#also me when i see shards of broken glass: wow! i might need that later and also i will keep it hidden somewhere i might step later

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

fucking,, WHY do i have so much cardboard. who needs this much cardboard. i dont even use this much cardboard someone needs to stop me

[metalbvcky]

Back in May, I made my first Stucky Ficrec post and months later, I’ve decided to make another since this fandom is hella talented. There’s a little over two dozen fics down below ranging from 10k-100k+ and everything’s categorized.

Do note that lot of these are Modern AU’s (I love those) and most of them are smutty. (yes hello, an asexual here who enjoys smut so very much) Also heed the tags once you click the link(s). Other than that, enjoy!!!

Key:  ♥ = My personal favorites, S = Smut, DS = Dom/Sub

a) CANON UNIVERSE

If You're Reading This, Steve Rogers by fallendarlings Words: 39,273 | Post/Canon Divergence 2012 Avengers/TWS, Recovery, Slow Burn

Nobody tells Steve it's okay to cry.

Nobody touches him.

Nobody remembers Steve Rogers is a person under the mantle. It's okay. He hasn't felt like a person since he watched Bucky fall.

don't threaten me with a good time ♥ by canistakahari - Words 10,106 | Post-TWS, Sick!Fic, Sick!Bucky, Cabin Fic

Steve's taken him on vacation to a cabin in Canada in the middle of winter, so it's obviously the perfect time for his body to go haywire. Bucky is determined to stick it out, though, partly because he's a stubborn bastard, but mostly because he feels some kinda way about Steve.

Higher Ground by EmilianaDarling - Words: 13,002 | Post-TWS, S, DS (undertones), Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

“S’okay,” Bucky murmurs quietly, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath at the brush of Bucky’s lips against his ear, his breath hot against the side of Steve’s neck. There’s a hint of a grin in Bucky’s voice; amused affection and confidence and something heated beneath it all, a familiar tone from so long ago that makes Steve’s heart clench and his cock twitch helplessly in his jeans.

“S’okay, Stevie,” he says again, and Steve can feel the curl of Bucky’s lips against his throat when he smiles. His metal thumb is rubbing circles on Steve’s shoulder. “M’gonna take care of you.”

A year and a half after the events of The Winter Soldier, Steve's been acting recklessly. Bucky deals with it as best he can.

The Simple Life ♥ from The Simple Life Series by howler32557038 - Words: 114,329 (Series Total: 337,273 + ongoing) | Canon Universe, MPreg, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

"The simple life."

"You'll get there one day."

"I don't know. Family, stability...The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out."

Bucky wants to be part of Steve's life. He wants to be an Avenger. He wants to be a good partner. Unfortunately, sometimes that means not telling Steve everything.

a road less traveled by Claudia_flies, cyclamental art (cyclamental),maichan, zilia - Words: 75,396 | 2012 Timeline AU, Post-Avengers 2012 (Endgame Divergence), Domestic Avengers, Recovering!Bucky

Steve wakes up on the cold stone floor of the foyer. He scrambles up; there’s glass shards everywhere and they crunch under his gloved hands. People are staring, holding themselves back. They must have seen the fight, must have seen two of him.

His own voice rings in his head.

“Bucky is alive!”

Kept Safe by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 54,419 | S, DS, BDSM

Steve and Bucky are friends. Best Friends. If asked, Bucky would say he knows absolutely everything about Steve. Except when it comes to sex. Steve lives such a monastic existence that Bucky doesn't know if he likes girls, boys, or none of the above. For all he knows, Steve may have no interest in sex whatsoever.

But then a mission goes wrong, Steve is bleeding out from a wound to the femoral artery and Bucky is trying to stop the bleeding when his hand brushes against metal. Where there most definitely shouldn't be metal. Or a padlock. And most definitely not a torturously small cage.

48 hours by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 25,894 | Post-CW, S, DS, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

Steve is keeping it together. No one would say he's keeping it together well, but he's getting by. Mission after mission, he goes back to his apartment in Wakanda and breaks down. Then he watches Bucky sleep and tries to not notice how everyone looks at him like he's the saddest bastard that ever lived.

But, this time is different. This time, Steve goes back to his apartment post-mission and Bucky is awake, out of cryo and making them dinner in Steve's kitchen. The breakdown is still happening. Bucky isn't pleased, but he does have a plan. For 48 hours after every mission, Steve is going to let Bucky take care of him or he's going to be on Steve's next mission. He can't risk losing Bucky again. Which should make the decision simple.

It isn't simple.

The Sex Therapist ♥ by Whendoestheshipsail (restricted to AO3 users only) - Words: 179,941 | S, DS, DKink, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve, Current/Past Steve/Sharon

Sharon has given him an ultimatum- either go to sex therapy or it's over. Sex therapy sounds like normal therapy but more humiliating and expensive. It's total BS. He will go because she's making him, but he will also make everyone's lives miserable (Yeah, including his own) and never return again.

Do they have a lot of sex? No. Does Sharon want more sex? Yes. Does Steve do his best? Yeah, actually, he does. He can get it up, he just needs time. Alone. There's... preparation involved. It's not like one just 'is' aroused.

He can't explain it. And he won't. He definitely won't tell Bucky what exactly he thinks about to get worked up enough to screw his girlfriend.

Found My Place in Time - Cap_D, humapuma - Words: 12,492 | Post-EG (Divergence, duh) S, Fluff, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

“Buck,” he heard Steve say, “wake up. We’re here.” Bucky opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension out of his back. When Steve’s words sunk in, though, he turned and leaned forward, staring past Steve’s chest to look out the window. Beyond the wing of the plane, he found a beautiful coastline with white sand, blue waters, and palm trees, as well as rows of bungalows on the water. “Wow,” he murmured. “We’re staying in one of those, right?”

In which Steve invites Bucky on a trip to Fiji and they discover something a lot more than beautiful vistas and friendly locals.

Total Institution ♥ from the Institutions of Love and Incarceration series by thelittlestpurplecat - Words: 94,303 | Canon Universe AU, Prison!AU, Guard!Steve, Prisoner!Bucky, Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, WS Trial

The Winter Soldier has been sentenced to life without parol. His entire world had been condensed to a hot, cramped cell that he hasn't seen the outside of in the four years since his apprehension. It's hell. He has no means of escape, no means of terminating his suffering, and no means of distraction...that is, until he's assigned a new guard. Steve Rogers is assigned the Winter Soldier as his singular charge. He expects a sadistic, violent murderer. What he finds instead is a broken, tormented man with no memory of his past life, and no control over what had been done to him. He's a victim. Not a monster. And Steve won't stand to see him pay for crimes over which he had no control.

Raise Your Glass by minkeys - Words: 10,008 | Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve, Light DS, S, DKink

Bucky knows Steve in ways that his 21st century friends could never even begin to imagine. Or at least, they couldn't until tonight. It's about time somebody corrected all those historians that painted Steve as a straight-laced, God-fearing soldier, and what better way to do it than over a harmless game of "Never Have I Ever." What's the worst that could be said?

b) SHRUNKYCLUNKS

Waking Up Slow ♥ by odetteandodile - Words: 44,638 | Dad!Bucky, Kid!Fic, Hurt/Comfort

In 1945 Steve Rogers crashed the Valkyrie into the Arctic Ocean and was never recovered.

In 2019 Bucky Barnes is walking along the beach below the decommissioned lighthouse where he lives with his sixteen month old daughter when he finds the body of a man washed up in the surf, half frozen but miraculously alive.

Bucky manages to revive him, but finds that the stranger has no memory of who he is or how he got here aside from a name: Steve. Snowed in by a blizzard soon after and unable to get Steve a medevac, Bucky discovers that the funny, good-hearted man slips into the fabric of his and Alice’s life faster than he would have thought possible. The two are undeniably drawn to each other, but as their feelings grow so does the looming possibility that the answer to the question “who is Steve?” might be much more complicated than either of them realized.

Isn't It Ironic? (Don't You Think?) ♥ by HeyBoy, Huntress79, imhereforgaysuperheroes - Words: 33,342 |  Jewish, Dad!Bucky, Kid!Fic

Bucky is used to his daughter bursting into tears in the middle of department stores. What he isn't used to is someone braving the wails and actually being able to stop Becca's tantrum in its tracks. Oh, and he's also not used to that someone being Captain America.

AKA, how Steve Rogers calms a screaming kid in Target and falls in love with two more Barneses than he had bargained for.

in my condition love's the best physician by aniloquent - Words: 9,177 | Pharmacy!AU, Russian!Bucky

“This situation is a little more delicate because I don't even know if he speaks English and I'm tired of going down to the pharmacy for constipation medication and allergy pills when I haven't sneezed since 1941.” Steve shouts.

The room falls silent, and he turns back around to find four pairs of stunned eyes watching him.

Tony, as always, speaks first. “He?”

Or the one where Bucky is a hot pharmacist and Steve keeps making up bullshit reasons to go see him.

c) MODERN AU

Home Is Wherever I'm With You ♥ by cydonic  - Words: 88,570 | Neighbors!AU, Slow Burn, Parent!Steve, Kid!Fic

This is what happens when you buy a house to flip having only seen the online images: you get more than you bargained for. Bucky Barnes brings all the tools to handle a dilapidated home, but he's hardly prepared for a smart-mouthed child (with poor aim), a crying baby, and the hottest dad he's ever seen in his life living right next door.

That House-Flipper!AU.

if only you could see me (for the pie that i am) ♥ by bitelikefire (theoleo) | Words: 35,121 | Baker!Steve, WeddingPlanner!Bucky

In which Steve is the proud owner of Frost; a semi famous local bakery in D.C. And despite the overwhelming insistence that it’s about time he start dating, Steve swears up and down he isn’t ready for that.

Or as of recently, just doesn’t have the time because of Mr. Barnes. The highly demanding wedding planner on the phone who keeps asking for nearly impossible deliveries and maybe Steve would like to personally strangle him. Maybe.

(There is pie. And misunderstandings. But a lot more desserts and eye rolls.)

So Alive ♥ from the Brooklyn Heights Books Series by GottaSaveBucky (Cosmic_Entity_1of4) - Words: 109,074 (Series Total: 165,440 + ongoing) | Bookstore!AU (sort of), Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky, DKink

A man wearing a light denim jacket over a dark blue shirt came into the shop, a box tucked under his right arm. Despite it being late afternoon, he was wearing sunglasses with bright blue lenses, and his long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy little bun. A few strands had escaped, framing his strong, unshaven jawline. The man looked into the café, smiled widely, and waved in Clint’s direction as he kept walking into the bookstore, and Steve’s mouth went completely dry.

Beautiful, was the only word to describe that smile; straight, white teeth framed by full, lush, red lips, bracketed by laugh lines and an adorable dimple in his right cheek, a charming little chin cleft just visible under the light stubble—Steve was struck literally speechless. And that was before he got a glimpse of the man’s backside. Slim hips and a round, firm-looking ass led to long, lean legs that were encased in snug, dark blue jeans.

“Guh,” Steve said, watching the dark-haired man continue on to the back of the store.

The Penthouse Suite ♥ by elle1991 - Words: 15,873 | S, DS, BSDM, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky, Happy Ending

Bucky Barnes has the chance to earn $5,000 in one night. All he has to do is go to the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel and spend the night with his client, one enigmatic Steve Rogers.

The catch? Steve is a massive pervert, intent on using this one night to satisfy every single one of his many debauched kinks.

Even ignoring the big box of sex toys on the bed, Bucky should have known he was in trouble the moment Steve opened his mouth and said his first words: "My name is Steve Rogers, but you can call me Sir..."

Burnin' For You by GoldBlooded - Words: 15,753 | Firefighter!Steve, Detective!Bucky, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

Steve Rogers is Fire Captain of Brooklyn’s very busy Station 118. He wants three things out of life: People he can count on, for everyone to get through their shifts safe and sound, and for Sergeant James Barnes to get the hell off of his arson scene.

James Barnes is Detective Sergeant of Brooklyn’s very busy 107th Precinct. He wants three things out of life: A decent cup of coffee, good leads to chase, and for Captain Steven Rogers to get the hell off of his arson scene.

Everyone knows to steer clear when these two have to deal with each other. Everyone knows about their mutual dislike and sometimes hatred. But what everyone doesn't know? How they got to be like that in the first place.

Collar Full of Chemistry ♥ from the Rich People Are Wild Series by 2bestfriends - Words: 188,437 (Series Total: 219,519) | Heavy BDSM, DS, S, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

Steve is very rich and desperate to feel in control of his life again after a recent divorce has left him feeling bitter and lonely. When he keeps crossing paths with a disaster twenty-something, an unconventional solution presents itself. Steve's always been one for following his instincts.

Bucky is very broke and can't seem to catch a break, especially after some asshole fires him for one fucking mistake. So of course, it follows that he should sign a contract agreeing to do everything and anything that same asshole wants for a whole year in exchange for a payout that could finally change his life for the better.

Toothpaste Kisses ♥ by buckybees - Words: 18,736 | Dentist!Steve, Patient!Bucky, Amputee!Bucky

Sitting in the horribly antiseptic gateway to hell, otherwise known as the waiting room, Bucky was deeply reassessing his life choices. Maybe if he didn’t eat ice cream for every meal this wouldn’t have happened.

Steve's a dentist, Bucky's a patient. You know the drill.

Out of the Blue ♥ by IsabellaJack - Words: 37,564 | PreSerum!Steve, Detective!Bucky (and Sam!), Mystery!Fic

“Does she have family?” Barnes asks again.

Steve tries to remember. “I don’t know.”

“You sing her praises and don’t know a simple info like that?” Barnes huffs, looking irritated.

Love Is An Ocean Wide by fancyh - Words: 29,009 | Shapeshifter!AU, Orca!Bucky, Marine Biologist!Steve

When marine biologist Steve Rogers helps to rescue an injured orca from the marine traffickers Hydra, he has no idea how his life will change. Once rehabilitated, the orca is released and disappears, and a despondent Steve throws himself into his work, only to feel a spark when a new volunteer arrives, a man with one arm and curiously familiar blue eyes.

Bucky has lived in the ocean his whole life. But when his family is killed and his sister captured by Hydra, he is forced to turn to humans for help. One human in particular intrigues him, a man by the name of Steve. As Bucky comes ashore to search for his sister, he finds himself falling for the man, but dangerous secrets still stand between them.

Includes clueless-about-humans Bucky, heart-eyes-Steve, and lots of Very Important rocks.

Innocent Until ♥ by L1av - Words: 136,866 | Lawyer!Bucky, Defendant!Steve, DS, BDSM, Top!Bucky, Bottom!Steve

Bucky Barnes made a name for himself as the attorney who could get anyone off, but he still lives by the saying, "Innocent until proven guilty." Steve Rogers finds himself on trial for multiple homicides but he swears he was only trying to protect a girl. Bucky's been in this business long enough to know when someone's innocent, and Steve is innocent. Steve already feels like a monster and Bucky's worried this guy's going to lay himself on the sword come his trial. So Bucky offers up another course for punishment:

Turns out, chains and whips really excite Steve.

Brooklyn Syndrome ♥ by lordelannette - Words: 158,350 | DARKFIC, Dark!Steve (VERY DARK, heed the tags, you have been warned) Doctor!Steve, Writer!Bucky, Kidnapping, Slow Burn, Graphic Violence

Bucky's back was pressed against the cold floor and he stared through blurry eyes as Steve stood over him. He was trying to push himself as far away as he could, using his hands and bare feet to slide himself out from between Steve's legs but he couldn't find purchase against the wooden floor. Steve's legs were locked on both sides of his hips and Bucky couldn't move, couldn't get away, and the room was swimming before his eyes and he couldn't focus, couldn't think straight. All he could make out was the hazy figure of Steve towering over him and he lifted his arm to push uselessly at Steve's shin.

"P-please," Bucky whispered. His voice was weak, like him, and his jaw trembled as Steve reached down.

Steve slid down onto the floor and effortlessly gathered him into his strong arms, cradling Bucky to his chest as he leaned against the wall. "Bucky," Steve breathed. One of his large hands slid gently into Bucky's hair, the other curving against his spine and pulling him even closer. "You're mine now, remember?"

Steve's grip tightened then it all went black.

lay me down (tell me i've been found) by coffeeinallcaps - Words: 25,188 | Modern!AU, DS, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

The collar is a little on the heavy side, and incredibly soft against Bucky's skin. Even softer than he thought it would be. It seems to fit snugly, and for a second he feels like he can't breathe. Then, Steve slides two fingers under the collar and runs them along the inside, almost all the way around. Bucky shivers. Goose bumps spread down his back, his arms. "How does it feel?" Steve murmurs, hooking his fingers into the ring and giving a gentle tug on it. Bucky swallows. Nods.

(In which billionaire businessman Steve shows up and turns Bucky's life into an improbable fantasy.)

All Those Things You've Always Pined For by LavenderProse - Words: 92,142 | Family Man (2000) aka the Nicholas Cage movie AU, Domestic, Kid!Fic, PreSerum!Steve

“Steve Rogers. I haven’t thought about him in…God, at least ten years. Probably longer." “Who is he?” Sharon asks, and perches on the corner of his desk, hands folded in her lap. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bucky clears his throat, tosses the sticky note onto the desk. “Steve was…my college boyfriend. We almost got married.”

It's been fifteen years since Bucky Barnes left Steve Rogers standing in a New York airport and never saw him again. Those fifteen years have brought him wealth and stability; everything his lower middle class Brooklyn upbringing had not provided. He is happy. He doesn't want for anything. He doesn't need anything. That's about to change.

Karma's A Fake Orgasm ♥ by daisymondays - Words: 51,637 | College!AU, Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Slow Burn

There’s another abandoned mug, festering with mould in the living room — Steve offically has the world's worst roommates. And complains about them. Often. Bucky, tired of his lack of action, decides it’s time to avenge Steve's sleepless nights and unsanitary conditions once and for all. They’ll pretend to be the world’s most annoying couple: excessive PDA, loud fake sex, and general repugnance. The plan sounds easy enough; it will be strictly platonic. Or will it?

I'll Be Your Shield by 17 pansies (17pansies) - Words: 23,332 | Bodyguard!Steve, Rich!Bucky, Top!Steve, Bottom!Bucky

"If he's just minor nobility, why does he need a bodyguard?" Steve shoved the folder which held Barnes' details towards the middle of the table. "He's not exactly prime kidnap material."

"His parents aren't worried about kidnapping," Fury said. "They need someone to steer him away from the dumb ass situations he keeps getting into."

"You mean he needs a babysitter." Steve sat back and folded his arms. "Seriously."

I think this is a pretty diverse list :) There’s a good sample of everything here, some old fashioned post TWS recovery fics, some good dom steve/bucky, slow burns, fake pretend relationships and so forth!

PS: I’m on AO3 with more bookmarks plus my own hurt/comfort fics if anyone is interested :P

[savnofilter]

Another Year Together

Todoroki x 『GN』Reader

↬ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ(s): intoxication, mentions of partying too hard, injuries and cleaning said injuries, crack (?), fluff.

↬ᴡᴄ: 2.5k [10 mins].

↬ᴀ/ɴ: ahhhh i was bummed that i dont have any sfw shouto reqs *cough cough* send some- *cough cough* anyways so i made up a scenario of my own! i have more fluff ideas i'd love to put out but this may be the birthday fic or i'll post something else tonight if i can~ every time there needs to be a party, just know either mina or kaminari threw it. also its a little rushed because i wanted to get this out tonight and this is the longest sfw piece ive ever written. ;; pffft hopefully you all will love this as much as i loved writing it, happy birthday shouto!

"Stay still." Shouto muttered to you as you squirmed away from the harsh sting the disinfectant alcohol caused your bruised skin.

"Mmmnhmm... M' sorry." You utter haltingly, your leg jerking once more from the sudden sensation. You look up at him with puppy eyes, guilt-stricken as you have already broken your promise.

He stared at you for a few seconds before his gaze softened as you stuck out your bottom lip with a sorrowful look on your face. As he smooths the cloth over your exposed thighs, he softly sighs under his breath, expertly concealing the roll of his eyes. Todoroki was relieved that your reflexes were still in shape, the abuse of the liquor not interfering much with your cognition... at least not too much. 

You two shared the same birthday. He had no idea that celebrating your big day of turning 21 would've been so hectic. As many things between you and Todorooki, you guys took today as a competition. The day started with you both trying to one-up each other since Todoroki’s lucky day was yours as well. First, your day with a breakfast made by him -- with the assistance of Bakugo of course. You couldn’t help the warm swell in your heart at how much effort he had put into it but it wouldn’t top you! While you two interned at the same agency it was pretty easy to surprise him with a big B-Day lunch and an obnoxious bouquet.

“This is a little too much…” 

“There is no such thing as too much for you, Sho.”

Truthfully, he felt that way because he wanted to wow you as well. He was glad that today was a calm day concerning his patrol watch, giving him time to map up his day today and think about all the other miscellaneous thoughts that roamed his head. The painting he had saved for this momentous day sat in the back of his head as he patrolled the streets, the small accessory along with it sitting next to the rest of his pee-pee pouches making him grow nervous. I had kept the small item with him in fear of losing it, the last thing he needed was it to go missing under his watch.

You on the other handheld no qualms about goofing off for the day. Now, you weren’t entirely wasting away the day, you just simply knew how to let loose. With the great news you’d be staying in the office you had more than enough time to help plan and finalize Todoroki’s surprise birthday party. You bit your lip as you checked in with your longtime friend, Kaminari, to host the momentous occasion. Your mind was mostly occupied with the thought of the party and the small but significant present that you had in your desk draw. You and Todoroki had the same mind, the only thing setting you apart is you somehow being more… airhead than him. 

Impossible, right? Not at all. That’s how it explains why he was busy cleaning up your injuries.

After being sent home early you had taken him out to lunch for some soba and well, boba as a great lunch treat — simple enough. You both were full upon going back home, giving you two a few hours to snuggle up and nap to rejoice with the sleep you two had lost from over the time having part-time heroes. Holding back the excited news of the party was hard to do, the first thing you did when you woke up was jump up and usher him to get up as well.

“What -- why??” Shouto glared as he was forced to sit up, rubbing his eyes with the free hand that you didn’t use to pull him up.

“C’mooonn! I just have one more thing to show you for today!” You beam brightly. Your facial expression was as bright as ever like you hadn’t just slept for 4 hours before that. Everything in his body wanted to resist but he couldn’t as he wouldn’t bring himself to. It took but only an hour for the both of you to get ready, sending Kaminari a quick text to make sure that everything was set for sure. 

“Honey, I know this might sound a little odd but I need you to put this on.” You hand him the blindfold once you find him dressed and ready. You couldn’t help but grin at his confused face when he stares at the piece of fabric.

“I thought you said we were going out?” He asks mildly confused, taking it and putting it on anyway.

You paused and gave yourself a moment to think about his response, your cheeks feeling hot at the insinuation. Todoroki’s small giggle makes you feel better about your flustered words, rolling your eyes annoyed when he teased you like that. “Just hold onto my hand okay?” You instruct, hand coming up to hold him as an example. He nods his head as he follows your lead, more excited than what he led on.

The trip from your apartment down to your car didn’t take too long, the assistance of helping him not trip over his shoes harder than you thought. It was hard to keep back your laugh as he fumbled here and there, the most highlight of your experience was helping him in his care (like he usually did with you) and even buckling in his seat (not something he did for you). You were practically buzzing in your seat in excitement as you took off as soon as you were ready, the journey to his place not too far from your own. You bobbed your head to the music of the radio as you vibed along with the beats, fingers tapping the steering wheel as you mumbled the lyrics to whatever song played. Had it not been winter time in Japan you would’ve had the windows down, but you had to settle with the subtle and gentle breeze of the heaters on your skin instead.

“We’re here.” You announced your arrival. You used the keycard Kaminari had given you as the entrance to his apartment complex and zoomed-in irresponsibly. It was easy finding a parking space on the higher levels conveniently the same as his home. You hopped out and helped Todoroki out from his seat and helped him to the elevator. “Promise me to have fun, okay?” The question was simple enough, but your level of fun always exceeded his. 

The sentence made him turn in your direction with confusion heavy on the top of his head. You took out the key from your pocket and jiggled it into the lock. As soon as he was about to open his mouth you yoinked the blindfold off his eyes, the first thing his eyes seeing your cheerful grin and everyone popping up from their hiding places and throwing the decorations up that they held in their hands.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” 

Todoroki was taken back from the whole thing. How many people were there, the familiar faces, the decorations, and just overall effort that was put into this. He couldn’t help but look over at you with the same adoration he normally did when you looked the other way. He was greeted by so many of his friends and mutuals, the overwhelming amount of gifts that sat on the table, and the arrangement of food and drinks that sat up in the spacious room. In the back of his head, he knew he would have to keep an eye on you, and he was right.

The group had gathered to get some cake to get it out the way, the bonus of ice cream filling your tummy with happiness. As soon as you had finished your dessert plate, you declared everyone should loosen up; since no one objected, you went straight for shots. First, it was one, two, then it was two at once, then it was some straight from Mina’s belly button. You held no restraint at your alcohol intake, taking the immature opportunity to drink to your heart’s content. While you were liberal with your amount, Todoroki decided to take in practically none. The verses of your habits are almost amusing to watch like your two contrasting but similar personalities.

Later in the night when the mayhem had started. You and a few friends decided to dance on a few more dangerous surfaces, guaranteeing the sacrifice of one of them being Kaminari’s glass table. 

“Holy shit—” Mina quickly rushed to your side, the same drunken posture and smile on her face as she tried to help you up, careful not to get the same glass shards that scattered the floor. “Are you okay-?!”

“YO Y/N WILDING!” Denki tries helping you up too, the help of the duo helping you somewhat.

You stumbled to get up, the flashlight of other people’s phones making you weary. “I-I’m fine-” You managed to let out, standing as you tried to clear your head and drink the water handed towards you. Either the H2O in that cup gave you courage or you simply went crazy. “let’s go again!” 

Todoroki was left speechless upon watching you continue to party on, knowing damn well he'd have to stop you soon. He wasn’t one to attend parties, and most times when he did they always ended up like this. It seemed after your fall that the knock had given you a sign to calm down at least, deciding to drink more beverages that didn’t hold liquor in it. After some time he had managed to get you in his lap, holding you as he monitored your well-being. 

As much as your reckless behavior would have annoyed someone else, he found it almost endearing. Well… not really in the sense you were drinking yourself silly, but in the fact that you still had the spirit to keep up and party even after the effects of your last hour of madness. It wasn’t long till you had gotten comfortable in his arms you had successfully partied yourself to sleep. Todoroki was careful in lifting you, thanking everyone from attending before quietly slipping out from the apartment. 

