or something.” I mumbled. I looked up. “Where am I?” He looked confused. “Wilson, Kansas.” He said slowly, almost as if he was afraid of me. I nodded. Okay, this I could work with. Dean always talked about moving back to Kansas, and maybe, just maybe, the goddesses had sent me back to the town, he was in. “Have you ever seen a black, sleek car drive through town? An Impala?” I asked, my heart hammering in my chest. The clerk smiled widely and nodded.

“Sure, it’s Mr. Winchester’s. He’s a real dude, you know?” I smiled softly. “He lives around here?” The clerk nodded again. “yup. Him, his daughter and his two brothers. They’re real good men, I tell you. Mr. Winchester works as a mechanic here, and he helps a lot of people.” I smiled. “Two brothers?” He nodded. “Yeah, Sam and Castiel. The last one is weird, but he’s a good beekeeper. It’s amazing honey.” I smiled at him.

“Thank you. Do you… Do you have any idea where they live? I’m an old friend, and I haven’t seen them in a while. I thought I’d pay them a visit.” The clerk looked worried. “You ain’t there to kill ‘em, or somethin’?” I shook my head. The clerk stared at my face. “hmm… You look like the little girl.”

I waited. Garmr was howling outside, and the clerk looked at him. “That’s a mighty big dog.” I nodded. “so, their address?” He turned back to me. “What? Oh, yeah, sure. It’s down the main street, stay to the left and find a small road a few feet down from the main street. It’s the little, white house, with a red swing set in front.” I nodded. “thank you.”

I left the kiosk, and nuzzled Garmr’s ear. “We got a place to go, Gammie.” I whispered. He licked my hand and trotted along, leading the way. I walked slowly, as if my feet refused to move any faster. My anxiety was through the roof. I was afraid to see them all. Most of all, my daughter.

I passed a small park, and turned – I found a bench, and sat down, allowing Garmr to run amok; he was bouncing up and down, tongue out and tail wagging, sniffing anything and everything. I didn’t know what to do. Just show up, hoping that they wouldn’t try to kill me? Hope, that a strange woman wouldn’t open the door? I sighed deeply, trying to calm myself – whatever happened, would happen. If I could see my daughter, I would be okay.

I wish I had other clothes. It felt weird to sit around in Asgardian attire, much weirder if I had to show up on the doorstep of Dean’s house with it on. My eyes followed Garmr as he chased a squirrel. At least he was happy. I tried to calm my beating heart, but nothing seemed to work; the thought of Dean living happily with someone else, was terrifying to me. I was afraid, and far more than I had ever been in Hel’s realm. Far more afraid, than I had ever been, if I was honest – I was afraid to see my daughter, and not be able to recognize her. I was afraid that Sam and Dean would be afraid of me. I was afraid that didn’t believe me. I was afraid that Cas would try to expel me from my body.

Garmr came up to me, drool slobbering down his chin, and nudged my leg with his nose. “I know, buddy, we’ll get going soon, okay?” Garmr woofed. I stood up, straightening my dress and grasping the horn by my side – a warmth and feeling of strength ran through my body, and I sighed deeply, gathering my courage.

I walked down the main street, searching for the small road, the clerk had told me about – I avoided the stares of the few, who were on the street in the oncoming twilight. It must be late. My sense of time was missing, and I realized with a start, that I didn’t mind – the twilight reminded me of the late nights, I had with Dean, and it gave me a sense of comfort – like a blanket being wrapped around you when you’re sick. I found the street and paused in front of it. Garmr whined. “Are you ready?” I asked him, but mostly myself, and he woofed gently. I nodded.

“Me too.” I walked down the street, my sandals crunching against the small rocks on the road, and I scouted the houses with a smile. They had chosen a great place, for our daughter to grow up. White, picket fences, green grass and the sounds of birds singing was everywhere, and I smiled. I had missed that sound.

I reached the white house, the red swing set in the front garden, and I stopped at the mailbox. The Y/L/N Winchesters. They hadn’t forgotten me. I looked at the house – it was cute. White sidings, a green frown lawn full of flowers, a small kiddie pool placed there as well, right next to the swings. I opened the fence gate and stepped through. Garmr was close by my side, his paws tapping on the stones, that led to the staircase to the front door. As I reached the stairs, I stopped – I wondered, if this was truly a good idea; maybe I should let them live their life, not uproot them. They had been mourning for me, they must have buried me, and here I was, five years later. Alive.