He took a deep breath as he somehow managed to find your car, maneuvering to get you into the car and hopping in on his side to drive you home. Todoroki made sure to drive carefully in hopes that you wouldn’t barf all over his car that you had used to get there. The drive back was much quicker than when you two had headed up since it was practically dead at night and the streets empty. He liked drives like these. A part of him was sad that you weren’t awake for it.

Your boyfriend repeated the same process when he had pulled into your apartment complex, picking up your body and bringing you up to your shared home. He was dedicated to getting you situated, prepared to take care of you as much as he needed to. That’s how he found himself tending to your scrapes and bruises right now.

“You know I’m never going to let you drink again.” Shouto teases you, smirking lightly at your sad expression.

“You’d never!” You argued back with the same teasing tone, moving to cross your arms, stifling the pain as you did so.

Todoroki snorts at your dedication to hold up the act, nodding his head as he finished cleaning up your legs. “You’re right. But don’t expect me not to monitor you from now on.” 

A smile tugs at your lips at his words, uncrossing your arms. The lingering drunk feeling still played in how you thought and spoke but not managing to affect how effortless it was to talk to Shouto. You blushed when he picked up your hands, kissing the back of your hands as he spoke to you once again.

“I have a present for you.” He mutters against your skin, eyes trained on the fresh bandages before looking up at you. He wasn’t looking for an answer and he didn’t wait for one either. He hoped that you couldn’t tell that he was weary, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. 

Your eyes widened at the realization of what he held in his hand, your heart beating faster as you sat up in your chair. “Sh-Sho?”

“It’s not what you think.” He responds almost defensively. Shouto bites his lip in anticipation, fiddling with the little box. “... it’s a promise ring,” Todoroki concludes. He felt like he had to explain himself for the slightly expensive jewelry. “If you don’t want it-”

You had engulfed him in a hug, pulling him tight against you as you had started to sob. You couldn’t think of words for how happy you were. The only thing that had taken over your body was actions. You nuzzled your face into his neck once his arms wrapped around your shaking your body. His hands soothingly rubbed your back, letting you get out what you wanted. He couldn’t help but laugh when you pull away with the most love-filled face he’d ever seen you make.

“You okay?”

“I’m perfect!” You hastily wiped your face with the help of Shouto, shakily laughing once he leaned into pepper your face with kisses. 

“I was afraid that I scared you,” Shouto admits. You shake your head as you grab his hands, placing his palms on your cheeks, appreciating his soft palms.

“No… your hands are really soft…” You mumble. Your mind went blank as you tried to remember the next line you were going to speak, pouting as you looked around for the answer. The shock of him handing you the ring has successfully shaken you into processing your brain a little better, the heavy impacts of your drinking still lingering on.

“Are you okay?” He asks, worried. You nod your head in affirmation. 

“A kiss could cheer me up.” You give him the same puppy eyes that you used before, weaponizing your cuteness to your advantage. He slightly cringed at the thought, hesitating before leaning in and placing a soft kiss against yours. He prepared himself to taste the alcohol against his lips. He pulled away once he deemed it ready, wiping his mouth and getting the ring he kept in his hand the whole day.

“I think you owe me by wearing the ring for making me kiss you.” He huffs, slipping the ring on your finger, his heart beating at the sound of your giggle.

“Nah you love me without the ring~”

“Yes, but I’d prefer you with it on.” He stands up and holds his hand out for you, taking you into his arms once again for the night and carrying you to your room. “For now get some rest, okay?” He sat you down on the bed and got you changed out of your clothes, sneaking in a few playful kisses here and there to make you laugh. Shouto’s main focus was just to get you situated to sleep peacefully for the night. 

“G’night, Sho…” You mutter to him as you got comfortable in the sheets. Although the returning soreness didn’t go away you had managed to close your eyes and get comfortable.

“Goodnight.” He watched you until you fell asleep before leaving the room to prepare for you the pain medication you’d need in the morning for your impending hangover. 

You never needed the promise ring to let you know he loved you; his actions always told you so.

[erin-bo-berin]

Angel With A Shotgun

MASTERLIST

This is my first fic that actually involves no smut. I was inspired by Angel With A Shotgun by The Cab and the Truth or Dare hostage scene from 14x15. If you want to listen to the song beforehand or while you read it, you can here. This one happens to be written all from Spencer’s point of view as well, which was different for a change. Like the last fic I posted, lyrics from the song will be in italics in between parts of the story. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (just some drama, nothing else)

Word Count: 2,233

Get out your guns, battles begun

Are you a saint, or a sinner?

Darkness was all he could see. He heard scuffling as he was being transported. He could hear her uneven breath from behind him and he was relieved to know she was still nearby, even though this wasn’t exactly an ideal situation.

He was pushed to his knees, ordered to sit. The sound of duct tape ripping filled the silence and his wrists were bound together. He sensed movement to his right and he knew it was her turn to be bound. 

A moment later the blindfolds were ripped off.

Spencer squinted in the bright light and looked over to see her, his partner, with a stoic expression on her face. He knew her well though, she was terrified, but keeping her cool. Between the ever so slight widening of her eyes, and her frantic assessment of him, Spencer knew just how freaked out she was on the inside.

“Well, so nice of you to play the game, agents.” 

“We didn’t exactly have much of a choice did we?” she deadpanned.

Spencer looked up into the face of their captor. It had started like any normal case, just a week ago.

Victim had been killed, gunshot wounds to abdomen and chest. It was only when they started looking into the case that things got stranger, like the fact that the shooter wasn’t the actual unsub. 

The actual unsub was playing a twisted game of Truth or Dare and kidnapping the victim’s loved ones, forcing them to commit murder before they could be released, if they ever were.

The real unsub was standing in front of them. They had managed to fall right into his trap and now they had become his hostages.

They’d cornered him in a jewelry store and after he’d shot both a civilian and the worker, he’d taken their guns, blindfolded them and bound them until he was ready to play with them. Apparently that time had come.

Spencer looked around, noticing the broken glass of a jewelry case, the dead worker laying next to it. They’d been moved to another part of the large store, most likely the reason for their blindfolds, so they wouldn’t know just exactly where he was taking them. Before he could give his surroundings much more thought he whipped his head back around towards the man.

“We’re not going to play your game,” she said, “There are feds and cops crawling outside and you aren’t going to get out of this by playing games.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Before Spencer saw it coming, the unsub had hit her upside the head with the butt of his gun.

She groaned, putting a hand to her head and wincing. Already blood was escaping the cut on her forehead, that the hit had created.

“Hey, stop it!” Spencer yelled.

“That’s what she gets for not playing by the rules,” he sneered, before turning back towards her, “Now, agent, truth or dare?”

If loves a fight

Than I shall die

With my heart on the trigger 

She glared up at him, not backing down from the fight, even though she’d already taken a hit.

Spencer had to admire her. For all her fear came twice as much courage. She was the bravest person he knew.

He’d also been harboring a love for her.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what moment it happened other than one day realizing that she was the love of his life.

He would do anything to protect her. 

His eyes slid sideways to the broken glass. One shard sat just out of reach; if he could get a hold of it without making the unsub suspicious, then he could have a good chance at cutting the tape apart.

“This isn’t the way to do this,” she said, holding all of his attention.

With a slight lean to his left as if he’s just trying to wriggle into a different sitting position, his hand touched the piece of glass. His attention was still on her.

“I’m not going to prison,” he laughed, “I know how this will end. Now I’m gonna ask you one more time, truth or dare?”

The barrel of his gun is angled at her. Spencer knew he had to get the gun aimed away from her. If it’s the last thing he does in this world, he isn’t going to let her get hurt.

She’s about to speak when he answers.

“I’ll play.”

They say before you start a war

You better know what you’re fighting for 

The gun turned on him. 

Good.

“Truth or dare, pretty boy?”

“Truth.” Spencer looked him dead in the eye, letting him know he’s as serious as him.

“I want you to tell your deepest, darkest secret.”

Slowly, but surely while appeasing the unsub, Spencer kept sawing the shard against the duct tape. It was making a tiny bit of progress, he just had to keep stalling.

Spencer took a deep breath before answering.

“I was wrongly convicted and in prison for three months,” he began.

“That better not be your secret, cause if it is, I’ll shoot you right now.”

“No that’s not my secret,” Spencer said, “While I was in prison I tampered with some drugs another inmate wanted me to move and I hurt a lot of men that I didn’t intend to.”

The unsub laughed like he’d just said the funniest joke ever.

“Oh we got a badass here. Is that all you got? People do shit like that and worse all the time. I’m not gonna warn you again. I want to know something that no one else knows.”

Well baby you are all that I adore 

If love is what you need a soldier I will be 

Spencer glanced over at her before answering. 

They’re in the middle of a life or death situation, her clothes and hair are all rumpled and out of place and there’s blood sliding down her cheek and the side of her face. Even so, she’s still the most beautiful girl he’s ever known.

If he had any other choice, he would never even consider saying it, but this could be their only chance out of this hostage situation. He turned to face him again; he doesn’t know if he can look at her when he says it.

“I’m in love with my partner, SSA Y/N Y/L/N. I have been for nearly a decade.”

He faced her again when he heard a slight gasp come from her direction.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you sooner or maybe I shouldn’t have at all. I never really intended on telling you, but now it’s out there. I’ve always loved you.”

He can’t read the expression on her face. Is it a mixture of hurt? Confusion? To know her so well, this was one of the few times he had no idea what she was thinking.

Her lips are parted in surprise and she’s staring at him, slightly wide eyed, her brows pulled together. Maybe she thinks he’s lying, just saying something believable for the unsub. That might be a blessing in disguise. 

“Wow.” 

The unsub whistled above them, but Spencer doesn’t break his gaze from hers. All he wants to do is hold her and say he’s sorry, he never wanted it to happen this way, but now it has. He had basically just dropped an exploding bomb over her head all while they were being held hostage.

“Now that’s a secret. I’ll tell you what. I’m not going to kill you,” he grinned, pulling the gun away from Spencer’s direction.

“Instead, I’m going to kill your partner. It’ll be way more fun to watch you suffer.”

The next few seconds happened in a blur.

The gun swivels towards her and goes off before Spencer can even react. She shrieked as she fell backwards from her crouched position, her head hitting the floor hard. The unsub’s focus is no longer on him, it’s still on her, ready to take another shot.

The tape finally breaks apart.

I’m an angel with a shotgun

Fighting ‘til the wars won

I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back 

Gunfire rang in Spencer’s ears.

But this shot didn’t hit her nor is it from the unsub’s gun. This one came from Spencer’s own piece.

After the tape broke, he’d reached for his second gun and shot the unsub, in one swift movement. The unknown gun had been hidden in his ankle holder this entire time, it had just been a matter of getting to it. 

The unsub fell with a thud, but he can’t spare a moment of thought about him. He has to focus on the most important thing. 

The fact that she hasn’t moved since she was shot.

He’s on his feet, ignoring the blood on his hand from the glass.

He runs towards her as fast as he can.

I’ll throw away my faith babe

Just to keep you safe

Don’t you know you’re everything I have?

“Y/N, Y/N,” Spencer hovered over her, eyes trying to locate where she’d been hit.

He spots the gunshot wound in her shoulder and covered it with his fingers, attempting to stanch the bleeding. He thought she’d lost consciousness, possibly from hitting her head, but he’s so panicked, he can’t think straight. The normal process of his ever running brain has come to a halt and he can’t think straight.

“Y/N, stay with me. You’re gonna be okay.”

He shouted at the SWAT members he could hear pouring through the front door that he needs medical, as fast as possible.

He turned back to her when he heard a tiny groan and saw her coming to. Relief washes over him when he realizes she hasn’t lost consciousness. 

“Spencer?” she mumbled.

“I’m right here, you’re gonna be okay.”

Her face contorted in pain and she tried to sit up.

“No, stay still. You’ve been shot and have a possible concussion.”

“What happened?” she asked weakly.

“I managed to cut through the restraints with a piece of glass and shot him with the gun in my ankle holster.”

“My hero.” 

Her smile is faint and his heart aches, hating to see her this way. If only he’d been faster.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, this is my fault. If I’d only shot him sooner-”

“Spence,” she interrupted, “About what you said.”

“Forget about it,” he said quickly and before anything else could be said he was quickly replaced by the EMTs that surrounded her.

He was soon swept away in the chaos of the agents, paramedics and police that filled the area. He was taken outside by one of his teammates to get his own injuries checked out.

“Is she going to be okay?” he asked, trying to control the frenzied feeling building inside of him.

He had seen her injured so many times before. But he truly never realized just how much he loved her until he saw her lying, bleeding on the floor today.

“I heard them say it seemed to be a flesh wound, but they need to get her to the hospital,” someone answered him, although he couldn’t say exactly who it was.

He needed her to be okay.

And I, wanna live, not just survive tonight

His hand was halfway wrapped by a paramedic when he saw her being taken toward the ambulance, one of the paramedics that was with her coming towards him.

All of his fears flooded to the front of his mind, expecting to hear the worst.

“She’s asking for you, but we need to go now.”

It didn’t take him any time to make up his mind.

“I’m going with her.”

“Agent, your hand,” the one paramedic who had been tending to his injuries said, indicating the half wrapped hand.

“It’s fine, I’m going.”

He didn’t miss the man’s exasperated look, but he didn't care about his hand at all; he cared way more about her.

They had just loaded her in the back of the ambulance when Spencer hopped in.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Her restraints had been cut away and her arms laid on each side of her. Her shoulder was less bloody as they’d managed to temporarily stopped the bleeding. Her head and forehead was still bloody, some drying in the wisps of her hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. He ached to hold her, to feel her breathing against him, just to reassure himself that she was indeed alright.

“Everything hurts, but they said I’d live,” she joked.

He chuckled, not surprised that even at a moment like this she could still make him smile.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern clouding her features.

“Just a cut hand, I’ll be fine.”

He settled by her side, intending not to leave her for the foreseeable future.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

Her face is serious, her gaze level on his.

“I’m not sure if you meant it or not, but I wanted you to know that I love you, too.”

Realization spread across his face as it sinks in what she just said. He looked down, noticing her hand outstretched just the slightest towards him. 

He put his hand in hers and she slowly intertwined her fingers with his.

If love is what you need

A soldier I will be

[pun-pkindude]

- The Todeshund -

?: FRED ARE YOU THERE?! WHERE ARE YOU?! I CANT SEE ANYTHING IN THIS FREAKEN SNOWSTORM!

Fred: Yup! I'm here! Right in front of ya crys!

Crystal: My eyesight is already bad and having everything be one color isn't helping!!! Where is the base?! also, Dont call me crys, it makes me sound like a boy!

Fred: over here, I see it! *Crunching of snow, door opens then slams*

Fred: we are here! Yay!!

Crystal: uggghhh Its so cold even with all this winter gear.. when I signed up to study this place I didn't sign up for snowstorms and unbearable cold!

?: I mean.. no.

But it's sorta part of studying a mountain isn't it?

Crystal: I guess so germ but it's still stupid!

Jeremy: my name's Jeremy but call me what ya want I guess, also, I'm tired.. I don't know why.. can you take over "writing and updating the log for the team" duty?

Crystal: I do that every night. All the time.. you haven't done a single thing. I mean, Fred helps me explore sometimes, you just sit around, and yet YOU'RE the one who's tired?

Fred: actually, I'ma crash too see ya!

Crystal: wait what? oh come on! Fine I'll do everything by myself... Ok I guess I gotta update the log first and call group 1 at the base to say we have to delay the trip. Oh well.

*phone ringing*

Crystal: This is crystal from group 2 and we need to delay the trip to the top of the mountain, we have been hit with a snowstorm. Let's say.. 2 more days?... Wait.. you there? Hellooooo? *Phone stops* the phone lines must be damaged, that's gonna take some time to repair, guess I should write things down now.. but where's my pen!?! Or my journal?? Oh crap.. they might be in the other building.. it's night.. uggfhh

*10 mins later*

Alright I'm ready to go, let's do this.

*door opens then slams shut*

So... Cold... I think.. the buildings over.. here? There it is!!

*Running, door opening then closing*

Whew.. now to write..

*12 mins later*

Ok! Done. Now to go back..

*door opens then closes, footsteps*

Crystal: alrighty this time I can bring the journal with me so I don't have to worry about going to the writing room.. hehehe.

Why do we need to study this mountain anyways?! So what if it had a few people go missing on it, it's a MOUNTAIN! I hate this joB-

*screams*

*12 hours later*

Fred: *yawns* whew. Nice night. Though I'm still sorta tired so that sucks.

Jeremy: *yawns too* me too.. i think I only got a bit of sleep.. I couldn't sleep. HEY CRYSTAL CAN YOU BRING ME A DRINK OR SOMETHING? LIKE A PEPSY OR AN MT. DOO? *Silence*

Well you could just say no instead of ignoring me ya butt. Heh. Don't worry I'm getting up to get it.. you there? Fred look at this, she's gone!

Fred: what? She's probs sleeping In the writing room.

*door opens*

Fred: looks like the storm mostly passed, get your coat though.

*they both get ready and leave*

Jeremy: is that blood on the ground?

Fred: that's just her journal you idiot, just because 2 things are red doesn't mean they are the same.

Jeremy: HER JOURNAL IS ON THE GROUND?

Fred: oh yea that's also bad. Did she update it?

*page turns* yup.

Entry 17: a snowstorm hit today while we tried to go to the top of the mountain, the phone lines are down, why are we studying this place anyway? It's just a dumb mountain that 2 people got lost on.

Jeremy: weird.. WAIT A SEC IS *THAT* BLOOD?

Fred: that time it seems you are correct. What the fuck happened here? It seems there's a trail of footprints and blood that way, well, less footprints and more just.. tracks.. I can't tell what might have made them. let's go, we gotta find out what happend.

Jeremy: are you kidding? Like every horror movie ever we FOLLOW the monster?!

Fred: it's not a monster.. some animal might have scared her and made her drop her journal and run or something.

Jeremy: fine but if we die bc of you I will kick your ghost ass.

*2 hours later*

Fred: let's set up some sorta camp. Luckily I brought food from the main base, so no death from starvation. And also I brought 2 tents. I came prepared.

Jeremy: what about things to make a campfire?

Fred: ....... Fuck.

Jeremy: we won't die luckily, but that sucks. Let's set up the camp here, there is a clear area over there.

*26 mins later*

Fred: well that should be good, food is outside due to oh having 2 tents.. that sucks, but there are very few animals in this cold so it should be good. Let's go to sleep.

*6 hours pass*

*metallic crunching and banging*

Fred: you hear that germ? Something is outside!

Jeremy: hecc no I'm staying in the tent, you go outside and kill yourself.

Fred: fine. I don't want this animal eating our food!

*footsteps*

Fred: WHAT THE FU- ARGH...

Jeremy: ok well now I HAVE to check on him

*he peaks outside the tent*

YOUR BLEEDING?! HOW?! WHAT ATTACKED YOU?

Fred: I'm alive don't worry.. but that... Thing attacked me.. I believe you now, whatever it is it is NOT normal. This thing is a monster. Heck it almost bit off my leg and it ate almost all our food! We got a few meals worth left. We gotta pack that up and get going. We must follow the trail more no matter what it takes.

Jeremy: good to hear your ok, bud. But we cant go, you can barely walk!

Fred: WE NEED TO SAVE CRYSTAL BEFORE THAT MONSTER DOES MORE TO HER! If your not going I am. I can still sorta wal- *trip* ow.. I'm going.

*footsteps*

Jeremy: fine. Atleast let me help you. *More footsteps*

*one hour later*

Jeremy: we are going nowhere and you need rest

Fred: we are going somewhere and no I don't. Speaking of what's that in the distance? Looks like a abandoned building. It would be warmer there then anywhere else, I bet that's the monsters hide out.

Jeremy: there are broken windows and papers surrounding it. It's a abandoned research building. The research team went missing studying this Mountain I bet! But they hired ANOTHER research team to discover a missing research team?! How stupid IS group 1?

Jeremy: well we are here. I doubt we should go in the main entrance. We should probably climb through a window.

*breaking glass and a plop*

Fred: I'm in. Now to find crystal.. how many hallways *are* there In this building? It's like its one gaint room with a buncha walls slapped randomly everywhere- come look germ! Come look! It's crystal! I think she was hurt!

Jeremy: ya think?

Fred: well, let's get her outa-

*growls*

Fred: germ... Run... I'll get crystal.

Jeremy: no. For once I don't wanna be the guy that doesn't do anything. For once I want to help people. I'll fend it off. I think i know where it is.

*Jeremy picks up a sharp piece of glass as a weapon*

*footsteps*

Fred: alright. Good for him. Now I gotta pick her up and *OWW* oh yea my leg... Who cares

Fred: ok. I gotcha. Now we gotta go through the front... or not..

*infront of him is a gigantic wolf about 5 - 6 feet tall, growling at him*

AHHHHHHHH! *fast footsteps* fred: where is the door where's the door where's the fuckin door?! Oh crap a wall.. *SLAM*

Fred: good.. dog?

*growls, slow footsteps*

*ROAR*

Fred: AHH-

*whining and whimpers, fast footsteps away*

Fred: am I dead yet?

Jeremy: sadly no.

Fred: wow. That was badass! You stabbed it with a glass shard! Go get it, it's running away! *Fast footsteps* I'll come with! *Ow* let's go!

*faint whimpers and footsteps*

Jeremy: COME BACK HERE YA IDIOTIC DOG!... it jumped through a window! we can't follow it... What were these guys researching anyway?

*papers rustling*

Fred: looks like they researched that thing. The creature is called todeshund.

To-a-shund... Well, let's go help crystal.. speaking of thanks for saving me, Jeremy, I guess your not so lazy after all!

Jeremy: no problem, it means alot. *He smiles*

*2 hours later*

Jeremy: we are here! Whew.. let's get crystal bandaged up in our bed... It's the softest place.

*5 mins later*

Crystal: HH! wait wha- where am I? Where did the big wolf go? Why am I back at the base?

Jeremy: we saved you from it, i stabbed it with a shard of glass. It's called a todeshund.

Crystal: you killed it?! Awesome!

Fred: not really.. it's still out there.. somewhere...

- Audio log 1 ended -

[imagine-lcorp]

Next to You (One Shot)

Request

1)Hey, I really love ur imagines❤ Can u do one for me plz? R is Lena's girlfriend. Maybe something like: Reign attacks Lena, and reader saves her but still got injured. Some fluff after that))

2)Hi! Can you write where somebody attacks Lena and reader without superpowers protects her and get injured. After that Lena is taking care of her girlfriend

A/N: Hello my beautiful beans, I’m here once again finally bringing you the LAST REQUEST on my long and overdue list of requestssss, I’m so happy i’ve been able to finish this and so glad because request will be open again, and i hope that you send some and trust me with your ideas although I might need over a year to finish them, but either way this has been fun and yes I’ll keep doing it. So thanks to the anons that sent their requests, i tried to fusion this two in my own take of that scene on season 3, you know which one, so i hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think! As always, I love y’all!!

Lena Luthor x Fem!R//Word Count: 1,471

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

"Wow, and I thought I had a good view from CatCo." You said as you approached Lena, wrapping your arms around her and taking in the sights from her window.

You had wished to stay a bit longer in bed with her, joining that peace for a moment longer. But the day was just about to start and you tried to seize every second you had with her before doing the things that had to be done and solved if you wanted to keep the city as it was. It certainly made you feel strange, how the world could end at any moment and yet you would have let it happen if it meant spending another moment with Lena in your arms.

"I like waking up next to you." Lena turned around and looked at you, moving her arms to wrap herself around your neck, and if Lena could have read your thoughts she would have agreed.

"Waking up by your side every morning is like my wildest dream."

"So you dream about me, uh." A little smirk appeared on the corner of her lips.

"Every night." You would have been lying if you had said otherwise and Lena smiled fully at your answer. "Serious talk, tho. Haven't you thought about getting your own place?"

"When I first moved to National City I didn't know if I was gonna stay. Lex was in prison, the company was in shambles. I didn't know if I was gonna put down roots, settle down... In case the city rejected me." She moved her arms hesitantly around your neck and started to fidget with the collar of your shirt.  

Lena looked down for a moment and you took her hands in yours, placing them on your chest. You could sense her nervousness. It wasn't the first time you had seen her like this while trying to talk to her about the subject. Even after all these years living in National City, and even with all the friends she had made since, she felt out of place.

"Well, it's been two years, and you have done so much for the city. I think it's safe to say you could sign your own lease."

"Even with Supergirl thinking the worst of me?"

"She'll have to get over it someday. She can't stay mad at you." You assured her.

"You think so?"

"She really can not. After all you told me last night, there's no way she won't change her mind. What you did, it was to help a friend. I'm sure she can understand that."

"What about the Kryptonite? Do you think she will come around that too?"

"That too. I mean, there's a reason why you needed it and it's not like you were using it to deliberately hurt her. Give it time." You finished softly.

Lena had unfolded all the truth of her complicated life last night to you, not wanting to hold more secrets. After what had happened, discovering that Sam was a Worldkiller, sending Ruby away, and being discovered by Supergirl, it was all building up inside of her. She had hesitated a moment before letting you know all those things but you didn't stop to question her reasons until she was done telling you.

She had feared your reaction but you didn't run away or accused her of any of the possible crimes any other would have claimed against you. Instead you listened, tried your best to understand the situation, never doubting Lena's intentions, and she loved you because of it.

"How do you always know what to say?" She couldn't stop looking at you with adoration.

"Maybe that's my superpower."

"I'm really glad I can tell you my secrets now."

"You always can." You saw her smile.

You had wished to stay a bit longer like this, looking into her beautiful eyes and letting everything else around you fade, but the day had just started and you were far from solving the end of the world. Proof of it was the sudden blast of broken glass that followed a moment later. You barely had time to react and protect Lena from the shards of glass flying into your direction.

"Where's the child?" Reign screamed after bursting into the room.

"Lena! Get do-!" You pushed Lena out of Reign's reach but got caught in the middle.

"You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you?" Reign held you by the neck in a swift movement. Her hand closing around it until your lungs were out of air. However, she had no intention to keep playing with you. You weren't the person she was looking for and had no problem getting you out of her way.

"Where is Ruby Arias?" She screamed again, tossing you across the room. You hit the opposite wall and collapsed like a rag doll,  except you doubted a rag doll would have felt her bones break.    

Lena came rushing in a second, kryptonite sprayer in hand, ready to face Reign. "You will never find her."  

Surprised by Lena's attack Reign inhaled the kryptonite and had no other choice but to fly away before it caused her more damage.

It wasn't everyday you got to see a supervillian run away like a sprayed kitten so you let out a chuckle that unfortunately made your ribs hurt like hell.

"(Y/N)!" Lena dropped the spray and ran towards you. "You are gonna be okay, darling, help is coming."

You nodded slowly at her, trying not to move and concentrating on her words. The pain was becoming more and more evident with each passing minute. You hand't fully realized how bad your injuries were until Reign was gone but you still thanked the skies above you were still alive.  

A DEO team reached the apartment soon after and you were taken to the their medical bay as fast as it was possible to be attended. Lena had to stay behind, explaining J'onn and Supergirl what had happened, but you assured her you were going to be fine.

You ended up with a couple of broken ribs, a slight concussion, and Lena staying at your own apartment most nights. She had wanted to make sure you were following the doctor's orders and offered herself to help you at home. She would come after work to help you prepare dinner or help you out with some chores that you couldn't do by yourself, or that she would deem to hurtful in your current condition.

A few mornings were spent around the kitchen, a couple of late evenings trying to decide which movie to watch, and a few others with her reminding you to take your medicine as you both worked beside each other, still trying to find a solution to the Reign problem.

Somehow you knew it was an excuse for her to keep an eye on you and a form of apology for what Lena considered had been her fault but you were glad to have her around. It had been your wildest dream, after all, and Lena also seemed to have surprised herself. Domestic life wasn't something she thought could suit her but as she spent time with you she got used to your presence and the little routine you had managed to create.

"You're doing much better, it seems like you won't need me around anymore." She said one afternoon after you finished your lunch.

"Actually, Lena, I was hoping, uh, you may like to...stay with me?" You said a bit hesitant.

Lena looked at you across the table, not completely sure about what you were asking. "Are you suggesting I move in with you?"

"I know this isn't a five star hotel and it's far from being a mansion like the one where you grew up but," you took a deep breath before continuing, feeling a knot of nervousness in your stomach, "it would make me really happy if you decided to stay around more than often. Maybe for breakfast, and lunch, and dinner. You could take the right side of my closet and of my bed, or the left side, which ever you prefer. We could binge watch every episode of Friends until we fall asleep on the couch and, best of all, I could wake up by your side every morning."

Lena was staring at you and you knew by her surprised expression she hadn't expected something like this. You rambled without pause, worrying that if you stopped you wouldn't get it out or mess it all up. Then you took a deep breath and felt your cheeks burn up.

"You don't have to decide right now, just think about it." You finished.

A moment passed before she answered with the biggest smile you had seen in her."(Y/N). I really like waking up next to you too."

[inkchantress]

I wrote another fic!!

Title: The Color Yellow

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug (again... what can I say, I’m obsessed lol)

Word Count: 1,710

Summary: That moment in Collector when Adrien sees his broken childhood drawing on the ground. Flashbacks ensue.

AN: The moment that this fic is based off of is an important moment that’s kind of overlooked. It’s not particularly memorable, in and of itself, but I kept thinking that there was probably a story behind that, and well... here it is. Also I wrote most of this after midnight so it might not be super refined but ideas don’t stop till you write them all out lol.

Keep reading under the cut (or read it on AO3)

He couldn’t move.

He was six years old, gap-toothed and slightly cross-eyed, with more colors of crayon at his disposal than he could ever dream of.

Well. Maybe that wasn’t quite true. Maybe he could move. More like he wasn’t willing to try.

But he’d only needed four colors that day. The classics.

The house was empty. His father was gone, off to who knew where. To the basement, to his room. It didn’t matter where. Adrien could never tell the difference.

Red. Green. Blue. Yellow.

He tried to remind himself what he was doing here--they were trying to stop something horrible from happening. They were searching for Hawkmoth.

He’d had plenty of practice coloring with the classic four. He knew them well, from evenings in restaurants where he always scribbled furiously on the kids’ menu. He never went inside the lines, always drew his own thing. And he’d show his parents his masterpiece every time, once the night was over.

Hawkmoth, who at the moment was still at large, who Ladybug thought she had finally pinned down.

Every time, Gabriel Agreste would dismiss whatever work it was, and every single time, Emilie would smile down at Adrien and compliment it. She’d ask him to describe it and suggest areas for improvement, like adding binoculars so the people in the picture could see better, or putting in another bird so the first one could have a friend.

Hawkmoth, who might be his father.

And then, later, to Gabriel, when she thought Adrien couldn’t hear: “Leave him alone. He’s got a creative spirit, Gabe. He’s got it inside him. You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

The whole room was trashed. Mannequins smashed, ceramic vases hurled off of shelves, panes of glass lying shattered on the floor. Photographs in frames that sported spiderweb cracks littered the edges of the room.

Adrien knew artists were hard on themselves. He knew they got in their own heads. He knew they drove themselves crazy from the inside out.

But he had done this.

This would be his biggest masterpiece, his museum debut. ‘Six years old and already making history,’ his mother would say theatrically, grinning and tickling him until his stomach hurt from laughing.

And his father would look at the drawing and smile, a real one, one of those lopsided, carefree grins that he only sported in old photographs. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he’d say.

Adrien had driven his father insane. From the outside in.

He worked quickly, a six-year-old man on a mission, tongue poking through the space where he had recently lost his front tooth. There was still a slightly bloody stump from where his gums hadn’t quite healed, and it made the tip of his tongue taste like salt every time he touched it.

It was all because of that stupid book.

He sketched it out with a pencil first. The mountain peaks in the back. The roundness of his father’s glasses, the twist of his mother’s hair. Adrien came out quite a bit taller than he really was, compared to them, but no matter. It didn’t have to be realistic, not really. It just had to be visible.

Adrien could almost see his father in the room, walking around and smashing things. Picking mannequins up over his head and throwing them down onto their sides so they cracked. Kicking vases. Perhaps ranting to Nathalie.

He had to ask Nathalie to show him his mother’s best dress so he could get the pattern right. It was strange, little swirls and clouds and dots all working together. Nathalie had obliged, holding up the gown for him as he sat with his legs crossed on the floor of his mother’s closet, his small hands weaving the spots and swirls on the page. On the way back to the long dining room table that was doubling as his great workspace, Nathalie had asked about the drawing.

“It’s for Mom and Dad,” Adrien had whispered, looking around as if his parents were going to pop out of a corner at any moment. “But it’s a secret. Don’t tell.”

Nathalie nodded dutifully, and the corner of her mouth twitched up. She’d winked at him.

He’d winked, clumsily, back.

Adrien could see his father. Unleashing a tornado on his office, his face red and his lips pressed tight with anger. Picking Adrien’s drawing up and flinging it across the room with such gusto that it shattered on impact.

Blue for his pants, red for his father’s pants, green for the grass beneath their feet, and little accents all over his mother’s dress...

Adrien’s heart was in his throat. He’d done this.

And layers and layers of yellow, waves of blond hair.

He, Adrien Agreste, had done this. He might as well have just broken all of the things himself.

He’d finished the masterpiece with a dripping yellow sun, a bright misshapen oval hanging above his mother’s head. It shone down on the three of them, all proudly wearing wide grins, holding each other’s hands.

It was because of him and Plagg and that stupid book…

When he finished, he’d first shown it to Nathalie. She rarely ever smiled, but she did that day. A full smile, teeth included, accompanied by a professional nod. “I’m sure they’ll love it.”

There was emotion clouded in her voice when she spoke. He didn’t understand it then.

It was all because of him.

They’d eaten dinner together that evening, the three of them and Nathalie. It was Adrien’s favorite, spaghetti and meatballs, the ones that his mother made just right. Emilie told everyone a story of when she and Gabriel were young, and it was the first time Adrien had ever heard Nathalie laugh out loud. Adrien and his mother both laughed so hard they had to stop eating. How Adrien loved his mother’s laugh--when Emilie was laughing, she became the color yellow, sunny and bright and wildly contagious.

And it was working on everybody. They had all caught a case of the Emilies. Adrien could’ve even sworn up and down that he saw his father smile.

God. He wanted to turn back time so badly. He wanted a second chance, a third chance, a million more chances.

After dinner, when all of the dishes were packed away, Nathalie had gathered his parents in the living room and set the stage, and Adrien had emerged brandishing his drawing. He handed it to his mother first, and she was silent for several seconds, taking it in.

“Well?” he’d asked. “Is it okay?”

She’d put a hand to her mouth, which Adrien thought was a bad sign, but then she spoke, so softly it was almost a whisper. “Wow. This is… wonderful.”

She put a finger to the page. “That’s me, right? And that’s your father?”

Adrien had nodded, almost like a bobblehead, wild green eyes wide in his face and gap-toothed mouth grinning.

“And there, that’s you… this is beautiful. Look, Gabe.”

She’d handed his father the drawing, and Adrien’s breath caught.

Gabriel Agreste had surveyed the doodle once, twice, taking in every line, every color.

And he must have still been carrying a case of the Emilies, because he nodded in approval, so subtly it could have been an accident.

It was just like that. No critiques, nothing. Quick and painless.

Adrien turned back to Nathalie, and she, too, must still have been afflicted with the Emilies, because she winked at him for the second time that day. He’d winked back, and it filled him with gold.

“This is beautiful,” Emilie had repeated, “but I think it’s missing something, don’t you?”

“What?” Adrien had asked.

She’d reached out an arm to draw him into her lap. “You’re an artist,” she’d said, tapping his nose. “It needs a signature.”

Gabriel produced a pen from his coat, and Emilie handed it to her son, her eyes filled to the brim with a kind of wild excitement. Adrien had taken the pen, but he’d hesitated, hand hovering over the page.

“Go on,” Emilie had encouraged, smiling so wide she was almost glowing. “Sign it.”

So he had, in blocky kindergarten handwriting, in the deep black ink of the pen. He’d marveled at his own name, at the six letters beaming up at him from the page. They claimed the drawing as his own, a declaration that Adrien Agreste made this masterpiece with his own two hands, determination, inspiration, and four different colors of crayon, all sitting loud and proud on the paper.

It told the world that he was here.

Emilie had picked her son up and swung him around until he started to laugh, and then she had brought him into her arms. He had clung to the fabric of her shirt, the satin and cotton and his mother’s skin, a smell that he swore he’d never forget.

“It’s perfect,” she had whispered.

Adrien wanted to pick the drawing up, piece together the shards of glass into one pane again like time had never touched them. He longed to fix it, reverse it, go back. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. He felt like his skin might shatter with the pain of wanting. Something had seized him around the heart, and it was collapsing him.

He was driving himself insane. From the inside out.

Like father, like son.

When Ladybug next spoke, it nearly scared him out of his wits--he could have been standing there seconds or hours or days. She looked at him sideways, coated with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He closed his eyes so his mother and his father and six-year-old self disappeared, and he could see the splash of colors and blocky signature and shattered glass no more. He forced himself away, and the memories all left him alone, one by one--his father’s hidden smile, Nathalie’s laugh, that feeling of wonder that filled him when he signed his name.

The color yellow was the last to go, lingering in his eyelids for a few final seconds. A shock of blond hair and a feeling of warmth and a golden sun, dripping light onto him and his parents like a promise.

He opened his eyes and turned away. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s keep going.”

[lins-fandom-hub]

For family (post HPHM)

"Lin? Report for duty, miss."

"Present. What's the mission?"

"There was a raid that happened earlier today at a house near the bay. I would like you and Miss Tonks to investigate it. I'll give you the address."

"On it. Thank you."

---

The house was unlike anything Clara had ever seen--almost unfamiliar from her immediate memory. Dislodged bricks cascaded down the side of what was left of the walls, shattered glass glistening on the concrete paths. The once pristine garden, blossoming under her father's care, was now littered in fragile ruin. The roof, thankfully, remained intact, but there was nothing Reparo could do to the rest of the wreck.

"Wotcher, Clara." Tonks appeared at her side a moment later, her face falling the minute she saw the house. "You recognize this place?"

"This...Tonks, this was my house," the other girl told her. "The Snatchers must have raided it last night."

"And look at this wreck!" Tonks cried, looking around at the ruins. "God, Professor Sprout would not have been pleased to see the petals all over the place."

Clara sighed, a fast rush of air escaping her slightly chapped lips. "My father loved Herbology," she recalled. "He loved it enough to take such good care of any garden, even raise one for his own. Even in his busiest times, he'd take some time to water the flowers, hum a few tunes..."

No. The tears were coming, fast and thick as they brimmed in her eyes. With a quick shake of her head, she stepped over a broken flower pot and carefully travelled through the wreckage until she reached the front door.

"Alohomora," Tonks intoned, pointing her wand at the lock.

Nothing. There was no click, nothing unhinged.

"It must be unlocked," Clara murmured, twisting the knob and pushing the door inward. Sure enough, the door gave way and swung open, silent enough to enter undetected.

The inside of the house didn't look any better. Papers were torn and littered all over the tiles, the chandelier in the hall snapped by the chain and broken in millions upon millions of crystal shards. Photo frames of her family hanging on the walls--her parents, Jacob, herself, and little Em--had cracked glass spider-webbed from where something miniature hit it. Ink stains now decorated the pristine white walls, silhouetted images completely unrecognizable.

"Blimey. You'd have thought they wanted to take this house for ransom, and all because of you and your brother's exploits with the Cursed Vaults," Tonks remarked quietly, stepping in after Clara and almost tripping immediately on an umbrella stand. Clara had to hold fast to her friend's arm to stop her falling.

"They probably had a thing against those who gained a reputation so early in life," Clara responded wistfully, picking up a picture frame that held her parents on their wedding day. "My mom a writer, my dad a Herbologist, my brother a Curse-Breaker, and my sister a Potioneer...we found our purposes so early on in life." She stowed the wedding photo away in her pocket, along with an undamaged frame holding her entire family--the five of them smiling and waving eagerly in front of a camera. "It was all under my mom's influence that we figured out anything in our lives at all."

Tonks nodded silently as she strode into the study--Clara's mother's old study where she did all her writing. The books there remained untouched, weathered under use but intact nonetheless. The ink pots were gone, but otherwise there was no sign of a raid there in sight.

"Whoa," Tonks said as she pulled open a drawer to reveal a thick brown portfolio. "Did your mom really write all this?"

"Hmm?" Clara glanced over from the parlour, where she was performing Reparo on the old family piano. She recalled the joy she once had playing it, the days when music filled the empty halls and her family would feel at ease with the melodies. Her fingers lingered over the ivory keys for a moment before letting them fall to her side. "Yeah. My mother kept all her manuscripts when my brother went missing."

Tonks nodded as she put the portfolio in a messenger bag she slung over her back. "At least these meant something to your mom," she said. "She still had something to hold onto when he was taken into that portrait in the Vault."

"Yeah. But she ended up taking the worst of the impact when my brother went missing," Clara reminded her. "People started hating on her, write bad reviews for her that drove her to tears. One critic told her that she was incapable of taking care of her family, and should die for her incompetence."

"What?! No!"

Clara nodded sadly. "I have no idea how she ended up holding herself together. One way or another, she still picked herself up and sought another career. She's working with the Ministry now, too--with Tulip's parents, ironically. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Suddenly, she stood up straight as a slight rustle came from her right, in the kitchen. With an uneasy glance at Tonks, she entered the kitchen on silent feet, her wand held out in front of her.

Cups and plates were moving on their own--a sight she had never seen before in all the years she stayed here. She raised her wand, flicking her wrist.

"Homenum Revelio."

As the spell wore off, she stood face to face now with an older woman with shorter black hair and brown eyes, wearing a scarlet dress that went down to her knees. Her feet were bare, yet silent as they moved across the stone floor. A closer look at the woman made Clara gape a little, while Tonks kept her wand raised.

"M-mom?"

Mrs. Lin turned to her daughter now, completely overjoyed. "Oh, Merlin! It's just you!" she cried in relief, hugging her daughter tightly. "And you must be...?"

"Tonks." Tonks smiled ruefully as she saw her friend reunited with her mother, safe and sound.

"Thank Merlin. I was only up and early making breakfast for your sister--it's the first day of her fifth year, after all--and then those imposters just broke into the house! Said they were looking for a man named Sirius Black."

"I thought something happened to you!" Clara exclaimed. "The Ministry told me it was an emergency mission!"

"Ah, yes. I keep forgetting my middle child has become a wonderful Auror!" Mrs. Lin said in awe. "No, they just...showed up out of nowhere. Men in long black cloaks and black bandannas, and masks...and they had a huge sack."

"At least tell me little Em's safe!" Clara cried. "If something happened to her..."

"I'm right here," little Em piped up now as she entered the kitchen, where her mom, sister, and friend were standing. "So, you heard of the raid?"

"I thought something happened to all of you!" Clara repeated, tears reappearing in her eyes but this time glistening in sheer relief. "We were just making sure nothing important was taken."

"No, dear. They just wanted to make sure the prisoner was caught again, sent back to Azkaban." Mrs. Lin shivered at the thought of Azkaban. "I don't want to go working there again."

"What--ohhh." Tonks only nodded as she recalled what happened that sent her to Azkaban--not as a prisoner, but more or less a detective.

Clara simply put her stowed relics back on the counter, and Tonks also put the portfolio down too. "You can repair this, can you?"

"Of course. You'd be surprised at what Reparo can actually do--or any spell, for that matter."

Mrs. Lin took out her wand and gave it a quick swish. Instantly, everything reorganized itself in its orderly place--picture frames resealed themselves without a crack, the chandelier reattached itself to the ceiling, even the papers were tucked away neatly in a nice pile on the desk in her study.

"Wow. I think I might need that spell to save my life," Tonks remarked in awe, stepping back to admire the handiwork only to bump awkwardly into little Em. "Whoops. Sorry."

"No harm done," little Em said lightly, fastening her Hufflepuff cloak around her. She then took over the stove, whipping up some porridge and toast for everyone, and in moments the four of them were eating breakfast together on the recently fixed table.

"Mm. This tastes really good," Tonks said with a full mouth. "Then again, that might be because I haven't had breakfast yet. Still, though..." She swigged some milk down and smiled. "You cook wonderfully, Em."

"Thanks, Tonks. I've been experimenting with new recipes this summer," little Em responded. "Hopefully I can become an accomplished Potioneer and a cook at the same time!"

"You still need help with the packing?" Clara asked her sister now. "Or are you just about ready?"

"I'm just about done, actually. Just need to coax Cheddar out of hiding, and then we'll be ready to go." Little Em nodded at her sister as she took the empty plates and put them in the sink, then went upstairs to find her cheese-coloured rat.

"I'm surprised she left her rat with its cheese-coloured coat after the spell you did on it," Clara said in awe, glancing at Tonks who just shrugged.

"What? I couldn't come up with a better welcome gift for her than a change in colour for her rat! And that was years ago," she replied. "At least it was better than Diego who offered to duel with her when she learned enough spells."

"Ah, yes, Diego Caplan. I'm happy he's managed to channel his hype into dancing."

Moments later, little Em came bounding down the stairs with her suitcase in one hand and Cheddar in another. Her Hufflepuff cloak hung lopsided over her shoulder, but she was smiling nonetheless. As she straightened herself though, Clara noticed something gold glinting on her cloak, and her eyes widened.

"Alright. I'm ready," little Em stated with a smile.

"Wait." Tonks peered closely at the little gold pin on little Em's cloak. "You're a Prefect now?"

"Yup! One of Hufflepuff's finest Prefects. And yes, I know Clara became one for Gryffindor," little Em said with a laugh. "Who knows, maybe the status would grant me more opportunities in the future to stop all crime in the wizarding world."

"Ah, maybe. But you'll love the Prefect's Bathroom at least," Clara said. "That's a luxury that comes with the badge."

"And disciplining others," little Em reminded her. "Now that would be cake. Considering mom does it all the time to us, of course. Hey, you don't mind if you and Tonks can send me to school? I know you were only here on a mission, but..."

"Hey, of course. I won't turn down sending my sister back to Hogwarts for anything," Clara responded with a nod.

And moments later, she found herself back at Platform Nine and Three Quarters with her sister and her friend, her Auror's uniform billowing as they travelled.

---

"Lin? Was everything okay?"

"It was just a raid to locate Sirius Black by a third party. Residents there are unharmed."

"Clever. Tell your mother she's excused from work today."

"Will do."

ROUGH DRAFT...WILL FIX

[yuki-setsu]

12 Days of (Lance) Whumpmas! - Day 4 [Strep Throat]

this is more of h/c than whump but i tried T__T this is so late too because i was out all day adlkfjaskl it’s 3am i’m tired pls forgive

also my first doing a modern college AU for voltron hhhHHH i like it 

part of the 12 Days of VLD Whumpmas hosted by @vldwhumpmas2017! check out more info on the challenge here if you want to participate!

Keith knew something was wrong when Lance hadn't messaged the group chat in 2 days. Usually, his phone could barely keep up with the amount of messages Lance sent in one go, but right now... it was quieter than it had ever been. Hunk chimed in once, being the first to note that Lance hadn't chatted in a while and ask where he was. Which was weird, because Hunk and Lance practically knew each other's schedules on a day-to-day basis.

But more importantly, the “Spectacular Christmas Bonanza” that Lance planned for days was supposed to be happening tonight. In 10 minutes. And he was nowhere to be found.

“Still nothing?” Shiro asked, setting plates on the table. Most of their living room was cleaned up in preparation for the party, so all that was left was for Keith and Shiro to wait for the others to arrive.

“Nope.” Keith huffed out an irritated breath. He drummed his fingers against his leg once before getting up and reaching for his jacket. “This is ridiculous. Do you think he's home?”

Lance, by some incredible coincidence, had managed to move into the apartment next to Keith and Shiro's, something he'd been elated to discover one autumn morning when they all left for class at practically the same time. If he wasn't home, then Pidge could probably track down his GPS or something.

Shiro shrugged. “It's worth a shot. I'll let the others in if they get here before you. Be careful.”

“I'm literally walking next door, Shiro.”

“And you forget the number of times you nearly slipped down the stairs at the apartment's main entrance whenever it was even a little bit icy.”

Keith pulled up his hood, hoping it hid the way his face burned up. “It wasn't that many.” He stalked across the room, Shiro's laughter trailing after him. “I'll be back. Shouldn't be more than 5 minutes.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, pointedly taking care to walk down the main steps, more for his self-assurance than anything. They weren't that slippery. The winter winds bit at his face, and for the first time, Keith was grateful Lance lived so close because it was so cold.

He walked up the steps—carefully again—and pressed at the button next to Lance's name. Room 214. 15 seconds and no reply later, Keith was lucky that another resident chose that moment to use their own key to get inside, kind enough to hold the door open for him to step inside as well. Keith ducked his head, managing out a thanks before he jogged for the stairwell.

The second floor was tranquil, covered in old, brown carpeting that echoed Keith's every footstep. He reached Lance's door, trying not to knock too loudly and wake up the entire complex. Still no answer. But one glance at the ground was enough for Keith to notice the thin stream of light peeking out from under the door, which made it almost certain that Lance was home. The amount of times Lance had chastised both him and Shiro for leaving the lights on in an empty room whenever he came over was so high that Keith couldn't even keep track. No way Lance would commit the same crime.

“Hey, Lance.” Keith started, wincing at the loud way his voice echoed down the hall. “It's Keith. Uh, you remember the party's today, right?”

Through the door, he could've sworn he heard coughing, and Keith reached for the doorknob without a second thought. The door clicked open easily, and he took a moment to process that he could actually go inside. What idiot doesn't lock his door?

The coughing had died down by the time Keith stepped inside and closed the door, only to be replaced with a low groan. Well, Lance being down with the cold explained his absence. He could've at least messaged the group, though.

Keith stepped down the narrow hallway to Lance's room, whose door was ajar. Yet when he peeked inside, the room was empty, save for the messy bed. He glanced at the small jar of pills on the bedside drawer just as he heard another bout of coughing, wet and loud. Keith jumped at the noise, whipping around and tracking it down to the small kitchen. And that was where he found Lance, shivering and curled up on the ground. A dangerous mess of shattered glass covered the floor around him, and Keith just barely stopped himself from stepping inside the kitchen and onto a large shard. The bigger problem was the blood he saw on the ground.

“Shit, Lance. Don't move.” Keith breathed out, eyes wide. He scanned the kitchen for anything he could use to clean the glass up, only to come up empty. “I'll be right back. Hold on.” He ran for Lance's room, glad he didn't have to dig around too much to spot a small dustpan and sweeper. He worked fast to clean up while he tried to talk to Lance, who was barely coherent.

When most of the danger was gone, Keith set the dustpan aside and moved to get Lance off the ground and sitting against the cabinets. Keith could finally pinpoint the injury: a small but noticeable gash on his left hand, blood still slowly weeping out of the wound.

Keith leaned up and grabbed at a few sheets of paper towels before pressing it against the wound. “Lance, do you have a first aid box anywhere? Bathroom?”

Lance's eyes finally landed on Keith, eyes widening as if he just realized Keith was there. He nodded weakly.

“Okay.” Keith took Lance's other hand and used it to replace where his hand had been on top of the paper towels. “Try to keep some pressure on it to stop the bleeding. I'll be right back.”

Finding the kit was easy, the box sitting neatly on a shelf in the bathroom cabinet. He was glad Lance was pretty organized. By the time he got back, Lance was dangerously slumped over, trembling like he was sitting in the cold with no jacket on and not on his kitchen floor.

Keith ducked back towards the ground, hands on Lance's shoulders to guide him back upright. Lance groaned at the movement, eyes meeting his again. This time, a ghost of a smile touched his face. “Keith. Sup.”

Lance's voice was horribly scratchy and rough, but Keith ignored it. “Hi. Give me your hand.”

A slightly bigger smile. “You gonna propose or somethin'?”

If he weren't so worried, Keith might have rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Lance offered his hand anyways, wincing as Keith cleaned out the wound and wrapped it with bandages. One problem down. He lifted a hand against Lance's forehead, surprised at the sudden heat that greeted him.

“That's some fever you got there. Is it the flu?” Keith asked, a frown touching his face.

Lance sighed, his head falling lightly against the cabinets. “Nah, it's strep. Sucks.”

Keith's eyes widened. Strep throat? What the hell, that was so much worse. Wasn't that contagious, too? Great. He thought back to the bottle of pills he spotted in Lance's room.

“You went to a doctor already?”

Lance nodded again before he jerked his head to the side, coughing violently into his elbow. It wracked his entire body, and Keith had to keep him from falling over again. “Earlier today. Wasn't this bad yesterday...”

“Alright, alright, no more talking. You sound like shit and your throat needs to rest.” Keith blew out a breath, running a hand across his face. “Let's get you to bed first.” He thought for a moment longer, and his shoulders slumped with resignation. “You probably can't walk, so I'll carry you.”

Lance's eyes flickered over to him again, playful. “Aw, really?”

Keith ignored him, shifting an arm underneath Lance's legs and another across his back. “I told you not to talk. I'll drop you if you do.”

Lance grinned lazily, but he obliged. Lance's constant trembling and the heat emanating from his skin had Keith's annoyance drifting away pretty quickly, though. He was surprised Lance could still joke around in this state.