The windows shone with the lights inside, and I could vaguely hear clinking of dishes being down, along with a familiar voice shouting. My stomach was one, big knot, but I forced my hand up to ring the doorbell and stepped back a little.

The handle was pressed down, and I felt like throwing up. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I almost turned around to run away, but the door swung open and Sam stood in front of me. He was smiling, but it faltered as he saw my face. He was about to say something, but I shushed him lightly. He glanced at Garmr next to me and then back to my face. “you’re….” I smiled softly. “not dead.” I said and gestured to my body.

Sam stared at me. I felt my eyes get wet, as I heard a pearling laughter from the inside of the house. “Dean…?” Sam smiled. “He’s… He’s okay. So is she.” I sobbed. “Good. Can I…?” He nodded. “This is a surprise for all of us, but I am not going to take that from you.” He said and then, without warning, and without taking his eyes off me, he yelled through the house. “DEAN! Can you come here, please?” I heard the sounds of feet tapping on the floor behind Sam.

“Mary Samantha Y/L/N Winchester, if you don’t stop squirming, I swear to god…” Dean stopped in the door, his face full of shock. A little, dark blonde girl was in his arms. She had my eyes, and she smiled widely, dimples popping as she did. She tried to get Dean’s attention, but he was glued to my face. I looked at her, and forced my eyes from her, straight to Dean’s face. Sam moved slowly away, leaving the three of us alone.

“Daddy, she looks like Mommy.” Mary said in a soft voice, hiding her face a little behind her hair.

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice wavered, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. I smiled softly.

“Hi, Dean.”

 END

 A/N 2: HOLY SHIT THIS IS THE END. I CAN’T. I’M CRYING. DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME, I’M JUST IN A PUDDLE OF MY OWN TEARS. This has been such a wild journey, and I couldn’t be happier with this story. It was my first long series, and I’ve loved every second of it. As stated before, I might do a sequel, but for now, this is the end.

I am working on a few one-shots for this one – amongst others, Sam and Freyja banging, Christmas and how Cas became a beekeeper. It really has been a joy to write this story, and I can’t express how grateful I have been (and still am) for all of you, who’s been following and reading this story. Thank you, for letting me tell my story. Thank you for loving it.

Thank you.

 Like this? Did I break your heart? Want more? Let me know!

TAGLIST: @hobby27, @trustnobodyshootfirst, @supernatural-idjit-95, @polina-93, @akshi8278, @wingedcatninja, @dean-winchesters-bacon, @redeyedvixen, @mypage-myfandoms, @killerunicorn3, @xcarapherneliabearx, @gatorgal94, @biawol, @rachembol, @vickyfarley, @andkatiethings

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[silvensei]

In This Mad Machinery

A human and an android swap bodies, resulting in identity crises, existentialism, philosophy with the boys, and fun!

Detroit: Become Human | gen | 20k | rated T | introspective comedy/sci-fi

Chapter 5 (2k words) | [AO3 link] | [first] | < prev | next >

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Once he pulled into their usual parking spot at the DPD, Connor let out a sigh of relief. He didn't realize he was holding the wheel in a death grip until he had to pry his hands off to kill the ignition.

It wasn't the driving itself. He knew how to drive. He drove better than Hank. But that was when he was an android. He could run his driving program while also holding a conversation with Hank and texting three others simultaneously. He obviously knew that he didn't have his programming to multi-task like that today, but he underestimated just how difficult it would be to focus only on one task. He didn't normally rely on multi-tasking that much, did he?

On the drive over, he would be focused on the road, then notice that the girl waiting to cross the street had a very nice dog, then he'd wonder what kind of dog it was, then he'd lament humans' inability to search the internet without a phone, then he'd considered taking out his phone—Hank's phone—to search it, then the fact that he hadn't payed attention to the road in a bunch of seconds slapped him in the face. Following that, he was glad Hank wasn't there to see his faux pas, reconsidered to think Hank might actually keep him on track, noticed the radio was playing one of Hank's least favorite songs, and screeched to a halt at a red light he hadn't seen. Or his eyes saw it, but the memo was in line behind all the other thoughts waiting to pass through his one-track human brain. It was... It'll take some getting used to.

No matter now. He's safe and sound and unmoving.

He took a deep breath. The cool air filled his chest, and it made him feel physically refreshed. There was no system-measured value of how it affected internal cooling regulation. Just a sense of lightness.

Too many senses to keep track of in his current head. He could go crazy trying.

Connor stepped out of the car. His hand automatically tried to adjust his tie like he did every morning before work, but it caught the collar of his T-shirt instead. He tsk-ed at his habit, locked the car, and zipped his hoodie halfway as he walked. His calves felt warm and uncomfortable under pressure; again, he admitted it wasn't his brightest idea to have the whole household sprint around the neighborhood a half hour before trading in his metal body for one just chock-full of pain receptors.

The next thought in line made him slow his pace: This wasn't his body, but Hank's. Therefore, not only should he try to talk like Hank, he should act like him, too, gait, posture, and all. Connor tried to pull up a memory of the lieutenant as reference, but it was so vague and unfocused that he couldn't make out every detail. Or even many details. In a way, he was watching a recording of an event, same as ever, but in every other way, he absolutely was not.

Instead, he resorted to adjectives. Keep it loose, yet confident. Lazy, yet deliberate. The lieutenant was an old pro at what he did but still dedicated to his purpose. Connor rolled his neck, loosening up his shoulders. Walk like you own the place.

He dug his hands into his sweatshirt pockets and strolled through the front door, hoping he had affixed the correct 'ready for bad news' almost-scowl and 'seen some shit' gaze to his expression. The woman at the front desk looked up. "Oh, Lieutenant!" she said, buzzing him in. "You're not usually here on Saturdays."

"Hopefully it won’t be too long."

“Shall I be expecting Connor to join you?”

“Shouldn’t think so.”

“Unusual.” Connor paused before the turnstile, hoping she didn’t suspect anything. He couldn’t see her LED, but she went back to work without comment. He let out a quiet sigh of relief before continuing through to the bullpen.

As a calm weekend in Detroit, there weren’t nearly as many people around as he was used to: Only two officers were at their desks, with a third wandering to the break room. The door to one of the conference rooms was closed, so more might be hidden away in a meeting. He would have been able to look up the room bookings for today if today were a normal day. Alas, he’d have to settle for mere conjecture.

Captain Fowler was in his office, leaning back in his chair, arms stretched overhead, looking for all the world bored out of his mind. He didn’t notice Connor approach until he was nearing the open doorway. “Well, shit,” he called. “Honestly, this is an hour or three earlier than I expected.”

Connor shrugged and closed the door behind him, if only to buy him another second to think. “I was out and about anyway, so might as well swing by and get this over with.”

“Is this proactivity I see?” Fowler smirked before leaning forward to get to business. He passed Connor a tablet lit up with forms. “I know the thirium meth case was only a few days ago, but the suits have been on my ass for the reports all day. You don’t have to finish it all right now; god, I wouldn’t put you through all that. Just get through the rest of the prelims so I have something to give ‘em and do the rest with Connor on Monday.”

He skimmed through the first partially-completed form. It was all basic facts: brief, location(s), culprit(s), suspect(s), victim(s), motive, DPD personnel involved, contact info, et cetera. “Yeah, alright, I’ll try to get through it quick,” he said, pulling out a chair to get settled and get started.

Fowler nodded. “Alright.” He turned back to his desktop, but not before Connor caught him giving him an odd look. “Where is the kid anyway?”

“Visiting a friend.”

He barked a laugh. “Really? Glad to know he’s not a perpetual stick in the mud anymore. Next thing you know, he’ll be at a rager, beer just staining his shirt.”

Connor blinked, caught off-guard. “At four in the afternoon?” was all he could say.

“You never know. I’m sure we wandered into one this early at some point or another.”

“…Heh. Yeah, probably.”

Fortunately, Fowler didn’t continue down that tangent. Connor leaned back and rested the tablet on his legs, selecting the first field Hank hadn’t already filled. His finger depressed on the screen, his skin squishing as he typed. It was something so slight, and yet it was so different than what he was used to. It was like he barely had to touch the keys for the screen to recognize it.

Focus, detective. Personnel on scene (in order of arrival). It was him and Hank first, then Allen and his team, then Wilson, Cao, and Silverman….

…It was simple, yes, but how he wished he could run this in autopilot and do something else instead. The amount of focus needed to stay on track doing something so mundane was unexpected. And not really all that fun.

Man, humans really have to run on sheer willpower, huh?