After tucking him in bed and having him take another antibiotic—apparently Lance had been trying to get a cup of water to take the medicine—Keith finally stepped aside and fished out his phone. He already had 2 missed calls and 5 new messages from Shiro, each more panicked than the last. He glanced back at Lance, who was—wow—already asleep, and stepped into the hallway before dialing Shiro's number.

Shiro picked up after the first ring. “Keith?! It's been almost 20 minutes, what happened?”

“Lance is sick. Strep throat.”

Shiro sucked in a breath. “Oh man. Did he see a doctor already?”

Keith leaned against the wall, adjusting his grip on the phone. “Yeah. He just took medicine and fell asleep. Don't know what you want to do about the party, though.”

“Hold on.” There was muffled silence as Shiro shifted the phone away from his mouth, speaking to someone in the background. Keith easily picked out the responding voices as both Hunk and Pidge, which was no surprise. More rustling before Shiro's voice rang through the phone again, loud and clear. “They're fine with postponing. Lance had been the main planner for this party, doesn't really make sense to celebrate without him.”

Keith blew out a breath, somewhat relieved. “Alright. I'll just wrap up a few things here and head back.”

Once he hung up, Keith went back towards the bathroom, grabbing a small washcloth and wetting it under cold water. He figured he should do something about the broken glass, too. Maybe he could toss it on the way back.

He tried to be careful when placing the washcloth on Lance's forehead, but his eyes still fluttered open at the contact. Any trace of his earlier amusement was gone, replaced with just bare exhaustion. It was kind of weird seeing Lance like that, and not a good weird. Keith didn't like it.

“Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. It's for the fever.” Keith said, straightening back up. Lance watched him wearily, but at least he wasn't talking like Keith had ordered. Seeing Lance so quiet was weird, too. Also not a good weird. “I'm gonna go back to my apartment to fill the others in on what happened, but I'll stop in a few hours when you gotta take the medicine again.”

Lance looked panicked at the prospect of Keith leaving, but relaxed a bit when he mentioned he was coming back again. He nodded, and Keith crossed his arms. Oh right, he almost forgot.

“And do you always not lock your door? It was unlocked when I got here. You know how dangerous that is?” Lance pointedly looked away, almost sheepish. “I'm locking it on the way out, so is there a key I can borrow to get in when I come back? I'll return it afterwards.” Lance glanced back at him, a silent question. Keith almost grinned at it. “Fine, you can talk. In as few words as possible.”

“Desk. Top right drawer.” Lance croaked out, grimacing at the way the words scraped out of his throat.

Keith fished out the key, tucking it into his pocket before he lightly patted the top of Lance's blanket. “Get better soon. We can't start the party until you're with us.”

Lance smiled at that, tired but genuine. He nodded, eyes already growing heavy. Keith made sure he actually fell asleep before quietly stepping back outside and towards the kitchen. He dumped the glass into a garbage bag and cleaned up the dried blood before washing the hell out of his hands and face. Then again, he'd carried Lance back to his room, so he couldn't be certain he hadn't already caught it. And on top of that, he was going back to Lance's apartment later. He'd probably need to stop by the doctor and get his own antibiotics tomorrow.

He disposed of the bag in the lobby before leaving the apartment, the cold air biting at his face like an old friend. He grumbled, so busy pulling his hood up that his foot caught on a patch of ice on the final step and sent him crashing on his butt. Nope. Shiro was never hearing about this.

[natteryaktoad]

“Right then, Anchor, theater time!” Sharla said, strapping her son into his carseat and then going around the other side of the car to get into the drivers’ seat.

“Are we weally gonna dee da Gwuffalo?” Anchor asked as Sharla backed out of the drive. “De weally weal one? Will id ead me?”

“It’s just a man dressed up as the Gruffalo,” Sharla explained, turning onto the highway. “That’s what the theater is, remember, people dressing up and acting out stories.”

Anchor sighed. “I wis id wad a weal Gwuffalo!” he said.

Sharla smiled, glancing back in the rearview mirror to see Anchor snuggled down in his carseat.

“Mama, do boyd who are four have napf?” Anchor asked.

“If they need them,” Sharla grinned. “If they’ve got an exciting day ahead of them, and need a nap in the car, I don’t see why not,” she said.

Anchor closed his eyes and stopped talking, and Sharla continued to drive. After a couple of miles, she became aware of a pickup truck tailgating her. She sighed and slowed down to increase the distance between her and the vehicle in front. Why didn’t this idiot just overtake her, already? - there was plenty of room.

But he didn’t overtake, just stayed right behind her. Sharla found herself speeding up a bit, out of nervousness, even as she tried to keep her distance from the car in front. Why wouldn’t the pickup just overtake?

Suddenly, the pickup put on a burst of speed and rammed into the back of Sharla’s car, pushing her off the road. Sharla screamed as they crashed into a tree which grew by the side of the road. Sharla was hurled forward into the airbag, then jerked back by her seatbelt, showered by broken glass. Anchor screamed too, jolted out of his sleep.

“Anchor!” Sharla screamed. “Are you okay?”

“Id hurds, Mama!” Anchor sobbed. Sharla tried to turn around to see him, but she found she couldn’t move. The rearview mirror had twisted around and she couldn’t see Anchor in that, either. Sharla tried to open the door, but it hurt too much to move her arm. She reached across herself and tried to open the door with her other arm, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“It’s okay, Anchor, we’re going to be okay,” she told him, hoping it was true.

It only took a couple of minutes for help to arrive, but it felt like eternity to Sharla. Soon, though, a man was picking his way down the verge from the highway, a cell phone in his hand.

“Ambulance is on it’s way,” he called. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Sharla forced out, although she was far from fine. “My son - please, he’s in the back.”

The man walked around the car and Sharla heard the sound of a door opening. Anchor was still screaming, but he stopped momentarily when the door opened.

“Hello, are you hurt, mate?” the guy asked.

“My doof,” Anchor moaned. “An my yeg.”

“Tooth. And leg,” Sharla translated.

“Yeah, I see it - his leg’s twisted a bit under the carseat - want me to try and get it out?” the man asked.

“Please,” Sharla said.

Anchor screamed again, but it seemed the man had managed to get his foot free, because he quickly subsided into sobs.

“It’s going to be okay, Anchor,” Sharla said again. She managed to take off her seatbelt and twist around in her seat to look at her son, fighting through the pain this movement caused.

Sharla heard sirens, and within two more minutes, paramedics were at the car. The first paramedic carried Anchor up to the ambulance, whilst the second worked with the man who’d called the ambulance to help Sharla scoot over to the passenger seat and leave the car that way, since the driver’s door still wouldn’t open.

At the hospital, Sharla and Anchor were both checked over. Sharla’s wrist and Anchor’s leg were both x-rayed, but luckily neither were broken. They sat together on one bed as doctors removed the shards of glass from their faces and Sharla’s arms.

“My doof,” Anchor said again. “Mama, my doof hurts.”

Once all the glass was out, the doctor looked at Anchor’s mouth. “A dentist will need to see that,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Mama, are we dill goin do da deeada?” Anchor asked.

Sharla shook her head sadly. The show had started ten minutes ago. “Not today, baby. I’m sorry. I’m sure we’ll be able to reschedual for another time.”

“Mama, why d’we cwash?”

“I don’t know, baby,” Sharla said. She wasn’t about to tell her son they’d been run off the road - he didn’t need to worry about that. Sharla was worrying though - had it really been deliberate? Or just bad driving? Had the driver of the pickup even stopped? - she hadn’t thought to ask.

The doctor came back. “We’ve got a paediactric dentist on site, who’s coming down to take a look,” he said. “Also, the police are here to speak to you.”

Sharla left Anchor with a nurse whilst she went to talk to the police - she didn’t want him to overhear the conversation. She she got back, Anchor was lying back on the bed and a woman Sharla guessed to be the dentist was looking into his mouth.

“Can you remember what happened to hurt that tooth?” she asked Anchor.

Anchor nodded. “When we cwashed, I band my mouf on da dide od my dardeet an’ id wad ow!”

Sharla started to translate, but the dentist stopped her with a smile. “I got it,” she said. “I’m used to listening to patients try and tell me things with their mouths wide open and half a dozen instruments in there. Well, Anchor, I’m afraid that tooth’s going to have to come out. It’s very wobbly and broken, and if I don’t take it out it’s going to hurt you a lot, okay?”

“Oday,” Anchor said. “Will id hurd?”

“Yes,” the dentist said truthfully. “I can either just pull it straight out, which will hurt whilst I’m doing it, but then it’ll stop; or I can give you a shot to stop it hurting, but the shot itself will hurt a little bit, and your mouth will feel funny and numb for a few hours. You might not be able to eat much for the rest of the day. But I think it’s nearly out already - it should be fine to pull it out without the shot.”

“I needa ead!” Anchor told her. “It my birdday! We havin’ dake!”

“Oh, we definitely need to do this without the shot, then,” the dentist smiled. “If you’re having cake. Happy birthday, Anchor - how old are you today?”

“Four!”

“Wow, that’s pretty grown up.”

“Yeah, an I’m vewy bwave,” Anchor said, lying back with his mouth wide open again.

“This okay with you?” the dentist asked Sharla, who nodded her consent.

Anchor was brave, and the tooth was out in seconds.

“I i all une?” Anchor asked thickly, though the gauze the dentist was holding to the place his tooth had been.

“All done,” she nodded. “If Mum can just hold that on-” Sharla moved over to take over holding the gauze to Anchor’s gum “-then I can show you.” The dentist showed Anchor the tooth. Sharla was amazed at how tiny it was.

Anchor made a series of noises which Sharla correctly guessed was him asking if he could take the tooth home, a request which she relayed to the dentist.

“Of course,” the dentist said. “I’ll put it in a little bag or a jar for you.”

“If you put it under your pillow tonight, the tooth fairy will come and give you some money for it,” Sharla told Anchor, as the dentist walked out.

“Ow mud?” Anchor wanted to know.

“I’m not sure,” Sharla said. She have to put some feelers out and find out what the going rate was these days. When she’d been little it had been a simoleon for the first tooth, 50p for the second, and 20p thereafter, but she figured with inflation it was probably a lot more these days.

About five minutes later, the original doctor came back with Anchor’s tooth in a little plastic bag, and told Sharla they were about ready to discharge the two of them, so she called Isaiah to come pick them up, since the car was a write-off.

[cannibalisticskittles]

then fixed his teeth your heart beneath

pairing: saeran/reader notes: vampire au for @crytalstellar that got out of hand. warning for somewhat graphic descriptions of a wound? happy halloween!!

You're folding laundry in your bedroom on a night so quiet you’re nearly dozing off when you hear a crash from the living room.

It’s so loud it makes you jump, hanger slipping from your hands and falling with a clatter to the floor. That’s… not a good sound.

You push the already-folded clothes off your lap and stand with haste, then hesitate. It’s… well, it’s hopefully nothing to be alarmed about -- probably nothing, even! -- but that was…

Okay, that was loud as shit, there’s no way that was normal apartment noises or the sound of the foundation settling. You grab a heavy knickknack off your dresser, something that was probably supposed to be a paperweight but has, until this moment, just been useless clutter. You hold it firmly in one hand before pushing the bedroom door open, and --

There he is.

The source of the noise, who is definitely, definitely not supposed to be here.

You register the shock of white hair first, stark against his dark clothes, and then the oddity of his position -- through your window.

Although he didn't even make it all the way inside your apartment. He’s just sort of laying about halfway in, slumped on his stomach on your windowsill, head down and arms draped uselessly so that his hands rest limply on the floor.

He raises his head weakly when you stop, shocked, staring at the scene.

“Hey,” he says, flashing a weak but still somehow flirtatious smile, and then his eyes flutter shut and his head drops again.

And then you start to panic. There's -- blood, and there's glass everywhere, so no wonder there's blood really, but -- what in the actual shit?

You clutch at your hair, your thoughts spilling out in a near-incoherent stream. “Oh my god what the fuck who the hell are you how did you get here, did you somehow fall? Through my window? ...sideways?? What the shit, how the shit, I--”

He hasn't lifted his head since that first moment. Oh no.

You take quick steps over to the window and kneel with trepidation by him. You can feel broken glass through the fabric of your pants.

“Oh my god please tell me you're alive and you're not going to die halfway in my living room I am not equipped to deal with that.” With shaking hands, you reach out and raise his head, palms against his cheeks and fingers under his jaw. “Hey, hey, look at me, can you hear me?”

He blinks blearily at you, squinting through eyelashes wet with blood. “Mmn.” Okay, that's -- not an answer, exactly, but he's not dead yet, thank god.

You fumble for your phone in your pocket, but when you manage to get it out and start swiping at the screen with desperate, clumsy motions, his hand clamps over your wrist.

“Don't,” he says, and draws in a wheezing breath, “wait--” He cuts off with a long, wet-sounding cough that leaves him panting shallowly.

“It's okay, it's okay, I'm going to call an ambulance,” you soothe, “you'll be okay, don't worry!”

“No,” he groans, “don't take me to the hospital.”

“What? Why not?” Especially when he's practically dyed his shirt through with his own blood -- and it's started to seep into yours, even more so when you wipe your hands on your shirt, hoping that typing will be easier now that your fingers are no longer blood-slick.

When he speaks again, his tone is pleading. “They'll find me there.”

And that gives you pause. His hand falls limply and oh, god, now there's a bloody imprint of his hand on your arm. “Who -- who's they, and, and what should I do instead, then?”

He draws in a shuddering breath. “Threw me… through the window.” Jesus fuck.

“And they’re still out there? Wait, what are you--?”

He shifts, pulling an arm back, and you yelp at the thought that the change in angle might be digging some of those glass shards further into his stomach, but this does not stop him, and moments later, he is handing you a phone.

It's a little slick with blood now, and there's a crack spiderwebbing across the screen from one corner which looks near-crushed -- from impact, or from something before? He drops it into your palm and then sags a little with the effort. “Get… get my brother,” he pants. “He’ll help… get me somewhere safe...”

“Okay, alright, um -- what's the passcode?” This phone does not look factory-fresh, this looks modified, heavily. ...does this have a 16-digit slot for his passcode?

He rattles off numbers through labored breaths and, luckily, you manage to catch each one.

Once you’ve unlocked it, you start scrolling through his contacts. “Okay, um, what’s he listed as?”

“Idiot.”

“Is than an answer, or are you -- okay, yeah, I see him.” Wow. ‘Idiot,’ plain as day. Must be close. “I’m dialing now, what do I say?”

“Just… tell him Saeran needs his help.” He presses his palms against the windowsill, struggling to rise, and mutters, “and to hurry his ass up.”

As the phone rings, you tuck it between your shoulder and your ear, inclining your head so it stays secure, and stand so that you can try to gingerly remove him -- Saeran, you now know -- from the window. Glass crunches underfoot as you shift your weight, but you still wince as you hear the wet squelch of the glass that hadn’t yet broken off slide out from his stomach.

Jesus, look at that gash.

You pull his arm over your shoulder, and manage to assist him in swinging one leg over the windowsill when the line stops ringing and you hear a voice at last. You begin talking immediately.

“Yeah hi, um, Saeran -- is in trouble, he’s hurt and he needs your help and --”

And it’s then you realize that you’ve reached his voicemail.

“--leave a message at the tone! Thank you~”

You droop as it beeps at you, beginning to lead Saeran to the couch, then shake yourself off. “Saeran is hurt,” you say, more firmly this time. “He needs your help.”

You fill in Saeran’s brother -- or his voicemail, anyway -- on your name and address before hanging up, and when you lower the phone, Saeran is watching you with half-lidded eyes, propped up against the arm of the couch. Rather striking eyes, too. Pale, but bright. Might be unsettling, if not for how weak he looks right now. Kind of robs him of that enigmatic vibe.

“Voicemail,” he says flatly.

“Yyyeah,” you admit.

“Figures.”

“So… then if he didn’t answer, what--” You pause as you hear a howl from outside that sounds… close. Unsettlingly so, with your window busted open like this, offering such an easy way in.

His lips twist and he mutters something nearly inaudible. “Stupid… dogs.”

“Don't like dogs?” Interesting time to divulge that fact. Then again, he’s hurting, so maybe the sound grates on his already frayed nerves.

“Mmn.” He hunches his shoulders. God, he is not looking good right now.

This is absurd. You can’t just sit and wait here, you’ve got to get him some medical attention. “Okay,” you say, “look, if someone… tossed you through my window and then didn't come bounding up the fire escape to follow you, I think you're… probably good on that count.” He’s frowning, trying to push himself up on the couch, but you press on, saying, “I can’t just leave you to bleed out on my couch, you know that, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he protests, and this elicits a sharp burst of disbelieving laughter from you.

“You’ve got part of my window in you!”

“And I’ll be fine ,” he says, now through gritted teeth -- though that may be from pain more than anything else, as he’s got an arm pressed to his waist as he tries to sit.

“Yeah, okay, how about we let the experts decide that, huh?” You’re pulling out your phone as he teeters closer to you -- and then the fire escape rattles.

You pause. It rattles again, louder. Sounds like someone’s coming up. On… very heavy footsteps. And is that breathing you hear? Clear enough, even from the center of the room?

You take a step back, closer to the couch.

“...what the hell is that?” you ask, voice small but sharp.

“Those -- fucking dogs followed me up,” he growls, then winces in pain.

“Oh, they have dogs,” you say. “That’s… that’s what you meant, huh?”

Your eyes remained fixed on the window as the footsteps grow louder.

Something snarls, low and much, much too close for comfort.

“...my car’s on the parking lot on the other side of the building, if we move through the hallways, we can go straight to it and be out before anyone sees us.”

When you glance at him, he's gone stiff, gaze also pinned to the window. “Great,” he says, “let’s do that thing that involves not getting caught.”

You dart forward and bend so he can drape an arm around your shoulder, and together you wobble towards the door. You snatch up your keys and then hesitate as you close the door behind you, then begin to lock it.

“Are you serious?” He asks, disbelief clear in his voice. “Just go!”

You don’t respond until after it’s locked and you’ve tucked your keys into your pocket. “I live here,” you mutter, starting down the hallway with him, “Things are already weird enough, I’m not gonna just leave my home open.”

“Yeah,” he pants, “and that broken window’s not an open invitation?”

“I can’t do anything about that, okay? Besides, it’s fine, even if that was someone looking for you, it’s not like they’re following us now.” As you reach the end of the hallway, you hear a loud thud from behind you.

...a little faster couldn’t hurt.

But he’s swaying something fierce. “You still think you’re fine?”

“ Mmh .” He frowns as you round the corner, stumbling a little. “I am fine.”

“Look at you, you can hardly walk.”

“But I’m doing it.”

“I’d argue that I’m doing it, actually, you’ve got most of your weight on me.”

“We don’t need a hospital,” he insists, “I just need to get home.”

“Yeah,” you say, and grunt with the effort of hoisting open the door to the stairs while not letting him slip, “I’ll be sure to make a note of that in the police report, that’s definitely going to keep me from being arrested for letting you die in my apartment.”

“Technically,” he says, “there's better odds that I would die in your car at this rate.”

“Oh, that’s optimistic,” you grouse, but ask, “Doing okay?”

His breathing grows heavier as you both head down the stairs, but still he nods.

Thank god you parked nearby. You help him into the passenger seat and to buckle, though he laughs weakly at that.

“You think that’ll help me now?”

“I think if you go through a window twice in one night, that’ll be the end of you.”

“Where are we going?”

You glance over at him as you settle into your own seat. He’s already… seeping into your car, jesus. “Hospital.”

He groans.

“Look, we’ll compromise, okay? Where's your brother? Or… your home? I’ll go to one in that general direction. Can you just… here.”

You unlock your phone, then toss it to him so he can put in the address as you begin to pull out of the parking lot.

After a moment, he hands it back, and you give a low whistle as you glance at the screen. “That’s… pretty far.” He's holding up surprisingly well, all things considered, but that looks like it's beyond city limits, and there's no way you can risk it.

Not that you'd risk it even if his house was close. This isn't a situation where home remedies would work.

It's a little slow, limiting your typing to when you're stopped at lights and crossroads, but you manage to pull up a list of hospitals, urgent cares, and clinics.

“There's something on the main road out of town, which looks like the way to your brother, okay?”

He makes a noncommittal noise, but the question is more for courtesy’s sake. It's only about a five minute’s drive away, so it should be fine, right? Maybe only about a minute farther than ones not on the route to his house, but he's still conscious so that's -- fine. Right?

Otherwise you're pulling a truly dumbass move just to get this dying stranger to be a little less surly.

You're so focused on sticking to the route and not missing turns that it takes you a while to process a new noise.

It's soft, just an occasional little clink, but still you look over.

And then you yelp.

He's currently preoccupied with pulling bits of glass from his stomach and setting them on your dashboard, which has already accumulated an alarming little pile.

“What are you doing?” you cry.

He looks at you, then as his stomach, then back to you. “Fixing it myself.”

“That's not -- don't do that!”

“You’d rather I just leave it in me?”

“Well -- yeah! Isn't there that thing about stabbing where you're supposed to leave whatever stabbed you there so it doesn't leave gaps or something? That's not -- nngh.” You wince as he pulls out a piece a few inches long, longer than the width of his palm. He contemplates it for a moment, looking oddly impressed, then flicks it onto the pile.

“It'll be fine,” he says, and continues.

“God, I wish I had your confidence,” you mutter, but luckily, you only have this last turn to make and then you won't have any reason to worry.

But panic begins to bubble up the moment you pull into the parking lot, as even from the outside, it seems more reminiscent of a store in a strip mall than a proper clinic.

Oh, man, this place looks a lot smaller than you were anticipating. Shit. Well, it's still billed as an urgent care, it's gotta be able to help, right?

“We shouldn’t be here,” he protests, but allows you to help him out.

As soon as you make it through the door, your doubts double. It’s empty.

Well, no, there's a receptionist, and to her credit, she's immediately raising her head to focus on the pair of you as you enter, but it's not a particularly large room, and yet there's no shortage of empty chairs.

She stares at you for a moment and then picks up the phone as you help ease Saeran into a seat, and as you stagger closer to try to explain, falteringly, “there was an accident -- he's lost a lot of blood--”

He's already started picking out more bits of glass. You can hear them hit the floor behind you.

Shortly, she sets the phone back on the receiver, an annoyed look crossing her face for only a moment before her expression smooths out.

“Wait here,” she says. She speaks firmly, leaving no room for uncertainty.

She stands and goes running and you let yourself sag against the counter. It's fine, it's okay, she's going to come back with a doctor and they're going to sort him out, he's going to be fine, you're going to be fine, they're going to stitch him up and hook him up to an IV and do whatever else needs found and he'll be fine.

And, odds are, there isn't anyone in your apartment now and your insurance will probably find the whole thing funny in the morning and that'll get sorted out easy, too, and it'll be fine, it'll be okay.

You raise your head when you hear the sound of footsteps nearing and then the receptionist is back.

“The doctor on call is just a step behind, there's nothing to worry about, just --” She stops short. “Where's your friend?”

“What? He's right there, he--”

Isn't there. You do take notice of a terrible looking trail of blood that looks smeared, like someone dragged something over it, or crawled or something, leading to a side door, but then there's bloody footprints over that that continue until they overlap with the ones that you trailed inside.

You're off like a shot because by that logic, if you follow the footsteps back out, you'll probably find --

“--Saeran?”

He's sitting in the passenger seat, knees up to his chest, sullenly sucking on the -- straw of a juice box.

You come over to the side of the car and try the door, but it's locked. “ Saeran .”

He meets your gaze and for a moment, he doesn't do anything, but then, at last, he resents and pulls the lock up.

You open the door. “What are you doing.” Your voice is flatter than your meant it, but really, what is up with this guy? All you want is to help him to not die of severe blood loss, does he really have to fight you every step of the way? Who does he think he pissed off, the mob?

“...called my brother again,” he says. “Finally picked up. He's on his way.”

“Well that's… good, but if he's already coming here, why don't you come back in and let them look at you while you're waiting?”

He meets your eyes again. “No.”

“No?” You fold your arms and try to resist the urge to snap at him. “And why not?”

“I've already got most of the glass out, and it won't take long to heal.”

“Are you--” You pause to let the irritation drain from your voice and in the silence he takes another sip out of… whatever he has. Where the hell did he get that, anyway? When you narrow your eyes at it, trying to get a better look, he frowns and cradles it protectively to his chest, effectively blocking your view.

Whatever. You'll find out soon enough anyway. You draw in a slow breath, then try again. “You realize that you are… not in great shape, don't you? You've left so much of a trail behind you that I can't imagine you have much left in you anymore. What possible reason could you have for not going in when we're right here?”

His gaze is beyond stubborn. “Don't wanna.”

“Do you have a death wish?” So much for that ‘no snapping’ thing.

“It's too late for that anyway,” he mutters.

“Oh, the hell it is.” You lean closer, resting one hand on the roof of the car. “Look, I don't know what your hang-up is, but I am not going to let you bleed to death sitting outside a clinic. If you don't want to walk in, fine, I'm sure I can get someone to bring out a goddamn gurney if necessary to get you in there.”

He rolls his eyes and stares resolutely over your shoulder -- and then his eyes widen and he grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls you in.

You protest even as you fall, flopping across his lap, and he pulls the door shut and slams his fist down over the lock.

“Hey, what the fuck ,” you complain. You try to wiggle into a better position to sit up, but he puts a hand on your back to push you back down and leans down, curling around you.

“What--”

Something hits the car, hard enough to rock it, and you shriek.

For a minute, all you can think is that you've just been t-boned by another car, but an experimental shift of your feet proves that they're still intact, as is the passenger door they're pressed against.

You scramble to sit the moment the car stills, falling to the floor in front of the passenger seat and rising to peek out the window.

Immediately, you wish you hadn't.

You have no goddamn clue what hit you, if not a car, but whatever it is is big, and fast, and coming straight for you again.

As you scramble back, you fall against him, and he draws in a sharp, pained breath.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” you mutter, tripping over yourself to drag yourself over him and into the driver’s seat while fumbling for your keys.

You jam your keys into the ignition just as the thing hits you again.

You clutch your steering wheel for dear life as the car tips almost perfectly on its side. Dimly, you are aware of Saeran’s seatbelt clicking into place. How nice that he's paying attention to that sort of thing now .

And then, miraculously, the car tips back.

The impact isn't the most pleasant sensation, but you're too relieved to be right-side-up to really care. You turn the key with enough force that it feels like it might snap in half, pull the gearshift into reverse, and slam on the gas. You end up overcompensating and reversing halfway across the parking lot, probably way too close to where that thing is, but it's fine, it's okay, you're moving now, as long as you keep moving it'll be fine.

You've only got the barest plan of where you're going, but you're suddenly grateful for the near-empty parking lot. At least the odds of crashing into another car while trying to figure it out are pretty low.