Much of the preliminary paperwork was already filled out, and many fields were repeated and could be autofilled, but it still took maybe fifteen or twenty minutes to get to the last form. It requested information of the person filling out report, which wasn’t exactly him at the moment. He didn’t know Hank’s badge number off the top of his head, and he couldn’t check his memory archives….

His back was beginning to feel stiff and uncomfortable; he tried shifting his position. He straightened up, hearing and feeling his spine pop twice, immediately making him grimace.

“What’s up with you today?”

“Hm?” Connor looked up.

Fowler had his arms crossed on his desk and his eyes on him. “I know it’s a Saturday, but you’re really out of it.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like that! Who the hell says that?”

Connor held his breath. Of course Fowler would notice his friend was different. And he did need to get some details from Hank anyway…. “Well,” he started, “to answer your rhetorical question literally, Connor would.”

Fowler stared at him. Connor had seen the man during some late nights at the office before. He was starting to look just as tired now. “The hell does that mean?” he sighed.

“Hank and I are assisting CyberLife with some research, so I am inhabiting his body for today, and he’s in mine.”

“…uh-huh.”

“Sorry for not informing you earlier, Captain.”

Fowler rubbed his eyes. “God damn it, Hank would never say that. Why is it always you two doing something crazy.”

“It’s only tempor—”

“I don’t want to know.”

“It’s been quite successful—”

“Don’t wanna know. Done with that paperwork?”

“I’m on the last form, but I need to ask Hank for some specifics.”

“Whatever. You’ve probably plagiarized it all already, but go ahead, call him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fantastic.” Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something as Connor found Hank’s phone. “The one time I get any respect from Hank fucking Anderson, it’s because it’s Freaky Friday, of all things.”

Connor was about to correct him on the day as his phone rang before he remembered Hank had said the same thing that morning. Was it a reference to something? The call connected, and his own voice asked, “What’s up, something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Lieutenant. I’m just filling out some paperwork for Captain Fowler and need some details. What’s your badge number? And dates of employment at the DPD?”

“0309—Isn’t that technically plagiarism?”

“You and Captain Fowler have been saying many of the same things today.”

Hank snickered. “Should I call a cab and come over or…?”

“No need; this is the last form.” Connor entered Hank Anderson, Lt., #0309 in the first field. “Employment date?”

As Hank supplied him with the missing figures, Fowler leaned back in his chair again, arms crossed over his chest. His behavior supported Connor’s earlier theory that humans must be uncomfortable with separating psyche from physique, although this is a much different reaction than Hank’s. Connor considered leaving him be, but he would be leaving the office once he’s done anyway.

It only took a minute or two to finish. He thanked Hank for his assistance, told him he’d be by in fifteen minutes, and hung up. He slid the tablet onto the desk. “Is that all for now?” he asked.

Fowler continued looking at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s fine. You’re free to go.”

Connor rose and returned the chair to its original position. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Captain.”

He zipped his hoodie and was reaching for the door when he heard, “Hey, Connor?”

“Sir?”

Fowler sat up to collect the tablet, glancing over at his subordinate. “This’ll all be back to normal by Monday, right?”

“Yes, of course. It only lasts a couple hours.”

He paused. “What’s it like?”

Hm. What was it like? Once again, a hundred half-thoughts ran through his head, interrupting and overlapping each other. It was oversensitive—overstimulating—single-minded—emotional—overtly acute yet insufficient at the same time. The physical rush of emotions he felt in the first ten minutes came to mind. Various aches and soreness at random times. The brush of sunlight on his skin. The following prickling of radiation. Fabric rubbing on his skin at all times. Just how tactile his skin was—and taste and everything about it—and how he just took a breath—and how long it was taking to come up with an answer—

In summary: “It’s slow.”

Admittedly, his memory was compromised at the moment, but for perhaps the first time ever, Fowler laughed, a low, hearty guffaw. Startled and worried that it came off as a joke, he quickly added, “No offense intended, sir!” which only made him laugh harder.

After his initial shock, something about it seemed contagious. It lightened the room and made him relax. Were all humans susceptible to emotional contagions? “It’s a different take on a world I thought I already knew,” Connor continued. “There’s just…so much to notice, and yet the human brain has much less processing power than I’m used to working with.”

“Holy shit. Processing power.” Fowler devolved into a brief fit of coughs before he waved Connor away. “Alright, then, go live it up, kid. And tell Hank he ain’t off the hook, either.”

Connor pushed open the door, fishing his keys from his pocket. “Off the hook for what?”

“Oh, he’ll know.”

[next >]