Exit there on the left, hang a right, follow the road back down where you came from, another right, and then straight on, back on the path to his house. You’ll figure out if that’s actually your end goal once you've put some distance between you and this place and that… thing. Right. You can do this.

You switch gears again, press down on the gas, lurch forward -- and hit the thing as it comes barreling out from the sidelines.

The car jerks to a stop. “What is that what did I just hit what the--”

Saeran is pushing frantically at your arm. “Drive drive drive!”

So you do.

You actually go careening over the curb at that first turn, too panicked to accurately judge the angle, and overcompensate at the next, swinging into the bushes bordering the lane.

You don't let yourself think about it, just right your course with shaking hands and speed along on your way. First ten, then twenty, then thirty miles over the limit. Nothing seems fast enough, nothing seems far enough, and your heart is pounding from a rush of adrenaline that floods through you and does not cease.

Every flash of light or movement from the corner of your eye seems like the thing , and you nearly veer into another car paused at a stop sign, because in the moment before you identified what it was, it seemed strange and foreign and dangerous.

It doesn't help that he'll toss in little suggestions as you go, reminding you to turn here, or take that road instead, it's quicker, and all the while urging you to go, faster, hurry up!

You adjust to these changes as best you can, but you're sure you must be a sight to see, switching lanes last minutes and darting down side roads in little neighborhoods that really weren't meant for the speeds you're going. You're lucky you haven't been pulled over, though the late hour probably contributes to that.

Finally, on an empty stretch of road, Saeran says, “pull over.”

“Here?”

“Yes.” His voice is even, unshaken, and you envy that stability.

This doesn't seem nearly close enough, based on what you remember of the map, nor does it feel far enough away from the clinic, but the idea of rest is making the adrenaline drain out of you, and so you pull the car over at the side of the road and turn it off.

For a moment, you just sit there, hands white-knuckled as you grip the steering wheel. “What,” you say at last, “the hell was that.”

“It was that goddamn dog,” he mutters, distaste in his tone, but you jab an accusatory finger at him.

“That!” you cry, “was no goddamn dog! That was -- that was -- big enough to be a fucking bear, but it didn't move like one, what was --” And then you pause. “Are you texting right now? Right now, while I’m freaking the fuck out because I'm dragging your ass away from something that shook my car like a toy and you just -- have you -- been doing that, texting calmly this whole time? Should I follow your lead and not be panicking, somehow?”

“Hey,” he snaps, now scowling, “excuse me for trying to find us a way out of this mess.”

“Doing a single goddamn thing to help after fighting me every step of the way doesn't make us square and even,” you protest. “And what exactly did you do to ‘find us a way out?’”

“I told my brother where we are,” he says, mouth twisting in disdain. “He's on his way. It's better than waiting around here.”

“Okay, you told me to pull over and wait, otherwise we'd still be driving, so that's really not a fair assessment.”

“If you hadn't insisted on a hospital we'd already be there, so yeah, it really is.”

“Oh, okay, sorry, silly me, not wanting you to die, my bad!”

You indicate his stomach, and he curls an arm protectively around his middle -- and then his shoulders shake with a sudden coughing fit.

“Ahh -- shit, are you okay?” You hesitate, hands hovering outstretched, and then you awkwardly pat his back as he coughs.

“Mmn.” He wipes his mouth weakly when he finally straightens, eyes looking a touch more unfocused, but at least he's not wiping any blood away from his mouth. “Yeah, ‘m okay.” He sounds groggier than before, and certainly less agitated.

His phone beeps, and with only a cursory glance at it, he says, “he's here.”

Sure enough, you hear the crunch of gravel beneath tires, and when you look to see who’s approaching, what pulls up is the flashiest car you have ever seen.

“Oh my god,” Saeran groans beside you.

“I'm guessing that's him, huh?” you ask as the car parks just ahead of you and a man steps out.

Even just from your headlights, his hair is bright enough to rival the red of his car, and as he comes up to your car, he seems brighter still.

He knocks on your window, and it's only then that you realize that you've just been staring. You roll the window down and he offers a tense smile.

He looks nervous, though some of this nervousness seems to ease when he looks behind you to see Saeran in the passenger seat.

He holds out a hand, politely stopping just before the point that he would be actually reaching into your car, and you find yourself somewhat charmed by his consideration, already more than his brother has shown you in the much longer span of time you’ve known him.

“Saeyoung,” he says, and you introduce yourself as well, though you already did so when you called earlier.

“You were the one who left a message earlier, right?” You nod, and he beams, a little sheepishly. “Thank you for that,” he says, and inclines his head to indicate Saeran. “And for this. And sorry, too! I was in the garage and didn't hear the phone ring, you're a lifesaver.”

You duck your head, embarrassed by his praise, and hear Saeran scoff beside you. Fair chance he's rolling his eyes, too.

Saeyoung’s gaze shifts to his brother. “Saeran, can you walk?”

“Yeah,” grumbles Saeran, “no thanks to you.”

“We should go,” Saeyoung says. “Avoid… another encounter. Saeran said you already ran into someone tonight?”

“We sure ran into something ,” you say carefully, and Saeran snickers.

“Then we should hurry. They might still be following.” The thought brings an unpleasant shiver.

“Who were they?” you ask, and Saeyoung gives a helpless shrug.

“Someone who wanted to hurt my brother, and who seems to want to hurt you, too,” he says.

Saeyoung rounds the car to open the passenger door, and though Saeran bats at his brother’s hand at first, he accepts it after a moment of struggling to stand on his own -- which doesn't stop him from stumbling, knees buckling seconds later, when he steps fully out of the car.

Saeyoung lifts his head to look at you. “Would you--?”

“Oh! Of course!” You snatch your keys from the ignition and scramble to get out and lock the car quickly so that you can join Saeyoung. Together, you support Saeran the short distance to Saeyoung’s car.

Saeyoung opens the back door, then pauses. “I know we've only just met, and you have no reason to want to stick around,” he starts, a little hesitant. “But… can I ask for your help a little longer? It'll be safer for you, too,” he promises.

He's right. There really is no reason why you should agree. Even assuming that the thing is after him, or even you now, what's to say it won't find you with them? You could just keep driving on your own and your odds would probably be better. And you'd be agreeing with Saeran’s confident prediction that just picking the glass out of his stomach will make him right as rain, if you came along.

Also, this is a little like the set-up to a tragic missing person case, but… your clothes are already soaked through with blood, you're still shaken from what you saw earlier, and fuck it, your apartment’s probably trashed now anyway, where else are you going to go?

So you nod, and relief spills across Saeyoung’s face like sunshine.

You climb into the backseat first to help ease Saeran in, and Saeyoung waits anxiously until Saeran settles, then returns to the driver’s seat.

“Keep him awake,” Saeyoung says as he starts the car, “he should be fine until we get there, but…”

You nod. “Got it.”

Saeran buckles his seatbelt, tugs it until it's comfortable -- and then lays across the seat instead, settling his head in your lap.

“Hey,” you say, “doesn't this seem a bit counterintuitive to trying to stay awake?”

“Mmn. Hurts.”

“I don't doubt that. But it's gonna--” Well, you can't say it's gonna hurt more if he falls asleep because the risk is that sleeping is a sign that he's fading away. “...alright, so staying awake won't ease the pain, but you gotta try anyway, yeah?”

He shows no sign of moving and so, hesitantly, you card your fingers through his hair. His eyes slide shut and he practically purrs, squirming to settle in further.

“This is bribery to stay awake,” you say. “If you start getting sleepy, I'm gonna stop.”

“Got it,” he says, and then yawns.

You pull away. “Hey, I mean it.”

He whines in protest and grabs your hand, pulling it back down to his head. “‘m awake. Keep bribing me.”

“Fussy,” you say, but continue. His hair is soft, at least -- where it's not matted with more blood.

...still has that juice or whatever. You try to surreptitiously reach for it, but he shoots you a baleful look, brings it up to his mouth to take a sip, and cradles it out of sight again. Stubborn brat.

You ask him questions every once in a while, make sure he's awake enough to answer, and it's during one of these times that you ask, “so what exactly happened to make something chase you, follow you around so… determinedly?”

He frowns, though he keeps his eyes closed. “Said something someone didn't like. Guess they didn't like it more than I expected.”

“...and what did you say, and… to who?”

“Does it matter?”

“Uh, yeah, I mean, they've got you bleeding out and they tried to flip my car, so I’m a little curious.”

For a moment, there’s silence, and then, “hurts too much to talk.”

“Oh, you little liar.” His lips quirk up at that, but he still doesn't elaborate.

He lays like this, content to receive your attention, the length of the drive, and you have to admit, it's sort of soothing.

Although you lose some of your inner tranquility when your destination comes in sight.

Somehow you know from the moment you see it that Saeyoung is going to make the turn into the path leading to the dilapidated old house rather than pass it by. Today has already been so strange, this may as well happen.

“So you live here, huh?” you ask softly.

“Yes,” says Saeran, staying still in your lap with his eyes closed. “Unless we're not at the house, then no.”

You huff, but can't stop a smile.

Saeyoung pulls up in front of the house and parks the car. It seems even more worn-down from this vantage post. Still, they must find some charm in it, if they stay here.

“This place looks… nice,” you remark, giving it a once over as you extricate yourself from the car, immediately taking up your position supporting Saeran.

“It's a fixer-upper,” Saeyoung says, spinning his ring of keys around his finger s.

“Uh- huh. Bit of an odd sight, though, such a nice car in front of your… fixer-upper.”

He gestures to the car and says, “Normally I would park in the garage, but it's quicker to go through this way.” Still, he gives it a troubled, contemplative look.

“Oh, who cares if they scratch up your precious baby?” Saeran complains.

“Of course I care more about my precious baby brother than my baby car!” Saeyoung enthuses, and Saeran groans.

“ Stoooop. ”

When you get close to the front door, Saeyoung carefully slips out from under Saeran's arm and… leans close to the door to murmur something?

There's a whoosh like an escaping of air, followed by a decisive click , and Saeyoung pulls the door open. He gives an exaggerated little flourish and a goofy grin. “After you~”

Boy, you sure hope it's a little better taken care of inside. And that it's not a remote murder-house and this was all an elaborate ruse to get you inside. Hoo, boy, you are not making the best decisions tonight, are you?

The door thuds shut behind you, followed by another click , so it's a little too late for those sort of thoughts.

As you glance around the room in the dim light, you feel a hand settle on your shoulder -- Saeyoung, given that Saeran’s got one arm around your waist to help support his weight and the other is dangling at his side. You want to turn and ask Saeyoung what’s up, but you can't really twist when you're holding Saeran, and you can't see much of him when you look back behind you.

Saeran squints at Saeyoung behind you and then he shakes his head vehemently. After a moment, his expression shifts to one of disdain. What--?

But Saeyoung steps past you to put an arm around Saeran. “Well!” he says, voice bright, “I’d give you the grand tour, but I think that'll have to wait until we get this taken care of.” He inclines his head to gesture to Saeran, and you nod.

“Do you need… help?” you venture.

“Oh, I might! I should get him settled in bed first though, and there's some tricks to his room that should be taken care of before you come in. After, though, I’ll let you know!”

“...tricks?”

“Security measures.”

Saeran mutters, “not that they keep out who they're supposed to.”

“Speaking of--” His hand leaves Saeran's side briefly to fan out towards the front door. “It's locked tight right now, so if you need out… come and get me?” He shrugs, tone marginally apologetic but still sounding carefree. “Unless you know Arabic. It's secure, though, so there's that!” He offers a cheerful grin.

“...Arabic.”

“It's even stupider than it sounds,” Saeran deadpans.

Saeyoung seems unphased. “So! While I get things set up, feel free to look around if you like, though there's mostly just bedrooms upstairs, which would be…”

“Ill-advised,” says Saeran.

“A little rude,” agrees Saeyoung. “Or you could take up residence on one of the couches if you like. Or all of them!” He glances around. “We have a light switch around here somewhere… ah!” He actually snaps his fingers. We have roommates -- Hyun and Yoosung. Hyun is tall.”

“And Yoosung?”

“Isn't,” says Saeran.

“Illuminating,” you say.

Saeyoung laughs. For all his worry about Saeran, he seems to think his brother is at least well enough to stay untended for the duration of this little chat. Though… it might be the lighting, but Saeran seems to have a touch more color in his cheeks than he did earlier. Which is good, you suppose, if you're not imagining it.

Before Saeyoung leads him away, Saeran presses something into your hands. “Here,” he says, “since you were so curious.”

You wince as you watch them slowly ascend the stairs. You hear faint, pained exhalations until they move along the hallway and out of sight.

Damn, though, this place is fancy for being so rough outside.

Feels a little like you're visiting someone's once-esteemed grandmother, or a slightly haunted house -- all the furniture you can see looks antique, with gilt and claw feet everywhere, as well as a heavy, musty smell of dust. Inherited, maybe? Or rented out, and the owner kept all the old-ass trappings from the Victorian era?

Maybe you can ask when they come back. Either way, you're a little too wary of the dust cloud you might unsettle by sitting, so you'll put that option on the backburner for now.

There are two sources of light you could investigate instead -- left, behind the staircase, or right, a little brighter, at the end of another hallway.

Though you suppose you should look at what Saeran has given you, first. You unclench your hand and bring the mystery gift up to your face -- and freeze.

Is that a… blood pack?

An empty blood pack?

You smooth it out as best you can and peer closer for another look, but it’s unmistakable. O+, too.

“What… the hell,” you whisper. Had you seen it wrong? Had he really been… sipping out of this thing? Maybe he was just holding it. But then, it's empty, so how -- and why ?

Maybe he took it from the clinic to use for a home transfusion and it spilled out in the car? Or -- don't they make energy drinks packaged like this now? But then, how would he get that, if he didn't have it when he crashed into your apartment? You can think up a variety of possible answers, scenarios both plausible and far-fetched, but there's a nervous knot in your stomach at the uncertainty of it, not knowing if his intentions were dangerous or benign or just bizarre.

Still staring at it, your feet move without conscious thought, seeking answers, and you don't realize you've started up the stairs until you hit something that makes you stumble back, losing your footing.

There's an intense jolt of vertigo as you slip, even as some part of you recognize you were just a few steps up, but as you squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact, a hand shoots out and grabs your arm.

Your breath catches as you're caught and drawn forward, and when you open your eyes, you realize you are cradled in a strong but gentle embrace.

A chuckle comes from above you, in a voice low and rich. “Are you alright?”

“Yyyes?” It doesn't sound like one of the brothers, and he certainly seems, tall, so… “Hyun?” you guess.

He laughs again, sounding delighted. “Do you know me?” He loosens his arms at last, allowing you to pull back and get a look at him and oh, wow, is he gorgeous . He looks like he's stepped straight off the cover of a magazine, with striking eyes and a face that seems carved from fine marble, even if there is something antiquated about his clothes.

“I don't know you,” he says, after a moment of studying you. “I'm sure I would have remembered a face as lovely as yours.”

Heat rushes to your face at the sincerity in his voice. “No, it was -- Saeyoung told me about you.”

“Did he? Good things, I hope?” he asks, voice amused.

“Just -- your name. And that you're tall,” you say.

He smiles warmly, dazzlingly. “Well,” he says, “hopefully I can leave you with a better impression of me than that.”

He doesn't need to worry about that.

“But you're sure you're alright?” He angles his head to look you over, hands moving from your waist to your shoulders.

“Yeah, I'm fine, really, I was just… a little startled,” you say, and laugh wryly. “Probably should have paid a little more attention to where I was going,” you begin.

“The fault is mine,” he says, and then he clicks his tongue, a look of frustration passing over his features. “My inattentiveness could have seriously hurt you.”

“Oh, no,” you say, even though he's not technically wrong, but you weren't paying attention, either, and he seems so remorseful that you just -- feel bad. “Really, don't worry about it! What's done is done, anyway, and I'm fine, so…”

His smile remains as he looks at you warmly.

“...what?” you ask.

“You're kind,” he says, and there's that embarrassment again.

“That’s -- not necessarily true, but I’m -- glad you think so,” you fumble.

“I do,” he says. “Aside from that… clumsy introduction--” And here he looks remorseful again. “It's wonderful to meet you. Though I suppose we haven't been fully introduced just yet…”

He pauses meaningfully, and your name comes out along with a flustered laugh.

“It's good to have a name to put to your lovely face.”

He holds out his hand, and at first you think he means to just shake hands, but when you move to reciprocate the gesture, he takes hold of your hand and places a gentle kiss to the back of it, then to the tips of your fingers.

Before you can recover, he gently turns your hand and places a kiss to the underside of your wrist and lingers, and you feel yourself faintly flush at the implication -- and then there is sharpness.

Pinpricks of pain, so sharp and sudden that your only initial reaction is a soft gasp.

And then he -- laps at your wrist, what the hell?

“Wha- at are you doing?” Somehow in the midst of your panic you find the time to be embarrassed by your voice cracking

He looks up at you, still fucking biting your wrist and you --

Freeze isn't quite the right word. It feels… warm. Why would you want to pull away?

His eyes are such a lovely shade of red and it feels like you're falling again but you're cocooned now. Safe.

When you blink, your eyelids feel heavy, and heavier still with each passing second. Your breathing evens out from the panicked hitch there before. You are at peace.

There's a distant noise, and then closer, louder -- “Hyung! She's a guest!”

Immediately, Hyun stills. The expression on his face is… well, he looks like his soul has just left his body.

He pulls away, and some of the haze clears. You blink blearily at the source of the noise and find Saeyoung in the hallway at the top of the stairs, clutching the railing and looking bemused.

You glance back at Hyun and he is mortified. He takes a sudden step back from you so that you are no longer touching.

Saeyoung is… starting to laugh. “You really think I'd bring home a donor without introducing you first?”

“You mean like the last three times?” Hyun snaps. “She knew my name, that seemed like your usual introduction--” He groans. “‘Someone’s here’ has never meant anything other than that before, I thought you’d say anything else if it was -- different!”

Saeyoung laughs. “Yeah, I guess that was misleading, huh?”

“You think ?” Hyun snaps.

“Sorry~” says Saeyoung, sounding anything but. “I didn't think you'd run into her before I came back for her.”

“How was I supposed to know--” And then Hyun squeezes his eyes shut and groans again, then mutters, “oh, that's no excuse.”

Saeyoung laughs louder. “It really isn't!” He sounds delighted, what the fuck.

“Hey,” you say, shooting bewildered looks at the both of them, “does anyone want to explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

Hyun has his face buried in his hands. Muffled, you hear: "It was meant to be a courtesy bite but that was. The least courteous thing I could have done."

“To be fair,” Saeyoung says, “it is usually the polite thing to do.”

You pause. “Explain,” you say.

At this, Hyun lifts his head. “Saeyoung…”

“Okay,” Saeyoung says, clasping his hands together, “I may have… not explained anything. To anyone. But Hyung…” He shakes his head mournfully. “I can't believe you stopped for a snack when my brother is bleeding out in his room.” The thought elicits a moment of panic, and then you register the tone of his voice. You can assume, then, that Saeran is not actually bleeding out. Probably. ...if he is and that's how his brother breaks the news, you're in trouble.

“You said it was nothing to worry about,” Hyun says hotly. “That you had everything under control and it would just be a quick favor for you if you didn't have to run back and forth to get the backup blood.”

“Did I?” Saeyoung taps his chin, looking thoughtful.

“ Seven! ” Seven?

“Okay, you're right, I did. I do kind of need it, though, so…”

“You're not going to get it yourself? After you’re already halfway there?” Hyun protests.

“You said you’d do it!” Saeyoung reminds, and then he points at you. “I actually came to ask if you could come upstairs when you're ready -- he's almost decent.” And off he goes.

Hyun is muttering his subdued fury. “That guy...”

“What does he want you to get?” you ask, staring at the space where Saeyoung recently vacated.

There's a pause that stretches on longer than is comfortable. “Blood.” You can hear the wince in his voice .

“Quick, uh, quick question?” you say.

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck .”

There's a sharp bark of laughter from him, which he then looks sheepish about. For a guy who went to town on your wrist, he seems pretty nice.

“Okay,” you say, trying to think. Everything about this night is absurd. Maybe you miscalculated and this is all just a particularly vivid night terror. Maybe this is really happening and you're just experiencing your new standard of living. There's always something that doesn't add up whenever you try to theorize, so you do the only thing that makes sense: “Take me with you to get what Saeyoung asked you for,” you say.

Hyun hesitates. “That's not going to… scare you?” He looks doubtful.

“Oh, hell yeah, it is, but if you show me what's going on I can either stop being scared out or freak out more.”

So he hesitates, then nods and gestures for you to follow him. He starts off down that hallway to the right of the stairs, where you saw a light in the distance.

You are silent as he leads the way, thoughts unable to settle on just one avenue, but finally you begin, “so… I still haven't gotten much of an explanation.”

“Not sure I have one to give,” he says, sounding apologetic. It’s at this moment that you reach the end of the hallway and discover the source of the light at last: a kitchen. Huh. “We've… never had someone here who didn’t know about all this.” He makes his way over to the fridge -- stainless steel, real modern-looking. More than a little out-of-place with the rest of the kitchen decor. The kitchen doesn’t look quite as antiquated as the rest of the house, but it’s gotta be a couple decades behind at least.

You ask, “And ‘this’ is what, serial killer tendencies? Bloodplay fetishes taken way too far? Black market dealings? Like wh--Jesus Christ, this proves my point actually, this is a hell of a lot of blood packs. Why do you… have these?” It's just -- flush with blood. Closed containers, blood packs mostly, but… shit. You pause, taking it all in, then cast a sideways glance at him. “I'm not going to like this answer, am I?”

“Probably not,” he admits.

“Okay,” you say, “great. Then just… tell me, is it -- are you -- dangerous?” There's a moment of hesitation, and your stomach drops out. “Oh, god.”

“No, no!” he says hastily. “We're not going to hurt you. Just--” He gestures to you, and you are reminded of your bloodied state.

“I'm not hurt,” you say after a moment. “But… I see what you mean, I think. Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”

“No,” he says, palming a blood pack, “but more often than it should.” He hesitates, then offers it to you. “Do you mind…?”

And you're already in this deep. You might as well. “Sure,” you say, and allow him to pass you a few more, which you stack in your arms. “Y’know, maybe I should have guessed that something was up when the, uh, mess that is currently me didn't raise any questions.”

He laughs softly, gathering up a few for himself as well. “I'd imagine you've had a long day,” he says kindly.

He pulls back and closes the door to the fridge, and you ask, “Did Saeyoung tell you what happened?”

Hyun makes a face, lips twisting in distaste. Somehow, he still manages to make this look pretty. “No. All he said was ‘hello hyung, Saeran isn't as bad as he looks but I’d appreciate it if you could grab him something to patch him up, and by the way, someone's here!’” His eyes widen and he adds a lilt to his voice in an impression of Saeyoung that's… pretty damn good, actually.

“Ah,” you say. “Well, I can't shed much light on what happened, but Saeran came crashing through my window, chased by… something. Keeps insisting that he's fine, even though I thought he was about to keel over in my living room.”

He clicks his tongue and mutters, “That boy, always so rude,” and you grin.

“Got him to a clinic which he refused to use, and then something knocked into the car.” You hesitate. “...I think I hit it on the way out.”

“You didn't see what it was?”

“Not a good look, at least. Seemed big. Wasn't really interested in sticking around long enough for a better view.”

“Better to be safe,” he agrees, then frowns, looking contemplative. “I wonder why…”

“Saeran said he, uh, said something to piss someone off. So. Still don't know what that was or who he said it too, but he seems to think that's the root of the problem.”

“That boy …”

You reach the front area once more and start up the stairs with him. “Just so I'm clear, are all the emergencies that happen here Saeran’s fault?”

“This doesn't happen often,” he says, and then concedes, “but when it happens on this scale, the odds are good that he's why.”

As you make your way down the hallway, following his lead, a thought occurs to you. “...is a fridge the right temperature to store these?” You ask, glancing down at the bags in your arms. They're cool against your skin, but maybe not as much as you'd expect.

“This one is.” He shakes his head a little. “Don't ask me if it's like that on its own or not, I had nothing to do with setting it up.”

“You just live here,” you tease, and he agrees.

“Seven’s the tech expert. Well, Saeran too, but he keeps his projects to his room, at least.”

“Why d’you call him Seven?” you ask, just as he pauses outside a door.

“Ahh, just a nickname. Something he uses when he does his thing.”

“And what's his thing, exactly?”

He gives a helpless shrug. “You'd have better luck asking him. He's explained it to me but…” He shakes his head. Hell if I know, he seems to say. “Now…” He knocks on the door. “Seven?” he calls.

Saeyoung’s voice floats through the door in singsong. “Who is it~?”

“You--” Hyun huffs. “Just tell me if it’s safe to come in or not,” Hyun huffs.

“Mmm… almost! But it's fine, it's fine!”

“I have her with me!” Hyun calls.

“Oh! Tell her not to come in yet, it's not ready!”

Hyun sighs. “Sorry,” he says to you. “You could wait here while I give him these, if you want. Or there's a sitting area just over that way if you'd prefer that.”

“D’you think it'll take that long?”

“Mmm… if there's still some of Saeran’s traps laying around, Saeyoung is probably still tending to Saeran. Might be a while, but maybe not? Depends on whether he just cleared enough of a path to help Saeran or if he's been working his way through the rest.”

“ Why is Saeran’s room trapped?”

“Seven,” Hyun says simply. “I don't think it works.”

“Ah.”

“Seven should have them all dismantled for you before you come in so you won't get caught up in any of them.” And then he mutters, “just me.”

You wince. “Good luck,” you say, carefully handing over the blood packs in your arms.

“I'll make sure he doesn't forget the rest of them for you,” he says, and as you thank him, he turns the doorknob and steps inside.

You stand there for a few minutes, waiting, but there is only silence. So, with some reluctance, you head down the hallway in the direction he indicated.

You're nearly to the end of it when you hear a crash followed by muffled cursing. Sounds like he was right. Poor Hyun.

You turn back when the door opens a moment later to see Hyun, looking a little flustered as he smoothes down his hair. When he spots you, he gives a wave, but shakes his head. Not ready for you, then.

You nod back and continue down the hall.

The sitting room, as he called it, is an interesting contradiction. The couches here look as old as the ones downstairs, but there's a flatscreen tv against one wall along with various gaming consoles. Is that a wii? Huh.

You pick one of the couches -- pink velvet, an interesting choice -- and take a seat.

And wait.

And… wait.

Didn't Saeyoung say he might need your help with Saeran? Of course, home surgery seems like it's tricky business, so maybe it's just going to take longer than you'd thought.

God, why are you going along with this again? The clinic, you think, that's where things went off course. Up until then, you were only doing what felt necessary, but you should've -- ran back inside and stayed there when he refused to go in, or something.

...you abandoned your car by the side of the road. God damn, you had better hope this is just a weird but ultimately mostly-harmless situation, because if not, the wikipedia page about your murder is just going to be embarrassing.

If they're murderers, they're a merry bunch of murderers. Kind of… inept, too. Maybe your odds are just fine.

You hear the soft creak of a door opening, and you cock your head, listening for Saeyoung’s voice, but it doesn't come. Might just be Hyun heading back to his room.

You sigh and settle back into the couch, letting your head drop. It's kind of a nice couch, actually. Doesn't have that veneer of dust over it like the ones downstairs do, and it's soft when you run your palm over the seat beside you.

A floorboard creaks and you raise your head.

There is someone padding closer with quiet footsteps, coming from the direction of the other hallway.

You startle a little at the sight of him and the fact that you only barely heard him coming, though his appearance take away the sharpness of that shock.

He looks soft , with big, violet eyes and slightly-unruly blonde hair kept in place with bright clips that barely manage to keep it down in spots. He comes to stand in front of you and fidgets with the sleeves of his oversized cream sweater where they drape over his hands.

He's… adorable.

“You're the one who brought Saeran home?” He asks you.

“Uh -- yeah, I am,” you say. “With Saeyoung, but… yeah.”

He nods, glances at the seat beside you, and slowly pads over to sit beside you.

You almost want to check and see if his feet are dangling off the couch, although he's not that short. Saeran’s assessment, you find, is right. Hyun is tall; Yoosung, who this must be, just… isn't. Honestly, he's probably a perfectly average height, he’s just… not as tall as the others.

He offers you a faint smile. “Thank you for getting him here safe. I don't know what would have happened if you didn't help him out. How does he seem look? Is he… okay?” He -- Yoosung -- asks you.

“Well, I… haven't seen Saeran since Saeyoung took him up here, but he looked... pretty rough.” Really, you still think a hospital would be better. They have blood, but do they have any way to facilitate a transfusion?

Yoosung nods, eyes sliding to the floor.

He looks… entirely morose, and you find yourself scrambling to reassure him. “But he and Saeyoung both seem confident that he'll pull through, and Hyun too, so -- I'm sure he'll be just fine!”

Yoosung nods again, but now he looks teary-eyed.

“Aww, hey, it's not -- that bad.” His eyes flick down to your bloodstained clothes, and you wince. “I mean it's not that good , either--” His face crumples. “But still, I'm sure he'll pull through! He made it here, after all, he seems pretty resilient.” Stubborn, more like, but that's not a particularly comforting assertion. “So… don't you worry, Yoosung.” That's it. That's all the comforting words you can think up. You've got no clue how Saeran's doing, and you have more hope than certainty when it comes to your stance on whether he'll be alright in the end.

“That's a good sign,” he says, wiping his eyes, “if he was well enough to tell you about me.”

“Yyyeah! Yeah, it's a very good sign.” You won't inform him that it was Saeyoung that gave you the rundown, and Saeran mostly stood there looking woozy with only the occasional comment.

There's a moment of silence. “I'm just,” he begins haltingly, “so worried.”

He turns his big, watery eyes on you and your heart aches. Poor thing, concerned about his friend. This is a reaction that makes sense to you.

Hesitantly, you open your arms a little. You really don't know him well enough to be casually offering him a hug, but you have no idea what you could say now that would help him.

Your worries about whether this seems awkward are unfounded. The moment you shift, he collapses into you.

Boy, he is soft. He clutches at your shirt, burying his face in your chest, and he sniffles as you tentatively begin to stroke his hair.

This is… sad, but admittedly puts your mind at ease about what kind of people they are. Strange, still, but if he's this affected by Saeran's state, at least they're not entirely used to situations like what Saeran -- and you -- went through tonight.

Yoosung says nothing as he winds his arms around your waist, just nuzzles into you, so the hug is helping a little, at least.

You're feeling slightly proud of yourself for managing to put him more at ease when he tugs at the hem of your shirt, turns his head, and bites the newly-bared flesh.

You yelp, letting your arms fall. “What--” Looking down at him confirms that no, it was not an accidental punch or anything so innocuous, and he has indeed sunk his teeth into the swell of your breast -- and he doesn't seem like he plans on letting go.

At first, stunned as you are, you just try to lean back out of his reach, but his arms are anchors around you.

You feel his tongue lap over your skin and he looks up at you, still attached. His eyes seem to be a particularly vibrant violet, bright and vivid and lovely, and you find yourself blinking heavily -- and then you remember how hazy everything got when you looked into Hyun’s eyes earlier, and you don't even want to think about what's going on with that, but you squeeze your eyes shut and ram the heel of your palm against his forehead.

It doesn't quite have your full weight behind it because Jesus, what if he takes some skin with him as he goes, you'd like your chest to stay intact, thanks -- but it still works, and he pulls away.

“What the fuck ?” you cry out immediately, scrambling back to the arm of the couch and pressing a hand to your chest protectively.

Through this, dimly, you register that while it did hurt, it wasn't much pain, and there wasn't that feeling of crushing that you'd get if he had clamped his jaws down on you.

He has the decency to look somewhat sheepish, but barely -- but then he actually licks his lips .

“Explain yourself,” you demand.

“Seven said he brought someone over,” he complains.

“Okay, I've heard something about ‘courtesy bites’ tonight and that sounds like some kind of bullshit already, so don't you go saying that's what this was because I didn't buy it then and I'm definitely not buying it now.”

He pouts at you but oh no, you are not falling for that cute facade now, so eventually he lets it drop and huffs, “Why would I need a courtesy bite?”

“Hell if I know! Hyun said it was the polite thing to do, though no goddamn biting at all seems much more courteous to me.”

The pout is back. “Hyun can bite you but I can't?”

You are not responsible for the noise of extreme disbelief you just made. “He sure as shit can't . And you can't, either! Why the hell would you ever think otherwise?”

“Seven said --”

“Do you normally go around biting people or is Saeyoung saying you have company some kind of sleeper code that turns you into some bite-obsessed creep?”

Yoosung does not deign to reply to this. “It used to be so much easier to get a meal,” he mutters, sulkily resting his chin in his hands and staring at the floor. “Didn't have to deal with cameras or streetlights. Could just enthrall someone for a day or two and that was it.”

“--I'm sorry?” you ask. “What does that--”

He raises his head and you realize you have made a mistake and let your guard down too much, because whatever it was that made his stare hypnotizing before is on full-force now.

“Son of a bitch,” you murmur as you start to go limp, falling back against the couch.

He resettles himself, finding a more comfortable position, and as you watch him draw nearer -- is he going for your neck? -- you say with effort, “I swear to god, you try and bite me again and I'm going to raise hell.”

He frowns, pausing. “I just want a taste!” he protests, voice a plaintive whine. “I'm sick of those blood packs!” With a sullen expression, he moves in again.

“Yoosung, fuck off .”

The authoritative tone is marred by the fact that Saeran is leaning heavily against the wall and he looks fairly weak in the knees, but Yoosung turns away from you, and the spell is broken.

Saeran aims a glare at Yoosung, but Yoosung just wraps his arms around you. “But Saeran, we’re having so much fun!” You must have missed that memo. Saeran’s glare intensifies and Yoosung tightens his embrace, then switches tactics, protesting, “I barely ate!”

What the hell . “No!” you say, just as Saeran say “no.”

“No?” he asks. He looks from you to Saeran, and then his petulant expression returns. “Don’t take her away now, I'm hungry ,” he moans. He turns to you and puts more effort into his pout, trying to elicit your sympathy.

You wiggle your arms free from his grasp and shove him to put some space between you. “That would work better if you'd ever actually asked me, you know,” you snap.

He blinks wide eyes at you. “Please?”

“Little late for that now!” You push at Yoosung’s arms again and wrest free of him at last, stumbling a little as you move away from the couch.

Saeran pushes off from the wall as you near, but sways, so you hurry to slip an arm around his waist, and he slings his arm over your shoulders.

You toss a glance behind you as you go, to see Yoosung still sitting on the couch, arms crossed, knees folded up to his chest, looking put out.

You’re unable to resist the childish urge to stick your tongue out at him before he disappears from view, and you think you hear him make a scandalized noise as you walk away with Saeran.

“Sorry,” Saeran mutters as the pair of you start along the hallway, “he's not usually a problem.”

“Not usually so clingy?” There’s a sardonic lilt to that last word.

“No. He’s always clingy. Not often with guests, though.”

“Lucky me,” you mutter, then ask, “how’re you feeling?”

“Like I got thrown through a window.”

“Shit, you’d better after what you’ve been through. I’d be more worried if you couldn’t feel it. But you’re up and walking anyway?”

“Mmh. Came to get you.”

“...your brother is busy?”

Saeran pulls a face as you reach his bedroom door. “Defanging my deterrents. None of them worked on him, anyway.” And he opens the door.

His room looks like a goth paradise. God, is that a canopy bed? He's living the dream.

He staggers inside with your help, and scowls when he sees Saeyoung, although he still moves forward with your help until he can sag down on the edge of his bed. “You've done it. It's taken care of. This was not an open invitation. Get out.”

“You patched him up alright?” you ask Saeyoung. There's nothing you can see that he would have used, except what you brought up with Hyun. Some of the packets are ripped open, though there don't seem to be any signs of spills on the sheets.

“Yes ma'am!” Saeyoung gives a salute, and Saeran huffs.

“So… do you need me to help at all, then?”

“Guess not!” he says cheerfully, and before you can ask why Saeran found it so urgent to come and get you himself, if that’s the case, he narrows his eyes like he's about to divulge some great secret and says, “Saeran wanted to talk.”

“Yeah?” you glance at Saeran. “Must've wanted that pretty bad to go looking for me when you're still feeling like you got thrown through a window.”

It might be your imagination, but he seems to pink. He addresses his brother instead responding to you. “Didn't I say to get out? Go.”

Saeyoung shrugs and heads for the door, but stops just in front of it, turns back to you, gives a little flourishing bow, and then turns on his heel and heads out. “Yell if you need anything!” he advises as the door shuts behind him.

Saeran mutters something, and you can't help but laugh at the annoyance on his face. “Too much?”

“Just has no off switch,” he mutters.

You nod, and as you glance around, you realize that while you had taken note of the blood packs set out on the bed, only now do you see that some of these do not look like they were packaged professionally.

Some have the blood type scrawled in messy handwriting along with a few details you can't quite make out, and another is just -- double-bagged in resealable plastic bags.

“Do you -- need these still?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not right now,” he says.

So you clear these away, setting the unopened packs carefully on his nightstand and the open ones beside these after a moment of deliberation, then help him scoot back on the bed. He props himself up against the backboard with a pillow behind him, and you do the same, coming to rest next to him.

“Feel okay?” you ask when he winces after adjusting himself, but he nods.

“Just stings a bit,” he says.

“...can I see?” you ask after a moment, curiosity overwhelming you.

He lifts his shirt carefully, and you hiss in a breath. There's no glass there, and you can tell that the area has been cleaned up some, as there's no blood around his torso or abdomen, but contrary to what you imagined, there's no sign of sewing to be seen, no stitches. Just a lonesome butterfly bandage on either side of the gash.

But it's not as open or as oozing as you'd expect with that in mind. The edges already have that pinkish sheen of new skin.

Still, it's wide and raw and definitely painful. “Geez,” you mutter, and he lets the hem of his shirt drop.

Technically, you never did get a good look at his wounds, but you did see the mess that was left behind, and how much he picked out of himself, and you know you saw him pull himself off that long shard when you helped him into your apartment, and this just doesn't quite match up with that.

You settle back on the bed, crossing your legs and resting your hands in your lap.

There's a thought that won't leave you alone, that keeps you glancing at your wrist where Hyun had bit you earlier, where there's just two little marks.

You tug at the collar of your shirt to better look at yourself, and it's the same on your chest.

There isn’t a sign of the teeth marks you’d been expecting from an encounter like the one you had with Yoosung, not even fading ones, just those same twin punctures. You should be more surprised than you are, but you can't bring yourself to be shocked. It just feels like one more piece in a puzzle that you really don't want to see revealed.

Blood, biting, and -- well, either remarkable resilience in the face of what should be a far more life-threatening wound, or he's healing up faster than you've ever seen, or… you're losing your grip and misjudging what you saw.

“This has been… a really weird night,” you say at last.

He snorts.

“Two of your roommates bit me. One of them referred to me as food. You seem to be drinking blood, or else you pulled the shittiest prank on me in the car by pretending to do that. Fuck you for giving me that empty pack when we got inside, by the way, that nearly gave me a heart attack.” He grins smugly. “There's a lot of conclusions I could draw from this, and to be honest, I don't like any of them. I just… want to know what’s going on, but it doesn't click together right.” Forgetting likelihood, forgetting what is so outside the realm of possibility that you should reject the thought immediately… You draw in a slow breath. “I have… a theory,” you say. “And I like that least of all, but I keep coming back to it.”

“What’s the theory?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You won't tell me?” You shake your head again and he narrows his eyes at you. “Why is that?”

It all comes out in a rush. “Because it’s -- look, I’ve been through a lot, okay, not to discount what you went through because damn, I would not want to trade places with you, but I’m still wrapping my head around everything, it's very possible I am jumping to conclusions because I'm still panicking, right?”

“...right.” He looks faintly amused.

“Right. I could be… misinterpreting, or forgetting a vital piece of evidence that would explain everything because I am, as you know, freaking out.”

“Right.” Now he looks more than just faintly amused.

“And -- you know those prank shows they do? Where they -- they focus on the person and try to make them look like a fool? I have no desire to be a part of that, okay, they always look like idiots and that's the only thing people remember about them, so yeah, I'm keeping my mouth shut, because what if that's what this is and I go blabbing it out, and then what am I, the girl who just accepted the existence of vampires on live television? No, thank you.”

Wait --

Fuck.

He's just barely holding back a grin.

“Oh my god,” you murmur, burying your face in your hands, “oh my god .”

He laughs, and then gently places his hands over yours, tugging gently to coax you into showing your face.

“That's an interesting theory you've got there,” he remarks teasingly. “Mind sharing how you reached that conclusion?”

You huff. “Look, you -- or they -- are obviously aiming for that sort of aesthetic, or… lifestyle or --” You make a face at him when you see his still-amused expression. “What do you want me to say? You just have blood . In your fridge. Like that's a normal thing to have. And your roommates bit me. And I think one of them might have been wearing a cravat, so this feels like what they want me to believe, at least, and if it's going as far as biting me, then at least in terms of how it affects me? Doesn't matter if they're really just black-market dealers with a fetish, they're basically vampires. No functional difference there.”

He laughs softly, and you frown and turn away.

“What would you say if I told you you were right?”

You fix your eyes resolutely on the wallpaper. “...might just start yelling,” you say. But there's a part of you that keeps you listening intently, pulse beginning to race at the thought that he might be serious.

There's a moment of silence, and then: “If you let me bite you, I can prove it.”

And that gets you to turn back and look at him again.

He certainly seems sincere… Still, this is absurd. A bad idea in the -- impossible! -- scenario that you were right, and an equally bad idea if he's just some weirdo trying to pull the wool over your eyes. You shouldn't.

You have to say yes.

“You try any funny business and I'll be… very unhappy,” you caution, and he nods. “And… okay don't laugh but your roommates did that swirly-eye thing and I did not like that, so you… don't do that. Okay?”

“No swirly-eye things from me,” he says, laying a hand across his chest as if he is solemnly swearing to it.

“Dick,” you mutter, and he smirks.

He hikes his shirt up so that his wound is still visible when he lets go. “Keep an eye on this,” he says, “and come a little closer. You scoot so that you're kneeling right beside him and he takes hold of your hand and flips it, then frowns.

You look down. It's the wrist that Hyun bit.

“Oh,” you say, “that's from Hyun.”

He lets that hand drop and reaches for the other one.

“What, you don't want to double-dip? You're gonna hurt my feelings with that attitude.”

“Ha ha,” he mocks. “Just watch the wound.”

He flips over your other hand and runs his thumb gently over your wrist. It tickles a little and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I should make you use the other one,” you say, “just for being rude like that.”

He makes a face at you but doesn't reply, just lowers his head.

You almost flinch when you feel his breath against your wrist, and you do jolt a little when you feel his teeth sink into your skin.

It's only a slight pain, but it's… surreal. You stare at him fascinated, though you can't really see anything with his head bowed over you.

You shiver when his tongue runs over your skin, half from the surprise of it and half from… well.

He looks up at you and you freeze, staring into his eyes, anticipating a repeat of your earlier experiences, but he pulls away just slightly. You can see new puncture marks on your wrist, beginning to bead up, and when he runs his tongue along his lower lip, you can see the extra redness there, and…

He chuckles softly and you blink yourself out of your trance. “Watch,” he reminds you, and he lowers his head again.

You finally drag your eyes down to his stomach just as you feel his teeth against your skin again -- and holy shit.

It's… closing .

Slowly -- very slowly -- as he laps at your skin, the wound shifts before your eyes. Around the edges is where it's easiest to tell, shallow cuts closing until the butterfly bandages rest on new, pink skin.

You reach out and touch the skin there to be sure.

Holy shit.

By the time he pulls away again, it hasn't closed much, and it still looks worrisome, but it's just a hair better -- and there's more color in his cheeks, too.

“Okay,” you say, voice wavering, “uh.” Your voice wavers. “Weird as hell. But I believe, you, I guess. Christ.”

He smirks and licks his lips again. “Hard to take in?”

“That's putting it lightly. At least that was… one of the more pleasant biting experiences I've had tonight.” Your lips curl in distaste as you remember, “and definitely politer than the last one.”

“Mmh,” he says, brow furrowing, “You said you were bit twice.”

“Mmhmm.”

“So Yoosung already got to you before I came in.”

“Mm hmm .” You tug down your shirt to show the marks on your chest, and roll your eyes. “Courtesy of your roommate, the tit-biter.” You let go of your collar. “...y’know, he'd better actually be a vampire, because if he's just some jerk who decided to chow down on my chest for no reason--” You shake your head. “Well, it was a dick move either way, just extremely worrying if he doesn't even have that scrap of an excuse going for him. What's the deal with him anyway, huh? Hyun was sweet, so why was Yoosung so demanding?”

Saeran actually rolls his eyes. “Hyun’s always nice to cute girls.”

“Oh o , I'm cute, am I?”

He pinks and turns away pointedly. “Not…what I was saying.”

“So you don't think I'm cute?”

“I didn't say--” He turns back to you quickly, and then his face goes from pink to deep red. He huffs, and you laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. Finish your story.”

He gives you a reproachful look, but continues. “Yoosing’s sire was very wealthy -- the person who turned him. She spoiled him constantly, gave him a steady stream of… willing victims.”

“She fucking what.”

“Not as morbid as you might be thinking. Just… meals.”

“Ah.”

“Plus,” and Saeran rolls his eyes again, “he’s cute so people like to dote on him, even strangers, and he knows it. Makes it easy to manipulate people into doing what he wants. Usually doesn't cause problems, but sometimes he can be… bratty.”

“I've noticed,” you mutter.

“He'll probably run into Hyun later, who'll make him eat something, and when you see him next he'll be a total pushover.”

You smirk. “Definitely preferable. Hyun’s fashion is a bit… outdated. Is he…?”

“Old as hell? Yeah. He and Yoosung both. Turned around the same time, they say. Their sires ran in the same social circle.”

“But Hyun isn't similarly demanding.”

“From what he's said, he doesn't sound as…” Saeran shrugs and waves a hand. “Taken by the lifestyle as Yoosung was. Squabbled more with his sire. He sounds like a real piece of work, but I've never met him, though Hyun says he's still around somewhere. Yoosung's might be, too. Never met her, either.”

“And yours?”

His face sours immediately. Oh.

“Forget I asked,” you say, waving a hand as if to dispel the thought, and he nods slowly, looking slightly relieved. You're still curious, but… it’s not right to push, given his reaction. Instead you ask, “so… if blood can heal you up, why are you not already healed?”

“It's not a quick process. …and there's only so much room in my stomach.”

“Oh.” Avoiding overfullness. What a… normal problem. “Still -- there's a few of these around here,” and you pick up one of the blood packs on the nightstand, “opened and drained, way more than what you got from me, but that wasn't enough to close that up?”

“You should have seen what it looked like before.”

“Bleh, no thanks.”

He smirks, then hesitates. “...I don't know why, but they're never as effective as…” He glances at your wrist in lieu of finishing that sentence.

“Oh,” you say. “Huh.”

“...wasn't turned too long ago,” he says, surprising you. “Not nearly as long as Hyun and Yoosung. Hyun thinks that has something to do with it. Says you get more from it, whatever the source, with age. He could probably have done it with one or two.” He makes a face. “But I get to take it slow.”

“And the thing about healing better when it's… uh, from the tap?” He snorts a laugh.

“Warmth?” he guesses. “Freshness? Hell if I know.”

“You sure it's not just an excuse to get close?”

He opens his mouth to respond. looking flustered, but you rush on.

“But--” And you’d better say this quick or you'll lose your nerve. “If you… feel up for it, I'd be willing to… help you heal a little more.”

He stops in his tracks, stunned, and his reaction heightens your embarrassment, making you trip over your words a little.

“Doesn't even really hurt, and I can't say the same for your condition right now, so…”

He nods rapidly, his enthusiasm radiating off of him.

“Where's the quickest spot for blood flow?” You ask. “That works for your…” You wave a hand vaguely. “Technique?”

“...neck,” he says.

Now it's your turn to be flustered. “Ah.” But it's just a bite, and only for a few minutes, so that should be fine, right? “Well… sure, then, let's get going, huh?”

He nods again, but winces as he starts to sit up straight, which only strengthens your resolve.

“Here,” you say, “just… stay there for now.”

You move closer to him until your hip fits snugly against his, leaning against the headboard again, then tilt your head to expose your neck. “Does this work, or should I move?”

“...I think you're good,” he says.

Slowly, carefully, he moves closer, angling himself to fit against you better. He rests a hand on your hip and tugs gently, so you shift so that you're meeting him halfway.

He hovers above you, unsure, and your eyes flutter shut as he nears.

You brace yourself for pain, but when his breath spills over your skin you let out a sigh, somehow comforted by his caution.

His teeth -- fangs, you suppose -- rest against you without breaking the skin for a long moment, and you're so wound up with anticipation that when he finally bites down, you let out a sigh. It tickles more than it hurts, just a pinch and then the pain fades to nothing.

There's hardly anything to worry about. Why were you so nervous?

-- and then he drags his tongue over the bite marks and understanding floods through you. Along with, uh, something else.

You realize quickly that this position has… a lot more contact with him than when he just bit your wrist. You can fill the chill of him better now, not cold, exactly, but a few degrees cooler than you.

Bite, lick, repeat. It's not quite an even cycle -- more licking than biting, you think, and maybe that's just when the marks start to coagulate? But god, it's wreaking havoc on you.

Can he tell that your shivers aren't because of his temperature? You clutch at the back of his shirt when he actually sucks at a spot on your neck, and that's gotta just be to get blood that's running down, but you just barely suppress a moan. It comes out in a little stuttery whimper instead, and he pauses, then tightens his grip on your hip and returns his arreion to your neck with renewed vigor.

Your hand strays up to tangle in his hair and you pull him tighter against you.

...there's a major vein in your thigh, isn't there? You wonder if maybe --

And then you realize yourself. You gasp, and he draws back.

He looks panicked at first, but when he sees your expression, it eases with relief.

For a moment you just stare at each other, flushed and panting slightly.

“That might've been… a bit much,” he says at last.

“Just a bit,” you say. If you look at him for too long, you feel in danger of straying back to those thoughts.

Oh, but did it work?

As soon as you reach out to his wound, he jolts away.

“--your stomach.” You say. He stares at you for a second longer, then lifts his shirt. It actually looks better -- still worrisome, but a bit more pulled together.

But what did he think you were -- oh.

Well.

You can't really blame him, considering where your thoughts were straying.

Your eyes meet and you both laugh nervously, then he averts his eyes.

He brushes a hand through his hair, then looks at you from beneath his eyelashes. “...will you stay?” His voice is so soft you almost miss it.

“You're staying anyway,” he asserts, “since you might be followed if you leave. And we don't have a guest bedroom. And…” He averts his eyes. “...you're warm.”

You place a hand over your chest. “Why, Saeran, are you asking me to sleep with you?”

He meets your gaze. “...yes.”

“Then I accept,” you say, pushing aside the implications that -- you, actually, brought up. Damn, you've got to watch yourself better.

He scoots so that he's laying down.

“Oh, right now? Right now.” You settle in next to him, and he curls into you, draping an arm over you. He presses his nose against your shoulder.

“Warm,” he remarks, and you laugh.

“Glad you approve.”

He nuzzles into your neck. “I do.”

“Hey,” you say, “...what was chasing us anyway?” You never did get a clear answer on that.

“Werewolf.” He’s so nonchalant about it that you almost accept it unquestioningly.

“No shit?”

“No shit,” he says, and you can't help but giggle at those words spoken in such a sleepy voice.

“...Saeyoung knew, didn’t he, and he still acted clueless.” Maybe didn’t lie, exactly, but definitely waved away your concerns and pretended like he didn’t know. You’re distracted from this thought when Saeran pulls himself up just enough to look you in the eye.

“Hey,” he says, frowning slightly. “Don’t talk about my brother.” His gaze is steady, but there’s a hint of a pout to his expression.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “No brother talk in bed.”

He makes a face, but nods before resting his head again. “Good.” And that’s all he says about that.

For several long moments, long enough that you start to feel in danger of drifting off, eyelids growing heavy, you just lay there.

“...thanks,” he murmurs, leaning more heavily into you.

“For what?” you laugh.

“Mmm… this. Helping. Staying. Everything.”

“Everything, huh? Even the parts where we both just yelled at each other?”

He frowns without opening his eyes. “Shush. Dunno. I'm tired."

“I would imagine so,” you say, barely suppressing a yawn. Really, it's a miracle he's stayed awake this long.

Sleepily, you reach to grab at the sheets around you. It's not particularly effective since you're both laying on them, but you do your best to pull them to cocoon the pair of you. It probably looks a bit misshapen, but if it's warmth he's after, this'll do the trick.

“...you thankful for how warm I am, too?”

He turns to wrap his other arm around you. “Yes. Stay.”

“Don't worry,” you murmur, “just get some rest.”

You stroke his hair and he whines in satisfaction, pressing himself closer to you in a tired daze.

It's been… a long day. For the both of you. It's certainly not how you thought you'd be ending the night, and there are… things you'd change about this night, if you could, a great many things. But somehow, you're not entirely unhappy with where you are now.

You wrap an arm around him, and you drift off, content.

[marypsue]

Raising Stakes 23 / 24

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen / Part Seventeen / Part Eighteen / Part Nineteen / Part Twenty/ Part Twenty-One / Part Twenty-Two / Part Twenty-Three / Part Twenty-Four  

Well, I split the last chapter. Again.

I’m also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

The postcard was pushed under his door one morning.

It was nothing more than a simple rectangle of card paper, with a glossy picture inscribed with the words ‘Gravity Falls’ on the front and three words scrawled on the back. Stan stared down at it, turning it over and over in his hands until the two sides blurred together. 

He wasn’t sure how Ford had gotten his address in the first place - after all, it'd been nearly ten years since they'd last spoken. But their Ma always had had her own mysterious ways, and now here the postcard was, in Stan’s hands. 

Saying “Please come!”

Stan didn’t need to reread the words. He’d memorised them. But he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ford’s scrawl. 

“Please come!” And Ford’s name. All in quick, sketchy capitals. Like he’d had no time to write anything more. Or been too scared to write anything more.

"Who's it from?" Jimmy asked, leaning over Stan's shoulder, and Stan instinctively pressed the postcard against his chest. He felt a little stupid about it, but - Ford didn't belong in the funhouse Stan's life had been since their dad had thrown his duffel bag on the sidewalk at his feet, and Stan planned on keeping him well out of it.

"Nobody," Stan muttered. "Old friend. Well, used to be a friend."

Jimmy quirked an eyebrow, but he backed off. "You tell me if you need help with any 'old friends', all right? Old friends got a way of becomin' new enemies."

Stan couldn't tear his eyes from the postcard.

"Don't I know it," he muttered, under his breath.

...

Stan spun around.

Ford was still lying in a heap on the concrete floor. He hadn’t moved. But, as Stan watched, the trenchcoat started to shift, rising and falling in time with Bill’s harsh laughter, and Stan realised Ford’s shoulders were shaking. 

In the shadow of Ford’s collar, half-hidden under the flop of Ford’s bangs, one eye snapped open.

It glowed a sickly yellow.

It felt like Stan’s feet had been nailed to the floor. He couldn’t have moved even if he’d wanted to as Ford’s body slowly unfolded from the floor in front of him, rising like a ghost from a graveyard, Bill’s awful jack-o’-lantern grin splitting his face nearly in two. 

Bill gave Ford’s chest an inquisitive pat-down with both hands, before clapping both palms to his cheeks, one hand crawling up his face into his hairline and dislodging his glasses as the other crept down towards his neck. “Hah! Wow, that was easier than I thought! Fangs for the upgrade, Ace! Now I’ve got all your perks and a body with some actual brains -”

Stan punched him.

It was a good punch. Bill didn’t seem to see it coming at all. Stan’s fist collided with the side of his head, knocking Ford’s glasses to the floor and wiping that stupid smile clean off his face. A scowl started to replace it, but before Bill could say another word, Stan socked him in the stomach with his other fist. 

Bill doubled over, coughing. 

“Shut it down!” Stan yelled, over his shoulder, at Fiddleford, who was looking shellshocked, and Susan, who was still frozen in the doorway. “Shut the portal -”

The rest of the sentence turned into a strangled yell as Bill gripped him around the neck with both hands and squeezed. Stan met Bill's eyes, and reached out, grabbed Ford's body by the shoulders, and drove his knee up.

The noise Bill made sounded almost exactly like a broken squeaky toy somebody had stepped on.

“Stan!” Carla shouted, gripping her crossbow pistol in both hands, jabbing it in Stan’s direction. “Out of the way, you’re blocking my shot!”

Stan ignored her. As he hauled Bill up by the collar to his feet, lining up for another punch, Bill started to laugh again, loud and grating and obnoxious.

"Yeah, Stan! Out of the way! Isn't that what you wanted? To get me in an undead body so you could stake me?" 

"Shut up," Stan said, shortly, and punched Bill in the stomach again. 

Bill wheezed, again, but this time he didn't stop laughing. "Oh! Oh, this is priceless!" He thrust his head forward, until his nose nearly brushed Stan's, one too-wide yellow eye peering expectantly into Stan's. "Tell me, Fangs. What're you gonna do if I don't?"

Stan wrapped his hand tighter in the collar of Ford’s shirt, expecting Bill to try to pull his disappearing act again, but Bill just stood there, his face too close to Stan’s, grinning. 

“Well?” he demanded, and Stan gave him a shake. Bill burst into another fit of laughter. “Hey, careful! Don’t wanna hurt your brother!”

For a second, Stan felt like he’d been frozen solid from the inside out.

“You mean he’s still -” Stan stopped, shaking his head. “You’re just saying that to get me to lay off you, right? Ford’s dead. You killed him and took his body.”

Bill drew back, just enough to get a good look at Stan’s face, his eyes sweeping over Stan’s expression with obvious glee.

“Guess you two are more alike than I thought!” he said, brightly. 

Stan narrowed his eyes, but Bill’s smile didn’t waver as he leaned slowly back in to uncomfortably close range.

“I mean, not to tell instead of show or anything, but you know that’s exactly what Sixer here thought about you when you showed up, right? I mean, you seem like a guy with a sense of humour, you’ve gotta appreciate the irony!” Bill’s nose was nearly touching Stan’s again, now, but Stan didn’t dare move. Couldn’t move. “So! I’d be careful how you handle this meatsack! Who knows, your brother might want it back! Better not go breaking it!”

Stan curled his fists into the lapels of Bill’s coat. Behind him, he heard a sharp intake of breath that was almost definitely Carla's, but he didn't take his eyes off of Bill, who smirked back from an inch away.

“I’m not,” Stan said, shortly, and then hauled Bill up off the ground and flung him into the shutter covering the huge viewing window. 

Bill looked shocked for about half a second before his back collided with the metal shutter. There was a horrible shriek as the metal crumpled around him, and he slumped forward. 

Before he could move, Stan leapt up after him, slamming him into the metal shutter with enough force to make the whole thing shiver and shake.

“One nice thing about being undead,” Stan started, drawing back his left arm as he pinned Bill against the shutter with his right, “You get a whole lot more durable.”

Bill opened his mouth, and Stan slammed his fist into his face.

There was a crunch, and something gave satisfyingly under Stan’s knuckles. Bill howled, and spun, shoving Stan away. Stan stumbled back, his foot slipping against the edge of the desk they were standing on, and before he knew what was happening, he was falling. He slammed into the concrete floor ass-first, the breath all knocked out of him in one explosive burst. 

The portal’s hum was nearly deafening now. Stan could feel it vibrating up through the floor, thrumming in his chest almost like a heartbeat. 

“Shut it down!” he yelled over at Fiddleford, who was hovering by a wall of flickering coloured lights and buttons that looked like some kind of controls. “Sometime today would be nice!”

Fiddleford gave a frantic tug on one of the few tufts of hair remaining on his head. “I - I - I know I built mosta this, but I cain’t remember how to work the consarned thing!”

“Well, figure it out!” Stan shouted. He started to push himself up from the floor, but before he could even straighten up, something slammed into his back and he was airborne. He could hear Carla yelling, Susan’s scream, and saw the Ford-shaped indent in the metal shutter speeding towards him before - 

Stan shut his eyes just before he collided headfirst with the shutter. 

The noise the shutter made as it tore was almost deafening. The glass on the other side actually hurt more as it shattered, shards piercing into Stan’s face and shoulders as Bill shoved him through it. Stan ducked his head as best he could, silently begging for no shards of jagged metal or broken glass to stab him in the eyes. 

They burst out the other side in a spray of metal fragments and splinters of glass. Stan hit the ground first, skidding along the concrete on his chest. Thankfully, the polished surface didn’t scrape him too badly, but the impact drove the shards of glass deeper into his chest and upper arms, and his jaw cracked against the concrete so hard that he saw stars. 

A sliver of a second later, Bill landed like a sack of bricks on his back.  

Stan lay flat for a long moment, trying to catch his breath, get his bearings, muster up the energy to try to shake Bill off. There was a sharp pain in his right side that felt suspiciously like it might be broken ribs, his head was still throbbing from when he’d cracked his jaw, and all the little cuts and scrapes on his face and shoulders were starting to burn. The brand on his right shoulder was stinging again, reopened by all the punching, and the bone-deep throb in the muscle of his shoulder hadn't stopped.

“Wow, you’re right!” Bill crowed. “You really are more durable!”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you all over again,” Stan managed, around his closed jaw. 

Bill just laughed. 

There was a pop, a swish, and a thump, and Bill’s laughter cut off abruptly. Stan felt his spine suddenly freeze, thinking of Carla's crossbow pistol, but then Bill cackled again. "Gonna have to do better than that, Pansy! Though I guess I oughta thank you for taking care of this sweatervest for me! Whoof! Ol' Sixer here could really use a personal stylist, am I right?"

There was another pop and a swish of displaced air, but this time, Stan felt Bill’s weight on his back lift, and something clanged against the face of the portal. The sound it made was like someone striking a gong, deep and sonorous, cutting through even the rising whine of the portal powering up.

Stan didn’t waste any time pushing himself to his feet. His ribs and his right shoulder burned, and he nearly toppled right back to the floor when he spun to face Bill. 

Bill’s fist collided with Stan’s face like a wrecking ball. Stan stumbled backwards, his jaw lighting up in pain. Before he could find his footing again, Bill was there, with thick dark blood already crusting in a stream from one nostril down over his upper lip and an expression like murder if murder had an extremely punchable face. Stan threw another left hook, but his form was sloppy, his intent too clear. Bill just leaned out of the way, before stepping in close, pressing a hand against each of Stan's shoulders, and giving him one sharp shove backwards.

Stan took two unsteady steps back, trying to find his footing, but the worn-down sole of his sneaker slipped against something sticking up from the floor, and he tripped. His feet left the floor, and he sucked in a breath, expecting it to be knocked out of him when he wound up flat on his ass on the concrete again. 

He didn’t. 

Instead, his feet left the floor, and didn’t touch back down. Stan flailed, but only succeeded in spinning himself in midair, turning a helpless somersault. The ceiling flashed past underneath him, the floor whirling overhead - with a yellow-and-black-striped band across it. He’d seen it before, when he was untying Susan, but he hadn’t really noticed it. 

He realised, as his spin gradually slowed, that it was probably a warning not to get too close to the portal in case exactly this happened.

Stan couldn’t hear Susan’s yell over the roar of the portal. But he could see her, over Bill’s shoulder, mouth working silently, as she shoved past Carla and out into the lab. She seemed...shorter, somehow. Or just...farther down.

So did Bill in Ford’s body. And the yellow and black line.

Oh, shit.

The sound of the portal was deafening, now. Stan could see his shadow, stark and black on the floor below him, outlined in the brilliant blue light spilling from the portal behind him. 

He could feel it now, too. Not just the strange weightlessness, like falling in reverse, but a pull, dragging him slowly but inexorably backwards no matter how much he kicked and clawed at the air. Stan watched his own shadow inch backwards, over the black and yellow line, as the floor got farther and farther away, his own shouts drowned out by the thundering noise of the spinning machinery behind him.

The vicious smile on Ford’s face glinted sharply in the portal’s blue light. 

And then slipped off of his face again when Susan ran up beside him, breathing hard, and scooped the extension cord she’d been tied up with off the ground in front of the portal. Stan barely caught the sound of his name as she yelled up at him, and then swung the end of the cord over her head before throwing it at him. “Catch!”

Stan scrabbled for the end of the cord, only succeeding in flipping himself into another midair somersault. The plug thwacked him sharply in the back of his head as he tumbled by, and Stan shouted a curse that even he could barely hear over the portal. 

He saw everything in blurry flashes as he spun - the ceiling, the floor, Bill and Susan wrestling over the other end of the extension cord, the ceiling again, the huge accusing eye of the portal, outlined in a frantically whirling ring of white light, and in its depths, in the darkness in its very centre, something sparking to life - 

The extension cord wavered into his vision again, and Stan reached out and grabbed at it. This time, somehow, his hand closed around it. 

Stan latched onto the cord with both hands, pulling himself down along it. It was hard work - somehow, over the last handful of seconds, the pull from the portal had grown so much stronger, like its own upside-down gravity. The rising whine he'd heard earlier was piercing, now, rising over the rumble of the machinery. The extension cord burned the bare skin of his palms as the portal sucked Stan back, and he heard Susan yelp as the cord snapped taut.

Stan clung to the cord, but his grip in his right hand slipped, the muscles still weak after the burn to his shoulder, and he slid backwards, sucked in towards the portal. He could feel something through the toes of his shoes, a strange feeling that almost wasn’t a feeling, like if an electric shock had somehow crossed with the feeling of his foot falling asleep. He glanced back over his shoulder, and saw the centre of the portal filled with blue-white light. 

The tips of his sneakers were just starting to sink into it.

Stan yanked on the extension cord, trying to pull himself away from the portal, but when he turned back towards Susan and the others, the bottom of his stomach dropped abruptly to the concrete below. 

Susan was on the floor, curled up like a caterpillar clutching her stomach in obvious pain. And holding the other end of the extension cord, grinning like he was a cartoon cat and Stan was a mouse he’d caught by the tail, was Bill.

“You know, Fangs, I really shouldn’t keep stringing you along like this!” Bill cackled, and let the extension cord slip through his hands. Stan was sucked backwards, a scream tearing out of him before he was abruptly jolted to a stop when Bill grabbed onto the extension cord again. “Whoops!” 

“Let him go, you big meanie!” Susan yelled, throwing both her arms around Ford’s legs and - Stan blinked. It looked a little like she was trying to hug him into submission. 

“Susan, don’t,” Stan groaned, as Susan’s wording sank in. “Don’t ask him to let go!”

Bill flashed a big, innocuous smile down at Susan, before turning Ford’s head slowly, slowly, back to face Stan. 

“Turning down help, Ace? Might wanna rethink that! Cause it looks like you’re getting pretty close to the end of your rope -”

“Bill!”

Stan’s head snapped up at the sound of the muffled shout. So did Susan’s. Bill kept staring at Stan for a moment longer, his smile slowly dipping into a confused frown, before he turned to look behind him.

The crash test dummy tackled Bill around the waist.

Bill staggered forward, letting out a frustrated snarl as he tried to push the dummy off of him. The dummy clung on grimly with its single arm, wrapping both of its legs around Bill’s knees, and Bill stumbled - right over the black-and-yellow warning line. 

Both Bill and dummy left the ground, rising quickly towards Stan. For one heartstopping moment, the extension cord went slack in Stan’s hands, the portal dragging him back. Then Susan jumped to her feet and snatched the cord out of the air where it was flapping, loose. That strange electric numbness flickered at Stan's spine as Susan teetered on the edge of the warning line, the very tips of her toes brushing against the floor. “Stan! Hang on, I’ve got you!”

“Okay, but who’s got you?” Stan yelled back. 

Bill pressed one of Ford’s hands against the top of the dummy’s head, six fingers splayed, and shoved it away from him. The dummy spun backwards, its arm and legs flapping wildly, sinking down through the air towards Susan even as Bill tumbled in the other direction, heading straight for Stan. 

Stan tried to brace himself, but Bill still slammed into him like a rebounding punching bag. The impact nearly jolted the extension cord out of Stan’s hands, wrenching his shoulders in their sockets. 

For a terrifying instant, Susan slipped, skidded across the black and yellow line. The cord started to go slack in Stan's hands, and he nearly let it go. If he was falling through that portal into who knew what, then at least he wasn't going to take Susan with him.

But the cord snapped tight again as Carla ran up behind Susan and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her back across the black and yellow line. She looked up, and met Stan's eyes, giving him the tiniest of nods and just a hint of a reassuring smile.

Stan ground his back teeth together and clung grimly on.

Bill’s laughter rose from Ford’s body, and even though his back was pressed against Stan’s front, Stan could all too easily imagine the expression on his face. His shoulders shaking nearly made Bill slip away, out of Stan’s grip and into the portal’s pull, and Stan sucked in a breath before letting go of the extension cord with his right arm to wrap it more securely around Ford’s waist. Maybe his brother wasn’t in it right now, but that was his brother’s body, and there was no way he was letting it go. Ford would probably want it back.

The dummy let out a frustrated yell, kicking its legs to try to spin in midair to face Stan and Bill. “Let him go, you idiot!” it yelled, or seemed to yell, at Stan. “Send that monster back to the dimension from which he came!”

Even though it didn’t have a mouth to move, the voice seemed to come from the general direction of the dummy’s head. And though it was disembodied and strangely muffled, Stan would’ve known Ford’s voice anywhere.

Bill’s laughter only got louder. “That’s the Fordsy we all know and love! Even when you’re fighting for your life - or should I say unlife, now? - you still waste your time on grammar!”

“Ford?” Stan asked.

“Yep, that’s your brother, piggybacking off of your great ideas for once! How’s that role reversal feel, Fangs?” Bill twisted Ford’s head sharply sideways, grinning manic into Stan’s face, before wrenching it back to face the dummy - Ford. “But this little self-sacrifice act is getting old, Sixer! Giving up your body to trap me in the Nightmare Realm forever? Booo-ring!”

“Oh, good, the demon guy’s talking again,” Susan moaned, from somewhere below. “Who let him talk?”

Bill’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained dangerously sharp. 

“Let’s make this a little more interesting!” he chirped, ignoring Susan, and snapped Ford’s fingers. 

Then he blinked, and looked over at his own raised hand as if he’d never seen it before. He was moving slower, too, like he was a stranger to his own body, and as he half-turned towards Stan, raising his other hand, Stan caught a glimpse of his eyes.

His normal, brown eyes, which widened in horrified realisation at the same time as Stan’s did.

From below them, Bill’s laughter rose again, terrible and echoing. Stan and Ford both turned to look down at the dummy, at the slash of red paint across the huge eye sketched on its face. As Stan watched, that eye flared a glowing, hideous yellow, and turned up towards them.

“Well, Pines brothers, it’s been fun,” Bill’s nasally voice crowed from the general vicinity of the dummy’s head, “but the party’s over!” His voice sank through several octaves until it was a booming bass that Stan could feel vibrating in his chest. “See you on the other side.”

“Shit!” Stan shouted, and grabbed at the extension cord, just as the dummy reached out with its remaining arm and yanked the cord out of Susan’s hands. Susan wailed, falling over the black and yellow line as she tried to keep hold of the cord. If gravity had been normal, Stan guessed she would’ve skidded flat on her face. As it was, she turned a slow somersault in midair, head over heels.

Bill raised the dummy’s hand, and waved.

Ford was shouting something in Stan’s ear, some panicked babble about what they should do, what they could do, how they couldn’t let Bill destroy the universe, but Stan barely heard him. There was a little bubble of stillness right below his ribcage, and even though he could feel the strange electric void of the portal licking at the back of his neck, all he could feel was perfect, unshakable calm.

He’d done this before. Maybe Ford knew about monsters and demons and things that went bump in the night, but this wasn’t about magic and mystery anymore. Now this was about some powerful, evil asshole trying to kill them. 

And that, Stan knew how to deal with. 

Before Bill could open his hand and let go of the extension cord, Stan looped his end of the cord around his left hand and yanked. It must have been part Stan’s own strength, part the portal’s pull, part weak gravity, but Bill shot straight toward Stan and Ford like a bullet out of a gun. 

Stan watched as that glowing yellow eye drew closer, and closer, Bill’s scream of rage trailing after it. At the last possible second, when it looked like the dummy was about to smash into both of them, he let go of the extension cord and shoved Ford to his right as hard as he could.

Bill never stood a chance. The dummy flew between Stan and Ford and straight into the heart of the portal, trailing extension cord as it vanished into the blue-white light, Bill’s scream fading slowly after it. The end of the cord whipped through the air as it was sucked through after the dummy, and then it, too, was gone.

“Stan,” Ford laughed, his face crumpling in a way that could have been either laughter or tears as he reached out across the threshold of the portal to Stan. “You idiot, you - you stupid - why did you come back?”

Stan shook his head. The blue-white light of the portal was so close now, nearly swallowing everything. It wouldn’t be long before they both passed through it. He could barely see Ford, there was no way Ford could make out the expression on his face.

“I am your brother,” he managed, and somehow even mustered up a smile.

Ford said something, but it was swallowed by the sound of the portal. That strange feeling of nothingness was spreading, up Stan’s waist and chest, and he couldn’t see anything for blue light.

But he felt it when Ford grabbed his wrist, and when Ford pulled him forwards - not out of the portal, but just enough to make the nothing-feeling retreat a little - and wrapped both arms around his shoulders. Stan froze, not sure what was happening, but all Ford did was hold him, like that, pressed against his chest. It was with mingled horror and something...else, something soft, that Stan realised his shoulder was quickly getting damp where Ford’s face was pressed into it. 

The portal gave one triumphant roar, and Stan shut his eyes.

And then his legs were on fire with the worst pins and needles he’d ever felt, and the blue light vanished, the portal clunking and shuddering through a series of ominous mechanical noises as its whine slowly trailed down through the octaves. Stan hovered for a moment, before gravity seemed to notice that he and Ford had been thumbing their noses at it and rushed in to make up for lost time. 

Both Stan and Ford crashed down onto the concrete, with a jarring thump that made Stan’s teeth rattle in his head and all of his burns and scrapes and involuntary piercings suddenly sit up and make themselves heard. He lay there, for what felt like eternity, with his brother’s arms around him, listening to McGucket hooting and hollering from the control room. 

“I done it! I dadgum done did it! I remembered how ta turn th’ thing off an’ I done it! Glory be!”

The portal was shut. Bill was gone.

Stan leaned into Ford’s shoulder, and slowly, gingerly, brought his own arms up to wrap around Ford’s waist. In response, Ford squeezed Stan’s shoulders so hard that the burn on Stan’s shoulder screamed in protest, digging his fingers into Stan’s back hard enough to leave bruises. 

Even though everything hurt, Stan couldn’t help but smile.

[seungkwanslowqualityenglish]

Florist!Taeyang

Who: Taeyang

Word count: 3486

Warnings: Some minor cursing.

You owned a small flower shop, Sweet Stems, it was a small store but you were lucky to have opened it especially at your young age.

There was another florist just a few streets over, Sunshine’s Flowers, but the realtors had assured you in a town so big that two flower shops could thrive even with only maybe five streets separating the two.

And they were true, or at least you assumed his shop was also thriving due to the large number of flowers you often saw there on your way to work, and how most would be sold when you passed by again returning home.

Taeyang didn’t like the idea of another florist in the area when he first heard of your store opening, he thought you were some corporate flower shop that would take his business.

He had came by your flower shop early in the morning, you were watering some of the hanging plants and he was taken aback.

He expected some crotchety old man or some man wearing a suit or uniform, but he was surprised to see you.

The moment he saw you struggling to water the hanging plants, that were hanging just about six inches above your head, he instantly gave up on his plan.

He rushed out just as another customer came in, running back to his store.

You hadn’t heard the bell ring when Taeyang entered, but you heard it as he left, seeing an elderly woman entering and what seemed like a purple haired boy running across the street.

The store you had opened easily stole some of Taeyang’s regulars, but he didn’t mind, it was mostly the people he hated having to work with anyways.

The middle aged moms that would refuse to pay if one rose was more of a reddish pink than a true red, the rude husbands that would complain if one flower stem was longer than another because their wives hate asymmetrical things, and so forth.

But you never had problems with them, and they quickly became the main source of your income.

You regularly saw the middle age mother who would bring her toddlers in, the man you knew was cheating on his wife and trying to appease her with flowers, and the elderly gentleman that bought flowers for his wife of sixty years weekly.

Honestly you loved your job, and you’d never exchange it for the job your parents wanted you to have, like a nurse or doctor.

Money wasn’t your top priority, happiness was, and being a florist is what made you happy.

Taeyang found himself unable to stop coming by, he’d never come into your store, but he’d walk by and look at you, sorta stalkerish but he was just too shy to come in and actually talk to you.

Everything was going perfectly until that one day, it was a Thursday morning, and everything started to unravel.

It was 5 a.m. when you were woken up, the alarm at your shop was going off, and the police had been called.

Rushing to the store you saw a horrible sight, broken glass, destroyed flowers, and a cash register that looked like it had been hit multiple times with a shovel.

Everything you had worked for was destroyed, the police said they found no one in the store, but it seemed that someone had broken in through the glass windows in front in the search of money.

You always put the money in a hidden safe, meaning the robbers found none, so they instead destroyed your shop.

They said they would do their best using the security footage they had, but not to get your hopes up.

The police advised you to go home, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to do that, you couldn’t just go home with your shop how it was.

Sitting on the counter, the only surface without glass shards on it, you cried.

After working so hard, here you were crying because your shop was destroyed.

Taeyang woke up as usual at half past 5, and something felt off.

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, except his flowers, but he had a habit of walking to work just to go by your store, and then walking around the block at lunch to see your store again.

It sounds weird, but he kept telling himself to go in and talk to you; but he never would, always getting really shy and deciding not to each time he almost did.

This day was different however, he left to work early and as he was walking heard a slight sobbing.

It was someone crying, it was you crying that he heard.

He couldn’t stop himself from rushing over towards your store, seeing the store he passed by daily in ruins.

He was concerned, pushing open the door to see you on the counter, sobbing.

“Are-are you okay?” He asked.

The voice shocked you, you had been there for almost an hour crying to yourself.

No one had stopped to ask if you were alright, you didn’t even know if anyone had stopped.

Looking up, you saw a purple haired stranger, the one you had seen on your first day, unknown to you.

Taeyang quickly made his way across the room, managing to luckily not step on any class.

As he got to you, he grabbed your hand, looking at you like he was trying to see if you were injured.

“Are you okay?” He asked once more.

You nodded in reply, before staring down at your hands.

It was all gone, like that, everything destroyed and useless.

It would take you months to get everything back to how it was, rebuild and replant.

And not only that, but also all the orders you had for the next two weeks that needed to be filled.

“I’m fine. Just fine.” You said through tears.

Taeyang however didn’t believe you. “You don’t seem fine.”

“Of course I’m not fine, just look around, it’s all gone, destroyed, I have nothing.” You practically yelled at him.

You shouldn’t have yelled, yet he said nothing, just nodding as he listened to you.

“All my flowers, dead, all my vases, destroyed, they might have as well burned my shop to the ground, it would have done the same about of damage.” You said, looking around at the ruins.

Sighing. “I have orders I can’t fulfill, I have no idea what I’m going to do.” You said, close to tears once again.

Taeyang honestly didn’t know what to do, he wanted to tell you he could help, but he thought letting you know he’s also a florist would cause you to think he caused this, which he didn’t.

“I could help you, I like gardening and grow a lot of flowers, I can help you.” He suggested.

Shaking your head, you start to think about how you are going to tell all your clients that they won’t be getting their flowers any time soon.

You had enough grown in the greenhouse in the back, that luckily didn’t get destroyed, to maybe fill all the preorders for the next three or four days, but after that you had none.

You didn’t want to accept his help, you’d just explain to your customers what happened, and if you lost them you lost them.

Taeyang sighed as you shook your head. “It won’t be a problem, I’d like to help you. I know that if I owned a flower shop and this happened to me, I’d be thankful for someone’s help until I got back on my feet. And if it makes you feel better, I could even charge you for the flowers, if you just don’t want my help since you think it’s a handout.”

“I guess it wouldn’t be that bad.” You murmured, before nodding.

Looking up at him. “But only my preorders that I don’t want to cancel on, that’s all I’ll let you help me with.” You told him.

Nodding his head, he smiled, before handing you his phone. “Give me your number, so then you can tell me how many and what kind you need, and I can bring them to you so you can fill the preorders.”

Putting your number in his phone, and handing it back, you received a text from an unknown number seconds later, his number.

“Just tell me how many and what kinds, and I can get them to you. I grow a variety so hopefully I’ll have everything you need.” He said, before checking the time on his phone.

As he checked, he realized he was supposed to open up in about twenty minutes.

Stepping back from you, he smiled at you before he raised his hand, wiping a stray tear that was dripping down your cheek. “Don’t be afraid to ask for any, I can get them to you, but right now, I should probably get to work. And don’t be afraid to call me for anything, even just to talk, I won’t mind.”

Nodding as he left your store, you went into the back, starting to clean up around the store.

The day was long, between you cleaning the glass and dirt off the floor so that the customers that had preorders could walk through safely.

Most were shocked that someone would do this, completely destroy your store after all you hadn’t been opened that long.

A few said something along the lines that it might have been the rival florist in town, but you quickly brushed those claims off, since why would the rival florist do something like this, destroy your store completely.

It was five days before you called in to Taeyang asking for flowers, you had used all the ones in your greenhouse and was three red roses short for Oliver, the old man that came in weekly and got a dozen roses for his wife of like sixty years.

“Um, hello? Taeyang? Hello?” You asked into the phone, as the person on the other end had picked up.

Taeyang wouldn’t lie, he had a mini heart attack when you called him, like wow this beautiful person was actually calling him. “Um, yes. Hello.” He replied.

As he answered, you sighing, thinking momentarily you had the wrong number. “Are you busy right now?”

“No, do you need any flowers.” He replied, setting down the arrangement he was working on.

He was busy, but honestly for you, he was never busy.

“Do you happen to have three red roses? I’m working on my last preorder to be delivered today, and I’m three short from filling the order.” You said, hoping he had three.

Taeyang looked over to where he kept his red roses, before nodding, forgetting that you couldn’t see him through the phone.

“Yes, yes, yes. I have some, you need only three?” He asked, as he realized you couldn't see him nodding.

Sighing in relief that he had some. “Yes, only three. Where would you like to meet so I can get them?”

As you asked that, honestly Taeyang started to panic, you come get them, see his flower shop, no, just no.

“Are you at your store, I could swing by and drop them off, I’m just about to go on my lunch break, so it won’t be out of my way.” He said.

“I am, and are you sure, I don’t want to inconvenience you.” You replied.

He nodded once more, before replying. “Oh, it’s not an inconvenience.”

About twenty minutes passed before you heard the door opening, he had arrived with the roses you needed.

Rushing out of the back, you saw Taeyang standing in your store in the state it was in now.

It was cleaned with one glass panel replaced, while the other still had a tarp covering it.

“I see you’ve started to clean it up.” Taeyang said, as he also looked around your store.

Nodding as you walked towards him. “Yeah, one glass panel is in, the other is arrive tomorrow, next week my new tables and shelves come in, and I’m also supposed to have someone come reinforce the glass also.”

“That’s good, oh yeah, here are the roses you asked for.” Taeyang then said, holding his hands you, giving you the roses.

As you reached out to take them, you counted four, you only asked for three.

“I only need three, why did you bring four?” You asked him, watching as he started to blush.

He stepped forward, taking the largest of the four out of his hand.

“Three for you bouquet and one for the prettiest flower I’ve seen today.” He said, before placing the rose, that he had luckily taken the thorns off of, behind your ear.

As he did that, he started second guessing himself. “Was that too cheesey, I feel like that was too cheesey.”

“Oh it was, but it was sweet, so I can forgive the cheese.” You said, as you took the other three roses from him.

Stepping closer to him, you smiled up at him. “Thank you for the roses. But how can I ever pay you back, I feel horrible just taking these from you.”

Taeyang stood for a moment, he could ask for something basic like money, or he could use this as an opportunity to get a date.

“How about you go out with me tonight in exchange for them?” He asked, before immediately regretting it.

He then started to stumble over his words. “Yet, if you are busy or or if you just don’t want to, I don’t mind, it’s fine, you don’t have to go out with me if you want to, or if you are taken, or if you have plans, or you don’t have to.” He quickly said.

A soft laugh slipped past your lips, watching as he started almost freaking out. “I’d love to go out with you, how about pick me up here at seven?” You replied.

He nodded, happy you hadn’t said no, he honestly expected a no. “Yeah, yeah, seven works, seven is perfect, I’ll pick you up here at seven.”

After that he quickly left, not wanting you to change your mind, plus you assumed his lunch break was ending soon.

As you finished the bouquet, you had a smile on your face, he was sweet and honestly from how he reacted he didn’t think you’d say yes.

The bouquet was finished and you set off delivering it to the elderly man just a few houses over, often he came by to get it, yet with your store in the state it is, you didn’t want him to have to come all the way down for it.

To say the date went well would be an understatement, it went amazingly, and one date turned into two, then soon you’d say the two of you were going steady.

The two of you quickly had a daily routine, he’d help you fill your preorders every morning, your hidden kisses in the back of the store, and he’d bring a random flower and compare it to your beauty or your relationship.

Before long, you were filling your last preorder, and until your flowers were finished growing you’d have no more orders to fill.

Your store had been completed, now you were just waiting on your flowers to finish growing, flowers that Taeyang insisted on helping you plant because two people can plant faster than just one.

It was weeks since you started dating, before your flowers finally started to sprout, and Taeyang still came by your shop daily to give you a flower, it was part of his routine and he refused to stop it by now.

“Gardenias mean secret love, how is our love secret?” You questioned him, as you pulled him into a kiss.

Taeyang shortly laughed, his hands finding your waist, pulling your body against his.

“Do you see us making out in the main room for everyone to see?” He asked, before meeting your lips again.

Softly laughing, you returned his kiss before nodding. “Touché.”

You watched as he left to go to work, you returning to watering your flowers before you left the store.

Walking through town, you decided to go check out the other flower shop, you had no reason really, just thinking maybe it would be nice to know exactly who your competition was.

As you walked in, you saw the back of a familiar head, then heard a familiar voice.

“Welcome to Sunshine’s Flowers, how can I help you today?” Taeyang asked, as he heard the door open.

He didn’t bother to turn back, instead just focusing on the bouquet in his hand.

You scoffed, stepping forward. “I like gardening and grow a lot of flowers, my ass.”

“I can’t believe I believed all that I love gardening shit, of course you just have to be a florist. All those customers are probably right, you probably destroyed my store so that you could get all the business yourself, you couldn’t handle a competition. And to think, I thought I was falling for you.” You ranted, before turning and running out of the store.

Taeyang turned around, shocked at your words, as you ran out, he started after you.

You were already around the corner by the time he got out the door, he hadn’t lost the person he thought of as his love, but also his best friend.

The next few days your phone was bombarded with calls from him.

He begged for you to just listen to him, just heard him out, but you wouldn’t.

He hadn’t told you he was a florist, he probably planned this all, destroy your shop, make you fall for him, then probably get you to close your store, then break up with you once he was done.

Taeyang felt horrible, he felt like his heart had been ripped out, you wouldn’t let him explain and that’s all he wanted to do.

A week past and he stopped trying to contact you, you felt saddened that he did, like he no longer cared about you, you felt bad for wanting him to care about you after how you ignored him.

Taeyang had started planning, and he was planning how he thought he’d win you back.

You had forgotten you gave him a key to the store, but he hadn’t forgotten.

To say you were surprised to walk in and see all the flower containers full of assorted flowers and all the decorating you were putting off done, would be an understatement.

Then there he stood, Taeyang, hanging up the last of the hanging plants.

“I don’t need your pity flowers or pity decorating, I can grow my own flowers and decorate myself.” You told him, glaring at him as he finally turned to face you.

“I know, I know you can, but I just want you to know I’m serious about you.” He said, starting to walk over to you, hoping you’d at least hear him out.

“I was afraid to tell you, I thought you’d react how you did. I didn’t want to lose you, but I did. Yet, I’ve realized I’ll do anything to get you back, you want me to close my store, consider it done, I’ll do anything for you.” He finally said, as he stood in front of you.

“Please, just forgive my stupid ass, I’ll do anything.” He added as he looked down at you.

Sighing, you looked around, he cleaned up the place nice, you couldn’t deny that. “Fine, i’ll give you one chance.” You told him.

“But only one, mess it up, and you can get used to the idea of never seeing me again.” You added.

He nodded, before leaning down and kissing you, which you gladly kissed him back.

“I guess I can’t give you gardenias anymore.” Taeyang softly murmured to you, confusing you.

That’s when you heard the door open, the open sign Taeyang had turned on attracting one of your regulars, who seemed sorta shocked to see the town’s rival florists arm in arm.

“Well I guess our love isn’t exactly secret any longer.” You replied, before turning to help the customer.

The reopening of your store was great, you had feared losing your regulars, but they all returned once you reopened.

Your flower shop had became Taeyang and your flower shop, before long.

He was soon closing his store and you moved all the greenhouses and flower growing over into his store, his store being where the flowers were sold and your store being where they were sold.

On any random day, a customer can find one of you two making a bouquet while the other clings to them, hugging them.

Only at Sunshine’s Sweet Stems, can you find the best flowers that are grown with love, but not only love for flowers, but also love for each other.

[angsty-teen-with-an-angsty-peen]

“Da Kurse of Da Cylo”

(Based on an impromptu story I told to a bunch of rape victims from Albany)

By Angsty Teen (profesional writter)

Prologue: A Stupid Fucking Child Gets Fucking Bored

One day, I got sick after eating chocolate off the floor while my friends were trying to pour holy water on my face. I am now at home, with no one else in sight. My father has left for work and my siblings went to learn more about nursing and how it is not fucking worth it to work here. I am alone with my thoughts and no one can hear them. After a barrage of anti-sematic thoughts, I got immediately bored. “What should I do while my insides turn inside out?” I thought to myself. After a few seconds, however, I had a realization. No one was here to see me do ANYTHING. I could do all that I want. I could look at girls, stare at girls, or wait for the girls to look away so I can gaze at their bottoms. I decided to watch Star Wars: The Last Jedi.

 Chapter 1: He Comes (haha ew it’s a semen jok)

I was readying my arsenal to view the entertainment called “Star Wars: The Last Jedi” using a DVD that I stole from a quadriplegic kid with Down Syndrome who only got it because of the stupid Make-A-Wish Foundation. On my left hand, a bucket to store Koko Crunch as I realized that I do not have popcorn, the staple food for movie watching, and had to degrade to eating pathetic cereals (Oh, woe was me.). On my right, a copy of the script of a movie as the DVD did not have subtitles for a curious reason (note that it’s for A movie as it is actually just the script of “Who Killed Captain Alex?”). I threw the disc in the DVD player. I got worried that I accidentally broke the disc whilst throwing it but I was relieved at the fact that it did not break and I gently pushed it into the DVD player and began watching the movie that was have labelled as “Star Wars: The…SPOOKY Jedi”?!?!? As the movie began playing, it showed a poorly edited picture of the movie poster of the movie that replaced “Last” with “Spooky” and even though it concerned me, I moved on with the watching of the movie. Everything seemed fine but the further the movie kept on playing, the more suspicious I had about the validity of this DVD copy. First of all, various scenes were glitching and the audio was either warped, low quality, or from a porno starring Ron Jeremy. That’s when it happened. During the scene when Kylo Ren was shirtless, he just stared at me with his swollen body and said, “You are going to die.” I was terrified not only by the god-tier quality of his succulent man breasts, but also how it looked like the threat was said directly to me. After that, the television turned off in an instant, and my heartbeat stopped at the moment it did. Immediately, my Lightsaber vibrator kept turning on and off. “No, not now.” I thought to myself to ensure the seriousness of this situation that is taking place and instead just kept it in my pocket to immediately use it after the situation has concluded. Also, my phone started to ring and ring with an unfamiliar ring tone. As I picked up my phone and accepted the call, I asked,

“Hello, who might this be?”

“This is me, Kylo Ren” said Kylo Ren, “and I’m going to kill you.”

Before I was able to gasp and exclaim “Egads!” someone was knocking at my door. I rushed to the door to attend to the person at need as it would be rude not to respond. At the front of my door was what appeared to be a harmless mailman. After further inspection of his well-sculpted body, I began to ask questions.

“Excuse me, Mr. Mailman. Why must you be here without any mail in your satchel? Even if you are done with your job, why must you reside to this location as you were not personally invited by any of the hosts of this establishment?”

The mailman growled and responded, “You do not get it, do you? IT IS I, KYLO REN, THE PERSON WHO WILL NOW DECIDE YOUR FATE AND MY DECISION IS…” as his face melts to form his lightsaber “YOUR LIFE WILL END TODAY.”

 Chapter 2: OH SHIT FUCK WHAT THE FUCK DON’T HURT ME JESUS CHRIST

I walked towards my house at a brisk pace to try to escape from the reach of Kylo Ren’s lightsaber. Fortunately, as his eyes and mouth have melted into his lightsaber, I am confident I can hide somewhere and he will never find out. Unfortunately, I have chosen poorly in wearing my Japanese wooden slippers whilst walking on a ceramic tile and Kylo Ren could hear me with his ears. I decided to walk faster to the 2nd floor of the building. To my dismay, I was too focused on my fashionable pair of geta sandals that I have cornered myself in my own bedroom. Kylo Ren was able to catch up to me as he ran and my house is actually not that big. Kylo exclaims in confidence,

“There is nowhere to run, boy. I have you now!”

“W-w-wait, Mr. Kylo, how are you able to talk w-w-with your face melting and such?”

Kylo slowly raises his lightsaber to reveal his eyes and mouth are still in their solid state.

“Wow, that’s pretty cool.” I said, mildly impressed. “You should put that in the new Star Wars”

“I’m not George Lucas.”

“Okay, tell Mr. Star Wars to add that in.”

“I can’t, I killed him.”

“WAIT WHAT?! ARE YOU SURE, LET ME CALL HIM” I quickly grabbed my phone and called George Lucas.

“Hello, Mr. Lucas. Oh, you’re the mother ~hello… well, that was George Lucas’ mother and she’s crying her eyes out.”

As I said those words, Kylo Ren was already “all up in my shit” and was ready to attack but I was able to dodge it after all those training from all those anime fight compilation videos. I immediately leaped out of Kylo’s range and hit the window, bursting through. Moments later, I just realized that I am now out of my house, flailing amongst the glass shards. I landed on the front yard, the shards somehow only have touched my legs. As I was limping away from my house, I heard another window break. It was Kylo Ren, following me. His pose made it look like as if he was flying gracefully yet with a fierce spirit. His eyes, which are on his lightsaber, were piercing my soul like daggers and his ~ and he smashed headfirst into the ground… and only broke his legs. What was supposed to an intense chase like what would you see in multiple horror movies was just 2 injured wackos limping across the street. After 10 seconds of chasing each other with broken legs, we decided to go to the hospital to treat our legs. Fortunately, as Kylo Ren was a famous star, he was able to pay our medical bill. After our recovery, we immediately went out of the hospital to continue the chase. As the gentleman that he is, he allowed me to have a 10-minute head start. Thus, I ran… I ran so far away and ended up AT MY FUCKING HOUSE AGAIN GODDAMMIT.

 Final Chapter: What the genuine fuck is going on?

Here I am, facing my wretched house once more. I can see Kylo Ren’s beautiful head just over the horizon. He’s approaching and I have no idea what to do. But it was too late, Kylo Ren was holding down the Shift button and was able to reach me in mere seconds.

“We shall finally end this~ what happened to your house?” said Kylo Ren, utterly confused.

“Goddammit, I forgot to lock the door before we left for the hospital and someone took all of my stuff.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Let’s just call the authorities. They can help you recover your lost items and apprehend the culprit.”

“Oh yeah, good idea.”

I grabbed my phone and eagerly pressed the numbers 9 and 1 twice. It only felt like mere seconds that we were at the police station and they have already found possible suspects. They asked us to see the suspects and determine who did it (Which was obviously pointless as we weren’t there during the incident). At the interrogation room, we were told that they found 3 suspects: Han Solo’s shambling corpse, Chewbacca, and a porg~ hold on, where is the porg? We were confused as to who did it, but we were able to immediately make a unanimous decision. We all stared at Chewbacca. As it turns out, however, Chewbacca was a sleeper agent that the police didn’t recognized and was assigned to assassinate the porg, who WAS the thief. We all were happy that the stupid fucking porg is now dead. For Chewbacca’s outstanding performance, they prepared a ceremony just for him the next day and awarded him a medal of some sorts. During Chewbacca’s speech that wasn’t spoken with his language as we all know that he was just muttering the whole time, Kylo Ren and I decided to have a talk.

“Well, here we are.” Said Kylo Ren.

“Yeah, what an adventure, huh?”

“Mhm… which made me think: Do I really have to kill you”

Kylo Ren stared at me with eyes, which are still on the lightsaber, and tried to lean in for a kiss. A kiss that would last for ages. A kiss that would be remembered as the kiss of the century. A kiss that would be told to our adopted children. I leaned even closer to his mouth, which was on the light~ you get the point, and began to prepare my lips. Not for the kiss, however. For a whisper.

“No… but I do.” I whispered in his ear as I stabbed him with my lightsaber dildo. Just like that, Kylo Ren was no more. His melted face was somehow even more lifeless than before. “I have won.” I said to myself. “I have killed that disgusting, filthy, abomination of a character” I have never felt so happy in my life. That surge of happiness was short-lived, however, as I realized that I murdered Kylo during the ceremony, in front of everyone.

 Epilogue

…and that’s how I got arrested. I was sentenced to 50 years in prison. Despite that, they let me go after a week as they forgot what I even did. To be honest, I don’t remember, either. I would look at the text again but I couldn’t bother. I got sick from eating chocolate off the floor while my friends were trying to pour holy water on my face. I decided to go home and maybe watch a movie.

[ik-jams]

BTS Reaction: They find out their S/O has a chronic illness when she/he has a bad episode.

I hope you like it @little-miss-sherlock Lots of lub to youu 💕💕

Smol Warning: This involves certain health issues that.. Well, I don't know if it would offend anyone that I'm writing about chronic illnesses I don't understand fully. I looked up the symptoms of all these and I'm going with that, if you know you'll get mad or your sensitive to this material please don't read.

———————

~ Kim Seokjin/Prince Jin:

Jin always heard you talking to yourself but he felt it was normal for people to do so and he found it cute. Until one day you forgot to take your medication. Your mind was everywhere you kept telling the wall to "Shut up" then-

Jin: Y/n? Are you okay? What's wrong? Look at me.

You: Who are you? Where am I? Where's mom?

Jin: What? Y/n. It's Jin.

You: Jin? Like... Gin?

Jin: No with a J.

He decided to take you to the doctors and surprisingly he found the one you go to for medication. Everyone seemed to know you, know what was going on and he found out you had schizophrenia.

Your personality was all over the place, you heard voices, and sometimes short losses of memory. When he found out he was extremely confused and mad. Why would you hide something so serious from him?

Jin: Explain.

You: I was ashamed.. Embarrassed. Who would want to date someone like me? I didn't want you to leave me..

You: I'm sorry..

Jin: -Holds you and kisses your forehead- I've told you. I'll love you till the day I die no matter how cheesy that sounds, it's true.

Jin: We'll work together, and I'll take care of you. You'll never have to deal with this alone.

Jin: I love you.

~ Suga/Min Yoongi:

While you and Yoongi were going out to get grocery's you had fainted. Immediately he dropped everything to get you to a hospital.

Yoongi: What happened?

Doctor: Have they not told you? They've been here a few times.

Yoongi: For what?

Doctor: Their medication. We have them on two at the moment. They have GAD. Which stands for Generalized Anxiety Disorder. They fainted for lack of sleep. Their anxiety is very bad, she/he has horrid thoughts of her/himself, she/he has told us about her/his troubles sleeping, she/he has had thoughts of death, now that you know please do take care of her/him.

He was furious that you didn't tell him. He wanted you to trust him with everything and it definitely seemed like you did but to know you hid something involving your health he questioned how much trust you actually had in him.

Yoongi: Why didn't you tell me?

You: It's always made people back of from me.

You: It has ruined so many past relationships and I just don't want to lose you. I love and care about you so much Min Yoongi, I couldn't risk it.

Yoongi: But you could risk your health?

Yoongi: You know everything about me and after hearing you didn't leave me. What makes you think that THIS would want to make me leave you?

Yoongi: Anything you need just ask. Your health is the most important thing because you are important to to me.

~ J-hope/Jung Hoseok:

You both were about to go to bed, at the time Hobi stayed over and when he went to go ask you something he saw you scrambling to find something.

Hobi: Y/n?

You: -You jump slightly- Yes?

Hobi: What are you looking for? Can I help you?

You: No. It's nothing, just needed a sleeping pill so I can sleep well.

Hobi: If you don't find them there's many ways I could help you sleep.

You: Today. I think I just want to cuddle with you Hoseok.

Later while he had fallen asleep, you went back to look for your medication. Then you started tantrum-ing, sobbing. getting emotional, you broke glass, and you weren't yourself. Of course Hoseok heard and ran out to see if you were okay or what was going on. He saw you sobbing on the ground, your hands bleeding from shards of glass that were on the floor.

Hobi: Oh my god. Y/n? Come with me. I'm taking you to a doctor.

You: Leave me alone, Go away! I don't need your help.

Hobi: Yes you do. Come here. -slowly approaching you-

You: I'm warning you to get away!

Once he manages to grab you and semi calm you down he takes you to a doctor and he found out you have a extreme Bipolar disorder, He was frustrated and heart broken that you never told him, and that he had to find out like this. When he saw you, you were going to talk but he didn't want to hear you.

Hobi: Don't you talk. Listen.

Hobi: Don't ever hide anything like this from me again. Do you understand? I thought that I took care of you well and to know that I wasn't able to help you for this, wasn't able to take care of you better is the worst thing I have ever felt.

Hobi: Understand that I love and care for you and I want to take care of you till the end.

You: I was just worried you wouldn't be able to handle it. And you would leave, just like everyone else.

Hobi: Then I'm offended that I'm just "Everyone else" to you. I am your boyfriend, your lover, and someone who wants to take care of you like you take care of me.

Hobi: So let me.

~ Rap Monster/Namjoon:

You: Do you what an Inhaler looks like?

Nams: I guess I do, why?

You: Random thought.

You and Namjoon took walks around beautiful areas a lot and walked to your house a lot. You looked through your bag to check if you had your inhaler and for some reason it was gone. You know you had taken it and you were worried because you might need it.

Nams: Y/n why do you have this? -He holds up your inhaler which you take from him immediately-

You: I'm taking it to someone later.

Nams: Don't lie to me.

You: I don't lie.

Nams: That was a lie. Do you have asthma?

You:

Nams: Answer me, Y/n.

You: Yes, I have asthma!

Nams: Why didn't you tell me?

You: Because I was embarrassed. It's embarrassing to breathe from a tube in public or in front of you.

You: And I figured you wanted to date someone normal. Someone who isn't bothersome and you won't have to worry about so much.

Nams: Baby, You don't ever need to feel embarrassed, I still love you, I'm falling in love with your personality. I love you just as you are and I will take care of you, alright?

Nams: From now on, tell me everything and anything. Nothing can change how I feel about you.

Park Jimin/Chimichanga:

You liked asking Jimin to teach you dance whether you were good or not didn't matter, it was just fun to move around to the beat of music, but today you forgot your pain killers so you were limping and falling a lot. .

Jimin: Are you okay? You're very off.

You: Just dandy.

Jimin: What's wrong?

You: Nothing.

Jimin: What's. Wrong?

You: I have Chronic pain, which is basically forever pain in the same place... I have it in my knee.

You: anddd oh my gkkdbd it's cramping up. Can you go get my pain killers please??

Jimin: Why didn't you tell me??

You: Because knowing you, You wouldn't let me out the damn house.

You: Even if we don't live together. I know you'd somehow watch me.

Jimin: I would let you out..

You: 1 step out the door would be too far for you.

Jimin: I just care about you.

You: I know but what you CAN do is help me with the medicine and take me to my doctors appointments.

Jimin: I can't drive...

You: You can accompany me to my doctors appointments.

V/Kim Taehyung:

When Tae came over to hang out with you, he opened the door with the spare key you gave him.

Tae: Honey!!! I'm hommee!

You guys had this joke where you acted like a married couple. You usually replied with something funny as well but you couldn't.

Taehyung went to the kitchen only to find you crouched, leaning against the wall behind you, and holding your head.

Tae: Y/n! Are you alright?

You: Medicine. Please. -You point to a cabinet- Get a white and blue bottle.

After he gave you the medicine and you were feeling a bit better you guys started talking.

You: Why are you here so early?

Tae: I wanted to surprise you but you surprised me. Are you okay?

You: I'm fine now. I mean, it'll happen tomorrow, the next day, the next, and after that, then so on.

Tae: That's impossible.

You: Not if you have a Migraine.

Tae: How come I didn't know?

You: I was embarrassed, I'm pretty sure you didn't want to date someone who was forever sick so it was nice knowing you—

Tae: Shhhtsh I'm staying and caring for you, and cuddling you, and being with you until the day I die.

Jeon Jungkook/Kookie:

You didn't hide it from Jungkook but you also haven't told him.

You'll take your medicine in front him and when he asks you say your sick.

But you've been sick for the whole year you guys have been dating so of course he is going to get suspicious.

You: I read a new book~

JK: Yeah you told me about it. You're on page 289, It's interesting, and you would like to find more from that author.

You: When did I.. You know I probably have bed memory.

JK: You told me about this book four times.

You: I have? Oh wow.

JK: How'd you forget after four times?

You: Ah hmm, I have ADHD, bad memory, bad at paying attention. um um oh wow suddenly I'm bored. Did I bring my pills??

JK: I don't think so, let's go home alright?

You: Yeah, sorry I didn't tell you. I just, it's not attractive. Yeah.

JK: I'd still love you with any sickness, how you talk to me, treat me, take care of me, love me, and your personality is what made me fall in love with you.

You: Thanks Bunny boy.

JK: Let's eat at Wagwan after alright?

You: I heard they give out Snickers now. I don't know why but I'm down.

JK: You're adorable.